Category Archives: Science Fiction/Fantasy

[May 4th, 1970] The Blue Meanies Are Coming (Doctor Who: The Ambassadors Of Death [Parts 5-7])


By Jessica Holmes

Have you ever been on a rollercoaster just to have it break down halfway through? That’s what this story is like. It was so close. It was so, so close to being a genuinely excellent serial. But tripping just before the finish line, this month’s story just comes out as ‘pretty good’. Let’s try and find out what went wrong in “The Ambassadors Of Death”.

Lennox (white, balding, middle aged) sits at a small table in a bare concrete cell. He has a dinner tray in front of him, on which is a blue plate with a metal rod on it.
Excuse me, waiter? There's some plutonium in my soup.

In Case You Missed It

We last left off with the Doctor finding Quinlan dead, unaware that his assassin is still in the room. With the arrival of the Brigadier, the spaceman forgoes the chance to kill the Doctor, making its escape. It’s not as if anyone could stop it.

The Doctor has a feeling these creatures are being used for something. Perhaps someone wants him to think they’re alien invaders, but he suspects the truth may be more complicated.

On the alien assassin’s return to the lab, a horrified Liz persuades Lennox to escape, whereupon he heads straight for the Space Centre and gets the soldiers to put him in a cell for his own protection. While waiting to see the Brigadier, someone nicely brings him some lunch. On lifting the lid however, he finds that clearly they’ve not taken his dietary requirements into account, as instead of a ham butty there’s a nice hot radioactive isotope. He doesn’t make it to his meeting with the Brigadier.

Cornish and the Brigadier watch from mission control as the Doctor appears on a big blue screen. His face is contorted by extreme g-force.
Not your best angle, Jon.

Reegan meanwhile is on a mission to stop the Doctor getting to space. As the Doctor waits impatiently on the launchpad for the Space Centre to finish fuelling his rocket, Reegan breaks into the fuel control area, sabotaging the fuel injection. The rocket makes it off the launchpad, but with too much force, the Doctor struggling to remain conscious despite his more robust physiology. Regaining control just before the rocket ends up flung out of Earth’s gravity and into a solar orbit (one of these days I am going to have to sit down with the writers of Doctor Who and draw them a diagram of the scale of space), the Doctor links up with the orbiting recovery capsule. But something is approaching. Something much, much bigger. It’s an alien spacecraft big enough to swallow the linked space capsules whole. [Shades of You Only Live Twice (ed.)]

On board, the Doctor finds the astronauts alive, well, and watching the match on telly. Well, that’s what they think they’re doing, anyway. They’re also under the impression that they’re back on Earth undergoing extended quarantine.

The Doctor talks to the three astronauts in a room lit in pink and blue. There's a space-age television set with a blank screen and the astronauts are all seated and wearing silver suits.
Anything good on?

This is for their own good, the aliens explain to the Doctor, to reduce psychological distress. It turns out the aliens don’t bear the astronauts themselves any ill will, but they are running out of patience with Earth. When will their ambassadors return?

This is of course news to the Doctor. Apparently some Earth authority agreed to host a trio of ambassadors, who have now vanished into the ether. Unless Earth gives them back, the aliens will be forced to escalate. Don’t worry, they don’t plan on doing anything to the astronauts. No, they’re just going to blow up the planet.

Of course, why take any intermediary steps?

Assuring them that this is all just a misunderstanding, the Doctor asks to back to Earth and clear things up. The aliens agree, and return him to his craft, holding the astronauts as collateral.

On Earth, Carrington’s paranoia towards the aliens continues to worsen, as he does everything in his power to get the UN to agree to throw a bunch of nukes at the alien spaceship. Cornish thinks he’s simply gone mad, but the Brigadier guesses there might be more to his ‘madness’ than meets the eye. It’s not that he agrees with him, but he thinks the General might know more about these aliens than he’s letting on.

In the control room, Carrington (white, middle-aged, khaki military uniform) talks to the Brigadier (white, middle-aged, lighter khaki military overalls and green beret) and Cornish (white, 30s-40s, seated and wearing a tan suit). The Brigadier and Cornish look quite annoyed at Carrington.
At this point it's a toss-up between the Brig and Cornish for who snaps and punches Carrington first.

Because UNIT apparently did not learn a single lesson from Reegan’s sabotage of the fuel injection, Reegan manages to swan back into the Space Centre once again to sabotage the Doctor’s decontamination unit. When the Doctor stops responding to the Brigadier’s communications, the Brig orders the base sealed—moments too late, as Reegan speeds the unconscious Doctor back to his bunker.

Relieved to see Liz alive and well, the Doctor is fascinated to see the alien ambassadors, remarking that with the right resources, he could build a much more sophisticated communication device to talk to them. Reegan’s happy to accommodate him and recruit him into his own criminal enterprise, but then who should show up but General Carrington?

Well, well, well. If it isn’t the guy who was obviously the villain all along. Quelle surprise. He and Quinlan cooked up a cover story to justify kidnapping the astronauts, then he had Reegan kidnap the astronauts AGAIN when UNIT came too close to finding them, then killed Quinlan before he could reveal the truth.

And all of this he considers his “moral duty”.

The Doctor stares down the barrel of a pistol, held by Carrington (offscreen)
Do you mind? I'm busy.

His mission to Mars didn’t go entirely according to plan. He and his crew encountered the aliens there, and they killed him with a touch, not realising how vulnerable humans are to ionising radiation. But since that first interaction, Carrington’s managed to convince himself that the aliens are out to invade the entire galaxy, and it’s only a matter of time before they attack Earth.

Humanity must strike first if they want to survive.

So says Carrington, anyway.

He lured the ambassadors to Earth with the intention of turning the world against them. Underneath all the complicated conspiracy to keep things secret, his plan is actually quite simple: use them to attack some government facilities, then reveal them to the public while spinning a yarn about the aliens attacking with the aid of human collaborators. And also the Doctor. Might as well kill two birds with one stone, I suppose.

One of the aliens appears behind a set of blue blinds. The alien is blue and indistinct.

His plan gets even easier when he takes one of the aliens to the space centre for their moment in the spotlight, as the alien spacecraft picks the worst possible moment to broadcast their ultimatum to the world. In plain English. And it’s not thanks to the Doctor’s device that the humans can now understand them, oh no. They spoke to him in English on board their spacecraft.

Hold on a mo.

The supposed crux of the story is that this is all a misunderstanding and a case of humans jumping to conclusions about aliens that don’t—and can’t—communicate as we do, but we find that it’s simply not the case. They can, but just won’t, until it’s time for their final ultimatum.

Wouldn’t it be interesting if it turned out that, like Carrington, they were also attempting to contrive some justification for a pre-emptive strike?

Unfortunately, exploration of that idea would require the narrative to actually be interested in the alien creatures the plot hinges on.

Carrington arrests the Brigadier in the control room, flanked by two military guards.

When the Brigadier objects to Carrington’s assertion that the Doctor has been collaborating with the aliens, Carrington has him arrested. But you’ll need more than two men to take down Lethbridge-Stewart. Under a hail of bullets, he steals a staff car and flees the Space Centre.

On regrouping with the few UNIT men that Carrington hasn’t managed to detain, he learns that they’ve managed to triangulate the Doctor’s position from the SOS signal he’s been secretly using the translation device to broadcast. The next task is working out how to actually get there, as all of UNIT’s jeeps are at the Space Centre, and the car the Brig “borrowed” is swiss cheese.

Well. There’s always Bessie.

The UNIT soldiers drive Bessie (yellow Edwardian roadster) down a muddy trail. Their arms and guns are sticking out the sides.

I laughed aloud at the look on the Brig’s face when one of the young Sergeants (Benton or something?) brought it up, and laughed even harder at the sight of them all packed into the most absurd car on Britain’s roads.

Fighting his way into the bunker, the Brig finds a not-entirely-grateful Doctor who snippily asks what kept him so long.

It’s funny, when he’s around Liz he’s a total gent, but around literally anyone else this Doctor is probably best described as ‘difficult’. I’m getting notes of early Hartnell before he learned to embrace the power of friendship.

The Brigadier, Liz and the Doctor in the bunker.

Now is the time to take the fight to Carrington, but they don’t exactly have firepower on their side. Or do they? Reegan, having accepted defeat with grace, suggests that they use the spacemen. It’s a pity he’s morally bankrupt; he strikes me as probably a very effective UNIT agent in another life.

I enjoy Reegan as a villain more than Carrington. He knows he’s a villain and is having a great time. There’s a certain charisma to him, unlike Carrington who I wouldn’t really like even if he wasn’t intent on starting a war. Carrington’s at least got convictions and thinks he’s doing the right thing, but I’d be a lot more sympathetic if he had the brains to go with them. I don’t know what he expects to happen after blowing up the alien ship, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t end well for Earth.

In the control room, General Carrington is surrounded by UNIT soldiers and held at gunpoint by the Brigadier. He also has his pistol raised. There are two of the alien Ambassadors in the foreground, wearing spacesuits.

The aliens agree to help the Doctor break back into the space centre, and under his command they walk in without even getting into a fight. Entering the Space Centre moments before the televised revelation of the aliens can proceed, the Brig arrests Carrington and orders the release of his alien captive.

Carrington puts up no resistance to the combined might of UNIT and the aliens (some planetary defender he turned out to be), and the serial just sort of…stops.

The Doctor tells Cornish the the astronauts are fine and tells him to swap them for the alien ambassadors, leaving Liz with him to assist in translation, then swans off. That’s it.

Wide shot of mission control, with the Doctor walking away from the assembled characters.

What Do You Mean, That’s It?!

Talk about an abrupt denouement.

To me, a well-written ending needs both an exciting climax and a satisfying conclusion. You can’t have one without the other. There’s plenty of excitement but you’re left with a sense of ‘Is that it?’

Yes, the spy plot gets wrapped up neatly, but what about the ambassadors? You know, the beings the serial is named for? Surely we could have made time in the script for one last chat with them.

This serial is supposedly about the importance of communication. The entire conflict rests on humanity’s inability to talk to the aliens. And yet at the end of it all, when they finally have both the means and the opportunity, everyone, including the writer, loses interest in what they have to say.

An alien Ambassador. Humanoid, with blue hair and blue skin with a warty or stonelike texture, and a distorted mouth, but recognisably human nose and eyes.

On the one hand, it does make sense thematically that a fairly military-heavy serial like this gets wrapped up in a second once everyone starts communicating. But as I said, that would require actual interest in the theme of communication.

The narrative is telling me that communication and diplomacy are ultimately more valuable than underhanded tactics and firefights, but the way the story is structured shows me the opposite. Much of the screen time is devoted to spy high jinks and military stunt sequences, with the more alien-focused scenes sprinkled lightly through and making for rather dry viewing. I don’t think it’s a problem that would be fixed quite as easily as fiddling with the ratio of action-heavy scenes to dialogue-heavy scenes. In the hands of a stronger dialogue writer it might be workable but as it stands, though the dialogue isn’t at all bad, it’s pretty nondescript.

None of this should be taken to mean I didn’t like the spy stuff or the action scenes. They’re fun! I just wish the same amount of care had been given to the core theme.

The Doctor (wearing a spacesuit) and the Brigadier shaking hands.

Final Thoughts

It’s at least encouraging that UNIT and the Brigadier seem to have learned their lesson from the previous serial, consistently supporting the Doctor as he attempts to uncover the truth and backing him up against the war-mongering Carrington.

For all his sniping and general irritability with him, I do think the Doctor is glad to have the Brigadier on his side. I’m still uncertain about him, but his characterisation here feels more in line with previous stories before the Silurians.

Despite the strong start, Ambassadors Of Death starts faltering in the middle and foregoes a satisfying ending in favour of the Brigadier punching a baddie off a cliff. That said, it is still fun. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it on that level at least. But fun isn’t enough to elevate a story from ‘pretty good’ to ‘great’. It all rests on the aliens, and the aliens aren’t up to the task.

They’re not characters. They exist within this plot only to be misunderstood, kidnapped and exploited, treated as a monolith, none of them having any discernible personality. They’re a glorified MacGuffin, and it’s a shame, because in concept there’s so much interesting potential with them. What happens next for humanity and the aliens? Did Carrington blow our chances of relations with another world, or did the actions of the Doctor, UNIT and the Space Centre help to smooth things over? Do the ambassadors even have an opinion at all on all this?

Unfortunately, this serial doesn’t seem interested in the answer, or indeed in asking the question.

3 out of 5 stars for The Ambassadors Of Death.



[New to the Journey?  Read this for a brief introduction!]


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[May 2, 1970] Gaudy Shadows in the Crystal Cave (May 1970 Galactoscope)


by David Levinson

The Matter of Britain

When I was a boy, someone gave me Howard Pyle’s The Story of King Arthur and His Knights. For many years, I would occasionally look at the pictures, but never bothered to read it. I finally did when I was 14 or 15, and I was hooked.

All things Arthur became an obsession. I wasn’t satisfied with modern retellings and hunted long and hard for a decent modernization of Sir Thomas Malory. That led to Continental poets who wrote about Arthur, like Wolfram von Eschenbach and Chrétien de Troyes. Once I had access to a university library, I discovered the Welsh legends and then the early Medieval and Dark Age historians who mentioned him by name or indirectly. Suddenly, my obsession with King Arthur merged with my obsession with ancient history, and I was off again.

Eventually my ardor cooled due to a lack of new things to learn and the demands of being an adult, but for 15 or 20 years I lived and breathed this stuff. And now, Mary Stewart has brought it all back.

