Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 72 — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

SO LOVELY, SO LOST be fine. I remember shaking Paul’s hand and saying no, I couldn’t go to the cast party, I had a headache. I remember stumbling back to my dressing room and wiping grease paint off and saying to the mirror: “Et tu, Pagliacco?’’ I do not remember taking the pneu- matic tube home, or getting into the inertialess lift to our apartment on the ninety-first level. Our apartment was nice. Five rooms with a glass terrace, a half mile above the city. I stood on the terrace looking at the surprise I’d planned for Lisa, the food, the crystal sparkling in the firelight, the wine. My little surprise party. I sat down and slowly opened the wine. Why? Paul was human, that was the answer. He could give Lisa that sense of solidity, of belonging. It’s been twenty years since Emancipation, but humans still think they’re doing androids a favour by marrying them. Even though androids are saving the race from suicide. - It was long after midnight when Lisa came in. She wore 55 a sheer pink evening dress and her hair was soft gold on her shoulders and her beauty was a knife twisting in my throat. ““Ohdarling,” shesaid.‘*You shouldn’t have waited up.” **Where’s Paul?” *“Home.” She _ hesitated. “We're taking out our com- panionate policy in the morn- ing. Would you help him move his things ?”’ “Sure,” I said. “We'll be so happy, the three of us.”’ Her blue eyes were tender. “‘Come to bed, darling.” “T’m not sleepy. Think I’ll go for a walk.” I used to love to walk the city at night, staring morbidly at the hate bars, at the blood- red neons advertising violence and sudden death. I used to congratulate myself for not needing the hate bars, for not being a stinking human. This time was different. I stood in the rain, shiver- ing, looking at the sign, Joe’s Hate House, Knives Only! Kill Like a Man! It exploded in a crimson spatter of fire, now re-forming, showing a dagger in a clenched fist. I stared at that dagger a long commiclookks.com