Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 50 — page 33: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION go around trouble.” “Keep quiet,’ Jarril barked “And go away! I’ve work to do.” “All right.’ Claire sounded stirring up perfectly composed and not . at all hurt by fJarril’s brisk tone. “If you want to create trouble, then I suppose you will. It’s a pity, all the same.” She went off, shaking her head. Confound the girl! It was _ difficult enough to find the correct operational sequence of this antiquated jumble of equipment masquerading as an ultra-light radio set with- out having a girl preaching all over the place. Jarril plugged the headphones in and flipped the switch to send, cutting out the charac- teristic hoarse croak that filled all ultra-light transmission. “Calling H.Q. One,” he said. He repeated that for some time, without giving any sending identification, as was laid down in the regula- tions. Working by code, by the law as given in the books, was a peaceful relaxation after the incoherent madness and irrationality of the: cul- 32 ture into which he had been pitchforked. With this re- gaining of his normal way of life for a few moments, with this fresh contact with the things he knew and _ was capable of evaluating pro- perly, Jarril found that other, that strange and uneasy sense of well-being, that very sus- pect sense that everything was all right, faded and dimmed, and with that decrease throw- ing up in stark relief the fact that everything was very far from all right. He tapped impatiently with a blunt pencil on the panel, waiting until the light came on that would tell him that someone out there, un- imaginable distances across the light years, was answering his call. When the red light flicked on, Jarril was seconds slow in his response, and had sent his call out again. He knew what that would mean. He cut in the two-way communication, and over the guttural grumbling of ultra- light the distant station called out strongly, the voice echo- ing in the tiny radio shack. COmICHOOks.com |