Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition — page 50: what you’re looking at

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

48 had not taken hold. And there were others, but not many, and those with smooth chins often moved in a circle of suspicious glances and left trails of hostile murmurings behind them. So it might be doubly difficult to kill Horne. Violence could be the move that touched off the pogrom— exactly what Cody had hoped to avoid by eliminating the paranoid. That meant Horne would have to be killed privately, above all, away from any potential mob leaders who might trigger a riot. (There were such men in American Gun; Horne had found them already. They would be the ones to lead the mob when the time came.) He’s at the Last Chance. Cody lifted his head, dazzled for an instant by the deep blue shadow and the white sunlight. His mind mapped a picture of American Gun from the data he had already gathered. The Last Chance would be at the north end of town, near the research labora- tories. Horne might or might not still be there, but it would be easy to pick up his trail. Cody skirted the goldfish pool, past the tiny flickering flames of the small, drifting minds, and took a path lead- ing northward through the town. His thoughts continued to range. Several times he caught the thoughts of other Baldies. Through them he could have located Horne instantly and accurately, but they did not wear the Mute helmets, and their minds could have been read in turn by the paranoid. And Horne must not be forewarned. Cody reached up to touch the fine- spun skein of filaments hidden beneath his wig. As long as he wore the Mute helmet, Horne could not read his mind. The crowds began to _ thicken. Rumors went softly flickering past like heat-lightning in the sweltering air, gathering corroborative detail as they ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION went. Someone—Cody’s mind heard the whisper—had broken the bank at the Gold Horseshoe last night, walked out with two heavy sacks of credits, and carelessly let his wig blow off in the doorway, revealing a hairless head. Yes, the Baldies were casting off the mask now and grabbing up credits in every way they could, preparing for the zero hour when they would take over the nation. Cody walked a little faster. Stray thoughts from the Baldies in American Gun whispered to him. Things are getting out of hand, the word went silently through the air from mind to mind, from anxious group to group, from Baldies going stoically about their business among the humans and showing impassive faces as their minds touched and clung together on the verge of panic. Today mothers had kept their children home, and the family copters were fueled and ready. Above the crowd, Cody saw the flashing sign of the Last Chance ahead. He moved on, his mind searching for the presence of Horne. And, in spite of the noiseless tensions straining and wrenching through the hot air, he realized that he felt curiously happy. Everything seemed very easy and simple now, for the first time in many months. Kill Horne. That was all; that was enough. Kill Horne, his mind said, without any of the doubts and unsurenesses of the last months and years. He paused outside the old-fashioned photoelectric doors of the Last Charice, searching for his enemy. The rumors blew past him, fresh as if no voice had ever whispered them before. The whispers spoke of the string of freight- copters grounded with a fuel-leak at the edge of town, the repair man work- ing among the cargo who accidentally broke a slat on a crate of oranges. Inside the liner of oranges were queer- looking rifles—atomic? Three Eggs connicloooks.c© nl