The end may be near for the nascent would-be-state of Biafra. For two years, the Nigerian breakaway has seen its land systematically (re)taken, and the eight million Biafrans, mostly Ibo people, have been crammed into ever small regions under Biafran control—just 3,000 out of an original 29,000 square miles.
Starvation rages, killing more than gunfire. Yet the Biafrans remain unbowed, converting diesel generators to run on crude petroleum, keeping churches open (at night, anyway), and getting food via threatened air strips.
But on the 22nd, the capital and last Biafran city, Umuahia, fell to Nigerian forces. Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu, President of Biafra, has vowed he will continue the struggle in guerrilla fashion. Only Gabon, Haiti, Ivory Coast, Tanzania, and Zambia have recognized the secessionist state, although tacit assistance has been provided by such diverse states as France, Spain, Portugal, Norway, and Czechoslovakia.
At this point, it's hard to imagine the Biafran experiment succeeding. But surely there must be more that we can do apart from watch helplessly. I wish I knew what it was. Support the Red Cross, I suppose.
Impending mediocrity
I don't have a great segue from that bummer of a news item. All I have is the lastest issue of Fantasy and Science Fiction. While it's not entirely unworthy (the opening serial is pretty good), the rest offers little respite from the bleakness of the real world:
Back in the '50s, Poul had a great series that took place on a parallel Earth. Its history was not dissimilar to ours, but wizardry replaces technology in many regards. It's a bit like Garrett's Lord D'Arcy series, but a touch sillier. The stars of the series are a magical duo comprising a werewolf and a magic-using dragoon Captain. In the latest story (a decade ago!) the two had gotten married. In the latest installment, Ginny and Steve are the proud parents of a beautiful little girl.
Unfortunately, Valeria Victrix has been born into a difficult time. Adherents of St. John, whose outwardly clement brand of Christianity hides disturbing cultist elements, are waging a war against authority and the military-industrial complex—including the defense contractor that employs Steve. The Johnnites are essentially stand-ins for the current peace movements, albeit more sinister.
The conflict with the less-than-civil resisters recedes in importance, however, when on her third birthday, Valeria is abducted by no less than the demonic forces of Hell. It is now up to Steve and Ginny to rescue their little girl before she is incurably corrupted…and to determine if the Johnnites are at all responsible!
Anderson has three main modes: crunchy, compelling science fiction; crunchy, dull-as-dirt science fiction; and lightish fantasy. This short novel, despite the dark subject matter, promises to be the most fun romp since Three Hearts and Three Lions.
Four stars so far.
The Beast of Mouryessa, by William C. Abeel
A French sculptor is commissioned to create a replica of an obscene, demonic figure, unearthed recently in the Avignon region. The original stone creature has a history of causing catastrophe to those who behold it, but the lovely matron who wants the copy seems unperturbed. Of course, the sculptor has all sorts of ill feelings and second thoughts, but he does nothing about them. In the end, he is possessed by the spirit of the thing, and awful stuff ensues.
Aside from all the sex and frequent references to the statue's enormous dong, this story is pretty old hat. Lovecraft did this kind of thing better.
Two stars.
by Gahan Wilson
London Melancholy, by M. John Harrison
A host of eerie mutants roam post-apocalyptic London in this absolutely impenetrable, unreadably purple piece.
One star.
For the Sake of Grace, by Suzette Haden Elgin
Thousands of years from now, Earth and its solar colonies have organized into a patriarchal, caste-based system. The Kadilh ban-Harihn has much cause for joy: four sons who have all passed the stringent test to become 4th degree members of the Poet caste. But he also has a hidden pain; his sister was one of the rare women to dare entry into the coveted ranks of the Poets. Her fate for failing was that of all women who fail—eternal solitary confinement.
'Unfair!' you cry? Well, at least it keeps women from trying such a foolhardy endeavor. Which is why it hits the Kadilh all the harder when he learns his youngest child, his only daughter, also has decided to try to be a Poet, a task of which she is most certainly incapable…
This is a scathing piece, a refreshing attack on sexism. I'd give it higher marks if it had included even one poem, given the theme, but I still quite liked it.
Four stars.
The Power of Progression, by Isaac Asimov
The Good Doctor explains why our current rate of population growth cannot go on—even if we manage to get off planet, that just means the universe will be clogged with humanity within the millennium.
I appreciate the doomsaying sentiment, but there comes a point when exponents become specious, a masturbatory effort in mathematics.
Three stars.
