[May 20th, 1964] Completing The Collection(Doctor Who: The Keys of Marinus, parts 4 to 6)


By Jessica Holmes

We’re halfway through our adventure across the planet Marinus, and we’ve seen some extraordinary sights so far: acid seas, screaming trees and brains with weird eyestalk things. Soon to come is a lot of snow, caves of ice and most extraordinary of all…a courtroom!

Let’s get stuck in, shall we?

THE SNOWS OF TERROR

We rejoin Ian and Barbara freezing on the mountainside. Fortunately for them, a trapper finds them and brings them to his cabin, where he gets them warm drinks and gives Barbara a rather tender hand-rub, ostensibly to stave off frostbite.

I don’t know enough about frostbite to say whether that’s a good treatment or not, but it did strike me as creepy.

I can’t speak for Barbara, but if I passed out on a mountainside, woke up in the cabin of a complete stranger, who then started caressing my hand, I wouldn’t have alarm bells going off in my head, it’d be an air raid siren.

They learn from the trapper that they aren’t the first to come to his cabin. He saw Altos not long ago, and aided him as he went up the mountain to look for Sabetha and Susan.

Off Ian goes to look for him, leaving Barbara with the trapper.

‘There,’ he says. ‘We’re alone.’

Oh, boy. Looks like my misgivings weren’t unfounded. Ian soon finds Altos slumped unconscious in the snow, with his wrists bound.

Back at the cabin, things are getting uncomfortable. Barbara, growing wary of the trapper, finds Sabetha’s chain as she pokes around the cabin, along with a number of wrist dials.

Barbara is ready to defend herself if the trapper tries anything, but she's got nowhere to go, and he has all the time in the world. Is this really appropriate for a family show? It’s giving me a bit of a queasy feeling.

Thankfully, Ian and Altos get back to the cabin just in the nick of time. With the trapper overpowered, Ian forces him to lead the way to where he last saw the girls, who are trapped up the mountain in an ice cave.

The group arrive to find the cave empty, so they head deeper into the labyrinthine passages to discover where Sabetha and Susan have gone. The trapper is reluctant to enter; there are demons in these caves.

Crossing a wobbly rope bridge over a crevasse, Susan and Sabetha come to a chamber, within which is a bunch of what look like medieval knights. Are these the demons the trapper was talking about? They don’t look demonic to me. The second group arrive at the same bridge, and all but the trapper cross over, meeting the girls as they come back the way they came. Hurrah!

You can see where this is going.

The trapper sees an opportunity. Everyone else is on the other side, so there’s nothing to stop him untying the other end of the bridge, leaving the others stranded.

I am shocked, shocked at his betrayal.

The group decide to look for something they can use to make a makeshift bridge, which leads them right back to the cavern with the knights/warriors/extras from the set of Becket.

They're all stood around a block of ice, and in the middle of the ice is the key. That’s handy. Half of the group work on sorting out the bridge problem, while the others see if they can find a way through the ice. Running around the ice block is a pipe which brings up hot water from volcanic springs under the mountain, melting the ice in a jiffy. Funny how these things work themselves out.

However, the key isn’t the only thing to thaw out. The knights wake up from their nap, and advance on the intruders.

Very…

Slowly.

Ian fights to delay the warriors while the others cross the crevasse with the newly-restored bridge, which seems a bit pointless given that I’m pretty sure I could outpace the warriors, and I’m barely mobile!

Back at the trapper’s cabin, he’s admiring his trinkets when the others return to reclaim their property. Fearing the consequences of his actions, the trapper flees, then comes charging back inside, screaming that the devils are on the march, and they're coming here!

The trapper gets his comeuppance at the end of a sword, and with no time to spare, it’s off to the next destination: the inside of a bank vault.

Well, that’s a bit dull.

What’s not dull, however, is what’s in it: the key!

Oh, and also a dead body.

Ian, having arrived alone (why? I’m not sure), notices the key, but as he investigates, someone clouts him over the back of the head, plants a club in his unconscious hand, and steals the key.

I didn’t enjoy this episode as much as the previous few.  It’s fine, but it’s nothing special. A lot of it felt a bit clunky, and in what is perhaps only an important metric for me, but something I weigh quite heavily in my ratings, it wasn’t as fun to write about.

3 out of 5

SENTENCE OF DEATH

Ian wakes up with a hell of a headache to find out that he's not alone. In the vault with him is a man, Tarron. However, this isn’t a friendly wake-up call. Tarron’s an investigator, and Ian’s under suspicion of murder.

Unable to convince Tarron that he didn’t commit the crime, Ian finds himself charged with murder. I was quick to yell at the television that the evidence was purely circumstantial, and do you know what, I think it must have worked, because a moment later Ian says so too.

However, we are on another planet. Here, Ian’s guilty until proven innocent.

Ian’s not totally out of luck. The others manage to find him, and what’s more, the Doctor has been brushing up on the local legal system and will serve as his representative.

Proceedings commence, and no matter where in the universe you go, the officials of the court will always wear very silly head coverings. Proceedings halt a minute later, when the Doctor submits a motion to examine the evidence before proceeding with the trial, which is granted.

I adore a good legal drama, but is the average young member of the audience going to be quite as enthusiastic?

It turns out that the murdered man was Altos' friend. He’d met up with the Doctor earlier. They'd met and arranged to get the key, but for some reason he went early. Someone else must have known about the plan and killed him before he could.

But what happened to the key? If it had been taken from the room, it would have been detected, wouldn’t it?

The Doctor has an idea about who did the killing. The solution lies in the escape plan. Rather, that there wasn’t one. The killer didn’t get away, but instead, pretended to be first on the scene. So, who did the deed? The relief guard, Ayden.

Now they've got to prove it.

Ayden’s wife Kala can’t give them any information, but when Ayden arrives home, he promptly puts his foot in his mouth by denying the amateur detectives’ assertion that they know where the key is hidden.

This is why you don’t talk to any sort of police without your solicitor with you. After Ayden’s dreadful impression of an innocent man and their ejection from the house, Susan and Barbara listen at the door, and hear Ayden strike his wife for having the gall to talk to them.

What a charmer.

The Doctor, relishing his role as lawyer, treats the court to a dramatic opening statement, then calls Sabetha to the stand. He asks if she knows where the key is, and in a clever bit of trickery, she produces one of the other keys from her pocket, bamboozling the audience.

Cue a stunned courtroom, and a flabbergasted Ayden, who Sabetha identifies as the man who gave it to her. He denies the accusation, insisting that she can’t have found the stolen key, before stopping himself with his foot already firmly lodged in his gob. He might as well run around screaming ‘I’m guilty!’

Caught up in his lie, Ayden attempts to flee the courtroom, but the guardians catch him, and as he is about to confess, there’s a bright flash, and Ayden drops down dead.

Have their hopes of finding the final key died with Ayden?

That’s something to worry about later. Let’s keep Ian’s head off the chopping block for now.

The prosecution submits that Ian made Ayden help in his scheme, and killed him to protect the secret. The judges concur, and it looks like Ian’s fate is sealed.

While this is going on, Barbara and Sabetha leave the chamber with a guardian, who delivers a message: there will be another death if they disclose where the key is truly hidden.

The phone rings, and it’s Susan on the other end. She’s in trouble!

This part of the serial had some nice twists and turns, but again I have to say I’m not sure how much a child would be likely to enjoy the courtroom scenes. Also, it rather disrupts the pacing of the story, as all the little adventures up to now have been wrapped up in a single episode, yet this story doesn’t seem to be anywhere near its conclusion.

All the same, I liked it a lot, and I’m the one with the power over the ratings, so I’ll give Sentence Of Death 4 out of 5.

THE KEYS OF MARINUS

With Susan’s life hanging in the balance, Barbara, Altos and Sabetha must find her, ideally before Ian is executed.

Ayden’s widow denies knowing anything and breaks down in tears in a touching display of grief, which ceases the moment they leave. She struts over to the closet, opening the door to reveal Susan tied to a chair. I wasn’t expecting Kala to be involved, to be honest, but that’s what makes it a good twist.

Clever Barbara realises that Kala somehow knew that she’d spoken to Susan on the telephone. But how could she? Barbara never mentioned the call to her, and Kala wasn’t with Barbara when she received the call, therefore she must have been with Susan. Barbara goes dashing back, arriving just in time to stop Kala putting an end to Susan’s short life. 

Things aren’t looking so good for Ian, however. The Doctor is all out of options. While speaking with the prosecutor, complimenting one another on their legal skill, one of the court officials enters the room, bringing the evidence for storage. There's a lingering shot of the murder weapon, the club.

Is it bad that it took up to this point for me to twig where the key is hidden?

Barbara contacts the authorities, and Kala is arrested. However, in her statement she states that Ian was her accomplice.

