Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 41 — page 103: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION bought with my money, and don’t forget it. Don’t tell me to get out of it, because I don’t like that sort of talk. Cool down and act sensible.” “The only sensible thing I can do,” he said, from the door, “is to walk out and go off in search of my self respect.” “Good hunting,” she said. He slammed the door and went out on to the boulevard. A helicab skimmed the trees and settled down three blocks away. The dying whine of its flexion drive clashed in Gavin Doust’s head with the echoes of his wife’s voice. He felt a great surge of resentment because of all the happiness and beauty and brightness and sweetness he could never hope to have; and the clamorous echoes drowned the noise of the surface truck that came swiftly round the corner as he stepped off the sidewalk. “They do have so very much to contend with,” said the High Predictor, compas- sionately. “It does seem such a shame that their multitu- dinous afflictions debar them 102 from attaining the higher levels of abstract thought and creative activity. Look at that unfortunate man, now. What has he done to deserve such a fate?” For the fraction of a second his mind engaged with that of the Acolyte, and they re- treated into the timelessness of pure contemplation. Only it was not, to the Acolyte, as pure as it ought to have been. There were disturbing over- tones. The High Predictor’s thoughts were blurred by emotion. Affection, of all things! The older being became aware of the younger’s in- stinctive revulsion. Why waste time on a tenth-level race? the Acolyte was soundlessly asking. At once their shared mind flooded with the re- sponse to the situation. Fac- ° tors were marshalled, influ- ences considered . . . and yet the contemplation was still not depersonalised. It was as though the voice of the High Predictor went on speaking affectionately, persuasively. ““So very much to contend » with .. . How can one not feel sorry for them? Some O¢ comicibooks.conn -