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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

[April 26, 1969] Downbeat (May 1969 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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photo of a man with glasses and curly, long, brown hair, and a beard and mustache
by Gideon Marcus

Impending collapse

The end may be near for the nascent would-be-state of Biafra.  For two years, the Nigerian breakaway has seen its land systematically (re)taken, and the eight million Biafrans, mostly Ibo people, have been crammed into ever small regions under Biafran control—just 3,000 out of an original 29,000 square miles.

Starvation rages, killing more than gunfire.  Yet the Biafrans remain unbowed, converting diesel generators to run on crude petroleum, keeping churches open (at night, anyway), and getting food via threatened air strips.

But on the 22nd, the capital and last Biafran city, Umuahia, fell to Nigerian forces.  Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu, President of Biafra, has vowed he will continue the struggle in guerrilla fashion.  Only Gabon, Haiti, Ivory Coast, Tanzania, and Zambia have recognized the secessionist state, although tacit assistance has been provided by such diverse states as France, Spain, Portugal, Norway, and Czechoslovakia. 

At this point, it's hard to imagine the Biafran experiment succeeding.  But surely there must be more that we can do apart from watch helplessly.  I wish I knew what it was.  Support the Red Cross, I suppose.

Impending mediocrity

I don't have a great segue from that bummer of a news item.  All I have is the lastest issue of Fantasy and Science Fiction.  While it's not entirely unworthy (the opening serial is pretty good), the rest offers little respite from the bleakness of the real world:


by Jack Gaughan

Operation Changeling (Part 1 of 2), by Poul Anderson

Back in the '50s, Poul had a great series that took place on a parallel Earth.  Its history was not dissimilar to ours, but wizardry replaces technology in many regards.  It's a bit like Garrett's Lord D'Arcy series, but a touch sillier.  The stars of the series are a magical duo comprising a werewolf and a magic-using dragoon Captain.  In the latest story (a decade ago!) the two had gotten married.  In the latest installment, Ginny and Steve are the proud parents of a beautiful little girl.

Unfortunately, Valeria Victrix has been born into a difficult time.  Adherents of St. John, whose outwardly clement brand of Christianity hides disturbing cultist elements, are waging a war against authority and the military-industrial complex—including the defense contractor that employs Steve.  The Johnnites are essentially stand-ins for the current peace movements, albeit more sinister.

The conflict with the less-than-civil resisters recedes in importance, however, when on her third birthday, Valeria is abducted by no less than the demonic forces of Hell.  It is now up to Steve and Ginny to rescue their little girl before she is incurably corrupted…and to determine if the Johnnites are at all responsible!

Anderson has three main modes: crunchy, compelling science fiction; crunchy, dull-as-dirt science fiction; and lightish fantasy.  This short novel, despite the dark subject matter, promises to be the most fun romp since Three Hearts and Three Lions.

Four stars so far.

The Beast of Mouryessa, by William C. Abeel

A French sculptor is commissioned to create a replica of an obscene, demonic figure, unearthed recently in the Avignon region.  The original stone creature has a history of causing catastrophe to those who behold it, but the lovely matron who wants the copy seems unperturbed.  Of course, the sculptor has all sorts of ill feelings and second thoughts, but he does nothing about them.  In the end, he is possessed by the spirit of the thing, and awful stuff ensues.

Aside from all the sex and frequent references to the statue's enormous dong, this story is pretty old hat.  Lovecraft did this kind of thing better.

Two stars.


by Gahan Wilson

London Melancholy, by M. John Harrison

A host of eerie mutants roam post-apocalyptic London in this absolutely impenetrable, unreadably purple piece.

One star.

For the Sake of Grace, by Suzette Haden Elgin

Thousands of years from now, Earth and its solar colonies have organized into a patriarchal, caste-based system.  The Kadilh ban-Harihn has much cause for joy: four sons who have all passed the stringent test to become 4th degree members of the Poet caste.  But he also has a hidden pain; his sister was one of the rare women to dare entry into the coveted ranks of the Poets.  Her fate for failing was that of all women who fail—eternal solitary confinement.

'Unfair!' you cry?  Well, at least it keeps women from trying such a foolhardy endeavor.  Which is why it hits the Kadilh all the harder when he learns his youngest child, his only daughter, also has decided to try to be a Poet, a task of which she is most certainly incapable…

This is a scathing piece, a refreshing attack on sexism.  I'd give it higher marks if it had included even one poem, given the theme, but I still quite liked it.

Four stars.

The Power of Progression, by Isaac Asimov

The Good Doctor explains why our current rate of population growth cannot go on—even if we manage to get off planet, that just means the universe will be clogged with humanity within the millennium. 

I appreciate the doomsaying sentiment, but there comes a point when exponents become specious, a masturbatory effort in mathematics.

Three stars.

Copstate, by Ron Goulart

I used to like the tales of Ben Jolson, lead agent of the shapechanging Chameleon Corps, but they've gotten pretty tired of late.  This last entry is the least.  Ben is tapped to infiltrate a tightly controlled security state to retrieve a revolutionary polemic.

Goulart is capable of writing funny, light, riproaring stuff, but this one is just a bust.

Two stars.

The Flower Kid Cashes In, by George Malko

Item two in the cavalcade of anti-utopian incomprehensibility.  Per a conversation I recently had with David and Kris:

Me: Can anyone explain the last story in this month's F&SF to me?
David: Not really.  Aging hippie survives after the Bomb falls and sort of commits suicide by staying true to his priniciples?  I think it was too concerned with being literary to mean something or be about anything.
Kris: I am not even sure if it is trying to be literary so much as "with it".  But either way it seems very hollow.

Your guess is as good as mine.  At least it's short.  Two stars.

The Body Count

Comparing the lastest F&SF to the Biafran tragedy is probably beyond the realm of good taste.  I'll just note that 2.7 stars is an inauspicious sign.  However, given that the first few issues of the year were significantly better, I don't think this lapse foretells a permanent downturn.

At least some things are salvageable.  See you next month.




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Science Fiction/Fantasy

[Apr. 20, 1969] Are Phoenixes Rising from ASFR's Ashes?

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by Alison Scott

Meanwhile in Australian Fandom

For three years we have been entertained and informed by the finest Australian fanzine of our age, the Australian Science Fiction Review (ASFR). Edited by John Bangsund, it started with a remit to explore Australian SF but of course it has cast its net far wider than that.

the words Australian Science Fiction Review 15, written in the shape of Australia (the 15 is Tasmania)
Cover, ASFR 15, John Bangsund

Bangsund prints articles by some of the most thoughtful and erudite writers from Australia and worldwide, and features fascinating letters from interesting correspondents on a range of subjects. The content, whether tending to the serious or fannish, sparkles; a testament to Bangsund’s close and careful editing. ASFR has been nominated for a Hugo in each of the last two years, and its influence is felt globally.

A Fanzine Editor is a Proud, Lonely and Impoverished Thing

Now, however, Bangsund is clearly finding the fanzine not merely a financial drain, but also a personal one. It has many subscribers and agents in several countries (including Ethel Lindsay for the UK, from whom I got these copies). In Issue 18, December 1968, he features an editorial explaining that the high cost and low level of feedback he receives on the fanzine is discouraging him from continuing. But the quality of material he publishes remains very high. That same issue features an essay by Australian author George Turner on the business of writing about science fiction that I think is well worth a read by anyone who is interested in criticism.

With a Little Help from his Friends

The latest issue, #19, dated March 1969, has been edited exceptionally by John Foyster, who writes, a little peevishly:

“Although I (John Foyster) am named as editor of this issue of ASFR, it should be noted that the issue has been partly edited by John Bangsund in that his policy prevented the publication of some material I should have liked to use. Further, the size of the issue has been limited to the extent that I cannot include some articles I felt were worthwhile (over and beyond the previously-mentioned censorship). But let's not get maudlin.”

This issue is still the largest for some while, and features a smaller typeface so as to cram in more material.

Will ASFR continue? It’s clear that Bangsund is unpersuaded of the value of publishing such a serious sf-focused fanzine as ASFR has become, and would prefer the freedom of a more general title. However, two of his associates appear to be picking up the mantle. These fanzines could not be more different from each other, but both show a link to ASFR beyond just being written by regular contributors to that fanzine.

Some Like it Sercon

The first, SF Commentary, comes from Bruce Gillespie. This is issue one, and apparently Gillespie’s first fanzine! He has clearly sprung fully formed from Bangsund’s rib. This fanzine is, to be fair, rather hard to read. I don’t think he has used the best typewriter, and there are no illustrations at all!. So it is quite a struggle to read the fascinating analysis of Kurt Vonnegut’s Sirens of Titan and Cat’s Cradle by Damien Broderick, or Gillespie’s own analysis of several recent novels by Philip K. Dick. It’s well worth it though.

SF Commentary, First Issue, 'Damien Broderick – Vonnegut', 'John Foyster – Decline of SF', 'George Turner – IQ and SF', 'Bruce Gillespie – Dick, 2001 Reviews'
Cover, SF Commentary 1, Bruce Gillespie

The first issue is over sixty pages in total (a letter column is promised next issue, and I am sure he will get good letters to put in it) and features a wealth of serious science-fiction criticism. This is explained in the acknowledgements; most of the articles here were originally planned for ASFR, but the reduced frequency of that fanzine has put them here instead. Gillespie is planning to publish nine times a year; quite an ambitious schedule. You would think he would have learnt from Bangsund’s example.

