Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 66 — page 125: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION doorway, black and menacing. Then the shadow moved fur- ther into the bar, further, until the low-hung morning sun pushed the head and shoul- ders up the wall at the far end. The figure stopped with its back to Sam and Lena, Lena couldn’t see any weapon in the gloved hands or on the bulging belt round the bloated figure. Sam had noticed the same lack of armament and was lifting the hand with the bottle and tip- toeing out of the corner, keeping an eye on the door- way to see if anyone else was coming. His foot crunched on rubble. He froze like a statue. Too late. One playful pebble of cement tumbled its way down a heap of debris, found a flat door panel to dance across with tip-tap jitter and ended up by rattling round the circular hollow of an up- turned stool. The heavily suited figure didn’t turn. Sam’s breath sighed out. The sound of the pebble had 124 not been heard through the bulbous protective helmet. He wondered if the bottle would make any effect on the helmet. Maybe if he picked his spot—the place where the helmet joined the thick suit at the neck—— He swung the bottle; and the bulky figure collapsed slowly at his feet. Lena ran from hiding. She peeked quickly round the side of the doorway. “Hurry, Sam,” she urged. “‘Before someone else comes.’”” Sam made no move and she went back to him. He was staring dis- believingly at the prone figure. “T didn’t touch him yet,” he said. “He fell before I hit him. He must have been hurt before he came in.” “Or the Creep?” “Through that suit? If it was strong enough to get through that outfit we wouldn’t be alive to see him drop. There’s something funny about him that I don’t get.”’ He studied the prone figure— about five-ten without the helmet and the thick-soled comiclooks.corn