It’s not over yet. Susan has an ace up her sleeve: she overheard a telephone conversation between Kala and her true accomplice while in captivity. The accomplice is coming to the court to collect the key. There's an opportunity to catch him red-handed!

The Doctor watches, hidden, as an unknown figure comes into the courthouse, unlocks the evidence cabinet, and retrieves the murder weapon, inside of which is the key. I am very pleased that I managed to solve a mystery aimed at children after being all but told the answer. I am very clever.

And who is the mystery figure? None other than the prosecutor himself.

Ian’s free to go, the court allows the group to take the key, and now it’s back to Arbitan, but I don’t think they’re going to like what they’ll find.

Sabetha and Altos arrive ahead of the rest of the group, and are quickly apprehended and interrogated by the Voords. They do what they can to resist, but when Sabetha’s life is threatened, Altos cracks and admits that the Doctor has the final key.

The leader of the Voords, Yartek, begins inserting the keys into the Mind of Marinus, while another Voord heads out to find the Doctor. He’s no match for them, and the Doctor and company realise that something has gone terribly wrong. The Doctor entrusts Ian with the key, and the group splits.

Ian and Susan head to the main chamber, where they meet Yartek, who has disguised himself as Arbitan. Poorly.

To my great frustration, Ian hands him the key. I spent a good while shouting things at the television, things which I had better avoid repeating here.

So, I felt quite the fool when Ian reveals a few minutes later that he knew full well that he wasn’t speaking to Arbitan and gave the imposter the fake key he found back in The Screaming Jungle.

Inserting the key into the machine causes things to a tad wrong, by which I mean it goes boom.

With the threat dealt with, it’s time for the (frankly boring) goodbye scene. The Doctor imparts a few words of encouragement to Sabetha, who doesn’t seem as upset as you’d expect about the death of her father, and the inherent terror of the Mind of Marinus is left unexamined. The closest we get is the Doctor saying that machines shouldn’t rule over men, but that’s it.

I find that disappointing. Perhaps if the murder mystery had been confined to a single episode, there could have been a chance this episode to see the Mind of Marinus in action, and have an exploration of its virtues and drawbacks.

So, this was not the most satisfying conclusion to the story. It did the job, but that’s all.

3 out of 5 for the episode The Keys Of Marinus.

Final Thoughts

Here we are at the end of another adventure. So, what do I have to say about The Keys Of Marinus?

We’ll start with the good. I did genuinely enjoy this serial. It was a fun story, with lots of twists and turns, and for the most part very well paced, with some interesting and creative concepts on display.

However, it lacks the depth of Nation’s previous work in The Daleks. I think that this may be due to the fact that the Daleks had a Big Moral Question: is pacifism always the right choice? However, it only sustains this question because we have the same enemy and the same setting throughout, keeping the question always relevant to whatever situation the characters found themselves in.

With the exception of the first and last episodes, The Keys Of Marinus has little to do with the machine at the heart of everything, other than the keys to make it work being ‘plot tokens’. It feels like a tease to make the machine so interesting and leave it by the wayside. There aren’t even any thematic ties between the episodes that I could see, which could have served to add some depth to the story.

Is it fair to compare the two? I don’t really know. Part of me says no, that this story is meant to be more like an old adventure serial, but then another part of me asks why these thrilling adventures can’t also have depth or make us think.

I also found the first half of the serial more engaging than the second half, and I must add that I found the characters of Altos and Sabetha quite boring. They certainly participate in the plot a fair amount, but I couldn’t tell you anything about them.

Still, I did like the serial despite the issues I had with it, which are quite minor in the grand scheme of things (it’s certainly no The Edge Of Destruction), and I don’t think they’d make a lick of difference to the younger members of the audience.

Time to tally up the scores, leaving us with 3.75 for The Keys of Marinus as a whole.

Until the next adventure then, and looking forward to more stories from Terry Nation, ta-ta for now.

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1964, dr. who, the keys of marinus, jessica holmes, science fiction, television, united kingdom, terry nation

[May 18, 1964] Aspirations (June 1964 Fantasy and Science Fiction)


by Gideon Marcus

At the Ballot Box

If you plunked down your $2 for a Worldcon membership (Pacificon II in San Francisco this year), then you probably sent in your nominations for the Hugo Awards, honoring the best works of 1963. Last month, you got the finalists ballot. Maybe, like me, you were surprised.

I'm happy to say that the Journey has covered every one of those nominations. However, with the exception of Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle and Anderson's No Truce with Kings, none of the fiction entries made this year's Galactic Stars list. Also, I'm dismayed to find that neither Worlds of Tomorrow nor Gamma made the list of best magazines, though I suppose their being new precludes wide distribution as yet.

Anyway, they've made my choices very easy this year:

Best novel: Cat's Cradle (based on the review by Victoria Lucas – I haven't had the chance to read it yet, myself!)
Best story: No Truce with Kings
Best magazine: Galaxy
Best artist: Schoenherr (I've been liking his stuff more and more lately — don't get me wrong; I still like Emsh and Finlay, and Krenkel's done great stuff for the Burroughs books, but it's good to spread these things around)
Best amateur magazine: Starspinkle, which is really a fun mag, and good for keeping up on the latest Breendoggle mishigas (I note that Galactic Journey isn't on this list — surely a mistake. Please don't forget to vote for us!)

F&SF appears to be lobbying heavily for your Hugo vote, too, if the back cover of their latest issue be any indication. They've replaced the usual suite of pointy headed admirers in favor of a photo of one of their trophies (last one in the dimly remembered year of 1960).

So does this issue support their claim of being "the best"? Let's read and find out!

The Issue at Hand

The Triumph of Pegasus, by F. A. Javor

Now that Watson and Crick (and the tragically unsung Rosalind Franklin) have cracked the code of the DNA double helix, I am seeing more stories involving the precise engineering of genetics at a microscopic level. Javor's intriguing tale features the pair of scientists who run the shoestring operation "Animals to Order." After they showcase a fantastically fast, quick-grown horse, they are browbeaten by a powerfully rich bully of a woman into producing a winged version.

Here, the story loses its footing, as the new creature is made in an implausibly short time, and the grisly, if morally satisfying, end is thoroughly predictable.

Still, this may be the first story I've read that (to some degree) realistically portrays the art of genes manipulation. Three stars.

The Master of Altamira, by Stephen Barr

Not so much science fiction as historical extrapolation, author Barr depicts the sudden end of one of the world's first artists, the cave painter of Altamira. The piece is, at once, vivid and utterly forgettable.

Three stars.

The Peace Watchers, by Bryce Walton

In the future, murder is a forgotten crime. Literally — murderers are destroyed, and the memories of their crimes are erased from the minds of all affected, even the police! But when the grisly crime is committed, however rarely, how can it be dealt with when even law enforcement knows nothing about it?

I don't necessarily buy this piece, but it is interesting. Three stars.

Trade-In, by Jack Sharkey

Sharkey has been my whipping boy for a while, but he's recently shown a bit of promise. Sadly, while this story, about a prematurely aging husband and his unusually youthful wife, is well-written and properly horrific, it is also needlessly anti-woman.

Three stars for quality, but two stars after demerits applied.

Time-Bomb, by Arthur Porges

I cannot fathom the point of this short poem. One star.

Medical Radiotracers, by Theodore L. Thomas

Once again, Thomas serves up a mildly educational tidbit (this time on ingested radioactives that allow doctors to map certain organs) followed by a ridiculous SF story seed (we'll all be tracked by the Orwell-state via said radioactives).

I want Feghoot back. And I don't even like Feghoot. Two stars.

Cynosure, by Kit Reed

Ahh, now here's the highlight of the issue. Norma Thayer, newly divorced housewife, so desperately wants to impress her neighbors, especially the queen-like Clarise Brainerd. But whether her sink is too blotchy, her carpet too soiled with cat hairs, or her daughter too messy, Norma can't seem to win Mrs. Brainerd's heart and, more importantly, the right to invite the neighborhood wives over for coffee and cake.

That is, until she heeds the ad that states, simply:

END HOUSEHOLD DRUDGERY

YOUR HOUSE CAN BE THE CYNOSURE OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD

The product she purchases, and its results, both foreseen and otherwise, I shall leave for the reader. Suffice it to say that I thoroughly enjoyed this delicious little satire, and I am freshly aggrieved that I do not have Ms. Reed's forwarding address since her latest move. I did so enjoy our correspondence.

Four stars.

The Third Bubble, by G. C. Edmondson

G.C. Edmondson lives in Mexico, like F&SF's editor, Avram Davidson (I wonder if he hand delivers his manuscripts), so it's no wonder that he has a series of stories set south of the border. This one involves a crazy time traveler who believes that space is a dream, that worlds are hollow, and that aliens kidnap our astronauts.

All of that takes up about one page of this eleven-page story, the other ten pages of which comprise a kind of travelogue. While there are a few bits of good writing and some genuinely clever lines, Edmonson makes the mistake of trying to make a meal composed solely of spice.