But what of Fannish Nonsense? We have a Rataplan for that!

Rataplan, meanwhile, comes from Leigh Edmonds, another of the ’ASFR gang’ – and this time there is a photo of Edmonds with the other people who work on ASFR.

a light-hearted photo of seven young men standing by a swing set
The 'ASFR gang' pictured in 1967 – (l-r) John Bangsund, Leigh Edmonds, Lee Hardin, John Foyster, Tony Thomas, Merv Binns and Paul J Stevens. Photographer believed to be Diane Bangsund.

This is a very much better-produced affair than SF Commentary. Leigh is not rash enough to commit to a publishing schedule but says “I intend to concern myself with fandom… If I can get quality and fannishness I will be happy.” But while the major article here is a consideration of fantasy films of the thirties, the items I enjoyed most were the satirical pieces poking fun at, in turn, Melbourne SF fandom, ASFR, and science fiction magazines. That last came via a John Foyster ‘editorial’ for ‘Stupefying Stories’, a magazine which feels like many we have all read.


Cover, Rataplan 1, John Bangsund

John Bangsund has already suggested that these two fanzines are the heirs to ASFR. They are both very different and you will need to seek them both out to be convinced, as I am, that Australian fanzine writing is in safe hands.




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Book, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[April 18, 1969] A new look at dragons… (Anne McCaffrey's Dragonflight)

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by George Pritchard

I warn you all that I am not the most up-to-date person when it comes to SFF. But a friend recommended this book after seeing I had a dragon-shaped object d’art, and thought I might like this. Soon after, I encountered the Traveller, who has kindly granted me a space here.

Far from our mutual friend’s reviews of its Analog run [q.v. for the plot synopsis], I found it an extremely engaging story, able to play in the waters of both science fiction and fantasy. I have occasionally run across McCaffrey’s work before, it seems—going back through reviews indicates I have indeed read one or two of the Helva stories in the past, though I have not revisited them. Not because they were bad, but like so many stories, they ended in a way that seemed comfortably complete.

In Dragonflight, not only was I engaged and fascinated the whole way through, but I wanted to reread it immediately upon finishing it. One of my favorite things was that there were so many stories, interlocking and existing beside each other. That was something that frustrated me about Dune: the characters seemed to not exist off of the page. It reminds me of a professor I had in college, pure Boasian, and he said that no people are truly illogical, but they work from a specific logic of their own. The rules that are there are not truly arbitrary, but are created for a reason, and once we understand that reasoning, we can move into asking whether the rule should be kept or not.

The author seems to be doing this as well, adding what works as need be, and removing what doesn’t. Depending on your feelings, this can be either exciting and intriguing, seeing what’s kept on versus scattered to the winds. This is a warning to the reader—Dragonflight has a variety of continuity errors, most notably between the first two sections. At least one off-page character switches gender, for instance. The threat and impact of perpetual violence comes up in the first section, but afterwards, there is a stronger emphasis on peaceful (or at least nonviolent) solutions. If you enjoyed Andre Norton’s Star Man’s Son / Daybreak – 2250 AD, I think you will enjoy this book very much.

In my opinion, what makes Dragonflight more of an SF novel than a fantasy one is how essential problems are solved. What SF truly is or is not will always be debated, but one of the main differences between SF and fantasy is based on the way things are solved. Fantasy tends to rely on outside intervention to carry the day, while SF relies on knowing how things work in order to experiment and negotiate a solution — in other words, applying the scientific method. What does it matter, then, if the characters wear tunics rather than spacesuits?

Beyond the dragons (and the watch wehrs), my favorite thing about Dragonflight was actually the various songs included in the story, and that things are largely taught through poems recited or sung. In my time, I have read many, many terrible poems crowbarred into stories, and I assure you, these are not bad at all. In fact, I have found myself singing many of the Dragonflight songs to myself since I started reading the book (to melodies of my own devise.)

Our mutual friend has made it clear what he dislikes about Dragonflight in his reviews of the Analog series, and I hope I have shed some light on what I loved about it. In the same way that the often disagreeing characters of Dragonflight compare and contrast the information that they have to contribute to the common good of their planet, I believe that our differing reviews can combine to provide a more complete picture of the book. In addition, it is my understanding that the serial omitted some of the book's material, and it's for certain that Campbell added a few editorial touches of his own—so if you're going to try Dragonflight out, please read the original!

4.5 stars.




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Science Fiction/Fantasy, TV

[April 14, 1969] My Least Favourite Kind Of Cereal (Doctor Who: The Space Pirates [Parts 4-6])

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By Jessica Holmes

The last we left the Doctor and company, they were at the mercy of a gang of not-particularly-swashbuckling space pirates. The first half of this serial was a rather bland affair—let’s see if the second half improves things.

ID: The Doctor (middle-aged white male, dark hair) and Jamie (young adult male, dark hair) kneel in a darkened room.

In Case You Missed It

Having just been chased down a hole, the Doctor and his friends are dismayed to discover that they have not in fact found a cunning escape route from the pirates, but the entrance to a prison cell. A prison cell they’re now trapped within. And they’re not alone. The sole survivor from the beacon attack, Sorba, is in there with them. One might think that he’s going to become pivotal to the plot and their survival, but—well, you’ll see soon enough.

Meanwhile, the leader of the pirates, Caven, is beset by dissension in his crew. His subordinate, Dervish, is hesitant to travel to collect the beacon segments, fearing the Space Corps, who are also en-route. However, he’s more afraid of Caven, who has placed a remote control on his ship, and could kill him with the push of a button.

Dervish arrives at the beacon debris to find that one of the sections is missing, and remembering that Sorba had said something about intruders, Caven sends a couple of men to collect Sorba for interrogation.

These men arrive at the prison cell just in time to find the Doctor and his friends escaping with the assistance of Milo Clancey. He shoots one of them, but the other escapes, and soon the whole base is searching for the missing captives as they flee through the tunnels.

ID: Madeleine (late 30s-ish white female, polished makeup, shiny hat) with an expression of shock on her face.

The Doctor and company make it to Madeleine Issigri’s office, where they beg for her to call the General—only to realise too late that not only is she aware of the pirates living right under her, she’s in league with them. Caven arrives to collect his captives, and Sorba attacks him. It doesn’t go well for Sorba.

Madeleine intervenes before Caven can kill the others, as she’s only in this for a little space theft, not outright murder.

Caven throws the prisoners into Madeleine’s father’s old office, and who should they find there but…Madeleine’s father, Dom Issigri. It turns out that Caven has been holding him captive all this time to use as leverage against his daughter. Who doesn’t know he’s down there. But was helping him anyway. I have to wonder if Caven fully understands the point of taking a hostage.

Having had enough of Caven’s cruelty, Madeleine appeals to Dervish, who turns out to be too much of a coward to turn against Caven and help her. She instead attempts to contact Hermack to ask for help, but Caven catches her in the act. It’s only then that he reveals to her that her father is alive and at his mercy.

And he’s escaping, with the Doctor’s help. And a little arson. There are many ways to trick a guard into entering one’s cell so you can tackle him and escape, but setting a small fire is probably the most dramatic.

Little do they realise that this time the pirates aren’t going to chase them. Caven has laid a trap, a scheme that will deal with his enemies and shake the Space Corps off his tail. The pirates have planted a remote control device on Milo’s ship, so that they can pilot him towards the stolen beacon, allowing the Space Corps to catch him ‘red-handed’. And he won’t be able to tell the Space Corps that he isn’t in control of the ship, because by the time they’re close enough to see him, he’ll be already dead, because they can remotely cut off the oxygen supply.

ID: Milo (60s-ish, grey hair, white male) looking down at something with an expression of consternation.

That’s the plan, anyway. But Jamie and Zoe lag behind, and when the Doctor doubles back for them, the ship takes off without him, almost burning him to a crisp in the exhaust. Jamie and Zoe catch up to find him lightly toasted and talking like he just gargled a tub of gravel.

Realising that his trap has failed to snare all the intended victims, Caven takes off to search the tunnels, leaving Madeleine alone with Dervish. She tries to convince him to turn against Caven as she has, but he’s in too deep and he’s too much of a coward to try.

The Doctor and company find their way to Madeleine, Jamie successfully subduing Dervish— but not without a little accident. In the scuffle, Dervish’s gun goes off, fusing the wires on the remote control unit. The Doctor manages to repair it enough to get the ship’s oxygen supply back online, but as for disabling the auto-pilot, that’s down to Clancey. Thankfully he’s good at following the Doctor’s instructions, and is soon on his way back to Tar to rescue the Doctor and company.

Drawing near, Hermack radios Clancey’s ship, and Milo gets the chance to tell him what’s really going on, that Dom Issigri is alive, and that the real villain is Caven. Hermack assures him and Madeleine that he’s coming to help.

ID: Hermack (middle-aged, neat grey hair, white male) sits at a control panel, holding a microphone to his mouth.

But they’re not safe yet. If Caven can’t have access to Madeleine’s mines, nobody can. He’s setting charges on the atomic fuel stores. The moment he’s clear of the planet, he’s going to blow Madeleine’s base sky-high—and Milo’s ship won’t be fast enough to get them to safety in time.

Hermack tries to intervene to stop Caven before he can get far enough away to detonate the device, but Caven, seeing the approach of Hermack’s attack ships, threatens to detonate the bomb early and take them with him.

