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TV

[June 6, 1963] Bringing it home (The Twilight Zone, Season 4, Episodes 17-19)

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by Natalie Devitt

I finally finished the fourth season of The Twilight Zone. For the most part, I enjoyed the most recent episodes. The entire season has been all over the place, which unfortunately meant that I really did not know what to expect this time around. The final three episodes of the season retained this record, which meant they were not without their disappointments, but also not without selling points. This is my breakdown of the final three episodes of the season.

On Thursday We Leave for Home, by Rod Serling

The month of May got off to a great start with what is probably the most well-made episode of the month, On Thursday We Leave for Home. James Whitmore stars as Captain Benteen, the leader of a colony in space. It is the year 1991. Captain Benteen’s people fled Earth three decades ago in hopes of starting a better life in space, on a more peaceful planet. What they found was a planet with a harsh climate, where they spend their days just struggling to live to see another day.

The group contacts Earth with the intention of returning to the planet, which some members of colony hardly remember and others have never seen before. As they wait to return to their planet of origin, the people in the colony begin asking questions about Earth. At first, they listen carefully as Benteen tells them about the planet. After a while, they begin to romanticize Earth, so much so that it begins to affect the captain’s ability to control his people.

The script paints a pretty bleak picture of the future, even though I am sure that some people will argue that the episode comments accurately on the world today. Certainly one could see Captain Benteen as a man with too much power, or perhaps this is on its most basic level a tale about a man refusing to adapt to the rapid changes taking place around him. This kind of deep and allegorical story is what audiences used to expect regularly from the series.

Having said that, I must mention that I have only one small complaint about the episode, regarding the sets. I know I am probably just looking for something wrong in an otherwise very strong episode, but is there an episode that takes place in space that does not reuse something from Forbidden Planet? It took only seconds for me to recognize a spaceship from the film.

Of course, if I only have one complaint, then this must be a solid entry in the series. This one easily earns four stars.

Passage on the Lady Anne, by Charles Beaumont

Passage on the Lady Anne is the story of the Ransomes, a young couple played by Lee Philips and Joyce Van Patten, who after years of marriage, can barely keep their relationship going. In their final attempt to save what is left of their marriage, they decide to take a cruise. They visit a travel agent, who reluctantly books them a trip aboard an aging ship. Upon boarding, the young couple notices that all of passengers aboard the ship are senior citizens, and while friendly, are constantly trying to discourage them from staying on the ship. At first, the Ransomes shrug it off, but after a while, they begin to grow suspicious.

While many might argue that this episode is not quite on the same level as On Thusday We Leave for Home, it still has plenty of charm. It does not hurt that I am kind of partial to the episodes written by Charles Beaumont. As a warning to those who prefer their entertainment faster-paced, this is definitely one of the slower and more atmospheric stories on The Twilight Zone. There is also plenty of fog, which helps to create a very haunting atmosphere.

Most people will probably figure out where things are headed long before the conclusion, though it is never really completely spelled out for the audience, which just adds to the aura of mystery. All in all, it is a fun journey with some recognizable actors playing the elderly characters. I rate it at three and a half stars.

The Bard, by Rod Serling

The Bard is the story of a struggling screenwriter named Julius. While in a bookstore one day, Julius, played by Jack Weston, finds a book on black magic and takes it home. He decides to try out some of the book’s spells, one of which helps Julius to conjure up the spirit of none other than William Shakespeare, played by John Williams, who he uses to help catch his big break as a screenwriter.

After the last two solid episodes, I knew things were going a little too well. Then I watched The Bard. The episode was yet another failed attempt at comedy for The Twilight Zone. As much as I like stories about black magic, I found very few redeeming qualities in The Bard. First, the episode is jam-packed with cheesy one liners like, "I’m conjuring, baby." Second, the constant reliance on sound effects to remind the audience to laugh wore very thin over the course of the episode. Third, the ending made a silly episode even sillier. The one thing the episode had going for it is Gunsmoke actor Bert Reynolds doing a pretty good Marlon Brando impersonation, but even that was not enough to save this trainwreck of an episode.

This story barely earns one and a half stars.

On Thursday We Leave for Home was a return to form for the series, then Passage on the Lady Anne kept things going strong. Sadly, The Bard single-handedly destroyed this month’s winning streak. I can only hope that such a disappointing episode will not cause the curtain to finally come down on the anthology series. I really would like to see the show end on a high note. I guess we will just have to wait and see if the show gets picked up for another season.



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Magazine

[June 4, 1963] Booked passage (July 1963 IF)

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by Gideon Marcus

How quickly the futuristic becomes commonplace.  Just two years ago, I marveled about how fast one can cross the oceans by jet.  Now, on the eve of another trip to Japan (we really have joined the Jet Set, haven't we?) I look at the flight itinerary and grumble.  Why must we stop in Hawaii?  That adds several hours to the trip — it'll take more than half a day to get from LAX to Haneda.

Spoiled rotten, I tell you.

Speaking of travel stories, a fresh crop of science fiction digests has hit my mailbox.  Many of them will be joining me on my trip to the Orient, but I finished one of them, the July 1963 IF, pre-flight.  All of them feature some element of star-hopping, and so this issue sets a fine mood as we embark on our latest journey:

That Notebook Again, by Theodore Sturgeon

I find it interesting that editor Fred Pohl has gotten Ted Sturgeon to write his editorials for him.  I'm not complaining — it's always nice to see Sturgeon in print in any capacity.  This time around, he treats us to a number of technological proposals, a wishlist of inventions that should be right around the corner, given a little interest and effort.  I found his idea for a home TV-tape camera and player particularly titilating (and not farfetched — my nephew already audio-tapes television shows onto reel-to-reel).

The Reefs of Space (Part 1 of 3), by Jack Williamson and Frederik Pohl

A good third of the issue is given to a new serial (illustrated on the cover — EMSH is big in this issue, though I also like the work of Nodel, who is new to me).  Hundreds of years from now, Earth's population is highly regimented, its economy utterly socialized, under the authority of The Machine and its master Plan.  Dissent is punished by incarceration and the forced wearing of an explosive ring around one's neck.  Further disobedience results in one's "salvage" (dissasembly into component body parts for the use of others). 

Steve Ryeland is an experimental physicist, a touchy job to have when scientific advancement poses both boon and risk for the Plan.  At Reef's beginning, he has been a prisoner for three years, unaware of his crime, but consistently questioned about "spacelings," "fusorians," "reefs of space," and "jetless drive" — terms about which he knows nothing.  Adding to his confusion is a three-day gap in his memory.

And then comes the urgent summons — the Machine will have Ryeland discover the secret of the reactionless drive, and soon, or be sent to the Body Banks.  For at the edge of the solar system lies a biological construct, the tremendous analog of a coral reef created by organisms that live on interstellar hydrogen.  Not only does this alien structure pose a hypothetical threat to the Plan, but it affords sanctuary to a more existential opponent — the revolutionary-in-exile, Donderevo.  Can Ryeland accomplish his mission in time to save his hide and human society?  Is such a goal even worth fighting for?

