Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 54 — page 87: what you’re looking at

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

Somebody didn’t mind murdering in order to survive, who? NONENTITY HE LIFESHELL WAS A TIN can with stores and a radio, an air conditioner and some accumulators, seven hundred cubic feet of space, a single direct vision port— and nothing else. It couldn’t change course, land, orbit or spin. It couldn’t do anything but drift, send out a radio signal and hope that some ship would receive it and come to the rescue. It had been designed to hold five people at maximum and now it held seven. It was the slow route to hell with a preview thrown in for free. The officer was a young man with a uniform ripped and soiled as though he had wallowed in muck and crawled through a hedge. One shoul- der sagged lower than the other, his left arm was twisted and tucked inside his belt, and his face was taut with the pain from his broken bones. He sat on the stool before the radio equipment, his legs gripping the stem in by E. C. TUBB a futile effort to remain in position, and stared at the six lives which, technically speaking, were in his charge. “Would any of you be a doctor?’ They looked at each other, the three men, the two women and the boy, and their silence gave their answer. “Know anything about first aid then?’ The officer bit his lips against his agony. ““There’s a medical kit... drugs... if you could dope me up?” Again the looks, the blank expressions, the dragging silence as each waited for the other to move. Then the elder of the two women moved quietly towards the injured man. Henley watched her, staring at her worn features, the lank hair, the body ruined by neglect and overwork. He knew her, a widow returning ‘to Earth after wasting her life with a man who had been fated to fail before he started, then let his eyes flicker to the comicloooks.corn