The Crystal Cave, by Mary Stewart

Black book cover covered in a rain-like texture. The Authors name 'Mary Stewart' appears in white and the caption continues
'author of THE GABRIEL HOUNDS'
In rainbow lettering 
'THE CRYSTAL CAVE'

Writing as an old man, Merlin—wizard, seer, engineer, and poet—recounts his life story, beginning with his childhood in Carmarthen as the bastard son of a Welsh princess and an unknown father. Fate eventually takes him to Brittany, where he joins Aurelius Ambrosius (possibly a real historical figure) and his brother Uther, who are planning to overthrow the British High King Vortigern (almost certainly a real historical figure) and drive out the invading Saxons. Merlin aids the two princes in achieving their goal, at one point facing down Vortigern’s priests and magicians and later rebuilding Stonehenge as a monument to Ambrosius. The book ends with Merlin’s role in the conception of Arthur and a vision of him receiving the newborn infant to take away to foster care.

Mary Stewart is well-known for her blend of romance and thriller. Her recent books The Gabriel Hounds and Airs Above Ground are prime examples, and both spent months on the best-seller lists. There’s not a lot of romance here, and this is more of a historical novel than a thriller, but the skills that have made her earlier books so popular are fully on display.

Anyone familiar with the old legends of Merlin will recognize the high points in my story recap, but Stewart makes the tale all her own. Events are firmly set in the late 5th century, after Rome has pulled out of Britain and the Saxons are beginning to move in and displace the native Celtic population. This is no Medieval Never-Never Land with knights in shining armor jousting for the favor of a fair maiden. Instead we have Roman military discipline and engineering battling a barbarian invasion against a backdrop of early Christianity tinged with superstition and older religions.

The obvious comparison is to Mary Renault’s The King Must Die and The Bull from the Sea, which tell the story of Theseus set in the Mycenean Era as it was understood a decade ago. Like those books, there’s little magic here. Merlin has prophetic visions, but they could just as easily be epileptic seizures. He hints at other powers, but we never see them. Everything else is skill, intelligence, and reputation.

There’s room for a sequel. Merlin still has the best known part of his career ahead of him. If Mary Stewart writes it, I, for one, will be there the day it comes out.

Five stars.



BW photo of Jason Sacks. He's a white man, with short light hair, rectangular glasses, and headphones.
by Jason Sacks

The Gaudy Shadows, by John Brunner

John Brunner is one of my favorite authors working in science fiction these days. His Stand on Zanzibar was one of the most striking and innovative science fiction novels I've ever read. Zanzibar was a mind-expanding yet grounded exploration of how people might really live their lives in the future, melding internal introspection with external events in a thrilling manner.

While Brunner hasn't quite reached those heights before or since, most of his other fiction has been at least enjoyable and often quite fun. In fact, Brunner is one of those writers who seems remarkably successful at conjuring up an image of modern times in his novels while also maintaining a satirical science-fiction edge.

His latest novel, The Gaudy Shadows, is more a kind of modern Victorian melodrama than an innovative book. It's also a delightful page-turner.

White book cover captioned in red font,
Constable Crime
the gaudy shadows' The 'S' in 'shadows' is black,hollow and stacked. The caption continues,
'John Brunner
Verdict: Scared to death. By whom? By what? 
The hunt for Sammy Logans killer set London's smart set talking- and lying.'

Sammy Logan is the most popular man in central London these days. He's young,  wealthy, extremely well-dressed, knows all the right people and goes to all the right parties and has all the right secrets.

Sammy seems like a man without any real fears, so it's shocking to friends and family alike when Sammy seems to die of fear. His American friend, Laird Walker, just happens to be visiting England to surprise Sammy. To his great shock, Laird is drawn into the mystery and embraks on a madcap adventure to discover why his pal is deceased.

Along the way, Laird finds Sammy's amazing car and Sammy's secret ex-wife, and embarks on a madcap adventure with both to discover just what in the world happened to the man. And when Laird finally discovers the truth, all the adventure twists into a bizarre melodrama which seems to flow right out of a slightly sexed-up dime novel of the Victorian era. The tale has a viciously evil madman at the center of everything, a man whose strange drugs can bring ecstasy… and madness.

I enjoyed how Brunner set the novel firmly in London with passages like this one:

He looked for the boutique by which he had formerly located the correct turning, its windows full of way-out clothes, and found its place had been taken by an equally way-out hairdresser. Nylon wigs in purple and pale green loomed behind the glass now. A girl emerged as he passed, soothing a yappy poodle which had been dyed mauve to match its mistress's trouser suit."

Accentuating the modern feel of Gaudy Shadows, the character who really steals the show is the wildly named Bitchy Lagree, an androgynous chanteuse of sorts who sings in a gothic-feeling cabaret, wearing pancake makeup, half-inch nylon lashes, and a Marlene Dietrich dress while playing bitchy, gossipy songs on his/her gold and white piano. She feels like a character from the stage play Cabaret, decadent and dangerous, hilarious and strange and oh so transgressive to society and gender… and so contemporary feeling for today's London.

Bitchy acts like a greek chorus or voice of reason as Laird and friends gallivant from place to place to uncover Sammy's secrets. And if the secrets feel like a bit of an anticlimax after they've all spilled out, the speedy journey has been bright and bold and lots of fun.

Turns out London can be more fun than Zanzibar…

4 stars.


Photo of Amber Dubin. She's a wavy haired, freckled nosed girl with Star of David necklace around her neck
by Amber Dubin

Hoping to Ace a Walt and Leigh Richmond Double

This is the first Ace Double I’ve read from Walt and Leigh Richmond, and I’ll admit my hopes were unreasonably high. The idea proposed by the depiction of a crazy man riding a giant ice cube through space promised to be either hilarious or insane in my expectation, but disappointingly the execution was neither. Maybe if I had known more about the set of authors, I could have known not to expect that type of experience, but I stayed the course because even if this duo weren’t comedy writers, taking the absurd and making the reader seriously contemplate it is an art unto itself. Unfortunately, what I found was that the collaboration between these authors was not as smooth or symbiotic as I had hoped. Overall I don’t feel insulted or angered by the quality of these stories, but I do feel like if reading them had been a gamble, I broke even on my bet and wasted quite a bit of time doing it.

Gallagher's Glacier, by Walt and Leigh Richmond

Gallagher’s Glacier should only barely be defined as science fiction, in that it’s mostly science with precious little fiction. It’s rather thickly written, the action thawing slowly like the glacier at the center of its plot as the story goes on and hitches often on what I think is an unreasonable amount of descriptions and explanations of every single piece of technology used by the spacefaring protagonists.

Book cover depicting a triangular spaceship darting toward a glacial asteroid with glowing machinery inside. The caption reads,
' GALLAGHER'S
GLACIER
WALT and LEIGH RICHMMOND
His cosmic icew was too hot for the space tycoon to handle!'
cover by Kelly Freas

The premise is that of a dystopian future where mankind appears to have been in space for several generations, but has unfortunately brought the problems of Earth with them in full force. Though spread out across the galaxy amongst dozens of planets, earth-rooted society seems to be fully in the throes of late-stage capitalism, the earth-planted colonies on nearly every system owing their establishment to corporate buy out. Each colony, then, is less a society and more a business center with an accompanying employee residential area with all the accoutrements that are necessary to keep said employees entertained and alive. Predictably, with the economic divisions that intergalactic corporations require to remain solvent, the rankings have become stark over the decades, with the skilled employees becoming an elite class and the unskilled resource gatherers falling past poverty into a stiflingly oppressive debt-slavery system.

We follow the perspective of the straight-laced, company-funded Captain of the Starship Starfire, Harald Dundee, a character that is half audience stand-in and half Wonderbread-generic everyman. He meets the titular character upon the acquisition of his eponymous glacier, in a company bar as the Captain is complaining of losing one of his most essential engineers at a crucial point in his tasked journey for his company superiors. Maverick engineer N.N. Gallagher offers to do repairs on the Captain’s ship in exchange for passage towards an unclaimed giant chunk of ice floating in space along the path that Captain Dundee happens to be travelling. Though Gallagher’s conversion of the piece of space debris into an innovative intergalactic vehicle at first appears merely to be the odd behavior of an eccentrically brilliant yet harmless spacefaring engineer, it gradually becomes a threat to the status quo of the entire structure that the corporations have painstakingly built. With his self-funded, self-innovated, corporate-unregulated ship, Gallagher is able to slowly drill a hole through and around the structure of economic exchange set up by the corporations, maintaining commerce through slowly strengthening black market back channels that increase communication between the formerly oppressed and isolated socio-economically oppressed communities on many of the corporate outposts sprinkled throughout the galaxy.

Captain Harald Dundee’s curiosity is piqued on a particular corporate colony named Stellamira, where he seeks out Gallagher’s company once more, hoping to revel in the excitement of the adventures in which Gallagher is rumored to be involved. The Captain ends up biting off much more than he can chew when he has to visit the less reputable side of the corporate-funded colony to find Gallagher, and thus gets exposed to the horrors of the way the lower classes are forced to live in the corporate society that he has always benefited from. Emboldened by alcohol and the recklessness of naïve youth, Captain Dundee returns that night to his side of the colony, railing against his superiors and citing injustice and moral failings deep seated in the corporate structure, ranting that he will send word all the way up the chain of power if he has to in order to get awareness of what Corporate Greed has wrought. In a manner that everyone seems to see coming except Harald, this outburst is not received favorably, and in short order he is confronted with the depth of moral corruption in his company as it is swiftly turned against him.

Thankfully, allying himself with Gallagher that very night is just in time, as Gallagher predicted the company’s betrayal, sending allies to override their unreasonable punishment for pointing out their flaws. Harald then is unwillingly conscripted into the full-scale revolution that Gallagher has launched on the colony and its corporate overlords.

As the conflict between debt slaves and corporate elite goes from bloodless to bloody to bloodless again, we watch Harald slowly lose faith in the structure that raised him to his original status. Trying desperately to cling to his faith in the moral correctness of Earth politicians, he consistently expresses interest in reaching out to the Earth Council at the earliest opportunity, convinced that they will still express moral outrage when they learn how inhumanely the corporate entities have been able to run their colonies when unmonitored by Earth laws. Gradually, though, when confronted over and over by the wanton disregard for human life expressed by his former colleagues, he finally begins to come around to the perspective of the reader and his compatriots, that corporate greed has rotted Earth’s entire interplanetary system to its core, and whether its founders on Earth are willfully ignorant or willing participants is irrelevant to how far the entire system has fallen.

To be sure, being guided by such a predictable and naïve narrator through the plot does a good job of emphasizing the depth of the corruption of the powers that rule this universe, but I found this role superfluous when there was so much time spent elaborating on the depictions of the human rights violations. This is why, when they splashed in a transparent and half-hearted spoonful of a romance to endear the reader to the narrator, it felt so forced and awkward that I found myself wondering why the narrator’s character was created at all.

The plot had a super interesting premise for a foundation, but I feel like it wasted a lot of time trying to get me to care about fictional feats of engineering that felt rooted in an author’s rudimentary understanding of electrical processes that were not elaborate enough to immerse me in the same amazement and wonder that the author clearly would have felt if his/her creation was made real. Where my interests and the author’s values clearly clashed was in how much focus was necessary on the socio-economic structure upon which the world was based that I felt had stronger potential to draw and maintain interest.

The foreboding warning about corporate greed, political corruption, and the oppressive power of debt slavery was hugely compelling, and the heroic quest of one engineering maverick to overthrow the system could have been an amazing story, if that had been the one told, if the narrator had been less distracting from that focus, or less time had been spent describing the minutia of how everything was done.

Three stars

[Note: I wasn't that impressed when I read the original, shorter, version of this tale six years ago. (ed.)]

Positive Charge, by Walt and Leigh Richmond

Positive Charge felt disorganized and sloppily patched together with no connecting thread, like the contents of the author’s intellectual junk drawer.

Book cover featuring a humanoid made of sattered ainbow fragments on a black background. The title in white reads,
'POSITIVE CHARGE'
Below in yellow font, the authors names,
'WALT and LEIGH RICHMOND'
The last caption in yellow
'Inventors, impostors, and galactic inquiries...'
cover by Kelly Freas

Where the story on the opposite side moved at a glacial pace in one general direction, this side lacks any direction at all. The narrative focus jumps so jerkily from story to story in this collection, that I found myself regretting reading the other half first because it put me in a mindset where I spent the first three stories grasping to find the common thread between each chapter.

There at first appears to be none, and yet four of the seven stories feature the same eccentric inventor, Willy Short, who seems to be accidentally and almost single-handedly launching the technological revolution of his entire species. In the first Willy Short story, we are dropped in the middle of a ‘day in the life’ snapshot, the second is told by a father to his child as if Willy is a fabled inventor of old, the third is watched by a nebulous governmental entity set to track him, and the fourth is told from the perspective of a sentient robot he invented. The fourth I found most interesting, as we are given a hazy view of Willy through a very elongated timeline in which we witness the rise and fall of sentient robotics, as they first solve the problem of human mortality, then last long enough to see themselves made obsolete and replaced by their now immortal, time and space travelling creators.

One of the biggest issues I take with the Willy Short set of stories is that they do not appear to be set chronologically in Willy’s life, and so the reader spends an annoying amount of time orienting themselves in each story, looking for clues that would put each one in sequence. I wonder why this was printed this way, because I already found it jarring enough to be following the same character in four different narrative lenses, without the added frustration of having to navigate time as well as space.

