Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 50 — page 21: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION Jarril looked in the direc- tion indicated by Foster’s pointing pipe-stem. Washing. There was a line of clothing and bed linen hung out, and it was hung on a radio aerial. He swung back on Foster. “What kind of settlement is this, anyway? Where’s the Governor, or Mayor, or who- ever is in charge?” “We don’t have anybody like that,’ Foster said. He put his pipe back into his mouth and slapped Sam on his yellow hide. “If you want to send a radio message you'll have to see old Ben.” Without another word Jarril strode off towards the concrete dome surmounted by the radio mast, dust flying in angry spurts from his black boots. Jarril refused to let his mind dwell on the spectacle of the washing hung out on radio aerials. It might be an idea to have the Navy take a look round this planet. The fact that it was outside the sphere of Terran influence made it of curious interest to Earth. If the Sokkaths found the planet first, and were able to set up 20 a base here, then that would be a reverse in the Galactic game of chess that strewed smashed ships and_ broken men among the stars. Jarril knocked on the metal door. When he had waited for five minutes with no answer to his repeated knocks, he pushed the door open and blinked in the dimness within. A dog growled at him from a dark corner, and as his eyes adjusted Jarril saw that the room was empty of people. The dog growled again. Going back outside, Jarril saw a woman round the corner of the dome and come towards him, struggling under the weight of two cans yoked across her neck. In three strides Jarril covered the in- tervening space and took the yoke and cans away, carried them easily to the dome’s door. “Thank you,” the girl said simply. “You must be the man Foss found out in the desert last night.” “That’s right. How did you know?” Jarril wiped one hand across his forehead, pushing the mentalarm up. “It doesn’t matter. I must comiclooks.corn