Copstate, by Ron Goulart
I used to like the tales of Ben Jolson, lead agent of the shapechanging Chameleon Corps, but they've gotten pretty tired of late. This last entry is the least. Ben is tapped to infiltrate a tightly controlled security state to retrieve a revolutionary polemic.
Goulart is capable of writing funny, light, riproaring stuff, but this one is just a bust.
Two stars.
The Flower Kid Cashes In, by George Malko
Item two in the cavalcade of anti-utopian incomprehensibility. Per a conversation I recently had with David and Kris:
Me: Can anyone explain the last story in this month's F&SF to me?
David: Not really. Aging hippie survives after the Bomb falls and sort of commits suicide by staying true to his priniciples? I think it was too concerned with being literary to mean something or be about anything.
Kris: I am not even sure if it is trying to be literary so much as "with it". But either way it seems very hollow.
Your guess is as good as mine. At least it's short. Two stars.
The Body Count
Comparing the lastest F&SF to the Biafran tragedy is probably beyond the realm of good taste. I'll just note that 2.7 stars is an inauspicious sign. However, given that the first few issues of the year were significantly better, I don't think this lapse foretells a permanent downturn.
At least some things are salvageable. See you next month.
It really looked like it was going to be a happy Halloween. On October 31st, President Johnson made the stunning announcement that he was stopping all bombing in Vietnam. This was in service to the Paris peace talks, which subsequently got a huge shot in the arm: not only were the Soviets on board with the negotiations, but the South Vietnamese indicated that, as long as they had a seat at the table, they were in, too.
The holiday lasted all of five days. In yesterday's paper, even as folks went to the polls to choose between Herbert Humphrey and Tricky Dixon (or, I suppose, Wacky Wallace), the news was that South Vietnam had pulled out. They didn't like that the Viet Cong, the Communists in Vietnam (as distinguished from the North Vietnamese government), were going to get a representative at the talks. So they're out.
It's not clear how this will affect the election. As of this morning, it was still not certain who had won . Nevertheless, it is clear that Humphrey's chances weren't helped by the derailing of LBJ's peace plans. If a Republican victory is announced, it may well be this turn of events led to the sea change.
Well, don't blame me. My support has always been for that "common, ordinary, simple savior of America's destiny," Mr. Pat Paulsen. After all, he upped his standards—now up yours.
Respite
Once again, a tumultuous scene provided the backdrop to my SFnal reading. Did the latest issue of Galaxy prove to be balm or bother? Read on and find out:
by John Pederson Jr. illustrating One Station of the Way
Evalyth, military director of a mission to a human planet reverted to savagery after the fall of the Empire, watches with horror as her husband is murdered, then butchered by one of the planet's inhabitants. Cannibalism, it turns out, is a way of life here; indeed, it is considered essential to the rite of puberty for males.
The martial Evalyth vows to have her revenge, tracking down the murderer, Mora, and taking him and his family back to their base, where they are subjected to fearsome scientific examinations. But can she go through with executing the killer of her husband? And does Mora's motivation make any difference?
There' s so much to like about this story, from the exploration of the agony of love lost, to the examination of relative morality, to the development of the universe first introduced (to me, anyway) in last year's A Tragedy of Errors. It doesn't hurt that it stars a woman, and women are integral parts of this future society, with none of the denigrating weasel words that preface the introduction of female characters in Anderson's Analog stories (could those be editorial insertions?)
This is Anderson at his best, without his archaicisms, multi-faceted, astronomically interesting, emotionally savvy.
Five stars.
One Station of the Way by Fritz Leiber
by Holly
Three humaniforms watch on cameloids as the star descends in the east. Sure enough, at a home in the east, a divine being prepares to impregnate a local female so that she will bear a divine child.
Heard this story before? There's a reason. But the planet of Finiswar is not Earth, the aliens are not remotely human, and the white and dark duo who pilot the spaceship Inseminator are anything but gods.
A little girl is told a bedtime story about a big computer that stopped doing its job right. That's because the machine couldn't think of casualties and war statistics as simple numbers, battle strategies as abstract puzzles. The problem is its personality; if the computer's mind could be reconciled with its function, the machine could work again. But can any mind be at peace with such a frightful purpose?
A simple piece like this depends mostly on the telling. Luckily, Goldin is up to the task. Four stars.
Subway to the Stars by Raymond F. Jones
by Jack Gaughan
Harry Whiteman is a brilliant engineer with a problem: he's too much of a "free spirit" to keep a job, or a wife. Desperate, when the CIA approaches him about a singular opportunity, he takes it, though the resents being bullied into it.
In deepest, darkest Africa, the Smith Company is working on…something. Ostensibly a mining concern, it produces no gems. On the other hand, whatever it is is important enough that the Soviets have based missiles in a neighboring country—pointed right at the company site!