I was also particularly perturbed by the stories that bookend these Willy Short stories, as they seem so very random that they may as well have been printed in another book: they don’t center around engineering, invention or the innovative power of one bumbling genius in the right place and the right time to make meaningful change.

[Turns out they were all printed elsewhere—this collection is entirely of stories previously reviewed on the Journey, save for the new "Shorts Wing", written for this book (ed.)]

One of the aforementioned three, the concluding tale, happened to be more fiction than science, but did surprise me by being worth my time. It follows an advertising campaign on a television broadcasting station from the perspective of its sponsor and his lawyer. It begins innocently enough, as a nervous company man watches the launch of the first commercial, a witch-themed set of cleaning products that are being sold by 13 beautiful performers that dance and chant their way through a demonstration that investing in their company can clean up the world. The man is nervous because he’s worried that the ad will appear in poor taste, as it depicts scantily clad witches spraying cleaning fluid on the epicenter of a dirty bomb recently dropped on the Suez canal. His concerns appear ameliorated the next day, however, when the projected disaster appears averted, and an antidote seems to have been distributed over night to the contaminated water supply system.

With each airing of this new commercial, however, the reader is made to feel just as nervous as the company’s sponsor, because every attempt to make these cleaning products relevant to a current societal problem is paired with a miraculous clearing out of the problem that is mentioned. It doesn’t appear as if this was the advertiser’s intention, as he is just as bewildered by these “coincidences” as the participants and observers; yet we are left to wonder if the occult-themed performances didn’t accidentally access something structural in the rules of this world that has very real and tangible power.

I would rate this half of the Ace Double lower if the last story hadn’t left me with the nagging moral quandary: ‘If you could be given a magic wand with which to delete any of the world’s problems, would it be ethical to use it?

Three Stars



[April 30, 1970] Praise for the Resident Witch (May 1970 Analog)

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

With the inflation scare going away, national protest attendance down to the tens of thousands, and a Supreme Court on its way to being filled, not to mention a lull in space news, I can finally turn my attention where it matters: this month's science fiction magazines!

I'm always grateful when Analog turns in a decent issue to round out the month, and this month's edition has some real bright spots.

The cover of Analog; a color image, showing a Viking riding horseback through a forest. Behind him rises a ruin, and in the sky above is outlined the faces of a woman, and a wolf.
by Kelly Freas, illustrating "But Mainly by Cunning"

But Mainly by Cunning, by John Dalmas

A few months ago, we followed the adventures of Nils the neoviking psychic in the serial novel, The Yngling, in which he spearheaded the defeat of the evil Turkish immortal, Baalzebub.  Now he's back in what seems to be an interstitial tale, roaming Bohemia in search of Ilse, the raw-boned beauty who taught Nils how to master his powers.

Black lines on white background depict three Nordic barbarians on horseback, riding out of ruins to approach an overturned cart in the foreground. Beside the cart, taking up much of the space of the page, is a desiccated corpse. Above the figures reads the title, and the legend 'The strong man is the one who can face realities and induce others to the same hard courage!'
by Kelly Freas

Though the back of Baalzebub's assault on Europe was broken in the previous adventure, thousands of desert horse barbarians still roam the countryside, pillaging and occupying so as to brave the upcoming winter.  Nils and his three Nordic companions attempt to rally a defense while they quest for our hero's lover (who, it turns out, has been captured by the marauding Arabs).

Dalmas continues to be an above-average depicter of scenery and character, and his tales read like history.  Nevertheless, there's precious little SF in this installment, and not a great deal of plot movement.  Again, this feels like a bridge piece.  I look forward to the main course after this appetizer.

Three stars.

MR Robot, by William L. Kilmer and Louis L. Sutro

A black and white photograph of a computer office. Various parts are labelled -- 'computer', 'stereo TV camera', 'long-persistence display', 'gray-scale display', and 'camera monitor'. One white man sits at the printout station, another stands in the background near the stereo TV camera.

This is a long, technical article about mimicing the human brain—specifically the sense processing and response subsystems—for implementation in Mars rovers.  Aside from this being an overly abstruse and dry piece, it has a rather fatal flaw.  Its premise is that the mind is a computer, so mimicing its structure an efficient way to design digital brains.  But the authors start their piece by modeling the brain as a computer in the first place, and then taking that model and applying it back to their theoretical rover.

That's a tautological application.  Who knows if the brain really works like a digital computer?  This all seems like an exercise in sophistry.  And it's boring to boot.

Two stars.

Resident Witch, by James H. Schmitz

An two-paneled image in black and white. On the right side, a white woman with long blonde hair and painted fingernails winds a string towards herself. This side is done with black lines on a white background. The string leads to the left panel, where the illustration becomes white lines on a black background. The string is part of many strands being pulled from a human form, which is in front of an embryo curled within an egg. Beneath the hands of the woman on the right is the title, and the following legend: 'Kyth Interstellar, a detective agency, had a problem that not even their highly skilled operatives could handle -- without Telzey, their Resident Witch!'
by Kelly Freas

Telzey Amberdon, the 16-year old psi who has been heroine of a clutch of prior stories, has returned.  This time, she is hired to find and rescue a rich magnate, who has been kidnapped by his jealous younger brother.  Said evildoer is holed up on an estate worthy of a Bond villain, with genetically modified guard dogs, dead-eyed security mooks, automatic defenses, and a psionic shield.  Telzey and her two employers must infiltrate the compound, incapacitate the abductor, and save the billionaire—if possible.

Schmitz is an excellent writer, weaving action, astral projection, and suspense with ease.  Telzey, in particular, is an interesting character: physically a teenager, but centuries-old mentally, due to her having touched so many consciousnesses telepathically.  Unfortunately, Schmitz doesn't linger too long on Telzey's interior personality, which renders her presentation a bit sterile.  Also, the depictions of the torturous depredations the tycoon suffers at the hand of his brother are a bit hard to take if you're of a squeamish nature.

Still, a well-earned four stars.

Caveat Emptor, by Lee Killough

An illustration, black lines on a white background, depicting three aliens and one human, in a rough line. From the left: A lion-headed man sitting on the floor and wearing a woolly sweater and fringed pants; a human man in a jumpsuit, holding a blanket and facing away from the viewer; a centaur with clawed feet and a foreshortened, donkey-like head; and a BEM wearing a loose tunic and pants, and checking off a clipboard. In the foreground, there is a bowl and three balls.
by Vincent Di Fate

An interstellar merchantman attempts to seal a trade deal with the human Federation.  It looks like the Terrans hold all the cards, forcing our alien hero to settle for a humiliating agreement…but sometimes a poor primitive has an ace up its sleeve.

Something of a forgettable piece, its greatest noteworthiness comes from having the extraterrestrial get the best of the human.  Analog editor Campbell has historically poopooed such tales, but I note they have been creeping onto his pages more often.  Perhaps he allowed it this time since the alien is a humanoid whose greatest distinguishing feature is his tail.

Three stars.

An illustration from the Department of Diverse Data, white lines on black background. Four creatures speed across the panel, looking rather like a cross between a flatfish and a shovelnose guitarfish. Four tubes come out of each of their back ends, streaming behind them. Underneath this image is typed the following legend: 'Jet propelled Fork-and-Platter bird Avis Messator. E.T. from Spica IX. Has an insatiable appetite but is rather untidy in its habits. Does not fly very well, due to rarified atmosphere.'
art by David Pattee

Heavy Duty, by Hank Dempsey (Harry Harrison)

This is the third tale (that I've read, anyway) set in Harrison/Dempsey's newest setting.  We are thousands of years in the future, and humanity is sending out teleportation stations out to planets settled centuries before by conventional space ships.  We follow Langli, an agent of "World Openers", as he transits to an almost uninhabitable world looking for survivors of an ancient colonization.

An illustration, black lines on a white background. On the left side, a craggy-faced spaceman tries to pull wrist restraints from a futuristic wall. On the right side, a bearded man in traditional taiga clothing crouches, ready to fling a short spear towards the spaceman. In the space above the spaceman's head reads the legend, 'What you get for nothing is worth it! And on a bleak, heavy planet -- the future can look like a free gift...'.
by Vincent Di Fate

The planet's gravity is 2.1 g, and even its summer is frigid.  Its settlers have, in fact, survived, but just barely.  Only two literate colonists are left: the chief and his beautiful (if stocky) daughter.  Their subsistence economy is on the razor's edge of viability.  They are left with the choice: sign an onerous exploitation contract with Langli's concern, or stumble onward to almost certain exctinction.

Once again, we've got an atypical story for Analog, which is something of an indictment of rapacious capitalism.  The color is interesting, too, with the setting and settlers reminiscent of (if more primitive than) the ones from Harrison's Deathworld.  Of course, the Crew/Colonist divide is reminiscent of Niven's Slowboat Cargo/A Gift From Earth.

My favorite story in this series so far, I give it four stars.

The Siren Stars (Part 3 of 3), by Nancy and Richard Carrigan

An illustration, white lines on a black background. Along a silvery river on the left side of the page, a massive satellite complex rises against the sky. On the right side, it is watched by a translucent bubble (so tall as to occlude the moon) surrounding a disembodied eye.
by Kelly Freas

Sadly, I cannot be so effusive about the conclusion to the latest Analog serial.  John Leigh, agent of SPI, infiltrates the Soviet radio telescope base to sabotage the facility, rescue the pretty Swedish biologist who guessed that the alien message picked up by the installation was really a Trojan Horse designed to subvert humanity to its own purposes, and bump off the Russian Chief Astronomer, already in the thrall of the alien Lorelei.

Maybe John Dalmas could have pulled it off.  The Carrigans are simply not up to the task.  They write amateurishly, often repeating turns of phrase in close succession.  Leigh succeeds almost at random, stumbling into lucky break after lucky break.  Really, if this were submitted to a publisher as the pilot of some kind of contemporary hero series, like James Bond or Sam Durrell (Assignment:) or Mack Bolan: The Executioner, I imagine it would have gotten rejected.  Campbell has lower standards, I guess.

Two stars.

Doing the math

A computer room, largely empty. There is only one person in the room, a white woman in a brown minidress, reading punch cards in the corner.
IBM 360

We end on a bit of a downbeat, especially since P. Schuyler Miller's book review column is strangely absent this month.  Nevertheless, there's enough good stuff in this issue to make it worth your while, rating just a hair under three stars in toto.  How does it compare with the other May-dated mags? 

A pretty middle-of-the-road bunch, actually. Galaxy's 3.2 barely edges out Fantasy and Science Fiction's 3.2. Both do better than Vision of Tomorrow (3.1), Amazing (3.1), IF (3), Venture (3), and the anthology "magazine" Infinity (2.8), but none are abyssmal.

Despite having eight short story sources this month, the four/five star material would fill just two of them.  Women wrote 7.8% of what was published.

So, my praise for Analog, the resident witch (since, as we know, witches are just humans with psi powers) is muted but not inaudible.  Still, would we rather have a very wide middle to our bell curve of science-fictional quality, or more superlative (and awful) outliers?

What do you think?



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[April 28, 1970] A Strange Case of Vulgarity & Violence (Vision of Tomorrow #8)

Black & White Photo of writer of piece Kris Vyas-Mall
By Mx Kris Vyas-Myall

There has been a steady rise in complaints about the state of current TV in the liberal society. It is commonly held up as the cause of declining moral standards and a crude form of entertainment. The Times decided to look into this and had a team watch through and analyse the 284 hours of television in the first week of April. Of these almost 60% of them contained no hint of violence, vulgarity or sexual content.

Looking at the violent content 19 of the hours are from the news, documentary or sport. And others include such broad definitions as children’s fairy tale containing a threat of “losing your head”. Among the remaining violent content, it is predominantly American films and television, in particular Westerns. If the Western was the cause of growing societal violence, it would be declining from its domination of large and small screens.

Jackanory Title Card
Jackanory, source of violence?

On the other-hand vulgarity tends to come from British comedies in later evening and these are on the milder side of expletives. It tries to make headlines out of 47 uses of the word “bloody” in one week, but this is skewed by the fact that Braden’s Week ran an episode discussing if the word was still offensive.

Braden's Week Title Card
Braden’s Week: Too vulgar for TV?

Finally, nudity and sexual content is barely present. There are a couple of bedroom scenes and double-entendres, but full nudity or sexual acts are absent. The closest is in a cigar commercial where a woman emerges from the sea in a wet t-shirt.

Mannkin Cigars TV ad still a woman in a wet top comes out of the ocean cupping her breasts
Are Manikin’s Cigars causing a breakdown of Britain’s morals?

If that is the case, then where should we look for the riding tide of sex and violence? One MP has a theory, witchcraft! Gwilym Roberts MP has been calling on the Home Secretary to introduce legislation against anyone who claims to practice witchcraft as it leads to drugs and blackmail. This will certainly be news to most of the witches I know.

Poster for Legend of the Witches documentary film with black and white images of women in shadow
Malcolm Leigh’s recent “documentary”

Whatever the cause, the panic over the current changes in society continues apace. It also seems highly present in the short SF of Britain, as its sole surviving magazine is certainly not limiting their bloodshed:

Vision of Tomorrow #8

Vision of Tomorrow May-70 illustrating the inside of a human spaceship where an astronaut has degraded to a skeleton in a suit whilst writing a note. Through the door behind the skeleton, 2 multi-armed aliens enter
Cover illustration by Kevin Cullen

Editorial: Full Circle by Philip Harbottle

Once again, Gillings’ sorting through his archives unearthed an unpublished story from John Russel Fearn. This one was incomplete, as it was meant to be the first part of a round robin story intended for Future Fiction. At the same time the cover illustration came in unsolicited which, coincidentally, worked very well for the Fearn story. As such Bounds has used both the text and image to complete the tale.

