Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 71 — page 64: what you’re looking at

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

of a tearing sense of loss. And I wanted to cry. Six o’clock was zero hour. Six o’clock came, and the factory held its collective ‘breath while nothing hap- pened. / At six thirty Starza made a long speech over the public address. About the selfless spirit of man, helping the Terms reach the stars, about - how we would never admit defeat, and about how, after tonight, the Term festival would be discontinued. The Terms had adopted mankind’s culture; they had no further need of their effete native customs. At seven, Fern and I were - walking past Administration towards the lighted square- - mile enclosure of the Term village. Fern had never seen a festival. : “A throwback,” I said, “to _ their old tribal days. Their _ harvest, when they pay tribute to the Queen-Mother and pray for good crops and work well done. It’s their yearly S _ substitute for stammverstand. = 63 EXPLOITER’S END ‘ Back in the native villages, whenever a Term’s in trouble, he goes to the council hut and the others join him in a ~ silent, group telepathy. But we ve just about weaned them, angel! They'll be individuals soon.” We walked down the de- serted row of Term huts, past the council hall, to the great stone amphitheatre, and sat with the other execs. Fern was very gay and cheerful, but I kept thinking about my axioms, trying to bring them back to life. I felt dead, all dead inside. Starza came up, frowning, and I congratulated him. “It’s too pat, Jake, it worries me. Where's Car- mody ?” = “Setting up those semantic reaction tests you gave him,” Fern said. 7 “But I never gave him———”” Abruptly the lights snuffed out. At one end of the arena loomed a twelve-foot statue of a bloated Term, limned ina soft pale glow. The Queen- Mother. conmiclnoolkSseonn