Whiteman is hired, for his irreverence more than his ability, and begins work as a double-agent. Once on location, he finds the true purpose of the site: it's a switching station of an intergalactic railroad station! But it turns out that the folks at the Smith Company also have multiple agendas…
A mix of Cliff Simak's Here Gather the Stars (Way Station) and Poul Anderson's Door to Anywhere, it is not as successful as either of them. It takes too long to get started, and then it wraps up all too quickly. It's genuinely thrilling as Whiteman peels back the multiple layers of the Smith operation and the factions within it, and when the missiles do find their target, the resultant chaos is compelling, indeed. But then it turns into a quick, SFnal gimmick story better suited to Analog than Galaxy.
I think I would have rather seen Simak takes this one on as a sequel to his novel. Jones just wasn't quite up to it.
Three stars.
For Your Information: The Discovery of the Solar System by Willy Ley
As it turns out, the science article in this month's issue addresses two issues on which I've had keen recent interest. The first is on the subject of solar systems, and if they can be observed around other stars. Ley discusses how the gravity of an unseen companion can cause a telltale wiggle as the star travels through space, since the two objects orbit a common center of gravity (rather than one strictly going around the other).
In the other half of the article, Ley explains how atomic rocket engines work: shooting heated hydrogen out a nozzle as opposed to burning it and shooting out the resultant water out the back end—it is apparently twice as strong a thrust.
What keeps this article from five stars is both pieces are too brief. For the first half, I'd like to know about the stellar companions discovered through astrometry. He mention's Sirius' white dwarf companion, but what about the planets Van de Kamp claims to have discovered around Barnard's Star and so on? As for the atomic article, I'd like to know what missions a nuclear engine can be used for that a conventional rocket cannot.
Four stars.
A Life Postponed by John Wyndham
by Gray Morrow
Girl falls in love with cynical jerk of a boy. Boy decides there's nothing in the world worth sticking around for, so he gets himself put in suspended animation for a century. Girl follows him there. He's still a cynical jerk, but she doesn't care because she loves him. They live happily ever after.
I'm really not sure of the point of this story, nor how it got in this month's issue other than the cachet of the author's name.
Two stars.
Jinn by Joseph Green
It is the year 2050, and aged Professor Morrison, stymied in his attempts to make food from sawdust, is approached by a brilliant young grad student. Said student is brilliant for a reason: he is a Genetically Evolved Newman or "Jinn", with a big brain and bigger ideas. The student has solved Morrison's problem. However, another Jinn wants humanity to go to the stars, and he fears if the race gets a full belly, they'll lose interest.
The conflict turns violent, the point even larger: is there room for baseline homo sapiens in a world of homo superior?
Green doesn't paint a particularly plausible future, but there are some nice touches, and the points raised are interesting ones. I'd say it's a failure as a story but a success as a thought-exercise, if that makes sense.
So, a low three stars.
Spying Season by Mack Reynolds
by Roger Brand
We return, once again, to Reynolds' world of People's Capitalism. It is the late 20th Century, and the Cold War adversaries have reached a more or less peaceful coexistence. The greater challenge is existential: ultramation has taken away most jobs, and the majority of the populace is on the dole. How, then, to avoid stagnation for humanity?
In this installment, Paul Kosloff is an American of Balkan ancestry, one of the few in the United States of the Americas who still has a steady job, in this case, that of teacher. He is tapped by the CIA to go on sabbatical in the Balkan sector of Common-Europe. Ostensibly, his job is not to spy for the USAs, but to sort of soak in the culture of the area over a twelve-month span.
Very quickly, Kosloff finds himself entagled with an underground revolutionary group, with law enforcement, and with several fellows who enjoy sapping him on the back of the head.
Suffice it to say that all questions are answered by the end, the major ones being: why an innocuous pseudo-spy should be a target, why the CIA would send him on a seemingly pointless mission in the first place. In the meantime, you get a bit more history of this world and some tourist-eye view of Yugoslavia. In other words, your typical, middle-of-the-road Reynolds story.
Three stars.
Counting the votes
While not as stellar as last month's issue, the December 1968 Galaxy still offers a more satisfying experience than, well, most anything going on in "the real world". It clocks in at a respectable 3.45, which brings the annual average to 3.23.
Compare that to the 2.81 it scored last year, and given that Galaxy is once again a monthly, I think it's safe to say that, at least in one way, "Happy days are here again."
