[Don't forget to vote for the Hugos — the deadline is here!]
by Gideon Marcus
Across the globe, under the medieval spires of the Kremlin, three ambassadors and their teams vigorously discussed the terms of what may be the precursor to Peace in Our Time (where have we heard that before?)
It all started in 1961, when the Soviet Union began testing gigantic atomic bombs in the air and on the Siberian tundra after a three year moratorium. America followed suit with a series of tests in the Pacific and high in the atmosphere. These provided a wonderful show for residents of Hawaii but also made planning for Mercury shots a bit more tricky.
Then, in October 1962, the two superpowers came to the brink of war over the Soviet Union's placement of nuclear missiles in Cuba, just 90 miles off the Florida cloast. Nikita blinked when Jack glared, and the Doomsday Clock, fluttering at seven minutes to midnight, did not tick.
Nevertheless, it was a close shave, and since then, great strides have been taken to ensure the ongoing survival of our species. For instance, a teletype "hotline" is being established between Washington D.C. and Moscow. If things heat up, the President and the Premier can be chatting (via text) in short order, no need to work through ambassadors.
More significantly, W. Averell Harriman, a former U.S. ambassador to the Soviet Union; Lord Hailsham of Britain; and Soviet Foreign Minister Andrei Gromyko have just put together the first Partial Test Ban Treaty. It will establish a moratorium on atomic testing in the oceans, in the air, above ground, and in space. Enforcement of the ban will be done by satellite, which can detect the flash of a nuclear detonation.
Why are underground tests excluded from the ban? Because we can't easily verify when they've happened, and the Russians don't want us prying too deeply into their affairs. That said, it is a first step, and one that should greatly reduce atmospheric and orbital radiation — a boon that cannot be understated. With the ban's ratification (hopefully within the next couple of months), the Free and Communist Worlds may inch permanently back from the potential of war.
Meanwhile, in the United States, editor John W. Campbell appears to have done his utmost not to distract from the unquestionably big news described above. Indeed, the August 1963 Analog is so unremarkable that it might well have not even been published. I suppose I prefer good real news to good science fiction, but on the other hand, I pay for my subscription to Analog.
Well… maybe not for long. See for yourself.
Change, by R. A. J. Phillips
For once, the "Science Fact" article is neither silly nor dry as dust. This month's piece is on the Eskimo people of the Arctic, the consequences of their interactions with the industrialized peoples to the south, and the lessons we might carry over to our first contact with aboriginal aliens.
Pretty interesting, actually. Three stars.
The Hate Disease, by Murray Leinster
I adore the stories of Dr. Calhoun of the interstellar "Med Service" and his cute little monkey/cat, Murgatroyd. So enchanted have I been by his universe that I have unabashedly cribbed some aspects of it (like the jump drive and the independent nature of the various worlds) for my own stories.
Thus, it is with great sadness that I must levy a two-star rating on this piece, whose premise involves a contagion that had infected nearly half of a planet's population. It's just poorly put together, difficult to follow, and the chemical basis for the plague is both abstruse and ridiculous.
"To Invade New York … ", by Irwin Lewis
A mild professor believes he has discovered a plot to paralyze the Big Apple by seizing control of its traffic lights. This first tale from Irwin Lewis is a shaggy dog bar story without a lot of there there. Two stars.
Patriot, by Frank A. Javor
An extraterrestrial invasion of Earth is repulsed when one brave man tricks the conquering enemy into raising the flag of a terran nation (presumably the United States). The hook is that the fellow wends his way into the alien camp by wearing a deliberately mismatched enemy uniform — but it is never explained how that accomplishes his goal. I read it twice and couldn't figure it out. It was a silly story, too. Two stars.
Controlled Experiment, by Arthur Porges
The prolific (if not terrific) Arthur Porges returns with an unnecessary sequel to The Topper, depicting another magical hoax and its scientific explanation. Forgettable. Two stars.
The Ethical Engineer (Part 2 of 2), by Harry Harrison
At last we come to what you all will probably (as I did) turn to first: the conclusion to the second novel in the Deathworld series. When last we left Jason dinAlt, interstellar gambler and lately resident of the dangerous world of Pyrrus, he had been enslaved by the D'sertanoj of a nearby primitive planet. These desert-dwellers know how to mine petroleum, which they trade to the people of the country, Appsala, in exchange for caroj — steam powered battle wagons. When dinAlt reveals that he can produce caroj himself, he is promoted to "employee" status and given run of the place. He eventually escapes with his native companion, Ijale, as well as the obnoxiously moralistic Micah, who kidnapped dinAlt in the first place. Adventures ensue.
The original Deathworld was a minor masterpiece, a parable about letting go of destructive hatred, suffused with a message on the importance of environmentalism. It was also a cracking good read. This new piece is just a yarn, one almost as clunky as the caroj dinAlt works on. The theme is that universal morality is anything but, and ethics must be tailored to the society for which they are developed.
I don't disagree, but the passages that deal with ethics are long-winded and poorly integrated; Harrison never matches the message to the underlying carrier wave. The result reads as if the author had digested a bunch of recent Heinlein before putting finger to typewriter.
The second Deathworld is not bad, just disappointing, particularly given the brilliance of the first story. Three stars.
It's time to crunch the numbers. Firstly, I note that the readers of Analog found that Norman Spinrad's first story, the exquisite The Last of the Romany, was the worst story of that issue. Well, I hope they're happy now. This latest issue ranks a lousy 2.4 stars, easily at the bottom of the pack this month.
By comparison, F&SF got a lackluster 2.7 stars, and all the other mags finished above water: Fantastic (with the best story, the Leiber), New Worlds, and Galaxy all got 3.2; Amazing scored an atypical 3.5. Editor of Fantastic and Amazing, Cele Goldsmith, is the winner this month for certain.
Women fared less well otherwise — out of 39 pieces of fiction (lumping together the various vignettes in this month's Fantastic), only two were written by women — one a short poem co-written with her husband. Yes, folks. It's getting worse.
Maybe the SF editors have signed a Partial Woman Ban Treaty?