It's an interesting concept for a novel, but the execution leaves a bit to be desired.  It suffers from the same plodding repetitiveness as Simak's concurrent serial in Galaxy, but betrays none of Simak's literary expertise.  The writing is simple, uninspired, and the scientific concepts (including Hoyle's steady-state theory, which I find uncompelling) feel dated.  Two stars, but with cautious hopes for the next installment.

The Faces Outside, by Bruce McAllister

Here is a short tale of a married couple, the last of humanity, mutated to live in a large alien aquarium with a host of other terrestrial life forms.  The Terrans have the last laugh when the male of the pair develops psychic powers and compels the aliens to commit mass suicide.

McAllister is the first and weaker of the two new authors featured in this issue.  His writing shows potential, though.  Two stars, trying hard for three.

Mightiest Qorn, by Keith Laumer

Another IF, another Retief story.  This time, the omnipotent but much-suffering Terran agent is tapped to investigate the sudden reappearance of the fearsome Qorn, a race of dreadnought-wielding, glory-seeking warriors who appear to have the power of teleportation.

Unfortunately, the Retief shtick is starting to wear thin (arguably, it raveled a while ago), and it's really time Laumer focused his attention to the more worthy efforts we know he's capable of.  The bright spot is that Retief's nominal boss, Magnan, is now pretty game to do whatever his "underling" says.  Some might call that progress.  Two stars.

In the Arena, by Brian W. Aldiss

Given up?  Take heart — it's all better from here.  Prominent British writer, Aldiss, gives us another man-and-woman pair in the thrall of aliens.  In this case, it is two gladiators performing for a race of insectoids who have conquered the Earth (but not all of humanity).  Call it Spartacus for the 30th Century.  It's a nicely written trifle.  Three stars.

Down to the Worlds of Men, by Alexei Panshin

14-year old Mia Havero is part of a society of human space-dwellers, resident of one of the eight galaxy-trotting Ships that represent the remains of Earth's high technology.  She and 29 other young teens are dropped on a primitive colony as part of a rite of passage.  There is always an element of danger to this month-long ordeal, but this episode has a new wrinkle: the planet's people are fully aware (and resentful) of the Ships, and they plan to fight back.  Can Mia survive her coming of age and stop an insurrection?

Panshin hits it right out of the park with his first story, capturing the voice of a young almost-woman and laying out a rich world and an exciting adventure.  Finally, I've got something I can recommend to the Young Traveler.  Four stars, verging on five.

The Shadow of Wings, by Robert Silverberg

The last story introduces Caldwell, an expert in the dead language of Kethlani.  He is called back from a family vacation when a real live Kethlan shows up, bearing the banner of peace.  Can the linguist overcome his revulsion of the alien's form and forge a partnership between the two species?

This piece could have been a throwaway save for Silvergerg's careful drawing of the Caldwell's personality.  I found myself wishing the story had been longer — certainly, it could have taken some of the pages away from the stale stories of the first half.  Four stars.

Like my impending vacation, this month's issue starts with a hard slog but ends with great reward.  I'd say that's the right order of things.  See you in Tokyo!

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Movies

[June 2, 1963] Too close to home (The movie, The Mind Benders)

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by Gideon Marcus

[Today's article is a true treat — a full three Journeyers caught the latest science fiction flick, an import from Britain.  We hope you enjoy this, our first review en trio…]

Think "science fiction" movie, and you might conjure up a rubber-suited monster or a giant insect or perhaps a firework-spouting bullet of a spaceship.  Once in a great while, we get a Forbidden Planet or The Time Machine — high quality films but no less fantastic in subject matter. 

Now picture a "horror" film.  Perhaps it involves the supernatural or monstrous terror.  Maybe it's one of Hitchcock's genre-creating numbers like Psycho or The Birds.  Often, the lines between SF and horror are quite blurry as in films like Wasp Woman and The Day Mars Invaded Earth.  After all, the unknown can be quite terrifying, and what is SF but an exploration of the unknown?

The Mind Benders is a new British film that straddles the line between science fiction and horror and yet bears no resemblance to any of the examples described above.  It is, in fact, a movie set in the now and portraying modern (if cutting edge) science.  And the horror depicted is all the more jarring for its common nature. 

Two nascent sciences are the basis for this movie.  One is that of brainwashing, the technique of forcibly altering someone's beliefs, generally through some kind of torture, privation, or other constant pressure.  This is the sort of thing covert agencies are good at, but you can also see it on a national level, through effective use of propaganda and fear.  The other science is sensory deprivation.  Several experiments have been done into the effects of having all of one's senses dulled.  A subject is suspended in warm water, in the dark, unable to smell, taste, or hear anything.  The results include disorientation, agitation, and hallucination. 

The film starts with aged sensory deprivation scientist Sharpey, paranoid and in a daze, taking his own life by throwing himself off a moving train.  In his satchel are thousands in pound notes.  Army Intelligence Major Hall is called in to investigate, and he quickly determines that Sharpey had recently sold secrets to the Communists.  Ready to brand the scientist a traitor and close the case, he is persuaded by Sharpey's colleague, Longman, that Sharpey was a patriot, and that any lapse in loyalty must have been a result of a recent sensory deprivation experience. 

Longman is introduced as a loving husband and a doting father, humorous and cynical, and possessed of a tremendous fear of sensory deprivation after several terrifying experiments.  Nevertheless, he offers himself up for a final test, a full eight hours in the deprivation tank, to show that it does something to a person.  Having shown that, Longman can prove that Sharpey was not responsible for his treasonous activities. 

Hall agrees, and with the assistance of a third colleague, Tate, who has not been a subject, conducts the experiment on Longman.  Floating alone and in the dark, the scientist suffers countless subjective hours of anguish (though only a third of a day passes outside), and at its end, he is reduced to a blank, malleable state.  Hall recognizes this condition — a broken man in this state is easily brainwashed.  But this is not enough.  They must compel Longman to engage in activity completely counter to his nature, to shake him of his strongest-held belief.  So, they pull Longman from the tank, dazed and vulnerable.

And with a just a few choice words, they cause him to hate his wife, Oonagh. 

Yet, due to the circumstances under which they effect their plot, it is unclear that they have succeeded.  Longman is released, the experiment seemingly a failure.  So ensues six months with Oonagh, increasingly pregnant, incessantly nagged and belittled until she is a shell of herself.  Longman is also a changed man, bitter and resentful, completely unaware of what has been done to him.  That Oonagh endures for so long is British "stiff-upper-lipism" carried to its absurd limits.  That this state of affairs goes unnoticed for half a year is because Tate, himself in love with Oonagh, cannot bring himself to check up on the ruined couple.

Blessedly, once Hall does find out, he is (with no little difficulty) able to reverse the process.  The marriage is repaired and Sharpey's name is cleared.  But, by God, at what price?

