Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 71 — page 63: what you’re looking at

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

“AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION gained? To return to our tribe? To be destroyed?’ Starza’s calm gaze caressed each face, probing. “You see? Stalemate. Whoever you are, you’ re bluffing. Tomorrow our conveyor speeds return to normal. You'll do nothing. You may try to agitate the Terms, but they’re satis- fied ——_”” One of the superintendents cleared his throat. ““Look,”’ he said unsteadily, “sometimes you can’t afford to call a bluff.” Starza said, pleasantly: “Any resignations will be accepted right now. You can wait safely in the Term village until next week’s freighter arrives. No repercussions, I promise.” The lie was blatant. Car- mody stood by the door, his - smile strained. It was all too obvious what would happen to any resignees. “None?” Starza’s brows rose. “I’m proud of you. That’s it, gentlemen.” The next day was a frenetic nightmare. My cost dropped, 62 but it didn’t matter. That was one day when the best com- pany man became a clock- watcher. Line foremen, department heads, cracked under the strain, and were summarily removed to Psych. Carmody and staff worked overtime. I toiled feverishly over operation schedules, the crazily fluctuating cost charts. My headache was gone, but I still couldn’t remember my axioms! I felt guilty over not going to Psych, but there just wasn’t the time. Hell, Z’d never needed in- doctrination. I was an Amal- gamated man through and through. Finally, I grabbed an engineering manual, leafed angrily through it—and sat there, empty and shaking. I’d gone insane. The words were gibberish. Oh, I could read them all right, but they didn’t make sense. What a filthy trick. Semantic block, Starza would call it. I kept staring at the meaningless words, conscious comichooksscon) =