Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 53 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION record of Stragaski’s Concerto in A minor. Having no inten- tion of getting myself humili- ated by a New Man’s toler- ance and condescension, I took the record and put it on my pocket ’corder for a trial spin. At that the other customer, the blonde, got a gleam in her eye. “Say, you aren’t a Team- ster, are you?” I nodded. I was busy listening to Stragaski. The girl moved away from the counter and looked at me in wonder and admiration, the wonder of a barbarian - confronted with something new. Or something very old. She had recognised the pocket *corder as one of the Team- ster models. They are no longer manufactured. It gave my identity as a Teamster away, as a result of which the blonde forgot to condescend and began to look up to me as a legendary hero, a demi- god almost. She squinted her eyes and said: “Say, haven’t I seen you somewhere? At the Palace?” “Not that I know of.” There are many good-looking blondes at the Palace. At that, she did look familiar. She wouldn’t let go, she had found a new toy. “I’m sure I have seen you. You live there, don’t you?” “*Yes.”’ I was actually re- searcher-in-chief to her High- ness, the Dianotrix—the Em- press of the World, as she would have been called once. “Well, maybe you haven’t noticed me. I only arrived two weeks ago. But I certainly noticed you; you had your uniform on. You’re Teamster Alcott. My name is Celeste.” “How do you do.” “I beg your pardon, sir.” The manager had suddenly become deferential, in fact too differentially so. “Will you accept this record as a gift?” That riled me again. These condescending barbarians. Where would they be without us? I'll admit their superior- ity in their line; that’s why we commicloooks.comn