Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 51 — page 39: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION here, but in some bleak way she was detached: she won- dered how long it would take to get over that feeling of wanting to reach out and touch, take hold, feel herself in contact with reality. Touch... As she turned at the top of the steps to watch Warren disappearing into the distance, she put her new, artificial fingers against the marble pillar. They were the most perfect, useful, effi- cient fingers that Grey in- genuity could devise. They were far more sensitive than ordinary human fingers. Their responsiveness was immediate, and a thousand little fibres communicated the most detailed messages to the mind. Yet there was some- thing lacking. Instinctively Judith turned her face up to the sun—and the surface cells told her that it was warm; and she did not blink, and was conscious of no deep, animal satisfaction. If she had been capable of a sigh, she would have sighed. She turned and went inside, her eyes adjusting at once to the cool, grey in- terior. Much cooler, said the surface cells, and an auto- matic adjustment was made to her body temperature con- trol. An even, unwearying voice was echoing down the corri- dor as she went towards her Group Instructor’s office. She did not recognise the voice, for here all voices were the same, but the sentiments and the force with which they were expressed identified the speaker. Judith stood a few yards away, all her moving parts relaxed, until the exaltation should have died down. Her Instructor was stand- ing by his door. Facing him, Professor Alaric Quentin finished a fine peroration. “, . and I think that the sooner you recommend my trip to Mars, the better. Obviously the possibilities of linked constructive thought are infinite. As you will know, I have done a great comiclooks.corn