Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 56 — page 77: what you’re looking at

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

in that state for long—it would probably die. Better i issue a warning.” “Ill arrange it now,”’ said Carter. Dunlay nodded. “I want to observe its behaviour at night, but you needn’t bother coming back. Get some rest.” “Thanks. See you in the morning.” Carter’s bulky form disappeared. Dunlay turned. The rose was glowing slightly—a soft unearthly glow. The evening breeze stirred it. Dunlay lit a cigarette and watched it rock lightly. ‘Excuse me, sir,” said a voice, **There’s a reporter demanding to see you. He said it was most important.” **All right.” They walked to the barricade. “Hi, Dunlay,” said Wilson. “‘I want to take a picture of your rose.” “Photographs will be issued to the Press soon.” “I want a chat with you, too.” Wilson’s eyes looked mocking— amused. “I’ve a theory about your rose.” Dunlay sighed. “Let him through, constable.” Wilson grinned. He sauntered past Dunlay and put a cigarette to his lips. “That fat chap—Carter—he told me this drifted in from outer space. Hey, don’t get worried. Our chat was strictly confidential—off the record.” Wilson walked rather unsteadily to the rose and surveyed it. *‘Don’t touch it!” “O.K.—O.K.” Wilson grinned. **You think this is living, don’t you?” *“‘How much did Carter tell you?” | *“‘Not much. I had to buy him a little drink or two before I even got that. Y’know, Dunlay, I think that blue stuff is intelligent.” “Perhaps . . . perhaps not.” “I’m convinced. It would have to re to travel through space.” *‘Not necessarily. Birds manage to cross seas each year; you manage to find your way here from a pub—I wouldn’t call either of you intelligent.” “If it was intelligent, it would behave quite differently from humans, wouldn’t it? From what Carter said, SIXTY it goes to the brain. It should be capable of telepathy at that point. It should be able to talk.” **Ridiculous!”’ Wilson’s eyes mocked him. “I’m going to try it, Dunlay.” “Don’t be a fool. You’d be risking your life. You don’t know what you’re playing with. Leave me to my job—you stick to yours. Why risk your life? What would you gain? Nothing!” “‘What a story it will be! The first man to converse with it. Can you see the splash? The man who interviewed the blue rose!” “If it affected you there’s no telling where it would end. You’d touch someone, they'd go mad—they’d attack someone else . . . and it would go on and on and on...” Wilson laughed again. “You're scared!’’ He reached out to touch the rose. Dunlay lunged forward. They fought silently in the darkness. Wilson sent a powerful blow to Dunlay’s face and sent him reeling against a bush. A foot cut cruelly into his stomach and he fell. From the ground, he dazedly watched Wilson reach for the rose. The hand closed over it. The reporter’s face was suddenly contorted. It turned pale blue. He stood in the moonlight. Terror filled his bulging eyes. His mouth gaped widely with horror and pain. Then, he screamed horribly. He began ‘to jabber incoherently. He shrieked wildly and his eyes seemed filled with hate. He tore a gardening fork out of the ground and it flashed in the moonlight. The points thudded into Dunlay’s neck as he lay on the ground helpless. As through a mist, he saw the rose lying a few yards from him. It was an ordinary pink. His pain-filled eyes watched with growing horror as Wilson, now crying like a child, lumbered away down the country lane towards the lights of the nearby town... commicbooks.conm % Pe A ne ~—< - « » ii eee