For the people stuck down on the planet, their only hope is for the Doctor to defuse the bomb. All they can do is watch from outside the radiation room as the Doctor slowly, methodically, sets about his work. Hitchcock, it is not.

The Doctor succeeds just as Caven pulls the trigger on the detonator, and then the serial is very abruptly over. Hermack’s ships blow up Caven, Madeleine reunites with her father off-screen, and Milo offers the Doctor and company a ride back to the TARDIS. Considering his driving, Jamie would rather walk.

ID: The Doctor peers at a tangle of wires.

A Lack Of Flavour

There are two fundamentals missing from this story, two things which should have reinforced one another and the story itself: tension and an emotional core. The ingredients for both are all there, but feel like an afterthought.

Madeleine’s separation from her father should be a lot more emotionally impactful than it actually is. I feel like we do feel the pain of the separation from his perspective, but not from hers. Perhaps because the first time we learn of the separation, it’s part of a dispassionate information dump between Madeleine and Hermack. As far as she’s concerned, he’s dead and has been for years. There’s a lot more emotional distance for her. Yet for Dom, the trauma is ongoing. This mismatch could be played for tragedy, but the narrative doesn’t do anything with it. Worst of all, we don’t even get to see their reunion, for what little catharsis they might have been able to wring out of it. And if the serial doesn’t care enough to show them being reunited, why should I care that they were?

ID: Madeleine looking bewildered.

As for the lack of tension, it’s harder to put my finger on. I think this might be more of a directorial issue than a writing issue. Or perhaps a bit of both. There’s something dispassionate about the entire story, possibly caused by the heavy, characterless exposition in the first half. I just don’t feel what the serial wants me to feel.

A prime example is the climactic scene where the Doctor has to defuse the bomb. Sure, we know they’re not actually going to blow up the entire main cast, but other stories have managed to deliver ample tension despite that. I’m told that time is running out but I don’t feel it, that’s the difference. It’s all about the feeling. Bomb disposal scenes should be positively nail-biting but this one just…isn’t. It’s dry.

That’s it. That’s why I don’t like this serial: it’s the television equivalent of bran flakes.

ID: One of the 'minnow' ships leaving the larger carrier. The ship is small with a long, needle-like nosecone.

Final Thoughts

How can something with a title as promising as "THE SPACE PIRATES" (Pirates! In SPACE!!!) be such a dull affair? The most it has going for it are a few cute moments between the Doctor and Jamie. They’re basically an old married couple at this point. At least, they certainly bicker like one.

I do hope that the next serial is better. It’s not just the last in the current series. It’s Mr. Troughton’s last spin in the TARDIS as the current Doctor.

And I’m not ready for him to go.




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[April 10, 1969] Low (May 1969 Amazing)

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by John Boston

Here’s the May Amazing, the latest installment of the dreary soap opera that this magazine has become.  The well-qualified Ted White is the new editor, the fourth in ten issues.  Though he’s listed as Managing Editor, and Sol Cohen as Editor and Publisher, White’s editorial makes it clear that he will be running the magazine—within the constraints of Cohen’s policies, of course, most notably the reprint policy.


by Johnny Bruck

As a debut issue, this one does not impress, but that’s probably not a fair judgment.  Given the abrupt departure of White’s predecessor Barry Malzberg, it was likely a scramble to get any issue at all together from available parts.  The fiction contents include an Edmond Hamilton story in a series that has run in Amazing and Fantastic for several years, publication no doubt foreordained; one very short new story; and the usual heavy load of reprints, all from the 1950s consistent with recent practice.  The non-fiction includes, as usual of late, a Laurence Janifer movie review (Barbarella—he likes it!) and a Leon Stover “Science of Man” article.  The only identifiable change is a letter column.  The book review department is missing, one hopes temporarily, since it has been one of the magazine’s brighter aspects.

As for future plans, White provides a rather carefully argued editorial, which starts by analogizing the “New Thing” in science fiction to the ongoing innovations in popular music, noting that despite the “sudden flowering” of rock music, it isn’t forgetting its roots.  After some commentary on the New Thing, sympathetic but cautionary (“One J.G. Ballard can be important, but ten little Ballards?”), White asserts that most of the “New Wave” writers have not neglected their predecessors, citing Zelazny and Delany, noting particularly that Delany has absorbed and transformed old Planet Stories-style space opera plots. “It is my conviction that the science fiction field needs a magazine in which the old and the new can exist side by side, each thriving from its proximity to the other.  And that is what I intend for Amazing: Something of the old (the reprints) and of the new (the best of the new writers). . . .” And he concludes by adding that this issue’s “Star Kings” novelet by Edmond Hamilton exemplifies exploration of the genre’s roots—but next issue we can expect a “new and very different novel by Robert Silverberg.”

It’s all gracefully done, touching the necessary bases with plausible conviction, and starkly contrasting with Harry Harrison’s pandering editorial of February 1968, which made essentially the same substantive points but which struck me as “a disappointingly smarmy exercise in having it both ways.”

The letter column is divided among sober commentary on current SF, the pleasures of letter columns and fanzine reviews, and a quite long letter contesting Stover’s “Science of Man” article War and Peace, which White says he cut down from 14 pages.  Shades of Brass Tacks!  This feature will require some tightening up but White clearly takes it seriously.  As for the reference to fanzine reviews, White promises “fan features” in both Amazing and Fantastic.

And up front—though looking backward—is another cliched cover illustration by Johnny Bruck.  Last issue, fellow Journeyer Cora Buhlert wished that Amazing would use the good Bruck covers rather than the dull ones.  Yes!  If there are any.

The Horror from the Magellanic, by Edmond Hamilton

The lead story is Edmond Hamilton’s “short novel” (33 pages), The Horror from the Magellanic, latest in his series of sequels to his 1947 novel The Star Kings.  I won’t repeat my previous jaundiced comments on the whole enterprise, but will leave it at a couple of samples:

“ ‘Highness, they’ve come out of the Marches.  The Counts’ fleet.  They’re more than twice as strong as we expected . . . and they’re coming full speed toward Fomalhaut!’
“Chapter Two
“Gordon felt a chilling dismay.  The Counts of the Marches were throwing everything they had into this.  And whether their gamble succeeded or not, in the dark background brooded the unguessable purposes and menace of the H’harn.”

And:

“. . . Gordon sat for a long time looking past the moving lights and the uproar and clamorous confusion of the great city, toward the starry sky.  A star kingdom might fall, Narath might realize his ambition and sit on the throne of Fomalhaut, and he, John Gordon, and Lianna might be sent to their deaths.  And that would be a world tragedy as well as tragedy for them.
“But if the H’harn succeeded, that would be tragedy for the whole galaxy, a catastrophe of cosmic dimension.  Thousands of years before they had come from the outer void, bent on conquest, and only the power of the Disruptor, unloosed by Brenn Bir, had driven them back .  Out there in the Lesser Magellanic Cloud they had brooded all this time, never giving up their purpose, filtering back gradually in secret plotting with the Counts, plotting with Narath, making ready some new tremendous stroke.
“Doomsday had come again, after those thousands of years.”


by Dan Adkins

To my taste, this is all an idea whose time has passed.  No disrespect to Hamilton—a working professional writing in a mode he virtually invented—especially since he has shown he can work quite capably in styles other than this bombastic costume drama (see his 1960 novel The Haunted Stars).  Three stars, acknowledging the craft involved, even if I can’t get interested.

Yesterdays, by Ray Russell

The new short story (very short), Ray Russell’s Yesterdays, couples two ancient themes, time running backwards and mad scientists; it’s clever and facile, as one would expect from the long-time fiction editor of Playboy, but no more. Three stars.

The Invaders, by Murray Leinster

The longest story in the issue is Murray Leinster’s The Invaders, from the April/May 1953 issue of Amazing, the first in its short-lived experiment in paying more in order to get better material from more well-known authors.  Leinster shared the contents page with Heinlein, Sturgeon, and Bradbury.  Unfortunately his story begins well but undermines itself, unusually for this professional of decades’ standing.


Uncredited

The scene is set in terms of purest Cold War paranoia.  The protagonist, surveying in Greece, flees an unacknowledged incursion by Bulgarian soldiers, and the author observes:

“It was not the time for full-scale war.  Bulgaria and the other countries in its satellite status were under orders to put a strain upon the outside world.  They were building up border incidents and turmoil for the benefit of their masters.  Turkey was on a war footing, after a number of incidents like this.  Indo-China was at war.  Korea was an old story.  Now Greece.  It always takes more men to guard against criminal actions than to commit them. . .  This was cold war.”

In the midst of this covert crisis, the protagonist discovers powerful evidence of infiltration by extraterrestrials in human guise—but what to do?  Who will believe him?  Leinster builds an atmosphere of suspense and suspicion at first, but it is quickly dissipated by hints that something different and more benign is going on, and by the end there’s no suspense or surprise.  Three stars, barely; it’s at least slickly readable, as usual for Leinster.

King of the Black Sunrise, by Milton Lesser

Milton Lesser’s King of the Black Sunrise is an entirely more rancid kettle of fish.  It’s from Amazing, May 1955, in the midst of the Howard Browne/Paul Fairman era of calculated formulaic mediocrity, and shows it.  It reads like the result of a barroom bet over how many egregious cliches the author could cram into a single story. 