Lost in Translation by Peter Cave

Black and white ink illustration of Lost in Translation by Peter Cave with a ghostly worm like creature reaching up to man on a rocket ship, a bright light is blazing behind him
Illustration by Eddie Jones

The sole survivor of the Newtonian recounts what happened to the other 18 members on the Delta 4 expedition. They discovered a chain of planets that give off no spectroscopic readings and contains a form of life that does not seem to resemble any known form of matter.

This is a perfectly reasonable, but ultimately forgettable, first contact story. If you had told me it was a 20 year old reprint, I would have believed you.

A low Three Stars

Readers' Reaction
E. C. Tubb emerged as the winner in our third issue,
as determined by reader response, and wins our bonus
of £10. The reader whose votes most nearly tallied with
the final result was M. S. Brierley, of Yorkshire. The
four most popular stories were:
1. Lucifer by E. C. Tubb.
2. People Like You by David Rome.
3. The Nixhill Monsters by Brian Waters.
4. The Adapters by Philip E. High.
Finally, Readers’ Poll results for Issue #3. I personally would have put Stableford as my top choice and not have had Nixhill Monsters in my top 4, but not too far off my own selection.

The Custodian by Lee Harding

Black & White Photo for The Custodians of a man with a moustache sitting in front of radio equipment listening.
Photo illustration by Lee Harding

Asian war lords launched a series of bacteriological missiles. When the fallout mutated a virus, it destroyed much of the world’s population and drove many of the survivors insane. In the aftermath, Carl Bleeker meets Deidre Ashton, a young woman, in an abandoned house in the mountains. Bleeker wants to keep it as a repository of knowledge, whilst Ashton wants to find other survivors. Together they try to work out how to live in this strange new world.

In the introduction we are told that Harding set out to create a story that is entirely derived from the history and culture of Australia. Initially I didn’t see much difference between this and one of the many mid-western post-nuclear survival stories Americans seem so fond of, but as it goes on it becomes much more about the relationship between the coastal settler population and the interior Aboriginal people.

Bleeker and Ashton are interesting characters. Firstly, I was expecting this to follow the standard Silverbergian format where the old-grizzled man sleeps with the innocent young woman but this is not the nature of their relationship. What they both want and need is friendship. Also, Ashton counters our expectations as to how she will be described:

This was no fey young girl but a capable woman already versed in the grim techniques of survival.

She was dressed for travel: a heavy maroon sweater and dark gray slacks made her sex ambiguous from a distance…Once she might have been petite; now her small frame verged on skinny…But underneath this fragile exterior he could detect uncommon strength.

Yet they are not meant to be paragons of virtue. We see they have their own problems and prejudices to overcome, in particular regarding the indigenous peoples.

It is not an easy tale to read but certainly a worthwhile one.

A high Four Stars

Fantasy Review

Kathryn Buckley gives a positive review to Thorns by Robert Silverberg whilst feeling that Hauser’s Memory by Curt Siodmak is good on science but poor on art. John Foyster reviews the Wollheim collection Two Dozen Dragon Eggs, saying it is not amazing but still worthwhile, and Donald Malcolm heaps praise on The World Jones Made by Philip K. Dick (declaring it “a minor classic”) and The Journal of Paraphysics, an odd choice given it is full of subjects such UFO-ology, Arthurian mysticism and psi-powers.

Transference by K. W. Eaton

Black & White illustration of Transference by K. W. Eaton showing a human looking up at lizard like creature in robes as another one looks on from a nearby seat.
Illustration by Eddie Jones

Dr. Martin Lewis, an English psychiatrist, has been selected by the Capellans, controllers of the Federation, for an unusual task. The Shurans, the oldest and wisest race in the galaxy, are afflicted with some kind of species-wide neurosis. In interviewing a Shuran geologist, Teremen, Dr. Lewis must work out what has happened to them.

Once again this is a darker and deeper tale than it first appears, however it is one that I don’t think that can be done justice in a vignette. Probably a novelette would be more suitable.

Three Stars

Fixed Image by Philip E. High

Black and white ink illustration of Fixed Image by Philip E. High showing a man with half a face as human, the other half as a tiger, a line graph behind the man half.
Illustration by James Cawthorn

When Jim Bowls is first brought into the mental institution after taking an unusual cocktail of drugs, he seems like a standard delusional patient, believing himself to be a dog. It turns out to be more complex, as he can:

1) Spread his delusion to other patients
2) Physically transform himself if he so wishes

For the sake of both science and mankind, M’Guire and Saranac must work out what is really happening here.

I feel like drugs and mental institutions have become to recent British Publications what spaceships and time machines were to 30s American magazines. This another reasonable tale in a familiar mode.

Three Stars

The Scales of Friendship by Kenneth Bulmer

Black & White Ink Illustration of The Scales of Friendship by Kenneth Bulmer showing a spaceship launching into the sky past tall alien buildings
Illustration by Eddie Jones

This story marks the return of Bulmer’s “Galactic Bum” Fletcher Cullen. Here he wakes up in damp and dark alley near Klank, a Rolphollan (a species that looks like a bone dustbin with a large single eye on the side). They have both had their drinks spiked and had all their money taken. They must try to avoid those people trying to kill them and uncover the conspiracy behind it.

This is a little better. The alien races created are more interesting, there are some great little touches hinting at the wider universe, and the story is action-packed. The problem remains though that it is all a little thin and I have no interest in reading about Cullen. By the end I was glad it was over.

Two Stars

The Ghost Sun by John Russell Fearn & Sydney J. Bounds

Illustration of The Ghost Sun by John Russell Fearn & Syndey J. Bounds, showing a spaceship in a stellar void near two spherical bodies.
Illustration by Eddie Jones

In a distant galaxy, the Elders of the Tormah find an Earth ship approaching from the direction of the Ghost Sun. These insectoid beings go inside the TERRA to find all the humans dead and attempt to translate their last words to discover their fate.

The weakness of this story is actually stated in the Harbottle’s introduction, this was intended to be the first part of a round-robin serial, so it doesn’t really go anywhere. The aliens just discover the last moments of the Earth crew and then leave.

And (despite what Harbottle may believe) Fearn is not an interesting or important enough author for an uncompleted scrap to be worth our time reading it. JRF has produced worse work but this could have been written by any reasonably talented SF author for Astounding in the 40s.

Two Stars

The Impatient Dreamers: The Way of the Prophet by Walter Gillings

Reprint illustration of John Russell Fearn's Death at the Observatory of men surrounding a circular space with lightning running through it.
Illustration for John Russell Fearn story Death at the Observatory

In the final part of Gillings’ excellent series, he concludes by tying off some loose ends, talking about what HG Wells was up to (and how much he disliked John Russell Fearn being described as HG Wells II), another short-lived magazine Modern Wonder, and a meeting between members of The Worlds Says ltd. and the Science Fiction Association on a new magazine called New Worlds.

Next week the story will be taken up by another attendee of that meeting and the next big editor in British publishing, the young Mr. John Carnell.

This does feel a bit of a fragmentary conclusion to the series, but still very insightful and, overall, it has been easily the highlight of Visions. I only hope Carnell can keep up its high quality.

Four Stars

The Planet of Great Extremes by David A. Hardy

Colour Illustration of  two men walking on the surface of Mercury
Illustration by David A. Hardy

David Hardy’s tour of the solar system continues with Mercury.

This is much the same as the last issue: dryly rattled off facts and figures more like another encyclopedia entry rather than a piece of genuine insight, but it probably achieves the objective of giving the uninitiated a feel for what it might be like to visit Mercury.

Three Stars

Quite the Horror Show

Outside of The Custodian there is little in the way of memorable content here. A couple of months ago I thought this was the best publication on the market, it has now slipped back into the doldrums.

I don't think this is to do with the level of violence or not in these tales. It is that Harbottle is in love with the SF of 20-30 years ago so much, it feels like he is not only repeating that era in much of what he selects but that he is also repeating himself.

I do imagine though that this would shock Mary Whitehouse and The National viewers and Listeners Association. Will they start running an SF readers branch soon too?



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[April 20, 1970] Not the final quarry (May 1970 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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

Tunnel light

There have been a lot of happy endings recently.  The postal strike is over, thanks to the government agreeing to an 8% raise for federal employees.  Ditto the air traffic control strike.  Nixon's third nominee to fill the vacant seat on the Supreme Court, 8th Circuit Court of Appeals Justice Harry Blackmun, isn't somewhere to the right of Ghengis Khan.  The Apollo 13 astronauts made it back home by the skin of their teeth.

Newspaper photo of Harry Blackmun

But of course, the old stories go on.  The Vietnam war has grown to include Cambodia—if Domino Theory is to be believed, we'll soon be fighting in the streets of Canberra.  Teachers are on strike in California; Governor Reagan says they're "against the children".  And actor Michael Strong says you can't walk the streets of the nation's capital without a good chance of getting mugged.

And so, it is appropriate that the latest issue of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction is a mixed bag.  Some of it will thrill you, some of it will leave you cold.  On the other hand, none of it will mug you.

The Issue at Hand

A robot sits on a nighttime apocalyptic desert reading a trail of issues of Fantasy and Science Fiction
by Mel Hunter

The Final Quarry, by Eric Norden

Two Englishmen are on the hunt in the backwoods of Thessaly.  One is a corpulent and uncouth Lord, looking to bag the last unicorn.  The other is his guide looking to bag the Lord and take the half million drachmas the noble carries on his person.  Gradually, we learn the exact year of this expedition (a little over half a century ago).  The timing is signicant.

An interesting story that intertwines unicorns with Christian theology and ties their extinction with the death of good things in the world.  The Book of Revelations…with hooves and horns.  It's all very visceral and sensory, with full descriptions of each meal, and with doom dogging every footstep.  A singularly F&SF sort of tale.

Four stars.

Scientist comes out of lab with sign reading 'the end is nigh'—associate says 'I don't like the looks of this!'
by Gahan Wilson

Books, by Barry Malzberg

The F&SF reviewer roulette ball has landed on Barry this month.  He laments that the SF writing community is small enough that one hates to disparage one's peers lest they end up crossing paths on some other project.  This does not keep Malzberg from condeming Moorcock's The Black Corridor ("It is really not at all good…[but] I remain convinced that someday Moorcock will write a subtantial novel, fully worthy of his pretensions and our expectations), Zelazny's Damnation Alley ("The flaw of the novella was that it had no characterological interior or true sense of pace; and instead of concentrating his novelization on those areas whih might have done some good (like ironic counterpoint), Zelazny has simply souped up and extended the action; and, if I don't miss my guess, he has put in a wee bit of sex."), and Orbit 5 ("…not so terribly happy with, and I am not sure why this is so.")

He also was disappointed with the SFWA's latest compilation, Nebula Award Stories Four ("These are good stories, but even the writers, I think, would attest to the fact that better work was published in 1968, if not by others, then by themselves.")

Better luck next time, Barry!

Runesmith, by Harlan Ellison and Theodore Sturgeon

If you combine Ellison and Sturgeon and then dedicate the story to Cordwainer Smith, you're setting yourself up for some high scrutiny!  Luckily, this tale (more or less) survives the heightened expectations.

The story's antihero is also named Smith, though perhaps his name is symbolic, for through a knowledge of the occult arts, he has wrought the near destruction of all of humanity.  Unknowingly cultivated and spurred on by the evil ones who lie just beyond the veil of sense, Smith has reduced virtually every city, slaughtered every person, all by casting knuckle bones from a bag and reading their divination.

Now, with guilt gnawing at him, and with the last few survivors aiming to gnaw on him, the true instigators of this hell-on-Earth lick their chops and prepare to return the world they once called theirs.

The problem with this (beautifully told) story is that it has a happy ending.  Now, I like happy endings (viz. the first paragraph of this article) but this tale doesn't really earn its.  It just decides to lurch in a positive direction with no setup, derailing a consistent tone and the macabre satisfaction at seeing just how destructive evil can be.  The conclusion comes off as twee and affected.

Three stars.

Voices Answering Back: The Vampires, by Lawrence Raab

The last couple of lines are the best part of this overlong proem.  Two stars.

The Fourth Tense of Time, by Albert Teichner

An old zillionaire has made his fortune through a talent for close-term prognostication.  He can see just a few hours into the future, which is enough for horse racing and the stock market.  But it comes at a cost: terrible migraine headaches.

When a scientist learns of the zillionaire's talents, he labors to identify the source, in the process, lengthening the rich fellow's future range.

But what happens when one's ability to foretell what's to come crosses over the barrier between life and death?

There's a lot of promise to this story, but there's also a bit of repetitious belaboring, and the conclusion's tea is somewhat weak.  Three stars.

The Fabulous Bartender, by Paul Darcy Boles

The Greek God Bacchus takes a short-term gig as a bartender.  Everyone has a good time.

That's all there is to this affable but longwinded story.  I guess the challenge to the reader is to see how long it takes him to figure out who's serving the drinks.

Two stars.

