Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 66 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION red buttons and twiddled dials until the sonorous beat of a giant orchestra built up with the customer’s progress through the door plastic. “Vaun and Calshot, Galactic Consultants,” played in major and minor key, hymned from the lips of a countless host, struck echoes from _ instru- ments played by Olympian gods. *“Re-recording that quartet was a smart move,” Vaun chuckled complacently, one hand resting affectionately on the tape recorder. “It sounds like the home for strayed cats,’ Calshot said biliously. ““And stop bouncing. Here he comes.” The man who at last fought his way through the door seemed poor recompense for ali the effort so far spent on his behalf. He was panting. His hair and clothes appeared to have been pressed hard against his spare body and the brief- case he sheltered under one arm had a freshly ripped-off handle dangling by a thread. 8 “That door of yours needs some attention,”” he remarked mildly. “Could feel pressure where the stator field hadn’t quite opened the plastic enough. Anyway, didn’t that type go out of fashion about twenty years ago?” “Quite so, sir.’ Calshot murmured smoothly. He stabbed a button and a chair rose from the floor. “‘Please sit down. You wish to consult 9 “Of course.”’. The little man did not sit down. Vaun moved away from Calshot so that the three men were no longer in a line. There was a strongly marked crease between his eyes. ““We are specialists in re- organising planetary ecology, economics, agroromics, poli- tics and all types of industrial commitments,” Vaun said. His face held now nothing but a dedicated look that was standard procedure for any scientist. Calshot made rude remarks about his partner’s devotion to science, ribbing him unmercifully; but the connicloooks.comn