Two stars, and perhaps it's time to try something new.

The Search, by Bruce Simonds

Fourteen year-old newcomer, Bruce Simonds, has a prose-poem about how robots were evolved over time to be made perfectly in human image. I've read over the end a half-dozen times, and I still can't figure out what happened. Help a dumb reviewer out?

Two stars.

The Thing from Outer Space and the Prairie Dogs, by Gahan Wilson

Atiny piece in which we learn:

That prairie dogs are far more hazardous and organized a force than we could have imagined. The punchline isn't worth the half-page the story takes up.

Two stars.

The Heavenly Zoo, by Isaac Asimov

Dr. A is back in form with this fine piece on the origin of the zodiac, in particular, and celestial calendars, in general. I learned several interesting tidbits to share at the next cocktail party (so as to appear far more intelligent and knowledgeable than I actually am.)

Four stars.

Forwarding Service, by Willard Marsh

This touching tale involves a kidney-stone afflicted man with a bad heart and the kindly nurse who also moonlights as a special kind of messenger. Pretty good stuff. Three stars.

The Unknown Law, by Avram Davidson

Last up, a tale from the near future, set in the Oval Office. A newly elected President, youngest in the nation's history, learns that he has a special, unwritten executive power. Since the days of Washington, three minor major (or major minor) federal officers have been entrusted with a sacred trust: once per term, they can be ordered to eliminate a foe to the Republic. This execution is strictly off the books, for the good of the Union.

Of course, having introduced Chekhov's Gunslingers, there is no doubt that they will be employed. And while it is somewhat cleverly laid out who will be the President's target, I felt as if the setup came far too quickly, chronologically, to be satisfying. That said, it is a well-written piece (all too rare for Davidson these days!) and I appreciated the oblique way he established the time setting of the story.

Three stars.

Summing Up

And so we have here a surprisingly decent issue of a magazine that has been in a downward spiral for some time. This installment of F&SF might not be Hugo-worthy, but it's definitely not bad. Then again, it's always brightest before dusk…

Fingers crossed for next month.


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[May 16, 1964] A Mirror to Progress (Chester Anderson and Michael Kurland's Ten Years to Doomsday)


by Jason Sacks

These days, our world is undergoing a sudden and dramatic transformation. Starting immediately after the War, and accelerating since, many former colonies are becoming free nations, ready to embrace their potential and individuality. As these new countries find their own ways toward futures separate from their former masters, we in the Western world are able to experience life from different perspectives. These perspectives show the exquisite diversity of the human race. We are given the rare privilege to experience perspectives different from our own, perspectives sometimes frightening, sometimes exciting, but always intriguing. In doing so, we provide these nations the ultimate freedom: they can dream big. They can embrace new technologies and different ways of looking at the world. They can shake off the repressive yoke of colonialism and allow themselves to achieve their true potential.

Ten Years to Doomsday, the delightful new novel by the writing team of Chester Anderson and Michael Kurland, is a charming exploration of many of these themes using a mix of farce and drama.

As the book begins, an evil race of aliens threatens the star-spanning Terran Alliance. The aliens’ path to Earth leads through a human-colonized world that seems particularly hapless. As we meet them, the settlers on the planet Lyff seem a quiet people. They have a rigid society which revolves around their king and petty nobility. Even after thousands of years of civilization, the people of Lyff haven’t passed beyond an agrarian lifestyle which barely provides greater than subsistence living.

After their initial reconnaissance, the aliens plan be back in ten years to conquer Lyff and then begin their implacable march through the Terran empire. A stand needs to be taken on this small world, and quickly. But the aliens have astounding technology. How can a tiny planet like Lyff possibly defend itself?

Thankfully the Terrans have a plan: send a team of three scientists to Lyff to help jumpstart the world’s technology. These men start with the introduction of the telegraph but very quickly things begin to take their own momentum and the colonials soon prove to be much more sophisticated than the Terran colonizers expected. What at first seems like indolence or a lack of ambition soon proves to provide a pattern for technological innovation far beyond what anyone could have expected. The arrogant Terrans learn there are more things in heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in their philosophy

Our late, lamented President Kennedy said 18 months ago that we chose to go to the moon because it is hard. But what if journeying through space was easy — if you applied the right approach to solving the problems?

Anderson and Kurland deliver a novelette which reflects our world back to us in a clever and satirical manner, spotlighting the often arrogant and dismissive attitudes of our post-colonial world. Just as with many former colonies in our world, the colonists on Lyff have far more potential than the Terrans could possibly imagine. It’s a heady and humbling idea that would translate to a variety of media. As a comic book fan, I would love to see this theme brought to my favorite medium, perhaps portraying a small country, maybe in Africa, that proves to be much more technologically advanced even than the United States.

In tone and style, this slim book — less than 160 pages — reminded me of The Mouse that Roared, one of my favorite films from about five years ago and a clever take on the arrogance rich countries bring to our discussion of smaller countries. Just as Grand Fenwick proves to be a stronger adversary than the rest of the world is ready to deal with, so Lyff proves to be a formidable foil.

And as with The Mouse that Roared, I was reminded again of the fallacy of underestimating those who seem on the bottom…because they may soon reach the top. Heck, maybe even my beloved Mets can crawl out of 10th place in the National League before the end of the decade!

4 stars.


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[May 14, 1964] Special delivery!  (getting your mail via rocket)

[We were saddened to learn that our science writer, Ida Moya, had to go on an extended leave of absence due to her work at Los Alamos heating up (hopefully not to the point of reaction!) However, as a door closed, another opened — one of Ms. Moya's colleagues, Kaye Dee, indicated that she would be delighted take over Ida's column.

Kaye Dee lives in Sydney, Australia. She's a career woman with a degree in physics who loves science fiction and is interested in everything, but especially space exploration and astronomy.  She worked for a few years as a Computer at the Weapons Research Establishment, under Ida Moya's colleague Mary Whitehead, and is currently a tutor at the University of Sydney while she undertakes a higher degree. While in Sydney, she is boarding with her married twin sister Faye and her family.  Kaye loves to travel, reads voraciously and enjoys writing to penfriends overseas.

We hope you enjoy this article, planned to be the first of many!]


by Kaye Dee

I read in the paper today that Mr. Gerhardt Zucker’s latest attempt to demonstrate one of his mail rockets in West Germany on May 7 ended in tragedy, with at least one person killed when the rocket exploded. Rocket mail seems to be one of those things that people are always predicting will be part of the future, just like flying cars, but nobody seems to be able to successfully develop.

I first got interested in rocket mail when I read a piece on “missile mail” by Mr. Willy Ley, who writes such interesting articles and books about space travel. That was ten years ago, in the August 1954 issue of Galaxy Magazine. According to the article, the oldest idea for any kind of rocket mail goes back to a German newspaper editor in 1810, but the first person to actually fly mail in a rocket was an Austrian chap, Mr. Friedrich Schmiedl. He began experimenting with rockets in the 1920s as a way to overcome communications difficulties between villages in the rugged Austrian Alps. Mr. Schmeidl flew the first rocket mail in February 1931, selling the stamped envelopes he carried in his rocket to finance his research.

Mr. Schmeidl’s idea quickly caught on and the 1930s was a period of rocket mail experimentation around the world. There were rocket mail societies and experimenters in many countries, including Germany, England, America, India, Cuba and even here in Australia. The Australian Rocket Society operated in Brisbane, Queensland, from 1935 to 1937, but they never managed to successfully fly the mail from one place to another. They were actually influenced by Mr. Zucker’s work, as he was one of the early German mail rocketeers and began launching mail rockets in 1931.

My uncle Ernie, who collects air mail and rocket mail and has started collecting stamps marking space missions, tells me that Mr. Zucker had a very chequered career promoting rocket mail and that he was really something of a fraud. His mail rockets, with their shiny metal hulls that looked like the illustrations from science fiction magazines and Buck Rogers serials, were only powered by home-made gunpowder charges and they were more likely to blow up than to fly: too bad for all those collectors who paid in advance for their envelopes to fly in the rocket!

Mr. Zucker tried to interest the Nazis in his rockets (as a way to deliver bombs) and then in 1934 tried to interest the Royal Mail in Britain in mail rockets. However, his rocket demonstrations were spectacular failures and he was deported from Britain as a 'threat to the income of the post office and the security of the country'.

When he arrived back in Germany he was immediately arrested on suspicion of espionage or collaboration with Britain and narrowly escaped arrest and commitment to an asylum, although he was forbidden to make further rocket experiments. Mr. Zucker has recently started his rocket mail flights again, but after this latest tragic incident, I don’t think there will be too many more. Uncle Ernie has heard a rumour that the West German authorities are now going to ban all non-military rocket launches, which would mean the end of all amateur rocketry in the country.

