Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 54 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

THE LESSER BREED “The damned little fool! Why didn’t she tell me? Why?’ His voice was a strained hiss in his throat. “You're not always an easy man to talk to, Mayo,” said Admans. “I must go to her—now.” The liaison officer’s teeth were bared, his face a twisted mask of anguish. He slowly replaced the glass on the table. Admans laid a restraining hand on his arm. ““No—wait! I haven’t told her what the radiograph showed. The . . . child will have to be removed, of course, but I think she will be O.K. But I don’t want her disturbed —a woman in her condition might do anything. Promise me you won’t mention this to her,”’ Mayo rose to his feet, with a dreadful sobriety. “‘A short life and a gay one,” he said. Admans watched as _ he walked out of the ward room, like a man carrying a heavy burden. The intercom system burst into sudden life. “Admin office calling Doctor 13 Admans . . . Admin office call- ing Doctor Admans—please report immediately.” Admans finished his drink swiftly and walked out of the ward room. How like Tutin— always unavailable himself, he had no compunction about calling on another member of the staff, whether on or off duty. He opened the door of the admin office. “Ah, come in, Admans,”’ said Tutin. The false joviality sickened the medic. “Johnson here has a few ideas that may interest > you. Admans nodded to the third occupant of the office, his resentment increasing. Pete Johnson was the elected representative of the colonists who sat in on all staff con- ferences of a general nature. A six foot redhead of around thirty-five, whose permanent dress was shirt sleeves and faded blue denim trousers. Johnson had been a farmer back on Earth—not a good one, Admans suspected— otherwise he would not have volunteered for the Astra- venturer project. Johnson was comiclooks.conn