Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 41 — page 101: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION possibilities that we have known in Maberge.” “No,” conceded the High Predictor, indifferently. ““That is perfectly true. But here we have another element—a striving that is different from the communal expansion of Antares. The group mentali- ties have not been developed here. There is still a fission of racial thought, a... a loyalty to individual concepts——” “Mental anarchy,” said the Acolyte. “You are too harsh, my son; too dogmatic. It may be that the unassimilated yearn- ings and strivings of these puny creatures will produce something of purer merit than the controlled world-brains of other systems.” - The. Acolyte looked scep- tical. Young he might be, but he had spent five hundred years in the Faculty of Guid- ance, learning to accept the responsibilities of a Grade 2-S administrator, and in that time he had been taught not to look favourably on the erratic development lines of individualisticcommunities. Most of them came to a bad end unless carefully controlled by the Predictors. And care- ful control meant dispassion- ate judgment, detachment, remoteness. There was no room for sentimentality. Yet the High Predictor, tracing out the pattern of intersecting lines on the de- velopment charts before him, was smiling. The Acolyte watched him close his eyes and sit back, projecting his authority, focusing and con- centrating. And still smiling. It was as though he leaned over and listened, paying attention to one _ separate, particular person for the sheer irrelevant, irrational joy of it. Gavin Doust said: “If that’s the way you feel about it, why don’t you get out?” “If anyone gets out, it’s going to be you,” said his wife. “You started this——” “7 started it? You’ve got a nerve. First thing after we get back, you start in on me.” “Only because of the way you behaved with that cheap hick from Mars.” “A cheap hick, Listen to me, Mr. Space-freight Doust... is he? Gavin That 100 COMINCOOOKS.COM ©