Just as America returned to space in a big way with this month's flight of Apollo 7, the Soviets have also recovered from their 1967 tragedy (Soyuz 1) with an impressive feat. Georgy Beregovoi, a rookie cosmonaut (ironically also the oldest man in space thus far, surpassing 45 year-old Wally Schirra by two years) has taken Soyuz 3 into orbit for a series of rendezvous and perhaps dockings (TASS is being vague on the issue) with the unmanned Soyuz 2.
Comrade Beregovoi in training
We've seen flights like this before, but this is the first time there has been a person involved. Many are calling this a harbinger of an impending lunar flight, though NASA is adamant that this particular flight won't go to the moon. Indeed, Dr. Ed Welsh, Secretary of the National Aeronautics and Space Council says Soyuz and September's Zond 5, which went around the moon, are completely different craft and the Russians aren't even close to fielding a lunar mission.
We'll have more on this flight in a few days. Stay tuned.
On the ground
Like the flights of Soyuz 2 and 3, this month's Analog is outwardly impressive, but once you dig in, it's not so great.
Centuries from now, after the fall of the Age of Science, humanity is divided into two camps: the "Olsaparns", who dwell in isolated technological camps and retain a semblance of the original technology and society, and the Novos—psionically adept savages who live in conservative Packs. One of the Pack members is Starn, who possesses a brand new ability that allows him to best even the telepathically and premonitionally blessed. He runs afoul of Nagister Nont, a highly adept, highly disagreeable trader, who kidnaps his wife.
After a raid on the Olsaparns leaves Starn close to death, the technologists remake him into something more machine than man, like Ted White's Android Avenger. The Olsaparns want Nont out of the picture, so they help Starn in his quest to defeat the mutant and get back his wife.
I have no fault with the writing, which is brisk and engaging. I take some issue with the pages of discussion on whether or not psi powers be linked with primitiveness, or the concept that humanity could regress to Pithecanthropy in a scant few generations (or the idea that evolution must be a road that one goes forward and backward on; I thought we gave up teleology last century). But I blazed through the novella in short order, so… four stars.
The Ultimate Danger, by W. Macfarlane
by Kelly Freas
In which Captain Lew Frizel takes a shipload of eggheads to a hallucinogenic planet. He is the only one who, more or less, keeps his head. The message appears to be that LSD can be employed by aliens to judge our character. Or something.
Three stars?
The Shots Felt 'Round the World, by Edward C. Walterscheid
This piece, on atomic tests, was much easier reading than Walterscheid's last article. Do you realize that we have detonated half a billion TNT tons worth of nuclear explosives since 1945? It's a wonder there's anything left of Nevada.
Four stars.
The Rites of Man, by John T. Phillifent
by Rudolph Palais
A scientist is working on rationalizing the art of interpersonal relations (because in Phillifent's universe, no one has invented sociology). About twenty pages into that effort, humanoid (really, human) aliens show up and ask to be allowed to compete in the Olympics. They do, but they lose on purpose so we won't hate them. Then we interbreed.
Possibly the dullest, most pointless story I've ever read in this magazine. One star.
Humanity is a resilient creature, tough enough to tame any world. Except that planet Sibylla, with its poisonous soil, extreme axial tilt, thin atmosphere, temperature extremes, high gravity, and violent weather may actually be more than Terrans can handle. What does one do when a world is too minimal to sustain a colony? And what is the value of 10,000 settler lives against the teeming, impoverished billions of Earth?
This is a vividly written piece with some excellent astronomy. If I didn't know better, I'd say Poul Anderson is writing under a pseudonym. I felt the solution to the colonists' problem, though reasonable, was not sufficiently set up to be deduced. Also, I felt Karageorge missed the opportunity to make a more profound statement at the end than "well, humanity can lick almost all comers." I'd have preferred something on the point of colonization or the shifting of priorities on a racial scale.
Still, a high three stars.
Split Personality, by Jack Wodhams
by Kelly Freas
Mauger, a homicidal brute, agrees to be split in two for science instead of getting the chair. Instead of this resulting in two new individuals, it turns out that the two halves remain connected, the gestalt whole. Thus, Maugam can literally be in two places at once.
This is timely as the first interstellar drive has had teething troubles. Two test ships have gotten lost, unable to communicate with Earth. Now, half of Maugam can fly on the ship while the other stays home and reports, since telepathy, for some reason, is instant.
It's actually not a bad story, though it's really just a bunch of magic and coincidence. It works because Wodhams has set it up to work a certain way, not because this is any kind of realistic scientific extrapolation. Also, it's hard to work up any sympathy for a homicidal brute.
Three stars.