In his article about “missile mail” Mr. Ley made the point that since the War, fast transatlantic air travel has pretty much rendered long-distance mail rockets un-necessary. Even so, the idea of rocket mail persists. In 1955, I read E.C. Eliott’s Tas and the Postal Rocket, a juvenile science fiction adventure that revolves around a rocket mail service based at the Woomera Rocket Range, in South Australia. There was also an article I enjoyed in the January 1957 issue of Mechanix Illustrated that suggested we would have rocket mail by 1965 — so we’ll soon see if that prediction comes true.

In 1959, looking for faster ways to deliver the mail, the US Post Office Department enlisted the help of the Navy for a demonstration of “missile mail”. On June 8, the submarine USS Barbero fired a Regulus cruise missile, carrying two containers with about 3,000 pieces of mail. After a 22-minute flight, the missile delivered its cargo, right on target to Naval Station Mayport in Florida. When it arrived safely, the US Postmaster General, who was waiting to receive the mail said; “before man reaches the moon, mail will be delivered within hours from New York to California, to Britain, to India or Australia by guided missiles. We stand on the threshold of rocket mail."

Well, we here Down Under would certainly like to see our mail arrive from overseas at the speed of a missile. Will we see operational rocket mail next year? I doubt it, but if we do, maybe after it arrives here via rocket, the mail will be delivered by a flying postman, wearing a rocket-belt like I saw demonstrated at the Royal Easter Show in Sydney in March. The Easter Show is the local equivalent of a state fair and the performances by American rocket-belt flyer Robert Courter were a huge attraction. On the first day Mr. Courter flew a mail delivery across the main showring and delivered it right into the hands of the Prime Minister, Sir Robert Menzies.

But maybe the development of satellite communications will do away with some of the need for superfast mail delivery anyway. In North America and Europe, you’ve already had the opportunity to make phone calls and see events delivered live on television via a satellite, but none of the communications satellites so far launched have been in the right position to provide a connection to Australia. The government here is talking about whether it will join the global satellite communications system that has been proposed by the United States and I think that would be a fantastic idea.

Australia is such a huge country, with a very small population, that providing a phone service to everyone in remote areas is difficult or incredibly expensive. People who live on remote stations (enormous sheep and cattle ranches) in the Outback have to rely on radio to call the Flying Doctor in an emergency. The kids also have their school lessons over the radio, through the School of the Air. Just imagine how much of an improvement it would be if they could phone anywhere via satellite and get television for education and entertainment. 

It’s only two years since Sydney and Melbourne were connected by the Co-axial Cable, so that we could make direct dial calls between the two state capitals, and only last year that we had the first live television broadcasts between Sydney and Melbourne. It’ll be great to see Australia connected to the world via satellite…

I just hope it won’t be too expensive for me to call my cousins in Scotland!

[May 12, 1964] Secrets Beyond Human Understanding (The Outer Limits, Season One, Episodes 29-32)


by Natalie Devitt

No matter how much scientists, inventors and aliens try to control all the conditions for the experiments they conduct on The Outer Limits, things almost never seem to go as anticipated, and often result in them veering into much stranger territory. The most recent month certainly did not stray from the usual formula of experiments going wrong. Episodes included the following: aliens teleporting a suburban neighborhood and its residents to another planet to determine whether or not to enslave humans, only for the humans to discover this before the study is completed; an accident occurring during a test in a research facility releases an energy that takes over people‘s bodies; an intelligence agent goes undercover as an alien, only for him to adapt to his alien form a little too well; and two women deal with unforeseen complications when they meet an inventor capable of bringing the man they murdered back to life.

A Feasibility Study, by Joseph Stefano

A Feasibility Study is the story of a group of neighbors that wake up one morning to find that things seem a little off. At first, they notice the unusual weather, then some vehicles have difficulty starting and the phones lines seem to be down. One character tells her husband, "It’s not raining, but it’s doing something, and I’ll bet it’s radioactive." As it turns out, things are much more serious that they ever could have been imagined. Their entire neighborhood, including their homes and everything surrounding them, have been teleported while everyone slept to another planet called Luminos.

The people are imprisoned on Luminos for one reason and one reason only; as the opening narration states: "The Luminoids need slaves, and they have chosen the planet off which those slaves will be abducted." The whole thing is part of a feasibility study to see if humans would make suitable slaves for the Luminoids, who grow mentally sharper but less mobile with age. The only problem is that the inhabitants of the neighborhood realize that they have become "human guinea pigs" sooner than the Luminoids expected.

People always compare The Outer Limits and The Twilight Zone, and though they really are two different beasts, this episode is a real treat for fans of The Twilight Zone because most of the actors in it have made appearance on that show. Such actors include David Opatoshu, who starred in Valley of the Shadow, Joyce Van Patton, who was in last season’s Passage of Lady Anne, and then there is Phyllis Love of Four O’Clock.

A Feasibility Study includes incredibly realistic acting and impressive set design. The episode is also extremely atmospheric, with no shortage of fog. The score has a noticeably different and more experimental quality to it than most other entries in the series. Nowhere is it more effective than in a scene where one of the characters is driving through the fog as an alien hand reaches out and touches his car’s windshield. All of the subplots in the script work together very well, and only help to elevate the main plot. Overall, the episode was a easily one of the high points of the season. It deserves four stars.

Production and Decay of Strange Particles, by Leslie Stevens

Production and Decay of Special Particles involves an accident at a research facility, which ends up allowing an energy alien to possess the bodies of the employees at the facility one by one. The situation is explained as being similar to "a hole torn in the universe.” All of this leaves the head of the facility, played by none other than George McCready, who appeared in The Twilight Zone‘s The Long Morrow and in the vastly superiorThe Outer Limits’s episode The Invisibles to team up with his character’s wife in order to stop the creature, which is characterized as "something from another dimension" and capable of presenting itself in "a human form". He must also prevent it from getting beyond the confines of the property.

I have to admit that, as much as I was excited to see the show really dive into the hard sciences, this episode required a little too much outside knowledge for the average viewer to understand it, much less appreciate it. With little to no explanation, combined with the issue that the episode does not have much going on visually, things begin to drag real quick. In addition to these problems, there is some stock footage awkwardly edited into the episode and plenty of over-acting.

When I was not brushing up on my physics vocabulary, I spent much of the episode watching men in suits barely moving, with constant crackling noises in the background. While I am happy to see the show do something different with an episode more heavily-rooted in science, even if it involves yet another energy being, the episode needed something else to maintain an audience‘s attention. After taking all of these things into consideration, two stars is all that I can give to Production and Decay of Special Particles.

The Chameleon, by Robert Towne

Robert Duvall, who made The Twilight Zone‘s Miniature worth watching, plays Louis, a man with nothing to lose. Louis is hired by his former employer, the CIA, to undergo a dramatic transformation in order to play the role of an extraterrestrial. He is instructed to "become one of them.” He is provided with a cover story, which includes directives like, "once you are with them, you will tell them that you landed long ago on Earth, crash landed. You remember nothing of your origin. What little language you know, you got from humans.”

All of this is being done in order to collect information on an alien spaceship that landed and has already killed the last group of men to patrol the area. It is feared that the aliens in charge of the ship may be carrying "nuclear material,” so people are understandably reluctant to attack the aliens. The only problem is that things go a little "too well.” Louis becomes increasingly difficult to control, and once he is in alien form, his sympathies begin to shift.

Duval brings a vulnerability to the role of a washed up agent before he undergoes the transformation. He then becomes a man-made extraterrestrial, not unlike the man-made creature in The Architects of Fear. The aliens in The Chameleon, are of course odd-looking, with beady eyes and wrinkled faces. They also have veins that bulge out of their bald heads. The major twist with Louis changing sides was interesting enough, but at the end of the day, it is really Robert Duvall’s skills as an actor that earns this episode its three stars.

The Forms of Things Unknown, by Joseph Stefano

Psycho’s Vera Miles plays Kassia, one of two young women who poison the drink of a very unpleasant man named Andre, played by Scott Marlowe in his second appearance on The Outer Limits. Kassia’s accomplice is named Leonora. The ladies stuff Andre’s body into the trunk of a car, and drive around looking for the perfect place to dispose of it. Leonora ends up leading them to a big, old house, where they are told that they are welcome to warm themselves by the fire.

While inside, they notice the sound of several ticking clocks. They are told that the noise comes from "a special room upstairs.” Inside the room is where an inventor named Mr. Hobart "tinkers with time.” His experiments with time have become so sophisticated that he can cause the past to "tumble into the present.” Such experiments could bring Andre back to life, with some pretty disastrous results.

