Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 72 — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

SO LOVELY, SO LOST “And within a week the crime rate would be triple.” Latham’s voice was grim. “A man’s life wouldn’t be safe in broad daylight. People need emotional catharsis, the sight of blood. It’s why hate bars are legal. It’s why the council pours a million credits a month into our show, hoping to wean the populace, to educate them. But humans don’t care. Why should they? Why spend a lifetime learning to write music when an android child can make you weep with a whistled tune?’ His smile was infinitely bitter. *‘Man built better than him- self. Now he’s sorry, but it’s too late. He needs the an- droids, the beauty they can give him, and he’s ashamed to admit it. Here he meets him- self on even terms. Our show needs some of this, Midge.” *“No,” I whispered. ‘Til resign first.” “Will you?’ His twisted smile. ““You’re not a free agent, mister. The show must go on.” Five little words, quietly spoken. But my head snapped erect. Those five words were a trumpet blast, a joyous shout that stiffened the spine, that made you glad to be an Actor, proud of your heritage. *‘Damn you,”’ I said. ““Midge White, XQ9,” he said sardonically. ““X: white, Caucasian type. Q: special training from the creche, type superior. 9: Actor, the very best. You’re good, Midge. You’ve got a baritone like an organ. Onstage you’re passion and fire and storm. You can tear the heart out of an audience with a smile. You’ve got reflexes no human ever had, with twice the number of relay-nodes, heavier nerve fibres, instantaneous reaction time. You’re the penultimate. You're theatre. And you’re letting your audience down.”’ His voice was raw, a plead- ing whisper. “I’m only a director. You’re the empathy kid, you know what the audience really needs. Give it to them.” ““Sure!’’ I was shaking with a cold sick fury. ““A few dead ‘androids come curtain time! 57 We can vote now; have you heard? If you prick us, do we not bleed——” “Save it,’ he said wearily. comiclooks.corn