Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 72 — page 59: what you’re looking at

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

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION “So twenty years ago you got emancipated, so what? The council still reserves the right to manufacture special androids for emergency. Humanoid types to test new antibiotics. Initial landing crews for unexplored planets. Guinea pigs——”’ “Slaves,” I said stiffly. “Class Nines are different; we've got free will.” ““Really?” His smile grew into a smirk. “The show must——”’ “Don’t!” I was shaking. “Then think of something. Stick around, absorb some atmosphere.” He clapped me on the shoulder. ““We’re count- ing on you, Midge. Good night.” I sat, drenched in hate, staring after him, at the greedy faces around me, the taut, hungry smiles. The par- ticipants section was still as death. Nobody moved. Those figures at the bar sat rigid, hands on their knives, waiting. I stood up. I was trembling. I walked through the gloom towards the crimson railing that ended the spectator’s area. There was a soft col- 58 lective sigh behind me as I vaulted over the rail. At the bar, no one moved. It was very still and there was only the crunch of my feet in the sawdust. I carefully chose a seat at the far end of the bar as the bartender came up, smiling. “Suicide, huh, pal? No weapon ?”’ “Wine,” I said. He brought wine. Three stools away a little man in a brown business tunic turned his head. “On the house,” the bar- tender said cheerfully. “‘Under the rules you’re allowed one taste before you become fair prey. We don’t get many suicides here. Only a month ago 7 ‘‘Beat it,’’ I said. He moved away, hurt. I looked at the wine. The little man on my left moistened his lips and smiled. ““Made my first kill last week.” His nervous titter. “Sometimes I wonder how we got along before the hate bars. Once I was headed for a crackup. Failure at business, love, everything. Now ’'m a comiclbooks.corn