Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 71 — page 51: what you’re looking at

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

civilizations. Sure, the Terms have a union. They’re paid at _ standard galactic rates for spacecraft assembly. But you make them live in that village. It costs to run that village. You give it to them with one hand and take it back with the other. All the time you’re holding out the promise of racial advancement, individu- ality ; some day the Terms will reach the stars. Nuts!” “*That’s Guild propaganda,” I said softly. “The Guild is just a bogey you created to keep the Intersolar Spacecrafters’ Union in line. There’s a Venusport liner due in next week. When it leaves I'll be on it!” I played Dutch Uncle. I told him he wasn’t used to Terminorb’s one-and-a-half gravs, that this was just a hangover from the three to five oxygen ratio he wasn’t used to. But he said no. Finally, I shrugged, scribbled something on an AVO and handed it to him, “All right, Harvey,” I said mildly. “Take 00 AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION this down to Carmody, in Psych. He'll give you a clearance.” Harvey’s face went white. “Since when do you go to Psych for a clearance ?”’ I pressed a stud under the desk and two Analysts came in. I told them what to do and Harvey screamed; he fought and bit and clawed, he mouthed unutterable things about what we were doing to the Terms until I chopped him mercifully behind the ear. ‘Poor devil,”’ panted one of the Analysts. ‘““Obviously in- sufficient indoctrination, sir. Would you mind if I spent an hour in Psych for re- orientation? He—he upset me.” My eyes stung with pride: Sam had loyalty plus. “Sure thing, Sam. You’d better go, too, Barney. He said some pretty ugly things.” They dragged Harvey out and I went over to the visicom, punched a button. I was trembling with an icy rage as Carmody’s lean hawk face swam into view. “Hello, Jake,” Comichooksscoln