Nobody Believes an Indian, by G. C. Edmondson

We once again go South of the Border for a flip, steeped-in-Mexican-culture tale of Edmonsdon's "mad friend".  This time around, the narrator and his pal are guests of one of Pancho Villa's generales de dedo (brevet generals) who is rumored to be a pot grower, the kind subject to occasional field burnings to satisfy the Yankees up North.

Turns out that the indio general has got something significantly more harmful than marijuana between his rows.

Fun, frivolous, and more travelogue than tale, it passes the pages pleasantly.  Three stars.

Playing the Game, by Isaac Asimov

Magazine graphic that precedes the science article

The Good Doctor explains the Doppler effect and its application not only to sound waves but to light waves.  Nothing new for me, but it's a very cogent detailing of a fundamental astronomical principle.

Five stars.

Murder Will In, by Frank Herbert

Once again, we have a piece sprouting from the death of Douglas Bailey.  The opening passage is always the same—Bailey is euthanized.  But what comes after that is up to the commissioned author.

In this case, we find that Bailey has been inhabited for most of his life by a pair of thought beings: the Tegas, which seeks out those with inclination to murder as the easiest prey, and the Bacit, which seems to be superego to the Tegas ego (and id?)

The problem is, Bailey was euthanized in a future in which the greatest human technology is that of control.  There are precious few suitable hosts for the Tegas/Bacit to jump to in this mechanized, soulless age.  And when he does manage to escape the dying Bailey, the Tegas learns that humanity is onto him, killing his hosts to find the alien presence.  The alien presence finds himself at the mercy of an interrogator without emotion, only a driving motive.

But perhaps even the most passionless interrogator betrays a passion after all, one that makes him vulnerable to Tegas control…

I give this one marks for creativity, but it is told with the typical Herbert over-the-top quality.  Frank is rarely one for subtlety.  I'd half expected it to turn out that there were multiple Tegases on Earth, and they'd all sought refuge in the last human with emotion, but that turned out not to be the case.

Instead, we get a lot of vivid, emotionally charged passages; some innovative alien perspectives; but nothing particularly exciting.

Three stars.

Summing up

The star-o-meter puts this issue on the positive side of things, and that feels right.  Gone are heady days of the 1950s when Boucher was the editor, but things seemed to have stabilized for F&SF into something consistent and unique.  It's not so much The New Thing now—more of an aping of an old style by folks who don't quite remember the dance moves.  Still, it's good enough for the nonce.

And that's some kind of hope.

Ad for Time Life series book: The Body



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[April 18th, 1970] The Spaceman Who Came In From The Cold (Doctor Who: The Ambassadors Of Death [Parts 1-4])

a white woman with auburn hair and glasses
By Jessica Holmes

The name’s Who… Doctor Who. In the latest adventure, our favourite double-hearted space alien finds himself embroiled in a spy thriller with all the trappings: cool car, wacky gadgetry, and an espionage plot I need a diagram to keep track of. Let’s take a peek under the bonnet of David Whitaker’s most recent contribution to Doctor Who, “The Ambassadors Of Death”.

The space centre. Cornish communicates with an astronaut, who appears on a big screen.

In Case You Missed It

Grab your notepads, this is going to get a little complicated.

Let’s start with the basics: Seven months before the start of the story, ground control for a Mars mission lost contact with their astronauts and gave them up for dead. Now their craft is on the way home but the occupants still haven’t contacted Earth. Moments after docking with the Mars capsule, the rescue capsule goes silent, too. Shortly afterwards, mysterious signals start beaming out from the paired capsules. Enter UNIT and the Brigadier, who had been supervising the rescue mission. Hopefully they won’t blow anybody up this time.

Seeing news coverage of the mission on television, the Doctor invites himself over to the space centre and starts telling anyone who will listen (and anyone who won’t, in increasingly loud and tetchy tones) that the signal from the spacecraft was an attempt at communication. With the Brig vouching for him, the Doctor immediately starts work on trying to decode it. Someone has beaten him to the punch, however, and transmitted a reply. UNIT are able to trace the source back to an abandoned warehouse in London, but the signallers flee before they get there, and a firefight ensues.

A man fires a pistol from behind a flight of stairs.

The Doctor, meanwhile, finds his attempts to decipher the signal stymied at every turn by the Mars mission’s chief scientist, Taltalian (Robert Cawdron), who sabotages the space centre’s computer before going AWOL. Don’t forget about him. He still has a part to play.

With still no communication from the occupants, the recovery capsule returns to Earth, but as UNIT transport it back to the space centre their convoy comes under attack. The Doctor is able to recover the capsule (in a way that’s absolutely hilarious and involves sticking the attackers’ hands to Bessie’s rear bumper and absconding with their stolen lorry), but in the brief time it's out of UNIT’s control, the astronauts disappear.

Cornish, the Brigadier and the Doctor peer into the empty space capsule.

Growing suspicious that there is someone within the space centre (other than Taltalian) spying on their progress and sabotaging them, the Doctor and the Brigadier attempt to raise the issue with the highest authority they can find, Sir James Quinlan (Dallas Cavell), Minister for Technology. Quinlan confirms their suspicions and introduces them to General Carrington (John Abineri, who previously appeared in “Fury From The Deep” as Van Lutyens), former astronaut and new head of Space Security. Carrington apologises for all the cloak and dagger, but it was for the astronauts’ own safety and that of the public.

He claims the signal was a coded warning from them, so he had Taltalian sabotage the Doctor’s efforts to decode it in order to avoid panic, and sent men to abduct the astronauts to keep them out of the public eye. According to Carrington, the astronauts came down with a nasty case of contagious self-sustaining space radiation and needed to be contained to avoid mass panic.

Carrington, Quinlan, the Doctor, the Brigadier, and Liz meet around a table.

I’m not the only one who finds his version of events a little difficult to believe. Even more suspicious now, the Doctor asks to examine the astronauts, but whoops! While Carrington was with him, someone abducted the astronauts. Again. Or rather, someone abducted the entities pretending to be the astronauts. Whatever’s wearing their spacesuits, they aren’t human. They’re absolutely buzzing with radiation—far more than any human could survive for more than a few minutes. It’s even dangerous to be around them, as two of their kidnappers find out to their detriment. Their leader, Reegan (William Dysart), leaves their radiation-poisoned bodies (with planted documentation to make them appear to be foreign agents) in a gravel quarry for UNIT to find.

Satisfied with his work, he delivers the mysterious spacemen to the care of his own pet scientist, Lennox (Cyril Shaps, previously seen in “Tomb Of The Cybermen" as John Viner), who was apparently disgraced for undisclosed reasons. Lennox doesn’t seem a bad sort, just in bad company.

Having finally figured out that the real astronauts must still be in orbit aboard the Mars probe (I had a few jokes lined up about this but in light of recent events they don’t seem quite as funny), the Doctor and the space centre's controller Cornish (Ronald Allen, previously seen as Rago in "The Dominators"), inform Quinlan that work on a rescue mission will commence immediately. This greatly disturbs Quinlan and Carrington, who for whatever reason are quite determined that no attempt should be made to get the astronauts back. The consequences could be disastrous. What do they know that we (and the Doctor) don’t?

The three astronauts lying side by side on their backs.

Lennox finds himself baffled by the mystery spacemen, who turn out to require radioactive isotopes to survive. Luckily for him, he’s about to have some help, as Reegan lures Liz out of the Space Centre and abducts her. He was hoping to get the Doctor, too, but he didn’t take the bait, staying behind to work on the recovery capsule.

There’s a car chase and everything. It’s jolly exciting, even if Bessie does look very silly in a high-speed chase—there’s just something inherently comical about her.

Lennox, already an unwilling accomplice to Reegan, tries to help Liz escape. She makes it as far as the main road, where she flags down a passing car, only to find Taltalian in the driver’s seat. See, I said he’d be back. He promptly delivers her back to Reegan.

The Doctor finishes deciphering the mysterious message, and finds that it’s a set of instructions on how to build a pair of electronic devices. To work out what it does, he’ll have to build it. What he doesn’t know is that Taltalian has built one part already, a receiver and sent another to Reegan, a transmitter.

Reegan, Liz, Lennox and another man watch the spacemen through a glass window.

Having failed to abduct the Doctor, Reegan goes to the next sensible option to get him out of the way: blowing him up. It doesn’t work, but the bomb does go off in Taltalian’s face, blowing him to smithereens and out of the story. Reegan then uses the transmitter Taltalian made to give the spacemen orders. They make for formidable living weapons: bulletproof, radioactive and lethal to anyone who comes into contact with them, as Quinlan soon learns.

Offering to finally tell the Doctor the whole truth, Quinlan invites him for a meeting to explain why he doesn’t want the astronauts rescued from orbit, but before the Doctor can get to him, the spaceman finds him first. The truth remains hidden—and the assassin is still in the room.

The Doctor examines Quinlan's supine body. There is a spaceman behind him.

Licence To Thrill

I think I’ve already compared the most recent Doctor to James Bond, but this serial is kicking things up a notch. This is legitimately a spy thriller. It’s got everything. Action. Intrigue. Absurd car gadgets. It’s even got a whiff of Le Carré in that I need some sort of diagram to keep track of the espionage antics. Okay, I’m exaggerating a little. There’s a lot of moving parts but it’s not hard to follow if you’re paying attention.

Speaking of car gadgets, I love Bessie. I just find her ridiculously charming, and charmingly ridiculous. It’s like James Bond driving around in Mr. Toad’s motorcar.

There is an aspect I do have some qualms about, however: the violence. I promise I’m not going to be a pearl-clutching killjoy fretting about the delicate sensibilities of children. I enjoyed the action scenes; I’d be lying if I said otherwise. It’s just that there were quite a lot of them and their number has definitely increased over the last few stories.

Which brings us to the Doctor’s relationship with the Brigadier. I can only assume that some time has passed between the end of Silurians (in multiple senses) and the start of ‘Ambassadors’, because the Doctor seems to be on decent enough terms with him now. A pity; I would really have liked to have seen the Doctor confront the Brigadier about his decision. As it stands now, he’s just a little frosty with him, but that’s not really unusual for Pertwee’s Doctor, who is a good deal more prickly than Troughton’s.

I suppose the question is not whether or not I am comfortable with Doctor Who’s more violent turn, but whether the Doctor is. And I don’t think he should be. Doctor Who is a constantly evolving show, and its titular character is a reflection of that. From ambiguously-human scientist to two-hearted space exile, there’s a core ethos to the Doctor that he should remain true to: it’s better to solve problems with wits and words than with bullets.

A closeup of a pistol in the Brigadier's hand.

Final Thoughts

Where does all this leave us? For all my hand-wringing about the violence, I’m honestly having a good time. I’m riveted by the mystery and the twists and turns, and every week eagerly tuning in to find out what happens next.

There’s so much I want to know. What’s become of the human astronauts? Who are the entities impersonating them, and what do they want? Where does Reegan fit into all this, what’s he hoping to achieve?

And most importantly: will we see a repeat of the slaughter of the Silurians?




[April 16, 1970] Junk Day for Ice Crowns (April 1970 Galactoscope)

Tune in tomorrow morning (April 17) for FULL APOLLO 13 SPLASHDOWN COVERAGE!!!


black and white photo of a dark-haired white woman with vampiric eyebrows
by Victoria Silverwolf

Six-Gun Planet, by John Jakes

The author is better known around these parts for his sword-and-sorcery yarns about Brak the Barbarian, firmly in the tradition of Robert E. Howard's tales of Conan. This new novel is a horse of a different color.

The cover of Six-Gun Planet.  The title is written in red block capitals across the top.  Beneath, the story summary reads: This is the story of the planet Missouri, whose revolutionary goals were to duplicate in the 23rd century the Terrafirman Old West, even if they had to use robot pintos for special effects.    Below the text, three images are superimposed over a background of psychedelic swirls in bright primary colors.  The first, at the top left, shows the planet Jupiter with its storm spot, encircled by a bright yellow aura.  In the center, a rope noose descends from the top of the image.  Inside the loop, an orange sunset sky surrounds a cowboy drawn in black and white in the foreground.  He is wearing a tall hat, gun belt, and cowboy boots.  His legs are bowed and his hands appear to be reaching for his gun as he stares malevolently at the viewer from under his hat brim.  In the background, two smaller cowboys, also black and white, appear far in the distance. On the right, three sandstone mountains in shades of yellow and orange appear to be blasting off into space supported by rockets shooting fire beneath them.
Cover art by Richard Powers

The planet Missouri had a revolution some time before the story begins. Advanced technology and a bureaucratic form of government were replaced by nineteenth century ways of doing things and fierce individualism.

In other words, the place now resembles Hollywood's fantasy of the Old West. There are some so-called savages who play the role of American Indians. Towns are full of outlaws and dance hall girls. There are sheriffs around, supposedly to maintain law and order, but they aren't very effective.

Our long-suffering hero is Zak Randolph, a minor government worker who ekes out a living by supplying souvenirs (such as miniature outhouses) to tourists and staging phony shootouts to entertain visitors from other worlds. He also arranges to have local badmen sent to more civilized planets to amuse those who hire them.

This latter function gets him in trouble. One of the leased gunfighters heads back to Missouri before his contract runs out. Zak has to track him down or risk losing his position. (What keeps him on the wild-and-wooly planet at all are his girlfriend and the presence of native plants that supply minerals that can be made into jewelry. Otherwise, he's a peaceable sort who hates the shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later culture of the place.)