The part of the narrative involving Lenora and Kassia murdering Andre reminded me an awful lot of the 1955 French film Diabolique. Similarities aside, the plot in The Forms of Things Unknown, is a little flimsy. But that almost does not even matter, because the episode’s cinematography and set design are nothing short of perfection. The acting, however, was a little short of being consistently good. That said, Vera Miles delivers a fine performance and has a number of amusing lines. David McCallen returns to the show for another memorable performance after the great The Sixth Finger. Even veteran actor Cedric Hardwicke, who recently appeared in The Twilight Zone‘s Uncle Simon, shows up playing host to all the episode’s craziness. Despite some flaws this hour of the series is still definitely worth the watch. The Forms of Things Unknown earns three and a half stars.

All in all, it has been an interesting month on The Outer Limits.  Most episodes featured the kinds of stories and the quality I have come to expect of this series, while only one entry was a bit of a letdown. With this being the last set of episodes of the season, I have to say it has been a lot of fun watching this show really hit its stride. I cannot wait to see what new creatures and stories are in store for the series in the fall.


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[May 10, 1964] STUCK IN THE MIDDLE (the June 1964 Amazing)


by John Boston

Regression to the Mean

The June Amazing is . . . middling — a relief compared to some past performances—with nothing outstanding, nothing appalling, and much of it at least mildly interesting.


by Alex Schomburg

Tin Lizzie, by Randall Garrett

Like the previous issue, this one starts off with a hardware opera, but a much more agreeable one than last month’s.  Randall Garrett’s Tin Lizzie is a conscious throwback to older SF, say the late ‘30s just after John Campbell took over at Astounding but before any great transformation took hold, with the writers soberly exploring the engineering challenges of space travel to the inner planets.  No doubt it was too old hat for present-day Campbell, accounting for its appearance here at the bottom of the market rather than in Analog, Garrett’s most regular abode.  Nowadays you’re more likely to find this sort of thing in Boy’s Life than in the SF magazines, or by revisiting the older Winston juveniles you took out of the library years ago.


by Virgil Finlay

Our heroes are piloting a tugship back from Jupiter towing a big bag of a nitrogen compound, mined from Jupiter’s atmosphere and destined for the factories of Luna, when they get a Mayday call from Mars.  Turns out there’s a scientific expedition stranded on the surface in a damaged spaceship and needing help fast.  But the tugship can’t land there because it has no landing gear and its cupro-aluminum hull won’t stand up to an atmosphere anyway, especially the dinitrogen trioxide of the Martian atmosphere.  (Read that aloud in front of a mirror and practice looking authoritative.)

But!  On Phobos are a couple of abandoned “space taxis,” 80-year-old rocket-powered vehicles made for nothing but landing and taking off.  Only problem is that in this day of gravito-inertial engines, nobody knows how to fly a rocket any more . . . except for the centenarian General Challenger, about the only surviving rocket pilot, who is pleased to instruct the boys long-distance from the Moon so they can rescue the stranded scientists.  There’s an added fillip at the end about the primitive Martian life forms.

The story is very capably done, full of technical lectures which I am not competent to assess but which are slickly rendered for the lay person.  This sort of thing would get tiresome quickly if the magazines were full of it, but they aren’t, so it makes for a refreshing change from the usual more sophisticated (or pseudo-) fare.  It’s a moldy fig, but reasonably tasty.  Three stars.

Condition of Survival, by Barry P. Miller


by George Schelling

Garrett's is followed by a considerably longer novelet by Barry P. Miller.  Who?  A Barry P. Miller had a couple of stories in Ray Palmer’s Other Worlds Science Stories in 1956-57, just before the end—not an auspicious sign, if it’s the same guy. 

He certainly knows the drill; the story begins: “For a Greenwich Month, the BuGalEx ship, Wotan’s Beard, had maintained an observation orbit three hundred kilometers above the fourth planet of a G2 class sun near the base of the galactic limb of which Sol was a part.” And, on further exploration, it’s a pretty ambitious story, if ham-handedly rendered.

The BuGalEx folks have landed now and discovered small humanoids, whom they call the Elves.  Their attempts to establish communication with the Elves aren’t going well, so it’s time for Hillier, the Transferman, to do his stuff.  He has his consciousness projected into that of an Elf to figure out what’s going on, and meets a sort of demigod of the Elves’ consciousness, which transforms itself into his heart’s desire and tries to recruit him to help it (or, as he perceives, her) fend off the grasping Terrestrials.

Meanwhile, Hillier’s girlfriend, Linguist Betty Lee, has been fending off her ex, who tries to lure her back with a means of converting aural sensation to tactile sensation, i.e., to have sex somehow melded with or choreographed by Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, because on Earth these days, sexual prowess, born or made, is apparently all anybody cares about.  But Betty is really an old-fashioned girl looking for Mr. Right, whom she sees in Hillier, the naive guy from a colony planet, who seems to want more or less what she does, though it takes a while for them to figure it out.

Miller tries to integrate these two plots, with less success than one would like, partly because he is a glib but clumsy writer whose scenes of interpersonal interaction are nothing short of soap-operatic.  One longs to shout “Rewrite!” and get somebody in who could handle this material more coherently and with more plausible affect.  Theodore Sturgeon?  Sorry, he’s busy.  Anyway, three stars for a nice try and an interesting one, even if the author can’t quite bring it off.

The Pirokin Effect, by Larry Eisenberg

From the attempted sublime to the accomplished vaudevillesque: Larry Eisenberg, who perhaps has been reading too much Robert F. Young, proposes in The Pirokin Effect that the Lost Tribes of Israel ended up on Mars and are communicating by impulses detectable in restaurant kitchens in New York and Philadelphia.  It’s amusing enough and has the virtue of brevity, and is told with a strong ethnic flavor.  Three stars, or maybe the author would prefer three bagels with a schmear.

The Sphinx, by Robert F. Young


by George Schelling

And here is Robert F. Young himself with another silly Robert F. Young story, The Sphinx, which the editor introduces: “Continuing his series of up-dating Terran mythology and folklore. . . .” No brevity here—it’s almost 30 pages.  Protagonist Hall is scouting the area before a big space battle between the Earth and Uvelian space fleets, loses control to something unknown and crashes on a planet.  He reconnoiters and finds a Sphinx and several pyramids.  This Sphinx is alive and explains that she contrived the creation of the Sphinx and pyramids of Earth thousands of years ago, and her sister did the same for the Uvelians, and because this is Young there’s also an Egyptian girl (sic) whom the protagonist decides is (of course) the most beautiful he has ever seen. 

The space battle, which threatens to destroy the planet, starts, but then stops—that’s the Sphinxes’ contrivance too.  Etc., etc.  The best that can be said for this . . . well, contrivance really is the word . . .  is that it is less annoying than Young’s usual, told straightforwardly and not in the overtly arch, coy, cloying, or precious manner that we have come to expect from him.  He is a competent writer at the word-and-sentence level whatever one thinks of what he does with his competence.  I guess that’s why he is published so prolifically; can’t think of any other reason.  Two stars, barely.

SF Profile: John Wyndham, by Sam Moskowitz

Sam Moskowitz is back with another SF Profile, this one of John Wyndham, which as usual presents implausible praise and detailed plot summaries of his pulp stories of the 1930s.  It does give more attention than usual to his more sophisticated work of the 1950s, then reverts to form with two sentences about his most recent novel, Trouble with Lichen.  This one is lighter on interesting biographical detail than many of its predecessors.  Two stars. 

Statistical analysis

So: the issue is a good enough time-passer for those who have time they need to pass.  For anyone else, its attraction may be limited… 


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[May 8, 1964] Rough Patch (June 1964 Galaxy)


by Gideon Marcus

I think I've got a bad case of sibling rivalry.  When Victoria Silverwolf came onto the Journey, she took on the task of reviewing Fantastic, a magazine that was just pulling itself out of the doldrums.  My bailiwick consisted of Analog, Fantasy and Science Fiction, IF, and Galaxy, which constituted The Best that SF had to offer.

Ah for those halcyon days.  Now Fantastic is showcasing fabulous Leiber, Moorcock, and Le Guin.  Moreover, Vic has added the superlative Worlds of Tomorrow to her beat.  What have I got?  Analog is drab and dry, Avram Davidson has careened F&SF to the ground, IF is inconsistent, and Galaxy…ah, my poor, once beloved Galaxy

The Issue at Hand


cover by McKenna

To Build a World, by Poul Anderson


by Morrow

Wham!  Kaboom!  A giant drilling machine is sabotaged while releasing the gasses pent up under the Moon's surface.  A man dies, and the lunar terraforming project is thrown into jeopardy.  It is up to the drill team's foreman, Venusian Don Sevigny, to go to Earth and sniff out the plot…before his life is snuffed out!

Sixty pages of stilted exposition punctuated by standard action scenes ensue.  Moreover, overcrowded Earth has exactly one woman on it (at least that we ever see), and though she turns out to be a villain, she's far too good-looking to remain one.  Sigh.

Poul Anderson vacillates between brilliance and boredom, and To Build a World is a swing of the pendulum hard toward the latter extreme. 