Doing the math
When everything is crunched together, we end up with Analog clocking in at exactly 3 stars—again, adequate, but vaguely disappointing. On the other hand, it's been something of a banner month in SF (provided you're not looking for female writers; they wrote less than 7% of the new fiction pieces published). Except for IF (2.6), every other outlet scored higher than 3. To wit:
Last week, the Soviets produced their latest space spectacular, potentially leaving America in the dust again. Zond 5, launched September 14, was sent around the moon, returning safely to Earth on the 22nd.
It's tempting to say, "What's the big deal," right? We've sent probes to the moon, too, and the Russkies have orbited lunar satellites and soft-landed spacecraft. What's special about Zond? Well, it's suspected that "Zond", a monicker usually reserved for interplanetary spacecraft, is really a lunar-adapted Soyuz. That means the Communists have completed a successful, robotic dry run for a human mission to the moon. We haven't even launched our first manned Apollo yet!
So we're in something of a race. Apollo 7 will go up in a couple of weeks, testing the spacecraft for an endurance run in Earth orbit. Apollo 8 is due to be a circumlunar shot, to be launched near the end of the year. That's the one to beat: if the Soviets make that journey before us, that'll be a feather in their cap.
That said, while our program was delayed 20 months due to the tragedy of Apollo 1 last year, the Soviet lunar program has undergone some setbacks, too. Most notably, their Saturn equivalent appears to be having teething troubles. While they might be able to send a Soyuz around the moon with their current rockets, landing cosmonauts will require a beefier launch system. Our Saturn is already man-rated.
If I were a betting man, I'd give the odds of the Soviets beating us around the moon at around 50/50. But as for landing on the moon, which is still planned for some time next year, I think we're still favored to win that one.
The medicine
This month's issue of Analog starts off extremely well. Savor the taste of the opening piece, as it's what will sustain you through the rest…
Trevelyan is the agent of an arcane, galaxy-wide service. Most of the such agents are employed for scouting, search and rescue, and mediation services. This time, Trevelyan is on a mission of crime prevention. His suspect: Murdoch Juan and his partner, Faustina. Ostensibly, they aim to set up pre-made colonies on the marginal world of Good Luck, offering transport and homes to settlers at a bargain. Trevelyan knows such endeavors are never profitable, and he suspects a shady angle.
by Kelly Freas
Such concerns are confirmed when he and his alien shipmate, Smokesmith, discover Murdoch's true target: a once-inhabited world, seared with abated radiation, abounding in empty cities ripe for occupation. But is that what the dead race would have wanted?
Poul Anderson's writing ranges from turgid to sublime. This piece is much closer to the latter end of the scale, and it benefits from lacking the author's typical linguistic tics. In addition to being a good read and an excellent depiction of a true alien race, I appreciate the moral questions raised and the conservationist attitude expressed. This would be good required reading for any apprentice building contractor or would-be Schliemann.
The galactic aliens have returned. Last time, they brought three gifts to revolutionize our food production, our computers, and our birth control—and leave us completely at their mercy. This time, Earth is being a bit more circumspect. Rather than accepting the ambassadors with open arms, a buck 2nd Lieutenant is dispatched to treat with them—with absolutely no briefing at all, but with a set of instructions designed to terrify and befuddle the extraterrestrials.
I often joke that every Chris Anvil story begins with [Military rank] [Name] [present participle verb], and this is no exception. I also, less jokingly, note that Chris Anvil's stories for Analog tend to be smug, stupid affairs. Thus, I was surprised to find I didn't hate this piece. It is somewhat smug, and the latter half is all explanation, but the premise is kind of interesting.
Right on the 2/3 border. I'll be generous and say three stars.
Taking the Lid Off, by William T. Powers
The "lid" in this science article refers to Earth's atmosphere, which prevents us from seeing the universe in most of the interesting wavelengths like X-ray and infrared. Powers, who wrote a terrific article on measuring charged particles last year, offers up a less impressive, but serviceable piece on lunar and orbital telescopes. It's just a bit less coherent than his last article, and with fewer revelations, although I did appreciate his explanation of using gravity gradients to stabilize satellites.
Three stars.
The Steiger Effect, by Betsy Curtis
by Leo Summers
Human merchants arrive at a planet that views internal combustion as a kind of witchcraft. Nevertheless, they buy our engines when they are demonstrated to work. But the engines all mysteriously conk out when humans reach a certain distance away. Turns out they—and all internal combustion engines, everywhere—run on psi energy, and always have. 'Humans secretly have psi powers and don't know it' certainly sounds like a plot tailor-made for Campbell, doesn't it?