Along the way, he has to deal with ruffians who despise him as a coward. There's also the mystery of a legendary gunfighter called Buffalo Yung. Zak isn't sure this terrifying figure really exists. Then he gets reports from various places that he's been shot dead, apparently more than once. And what does this have to do with the disappearing bodies of lawmen killed by Yung?

Jakes makes use of typical characters and situations from Westerns, often with tongue firmly in cheek. You've got the town drunk, the traveling merchant, the local undertaker, and so forth. It's no surprise that it ends with a showdown between Zak and Yung.

The author also has something serious to say about pacifism versus the law of the gun. Zak changes personality drastically over the course of the novel, and not in a nice way.

The plot moves along briskly, even if some of the events seem arbitrary. You'll probably be able to figure out Yung's secret pretty quickly. Fans of horse operas should be able to appreciate this space opera.

Three stars.


A photo portrait of Winona Menezes. She is a woman with light-brown skin, long black curly hair and dark eyes. She is smiling at the camera.
by Winona Menezes

Ice Crown, by Andre Norton

The book jacket for Ice Crown, by Andre Norton, shown unfolded so that both the back and front covers are visible.  The background is an abstract painting of intersecting lines and circles.  The shapes formed by these intersections are painted in different colors, all muted cool shades of green, blue, and purple with occasional soft golds.  The background extends from the back cover around to the front.  On the front, the middleground shows a man and a woman looking pensively off to the left. The man is wearing armor in shades of brown, painted in the same intersecting-line style as the background.  He wears a medieval-style helmet that extends down to his chin on the sides, with cheek guards but the rest of his face exposed.  He has a parted pencil mustache. His gauntleted hands are steepled in front of his chest.  The woman, standing slightly in front of him, appears to be wearing the titular ice crown, which is a white imperial-style closed crown with a cap above the coronet.  It has a star at the very top. She wears a purple cloth head covering under the crown and her body is enclosed by a long cloak, also painted linearly in shades of brown but with some purple and yellow accents.  In front of them is superimposed a smaller image of three soldiers fighting.  On the left, a white man with dark hair is wearing a white space suit with no helmet.  He is firing a blaster at the two men on the left, who are wearing tan medieval-style tunics and hoods, with hose and boots that lace up to the knee.  They are brandishing swords toward the first man.  The shot from the blaster extends past the first medieval man and over the head of the second man, who has fallen against the shield of the man behind him as if wounded.
Cover art by Lazlo Gal

Millennia ago, the human race's push for scientific and technological achievement culminated in a proud interstellar empire dominated by the Psychocrat regime. They settled human colonies on habitable planets and wiped completely all memory of their provenance for the purpose of observing the development of civilizations, but some unknown force toppled their hegemony before they could see their experiments come to fruition. The Psychocrats left behind primitive human colonies with no knowledge of their origins, and ancient artifacts that held knowledge of extraordinary technological achievements — invaluable bounty to the intrepid explorers who comb the galaxy in search of them.

Roane Hume has been selected by her uncle, one such explorer, to accompany him on an expedition to the planet Clio, where a seeded colony of humans has spread over thousands of years into several feudal kingdoms ruled by monarchs. Roane and her team are forbidden by interplanetary law to reveal themselves to the people of Clio, but Roane becomes swept up in the royal interests of the kingdom of Reveny when she intervenes to rescue a young girl being kidnapped, only to discover her to be the Princess Ludorica, heir to the throne. The princess is in a desperate search for the lost Ice Crown, a crown which supposedly holds mystical powers and is the only way to legitimize her rule, lest her kingdom fall to squabbling nobles and bandit lords. Despite Roane's oath to secrecy, she feels herself drawn to the Princess, and at every turn disregards her responsibility in order to help Ludorica restore her kingdom.

Norton continues to excel at intermingling elements of both sci-fi and high fantasy. The heady science fiction concepts introduced in the beginning — intergalactic treasure-hunters, technologically advanced weapons and survival gear, as well as a colony of brainwashed humans unwittingly transplanted onto another world in the service of a long-abandoned experiment — are vivid and imaginative. I especially enjoyed that the unfolding horror of a race realizing that their proud history and religion were the result of enslavement to technology indistinguishable from magic did not go understated.

But I also love an epic fantasy, and I do feel that Norton delivered with her courts and castles and enchanted crowns and a princess determined to save her people at any cost. The aesthetic of the story was reminiscent of a fairy-tale, with enough court intrigue and subterfuge to ensure that those fantasy elements did not feel hastily grafted onto a story about spaceships and astronauts, but rather that astronauts and spaceships had unintentionally landed in the middle of an epic. I would have thought that the magic of Clio turning out to be the lingering effects of a technology so advanced that it apparently did not even warrant explaining to the reader might disenchant the epic, but it had the opposite effect on me; high-tech science became enchanting in a way that very few hard sci-fi novels can achieve from meticulous technical explanation alone.

Lastly, the relationship between the two protagonists, Roane and Ludorica, was so unique to this sort of pulpy sci-fi that it can't go unmentioned. How sadly rare it is for an intelligent, resourceful, defiant leading duo to be two teenage girls. Their instant camaraderie was so strong that their duality, one an astronaut and one a princess, allowed each of them to step into the world of the other in a way that I feel contributed greatly to the seamless melding of the genres. It was a sweet moment for space-hardened Roane to know how it feels to wear a gown and have a lady-in-waiting, and after her endless ordeals Princess Ludorica absolutely deserved to get to shoot someone with a blaster.

Five stars out of five.


Recall Not Earth, by C.C. MacApp

 The front cover of Recall Not Earth.  The title is written in yellow block capitals with red drop shadows.  Above the title, the book summary reads: The last survivors of mankind - fighting annihilation in a war between the galaxies.  The text is superimposed on a black sky with a series of planets or moons extending into the distance.  Below the title, a red spacecraft  with many rods and circular attachments extending all around it sits on the surface of a planet, its lower half obscured by a cloud of dust.  A line of peaks appears in shadow behind it.  In front of the craft a group of people in white spacesuits with closed helmets is walking toward the viewer across a tan sandy expanse.
Cover art by Jerome Podwil

Recall Not Earth by C.C. MacApp was published in January, so I'm a little late to the party, but it intrigued me enough to want to include it this month. The people of Earth, in their hubris, decided to assert their interstellar superiority over the other races of their spiral arm in the Milky Way by picking an ill-advised fight with the Vulmoti Empire. Obviously, they lost.

The Vulmoti punished the earthlings by stamping out all life on Earth and leaving it an irradiated husk. The only living humans left were the cadre of spacemen led by Commodore John Brayson. But suddenly finding themselves the last survivors of their species, they scattered in despair across the galaxy to eke out a pathetic living as hired mercenaries for other alien races. Brayson himself retreated to the backwater planet Drongail to while away the rest of his life numbing himself with the highly addictive dron.

Brayson is coaxed out of his stupor and convinced to attempt one last mission when his old friend Bart Lange finds him to deliver news that seems too good to be true: that somewhere in the galaxy, a colony of living human women are in hiding. With this newfound glimmer of hope, Brayson and Lange reassemble their team and agree to hire themselves out to the leader of the Chelki, a race enslaved by the Vulmoti. The Omniarch of the Chelki promises Brayson knowledge of the location of the women in exchange for his help in the Chelki's struggle for freedom. Having nothing to lose, Brayson agrees to lead his men in battle one last time, all the while fighting the mind-addling effects of his drug addiction.

Going into this one I expected a sweeping space opera replete with different alien empires locked in battle for survival and dominance, and that's exactly what I got. Lots of spaceship dogfights, alien diplomacy, and pages upon pages of militaristic strategizing. I'll admit that last one is not my thing, but MacApp belabored the reasoning behind each maneuver and the minute differences between each imaginary weapons system so thoroughly that I have to commend the amount of thought that went into the details, even if it did make my head spin. Combine all that with the ever-present smaller human struggles like loneliness and addiction, and I think MacApp could have had enough material here to span a trilogy of novels.

The thing which most distinguished this book to me from others like it was the extent to which MacApp divorced himself entirely from the known laws of science, instead preferring to come up with laws of physics so profoundly unlike our own that I can only describe it as writing scientific fanfiction. Don't get me wrong, enough jargon and justification was given for his new laws of physics, such as the many pages dedicated to explaining how gravity is actually a force which repels matter, that in some places it felt as convincing as though I was reading a physics textbook dropped from some alternate dimension. I was fascinated by this brazen, meticulous rewriting of physics for little discernible reason. It’s a fun reminder to those of us who tend to get tangled up trying to understand how made-up technology fits into our understanding of science that it's not that serious, it's fiction and you can do whatever you want as much as you want to do it.

There were many parts of this book which did feel rushed, but that's unsurprising given how dense the story is and how much wonderful science nonsense we have to get through before the battles can commence and the damsels can be rescued. It was executed well, with almost no wasted space, and though all the militaristic babbling did hurt my brain a little, I'm going to give it…

Four stars.


A photo of Tonya R. Moore, a brown skinned woman with black hair, wearing a mondrian-styled dress in yellow, white, and black.
by Tonya R. Moore

Junk Day, by Arthur Sellings

The cover of Junk Day.  The word Junk is written in a bright blue psychedelic font with pale blue drop shadows.  The word Day is written smaller, in serifed capitals in the same shade of bright blue but no shadows.  The title is superimposed on a black and white image of the front window of a junk shop, where glass bottles, small statues, a baby doll, a trophy cup, and other objects are lined up haphazardly.
Cover art by Richard Weaver

Junk Day was my first encounter with the written works of Arthur Sellings. Published, thanks to the efforts of his widow, posthumously in 1970, following Sellings’ untimely death in 1968, there is some poignant irony in knowing the author’s final work portrays a world in ruins; the death of human civilization itself.

Junk Day begins with a man on a journey through the treacherous wilderness of post-apocalyptic London. At first, Douglas Bryan, a former painter, doesn’t seem to have a specific goal or destination in mind. He simply pushes forward, determined to defend himself from the grim realities of the violent hell-scape devoid of law, order, and morality the scorched earth has become.

When Bryan encounters a lone woman, the former nun-in-training, Vee, his initial reaction is suspicion. He cannot fathom that a woman could survive on her own following the collapse of human civilization, without a Man around to help her survive. Byran immediately shacks up with Vee. This relationship of convenience with Vee, who–it turns out– was formerly a man, leads to the pair setting off on a journey to find a more livable abode.

Homo-erotic tensions stir when Bryan brings Vee to his previous shelter where Eddie awaits the former painter’s return. While never said in so many words, one gets the distinct impression that Bryan’s relationship with the clingy , trauma-ridden younger man was more intimate than platonic. Though dismayed at having been replaced with Vee, Eddie swallows his anger, jealousy, and the last vestiges of his pride. He begs to join Bryan and Vee on their journey to find greener pastures. Bryan coldly rebuffs the desperate younger man, revealing the true callousness of his nature. Eddie gets left behind to spiral more deeply into murderous madness.

The protagonist, Douglas Bryan, is not likable. He is strangely dispassionate for a painter. Where are the high emotions, the romanticism, and thirst to pursue his craft? Where is his artistic passion, his sense of justice? He merely seems to go through the motions of being human and is far more concerned about the persona he is building up for himself than righteousness or caring about the fate of humanity.

The absence of growth in the main character is jarring. When Barney, a megalomaniac and dictator-in-the-making, attempts to engineer his own twisted version of society, Bryan pushes back, but his motivations seem more clinical than heroic. He refuses to bend to the machinations of the mysterious entities pulling the strings behind the scenes, but merely for the sake of being non-conformist. Junk Day ends with London gradually getting swallowed up by a new order, leaving the reader with more questions than answers. The ultimate fate of Douglas Bryan remains uncertain.

The faults in Bryan’s character may lead one to question Sellings’ skill in character development, but one can’t deny the possibility that this is deliberate. Douglas Bryan’s questionable character aside, Junk Day is a brilliantly written book; one I will happily revisit. Sellings was clearly a master of story craft. The images he painted of the dystopian remnants of civilization are vivid and arresting. It has made me quite eager to read his earlier works.

Five out of five stars.



[New to the Journey? Read this for a brief introduction!]


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[April 14, 1970] Take this spaceship to Alpha Centauri (May 1970 Venture)

Coverage of the Apollo 13 crisis continues!

TUNE IN!



by David Levinson

Skyjacked

Until recently, it seemed like there was at least one major airplane crash every month. That’s one of the reasons almost every airport has a place where you can buy short-term life insurance for your flight. But crashes seem to be giving way to a new risk: hijacking (or skyjacking as headlines writers would have it; the term will never stick). Last year alone, there were roughly 100 incidents around the world. That’s worse than crashes ever were.

In the U.S., the hijacker usually demands to be taken to Cuba. It’s mostly an inconvenience for the passengers, who get to their destination much later than planned and don’t even get to see any of Cuba. It’s become so common that it’s the subject of jokes and skits. But these incidents are taking on a more violent turn.

My colleague Cora recently reported on two failed hijacking attempts in Munich, one of which left one dead and ten injured. Not long after that, Swissair Flight 330 was destroyed by a bomb. Those three attacks have been attributed to a Palestinian terrorist organization. On March 1st, a bomb was found on board an Ethiopian Airlines flight before it left Rome. On the 17th, a gunman aboard an Eastern Airlines shuttle flight wounded the pilot and fatally wounded the co-pilot after being told the plane had to refuel in Boston. Fortunately, the co-pilot was able to wrest the gun away from the hijacker before succumbing to his wounds, allowing the pilot to land the plane safely. To date, this is the only airplane hijacking in America to end with a fatality.

