Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 41 — page 88: what you’re looking at

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

THE BOOGIE MATRIX The voice of the radio announcer sounded through the metal grille of the inter- com unit—and a few seconds later Matrix 24 was under way. It was typical twenty- _ first century music—weirdly modulating atonal chords and discords, devoid of melody or form, interwoven with phan- toms of rhythm and implied rhythm that failed to establish any kind of metre or time. Intellectually it was absorbing —like a conundrum or a problem in higher mathema- tics, but emotionally and esthetically, it was sterile and unmoving. For ten minutes the tones and half-tones meandered meaninglessly ; then, suddenly, there was a short break, followed by a sound never _ before broadcast on any radio or video channel in the tech- nocrat world—the sound of chords being struck on a piano—a pre-Inferno piano. Then came the rhythmic lift of eight beat boogie pounding out to the whole world on the Rainbow Network. Soliki listened intently for half a minute, then said: “You see, Commander Kratt 87 -—they can’t cut the trans- mission, because my men have taken over the transmitters.” Kratt smiled triumphantly. “On the contrary, Soliki, your men are all either dead or under arrest. The trans- mission continues on my orders.” “Why?” demanded the other. “Wait and see.” At that moment the boogie faded into silence. There was a pause—an uneasy silence that quivered eleetrically in the room—and then the an- nouncer’s voice said: “We apologise for a short break in transmission, which was due to the unauthorised insertion of pre-Inferno music into Matrix 24. Bax Borden, the composer, is already under arrest. A substitute pro- gramme will be broadcast in approximately one minute.” Kratt stroked his chin thoughtfully, looking from Soliki, who was smiling iron- ically, to the girl, who looked bewildered, to Major Rondo. The latter raised an eyebrow enquiringly, and stood up, moving casually away from his superior officer. connicloooks«comn