ComicBooks.com Register / Loginit's free!

Pulp Fiction, 1954 · page 105 of 162

Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 46 — page 105: what you’re looking at

📖 Open the full issue in the page-flip reader →
Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 46 — page 105: Pulp Fiction, 1954

A restored page from Pulp Fiction, 1954. Page through the whole issue in the reader above.

📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)

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

When the back of the mind controls the front, there may be trouble. PSYCHIC TWIN by DAN MORGAN It had been realised for over half a century that the day of the lone experimenter was past, but it was not until a syndicate of far seeing financiers founded Research Incorporated that the new era of science truly dawned. The stock in trade of the organisation was ... Brains. On the fifty floors of the R.I. building, five hundred of the world’s top scientists in all major fields worked on research problems sub- mitted by governments and commercial concerns prepared to pay big money for their solution. Medical Tech jabbed a hypo into Bridger’s arm. He managed to pump in most of the charge before the needle snapped. Bridger’s fingers held their maniacal grip for a few more seconds, and then along with the rest of his body, they relaxed into use- lessness. Colson pushed the limp figure of the little physicist to one side and struggled un- steadily to his feet. He fingered the livid marks on his throat gingerly. Six foot three and heavily built, he looked down at the puny body of his late attacker. The usual good- humoured expression on his broad, Irish face was missing. In its place was something like fear. (Gregor Segura: Scientific Development in the Twentieth Century). ‘Thanks, friend,”’ he said to the medic. “Believe it or not— that little jerk would have killed me. There was nothing I could do that would stop him —he didn’t seem to feel a thing.” : The Medic bent down an slung Bridger over his shoul- der in a practised lift. “That’s my job—keeping people alive,” he said in a flat voice. He waiked with his burden out of the ground floor canteen of Research Incorporated. “All right, you people!” shouted Glassberg, the Super- visor, Officiously. ““The show is over. Let’s get back to work, shall we?’ The mixed groups of research and maintenance personnel began to dwindle 104 conmcloooks.comnn