Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 41 — page 72: what you’re looking at

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

THE BOOGIE MATRIX ern suburbs of Mantan. The velocity lanes were busy with traffic—jet cars flashing by, raised about a foot from the smooth metallic surface of the road by magnetic repellers so that they were effectively air- borne. The inner lanes carried the high-speed vehicles con- forming to the minimum speed limit of 120 miles per hour, but the majority were whistling past at something approach- ing 200. The outer lanes carried the slower traffic. In the nearest lane, about fifty yards behind her, Zora noticed an elegant, shining jet car idling slowly along, but draw- ing nearer. She quickened her pace, some instinct warning her of danger. There were no side-turnings at this section of the block, and no stores where one could mix with the crowd. A few pedestrians were about, intent on their own affairs. The car overtook her, and stopped smoothly about five yards ahead. The side door slid open, and two hulking, uniformed men stepped out, turning back towards her. Zora halted, momentarily panic-stricken, but there was nothing she could do. 71 The men stood on either side of her. “You Zora Varney ?”’ one enquired. ““No,”’ she lied instinctively. *“*That’s not my name.” “Okay. We'll check on that at Headquarters. Come on.” They took her arms and forced her towards the waiting car. Some of the passers-by saw what was happening, but they didn’t look for long. They kept their eyes fixed ahead, knowing that it wasn’t healthy to be too curious about the activities of the Secs. Someone has slipped up—they thought. Poor girl. Still, it must be her own fault. Everyone knows ~ the law, and everyone mnOWG about the Secs. But Zora, sandwiched tightly between the two police officers in the jet car, was not feeling sorry for herself. This was a practical situation, and it needed practical thought, not useless emotion. She was glad of one thing—the synap- sin. At least they couldn’t make her talk for forty-eight hours, and by that time the Reversionist revolution would be over. Karl Soliki would set her free. connicloookks.Ccomhn