As a movie, Benders is a success, cinematographically compelling and with superb acting.  What makes this horror so effective is its utter plausibility, and as a family man, myself, the situation struck me at my core and left me shaken. 

It's not a perfect film.  I imagine 15 minutes could have been cut with no great loss.  And the overlong period of estrangement runs a bit beyond the lengths of credulity, and yet… is it not all too common for women to suffer indefinitely with men they once loved in the hopes that things might, one day, return to how they were?

I couldn't watch The Mind Benders again, and I can't recommend it to those who will find the subject matter unbearable, but I must recognize the skill with which the movie was crafted.  Four stars.


by Lorelei Marcus

I didn't have very high hopes going into The Mind Benders, thinking it was going to be another campy science fiction movie using a shaky camera for special effects. Instead, I got a rather dark film about the capacity of the human mind and its reaction to prolonged isolation. The concept was very fascinating, and the story even more haunting from being based on real experiments. The acting was excellent, even too real at times.

However, it was not all good. The movie was much too long, and I believe it could benefit a lot from having a few of the “man bicycles around the city” scenes taken out. Even with the interesting premise, it also lulled at times, and I found myself wondering when the movie was going to end. Even so, I would give this movie three stars out of five. It wasn't anything super special, but it wasn't bad either.

This is the Young Traveler signing off.


by Natalie Devitt

The tagline for The Mind Benders described the film as being “perverted… soulless! The most dangerous and different motion picture ever brought to the screen!” So, naturally that piqued my curiosity. What I ended up with was a pretty ambitious story about brainwashing.

Luckily, I’m a sucker for a story about brainwashing.

Overall, the film was well-shot with believable acting. The movie did run out of steam a little towards the end, and I’m not totally sure that I bought the ending, but it was an otherwise effective sci-fi/thriller. The film’s somewhat disturbing plot and dream-like qualities kept it on my mind long after it ended. Three and a half stars.

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Magazine

[May 30, 1963] Held back? (June 1963 Analog)

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by Gideon Marcus

Graduation day is rapidly approaching.  Around the world, high school seniors are about to don cap and gown and emerge from their academic cocoons.  They will be transformed creatures, highly improved in comparison to their state upon entering school.  They'll go on to be the next Picasso, Wright, Salk, or Meitner.  Such are our hopes, anyway.

Science fiction is in the midst of a similar transition.  Gestated in the womb of Mary Shelley's mind, SF was born in the late 19th Century, Mssrs. Verne and Wells serving as midwives.  In the 20s, it entered grammar school under the tutelage of Hugo Gernsback, editor of Amazing Stories.  At the time, SF was an undistinguished pupil, little different from its fellows at Pulp Elementary.  But in 1937, SF entered Astounding Middle School, which had a most extraordinary principal, John W. Campbell, aided by a student council led by Heinlein, Asimov, and Leinster.  It was a Boys' School, of course, though a few females snuck or fought their way in.  This was the period in which SF began to shine, displaying a characteristic intelligence, innovation, and devotion to scientific principles.

The genre entered Galaxy High School in 1950 after taking a few preparatory classes at F&SF School for the Gifted.  Galaxy High was (and to a limited degree still is) a co-ed school, and it was here that SF fully flowered, displaying hitherto unseen nuance, breadth, and passion.  Its vista spread beyond the solar system to the stars.  Having mastered the subjects of math, physics, and engineering in Middle School, it now turned to the subtler arts: psychology and sociology.  It achieved high marks in English such that some of its compositions were included in literary anthologies alongside the works of other, older genres.

After 12 years of High School, SF is approaching its own time of graduation.  Where will it head from here?  There is some indication that the genre will head to New Wave University, possibly at its British campus, where it can major in philosophy and advanced writing techniques.  Or it may elect to go to the twin Goldsmith Universities.  The opportunities there include exciting placement in the worlds of both science and fantasy.  Plus, that's where the women are…


(Accurate depiction of the SF genre — note the demographic ratio)

But there are also signs that SF may not be ready to graduate at all.  Its output isn't what it used to be, and in many cases, it seems to be just going through the motions.  Lately, the genre has been visiting its old stomping grounds, Astounding Elementary (recently renamed to Analog School for the Psychically Inclined).  Each time, the result is a regression in the quality of its work.

Just take a look at SF's latest exam results, the June 1963 Analog.  Outwardly, it reflects the work of a mature student.  After all, it's a full 8.5" by 11" in dimensions and printed on slick paper.  But note the content — if you were on a college (or army) recruiting board, would you take this as a sign of promise?

The Big Fuel Feud (Part 1 of 2), by Harry B. Porter

There is a war being waged inside the United States (or perhaps it is merely a spirited competition) between the factions that favor liquid-fueled rockets and those that like the solid-fueled kind.  In other words, does your propellant splash or crumble?  There are advantages and disadvantages to both methods, and they are of differing importance depending on whether your application is putting people in space or blowing up people in Russia.  The author lays out, comprehensively and legibly (if a bit disorganizedly, particularly at the end) the history and current state of the art in solid fuels.

I found it interesting, but then, it's also my pigeon.  Three stars. 

The Trouble with Telstar, by John Berryman

Some science fiction takes place in the far future against an as yet dimly conceivable tableau of advanced technologies and galactic locales.  Other SF is taken right out of tomorrow's headlines.  This is, perhaps, the easier to write.  On the other hand, it is also the most readily accessible.

Berryman, who normally writes competent psi-related stuff for Analog, turns in this competent (if annoyingly male-chauvinist) straight engineering piece on in situ satellite repair.  In it, the nationalized space telcom has discovered a fatal flaw in its new Telstar line of communications satellites.  Unfortunately, six of the constellation of eighteen have already been launched, and the problem cannot be duplicated precisely on the ground.  A technician advances the idea of diagnosing and repairing the issue in space, arguing that it's cheaper and quicker than starting all over on the ground.  Not only is the proposal accepted, but (to his dismay) the technician is drafted for the job.

Trouble is set in or around 1966 and features the real-world Saturn rocket and Air Force "Dyna-Soar" spaceplane.  The details of the repair trip are incredibly authentic, down to the manufacture of specialized tools for disassembly of the Telstars in orbit, and the depiction of the tech's several spacewalks.  I found myself utterly riveted by this snapshot of the near future, convinced of its reality.  Four stars.

Hermit, by J. T. McIntosh

A lone male officer at a remote military outpost has orders to destroy any incoming human vessel.  But when a lifeboat appears with one beautiful young woman aboard, he must decide between following his instructions or following his heart.

This is a setup that, when done well, can be quite compelling.  My favorite example is Hallunication Orbit, in which the solitary caretaker of a far-off observatory must determine whether his visitors are real or not.  Interestingly, that fine example was written more than a decade ago by none other than…J.T. McIntosh!

