Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 66 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION friend when he comes back.” They left the window and stood in the centre of the room, both wearing polite, expectant smiles of good ser- vice. They had their hands in their pockets, which might have been construed as bad manners by any strict business tycoon, and those hands seemed to make quite ab- normally large bulges against the material. They faced the _ plastic doorway, waiting. They waited some time. Eventually Vaun said :“‘He’s not coming back. He thinks he’s dished us and has hopped it to tell his chief.” Vaun had a habit of splashing when he spoke. His sandy hair was now scattered so untidily over his head that there was no disguising at all the pinkness of his bald patch. Calshot took out his filthy pipe, spilling dottle down his synthisilk waistcoat. He blinked. His lower lip jutted. “We might as well go out of ‘business right away. There’s no future in it for us at all; 10 and there may not be a future in life, either, if we run into our late unlamented friend again.” : “You’re too much of a pessimist, Cal,’’ Vaun said. Each time he said that it was with the shock of a fresh discovery. He didn’t believe it, except now and then. The door chimed at that instant, making Calshot spill tobacco. They ran the tape again and watched the unhealthy pink flood the plastic. The multi- plied quartet went through their song and dance routine and the customer walked in. Vaun and Calshot, Galactic Consultants, relaxed. They took their hands from their pockets. They produced a chair from the floor. They smiled. They almost fawned. The customer was im- mensely fat. His legs were as thick as they were long, and he wheezed and groaned in a fashion that completely drowned out Calshot’s bub- bling efforts with his pipe. The customer was an alien, with an alien’s disadvantages conmicloooks.comn