Kent Taggert, fugitive from justice on murder charges (but of course he’s innocent), is tracked down on the obscure planet Argiv by a woman who wants to hire him for a dangerous assignment.  “I looked at her for the first time.  She was beautiful.  So damned beautiful and so damned sure of herself.  I felt like poking her one.” A bit later: “I could smell her perfume, not the kind that slams two sexy fists into your nostrils but the subtle kind, like the girls can buy only on Earth.”


Uncredited

The woman (named Helen, we later learn) discloses that the World Bureau of Investigation is on his trail, and like clockwork, a guy “who was trying too hard not to look like law” shows up at the bar where this conversation is occurring.  Taggert decides he’d better take Helen’s proposition—to guide her party to find and plunder the treasure of the Black Sunrise. 

See, Argiv has three suns—per the natives, the Green God, the Yellow God, and (“greatest of all”) the Purple God.  They all rise and set at different times, but occasionally they are all below the horizon at the same time.  That’s the Black Sunrise, even though it’s really a sunset.  During the Black Sunrise, the barrier to the natives’ treasure cave opens up, and new offerings are deposited to make sure the three Gods come back.  No one who has sought to steal this treasure has emerged alive.

So our freebooters hire some native bearers (“big flabby purple-skinned Argivians”) and march into the jungle (“King Solomon’s Mines, a hundred parsecs out in deep space,” muses Cotton, the hotheaded jerk of the party).  But soon enough the bearers become fearful and desert, and the humans must push on without much of their equipment.

It goes on in similar vein, but recounting it is even more tedious than reading it.  One star.

Wish It Away, by Frank Freeman

Frank Freeman’s Wish It Away (Fantastic, January-February 1954) is a jokey vignette so inane it almost hurts to describe it.  Protagonist Mervin sees a monster every night, psychiatrist tells him to “wish it away,” next night the psychiatrist sees the monster, who says, “Mervin sent me.  I hope it’s all right.” Now nobody else has to read it.  One star.

Race-Zoology and Politics, by Leon E. Stover

The “Science of Man” article by Leon E. Stover suffers the faults of its predecessors, magnified.  Race-Zoology and Politics is an outright polemic, with Stover taking up the cause of Carleton S. Coon, author of The Origin of the Races, who was denounced as a racist a few years ago by the president of the American Anthropological Association.  Stover says Coon “has simply become a ‘non-person’ to the profession,” but: “It is a dead certainty that Coon sometime in the future will be rehabilitated and recognized for the great work he has done, which has been to complete the uncompleted work of Darwin.”

Well, maybe.  Stover proceeds to argue Coon’s case about the evolution of human physical types in his familiar assertively dogmatic fashion.  This one-sided partisan presentation concerning what is apparently a hot ongoing argument in the profession is of little use to the lay reader trying to understand more about the underlying science.  Not rated—it’s just out of place here.

Summing Up

This is the most discouraging issue of Amazing in recent memory.  The magazine continues to limp along under the weight of the reprint policy, and this issue’s batch of them is the worst in some time.  Notably, the original notion of reacquainting the current SF readership with forgotten classics of the field—or at least interesting period pieces—has largely been lost as the reprints have come more frequently from Amazing’s more recent periods of outright mediocrity, mostly ranging from routine to awful.  Will yet another new editor be allowed to make it better?




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

[April 8, 1969] Distractions (May 1969 Galaxy)

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photo of a man with glasses and curly, long, brown hair, and a beard and mustache
by Gideon Marcus

Instant Classic

There are few expressions as irritating to me as the oxymoronic "Modern Classic"…but I have to admit that the shoe sometimes fits.

Mario Puzo's third novel, The Godfather, came out last month, and I can't put it down.  It's not a small book—some 446 pages—but those pages turn like no one's business.  It's the story of Vito Corleone, a Sicilian who arrives in the country around the turn of the Century and slowly, but inexorably, becomes crime boss of Manhattan. 

The Mafia has had a particular allure of late.  LIFE just had a long bit on the recent death of Vito Genovese and the current scramble to replace him as head of the Genovese family.  For those who want a (seemingly accurate) introduction to the underworld of organized crime, The Godfather makes a terrific primer.

Bloody, pornographic, blunt, but also detailed and even, in its own way, scholarly, The Godfather is a book you can't put down. 

Which is a problem when you're supposed to get through a stack of science fiction magazines every month.  Indeed, how is a somewhat long-in-the-tooth, middle-of-the-road mag like Galaxy, especially this latest issue, supposed to compete?


by Vaughn Bodé

Little Blue Hawk, by Sydney J. Van Scyoc

Imagine an America generations from now, after eugenics has gone awry.  After some initial promising results, a significant number of humans became dramatically mutated, with profound physical and mental variations accompanied by even more pronounced neuroses.  Over time, these mutants have mingled with baseline humans, spreading their traits.

This is the story of Kert Tahn, a wingless hawk of a man, who bears a weighty set of obsessions and compulsions, as well as a dandy case of synesthesia: to him, words are crystalline, shattering into dust and leaving a pall over everything.  An urban "Special Person", plucked as an infant from one of the rural Special Person-only communities, he harbors a strong urge to fly, which is why he takes up a job as a hover-disc pilot, ferrying customers out into the hinterlands now reserved for the genetically modified.  "Little Blue Hawk" is a series of encounters with a variety of more-or-less insane individuals, and how each helps him on his road to self-discovery.


by Reese

There are elements I really liked in this story.  Though the causes of neuroses are genetic, it is clear Van Scyoc is making a statement—and an aspirational prediction—as to how mental illnesses might be accommodated rather than simply cured…or its sufferers tucked away.  All Special Persons have the constitutional right to have their compulsions respected, and they are listed on a prominent medallion each of them wears.  Of course, this leads to a mixture of both care by and disdain from the "normal" population.

I also thought that a set of neurotic compulsions actually makes for a dandy thumbnail sketch of an alien race—a set of traits that make no sense but are nevertheless consistent,

The problem with this story is simply that it's kind of dull and doesn't do much.  I found myself taking breaks every five pages or so.  With the Puzo constantly emanating its bullet-drenched sirensong, it was slow going, indeed.

Two stars.

The Open Secrets, by Larry Eisenberg

A fellow accidentally enters into his timeshare terminal the password for the FBI's internal files.  Now that he has access to all the country's secrets, he becomes both extremely powerful…and extremely marked.

Frivolous, but not terrible.  Two stars.

Star Dream, by Terry Carr and Alexei Panshin

On the eve of the flight of the first starship Gaea, its builder finds out why he was fired just before its completion.  The answer takes some of the sting from being ejected from the vessel's crew.

This old-fashioned tale is rather mawkish and probably would have served better as the backbone of a juvenile novel, but it's not poorly written.

Three stars.

Coloured Element, by William Carlson and Alice Laurance

A new measles vaccine is dumped willy-nilly into the water supply, not for its salutory benefits, but for a side effect—it turns everyone primary colors based on their blood type!  Ham-handed social commentary is delivered in this rather slight piece.

Two stars.

Killerbot!, by Dean R. Koontz

The mindless, cybernetic monsters from Euro are on the rampage in Nortamer, and it's up to the local law enforcement to dispatch the latest killer.  The new model has got a twist—human cunning.  But when the monster is taken down, the revelation is enough to rock society.

What seems like a rather pointless exercise in violent adventure turns out to be (I think) a commentary on the recent rash of gun violence—from the murder of JFK to the Austin tower shootings.  It's not a terrific piece, but I appreciate what it's trying to do.

Three stars.

For Your Information: Max Valier and the Rocket-Propelled Airplane, by Willy Ley

I was just giving a lecture on rocketry pioneers at the local university the other day, and Max Valier was one of the notables I mentioned.  Of course, I assumed from the name that he was French.  He was not.  That fact, and many others, can be found in this fascinating piece by Willy Ley on a man most associated with the rocket car that killed him.

Four stars.

A Man Spekith, by Richard Wilson


by Peñuñuri

The last man on Earth is Edwards James McHenry—better known by his DJ monicker, Jabber McAbber.  Well, he's not actually on Earth; right before the calamity that ripped the planet asunder, a Howard Hughes look-alike ensconced him in an orbital trailer with a broadcaster, a thousand gallons of bourbon, and a record collection.  Unbenownst to him, Ed also has a mechanical sidekick called Marty, a computer with colloquial intelligence.

Thus, while Ed more-or-less drunkenly transmits an unending, lonely monologue to the universe, Marty provides a broadcast counterpoint, explaining the subtext and background to Ed's plight and thoughts.

It all reads like something Harlan Ellison might have put together, a little less dirtily, perhaps.  Hip and readable.  Four stars.

The Man Inside, by Bruce McAllister

A henpecked father has gone catatonic with stress, but a new technique may be able to interpret his internal monologue.  The result is suitably tragic.

Pretty neat; perhaps the best thing Bruce has turned in so far, but it leaves a bad taste in the mouth.  Three stars.

And Now They Wake (Part 3 of 3), by Keith Laumer


by Jack Gaughan

At last, we reach the action-packed conclusion of this three-part serial.  All the pieces are in motion: both Loki and 'Thor, immortal soldiers in an ages-long intergalactic war, who have been at each other's throats for 1200 years, are trudging through the rain for the runaway broadcast power facility on the Northeastern American seaboard.

