Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 52 — page 92: what you’re looking at

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

CLEANSING FIRES shinned rapidly down the ladder. Munson heard the roar of the crowd as they saw the apparition in the shining Plaston suit walking on thin air. He struggled feebly as he realised what the Agent in- tended to do. ““Leave me—you interfering fool!” he screamed. “You don’t understand!’ Rodell delivered a _ short jab to the bearded jaw and the protests ceased. Slinging the smouldering body over his shoulders heclimbed slowly back up the ladder. Once aboard the ship he placed his burden on a couch. Rushing to the controls, he flung the scout at maximum accelera- tion out of the Manyhian atmosphere. MUNSON RETURNED TO consciousness. He stifled a screamas the searing pain of his charred legs burst in on him. Rodell was talking into the sub-etheric communicator. “ . . pulled him out just in time. In bad shape, but I think he can be patched up O.K. . . . Yes—the whole works. A heavenly assump- tion in front of about five 91 thousand of them. The whole plan worked like clockwork. It had to, the poor devil was so sincere. I shot the Khuru full of the virus you suggested and he was howling for the miracle man within a few hours. Munson wouldn’t play, of course, so they decided to give him the Joan of Arc treatment. “We can safely leave the Manyhians to their own de- vices for the next few hundred years, maybe longer. Their old mystico-religious sym- bols can never stand against this kind of stuff. I predict a spiritual religion based on the democratic teachings of Mun- son within the next few years ... Sure, I know it’s a good method of cutting down the number of Agents re- quired—but what are you going to do when you run out of schizoids with Messiah complexes ?” Munson screamed—long and horribly. Rodell jumped from the pilot seat. His wolf face bore a strangely compassionate ex- pression as he thrust the hypodermic into the quivering flesh. of the madman. “Sorry, son. I didn’t know you were listening...” comicloooks.conm