Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 42 — page 83: what you’re looking at

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

A finite mind in an_ infinite universe Aristotle | by JOHN CHRISTOPHER Jones, the slave, came into the room warily, his eyes ‘ rovingly alert for booby traps. He bowed low towards the tapestried couch. ““Null-A”’ he said, formally. “Prince John, your royal father desires your presence at the hunt.” Prince John Reilly got up slowly and walked across the room to where Jones stood, bowed and waiting. He kicked him, but only twice and without any rea] enthusiasm. He said: “Get my suit.” He stood looking out over the balcony of his room into the central courtyard. Di- rectly below his window were the livestock enclosures, a huddle of cows and sheep and sorry-looking hens peck- ing in the hot dust. Beyond them, in the centre of the courtyard, squatted the low, square building that had so lately been his home. The women’s quarters. As _ he watched he saw the woman who had been his mother 82 come out of the main door and scurry across towards the sheepfold. She looked up towards his window but dropped her head as he con- tinued to gaze impassively outwards. He let his eyes rest on the jutting harshness of architecture that sur- rounded him. Had the word held any meaning for him he might have thought it ugly. As it was he was content to appraise the functional strength of the palace’s design. Jones held the heavy tank suit up for him and he stepped into it and permitted himself to be zipped up to the open vizor. As he had done many times before in the past two days, he walked stiffly over to the long wall mirror and ex- amined himself with satisfac- tion. Then, cuffing the slave, Jones, out of his way, he walked out of the room and took the lift to the basement. The tanks of the Princes, as was customary, were drawn up in a defensive ring about comiclbooks.conrn