Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 71 — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

EXPLOITER’S END you have made, we who would be destroyed if we dared return to the tribe, we shall tule this world! You aliens drive a hard bargain, but the dream is worth it!” Prometheus, in a_ bug’s body. The shining strength, and the dark terrible pride. “It is no dream,” Starza said gently. “But perhaps you go about achieving it the wrong way. You still refuse to divulge the spy?” “I am sorry. Good day.” Starza brooded after him. “aes a= fool.--But he’s grasping mankind’s concepts, Jake. I’d give my right eye for a good semanticist! Basic English does it. Self, want, mine, selfish ego-words, the cornerstones of grasping hu- manity. Sure, we’ll raise hell with their esthetic sense, but in the end they’ll thank us.” I sat, worrying about a secret fanatic somewhere in the plant who, in the holy interests of Mars-for-the- Martians, Terminorb-for-the- Terms, might soon plant an atomic warhead in our body WY) shop. I finally said: ‘What are we going to-do ?”’ “Do?” Starza chuckled. “Why, slacken line speeds, lower production standards, fifty per cent. at least. By tomorrow we'll be down to forty jobs an hour. They want loose standards; we’ll give it to them.” “But my cost?” “Obscenity your cost. Look, Jake, no matter how you set an operation up, the Terms manage to work, in some glittering little ritual. They have to create beauty. Their esthetic sense must be fed. They can’t adjust to quick change. Supposing you cut line speeds by ten per cent. They adjust, but it almost kills them. Then drop thirty per cent. Their ritual loses timing, becomes discordant. What happens?” I blinked. ““They go mad.” **And our little Guild sabo- teur will be guilty of a few Term deaths. He’ll have vio- lated a basic Guild tenet. He’ll go home with his tail between his legs. Catch ?”’ conmiclsooks.conn