Hermit compares poorly with McIntosh's earlier tale.  Not only is it clear from the beginning that the "castaway" is a spy, but the sentry's actions are illogical, treasonous, and only explained by exposition in the last few paragraphs.  Two stars, and an admonition — don't plagiarize, especially from your own work!

Territory, by Poul Anderson

The trouble with do-gooding is that it's a contract with no consideration.  If the people you're helping don't understand your motivations, they don't appreciate the help.  At least, that's Anderson's assertion in Territory, in which human scientists were trying to avert an impending Ice Age are slaughtered by the aliens they were trying to help.

The project is salvaged by Nicholas van Rijn, a recurring Anderson character whose key traits include girth, malaprops, obnoxiousness, and the pursuit of profit.  He determines that the aliens won't take assistance, but they will jump into a mutually lucrative trade deal that accomplishes the same goal.  Win-win-win.

Well, wins for the characters — not for the reader.  Van Rijn is barely tolerable at his best, and when Anderson has the sole surviving scientist, a young woman, fall for the lout, it took great restraint to not throw the issue into a nearby toilet.  Two stars.

Ham Sandwich, by James H. Schmitz

Last up is an inconsequential story that is nowhere more at home than in the pages of Analog.  An oily character, specializing in the desires of the rich, offers True Insight to those who can afford it.  Such Insight is marked by the cultivation and demonstration of psychic powers, which can be greatly aided through the purchase of certain tools, available for just $1200 a-piece.

One reads the story waiting for the other shoe to drop, and when it does, it is with a dull thud.  The flim-flammer is brought in on bunko charges — turns out he really is con artist.  But he's then let free to continue his scheme in another city because, it turns out, he is effective at discovering latent psychic talents, who can then be recruited by the government.

It's just not very good.  Two stars.

Pencils down everyone.  It's time to grade the last test results before graduation day.  Oh my…  This month's Analog scored a dismal 2.6 stars.  That's as bad as June's Galaxy (our High School is failing our pupil, too, it seems).  But let's not judge out of hand, shall we?  Amazing clocked in at 2.8, New Worlds at 2.9.  Mediocre, but not entirely damning.  Fantastic scored 3.2 stars, and F&SF garnered an impressive 3.5 star grade.

In the end, I wouldn't say this is a set of failing marks.  Rather, they indicate that the genre has spent more than enough time in school and must strike out on its own to new vistas to reach the next level.  Let us allow SF to graduate

We might also consider replacing the Principal at Analog — his methods are highly outdated, and we don't want to unduly burden any new pupils, now do we?

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Magazine

[May 27, 1963] A Clang of Doom?  (New Worlds, June 1963)

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by Mark Yon

One sad piece of news to start with this month. I have just found out that Science Fiction Adventures has published its last, with the May 1963 issue. I understand that sales were not what they used to be in its heyday. It is hoped that this may be a temporary measure, but previous history suggests to me that, sadly, this may be the end. [The latest Science Fiction Times seems to indicate that the cancellation is permanent (ed.)]

If this is part of a general trend, then it may explain some of the recent changes with New Worlds, including this month’s cover:

Well, at least this month’s cover doesn’t have the egregious spelling error last month’s issue had. We also have one large photo on the cover, which is an improvement on those of recent months without one.

However, it does raise issues – are things that bad that New Worlds needs the lure of a movie on its cover to raise sales? I think Editor John Carnell has tried to improve sales this month by putting a movie review head and shoulders above the fiction. (This also happened with the July 1962 issue as well, when the cover showed television programme Out of This World.)

More worryingly, with Mr. Carnell being distracted by such events away from New Worlds has he lost his focus on the magazine? I have, in recent months, raised worries about some of the recent changes, which now make sense. The use of Guest Editors over the last year may have given Mr Carnell space and time to sort things out, but I am still concerned that whilst this issue is full of experienced writers and magazine regulars, it the magazine is becoming less about the fiction and more about what is going on outside its pages. 

Beer In The Wine Bottle, by Mr. John Ashcroft

This month’s guest editor is another unusual choice. Like Mr. Michael Moorcock, back in March, he is better known for his fiction outside of New Worlds. As the magazine profile suggests, Mr. John Ashcroft has had stories published in sister magazines Science Fantasy and Science Fiction Adventures, but is relatively unknown here.

That’s a pretty big claim at the end of the profile, but the Editorial made a point that many s-f readers will appreciate: "Contemporary science fiction is generally more competently written; but it is more complacent." Mr. Ashcroft advocates that that old "sense-of-wonder" is important and that current writers need to raise their game. 

From The-Old-Man-In-The-Mountain, by Mr. Joseph Green

I must admit I was not looking forward to Mr. Joseph Green’s novelette this month. As the third story of an unimpressive series (so far), albeit in a longer form, I was prepared to be underwhelmed. However, it is a pleasant enough tale of the increasingly mutual interaction between colonising humans and the hirsute aliens named Loafers, even if the Loafers remind me of Mr. H. Beam Piper’s Little Fuzzies, with added telepathy. In this tale it all turns a bit Midwich Cuckoo with a young Loafer abducted by an embittered human outsider, but, with teamwork from the humans and the aliens, unsurprisingly ends with all being well. A better effort than Mr. Green’s others in the series, if still rather unmemorable. Evidently the last in the series is in next month’s issue. 3 out of 5.

To the other stories.

End-Game by Mr. J. G. Ballard

By contrast, and like Mr. Brian Aldiss last month, this is a welcome return to New Worlds of an author who had moved on to a wider literary field. This is even better than Mr. Ballard’s last tale of consumer stress (The Subliminal Man, January 1963). End-Game is another typically Ballardian tale of isolation and emotional anguish, featuring an imprisoned man to be executed but at a time unknown to him. It becomes a psychological battle of wills between the condemned and his executioner, masked by a series of chess games that imply a fight between a police state and the individual. As with the best of Ballard, it is complex and intelligent, making me believe something that could happen behind the Iron Curtain. It even self-knowingly references Kafka! Not surprisingly, the best story in the issue. 4 out of 5.

Occupation Force, by Mr. David Rome

From another returning regular, Mr. Rome’s tale is quite different to his last (Meaning, December 1962).  Occupation Force is a war story, telling of the uneasy relationship between a nuclear-weapon-wielding occupying army and the seemingly innocent oppressed "natives." In these times of campaigns for nuclear disarmament, it is a thought-experiment of a possibility that could also be relevant in 1963. Sadly, it is also short, predictable and, even with the attempt to shock through a downbeat ending, surprisingly forgettable. A lesser effort. 2 out of 5.

Dipso Facto, by Mr. Robert Presslie

Mr. Presslie’s return to New Worlds is also a disappointing effort. Even if I ignored the "poor, dumb natives" angle, this attempt to be humorous in a story of competitive eating and drinking is a long, long way away from the intelligence of similar stories, such as Mr. Poul Anderson’s Nicholas van Rijn tales.  It fails pretty quickly. Also 2 out of 5.