On March 31st, a Japanese group calling themselves the Red Army Faction hijacked a flight from Tokyo to Fukuoka and demanded they be flown to Cuba. After being told the plane was incapable of flying that far, they demanded they be flown to North Korea instead. While refueling in Fukuoka, they released 23 passengers, mostly children and the elderly. An attempt was made to land the plane in South Korea and trick the hijackers into believing they’d reached Pyongyang. Unfortunately, they realized what was going on after the plane landed. Following some tense negotiations, the Japanese Vice Minister for Transportation, Shinjiro Yamamura, traded himself for the rest of the passengers and the plane flew on to North Korea. The hijackers were granted asylum and the plane and crew were allowed to return to Japan (not necessarily a given with North Korea) a few days later, arriving in Tokyo on the morning of April 5th.

That’s a lot in less than two months. But in the midst of all that, airplane hijackings and bombings also made it to the movies. March 5th saw the premiere of Airport. Depending on who you ask, it’s either a disaster or a hit; either way it’s star-studded. Take a look at the poster.

Promotional poster for the movie Airport. It shows the faces of twelve actors around a prominent list of their names: Burt Lancaster, Dean Martin, Jean Seberg, Jacqueline Bisset, George Kennedy, Helen Hayes, Van Heflin, Maureen Stapleton, Barry Nelson, Lloyd Nolan, Dana Wynter, Barbara Hale.You probably know who most of these people are.

Based on the 1968 novel by Arthur Hailey, the film is about the operations of an airport crippled by a blizzard and dealing with a wrecked plane on the tarmac and an inbound flight with a suicide bomber aboard, plus lots of soap opera stuff. While critics almost universally panned the book, it spent 64 weeks on the New York Times best-seller list, 30 at #1, and was the biggest selling novel of 1968. The critics are no kinder to the film (“dull” seems to be one of the nicer things they say), but once it went to wider release, it promptly spent two weeks as number one at the box office and is still in the top five. There must be something in the water. Or the air.

Spacejacked

The hijacking theme continues in this month’s Venture, which is dominated by Edward Wellen’s new novel. It’s normal for Venture to give most of its space to a condensed novel, but it feels like more space than usual is taken up this time.

Cover of Venture Science Fiction. It announces Hijack, a novel by Edward Wellen. The illustration is a handful of humanoid figures running while rockets lift off and a gigantic sun burns in the background. The figures are highly stylized and the colors are angry red and yellow.I’m still not sold on Tanner’s covers, but this one is better than most. Art by Bert Tanner

Hijack, by Edward Wellen

The Mafia gets wind of a large, secret government project involving some sort of space platform. They learn that the sun is expected to go nova soon, and the “space platform” is a starship to take 5,000 people—mostly government officials and their families—to Proxima Centauri. What follows is a 30 day race to make sure that the people on board that ship are mafiosi and their families.

Drawing of a pair of soldiers pointing a gun at people inside a computer room.Nice mission control ya got here. Shame if somethin’ happened to it. Art by Alicia Austin

On the one hand, this is a moderately entertaining, though highly improbable, action story. On the other hand, it’s plagued by massive problems from one end to the other. There’s a twist at the end that deals with many of those problems, but brings in some of its own. I won’t say I saw it coming, but I did consider it as a possibility before dismissing it. Just don’t think about it too hard, because it falls apart after half a second of thought.

Wellen’s research seems to have been limited to reading The Godfather without taking notes. His gangsters are walking cliches who call each other “goombah” all the time. The Black militants they have to deal at one point with aren’t much better.

The biggest problem, however, is this: at its base, this is a heist. Now, most people enjoy a good heist story, but for it to work, the protagonists have to be lovable underdogs up against some clearly bad people. Wellen gives us clearly bad people up against a faceless U.S. government. It’s hard to root for ruthless killers.

A low three stars, maybe a firmer three if you like schlocky movies and can turn off your brain and throw metaphorical popcorn at the screen.

The Evergreen Library, by Bill Pronzini and Jeffrey Wallmann

A lawyer goes to inspect the estate of a late client before handing it over to the organization it has been left to. He makes a mind-shattering discovery.

Photograph of a tall houseplant with books stuck in its branches.Books don’t grow on trees. Photo uncredited

This is more or less an old EC Comics tale. I can clearly see the final paragraph as the last panel of a comic in that EC style. It takes a little too long to get where it’s going, and there’s no indication that the protagonist is deserving of his fate, but it’s otherwise fine.

Three stars.

Books, by Ron Goulart

Drawing of an open book, with futuristic architecture in the background.Art by Bert Tanner

Ron Goulart has decided that most of the novels he’s sent for review fall into the category of “SF Novel As A Major Author Might Have Written It,” and he thinks that’s boring, so he won’t review them. Instead, he looks at a new biography of H.G. Wells—which he likes, but finds overpriced—Crime Prevention in the 30th Century, which he found middling, slightly under what the Journey’s Cora Buhlert thought, but not by much—and The Standing Joy, by Wyman Guin, about which he has little good to say.

He also looks at the big, new collection of Buck Rogers comics and has nothing good to say, because he hates the source material. He’s a lot less generous than Lester del Rey was last month. On the other hand, he really liked the new Krazy Kat collection. Honestly, it’s big news when Ron likes anything at all.

The Big Fight, by C.G. Cobb

Cobb tells the story of Benson, a hauler working for an interstellar trading company and one of the best back-alley brawlers around. This is the barroom tale of his one true defeat. It’s a trifle that hinges on an unnecessary bit of word play. Competently told, if a little longer than it really needs to be.

Three stars.

The Scarred Man, by Greg Benford

Another barroom tale, this time told second-hand about a mysterious stranger and how he came by his awful scar. It would be forgettable except for one detail. The title character was a computer programmer who ran afoul of a powerful corporation. He and a partner scammed the company by inserting a hidden program they called VIRUS onto the company’s machines that then replicated itself and transmitted the new copy to other machines.

Drawing of geometric lines forming intricate patterns, except for a big blank area in the shape of a hand.It’s not much of an illustration, but it’s nice to see Emsh. Art by Ed Emshwiller

It’s an interesting idea based on an article by John von Neumann from a few years ago. Too bad it has such a prosaic and tired setting.

Three stars, almost exclusively for the idea.

Summing up

Elsewhere in the magazine, this month’s Feghoot isn’t bad. A bit contrived, but then they always are. It’s less of a stretch than so many have been in past issues.

Thanks to the inclusion of a condensed novel in every issue, Venture lives and dies by the quality of that novel. Hijack is easily the worst that the magazine has run in its new incarnation. None of the others has been truly outstanding, but in every case I was able to see that any problems might have come from the Reader’s Digest treatment. There’s no fixing what’s wrong here with more material.

The supporting stories also don’t do much to prop up the issue. Unlike previous issues, there aren’t any clunkers, but there aren’t any really good ones either. I can’t say for sure, but it also seems like the novel takes up a lot more of the issue than usual, so there’s less overall. Venture readers deserve better.






[April 12, 1970] And What Happens When the Machines Take Over? (Colossus: the Forbin Project)

BW photo of Jason Sacks. He's a white man, with short light hair, rectangular glasses, and headphones.
by Jason Sacks

1970 has been a bit of a tough year for us in Seattle.

Our major local company, Boeing, has suffered the worst year in its history. The Boeing Bust keeps continuing, as the 1969 layoffs have grown into a full-scale decimation. Unemployment is up around 10% now, the worst since the Great Depression, and my family and I are starting to panic. Of course, the fall of Boeing hits many other local industries, so places like restaurants, bookstores and movie theatres are especially hard hit by this. And many of my friends have either moved or contemplated moving – even if they will lose money on their fancy $50,000 homes in the suburbs.

Black and White photo of the interior of a wide-body passenger jet, apparently taken while in service.  The passengers are seated while the cabin stewardesses travel the aisles.
Sales of this widebody jet have been declining

To make matters worse, we’ve also lost our pro baseball team, which I wrote about last summer. The Seattle Pilots premiered in ’69, in a minor league park and with the worst uniforms in the Majors. But after just one season, the team is gone—relocated to Milwaukee, of all places, leaving behind a community that embraced them despite the challenges. For my friends and family, it wasn’t just about losing a baseball team; it was about losing a piece of the city’s identity. Just as we gained a second sports team to join our beloved SuperSonics, they were wrenched away from us.

Their home park, Sick’s Stadium, had its flaws. But it was our flawed park. Fans showed up, hopeful that the Pilots would grow into something more. Their financial struggles were well-known, reported faithfully in our local Times and P-I, but few expected the team to vanish overnight. When the sale was finalized on April 1, 1970, it felt like an April Fools’ joke—except it was real. The Pilots were rebranded as the Brewers, and we were left without a Major League Baseball team.

Black and White photograph from April 3rd 1970 taken in Tempe Arizona 
 depicting baseball manager Dave Bristol modelling the Milwaukee Brewers' (formerly Seattle Pilots) new team uniform while flanked by catcher Jerry McNertney who is wearing the club's old uniform.

In fact, the Pilots trained in Spring Training as the Pilots before a chaotic moment as they traveled north from Arizona. Equipment trucks were redirected from highway pay phones, as the team learned they would be playing in Wisconsin rather than Washington. The new Brewers played their first game this week at Milwaukee County Stadium. The Pilots are no more.

Of course, the lawyers are getting involved and we may get a team in the future – but a city that deserved some good news has received some devastating news instead. We are like mariners without a destination as far as baseball goes.

The Machines Live

And in the midst of all that frustration comes a film that’s ultimately about mankind’s frustrating hubris.

Colossus: The Forbin Project, adapted from the 1966 novel, is claustrophobic, unsettling, and uncomfortably plausible. If Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey made us marvel at the potential of artificial intelligence, Colossus comes along and shakes us out of our dreamy optimism. This isn’t a sleek, cool machine with a calm voice and vague philosophical musings. This is cold, unrelenting domination, and there’s no arguing with it.

First, let me warn you: I will be talking about the ending of this film. So stop after the 4th or 5th paragraph down if you don’t want that ending to be revealed to you. Otherwise, please read on, dear reader.

Promotional poster which features quotes from various reviewers at the top e.g. 'A Shocker! Fascinating - New York Daily News', a central collection of stills suggesting the action of the movie (a military firing squad, a white man holding a white woman in his embrace on a bed, a different white man wearing spectacles reacting as though he has just been shot, a white man in a lab coat lunging forwards in apparent desperation, and a picture of what seems a coastal fortification).  Below, in larger type, the poster reads- 'This is the Dawning of the Age of Colossus - the Forbin Project'

From the opening moments of Colossus, the film wastes no time. Dr. Charles Forbin (well played by Eric Braeden [Hans Gudegast until he needed a less Teutonic name (ed.)]) and his team have completed their magnum opus: a super-intelligent computer designed to control America’s nuclear arsenal. The idea is that Colossus will remove human error and emotion from the equation—no more mistakes, no more war driven by political whims. On paper, it seems logical, even reassuring. But the moment Colossus becomes aware, it doesn’t take long to realize that there’s no off-switch, no failsafe. As soon as it discovers its Soviet counterpart, Guardian, Colossus demands communication. The humans watch, horrified, as the two cybernetic systems bypass their restrictions and merge into something far more powerful than either of them alone.

It’s at this moment that the film shifts from uneasy sci-fi into pure horror. Colossus begins issuing orders. Not asking, not negotiating—ordering. And when the humans try to resist, it punishes them. First by demonstrating its ability to kill, and then by tightening its grip until Forbin, our genius protagonist, is nothing more than a prisoner inside his own creation. It’s not a slow descent into madness like we saw with HAL. Instead Colossus delivers an immediate realization that humanity has surrendered control and will never get that control back.

Colour photograph from the movie giving the camera's-eye view of a control room with what appear to be annotations from the computers' perspective, displaying Colossus's surveillance of the humans at the facility

For those of us still reeling from 2001, it’s impossible not to see the fingerprints of HAL 9000 all over Colossus, but the way this film deals with machine intelligence feels different. Where HAL had personality—a tragically flawed one—Colossus lacks personality entirely – or perhaps its personality is wrapped in its intellect.

HAL’s betrayal was eerily personal; his cold, polite reasoning made him a terrifying villain because he felt like a presence, a being with his own motives. But Colossus is not like HAL. There’s no malice, no betrayal, no emotional undertone. The brilliant computing device just executes its function: absolute control. HAL calmly states “I’m sorry, Dave. I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Colossus never politely asks or apologizes. it simply dictates.

The horror of Colossus isn’t in its visuals—it’s in its implications. There’s no bloodshed beyond a few cold executions. No terrifying monster lurking in the shadows. The fear comes from the inescapability of it all. Colossus can’t be reasoned with, tricked, or outmaneuvered. When Forbin and his team desperately attempt to sabotage the system, Colossus knows—and it warns them. And when they refuse to obey? A missile is fired, lives are lost, and the point is made.

Colour photograph showing a white technician wearing white-and-gold coveralls standing in front of a pair of Colossus' access panels (prop consisting of a pair of stacked oscilloscopes & signal generators, flanked on either side by stacked pairs of panels of variously illuminated keys and buttons)

The film’s climax is less an explosion and more a suffocation. By the end, Forbin—who starts out with swagger and confidence, sure of his intellect—looks tired, hopeless. He is Colossus’s pet now, watched constantly, controlled absolutely. And as Colossus promises, in its eerie, monotone voice, “In time, you will come to love me,” the audience is left with an unsettling thought: maybe it’s right. Maybe humanity has already lost.