Never mind that the premise makes no sense; the division of the (otherwise completely humanoid) alien society into "Men" (those who do with their minds) and "Boys" (those who do with their brawn) hews too close to a metaphor of antebellum days in the American South for comfort.
One star.
Underground, by Lawrence A. Perkins
by Kelly Freas
A senator is kidnapped by a Latin American insurgency that plans to harness earthquakes to topple their oppressive dictator [a plot reminiscent of the Doctor Who episode "Enemy of the World" -Ed].
This piece reads like one of those Ted Thomas mini science articles from F&SF turned into a story, except there's no real story—just a lot of show and tell.
Last installment, we learned that the colony of Nandy-Cline was about to be invaded by the rapacious Parahuans. The only thing holding them back was the concern that humanity was led by a shadow cabal of "Tuvela", a subrace of genetic supermen. Now, the security of the world lies in the hands of the youthful Dr. Nile Etland, who must convince the Parahuan that she is one of the mythical Tuvela. Luckily, she has a quartet of sapient otters as wingmen…
This is a frustrating novel. The premise is excellent, and Schmitz is one of SF's few authors who lets women be heroes. What keeps this book at the three-star level for me is the lack of characterization. I have a vague idea of who Ticos Cay is, the two-hundred year old man who we meet as a prisoner of the Parahuan. I even kind of know the various Parahuan. But Etland is a cipher, utterly uninteresting as a person. She goes through her James Bond maneuvers with competence and a few jitters, but with precious little demonstration of a soul.
My nephew enjoyed this serial a lot. It is creative, and the biology of the world well realized. If only I could say the same for Nile Etland.
The worthy stuff would fill two magazines, which would be an impressive amount if it hadn't taken seven publications to produce it. Women penetrated the magazines pretty well this month, but their lack of pieces in Worlds of Fantasy and The Farthest Reaches brought the aggregate percentage down to 11%.
And so, with science fiction as with science fact, we find ourselves in a bit of a holding pattern, awaiting what's to come next month. But whether it's the Soviets or the Americans, Campbell or Ferman, someone will entertain us.
And that's worth being ready for!
[Stop Press: Mark just got his reviews of this month's New Worlds to me. It's too late to run an article, so we'll be doubling up next month. For the sake of statistics, however, the magazine raises the amount of worthy material slightly, and it reduces feminine participation in SF magazine prose for October 1968 to 10%. Stay tuned…]
Yesterday, in Lake Havasu City, Arizona, a huge celebration took place. International dignitaries attended, US Marines fired cannons, Local Choirs sang specially composed songs.
What was all this in aid of? The beginning of one of the strangest architectural projects of our time. The reconstruction of London Bridge.
An Abridged History
Old London Bridge, in the 18th Century
Whilst there has been a bridge across the Thames for at least as long ago as The Romans, the longest lasting and one that has been immortalized in song is the medieval “Old London Bridge”, which was completed in 1205. As you are probably aware it was constantly beset with problems. After endless changes, removal of properties and attempts to shore it up, a committee in 1821 was formed to build the New London Bridge.
The ”New” London Bridge, at a less busy time
This new version was opened to the public in 1831 and has fared reasonably well for over a century. However, the increased volume of traffic has caused it to slowly sink. This was not as much of an issue in the era of the horse and cart, but with hundreds of tonnes of steel sitting on it every rush hour, and not prepared for the passage of millions of Londoners, a change had to be made.
Not made for this kind of weight
In order to recoup some of the costs for the destruction of the old bridge and construction of a new one, Ivan Luckin of the Common Council of the City of London, put it up for auction. After a promotional campaign, two dozen serious bids came in. In April, the winner was announced to be Robert P. McCullough of McCullough Motors, planning to rebuild it in Arizona.
“In The Modern House They Throw In A Few Antiques”
What does a motor company want with 100,000 tons of granite? To understand that you have to know a little more about where it is going.
Not your typical holiday destination
In 1938, the Parker Dam was built on the Colorado River, providing water and power to Southern California. Behind it sits the reservoir of Lake Havasu. In 1942 the US government built an auxiliary airfield and support base there. What they were apparently unaware of was the land was not theirs to take but was actually owned by Victor and Corinne Spratt. After the war, the couple were able to get the land back and turn it into a holiday resort.
In 1958 McCullough enters our story. He was looking for a site to test onboard motors and convinced the Spratts to sell most of their land to him. He turned it from a resort into a city and set up a chainsaw factory there in 1964.