Let's hope the thing doesn't get stuck there.  Two stars.

The King of the Beasts, by Philip José Farmer

Twenty years ago, this utterly predictable vignette might have made acceptable filler in Astounding.  Here and now, it's an embarrassing waste of space.

One star.

The Man from Earth, by Gordon R. Dickson


by Giunta

On the crossroads planet of Duhnbar, the Samarkand of the stars, a visiting human trader fails to observe a minor religious rite.  Duhnbar's all-powerful Director decides to make an example of the man, imposing a long-lapsed death penalty.  In a futile act of defiance, the man preserves his pride, if not his life.

This is a nicely written piece, and the setup is genuinely interesting, but the ending is a let down.  Three stars.

The Well-Trained Heroes, by Arthur Sellings


by Jack Gaughan (and not one of his best)

People often have the misapprehension that colonization reduced population pressure.  It doesn't; it increases it.  Colonies always fill up.  Passage is expensive.  Inevitably, home remains as crowded as ever, but the folks living there are all the more disgruntled for being stuck there.

In Heroes, Earth's citizens yearn to go to space, but barely one in a million make the cut to join the astronaut corps.  Tension builds, and town after town goes into unrest.  It is up to a pair of astronauts to defuse would-be rioters by convincing them that space isn't all that it's cracked up to be.

Kind of a neat story, if a little meandering.  Three stars.

For Your Information: Anyone Else for Space?, by Willy Ley

After months of desultory articles, Willy Ley is back in form.  This month's column is nearly twice as long as it has been recently, and it's chock full of the latest news on rocket development outside the Big Two.  Having been to Japan's nascent launch facilities recently, it was exciting to hear about their latest developments (as well as those of the Europeans, the Israelis, the Egyptians, and the Indians!)

Five stars

Collector's Fever, by Roger Zelazny

Rock collecting is a fine hobby, provided the specimens aren't sentient and ready to deeble!  A slight, amusing piece that gets extra points for being told almost entirely in dialogue.

Three stars.

The Many Dooms, by Harry Harrison


by Nodel

On expeditions to hostile worlds, there is no margin of error.  When a cocky geologist's sloppiness threatens the lives of his crew-mates, fate (perhaps with a little push from human hands) deals with the problem.

I liked the writing on this one, and the subject matter is up my alley, but I found the ending both too straightforward and, quite frankly, disturbing.

Three stars.

An Ancient Madness, by Damon Knight


by John Giunta

On an island where breeding is artificial and strictly regimented, and romantic pairings are unheard of, one sixteen year old girl longs for a dramatic love.

A lot.  Loudly and repeatedly.  For twenty angst-infused, plot-stationary pages.  Then, in the final two paragraphs, she runs off with the Doctor to live happily ever after.

I'm not sure why this story was written.  I'm even less certain how I made it through the thing.

Two stars.

Men of Good Will, by Ben Bova and Myron R. Lewis

In the near future, the Cold War has spread to near-Earth space, occasionally sparking into moments of heat.  For some reason, however, the Moon seems to be a zone of armistice.  The Norwegian UN ambassador heads to the Earth's companion to find out the secret.

The secret (read no further if you wish to remain unspoilt): The Yanks and the Ruskies did shoot it out — once.  Those bullets achieved orbital velocity, and every 27 days, their orbit intersects with the bases, peppering them with new holes.  It's simply too dangerous to keep up the fight.

It's a cute premise, but of course, it makes absolutely no sense.  The periapsis of the bullets only intersects with the bases once out of 24 x 27 orbits; the rest of the time, the bullets should be hitting lunar hills.  They should have been stopped after the first grounding.

C'mon, Ben!  You're a science writer fer cryin' out loud.  Two stars.

The Sincerest Form, by J. W. Groves


by Cowles

Last up, we have a tale told from the point of view of imitative aliens, spore-like things that have no consciousnesses of their own, but which can become replicas of the beings they devour.  The process is imperfect, and the thought processes get a bit garbled.  In fact, it takes a while for the reader to figure out what's going on; it is only when the imitators encounter bonafide humans that things become clear.

I have to give Groves credit for an interesting concept, but the very trickiness of the idea meant that proper execution lay slightly beyond the author's ability.  Still, if he doesn't quite stick the landing, Groves does leave you with something to think about.

Three stars.

Summing Up

So, on the one hand, I am left grousing at my fate, stuck with a 2.7 star issue while Vic reviews the good stuff.  On the other hand, I'm not John Boston, resigned to review bottom-of-the-pack Amazing every month.  Plus, is that a new issue of Gamma I see peeking out from under the stack of bills?

I suppose I do have blessings to count!


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[May 6, 1964] The Predicament: Transit by Edmund Cooper


by Victoria Lucas

It Finally Came!

Just a wee plug.  My favorite publisher is Faber & Faber.  While I was wiping the drool from my face during a perusal of their last catalog, something caught my eye.  An interesting book, of course, but this time not a playbook (my usual fare, when I can afford it): it was a novel by a popular British author, Edmund Cooper.  If you saw “The Invisible Boy” (the movie), you saw a version of his The Brain Child, a book published the year before.  But the novel I finally counted my pennies and bought long distance was Transit.  The hype made it look delicious, and it had a February 1964 publication date.  So it arrived at last from the Isles.


Cover art by Brian Rigby

Richard Avery/Edmund Cooper

One of the things I learned about Cooper when I looked him up was that he has a number of pseudonyms: George Kinley, Broderick Duain, Martin Lester, … and Richard Avery.  On page one of Transit, in fact in sentence one I learned that the protagonist of this book is … Richard Avery.  I don’t know what that means that he was putting himself in this book, but perhaps it indicates somehow that Avery and Cooper share opinions about things?

In the first part of the book we learn mainly about Richard, but as he suffers “transit” to another planet in this “sector” of the galaxy, he — and we — are introduced to Barbara, then to Mary.  On the planet where Richard, Mary, and Barbara are marooned, we meet Tom, also late of London as well.  They find themselves in a “predicament.”


Edmund Cooper

Predicament under Achernar

The planet is the fourth orbiting Achernar, a blue giant in a binary system.  (The star is real; who knows about the planet.) The four strangers, already divided into two couples by the choices made by their kidnappers, find themselves on a beach of an island in a strange ocean, with just enough food to last them a single day, but with flashcards identifying useful and dangerous animals and plants, one gun and some ammunition for it, knives and hatchets, and general camping equipment, including tents.  Some of their personal belongings have arrived with them, although they don’t yet know how or why. 

The word “predicament” appears in this early characterization by the narrator, Richard: “The predicament … was, itself, neither clear nor sane.” Of course I looked up the word (as I always do when faced with any word that appears to be important or undefined).  Partridge’s Origins, “a short etymological dictionary of modern English,” delves into the earliest prototypes of the word, taking it back to the Latin for “proclaim.” It is something proclaimed, thus circumstantial, and by extension unpleasant.  One does not land in a predicament by one’s own power except by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Each of the protagonists looked down to see a crystal gazing up at them in Kensington Gardens or Hyde Park.  That was the wrong place at the wrong time that landed them on an island on another planet that had not heretofore been home to anything brighter than a crocodile-like creature.

From Kensington Gardens to The Garden

Like the garden populated only by Adam and Eve, this book concerns only four people (and some ghosts of the past haunting their brains) until close to halfway through the book, when unknown others make themselves known but not seen.  Before they begin to impinge on the solitude enjoyed by Tom and Mary, Richard and Barbara, the four (but especially Richard) are occupied by trying to figure out what has happened to them and why.  As they experience their first sunset under two moons, Richard considers the classic universe occupied by the 20th-century Christian, then continues, “But perhaps God had many children, and some of his children were adept at the manufacture of hypnotic crystals.  And other things.”

At first Richard misses London; then, as they camp out on an island on which they are apparently abandoned, he has a “vision of the morning rush hour packed with victims for the City’s concentration camp.” Richard considers that he is having entirely too many visions, and thinks, “Maybe I’m in a lovely nut-house in London” just before the hears the gunshots that herald the end of their idyl.  Instead of being ejected from a primeval garden by God, the two couples are rousted by what turn out to be another group of four dropped on the opposite shore of the island — but these are not humans.

Remaining Mum

To tell you any more about the plot would, I think, rob it of the elements of surprise on which Cooper depends to keep the story fresh.  I will disclose that it is an optimistic tale despite Richard’s and the other characters’ speculations, sufferings, and hardships.  Richard does speak of the “impossible unending promise of tomorrow,” and, particularly about their group, “the conspiracy of sex.” However, the really good thing about this book, aside from the quality of the writing, is the character development.  Most formulaic stories, including detective, romance, and science fiction — all of which Cooper has written — have little to no character development.  The people are often stock characters, Everyman or Everywoman, and they do not learn, change, or otherwise evolve during their stories.  This book is enough about evolution, change, development that I think perhaps “transit” is not just meant in terms of physically going from one place to another, but more like its synonym “movement” or the definition “pass through,” or (from the original Latin) “go across.”