As the Army tries and fails to bring the powerplant under control, the hurricane in the Atlantic intensifies.  Meanwhile, we learn what the other unauthorized power-tapper is: none other than Loki's autonomous spaceship, Xix, which is charging its own batteries pending the unhatching of a terrible scheme.  The climax of the novel is suitably climactic.

Laumer writes in two modes: satirical and deadly serious.  And Now They Wake is firmly in the second camp, grim to the extreme.  But it is also very human, very immediate, and, even with the graphic violence depicted, very engrossing.  This is the closest I've seen Laumer come to Ted White's style, really engaging the senses such that you inhabit the bodies of the characters, but without an offputting degree of detail (even the gory bits are imaginative and non-repetitive.)

It's not a novel for the ages, and the tie-in to Norse mythology is a bit pat, but this is probably the best Laumer I've ever read, and the one piece that actually made me forget about The Godfather…for a few minutes, anyway.

Four stars.

Back to (un)reality

The first half of this month's Galaxy was certainly a slog, but at least the latter half kept my interest—if only I hadn't started from the end first!  That's a bad habit I may have to overcome.  I just like seeing the number of pages I have to read dwindle, and that gets easier to mark if you read in reverse order!

Anyway, the bottom line is that Pohl's mag will win no awards on the strength of this month's ish, but Puzo's book may very well.  Pick up The Godfather right now…and maybe the Laumer when it's put into book form!




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

[April 4, 1969] Hey, Mack! (April 1969 Analog)

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photo of a man with glasses and curly, long, brown hair, and a beard and mustache
by Gideon Marcus

Mars ho!

Well, this is exciting!  For the first time ever, two identical Mariner probes are on their way to an interstellar destination.  On March 27, Mariner 7 blasted off for Mars, joining its sister, Mariner 6, which was launched last month. 

black and white photograph of an Atlas-Agena taking off from Cape Canaveral

Normally, twin probes are launched for redundancy, and it's a good thing.  Venus-boundMariner 1 died when its booster exploded back in '62.  Mars-bound Mariner 3 never hatched from its egg (the shroud of its Atlas-Agena rocket) back in 1964.  Mariner 5, which went to Venus in 1967, was a solo mission (indeed, a spare Mariner of the 3/4 class).

But now we've got two Mariners winging their way to the Red Planet, which means we'll get twice the coverage and a redundant set of data, always a welcome occurrence for scientists!  We'll have more on them when they pass by Mars in July.

Mack ho!

cover illustration of two white-suited futuristic cops beating a red-suited man underneath a futuristic monorail
by Kelly Freas

Just as we have two Mariners dominating the head of this article, so we have science fictioneer Mack Reynolds dominating this latest issue of Analog science fiction.  Under his own name, and under his pseudonym "Guy McCord", more than half of this issue is a Reynolds contribution.  If you like the guy, you'll like the mag.  If not…

The Five Way Secret Agent (Part 1 of 2), by Mack Reynolds

black and white illustration of a suited man on a pedestal facing five sinister figures, one a futuristic cop with a whip, one holding a gun, one with both, a woman with a hoop, and a bald man with his hand on his hips
by Kelly Freas

We once again return to the Reynolds' late 20th Century, where America languishes under the stratified People's Capitalism.  This novel is also the second adventure of one of the last private detectives, Rex Bader (whose first job was just a couple of months ago.  As with that freshman outing, Bader is offered a job that seems too good to be true, and he refuses, but no one else buys that he did.

In this case, the job was offered by the head of one of the world's biggest corporations.  He wants Bader to go to cross the Iron Curtain to contact other corporation buffs so as to help take down the Meritocracy—the powers that be that have entrenched themselves in the highest levels of society.

The mob also contacts Bader, wanting him to be their double agent.  Then the Defense Department gets involved.  Finally, a group of latter-day Technocrats make their pitch.  Presumably, the "fifth way" will be Rex Bader's own.

This book is typical Reynolds: the setting has been well established over the years, all the way back to the Joe Mauser, Mercenary days.  There are historical dissertations woven in at every opportunity, mostly on early 20th Century political theory.  The writing is serviceable, somewhat wry—a more grounded Keith Laumer.

What makes this particular piece stand out are the new wrinkles Reynolds introduces.  First, this is the first time we've learned how elections work in this world: it's based on income—one vote for every dollar earned (investment income does not impart voting rights).  Thus, the masses on "Negative Income Tax" have no franchise.

Reynolds continues to invent plausible future technology, too.  My favorite is the pocket TV/phone/credit card/identity all citizens carry.  A handy device, but also vulnerable to surveillance—which is done by computers which listen for key words; if they hear any, they alert a government agent.

So on the one hand, as far as quality of writing and enjoyment is concerned, I'd give this piece three stars.  But I admire Reynolds for doing stuff few others do, so I'm actually awarding four.

Hey But No Presto, by Jack Wodhams

black and white illustration of a short, ruddy man entreating a young man looking askance with hands at his sides, an image of him seated, eyes closed, in the background
by Leo Summers

Folks are being snatched out of psionic teleportation booths as they try to go to Earth.  They get sent to this backwater planetary resort where they are charged outrageous rates to stay in mediocre lodgings.  They stay because the cost to go home is set even higher.  An interstellar cop is sent to investigate.

This one-note tale is so padded, it could replace a warehouse of pillows.  One star.

They're Trying to Tell Us Something (Part 2 of 2), by Thomas R. McDonough

photo from below of a hard-hatted worker atop a radio telescope grid

Last month, Tom McDonough talked about pulsars—those rapidly beeping star-type objects—and did his darndest to convince us that they are artificial beacons operated by Little Green Men (LGM).

This second part is more of the same, though he actually does mention other possibilities, including the most fashionable one that they are rotating neutron stars.  My problem with this segment is it is heavy on the layman's lingo and light on the showing of work.  It all feels a bit fluffy.  Also, he talks about how pulsars emit light bursts at twice the frequency as their radio bursts, and he makes it seem like that's mysterious.  If the pulsar is really a rotating neutron star, then it makes sense for any emissions to be linked.  Why we only get radio signals from one side, I don't understand off the top of my head, but I suspect anyone with a Bachelors in Physics could tell me.

Three stars.

Cultural Interference, by Walter L. Kleine

black and white illustration of a flying saucer careening toward a planet, with inserts of a mustached man looking at a naked woman helping a naked man out of the saucer on the surface, a man in a cowboy hat with a sheriff's star, and two lab-coated men looking at a giant, narrow monolith
by Leo Summers

A couple of scientists begin an experiment with broadcast power.  Coincidentally, a couple of extraterrestrial spaceships accidentally intercept and soak up the power, causing them to crash.  Chaos ensues.

Wireless power seems to be the rage these days, figuring prominently in Keith Laumer's serial, And Now They Wake.  This particular tale is overpadded and pointless.

Two stars.

Opportunist, by Guy McCord

black and white illustration of a seated, wizened man wearing a Native American outfit done in tartan, a rock hut in the background
by Kelly Freas

This is the third tale of Caledonia, a backwards planet probably in the same universe as his United Planets tales in which every world has its own uniquely evolved political and social structure.  Caledonians all hail from a single crashed colony ship, and their culture is a mix of Scots and indigenous American, based on the few books that survived planetfall (shades of Star Trek's "A Piece of the Action".

In this installment, Caledonia has been largely subjugated by mining concerns from Sidon, and the native Caledonians must resort to guerrila tactics.  John of the Hawks, Chief Raid Cacique of the Loch Confederation is captured by the Sidonians and offered a job in their civilian government.  After being told the virtues of civilization and capitalism, he decides to hang up his claidheamhor and war bonnet and sell out.

I din't like it.  Two stars.

Oh ho!

three women operate a room full of line printers somewhere in the Soviet Union

Well now, here is a case of science fiction definitely being less compelling than science.  With the exception of the serial, this was a drab ish, barely scoring 2.7.  This puts Analog under Fantasy and Science Fiction (3), IF (3.1), Galaxy (3.5), and New Worlds (3.6).  Campbell's mag only beat out the usual losers: Fantastic (2.5), Famous #8 (1.8), and Famous #9 (2).

From eight mags, you could barely fill two big ones with the good stories this month, although part of the reason for that is Famous being so awful.  Women produced just 7% of the new fiction stories this month. 

I guess the moral is: read your newspapers and your Pohl (and UK) mags first.  Pick up Analog only if you've finished the rest.  Or if you really like Mack Reynolds…




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Science Fiction/Fantasy, TV

[April 2, 1969] A New Beginning? (Out of the Unknown: Season Three)

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By Mx Kris Vyas-Myall

The National Radio Astronomy Observatory may have discovered clues to the origins of life in space. Looking at interstellar clouds, believed to be where planets and stars are formed, traces of formaldehyde have been detected.

140’ Radio Telescope at Green Bank
140’ Radio Telescope at Green Bank, responsible for this discovery

The reason this is important is that it is a sign of the presence of methane, formaldehyde occurring in the oxidation process. From the Miller-Urey experiments, it is widely believed that for primitive life to occur, you need a reducing atmosphere to allow complex molecules to form. Along with already detected ammonia and water, these appear to show the elements needed for a reducing atmosphere are already present in these clouds.

If this is found to hold up, we may be a step closer to understanding the birth of life on Earth.

On British television, we are also seeing a kind of rebirth. Of Out of the Unknown without the driving force of Irene Shubik.

