Astounding British Edition, Vol. 9, No. 7 — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

‘ - ‘Al +s on ‘“ r a Te aes Le tS y e le 500° eee © te Sal eee si ; avin) , be aagl s : yj “ae Pie SN Nat oF i ia et 2 a Yin s Pe SAP a ae oe wy oe a OA A?) 8! 4 “ie: : TaN bv a : piss A ayy aie cas 4 a) ice ‘ rR OIAN Wes tat ers p fatty ee wiftwes © oy CO a* Os dh ow A's ee Sree UA 7 ins Ta Nie * te nee “eT, Ae VEU ALA Pe eae WE ng Ale Bee TSE Soe) Ot, ol ae ” a9 : ‘ . . i; - ro - > i - § a A ‘ * ; APT (a8 pais Ubtoa De Tet ¢ ; : : nt f F Oe + hve ; 56 ~~ ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION it, in spite of the many flights he had made as a diplomat of the Institute. It was currently rumored that the accelera- tion sickness would disappear when the time-power used by the Centaurian ships had been adapted to Federation designs. _ That day could not come too quickly for Brad. He was pulling on his light, rub- berized flight suit when Ran knocked on his door. They turbed to the Interplan Port together. The Martian was wearing a plastic shell which preserved around his flimsy body the atmosphere and pressure of Mars. The scores of intricately en- gineered joints in the protective shell were powered by tiny motors which adroitly assisted the Martian’s muscular move- ments when he entered the crushing gravi- tation of Earth. Brad and Ran took the mid-section compartment in the commercial cruiser, a _ space always reserved for Agency per- sonnel. As soon as the ship was in free flight, Brad lay back on the cushions, bracing his body against the encroaching nausea of weightlessness. He took a deep breath and gulped a Pepperwood capsule. Ran setted slowly on the edge of Brad’s lounge. “Brad,” he asked, “do you still intend to ask the Assembly to arm the Federation?” His voice rang hollowly as it was transmitted through his plastic ~. face mask. “Of course.” “Tt’s already too late.” . “You’re a defeatist, Ran. Look at the gadgets we’ve built for our comfort! If the Federation can just convert that same energy to making weapons—” “And, if we do, we destroy ourselves. Brad, you’ve never taken the time to look at the social data I’ve assembled on Mars; Jet me show it to you now.” The Martian opened a small box and took out a Primary Teacher. It was a commonplace device, used by all the Institutes for basic teaching to children before they had learned the semantic symbols. Based upon the Series 600 Cal- - culator, the machine projected on its miniature screen idea-pictures derived from any symbol context fed into it. For an initial education it was an ideal ° device, automatically weeding out and discarding all linguistic abstractions. When the machine was used consistently by a very young child, the child subconsciously learned to read all semantic symbols in the same manner. 3 Into the Primary Teacher Ran fed the transcript of the testimony he had assem- bled at the Centaurian colony on Mars. “Many of the questionnaires I sub- mitted to our colonists,” the Martian ex- plained, “contained a number of subtle inquiries about their Empire and the everyday lives of their people. When we collate the answers and arrange the -infor- mation in a logical sequence, we get—” Ran gestured toward the screen. “See for yourself, Brad. Remember that the lan- guage symbols of the Agonians will be automatically translated into our own Basic, because the questionnaires were answered in our language.” On the small screen of the Teacher Brad saw a stylized, astrogeographical view of the Agonian Empire, the nine inhabited planets of Alpha Centauri. He saw the tremendous, time-powered cruisers moving on scheduled runs between the nine worlds; the chains of sky freighters carrying raw materials; and the endless squadrons of armed battle cruisers polic- ing the heavens. This last was an uncom- fortably disturbing phenomenon, for the number was countless. Only seven police ships patrolled the entire Solar Federation. The first picture dissolved and Brad saw the central planet of Agon, and finally the sprawling streets of the Agonian capital. It was not the gay, light, domed city of the Federation, but a bleak, filthy place, choked beneath a pall of industrial smoke. The buildings towered high above narfow streets, in an unplan- ned confusion, and everywhere Brad saw teeming mobs of people moving slug- gishly, like animated machines. The gray and black tunics they wore were suitable companion-pieces to the dismal factory rooms where the Centaurians worked. “But, Ran!” Brad whispered. “They do the labor themselves. They have no robots!” Ran said nothing. The pictures wound on. Brad looked into the interiors of the | Gomicbooks.com:. —