Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 54 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION Admans felt a surge of relief. ““That’s where you’il find Mayo,” he said. ““When his control circuit blew out, he must have put on armour and gone outside.” “Perhaps,” replied Tutin. “But we can’t afford to take any chances. In a few hours the air will be absolutely unbreatheable. I’m going out to the Styx and check on the air conditioning plant myself.”’ . “Do you think that’s wise? Mayo is in charge out there— why not let him handle it?” “I’m not at all sure that he’s capable,” said Tutin. “T’m going!” Admans thought fast. He had no love for Tutin, but he realised that the strain Mayo had undergone would not render him likely to tolerate any interference. “Any objection to my go- ing with you?” he asked. “I may be able to help.” “Suit yourself,’ barked Tutin. “’m on my way to lock four now.” The outer door of the air- lock closed behind the two 20 armoured figures, leaving them in the airless dark of the Styx. Tutin switched on his headlight and Admans fol- lowed suit. Slowly, like grossly malformed robots, they started to walk towards the nose of the great ship. The blackness was un- relieved, except for the oc- casional shape of one of the light alloy girders that formed the ship’s skeleton. Tutin’s voice came sharp and tinny through the ar- mour radio. ““The condition- ing plant is about fifty yards ahead.” He gestured with a mailed claw. For the first time, Admans noticed that the admin officer was carrying a blaster. They made their way cautiously between the gir- ders, which grew closer to- gether as they approached the nose. Out here, away from the cushioned kernel of the human living quarters, the grinding sub-sonics of the drive were an ever present vibration, permeating through the metal of their armour and tearing at every nerve ending. conmiclooks.com