Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 66 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

THE OLD FIRM *‘Mutations ?”’ “Hmm. Hardly likely. But it’s a thought. Let’s dig out our sources on plant life and find out where this weed originated. That might give us a lead.” The old firm of Vaun and Calshot consulted their ad- visers—a comprehensive micro-tape Galactic encyclo- pzedia—and eventually agreed to disagree on the home planet of the blue weed. Through the viewport they could see the long orderly rows of fields, all neatly ploughed, with shin- ing tractors marching sedately up and down, sowing seeds to lie in the stiff earth until the month-long spring should stir them to life. , ‘‘Fancy getting three springs a year,’ Calshot said rumina- tively. ““My thoughts would be turning frequently, I’m afraid.” “Your sex life is deplorable as it is,’ Vaun grinned. “Out here you’d be prematurely old. And, remember your paunch.” 17 *“‘At least I can comb my hair without a search-party,” Calshot puffed between spurts of smoke. “‘And I still say this blue weed comes from Alde- baran XI.” ““Nonsense. Comes from Prestonwell. Typical culture.” Impassé. And there the matter rested for a while. Until, later on, after quite a few beers and orange squashes, the other spaceship came down in a falcon swoop out of the sun. Radar had it spotted and tracked it down, computing it to be following a path that terminated on the same area of planet occupied by Vaun and Calshot’s ship. The old firm reacted fast. Vaun had > his motors running and the ship lifting on stilts of power, up and away from the threat- ened spot. Their radar tracked the oncoming ship. The screen showed a blip, a dot, a cigar- shape, a flaring monster that fanned down, squatted on its haunches, and then raced away upwards out of the atmosphere. Minutes later the comiclooks.conm