Authentic Science Fiction Monthly, No. 67 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

THE MAN IN BETWEEN how, I had lost the taste and desire for the stuff. I glared at the old man. “Listen, I didn’t ask you to talk to me, and I can do without your preaching. And you’re wrong about one thing. I was gypped - out of that claim. Robbed blind.” *‘That’s what you say.” “’m no liar,’’ I snapped. “TI found it, marked it, and came in with the samples for assay. They read high and I knew that I’d hit the jackpot. So what happens? By the time I get my ship cleared and find the place again I’ve been jumped. A_ different marker, and a resident pros- pector with a couple of goons to stop arguments. I came back and found that my claim application had been altered in one of the co- ordinates. I argued and they threw me out. Robbed? You tell me?” _ “You could have made a mistake,” he suggested. “*“Those orbits are pretty erratic, and it wouldn’t be hard to plot a wrong set of co-ordinates.” “Maybe.” I gulped down some of the swill I’d bought and paid for. ““But I’ve been in the Belt for five years now and I know my _ business. The claim office is working strictly for Consolidated, and a lone prospector doesn’t stand a chance.” He didn’t say anything and his silence annoyed me. “You think I’m talking hot air? Listen. How many lone prospectors have hit it rich during the past two years? How many big claims have been registered by Consoli- dated? You trust the claims office? Then how is it that the recorder lives like a king on an income which wouldn’t keep him in cigarettes? Get wise, Harry. The Belt’s rotten with graft.” . A juke box tore the air with a blare of noise just as he opened his mouth to say something and everyone turned to stare towards the stage. Carmodine’s imported stripper, a fifty-year artificial blonde, danced forward, blew a few kisses, threw off a few commiclooolkks.com