Out of the Unknown

Out of the Unknown logo with the words in orange against a green background

With Shubik’s departure for The Wednesday Play, following the commissioning of scripts, it has been up to new producer Alan Bromly to make them a reality.

In many ways Bromly is the opposite of Shubik, an old hand at directing and TV production back to the early 50s, but with little experience in Science Fiction. Rather he has made a name for himself across a range of different productions, most notably the anthology slot BBC Sunday Night Theatre, soap opera Compact and films such as The Angel Who Pawned Her Harp.

So how did it turn out?

(I would like to take a brief moment to thank my colleague Fiona for using her contacts at the BBC to provide us with colour publicity photos. I am still using a Black & White set at home).

Big Prophets, Short Returns

Picture from Immortality Inc. where Charles Hull (Peter Copley) briefs Blaine (Charles Tingwall) and the other hunters on the hunt in a ruined monastry.
The hunt for good science fiction begins.

This series of plays opens with a well-known novel, Robert Sheckley’s Immortality Inc. Even though this does a reasonable job of condensing the story into a 50-minute slot, and it bounces along quite nicely, I find both versions a bit soulless. I just find I am not really invested in who gets the body, which is a big problem for the central conflict.

Whilst it has some notable fans, our editor gave the original story three stars and I think that is about right for this production.

Shot from The Naked Sun, where Baley (Paul Maxwell), sitting and see from behind, is remotely communicating with a Solarian whilst two people in cloaks work the machines.
“Why, yes I do look a lot younger than Cushing did, let’s not go on about it…”

Different issues plague the other novel adaptation of the season, Asimov’s The Naked Sun.

The script makes an effort to place this as a sequel to the 1964 production of The Caves of Steel, with Bailey opening the story talking about “Caves of Steel”, his delight at being partnered again with Daneel, and Secretary Minim referencing the previous case in Brooklyn. Even if Paul Maxwell (Fireball XL-5’s Steve Zodiac) is no Peter Cushing, he still does well paired-off against relative newcomer David Collings.

As people know of the original novel, the case is pretty interesting and, even if at times it feels a bit overwrought with all the yelling, the twists and turns of the story kept me engaged. The problem stems from the conversations largely being communicated through viewscreens. Unfortunately, whilst Rudolph Cartier is an experienced director (and did a great job on Level Seven), he fails to give it flair Saville did in The Machine Stops.

Image from Liar! showing Herbie (Ian Ogilvy) sitting up just after assembly
Herbie awakes to find himself in yet another Asimov adaptation

Of course, Shubik could never choose just one Asimov script, so our second is Liar! Robot romantic comedies seem to have become a regular feature of Out of the Unknown (see also Andover and the Android, Satisfaction Guaranteed) but this one missed the mark for me somewhat.

This has never been my favourite of Asimov’s Robot stories and the teleplay has similar issues. I find the psychic robot too contrived and I really don’t enjoy how much of it is built around Calvin’s attraction to her colleague.

It is well-made and Gifford gives a great performance as the robot psychologist (now her third on-screen depiction), so it will probably appeal more to others. But it is not entirely to my tastes.

An image from Beach Head where Cassandra Jackson (Helen Dowling) talks to Commander Tom Decker (Ed Bishop) on the spaceship.
“I am no longer just Captain Blue, I am now also Captains Lilac, Pink, Fuschia, Green and Khaki”

The third big name writer to be adapted in this run is Clifford Simak and his stories are the ones that tread into the most traditionally SFnal territory, starting with the first contact tale of Beach Head.

I will concede that it looks excellent, with the unusual design of the robots and the aliens being particularly noteworthy. However, this was the weakest installment for me, with three different problems.

Firstly, not all of the performances are pitched right, particularly Ed Bishop playing the lead role very broadly. This is more important in this story where neither the robots nor the aliens speak or emote. As such we rely on the human actors to carry the weight.

Secondly, the action in the first half is divided between robots outside and humans inside, making the pacing glacial until the aliens arrive.

Finally and most significantly, as Victoria said in her review of the original tale, this is not a particularly good example of a puzzle story and it doesn’t add up to much. So, however much it is nice to look at, you spend your time going through a lot of dull content for a rather empty ending.

An image from Target Generation where Jon Hoff (David Buck) and Joshua (Owen Berry) examine the ship's controls.
Set course for planetfall…again!

The other Simak marks another first for Out of the Unknown, Shubik electing to remake a script already done for Out of this World, Target Generation.

Even those SF fans who did not catch its first use will find the tale a familiar one. It is not that it is not a good exploration of the standard themes about blind faith and static thinking leading to our doom, just not one with many surprises. Possibly one for the casual viewer not so aware of science fiction cliches.

Medical Marvels

Image from The Yellow Pill where John Frame (Francis Matthews) tries to convince Wilfred Connor (Stephen Barclay) to take the yellow pills whilst two detectives watch on in the background.
Channeling his inner Timothy Leary to find the truth in a pill

The Yellow Pill is also a script reused from Out of This World, actually being the first episode of that series, yet I felt its restaging works better than the Simak. This is because it is somewhat more unusual in its content.

Whilst its staging could feel a bit old fashioned, largely only utilising a single set, this play-like feeling adds to the sense of unreality we are meant to experience. Add into this a strong script, great performances and the questioning of what is real, and it still feels fresh.

Image from The Little Black Bag where Dr. RogerFull (Emrys James) and Angie (Geraldine Moffat) operate on a Mrs. Coleman with equipment from the bag
The most important use of futuristic medical devices, removing bags under the eyes

The Yellow Pill is only one of several scripts that concentrate on the medical aspects of technological progress. Kornbluth’s The Little Black Bag looks at what might happen if future medical equipment ends up in the past.

Even though I feel this has a solid idea at its core, the episode could have done with a bit of a reworking. It does have some great moments (particularly in the last ten minutes), however the pacing goes back and forth too much for my tastes. I also found that parts are over-explained, whilst other vital questions are left hanging.

Image from The Fosters where the titular couple (Richard Pearson and Freda Bamford) along with Harry Gerwyn (Bernard Hepton) discuss the fate of Geoff (Anton Darby as he lies on a operating table surrounded by medical equipment as Mrs. Foster holds up a strange headpiece.
The generation gap on show

Michael Ashe’s The Fosters (an original for OOTU) seems at first like it might be a piece of domestic drama about the conflict between respectable middle-class families and rebellious youth. But it unfolds nicely in little moments, with the titular couple’s unusual knowledge and strange eating habits bringing with it unease and tension. Even though the end reveal is a bit of a letdown, the journey is a strong one.

Image from 1+1=1.5 as Mary Beldon (Julia Lockwood) is prepared by a medical assistant for her pregnancy test by having electrodes attached to her brain from a computer bank and a human shaped outline is put by her side
Pregnancy screening has come a long way from HIT

Even though the UK’s fertility rate has been steadily declining for the last few years, overpopulation is still a major topic among SF writers. Brian Hayles (of Ice Warrior fame) continues that discussion in 1+1=1.5, an original where the wife of a population control officer becomes pregnant for the second time.

The result is a bit of a mixed bag. It has interesting elements with the catchy jingles on population control, reminiscent of The Year of the Sex Olympics, and it has in its lead roles the great pairing of Bernard Horsfall and Julia Lockwood.

However, I found the mystery of how Mary got pregnant was overemphasized, resulting in a rather dull conclusion, when I would have preferred a focus on the more interesting human side.

The Human Element

Image from Something in the Cellar, with Monty Lefcado (Milo O'Shea) watching an Oscilloscope surround by a hodgepodge of other computer equipment
“I wonder if I can get the cricket on this?”

This human element can be seen in the final of the original productions, Donald Bull’s Something in the Cellar. This is a Nigel Kneale-esque production, putting a science fictional twist on the gothic haunted house story.

I will concede it does stretch out a bit, but it is still spooky and character driven, with the voice of the “mum” being particularly unsettling.

An image from Random Quest showing Colin Trafford (Keith Barron) and Mrs. Gale (Beryl Cooke) in a greenhouse surrounded by plants.
Two Worlds, how to choose between them?

This kind of character-driven storytelling is also present in John Wyndham’s Random Quest, a story of dual time-scales.

Whilst I was never as much of a fan of this Wyndham as some of his other works, and found the script a bit drawn out, I cannot fault the production overall. The design of the parallel universe England is well realized, with the Edwardian touches being very clever. It would also be easy to find the whole conceit rather confusing, but the crew did a great job of helping the audience understand the split in the narrative.

Apparently, this has gone down extremely well and there has even been interest floated in adapting it for the big screen.

Image from The Last Lonely Man as James Hale (George Cole) undergoes the contact treatment for Patrick Wilson (Peter Halliday) who looks on in the background
An inebriated Hale doesn’t realise the trouble coming to him

After the great production of Some Lapse of Time back in the programme’s first run, I was pleased to see another Brunner for this series with The Last Lonely Man.

Even though the original story, as Mark noted, is nothing special, this is a largely straight adaptation raised up by a number good choices:
• The casting of George Cole and Peter Halliday as Hale and Wilson respectively.
• Jeremy Paul expands the wider implications of the tale, making mentions of problems of inflation, sexuality and psychological breakdown.
• Making the death of Wilson the mid-point of the story, rather than the ending.
• Douglas Camfield’s direction making it a creepy tale of paranoia instead of a farce.
I do find it curious Shubik chose it for the same season as the conceptually similar Immortality Inc., but this one shines rather than dulls in comparison.