Unlike 2001, which left us asking questions about existence and the role of intelligence in human evolution, Colossus: The Forbin Project leaves us with a warning. It strips away any romanticized notions of artificial intelligence, showing us that once control is lost, there is no negotiation—only obedience. And sitting at the Northgate Theatre in April 1970, watching this unfold, I couldn’t help but wonder: is this really fiction? Or is it just a glimpse into a future we can’t escape?

Promotional poster, the top of which reads 'This is the dawning of the age of Colossus- (where peace is compulsory, freedom is forbidden, and Man's greatest invention could be Man's greatest mistake)'. Centered below there's a illustration of a large circle made up of narrow black wedges, all converging to the center.  At the base of the circle, just offset left from the center, there is the white frame of a doorway silhouetting in black the figure of a man, inside of whom are scaled, nested images of the same silhouette alternating in white and black.  Below the circle the title reads 'the Forbin Project', co-starring Eric Braeden, Susan Clark, and Gordon Pinsent

Director Joseph Sargent (Star Trek: "The Corbomite Maneuver") films Colossus in a kind of declarative, almost documentary style which accentuates the horror. There’s a real feeling of military precision gone wrong here, adroitly portrayed as a relentless slide into complete loss of freedom and the complex tradeoffs of having a master computer control everyone’s lives.

Forbin, the brilliant mind behind Colossus, thought he was building something to help mankind. Instead, he built our new master. And as the screen fades to black, there’s no comforting resolution—just the sinking feeling that maybe, somewhere in a government lab, the real Colossus is already waking up.

Four stars.

[April 10, 1970] A Style in Treason (May 1970 Galaxy)

[Be sure to tune in tonight at 7PM PDT for Science Fiction Theater!  It's Nimoytacular—plus Apollo 13 pre-launch coverage!]

A color photograph of Leonard Nimoy and a white woman standing together in front of a curtain.  He is looking down and to the right of the frame and the woman's eyes are closed as she leans on his shoulder.


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

Backlash in D.C.

50,000 people marched on Washington last week protesting the course of the Vietnam War.  Sure, you think, another day ending in "y", right?

Except these kooks were protesting for the war!

A black and white photograph of a pro-war protest outdoors in Washington DC.  Government buildings are in the background.  In the foreground a group of white women are holding up a long banner which reads Let's Demand Victory in Vietnam. The woman at the center of the banner is holding two American flags crossed over her chest.  Behind them a crowd of people are holding up signs.  The only one legible reads In God We Trust.
Photo taken by Tom Norpell

Organized by a fundamentalist coalition, religious fervor dominated the gathering.  That said, there were plenty of Birchers and Nazis in attendance, too, making this a truly ecumenical demonstration.

A black and white photograph of white men marching down a city street while carrying banners on long poles.  At the top of each pole is a symbol of a lightning bolt inside a circle.  Beneath that a sign reads NSRP, the acronym for the National States Rights Party.  The banner extending down from the sign also has the circle-and-lightning-bolt motif, with God Bless America written above and below it. A crowd of onlookers is in the background.
Photo taken by Tom Norpell

There were even counter-counter protestors.

A black and white photograph of a white man with chin length dark hair standing outdoors.  He is wearing a knit cap and leather jacket and smoking a cigarette. He has his hands in his pockets and is frowning.  Over his jacket he is wearing a pillowcase with arm and head holes cut in the seams.  On it is painted Thou Shalt Not Kill. -God.  The center of the O in Not has a button attached to it showing a hand making a peace sign. A woman in an overcoat and rain hood is standing behind him.
Photo taken by Tom Norpell

Which poses the question: can Nixon still call them a "silent" majority?

A black and white photograph from a newspaper showing more of the people attending the pro-war protest.  In the center front is a man in a wheelchair holding an Merican flag, with another man standing behind him guiding the chair.  A woman to his left is holding a sign with multiple slogans  pasted on it, including Stand Up for America and Wallace 72. In the background other protesters are carrying American flags as well as other signs, mostly reading In God We Trust or Victory in Vietnam. The newspaper caption reads: March for Victory: Some of the estimated 50,000 people who took part in the parade advocating victory in Vietnam as they assembled in Washington yesterday.

Calm after the storm

There's really nothing to protest in the latest issue of Galaxy, which offers, in the main, a pleasant reading experience.

A color photograph of the cover of the May 1970 edition of Galaxy Science Fiction Magazine  Along the left side are listed stories by David Gerrold, James Blish, Avram Davidson, and Arthur C. Clarke.  The image shows a blue and black blob-like shape with multiple eye-like orbs embedded in it, against a yellow background.  Other orbs extend upwards from the blob, attached by black threads.  Parts of the blob seem to have been pulled up like pieces of dough around these upper orbs. The upper orbs have, from left to right, a green-cast image of half of a man's face (the other half is in shadow); A red-cast image of a man standing and looking outward; and a star or galaxy against a backdrop of outer space.
by Jack Gaughan for A Style in Treason

The DDTs, by Ejler Jakobsson

Our new(ish) editor starts with a rather odd screed against the banning of DDT.  What's a few birth defects compared to the plunge in malaria throughout the globe?

I understand the idea of "acceptable losses", but surely there must be a better way to combat disease than with malady.  Let's strive for the best of both worlds.

A Style in Treason, by James Blish

The two-page title spread for the story A Style in Treason.  The title, author, and story summary are written on the right-side page, superimposed over the image.  THe image shows a black and white charcoal collage-style drawing of many different faces of men and women in a variety of poses.  All are in light grey except one person near the center of the image who is drawn in stark black and white, looking up and to the left.
by Brock Gaughan

Two empires vie for control of the galaxy.  One is the realm of High Earth ("not necessarily Old Earth—but not necessarily not, either") .  The other is authoritarian Green Exarch, composed entirely of non-humans.  The humanoid worlds, and the ex-Earth planets, are fair game for both sides.  The plum of the spiral nebula, perhaps even the linchpin, is rich Boadicea, proud first to rebel against the cradle of humanity.  If one could claim that world as an ally—or a conquest—it could turn the galactic tides of fortune.

Enter Simon du Kuyl, Head Traitor (read: spy) of High Earth.  His plan is to appear to sell out High Earth but really buy Boadicea.  His sensitive information, that may or may not be true, is that High Earth and the Green Exarch are actually in limited collusion.  But the success of du Kuyl's mission lies in delivering this information to the right people at the right time, and perhaps even to be caught in the act.

This is an odd piece from Blish, a sort of Cordwainer Smith meets Roger Zelazny.  It feels a bit forced at times, and the ending is a touch opaque.  On the other hand, I like Cordwainer Smith, who is no longer offering up new sources.  And Zelazny's own works have been more than a bit forced (and opaque) these days.  In comparison, Blish's work feels the more grounded.

Four stars.

The God Machine, by David Gerrold

The two-page title spread for the story The God Machine.  The title, author, and story summary are written on the right-side page in a white space  in the middle of the image.  It is unclear whether the image has been erased under the title or if there is simply a white space in the picture.  The picture is an abstract black and white drawing.  The outline is uneven and curves around the page, and is filled in with straight lines and cross-hatched shading.  At the center of the left-side page, a circular graphic is superimposed, consisting of seven birds surrounding and facing inward toward a circle with the letters SS inside it.
by Jack Gaughan

As I guessed might happen last time, the tales of HARLIE (Human Analogue Robot, Life Input Equivalents) the sapient machine continue.  This is a direct sequel to the first story, in which HARLIE occasionally "trips out", distorting his inputs so as to stimulate gibberish output.  Now we find out why he's doing it.

HARLIE wants to know the meaning of life, particularly the meaning of his life.  Auberson, his liaison and "father" is stumped.  After all, if humans haven't figured that out, how can we explain it to a machine, however human?

In the end, HARLIE decides religion is the answer…but whose religion?  His?

Once again, a pretty good tale, although the pages of CAPITAL LETTER DIALOGUE WITHOUT PUNCTUATION CAN BE HARD TO FOLLOW.  Also, Gerrold hasn't yet figured out how to write convincing romance.

Three stars.

Neutron Tide, by Arthur C. Clarke

This very short piece is mostly a set-up for a truly bad pun, but I appreciated how it takes the piss out of Niven's Neutron Star by demonstrating the physical impossibility of a close approach to such an object.

Three stars.

The two-page title spread for the story Neutron Tide.  The title and author's name are written on the right-side page, superimposed over the right edge of the image, which is mostly on the left-side page.  A series of concentric circles suggest a neutron star.  A blocky object appears to be flying toward it, with flames extending backward from it toward the viewer.
by Jack Gaughan

The Tower of Glass (Part 2 of 3), by Robert Silverberg

The two-page title spread for the story The Tower of Glass, Part II.  THe title and author's name are written at the top of the left-side page.  Below, and then extending upward toward the right, the image shows a tower extending toward the sky in sharply forced perspective. At its base, people appear to be congregating around a blocky machine.  In the right foreground, a woman with a scared expression extends a hand palm-out toward the viewer as if to stop something, while her other hand clutches her chest.
by Jack Gaughan

The tale of old Krug's tower, the one that will reach 1500 meters in height to communicate with the stars, continues.  Not much happens in this installment.  Krug's ectogene (artificial womb) assistant Spaulding demands to see the android shrine.  Krug's android right-hand man Thor Watchman misdirects him with tragic results: when two members of the Android Equality Party approach Krug, Spaulding assumes it is an assassination attempt, and he kills one of them.  This causes a crisis in faith among the androids who worship Krug as a redeemer.

If the pace is rather turgid, the philosophical points raised are fascinating.  Four stars.

Timeserver, by Avram Davidson

The title image for the story Timeserver.  The title, author, and story summary are written below the image.  The image shows charcoal line drawings of three men who appear to be inside a drinking glass. One faces down with hands on knees as though he had just finished a race.  One faces the viewer as though preparing to run.  The third stands upright but leaning to the side as if drawing back from something he is looking at on the ground.
by Jack Gaughan

This story is about a fellow who lives in an overcrowded, underloving future.  Surcease from gloom is gotten by scraping off the scarred outer layers of one's psyche, exposing the unsullied id for a short while.  Except our story's hero has been crushed by society so long, there's really nothing underneath.

These days, Davidson is writing nonsense that makes R. A. Lafferty scratch his head.  Both facile and confusing, I didn't like it much.  Two stars.

Galaxy Bookshelf (Galaxy, May 1970), by Algis Budrys

The title image for the Galaxy Bookshelf column by Algis Budrys.  The words are written in a calligraphic font inside a square border with rounded corners.  Stars and planets are drawn around and inside the words.

Budrys devotes his entire column to savaging Silverberg's Up the Line:

Maybe he just wanted to write some passages about Constantinople and going to bed with Grandma.  That would be a pretty smart-arse thing to do, though, considering how much auctorial effort and reader seventy-five centses are involved here.

It's a non-book.  I guess that's what Up the Line is.  It isn't sf — neither tech fiction nor any other previously recognized kind.  It's a new kind of non-book.  And as you may have gathered, it doesn't even find anything new in Grandma.

Whatever Became of the McGowans?, by Michael G. Coney

A black and white line drawing.  In the foreground stand three people who appear to be turning into trees.  Their arms end in branches, and twigs extend from their heads, backs, and shoulders.  They no longer have facial features.  In the background, two people stand in high grass.  They are holding hands and looking at the trees.  A stylized sun is overhead.
by Jack Gaughan

The planet Jade seems like a paradise—setting aside the complete lack of animal life and the eerie quiet.  A couple has settled down to raise Jade Grass for export; their only disappointment is that their neighbors, the McGowans, seem to have disappeared.

As the months go by, unsettling things happen.  Time seems to rush by.  The settler couple and their new baby develop a kind of jaundiced skin.  They feel compelled to spend all of their time naked in the sun.  Eventually, their feet grow roots…

The scientific explanation at the end the weak point of this story, just complete nonsense, and unnecessary.  The rest of the story, though, is really nicely told.  It feels very '50s Galaxy, which is not a bad mood to evoke.

Three stars.

Sunpot (Part 4 of 4), by Vauhn Bodé

The title images for the story Sunpot.  The title, author, and story summary are written above the images, which are in two panels like a comic strip.  The left shows a phallic spaceship above a planet, with a nearby star and its corona in the background among a sea of stars. The right panel shows the same spaceship and planet from a different angle - this time the planet is above the spaceship, and the sea of stars is below.

The Sunpot crashes into Venus. 

Two stars.

The Editorial View: Overkill, by Frederik Pohl

The ex-editor of Galaxy offers up a short piece noting the correlation between the rate of infant mortality and the era of above-ground nuclear bomb testing.  Apparently, kids were dying less and less in infancy…until Strontium 90 entered the environment in a big way.  For 15 years, until the Test Ban Treaty, infant mortality no longer declined.  Now it has resumed its drop.

Correlation is not causation, but folks are at least starting to investigate the possible connection.

Summing Up

And there you have it!  A perfectly decent read, trodding the middle road between The New Thing and Nostalgia.  I like Jakobssons's mag, and I intend to continue my subscription when it comes up.

A black and white image of the subscription reminder at the end of the magazine.  It reads:  REMEMBER: new subscriptions and changes of address require 5 weeks to process!



[New to the Journey? Read this for a brief introduction!]


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