Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 54 — page 92: what you’re looking at

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

NONENTITY soothing the child. A gasp and a hiss of indrawn breath ‘—the officer with his broken bones. A murmur and a soft whisper—Jeff and the girl. A soft, mechanical drone—the whirling fan of the condi- tioner as it stirred the air. He isolated and registered the sounds, identifying and locating the position of each. The officer was still at his radio, his legs gripping the stem of the stool. The woman and child were in the opposite, upward corner; the old man had drified into the centre of the cabin and Jeff and the girl rested beside the single door. Seven people—with scaled rations for only five. After a while the darkness and the heavy air, the lack of distraction and the mur- muring silence brought a half-doze, half-coma, and he hovered in the strange region between sleep and waking, his thoughts flitting from one concept to another, touching lightly on old scenes and recent memories. Casually he thought of the war and of the saboteur who had died on his mission. He thought of the panic and the blue-lit hell -of the last few moments when men and women had fought in’ the dim glow of the 91 emergencies as they felt the spur of panic. He visualised his home and his office, the face of a woman he had once known, a friend and an enemy, the possibility of being picked up and whether or not the Numen would ever cease their fanatical struggle. He snapped fully awake as he sensed someone at his side. “Henley ?” It was the girl, breathing directly into his ear, the soft mass of her hair brushing his cheek as she hovered beside him. He waited a moment before answering, locating the heavy breathing of the big man where he drifted, finally asleep, almost seven feet above. cxvesT ‘““Tt’s me, Lorna.’ She gripped his arm and drew herself even closer. “‘Look, you’re intelligent, at least you can’t be as dumb as that big ox. Maybe you could answer a question.” “Maybe.” He kept his voice low, too, whispering directly into her ear. “‘How much air and stuff does this shell carry?” “Enough,” he said, care- fully. ““Why ?” “Don’t give me that,”’ she said, bitterly. “I may be a cheap dancer working the conmicloooks.comn) 4 » : ot