Image from Get Off of My Cloud as Pete (Donal Donnelly) dressed in an ordinary suit, tries to reason with Craswell (Peter Jeffrey), dressed in a pulpy science fiction outfit, as they stand in a temple with a cobra motif.
“It is all quite simple. You are actually a science fiction writer, in a dream, that is drawing from SF cliches, that is part of a teleplay on BBC2, which is adapted from a novelette, originally published in Astounding Magazine.”

The series is finished with one of its finest ever productions, Get Off Of My Cloud.

Adapted from the excellent story Dreams are Sacred by Peter Phillips (well known to British readers due to its inclusion in the highly regarded Spectrum III anthology) it is a comical take on the cliches of pulp science fiction whilst also asking questions about the nature of fantasy versus reality.

As well as transferring the setting to the UK and adding in some wonderful Britishisms (Raymond Cusick did the design work for this episode and his incorporation of Daleks and the TARDIS are marvelous) it also builds on the idea of our childhood fears and looks at how we conquer them.

The Queen is Dead, Long Live the King

The covers of three anthologies: Tomorrow's Worlds ed. Robert Silverberg; The Best SF Stories from New Worlds #2 ed. Michael Moorcock; The Years Best Science Fiction No. 2 ed. Harry Harrison & Brian Aldiss
Just a few of the excellent SF anthologies currently available at your local bookshop

Whilst there have been teething troubles in a few of the stories, overall, I have enjoyed this season. It continues to show the value of the science fiction anthology series which, just like its paperback equivalent, offers a great way to explore a multitude of themes and ideas.

Whatever mysteries are unlocked by scientists, I have no doubt that SF writers will continue to find interesting questions to explore and there will be a place for this kind of television.

Long may it continue.

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Science Fiction/Fantasy, TV

[March 26, 1969] Avast, Ye Scurvy Dogs! (Doctor Who: The Space Pirates [Parts 1-3])

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By Jessica Holmes

Possessing the constitution of a wet paper towel, I feel very unwell at the moment, so what better time to curl up on the sofa and watch Doctor Who? Robert Holmes is back in the writer’s seat, bringing us a tale of piracy on the highest seas of all—space! Drink up, me hearties, yo ho—it’s time to be castin’ a weather eye o’er “The Space Pirates”. Yarrr!

ID: Monochrome photo, sleek dark spaceship against a black void. The ship resembles a jet plane with an angled nosecone.

In Case You Missed It

We kick things off with a pirate attack on an unmanned space beacon. The pirates move quickly, setting charges in and around the beacon to blow it apart at the weak points, then take off with their spoils. It’s the latest in a long line of attacks by pirates seeking the rare (and very valuable) mineral ‘argonite’. Until now, they’ve carried out their attacks unimpeded, but by going after government property, they’ve attracted the attention of the Space Corps.

Enter General Hermack (Jack May). He’s on the hunt for the pirates, when he’s not being used as a mouthpiece to deliver copious amounts of background explanation.

However, his first attempt to catch the pirates falls short, as they’re long gone by the time his forces arrive at the site of the latest destroyed beacon. He will have to try a change of tactic: place men on the beacons to raise an early alarm in the event of an attack.

The pirates, as it happens, attack the very first beacon Hermack places his men on. Handy.

ID: Monochrome photo, General Hermack (Jack May), speaking into a receiver. He has neat hair greying at the temples, and wears a high-collared spacesuit-like garment with metallic trim. He is white and appears to be in his fifties.

But where, you may wonder, is the Doctor in all this Who?

He’s finally deigned to show up, at the worst possible time and place—on the beacon, right before the pirate attack.

The pirates kill all but one of the guards aboard the beacon, and seal the Doctor and his friends inside a compartment before setting their charges and departing with their captive.

Then they blow the whole thing up.

Meanwhile, the General and his ship have an encounter with The Most American Man In The Universe. Meet Milo Clancey (Gordon Gostelow). He’s got the bearing of a Gold Rush prospector and the wardrobe to match. With a heavy mistrust of the government and a tendency to say things like ‘what in tarnation’, it’s like he wandered in from a different genre. He is naturally my favourite.

The mistrust goes both ways. Clancey resents the government for not doing anything to help when his own cargo transports were attacked, and Hermack just plain doesn’t like the guy, convincing himself (rather dubiously) that Milo is the criminal mastermind behind these pirate attacks.

Criminal mastermind? The man can’t make toast without cremating it.

ID: Monochrome photo, close-up of Milo Clancey (Gorden Gostelow) looking off to his side with his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He has a futuristic gun with a plastic barrel on his shoulder. Clancey is a white man in his late 50s-early 60s, with short bristly hair, large eyebrows and an impressive moustache with the ends curled up. He is wearing a checked shirt.

As for the Doctor and company, they’ve got their own problems. Their compartment is intact, being towed through space with the other separated segments of the beacon, but they’re running out of air. And fast. The Doctor’s attempts to reunite the compartment with the rest of the station result only in flinging them further out into space. To use his own words, what a silly idiot he is.

It’s a rare serious moment for him. He’s not been this close to utter despair since Jamie and Zoe got fictionalised back in “The Mind Robber”. The poor little chap needs a hug.

ID: Monochrome photo, Zoe (young white female, dark hair), Jamie (young white male, dark hair) and the Doctor (middle-aged white male, dark hair), all on hands and knees, all appearing distressed.

Back with the actual plot, General Hermack pays a visit to the nearby mining planet of Ta, where the Issigri Mining Corporation, led by Madeleine Issigri (Lisa Daniely), digs up mountains of argonite. Madeleine’s father started the business, but she’s taken over since his mysterious disappearance—a disappearance Milo Clancey was suspected of involvement in. She also has fascinating taste in headgear.

With Clancey’s own mines running dry, Hermack suspects that he might be out for revenge on Madeleine, jealous of her success. Especially since he’s been beaten at his own game by an attractive woman like her. Eugh.

Out of options, the Doctor and company end up huddled on the floor in a heap, waiting for the oxygen to run out. They’d look rather cute if it wasn’t such a dire situation. However, they’re in luck. A certain space cowboy happens upon the pod, and hoping to find out what’s inside, cuts it open, freeing the Doctor and his friends.

ID: Monochrome photo, the Doctor, Jamie and Zoe lying on the floor of a metal room. Jamie and Zoe are slightly propped up on a ledge. Jamie is leaning on Zoe's shoulder, Zoe is resting her head against Jamie's, and the Doctor is lying in Jamie's lap. The Doctor is holding on to a silver oxygen canister.

He does commit the small faux pas of shooting Jamie, but the lad gets better so there’s no sense holding a grudge.

Clancey brings the Doctor and his friends aboard, but it’s not much of a rescue. The space corps, having remained on his tail all this time, saw him dock with the pod, and they’ve got rather the wrong end of the stick. Ignoring their demands for him to surrender, Clancey instead deploys a cloud of copper needles, which magnetise to the argonite hull of the pursuing ship, jamming their guidance systems and preventing them from firing, or moving at all.

He then tears out of there, leaving the space corps in his coppery dust. He knows just where to hide out: Ta, the mining planet. Possibly the riskiest place for him to be right now, and therefore nobody will expect him to be daft enough to go there.

It’s not the first time he’s been to Ta. He worked down there a long time ago with his business partner, Madeleine’s father. Once they land, he tells the group to stay put while he does some ship maintenance.

ID: Monochrome photo, Zoe, Jamie and the Doctor. The Doctor is peering off to the side of the shot, and Jamie and Zoe are peering around him.

The Doctor and his friends are however pathologically incapable of following that sort of instruction, so they immediately wander off. Jamie’s uneasy about trusting Clancey, what with the shooting incident, and Zoe’s been calculating the original trajectory of the pirates. Assuming they didn’t change direction, they’d have landed on Ta, and very close-by at that.

If they find the pirates and their stolen beacon, they’ll find the TARDIS, and maybe then they’ll go off and find a story where they’re actually integral to the plot.

As Hermack prepares to leave Madeleine’s office and help out his stranded second-in-command, he notices something peculiar: a model ship, of the exact type used by the pirates. It’s top-of-the-line, and very expensive. Madeleine tells him her company recently acquired two of them. How very interesting… it’s starting to look like Madeleine may be more involved in this whole affair than she lets on.

Soon finding themselves lost in the labyrinth of mining tunnels (of course) the Doctor and his friends don’t take long to stumble onto the pirates, setting off all their alarms in the process. As a gang of angry pirates corner them, the three take the only escape route available: a crack in the tunnel wall. What’s on the other side? Who knows, but going by the screaming, it doesn’t sound as if they’re having a good time.

ID: Monochrome photo, close-up shot of Madeleine Issigri (Lisa Daniely), smirking. She is a white woman approximately in her 40s, with a polished appearance. She wears a high-necked garment with a tall standing collar, and a metallic hat covering her hair. The hat looks quite like a pixie cut with side-swept fringe and side parting.

What In Tarnation?!

For the most part, it’s not a bad story really. The setting is neat, the characters are… not terribly interesting, but fine. The pacing is okay, and there’s enough excitement to hold our attention. It gets a resounding “It’s all right I suppose,” from me.

