Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 66 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

THE OLD FIRM his hand and Calshot ob- ligingly placed in it the little sample pile of seeds Jorgen had given him from _ the hoppers. Vaun poked it around in the palm of his hand. *‘Wheat,’’ Calshot said suc- cinctly. “Just plain, ordinary wheat saved from last year’s crop. They went through it with a fine-tooth comb, mak- ing sure no weed seeds had blown in. It’s one hundred per cent. wheat.” “It looks one hundred per cent.,”” Vaun said, specula- tively. His eyes gleamed at Calshot and his plump part- ner groaned. He recognised the old routine. “Well, if you’re onto some- thing, I’m going to catch some shut eye.” “If I’m right, Cal, you’ll be out with me_ tonight, checking up.” Calshot said: ‘“‘Oh, no,” and fortified himself with more beer. But however much the two might joke among themselves, they knew well enough that the problem on this planet was tough, and 21 was deadly serious to the inhabitants. If the weed sprouted again this season, then the people would starve. Galactic Union didn’t fool when they threatened to cut off credit. And if that hap- pened, then Mizrab IV might as well put up the shutters. Rahming was coming back, and they had to have results to show him. Calshot couldn’t see what was going to happen next; but he was prepared to go along with Vaun—all the way. That brilliant exponent of scientific lunacy, as Calshot inelegantly phrased it, was busy pouring the wheat seeds through a hopper—rigged from an opened can—into the convoluted guts of ‘his machine. Calshot recognised the cathode ray screen, and odds and ends of components; but what it all was he hadn’t a clue. Vaun was making little squawking noises, reminding Calshot of a hen pecking over those seeds, and appeared to have six arms, all flying in and out of the electronic nightmare comicloooks.conm