Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 66 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

THE OLD FIRM his nose. Unexpectedly, he asked: “How much mining do you carry on here, Mister Jorgen?” “Mining? None, or prac- tically none. We are an agri- cultural world. Our wealth lies in the soil, not the rocks.” “Hmm.” Vaun nodded to Calshot and the two partners walked a little distance away. “You onto something, Brains?” “Maybe. Look, Cal. There’s been a pattern to this whole thing, all kidding aside. The purple gas. The guy who was in .the airlock. This last bombing attack. All that adds © up to one thing.” ‘““Yeah. Big money. Power. We'd better get out of this before it’s too late...” ““Oh, talk sense, Cal!” Vaun said impatiently. ““Why should anyone want to do this to us, if it wasn’t because we might solve this problem here? Re- member, three other agencies were frightened off before they'd started. The others did the obvious things. They rooted out the blue weeds when they appeared. Insti- tuted guards. Checked per- sonnel working in the fields. Floodlit some fields, too. But they overlooked one thing, assuming, that is, that they were shot at and gassed at.” ‘This is a who-dunit, eh?” Calshot groaned. “I didn’t get any readings on that ship; too fast.” “ve got an idea.” Calshot grinned when Vaun said that. The old firm thrived on Vaun’s ideas. ““We just have to check with Presonwell about the weed——_” “With Aldebaran XI.” “Oh, look here, Cal. It’s obviously Prestonwell.”’ Vaun spluttered in his eagerness, his face paling with his earnest- ness. Calshot puffed his pipe and stuck his lower lip out. *Aldebaran XI.” “‘Well, wherever it comes from,” Vaun exploded, “I can rig this doohickey with- out worrying. You get per- mission from Jorgen to go into any section without prior comiclooks.conn