However, there is so much "As you know, Bob"-ing it absolutely destroys the experience. Characters constantly repeat information to one another for the benefit of the fourth wall. What’s worse, it keeps happening. There’s at least three different scenes explaining how flipping marvellous and prized as a material argonite is, and only one of those actually involves a newcomer to the setting who would actually need such an explanation. It’s like Robert Holmes wrote several different versions of an exposition scene, and unsure of which to use, simply shoved all of them into the final draft of the script. It’s a waste of time and insulting to the viewer.

That felt a little harsh, but in my defence I am beset by maladies and reserve the right to be a bit grumpy.

I feel a strange urge to apologise to my American readers (which, I assume, is most of you) on behalf of the BBC. I don't work for it, but I'm British, so close enough. I’m not sure there is a single BBC actor who can do a half-decent American accent, but by golly they do insist upon trying. We’ve not only got one, but TWO faux-Americans knocking around with their dodgy accents this serial. Oh, and Hermack, whose accent is… um. You know, I’m sure it’s meant to be something, but I really couldn’t tell you what. Maybe I’ll apologise to all the countries, just to be safe.

At least Clancey’s whole character is funny. He really does look and act like he wandered onto the wrong set. It’s just so incongruous with what you generally expect to see in a futuristic science fiction setting, and I love it. It’s ridiculous, sure, but I think that they could have gone even further with this bizarre genre mishmash. For a story called "The Space Pirates" there’s rather less  swashbuckling than I’d have liked. They’re more like… over-enthusiastic scrap metal dealers. But then, “The Space Over-Enthusastic Scrap Metal Dealers” is a bit of a mouthful for the BBC continuity announcers to say.

ID: Monochrome photo, the segments of the space beacon, against a black void. The segments are wedge-shaped, and there are 8 of them.

Final Thoughts

I think I was a bit off the mark committing to the yo-ho-ho-and-a-bottle-o'-rum lingo earlier. This is not that kind of story. No… it’s a rootin’-tootin’ twilight-of-the-old-west story. Yee haw, giddy-up, etc.

Sorry. I’ll stop now.

Wait, one more thing. Why does it feel like the Doctor is an afterthought to this story? He’s barely involved. We’re three episodes in and he’s only met one of the main characters. The rest have absolutely no idea he exists. He’s not involved in the events beyond getting stuck on a dismantled space station. And even that doesn’t do anything to the plot beyond creating a small detour for Clancey. Take him out, and the main plot doesn’t actually change.

Maybe it’s not a bad story. But it’s not (so far) a good Doctor Who story.




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[March 20, 1969] Going through the motions… (April 1969 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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photo of a man with glasses and curly, long, brown hair, and a beard and mustache
by Gideon Marcus

What's the news across the nation?

And now for the man to whom the news wouldn't be the news without the news… here's Gidi!

Dateline: 1969

Apparently, President Nixon and Soviet head of government Kosygin have agreed not to blow up nuclear bombs on the ocean floor, of which there have been somewhere between zero and not many. This is being hailed as a tremendous accomplishment in the field of disarmament. The next great achievement will be banning test explosions on the 32nd day of every month.

I think the two deserve a Flying Fickle Finger of Fate, or the "Penetrating Pinky" as the producer calls it.

photo of a two men in suits (Dan Rowan and Dick Martin), the one on the right holding up a golden statuette of a hand with its index finger pointing and crowned by wings

Dateline: 1969

Britain is building a giant radio telescope to hear the beginning of the universe. Astronomers believe the cosmos apparently was once compressed into a tiny point, even smaller than Governor Reagan's brain, and when it expanded, the temperature of the stuff dropped, as it always does when you maintain the amount of matter but increase the volume of its container.

A temperature that was once immeasurably high has now gotten so low that it radiates at very low energy levels—detectable by super-sensitive antennas! I imagine the observatory will determine if this radio hiss is uniformly distributed or not. They're also looking for quasars, those objects that are super bright in the radio spectrum, but invisible to the naked eye, and which may be the most distant (and thus, the oldest) objects in the universe.

Of course, we all know the oldest thing you can get on the radio is Jack Benny…

Dateline: 1969

Two airliners were hijacked to Havana yesterday. That's the sixth time this year that there has been a "double-header" seizing. We must be running out of rebels and Communists by now—I would not be surprised to hear that the hijackers are just retirees looking for someplace cheaper than Miami.

Dateline: 1969

President Nixon is coming to San Diego tomorrow.  This will lay to rest any dispute, at least while he's here, as to the biggest Dick in town.

What's the news inside this issue?

I've just come back from a little bubble of time inside the roiling chaos that is the real world.  It was a little Los Angeles SF conclave called Escapade, filled with fans of all things fannish.  Keeping me company on this trip was the lastest issue of F&SF.  Although not quite such a rousing success as the con, the issue did have a couple of things to strongly recommend it.  Read on, and you'll see what they were:

illustrated
by Bert Tanner

Deeper Than the Darkness, by Gregory Benford

Greg Benford is a young man, part of an identical twin fannish duo, who I'm pretty sure lives right here in San Diego.  He was catapulted into the ranks of the professionals when he won an F&SF writing contest a few years back, and he's written a couple of pieces since then.

His latest is a space adventure involving Captain Clark, a tramp ship skipper impressed into navy service when the mysterious Quarm begin impinging on Terran star colonies.  Clark is one of the few men of caucasian ancestry left after the hot wars of the fraught centuries, and human civilization is now dominated by Asians and Polynesians.  Society is changed, too, more of a communal affair knitted together by cooperative social activies.  Prime among them is Sabal, also referred to as The Game, which is a sort of roleplaying exercise in which each participant offers up vignettes, epigrams, and other creative orations designed to complement rather than dispute the last speaker.  When fully harmony is reached, the Game is over.

It is frequent usage of Sabal that keeps the novice crew together as it reaches Regeln, a colony recently ravaged by the Quarm.  But Sabal is no defense against, and indeed, a exacerbator for, the particular malady spread by the aliens—a kind of extreme agrophobia that drives humans to literally burrow away from the light, from each other, from the universe.

This downbeat tale is readable, but its psychological and racial underpinnings are a little implausible and more than a little unsettling.

Three stars.

Some Very Odd Happenings at Kibblesham Manor House, by Michael Harrison

A WW2 veteran runs across a much aged and enervated war buddy.  Over beers, it turns out that the afflicted soldier has had an unfortunate run-in with the Celtic cult of Cybele, the Earth Mother.  Said sect, prominent two thousand years ago, demands great sacrifices of its adherents.  The male priests must scourge themselves, ultimately sacrificing that which most distinguishes them as men.

And Kibblesham, built on an ancient temple, infects all who inhabit it with Cybele's compulsion…

This is one of many old-fashioned pieces in the book, almost Lovecraftian in tone.  Not really to my taste.

Two stars.

line drawing of a man and woman picnicking, the trees around them false front props, and the man is saying,
by Gahan Wilson

Not Long Before the End, by Larry Niven

Some 12,000 years ago, before the final Ice Age, great magical societies were the rule.  One of the age's great sorcerers is a man simply known as Warlock.  In his 200 years of life, he has seen his powers wane several times, each instance compelling him to move on to a new locale, where his mana has been restored.  Upon investigation, Warlock determines a terrible truth, one which spells doom for his spell-based civilization.

In the meantime, a stupid swordsman named Hap, wielding the eldritch blade Glilendree (or is it the other way around?), shows up to challenge the wizard.  The ensuing battle is noteworthy, indeed.

This is one of Niven's only fantasies, and it's superb.  While "magic was common before the modern age" is a frequently mined lode, from Lord of the Rings to Conan to Norton's recent Operation: Time Search, Niven is the first, perhaps, to explain why the magic goes away.

Five stars.

Trouble on Kort, by William M. Lee

This is a police mystery set on the planet of Kort, on which a dozen outworlders have disappeared (kidnapped?) and a dozen natives have taken their own lives—all in the space of just a matter of weeks.  Peace Corps officer Jan Pierson is sent in to investigate.

It's a rather unremarkable tale, oddly juvenile in tone and occasionally tedious, but it's not unenjoyable.  I appreciated the love interest, the Kortian named "Marty", who did not get enough page time.

A low three.

The House, by P. M. Hubbard

A married couple, awarded a homestead plot in the bombed out fringes of London, tries to build a house amidst the rubble.  But the tumulus they choose as a foundation may already be occupied…

This tale is atmospheric but rather trivial, another of the throwbacks.  Two stars.

The Incredible Shrinking People, by Isaac Asimov

Last issue, the Good Doctor explained the pitfalls of neglecting physics when dealing with miniaturized or enlarged people.  This time, Isaac explains how he accounted for same while writing the novelization of Fantastic Voyage.

Neat stuff.  Four stars.

The Freak, by Pg Wyal

There are beggars and there are beggars.  The most deformed, crippled, and otherwise unordinary ones band together to form a union of sorts.  Tired of their low income, they go on strike, ensuring that the beautiful citizens of Gothopolis have no one to compare themselves to.

Soon, the "normal" Gothopolians go crazy, and their John Lindsay analog must come up with a drastic solution.

The build-up wasn't bad, but the message isn't as profound as Wyal (or editor Ferman) thought it was.

Two stars.

Say goodnight, Dick!

Just as the week's news was much of a muchness, so was this issue of F&SF more a marking of time than the making of a landmark.  Still, I am grateful for the Asimov and particularly the Niven, and the rest was not so much unpleasant as forgettable.

Good enough for now.  I look forward, as always, to next month's issue—and I hope you do, too!




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