Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 67 — page 118: what you’re looking at

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

THE EARTH NEVER SETS fluid to the backs of our suits. We dispersed, each carrying a manually controlled spray, to different parts of the area and commenced our work. “Make a good job of it, boys.”’ Wilson’s voice crackled over the suit radio. ““This ship will be carrying an important cargo on her way back.” I ignored him and looked over towards Chambers. He was standing very still, look- ing up at the globe of Earth which hung huge in the dia- mond-studded sky. I hadn’t the heart to bawl him out, so I just carried on with my spray- ing. It was a slow, boring job and my thoughts had plenty of time to wander. It might have been ten or fifteen minutes later when the scream rattled through my helmet speaker and brought me back to reality. I turned to. see a suited figure collapsing slowly in the dust, the spray apparatus falling from its hands. There was no sign of the other member of the party. . “Chambers! Wilson! What the devil’s happened?” I shouted. A suited figure appeared from behind a spur of rock and walked towards the fallen man. I headed in the same 117 direction, the blood hammer- ing in the veins of my neck. By the time I arrived the other was kneeling by the prone figure, examining it. The faces of both were ob- scured by the darkened plastic of their helmets. Closer now, I could see that the suit of the fallen one was deflated, its air supply gone. “There’s nothing we can do for him.” It was Chambers’ voice. He pointed to a tiny hole in the breast plate of the suit, then turned the limp body over. There was another hole in the back. A small meteor, travelling at a tre- mendous velocity, must have passed through the unfor- tunate man’s armour un- checked. ““A chance in a billion,” I breathed, with a shudder. “What filthy, rotten luck.” We all knew that such a thing was theoretically pos- sible, but up to now no- body had given it a thought, dismissing it as one of those things that never happened to you, like falling off a chair and breaking your neck. ““We’d better get him back to the crawler,” said Cham- bers. We picked up what re- mained of Wilson, his loud- ness and his greed gone into the big night. comicloooks.com