Richard and his companions pass through many states of mind, grow and become different from the people they were when they first saw the crystals.  My criticisms below pale before this achievement.

The Demerits

You will be familiar with my first criticism.  It’s about the way women are generally treated in SF–even by women authors.  We are too helpless, too unintelligent, too timid to make our own decisions.  When they are first on the island, both women assert that “somebody has to be responsible for us” (the group of 4) and “make the decisions.” Barbara adds, “A man.” Of course it is Richard, who, despite a probationary period, remains the group leader afterward.  The women do learn to use weapons and to be responsible for themselves, but they do not make the decisions nor participate in them.

Second, the ending: I find it really unsatisfactory.  Without revealing too much, I feel as if Cooper, whose eighth novel this was, reached a word count and decided that was enough.  Perhaps he felt that with a wide-open future before his protagonists there was no need to expand further.  I’m too practical for that.  I want to know how their future could be accomplished with the tools they have, and I’m also pretty disappointed in the aliens who brought them to the garden.  The very qualities that they appreciate in the humans are the ones they seem to lack themselves.  Oh, well.  I say go read the book and see what you think.  I give it maybe 4 out of 5.  Pretty good.

Parting Note

And now for a word about my own future.  My own predicament is also “neither clear nor sane,” and I am doing the only thing I know to do about it, leaving for what I hope are greener pastures.  Look for me next month in San Francisco.


[Come join us at Portal 55, Galactic Journey's real-time lounge!  Talk about your favorite SFF, chat with the Traveler and co., relax, sit a spell…]




[May 4, 1964] A Matter of Proportion, Revisited

[The Journey meets extraordinary people in its travels, many of whom go one to join the endeavor.  A fan we met at the most recently attended convention tore into the back issues and promptly fell in love with one of the featured stories.  It led to an epiphany, which resulted in this lovely article you see below, on navigating the Symplegades of sex and gender in our modern year of 1964…]


by Napoleon Doom

There’s something undeniably rewarding about stumbling upon a piece of literature that resonates with you. “A Matter of Proportion” by Anne Walker, had lain in wait for me like a literary landmine, set in 1959. Though the piece is now five years old, considering the social milieu at present, this is worth revisiting, and not just because it’s an excellent read.

The story is narrated through Special Corps Squad Leader, Willie. Their squad is charged with laying mines to stop a nebulous enemy force, simply called Invader. Upon my first reading (and prompted by the art accompanying the story), I presumed Willie to be male.

However, on subsequent readings, I took notice of how careful the author was to never address Willie by specific pronouns. Aside from the singular use of the term “Daddy-o,” by second in command Clyde Esterbrook, the narrator is addressed in the neutral. This use of slang may be more indicative of Willie’s position as the head of the unit, or perhaps even Clyde’s own beatnik leanings than of Willie.

When the Special Ops team is planting mines along an elevated railway, Willie “felt the hum in the rails that every tank-town-reared kid knows.” There is a conscious effort to avoid claiming Willie as a tank-town boy or girl.

When Willie delves into the unusual past of second in command, Clyde Esterbrook, he responds, "You're the only person who's equipped for it. Maybe you'd get it, Willie." The use of the term “person” here, instead of man or woman, keeps Willie’s gender objective. The reader is allowed to embody this character, and ascribe the gender of their choosing.

I’ve struggled of late with being seen as an ill fit for my gender. How lovely a notion to not be held hostage by it! With Betty Freidan’s “The Feminine Mystique” flying off the shelves, women for the first time feel free to take an introspective look at themselves and what it is they truly want from life. While this is potentially a step forward, the truth is that at this moment in time, we have no point of reference for what a self-actualized “person” looks like, only a self-actualized man. Ergo, the natural inclination is to imitate the masculine, and forsake all things feminine in pursuit of self-fulfilment. There’s an irony in that.

We see this in the fashions coming out of Europe. Shift dresses, devoid of waistlines, disguise the curves indicative of womanhood. Femininity must be hidden. This isn’t equality; it is conceding that women are inferior and erasing them.

Yet I have a sickness, perhaps even a perversion. I confess, I have a love for all things feminine and glamorous. This is exacerbated by the fact that I am, myself, a woman.

Femininity, even in its most unadorned form, is viewed as a kind of manipulation. The mere feminine form forces some people to feel things against their will, licentious, disgraceful things. Perhaps because of this, women are encouraged to be understated and subdued — that is, if they want respect. A sound, intelligent woman must become the picture of neutrality for society to condone her. She exists not for herself, but to graciously reflect the wants of those around her — just as Willie does for the reader.

Willie clearly lives in a distant future. Co-ed military forces, lead by a person of unresolved gender aren’t the only suggestion of this. In Willie’s time, walkie-talkies have been abandoned in favour of “ICEG—inter-cortical encephalograph”. These are communication devices “planted in [an operative’s] temporal bone”, allowing all members of a team to enjoy a sort of mechanical telepathy.

This collective mind becomes the driving force behind this story, as the special ops team rides piggyback on ICEG mate, Clyde Esterbrook’s, senses. They watch through Clyde’s own eyes as he performs impossible feats of bravery, with an almost preternatural grace. This piques their curiosity. Who is Clyde, and how did he come by these uncanny skills?

Clyde is perhaps as much an anomaly as Willie. He is described as a “big, bronze, Latin-Indian with incongruous hazel eyes.” I imagine a non-white person among the higher brass would be something quite shocking to many enlisted men. Clyde of course seems unbothered by what others may think of him. Rather than feeling violated by their compatriots digging through his skull, Clyde seems pleased by the opportunity to scatter his heroic chestnuts.

“There's always a way… if you're fighting for what you really want.”

Brave though he may be, Clyde proves far more reluctant to divulge memories from his past. When Clyde lays claim to having been a survivor of Operation Armada, Willie immediately knows something is amiss. That particular mission had only one survivor, Edwin Scott. He had been a medical student, rendered paraplegic by the ordeal. Scott had been a “snub-nosed redhead” and Clyde most definitely was not.

Bothered by his deception, Willie asks Clyde what he knows about Edwin Scott. Clyde’s answer is one that could never have been anticipated.

"Well, I was Edwin Scott, Will."

Clyde goes on to make the claim that the body he now inhabits was formerly that of “a man called Marco da Sanhao”, a former wrestler from Brazil. He had been rendered brain dead during a bombing, and thus became specimen for an experimental brain transplant procedure. Edwin Scott was willing to do whatever it took to be the recipient of this abandoned body and escape his wheelchair. 

Scott, an educated white man, enjoying all the benefits granted to him by society – save the limitations of his disability- elected to live the rest of their life as a person of colour. Race, every bit as much as gender, is used to consign people to a certain station in life. Scott’s freedom however, is not one defined by race. The promise of having returned function of his body outweighed any fear of judgement.

While we can’t know the political climate of Willie and Clyde’s world, we live day to day in that of their creator. Willie and Clyde represent two methods of coping with the mercurial demands of society, which is what I imagine Invader is symbolic of. Invader has no real name, no affiliation, no identifiable features, not even a clearly understood motive. It is simply a force that attacks and compels those who would oppose it into submission.

In the battle against Invader, Willie fights camouflaged in shades of neutral, becoming invisible and pliant. For civilians, like you and me, our minds are an escape. We have a certain freedom that Willie no longer enjoys now that their mind is one with the ICEG collective.

Clyde, conversely, undergoes a metamorphosis into something more conspicuous, a “big, bronze, Latin-Indian with incongruous hazel eyes.” He is unafraid of the societal consequences if it means he has a chance for his own self-fulfilment. At the same time, he believes this fulfilment can only come from shedding his disabled body.

As a female author, I was especially struck by Walker’s execution of these two characters. I am well aware of the prevailing attitude towards women authors as being subpar. Women, they say, are consumed by sentimentality, and romantic caprices. Their work lacks substance or innovation, and is just a pale imitation of the craft. Like Clyde, I had come to see myself as being handicapped. It’s why I adopted a male nom de plum, hoping to have my work evaluated on its merits alone.

Like many writers, I insert myself into my stories. I enter the literary world not as an androgynous omnipresence like Willie, but as a man. In my dreams, graphic novels and audio-dramas, I fashioned myself a new body from words and pictures of my own creation. This body, the body of Napoléon Doom, doesn’t have to live shrouded and subdued in exchange for respect. Napoléon can be flamboyant and bold without apologies- in fact people adore him for it, he’s such an iconoclast!

It’s a fantasy of course. People celebrate effeminate men like those long-haired The Beatles, or the mod boys of Carnaby street, so long as they remain on stage or in magazines. In the mundane world, such men are far from adored. They are ridiculed, or worse, violently brutalized as punishment for their failure to conform. Perhaps they too force some people to feel things against their will, licentious, disgraceful things.

