Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 52 — page 115: what you’re looking at

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

The sands of Mars lie heaped and still over-—— JOHN BROWN’S BODY ft OW: DOES IT FEEL?” H The words came from a distance, muffled. There was a bright glare of light and his eyes hurt after the long darkness. ““How does it feel? Answer me": The voice was persistent through the throbbing of his brain. He struggled up from the depths of sleep to answer. “Strange . . . my head aches. bees | “That will pass,’ > the voice assured him. ““You can get up now.” He became aware that he was lying on his back on a table. He swung his legs to the floor and stood, balanced precariously. The room came into focus. An operating theatre. White walls, arc lights, gas cylinders, a metal tray of gleaming surgical tools. A man in a white coat—that would be the surgeon; a man in military uniform—he felt a desire to please this man; a nurse—she looked at him with an expression mingling pity with horror. “Your number,” said the military man, “is one million, 114 by SYDNEY J. BOUNDS two hundred and _ seventy thousand and seven. You will remember this number—you will never forget it. Repeat your number.” “One million, two hundred and seventy thousand and seven.” “Good.” He stood motionless, won- dering about the strange things that went on in his head. Memory was jumbled, somehow; childish recollec- tions floated about in timeless sequence. He could not re- member how he came to be in hospital and it did not occur to him to ask. Neither did it occur to him to move. *“March,”’ said the military man. “‘Swing your arms shoul- der high. Chest out, head up—you’ve nothing to feel ashamed of. You’re a man now... a soldier!” He marched across the room and stopped when the wall prevented him going further. He did not feel pain when he hit the wall. “Turn about. March!” He obeyed. There was the queerest sensation in his chest and breathing was difficult. commicloooks.com