However, this is not exactly prime real estate. Lake Havasu City sits in the middle of the Mojave desert, around 40 miles from the Colorado River Reservation, a hundred miles from the Hoover Dam and almost equidistant between Las Vegas, Palm Springs and Phoenix. There is little else of interest, unless you like a lot of rocks. What could attract people? Maybe a piece of history…
Anglophilia
McCullough, now the proud owner of the world’s largest antique
Whilst this may be the strangest and, at over $2.4m, possibly the most expensive purchase of a piece of British design, it is not unique. The Queen Mary currently sits at Long Beach, California and the Church of St. Mary Aldermanbury was recently relocated to Missouri.
Will this grand venture pay off? It will take at least three years to complete the project, so we will see if in the mid-'70s people are coming from all over to see London Bridge, or if Lake Havasu City becomes another ghost town.
Ghosts of the Past
Talking of this kind of reconstruction project, this month, across two publications, I read 21 short stories, all of which are attempting to revive something of the past.
The Farthest Reaches
Joseph Elder is not a name I was familiar with before. He appears to be a fan of the old school, endorsing the “sense of wonder” over literary pretensions. As such he has asked his contributors to only include stories set in distant galaxies containing Clarke’s ideals of “wonder, beauty, romance, novelty”. Let’s see how they have done:
The Worm That Flies by Brian W. Aldiss
As these are sorted alphabetically, we of course start with Mr. Aldiss (at least until Alan Aardvark gets more prolific). And, just as obviously, it is one of the strangest in this volume.
Argustal crosses the world of Yzazys collecting stones to build his parapattener. When he is then able to communicate with Nothing, he hopes to answer the strange questions emerging about phantoms called “childs” and the dimension of time.
The ideas of this story are not particularly new and the mystery is reasonably obvious. However, what Aldiss manages to do well is create such a strange unnerving atmosphere, such that it carries the reader along and raises it up above standard fare of this type.
A low four stars
Kyrie by Poul Anderson
The spaceship Raven is sent to investigate a supernova, a crew consisting of fifty humans and one Auregian, a being of pure energy. This being, Lucifer, has its orders communicated telepathically by technician Eloise Waggoner.
I am not usually as much a fan of Anderson’s science fiction compared to his fantasy, but this one impressed me. It has an interesting mix of hard-science with psi-powers but a strong character focus. A compelling read.
Four Stars
Tomorrow Is a Million Years by J. G. Ballard
I am not quite sure why the cover claims these tales are never before published, as this one has been printed a number of times, including in New Worlds two years ago.
I don’t have much to add to Mark’s review, I will just say it is a strange, but wonderful piece.
Four Stars
Pond Water by John Brunner
Men attempt to create their ultimate defender, Alexander. The creation, indestructible and with all the knowledge of humanity, proceeds to invade and take control of more and more worlds. But what is Alexander to do when there are no more worlds to conquer?
This progresses well and Brunner shows us the scale of conquest vividly in such a short space. Unfortunately, the ending is so pat it wouldn’t even appear in the worst Twilight Zone episode.
Three Stars
The Dance of the Changer and the Three by Terry Carr
Forty-two men died on a mining expedition on the gas giant Loarra. According to a PR man who was there, the answer to what happened lies in an ancient myth of the native energy forms, The Dance of the Changer and the Three.
This is a very challenging story and you may need to read through a couple of times to fully understand it. However, it is definitely worth your patience. Carr really makes an effort to show the Loarra as truly alien, but not in an unknowably menacing way as Lovecraft does. Rather they have a completely different understanding of what life and reality is.
Five Stars
Crusade by Arthur C. Clarke
On an extra-galactic planet, a crystalline computerized creature sets out to search for extra-terrestrial intelligence.
What Clarke gives us here is a kind of fable about the dangers of biases and science for its own sake. A more cynical take than is usual for him; perhaps Kubrick's influence is rubbing off?
Four Stars
Ranging by John Jakes
Jakes’ tale is set centuries in the future, where generations range the universe, in order to map it and send back data. Whilst Delors wants to carefully explore as instructed, Jaim wishes to rebel and jump trillions of light years at a time.
This could have been an interesting take on exploration but it mostly descends into the two leads yelling at each other “you cannot understand because you’re just a man\girl”.
Two Stars
Mind Out of Time by Keith Laumer
Performing an experimental jump to Andromeda, the crew of the Extrasolar Exploratory Module find themselves at the end of space, where they start to experience reality outside of time.
I feel like Laumer was going for something analogous to the final section of 2001. However, he lacks the skill of Kubrick and Clarke, making what could be mysterious and profound merely serviceable.