In much the same way, I imagine Edwin Scott fantasized about life inside Da Sanhao’s body. In wartime, Clyde was appreciated for his strength and cunning. People might have been willing to overlook the fact that he was a “big, bronze, Latin-Indian” so long as he served a function in Special Ops. However, Clyde has never existed in the mundane world.

Scott had experience with the injustices suffered by the handicapped. He chose to abandon his body because of them. As Clyde, he has yet to experience racial prejudice. We can hope that in this distant future, society has evolved to be more accepting. The problem with society of course, is that it’s made up of people, and people are notoriously intolerant of differences.

I’m well aware of the sideways glances I receive, and the whispers that go on behind my back. I’m a sad throwback to a bygone era when glamour and beauty were cherished rather than denounced as tools of oppression. Mocking people like me helps others distinguish themselves as sophisticated and modern by comparison. Yet, I’m satisfied with myself, or rather selves. The rest of the world seems split into factions, all equipped at birth with their own ICEGs. They are one mind, with many eyes, easily falling in step with the unwritten rules reverberating through their heads. I am not among them.

I think about my nieces and nephews, and the future they might live in. Regardless of gender, there will be some flaw, some difference that they will be shamed for. I have no expectations of this world becoming a more sensitive, caring place. I instead hope that they will learn to be confident, and satisfied in themselves, rather than living costumed in the expectations of others.

I wonder how Clyde will fare? He can never take his costume off.



[You can meet Napoleon Doom and see her amazing projects at her own abode]




[May 2, 1964] The Big Time (May 1964 Analog)


by Gideon Marcus

Making it

Many people harbor a desire for fame — their face on the screen, their star on a boulevard, their name in print.  That's why it's been so gratifying to have been given plaudits by no less a personage than Rod Serling, as well as the folks who vote for the Hugos. 

But it wasn't until this month that one of us finally made the big time.  Check out this month's issue of Analog, for in the very back is a letter whose sardonic commentary makes the author evident even before one gets to the byline.  Yes, it's our very own John Boston, Traveler extraordinaire.

Bravo, Mr. Boston.  You've got a bright future.

As for Analog… there the outlook isn't so clear.

The Issue at Hand


Cover by John Schoenherr

The Problem of the Gyroscopic Earth, by Capt. J. P. Kirton

Captain Kirton's treatise on the link between the galactic magnetic field and Earth's precessions is both unreadable and ludicrous.  Basically (he argues), as the axis wobbles, pointing the poles at different sections of the sky in a many thousand-year cycle, the Milky Way works its voodoo and causes mass extinctions.

Pretty pictures are included, but I believe Kirton was indulging in some of Dr. Leary's happy juice when he wrote this.

One star (and only because the scale doesn't go any lower).

Undercurrents (Part 1 of 2), by James H. Schmitz


by John Schoenherr

Two years ago, James Schmitz introduced us to Telzey Amberdon, a 15 year old girl whose telepathic abilities allow her to establish the sentience of an alien species.  It was sort of like Piper's Little Fuzzy, and while it wasn't the most adeptly written piece, the premise and the protagonist were so intriguing that I wanted to see more stories about them.

The good news is that I got another story.  The bad news is that it isn't very good.

In this installment, Telzey goes off to the planet of Orado for advanced schooling at Penhanron College, along with Gonwil Lodis, an older girl on the threshold of adulthood and heir to a vast fortune.  When Telzey makes telepathic contact with Gonwil's fierce canine bodyguard, Chomir, she learns of a plot to murder Gonwil, but the details remain frustratingly out of reach.  Telzey must use her wits and her ever increasing talent to find the would-be assassins before they complete their mission.

It sounds pretty fantastic when written like this and, condensed down to its bare essentials, Undercurrents could be a great story.  But the thing is padded to oblivion with pointless exposition, with whole pages of content that get explained again in a few paragraphs later on anyway.  Moreover, I'm pretty sure that the dog is the lynchpin to the crime — I'll wager that in the conclusion, Chomir will turn out to have some sort of conditioning to turn on his owner.

I'll keep reading because I love the character, and I appreciate that there are a plethora of interesting women in Schmitz's world, but this could have been so much better in the hands of a more skilled (or interested?) writer.

Two stars.

Fair Warning, by John Brunner


by Michael Arndt

On a Pacific atoll, moments before the atom bomb's big brother is about to be set off, a supernatural being manifests to adjust the device's detonator and ensure that it can go off properly.  There's a Mene, Mene, Tekel, Parsin air about the event, but delivered with a sly smile.  Horrified, the scientists get drunk and smash their equipment. 

It wasn't badly written, but I found it kind of pointless.  Two stars.

Once a Cop, by Rick Raphael


by John Schoenherr

This is the second installment in Raphael's "Code Three" universe, featuring a future where the North American continent is crisscrossed by mile-wide freeways.  Cars hurtle from town to town at speeds over 200 mph, and the job of the Highway Patrolman is more necessary — and dangerous — than ever.

Once again, we follow the exploits of the seasoned Sergeant Ben Martin, rookie Clay Ferguson, and surgeon Kelly Lightfood, crew of "Beulah", a 60-foot patrol behemoth.  The piece depicts a number of crises, from a drunk speedster who soars off a highway curve, to a trucker who gets lost in a sandstorm, but the main arc involves a spoiled rich kid who is taken into custody after zooming through a closed lane and almost plowing into an accident scene.  Said kid's father is a big wheel in corporate America, and he tries everything from bribery to blackmail to get his son out of trouble. 

I hadn't expected to like this series so much, but Rafael does an excellent job of presenting the technical aspects of the story smoothly, and all of the vignettes are exciting.  It reads less like a cop show (viz. the TV show Highway Patrol) and more like a series on firefighters.  Plus, I dig that there is a prominent and tough woman in the crew.

Four stars, and keep 'em coming.

A Niche in Time, by William F. Temple


by Laszlo Kubinyi

Artists are a moody bunch, and apparently, most of the greats had profound moments of doubt that almost stymied their careers.  It turns out that, for many of them, the difference between throwing in the towel and going on to make masterpieces is an organization of time travelers.  They appear on the doorstep of the depressed creators and take them to the future to see the laurels of success.  Then the artists' memories are wiped, but the impetus remains.

No, it doesn't make a lot of sense, and this story would veer strongly into two-star territory if not for the final twist.  And, while the premise is hard to swallow, it is consistent unto itself.

Three stars.

Hunger, by Christopher Anvil


by Laszlo Kubinyi

Last up, we get a look at a failing settlement on a colony planet, whose inhabitants have been laid low by disease and mechanical failures such that just two men and a baby remain.  Their only hope is the sack of potatoes one of the fellows has managed to obtain from another straggling settlement.

The fortunes of the three are made all the worse when a pleasure yacht arrives from Earth and proceeds to set the forest afire with negligent aplomb.  The two colonists are left with but one option: use their resourcefulness to capture the yacht and make the jerks stop their wanton destruction.

This story was almost quite good.  The setup was interesting and I like a story that starts with one problem and then brings in another out of left field.  What keeps the piece solidly in the three-star range is the page of moralization at the end, in which a character opines that it's struggle that makes happiness possible, but then takes things too far by saying, "Back home, they're always talking about abolishing hunger.  They might think about it some more."  Plus, there's just some awkwardness and nastiness about the ending, and the suggestion of women as prizes that rubbed me the wrong way.

So, three stars.  Maybe it was better before Editor Campbell got his paws on it.

Summing up

April is done, so let's close the books and do the numbers!  Starting from the bottom, we have Amazing, managing to earn just two stars.  Some folks liked the Smith and Brown better than John Boston, but in general, it was a stinker.  That's a shame since it may be the only magazine to date with more words penned by women than by men.  The Analog we just got through, Boston letter notwithstanding, gets 2.6 stars.  Meanwhile F&SF earns an uninspiring 2.7 stars, but it did feature good stories by Clingerman and Carr (and if you like Ballard, by him, too).  Finally, Fantastic gets 2.9 stars, but if you're a Leiber and/or Moorcock fan, it might earn more from you.

This leaves three mags at three stars or higher, which is pretty good, actually.  IF gets exactly three, with the Cordwainer Smith story making it a worthy acquisition.  Worlds of Tomorrow has got some great stuff in it, even a good Jack Sharkey tale fer Chrissakes, and scores 3.3.  And the new New Worlds gets a respectable 3.4.

Women wrote 4 of the 43 new fiction pieces this month.  And despite the somewhat low showings of a lot of the mags, there were more standout tales this month than most.

Onward to June!


[Come join us at Portal 55, Galactic Journey's real-time lounge!  Talk about your favorite SFF, chat with the Traveler and co., relax, sit a spell…]




55 years ago: Science Fact and Fiction