Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 66 — page 93: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION radar screen said his first words since the launching. “*He didn’t lose enough fuel to disturb his orbit, anyway,”’ he remarked optimistically. ‘““The ship’s exactly on course.” “Well, naturally,” snapped the wing commander acidly. The major shrugged and re- turned to watching his screen. It would not be long now before the ship was out of range. ‘Asif we didn’t have enough to worry about,” said Taun- ton softly. “Isn’t it enough that the pilot should break down, without the ship failing as well?’’ “Post hasn’t broken down yet, sir,” the wing commander pointed out levelly. Foley wrenched his gaze away from the dial labelled PROPELLANT RESERVE, which still crept inexorably down- wards, after five minutes’ intent concentration, and looked about him. The staff sergeant was intently chewing his nails and looking as if he wished himself well out of this. Foley knew that the same picture was filling his mind as well as the others’— a vivid image of Post, clad in his cumbersome suit which had been designed more to keep its occupant alive and comfortable in the narrow 92 cabin than for moving around, struggling to squeeze his bulk down the narrow gap between the fuel tanks—only they did not hold the kind of fuel that burned. His faceplate would be smeared with the juice as free-floating bubbles drifted from the leak and ruptured against his helmet... “Switching to relay two,” said the staff sergeant softly, after what seemed like an eternity. Ships in the Pacific would be tracking Post now. And then, fifty-one minutes after the last sound from the spaceship, just at the crucial end of the first hour which represented the limit of his predecessors’ endurance, Post came back. They heard the faint high echoes as_ the emergency air supplies were released into the cabin, and hope dawned in their eyes as they exchanged glances. Foley turned mutely inquiring eyes on the wing commander, who nodded and tapped .the tell- tale dial. The needle was steady. “Thank heaven!’ said Taunton, prayerfully. “Is he safe ?”’ Thewingcommanderlooked at his right hand. It was shaking uncontrollably. ‘““De- pends what you mean by safe,” he said dryly. “‘He’s comiclooks.comn