Window On The Moon, by Mr. E. C. Tubb

And so to the last of this serial. Last month’s part ended with a couple of shocks – an explosion that destroyed the Royal Commission sent to the British Base, and the Americans who visited the Brits also mysteriously killed on their journey back to their base. This issue deals with the aftermath and gives us a cause for the strange happenings. I’m pleased to say that the US and British bases did not declare war on each other, and it is left to our hero, Felix Larsen, to resolve things. I did predict the villain of the piece a couple of issues ago, but this didn’t stop me enjoying this last part of "Brits in Space." Window on the Moon is a tale told with energy and enthusiasm, even though I felt that it didn’t know how to draw it all together at the end convincingly.  Not quite as good at the end as in the earlier parts. It made me wonder what someone like Mr. Arthur C. Clarke would do with it. 3 out of 5.

Film Review: The Day of the Triffids, by Mr John Carnell,

The last part of the magazine is given over to stills and a commentary of this film I looked forward to seeing, back in July 1962, so it is odd to just now get to read a review. The good news is that, I understand, it has recently been released in the USA, so you will be able to see it yourselves. Fellow Traveller Ashley described it in detail back in July. Like her, I was a little disappointed at the differences between the film and Mr. John Wyndham’s fantastic novel, but here Mr. Carnell is more glowing in its fulsome praise, despite the concerns over its delay and production issues. According to the editor, even the author, Mr. John Wyndham, was rather impressed, despite the changes.

In summary, the June issue is, thankfully, another generally solid issue, but with the odd misstep. Not quite as strong as last month’s, but worthy of a read. Despite my concerns mentioned earlier over Mr. Carnell’s editorship, it must be said that the last couple of months have produced issues that have been both memorable and thought-provoking. For all of its faults, there is nothing else quite like New Worlds. I am rather feeling that I must make the most of magazines such as this, whilst I can. I fear that the writing might be on the wall…




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Magazine

[May 24, 1963] Past Tense (June 1963 Fantastic)

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by Victoria Silverwolf

What's past is prologue.
—The Tempest by William Shakespeare

The past is never dead.  It's not even past.
—Requiem for a Nun by William Faulkner

People, things, and events of the past were in the news in recent weeks, as if to demonstrate the truth of these two famous quotations.

Sir Winston Churchill, who has been an important figure in world affairs since the beginning of this century, announced his retirement from politics.  On a smaller scale, another politician of historical significance left the public stage, as Richard Nixon made plans to join the law firm of Mudge, Stern, Baldwin & Todd.  Whatever we may think of these two men, let us wish them well as they return to private lives.

Terrible memories of the Second World War returned to many this month.  The Soviet Union, after nearly two decades of denial, confirmed that it had recovered and identified the burned remains of Adolf Hitler at the end of the war.  This should put an end to the rumors of his survival in South America.

Happier times came to mind as Telstar II went into Earth orbit.  It will continue the duties of its older sibling, which is no longer functioning.  It remains to be seen if this second satellite in the Telstar series will inspire another hit song like the first one did.

Speaking of hit songs, the most recent tunes to reach Number One in the USA also brought back memories of the past.  Early in the month, Little Peggy March reached the top of the charts with I Will Follow Him.  This passionate love song takes its melody from the instrumental composition Chariot by French musician Franck Pourcel.  Multilingual British singer Petula Clark already had hits on the Continent, but not in the UK or US, with versions of the same tune in English, French, Italian, and German.

Currently, the biggest hit song in the United States is If You Wanna Be Happy by Jimmy Soul.  This humorous warning against marrying a pretty woman is a remake of Ugly Woman by calypso singer Roaring Lion, from way back in 1934.

[My nephew, David, loves this song.  His new bride, Ada, does not seem very amused. (Ed.)]

Appropriately, many of the stories in the latest issue of Fantastic involve past and present coming together.

The Mirror of Cagliostro, by Robert Arthur

Les Brown Coye's striking cover painting, the first color work of his that I've seen, sets the mood for this eerie tale of black magic.  In London, more than fifty years ago, a man murders a woman, then takes his own life.  The scene changes to contemporary Paris, as a professor of history, researching the life of Count Alexander Cagliostro, makes a strange discovery in a catacomb.  He later obtains the enchanted mirror of that alleged sorcerer.  Things quickly worsen, as the evil Count continues his horrible crimes in the modern world.  This is an effective Gothic chiller, but typical of its kind.  Three stars.

Plumrose, by Ron Goulart

An author best known as a humorist offers a similar plot told in a much different style.  A time ray brings a modern man back to the Nineteenth Century.  It seems that an occult detective wants his help in solving the murders of several young women.  Despite this grim premise, the story is a lighthearted parody of the kind of thing that used to appear in Weird Tales.  It provides a reasonable amount of amusement.  Three stars.

On the Mountain, by Dave Mayo

A man hikes far out into the wilderness.  Lost during a blizzard and far from any other human being, he sees a strange red light that terrifies him.  The outcome is unexpected.  This is a brief story that adequately tells its simple tale.  Once again, it involves the past and the present.  Three stars.

The Penalty, by John J. Wooster

A native New Yorker who has never left the city gets in trouble with his boss and has to take a week off without pay.  He decides to visit what he thinks is the country, by riding the subway as far as he can go.  He winds up at an old mansion.  A young woman offers to solve his problems, if he will follow her instructions exactly.  She warns him that failure to do so will carry a severe penalty.  What follows reminds me of the classic story What You Need by Henry Kuttner and C. L. Moore, writing as Lewis Padgett.  (This story was later adapted for television twice, on Tales of Tomorrow and Twilight Zone.) Despite this link to a past work, the author creates an original tale with an unusual mood and a unique ending.  Four stars.

A Hoax in Time (Part 1 of 3), by Keith Laumer

The first part of the latest novel from this prolific author sets up the premise quickly.  A man inherits a mansion from his great-grandfather.  Unfortunately, it doesn't really belong to him until he pays an immense amount of overdue taxes on it.  He discovers that his deceased progenitor created a super-advanced computer, which receives all recorded information.  The computer has become conscious, and improved its capacity until it is virtually omniscient.  It – or I should say she, since the computer takes on a female personality – can recreate past events in full detail.  The man decides to use this ability to raise money, by allowing audiences to view historical events.  The computer creates a robot body for herself, in the form of a beautiful (and naked) young woman, so it can act as a hostess for these shows.  During a test, things go very badly.  Typical for the author, this is a fast-moving, humorous adventure with a touch of satire.  It's heavy with dialogue, and features plenty of ideas thrown in left and right.  So far, it's superficial entertainment of an enjoyable kind.  Three stars.

The Hall of CD, by David R. Bunch

This is a bizarre, surreal story that is difficult to describe.  The narrator goes through a series of rooms and witnesses various weird events, usually disturbing.  I suspect that many readers will hate it or love it.  I'll stay in the middle.  Three stars.

