Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 43 — page 49: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION cosh came down across his forehead and scalp. It was like a blinding light, that left only darkness when it went away. “All right. They’ve got him. Gods! If only we had their numbers.” “Look! Both the immortals are riding with him.” “And one sensitive, and another sensitive driving. They have a high opinion of Michel, evidently.” **Higher than deserved. But Prentiss must-have put up a hell of a fight. The guy who went in is as stiff as a board.”’ “Well, that leaves you a reasonably easy job. - Here comes Marcia now.”’ An ugly, battered, very ordinary family saloon, about fourteen or fifteen years old, pulled up beside them, a thin woman, with wire-rimmed glasses and a school-marmish hair-do, at the wheel. Ahead, the Jag turned out of the street. “Good luck, Clairmont,” said Guiscard, getting in. 48 Before the other could reply, Marcia had taken her foot off the clutch and the car was away. He watched them go, grinning. She was into top gear by the time she pulled around the corner, and there- after she and Guiscard would follow the baffle put up by the passengers in the other car, like bees following honey. He sighed and turned around, gauging the quality of the opposition sensitives walk- ing casually away. They were all young and untrained— people whom the opposition considered expendable—but they nonetheless held the potentialities of menace. He estimated their resistance swiftly, decided he could cope with them, and flicked bolts of blinding mental lightning at their retreating minds. They stiffened into automata, walking like machines, till their paralysed conscious- nesses should awaken into fresh awareness. Then he made his unhurried way along the Victorian fronts of the houses, feeling gently coniicloooks.conm