Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 71 — page 49: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION to return forty feet. Then sixty. He’s in the hole.” Harvey looked at his shoes. John Barry, the trim super- intendent, came puffing down the line, his jowled face anxious about direct labour cost, the way every good super should be. “Anything wrong, Jake?” **He can’t cut it,” I said. Barry frowned up through the airlock at the Term. Those antenne now shone the soft sad purple of despair. -We walked past the body jigs. The air was a haze of blue smoke, punctuated with yellow splashes of flame from the electronic welding guns. Terms scuttled like gigantic spiders over the great silver hulis, their antenne glowing in a pattern of swift bright harmony, right on standard, good cost. Harvey’s face was rapt as he watched them. I said harshly: “Give me your third Pro- duction Axiom.” Harvey’s shoulders squared. He said stiffly: “Beauty is functional. The quintessence 48 of grace is the clean, soaring beauty of a spaceship’s hull——” : ““Extrapolate, Harvey.”’ His lips were tight. ““What I see is ugly. Terms must be taught individuality. What I see is a fascinating, deadly beauty—deadly because it’s useless. We must sublimate it, grind it down, hammer it out into a useful pattern. Waste | motion is asin...” | “Excellent.” We turned into the adminis- tration lift, leaving the iron roar behind us, and on the way up Harvey didn’t say a word. I listened for the tinkle of shattering ideals, and said, patiently: ““You’re here to build spaceships. To build them better and cheaper than Consolidated or Solar. Hell, we've even set up a village for the Terms! Electricity, plumbing, luxuries they wouldn’t normally enjoy for the next million years——”’ “Will they fire him?” Har- vey’s voice was flat. My temper was shredding. ‘“‘Four-day layoff. His third - conmiclsooks.com