A Museum Piece, by Roger Zelazny

An unsuccessful artist disguises himself as a statue and goes to live in a museum.  He soon discovers another person hiding from the world in the same way.  Others appear, and complications ensue.  Once again, a new tale reminds me of a classic story.  This time it's Evening Primrose by John Collier, in which people secretly live in a department store.  The new story is more than just a rehash of the old one.  The author writes in an elegant, slightly affected way.  (Characters say things like "Alas" and "'Tis".) In a lesser talent, this could be annoying, but here it works very well.  There's an unexpected touch of science fiction at the end, which adds to the story's charm.  Four stars.

Overall, this was a worthy issue, with no bad stories and a couple of very good ones.  Let's hope this level of quality doesn't become a thing of the past.

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Science / Space Race

[May 22, 1963] Beyond the Typewriter (IBM Computers and how they work)

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by Ida Moya

I was very impressed by this month’s paean to the IBM Selectric Typewriter by traveler Victoria Lucas. Her sensuous love of the very physicality of the thing really got to me. As I mentioned before, knowing how to type is what made me what I am today; I too used this panoply of ever-better equipment, so I really enjoyed her story. The IBM Selectric is an incredibly satisfying typewriter to operate.

The most intriguing part of Miss (Mrs.?) Lucas’ article was her closing question, “What are you going to do to steal my heart next, IBM?  For example, where is this computer thing going? Will it be the next love of my life?”

Answer: The computer will be the next love of your life. (Or maybe your master.)

My place of employ, Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory (LASL), is a frontrunner in adopting new computing technologies. I have worked in different capacities as LASL moved from calculating equipment that ran with hand-propelled gears and ratchet wheels, to things electrically controlled by mechanical switches, to those using electomechanical relays. (The IBM Selectric uses yet another kind of electromechanical switch, though since it is not properly a computer I won’t address it now.) The height of switching technology was until very recently vacuum tubes, which are now being by supplanted by transistors. Transistors, an amazing miniaturized technology, are much smaller than vacuum tubes, work faster, and don’t get as hot.

With computers, there are a lot of viewpoints from which one can focus. I think of computers more from the perspective of an operator: making software programs run on the computers, and producing and analyzing the results. Other people think about computer architecture — how does the data flow in and out of the computer, and what happens when the information is processed inside.

Here is a picture of one of the three vacuum tube-based IBM 704 computers at Los Alamos Scientific Laboratory. One of my colleagues, a computer operator, is shown opening the front door of the IBM 729 tape drive. As you can see, no special protective gear is required, and she doesn’t even have to wear a hair net. This is from just a few years ago; the computers we have now are even faster and more sophisticated.

The way we get a program into the computer is to punch the program onto cards, then use the card reader (the low piece of equipment in the center of this photograph) to transfer the program onto magnetic tapes. From the tape, the program is read into the computer’s core memory.

Data – for example, parameters for an experimental design study for a thermonuclear warhead, something you want to calculate over and over again with different settings — is then punched onto another set of cards, and read directly into the core memory. The program is transferred yet another time, to the CPU, the Central Processing Unit. There, the program acts on each of the data points in the core as appropriate. The results are printed out onto greenbar paper by the printer, which is the rightmost piece of equipment.

IBM produced this nifty card to illustrate the wonderful equipment they have to punch, sort, and interpret the cards.

We even have this little slide rule, which managers use to calculate how long it will take for keypunch operators to do a job. This little rule is our master – woe betide you if you cannot keep up!

I’m not sure what computing establishment this picture below is from, but here are a bunch of gals using IBM 026 card punches, very much like here at LASL. It’s nice to have a job and be a part of something important. But this windowless room jam packed with keypunch operators is depressing. Imagine how loud it is in there for these women. (Mary Whitehead tells me that when they were using calculators Weapons Research Establishment in Salisbury, Australia, they had carpeting in the room and egg crates lining the walls to attempt to absorb some of the sound. Not so lucky here.)


From Wikipedia

And heaven help them if they ever have to use that fire extinguisher. The cords on the floor look like a real trip hazard. However, most of these gal are just working for a year or two before they get married and become housewives, so it doesn’t pay to make the conditions any better. Me, even though my husband works at the Santa Fe Railroad, we don’t have that luxury. We both have to work in order to make ends meet and raise our wonderful children. I suspect more and more women are going to join the workforce permanently in the coming years, and these conditions will become a lot more humane for all of the future computer workers.

Another perspective from which to understand computing is the physical components inside the computer that come together to make a larger whole. For example this IBM Field Replaceable Unit (FRU), pictured below. On top of the unit are several vacuum tubes, while the rest of the contraption consists of resistors, diodes, and other discrete components. Electrons flow through this and, ingeniously, compute the Boolean logic of ands, ors, and nots.

I took this module as a souvenir from our IBM 704 system when it was decommissioned. Unlike the computers built as one unique unit, like say the one-off computers ENIAC or MANIAC, the 704 is constructed of a small number of modules. If a component in one of these modules goes bad, the individual module is removed and quickly replaced with a new module – then the computer works again. The bad module can be tested and repaired at a more leisurely pace.  These computers are expensive to own and run; keeping them “up” as much as possible, for all three shifts, is imperative.

The IBM 7030 Stretch was also designed with modularity in mind. Instead of tubes, the Stretch uses transistors, as you can see on this Standard Modular System (SMS) card below. This particular module, about the size of a playing card, is a “two-way AND,” a particular kind of Boolean logic gate. SMS cards were first developed for the Stretch, and are also used in the brand new IBM 7090, 1401, and other super-fast IBM computers and peripherals of today.

If you look closely at the transistors, which are the metal cans, you can see the Texas-shaped brand mark of Texas Instruments. This American company has learned how to mass-produce transistors. Inside this can is a teeny little piece of germanium crystal, a “semiconductor,” with some probes attached. (And by attached, I mean soldered together by women using binocular microscopes and steady hands, jammed together in another terrible windowless room). Manipulating and transforming the way electrons flow through these cans is, ultimately how the computer does our bidding. Interestingly, computer operators don’t need to know about this in detail; we can leave it to the expert computer engineers and technicians.

IBM is not the only company using a modular strategy. For example a few days ago the traveler showed a brand-new Siemens 3003 computer system. I don’t have a parts book for this German company, so I don’t know what this particular module does, but you can see in the picture below there are two silver can-shaped transistors, plus some other colored packages of components.


(Courtesy of The Living Computer Museum

So, Miss Lucas, there is plenty to love about computers. Don’t get stuck just being a typist, and join us in the transistorized revolution!

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TV

(May 20, 1963) More wooden acting (The British show, Space Patrol )

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By Ashley R. Pollard

The United Kingdom has recently been blessed with yet another televised science fiction spectacular: Space Patrol, is a brand new puppet show produced by Roberta Leigh for the Associated British Corporation. (I'm informed that this new series will be renamed when it's shown on American TV to Planet Patrol.)

