Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 71 — page 137: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION probably floating around in space like a lot of petrified satellites, not sitting on lean rumps sucking down hors d’ceuvre.” George sounded unusually bitter. There was a short pause. George looked sorry for his outburst, but apart from sur- prise I didn’t hold it against him. You’ve got to like space a lot better than we did to be able to offer up your nearest and dearest on its starry altar. With a son still blasting regularly he might hear the same news one day as I had received. Maybe you wouldn’t understand, but it was almost a relief when I knew Paul was safely dead. I felt sorry for George, but you don’t use pity in space, nor sympathy for those who wait Earthside. I got on with my lunch while George’s brow cleared. “That wasn’t very fair,”’ he said quietly after a bit. “‘Par- ticularly with old Graves as the target. He’s a nice old duck, more like a typical absent-minded professor these days than science-fiction’s in- trepid spaceman.”’ “Perhaps he’s got the tradi- tional mien from the Uni- versity,” I chuckled. “‘I hear he’s doing a lot of lecturing there to the fourth-year rock- etry cadets onspace psychology and nerve-jimjams, etc.” “He ought to know plenty about that. All that black endless space would be enough to drive me barmy, without waiting for the engines to fall out or the wheels to come off.”’ *“You don’t make a very good advertisement for your own product,” I remarked wryly. ~ “Bah! Rockets still go wrong. We’ve both good rea- son to know that, Ted. We’ve long since given up powdered aluminium, and we've de- — signed safety do-dahs all over the ship, but you can take it from me whereas any fool can split an atom today, it takes clever men to control it split in a two-by-four pile a million miles from nowhere. I just design jets. I leave it to others to take off in those radioactive coffins.” A waiter coughed and hovy- ered. We both looked up. *“Mr. Graves’ compliments, sir. Would you gentlemen care to join him for coffee?” 136 Commicbookxs.Com