Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 66 — page 25: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION kept his hand ready on his flashlamp and, with his gun in the other fist, went up the ladder. He might be plump; but he wasn’t as fat as the inhabitants of this world—or as fat as Jorgen. The Mayor started on down the treads, his feet elephantine, creating a careless racket. He wasn’t frightened of them, not with a gun in his fist. Coming down like that, he ran straight into Calshot. Calshot lifted his torch and slashed the man across the head with his gun. He shone the light onto the falling body. Jorgen pitched off the ladder, went headlong downwards. Then Calshot let out a yell of annoyed frustration. From below, Vaun’s voice came up in a startled shout, abruptly cut off as Jorgen’s gross bulk smashed into him. Both men crashed to the concrete floor. All the wind was knocked out of Vaun. By the time he had picked himself up, Jorgen’s dumpy silhouette was cutting off the 24 light from the doorway— then the Mayor had vanished. “You're a brilliant speci- men, Brains!’’ Calshot said angrily. “Why didn’t you grab him?” Vaun panted. “Grab him! You dolt! Why didn’t you knock him out instead of giving him a love tap?” “That would have paralysed any normal man,” Calshot said. ““‘He must have armour plate round his head.” “Well, come on. Let’s get after him.” Vaunstooped down, scraped up something from the floor and then ran out after Calshot. He stuffed the handful of seeds from Jorgen’s sack into his pocket as he went through the door. He was smiling. He had been vindicated. Now it remained to catch Jorgen be- fore he got word to his em- ployers and they reacted. And Vaun had a shrewd sus- picion just who those em- ployers were. Vaun and Calshot, Galactic Consultants, had done it again. This time, legitimately, which comiclbooks.corn