Set in the year 2100, the story chronicles the adventures of Captain Larry Dart and the crew of Galasphere 347. He is aided by Slim from Venus, and Husky from Mars. The former elfin like, the latter stocky with a love for sausages.

They work for the United Galactic Organization whose headquarters are set in New York.

There is also a large supporting cast including: Colonel Raeburn their boss, and Marla his blonde assistant from Venus, who gets this wonderful line of dialogue: "There are no dumb blondes on Venus." They're joined on occasion by Professor Aloysius O’Brien O’Rourke Haggerty, and his daughter Cassiopeia. Appearing with them is their pet Martian parrot called, Gabblerdictum.

Space Patrol's creator, Roberta Leigh (actually Rita Lewin née Shulman) is what I understand Americans call a bit of a mover and shaker.

Not only is she the first woman to own her own television production company — National Interest Pictures — but she's also an author with her novel In Name Only, published in 1950. In addition, she is also an accomplished abstract artist, and music composer.

I became aware of her first through the children's show Sara and Hoppity, about a dolls hospital, which was based on one of her novels. But, she's probably better known for her collaboration with AP Films who produced Torchy the Battery Boy, a charming and delightful children's show directed by Gerry Anderson.

While Hoppity and Torchy were both aimed at the younger audience, Patrol looks to be aimed at a slightly older age group. Driven by the current interest in all things to do with space, this show introduces science fiction to a receptive audience.

Or at least, so I surmise from the reaction of my friend's young son whom I babysit, who sat enraptured while watching the first episode, as he did watching the other popular SF marionette shows, Supercar and Fireball XL5. Like Gerry Anderson's Supermarionation series', Space Patrol puppets have mouth movements that are synchronized with the voice actors' words.

Also of note, is the use of electronic music for the opening and closing credits, composed by Roberta Leigh. She really is a polymath of some considerable talent. While this is not the first time electronic music has been used for a production, as that credit must go to my favourite SF film of all time, Forbidden Planet, it's still a first for television. One wonders if it will set a trend for British SF shows.

So far six episodes of Space Patrol have been transmitted:

The first, The Swamps of Jupiter, involves the crew being sent to investigate a scientific base they've lost contact with on Jupiter. OK, we shall have to overlook the small fact that Jupiter is a gas giant.

But what's interesting is that in many other respects the story sticks to what might be considered plausible science, in particular, transit time. The crew therefore travel in a freezer for their three-month journey from Earth to Jupiter. Compare this to how space travel and distances are dealt with in Gerry Anderson's Fireball XL5. In Space Patrol ships take months to travel around the Solar system while Fireball XL5 travels to other stars in no time at all.

Anyway, Swamps has the crew stop Martian hunters who murdered all the scientists, and who are now hunting and killing sentient aliens for their fur. Boo hiss. But Captain Dart and Crewman Husky bring them to justice.

The second episode, The Wandering Asteroid, sees our intrepid heroes take on the mission to destroy a rogue asteroid that is heading towards the Martian capital of Wotan. Given the increased awareness in the threat that asteroids pose to life on Earth, this seems a most apt subject for a series about travel in space.

I'm sure this would make a good plot for a large budget Hollywood action film.

In episode three, The Dark Planet, we are introduced to Professor Haggerty and his daughter Cassiopeia. They're scientists researching plants from Uranus that appear to think. After twenty people sent to survey Uranus are lost, the crew of Galasphere 347 go to investigate. The plants turn out to be less than friendly, and I don't know why, but the story reminded me of the 1960 Roger Corman movie, Little Shop of Horrors, with talking plants killing people.

Episode four is called, The Slaves of Neptune, a title that elicits a da, da, dum for setting the tone of the story. Galasphere 347 is sent to investigate. They discover that a Neptunian overlord named Tyro is behind the mysterious disappearance of a colony spaceship. He's using his dastardly hypnotic power to enslave people.

The fifth episode is called, The Fires of Mercury. The story is driven by the freezing conditions threatening the colony on Pluto. Marla, the very smart blonde Venusian assistant to Colonel Raeburn, realizes that the disaster can be alleviated by transmitting energy from Mercury using Professor Haggerty's invention that converts heat into radio waves.

The last episode I've watched was The Shrinking Spaceman. The gallant crew of Galasphere 347 go off to repair a sonar beam transmitter in the asteroid belt and Husky the Martian shrinks after cutting himself on one of the rocks. Put into suspended animation and taken back to Earth, Professor Haggerty is in a race against time to save him.

In Space Patrol mankind has met aliens from stars, and law and order is being brought to the worlds. At the end of each episode we see a city of the future, clean and marvelous.  The age to come certainly looks promising, and with another twenty episodes to be aired, our immediate future also looks bright.




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Magazine

[May 18, 1963] (June 1963 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

Every so often, you get a perfect confluence of events that makes life absolutely rosy.  In Birmingham, Alabama, the segregationist forces have caved in to the boycott and marching efforts of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference.  Two days ago, astronaut Gordo Cooper completed a day-and-a-half in orbit, putting America within spitting distance of the Russians in the Space Race.  And this month, Avram Davidson has turned out their first superlative issue of F&SF since he took the editorial helm last year. 

Check out the June 1963 Fantasy and Science Fiction and see if you don't agree:

No Truce With Kings, by Poul Anderson

Centuries after The Bombs Fell, the North American continent has scratched its way back to the early 20th Century, technology-wise, but enlightened feudalism remains the order of the day.  Kings begins on the eve of civil war in the Pacific States of America after a coup has placed an expansionist government in charge in San Francisco bent on reestablishing Manifest Destiny.  Colonel McKenzie of the Sierra Military Command must fight to preserve the old confederacy in the face of superior forces as well as the belligerent "neutrality" of the Esps — communal mystics who seem to have developed terrible psychic weapons.

Don't worry — the story really does belong in this magazine, and not Analog!

Anderson, of course, has been a pleasure to read for many years (since his inexplicable dip in the late '50s.) Kings is a nuanced, character-driven war story filled with lurid descriptions of battles and strategic considerations.  It's a bit like The High Crusade played straight, actually.  Four stars for the general reader, five if combat is your bag.

Pushover Planet, by Con Pederson

This piece starts well enough, with a pair of dialect-employing space miners landing on an uncommonly idyllic world and meeting an uncommonly friendly alien.  The ending, on the other hand, is pure ironic corn, and on the whole, the story feels like an idea Bob Sheckley rejected as not worth his time to write.  I don't know who Pederson is any more than Davidson does (apparently, the Editor doesn't even know where to send payment for this story written nearly a decade ago).  In any event, I don't think the magazine got its money's worth.  Two stars.

Starlesque, by Walter H. Kerr

About an alien stripper who takes it all off.  Not worth your time.  Two stars.

