Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 56 — page 109: what you’re looking at

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

i AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION bite the wheel off a car or something. Anyway, his back was broken and his ribs pretty well crushed. I picked him up—it wasn’t easy, the beast weighed almost as much as aman—and carried him up to the lab. Even then he wasn’t grateful and managed to take a bit out of the lobe of my ear on the way. Slats was in and I dumped Brutus on the bench. “It’s Brutus,’ I said. “Clarkson’s dog. Can you do anything for him?” Slats puttered around a while then shook his head. “Nothing I can do.” “Then maybe I’d better call the vet.” I moved towards the door and was almost outside the lab when Slats called to me. He seemed excited, and it wasn’t until I’d shut the door that he told me what was on his mind. “Murphy! You remember me telling you about our problem? The one about not being able to build a unit small enough to control the 108 electronic equipment in this building ?”’ . I nodded. I remembered well enough, though our talk had happened weeks ago. I knew, too, that Slats and his assistants had been rigging the place up with all manner of devices designed to do my work. It had worried me for a while, but when I’d noticed that they didn’t want Clark- son to catch onto what they were doing, I’d calmed down. “I remember. What of it ?”’ “You suggesting using a man’s brain. That is im- possible, of course; we can’t do that.’’ There was pure regret in his voice. “But supposing we try that of a dog?” He looked down at the helpless animal. “‘Is Clarkson in?” **“No.”’ I knew that because I’d seen him go out. ‘*“Good.”’ Slats rubbed his hands. “‘Look. We’ve chloro- form in here; we use it for the rabbits, and I can put the animal out of its misery. The head could be put in the conmicloooks.conm : 5 | “< 7 ‘