Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 66 — page 133: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION resilient solidity of hydraulic- ally sprung bucket-seats, the watchmaker’s nightmare of serried dials. Even the milky globe of crystal wasn’t too difficult to place as some sort of television receiver. Only nine things spoiled the picture. One was the silence, the absence of the expected hum of machinery. The other eight things were the corpses in the bucket-seats. Sam didn’t waste time in- side the ship. He took a quick, wary peek through two doors leading out of the chamber, saw nothing but the dark gleam of alien machinery and made his way back to the world he knew. As soon as he popped his head into the open a startled movement caught his eye. A bird flaked up from the slates and bricks. Sam got out quickly and stood where the bird had been, watching it glide out and down into the street. As it hopped along, he kept changing his position so as not to lose sight of the bird. His eyes were greedy for this 132 one sign that the Creep had vanished. He could see Lena down at the door of the bar. He waved and pointed. She was out of line of sight with the bird. He shouted: ‘‘The spar- row!” But his voice was blown away by the morning breeze. Lena understood, however. She danced a little jig, then gestured him to hurry down from his lofty perch. He waved again. “In a minute,” he yelled and returned to his bird-watching. Apart from the rubble, the street was comparatively clean. Few people had been about for days and the sparrow was finding very lean pickings. It hopped further and further along the street and Sam had to shade his eyes to keep it in sight. He inhaled deep. It was good to be alive on a day like this. Real good. Clear blue sky, peace, silence and no Creep. He laughed a little. He had almost forgotten what it was like to enjoy these things. And all due to a comicloooks.comn