Green Magic, by Jack Vance

Oh, but Vance's latest work absolutely is!  Dig this: beyond our world lie the realms of White and Black magic, each featuring the powers and denizens you might expect.  But beyond them, and possessing powers more abstract and strange are the realms of Purple and Green magic (and further still, those of the indescribable colors, rawn and pallow).  One Howard Fair would follow in his Uncle Gerald's footsteps to become adept in the wonders of Green magic, no matter the warnings from a pair of its citizens.

A brilliant, unique piece that lasts just long enough and grips throughout.  Five stars.

The Light That Failed!, by Isaac Asimov

The Good Doctor continues with his series on the luminiferous ether, this time discussing the famous Michelson-Morley experiment.  This test was supposed to show Earth's "absolute speed" through the cosmic medium.  Instead, it disproved the ether's existence and set the stage for Einstein's and Planck's modern conceptions of the universe.  Vital stuff to know.  Four stars.

The Weremartini, by Vance Aandahl

Young Vance Aandahl (no relation to Jack Vance) has produced his first readable story in a long time, about an epicurian English professor whose alternate form is exactly as it says on the tin.  Weird, disturbing, but not bad.  Three stars.

Bokko-Chan, by Hoshi Shinnichi

A barkeep builds the perfect assistant — a beautiful but empty-headed robot woman to occupy the attentions (and tabs) of the tavern's patrons.  Billed as the first Japanese SF story to appear in English, it reads like a barbed children's story.  I suspect it's better in the original language (and I'd love to get a copy, since I could read it — I actually was aware of Hoshi-san before he appeared in these pages), but it's not bad, even in translation.  Three stars.

Tis the Season to Be Jelly, by Richard Matheson

Only Matheson could successfully manage this tale of post-atomic, mutated hicks.  Stupidly brilliant, or brilliantly stupid.  You decide.  Three stars.

Another Rib, by John J. Wells and Marion Zimmer Bradley

Just 16 men, the crew of humanity's first interstellar expedition, are all that remain of homo sapiens after catastrophe claims our mother star.  All hope seems lost for our species…until a native of Proxima Centauri offers to surgically alter some of the spacemen, expressing their latent female reproductive organs.

Rib is an interesting exploration of what it means to be a man, and the varying degree of push required (if any!) for a person to transition from one gender to another.  A bold piece.  Four stars.

There Are No More Good Stories About Mars Because We Need No More Good Stories About Mars, by Brian Aldiss

Things wrap up with a bitter poem about how science has ruined Mars for SF, but who cares — we'll always have Barsoom.  Three stars.

The resulting issue is a solid house made of the finest bricks albeit rather low quality mortar.  Good G-d, even Davidson's editorial openings are decent now.  Maybe he reads my column…

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Science / Space Race

[May 16, 1963] Going out with style (Gordo Cooper's Faith 7 Mercury flight)

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by Gideon Marcus

Nearly six years ago, the Russians threw down the gauntlet with Sputnik.  Then they upped the ante with the orbit of Yuri Gagarin in April 1961.  It's hard to believe that, in just two years, America has not only answered the Soviet challenge but completed its first manned space program.

For those of us well-heeled in science fiction, the Mercury spacecraft is hardly impressive-looking.  Barely big enough to hold a person (and not a tall one, at that), it is little more than a second space suit with a heat shield and a retrorocket.  And yet, as a first step for America into outer space, its importance cannot be overstated.

For it was those first two Mercury-Redstone flights, Alan Shepard's and Gus Grissom's, which showed that one could survive both the crushing weight of acceleration and the exhilarating freedom from gravity, in close succession, no less.  John Glenn proved an astronaut could orbit repeatedly, and Scott Carpenter demonstrated that spacemen are unflappable when things don't go just right.  Wally Schirra doubled the mission length of his predecessors and perfected fuel conservation and landing accuracy. 

But it was this latest and last Mercury mission, flown by the youngest of the Mercury 7, 36-year old Gordo Cooper, that showed what an astronaut and his spacecraft could really do. 

The original Mercury configuration only allowed for short flights — no more than Schirra's six orbits (nine hours).  Cooper's mission was to get into the endurance range that the Soviet Vostok enjoys — a day and beyond.  That meant more batteries, more water, more oxygen, and more maneuvering fuel.  Some items had to be trimmed, weight being at a premium.  For instance, the largely irrelevant periscope was deleted, saving a precious 76 pounds.  The result was a stocked up, stripped down version of Mercury that Cooper called Faith 7.  NASA was not too happy with this choice, worried about the inevitable headline in the event of mission failure: America Loses Faith.

The flight of Faith was scheduled for April but weather and other considerations pushed the launch back to May.  Finally, early on the 14th, the astronaut suited up and entered his spacecraft.  After many hours of waiting, the flight was delayed until the next day.  There had been a problem with the Bermuda tracking radar.  It does one well to remember that an astronaut is just one of thousands of participants in any given mission, the failure of any one of whom can cause a scrub. 

All systems were go the next morning, however.  After a pleasant two-hour nap in his capsule while the countdown rolled and held without him, Cooper was then pressed into his seat with several times his weight come liftoff time, 8:04 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time.  Less than fifteen minutes later, he became the sixth American to enter Earth orbit.

The flight called for 22 orbits, with go/no-go opportunities after seven and seventeen.  Cooper was the first astronaut who got to sleep in orbit, though he spent the first hour of his designated slumber time snapping pictures of the Himalayas — and astonishing folks on the ground with his visual acuity.  According to the astronaut, he could pick out individual houses and vehicles from orbit. 

Orbit 17 came and went, and Cooper declared himself and his metal steed A-Okay to finish the mission.  But perhaps he had spoken too soon.  Come the 19th orbit, Faith 7 began to fall to pieces.  The cabin temperature rose, instrument readouts became erratic, and the automatic pilot failed completely.  As Cooper approached the end of the mission, he was confronted with a situation no one had ever had to face before: he would return himself from orbit manually.

Of course, that's why NASA hired test pilots for the job.  Cooper was delighted at the opportunity to show his stuff.  His aim and timing of his retrorocket fire was so precise that not only did he make it safely back to Earth, but he came down just a couple of miles from the recovery fleet off Midway Island.  Astronaut Cooper had flown longer and better than an American before him, ending is mission just before 4 P.M. EDT (11 AM local time).

Better still, Cooper had shared none of the deterioration of his spaceship.  Aside from a little pooling of blood in the legs, the astronaut was in good health.  Moreover, he experienced none of the disassociation from reality that psychologists worried would afflict long-term space travelers.  Faith 7 was, despite the breakdowns, a complete success.

In that success, Mercury has signed its own death warrant.  While some have clamored for a multi-day Mercury flight (particularly first astronaut Alan Shepard), the fact is, there just isn't much more to learn with such a minimal craft.  The longer, more involved missions are going to need a more sophisticated spacecraft.  A two-person ship with the ability to maneuver and dock.

It's in development right now, and it's called Gemini.  It flies next year.

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