Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 53 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

WITHOUT LOVE gaski was the last set of records I bought, some five or six years ago. I don’t go for the intra-tonal music that the New Men find so fashionable, and so I was a little doubtful whether the record would be in stock. The clerk at the desk said he’d take a look and turned to the automatic file. While he was searching, another cus- tomer came in, a girl, beauti- fully built, like all the New Men. Silver-blonde hair an understatement in colour that matched the superb under- statement of her curves. If I hadn’t been such an old man... But wait a minute. I was old, yes, my sixty to her twenty. The difference lay in years but not in vitality. I was in the middle of my life-span, having all reasons to expect to live another seventy years more, thanks to my friend, Kornhoffer, the great radio- geneticist. I had been one of the few Old Men to whom he had deigned to give his gift of long life. Sometimes I won- dered whether it was really a 5 gift, or whether it was a curse. Curse or gift, I'd use it to show the New Men... The clerk informed me that they had the record in stock and punched the button be- side the file. The record popped up through a slot in the counter, a standard 18 disc, price twenty-five penko. Or was it? ““Listen,’’ I said, “‘is that a twenty-five penko record?” “Yes,” said the clerk, “that is a twenty-five penko record.” The blonde girl smiled. I looked at the pale blue disc. It seemed thinner than usual and the rills were more widely spaced. *“Are you sure?”’ “*He is sure.”” The manager had come up, a New Man. Even as he spoke a note of condescension crept into his tone; he had recognised me as one of the Old Men. The clerk, an Old Man himself, faded out of the picture. Bluntly, I said: ““Well, he’s wrong.” ! And then the record sud- denly warped where my fin- conmmicloooks.conn