A low Three Stars
The Inspector by James McKimmey
Steve Terry, hero of the planet of Tnp, went into orbit, walked out of his spaceship and suffocated. Forest and his team are sent to investigate why this happened, and why no one has attempted to retrieve the body.
This is the one story that does not conform to the brief—there is no particular reason this could not be set on Earth. In fact, there isn’t much need for it to be SFnal at all. With half a dozen small changes you could have it contemporaneously on a newly independent Caribbean Island.
Putting that aside, it is not a bad story, just rather pedestrian, where I had deduced the themes and mystery by the second page.
A low Three Stars
To the Dark Star by Robert Silverberg
Three scientists, a human man, a human woman altered to suit alien environments and a microcephalon, are sent to observe a star. One problem: they all hate each other.
Your feelings for this story will likely depend on how you feel about unpleasant protagonists. The narrator in this piece is incredibly so and the whole thing left me cold.
Two Stars
A Night in Elf Hill by Norman Spinrad
After 18 years of service, Spence is depressed that his travels in space will be over and he must choose a single planet to settle on. He writes to his psychologist brother Frank begging him to talk him out of going back to the mysterious city of The Race With No Name.
This is quite an impressive short story. Spinrad manages to seamlessly move from science fiction to fantasy to horror, creating a real emotional thrill. He also does it through a letter that has a unique tone of voice and gives a whole new sense to Spence’s descriptions.
It does sound like it might resemble what I have read of the Star Trek episode The Menagerie but I think Spinrad spins this yarn well enough that it doesn’t bother me.
Four Stars
Sulwen's Planet by Jack Vance
On Sulwen’s Planet, sit the wreckage of millennia old ships of two different species. Tall blue creatures, nicknamed The Wasps, and small white creatures, nicknamed the Sea Cows. A team of ambitious scientists departs from Earth, all determined to be the first to unravel these aliens' secrets.
Like Silverberg’s piece, this is also a tale of squabbling scientists, here primarily focused on the two linguists. Competent, enjoyable but forgettable.
After a 15-year hiatus Lester Del Rey returns to editing. He opens the magazine with a rambling editorial taking us from ancient firesides, through folktales, modern uptick in astrology, Tolkien, and theories of displacement, before concluding it doesn’t really matter as long as the stories are fun.
As Brak is fleeing from Lord Magnus he rescues a woman from rock demons. She reveals herself to be Nari, also fleeing but from Lord Garr of Gilgamarch and his wizard Valonicus, who can send forth shadow creatures after them with his magic mirror. Nari’s back is tattooed with a map to a treasure, one that could win or destroy a kingdom. Together the two attempt to flee across the Mountains of Smoke, but can they outrun such power?
This is a pretty standard story, full of the usual cliches of these kinds of tales. It probably would have managed a low three stars, except that it treats a rape victim very poorly. Brak does not seem to understand why a woman running scared would be wary of getting naked in front of a stranger who angrily badgers her for information about torture and sexual assault. And the ending is just disturbing in the wrong way.
A low two stars
Death is a Lonely Place by Bill Warren
Miklos Sokolos is a 68-year-old vampire who leaves his crypt in Parkline Cemetery to feed. But when he meets his latest potential victim, he is not sure if he can kill her.
I was originally surprised to see this here as it seemed like it would be more suited to Lowdnes’ Magazine of Horror, but, as it went on, I realized it was less a Lord Ruthven style tale, and more a meditation on how much of a curse the situation might be.
More thoughtful than expected.
Four Stars
As Is by Robert Silverberg
Sam Norton is transferred from New York to Los Angeles, but his company will not pay moving costs. To save money he rents a U-Haul and buys an unusual secondhand car that was left for repairs a year ago but never returned to. Not long after Sam sets out, the prior owner returns and wants his vehicle back. How will he catch up with Sam before he reaches LA? By renting a flying horse, of course!
Eminently silly short.
Two stars for me, although car owners might give it three.
What the Vintners Buy by Mack Reynolds
Matt Williams is a hedonist who has tried everything twice but has grown bored. As such he approaches Old Nick to make a deal for the ultimate pleasure.
Yes, another “deal with the devil” story, a dull and talky example. I can’t help but wonder if this was a reject from The Devil His Due.
One Star
Conan and the Cenotaph by Lin Carter and L. Sprague de Camp
A young Conan “untampered by the dark deceits of the East” is working for the King of Turan, transporting back a treaty from the King of Kusan. Enroute their guide, Duke Feng, tells Conan of an ancient treasure hidden in a haunted valley and suggests together they can retrieve it.
This is another new tale of Conan from his biggest fans, however Carter and de Camp lack even a quarter of Howard’s skill. Over described, dull and the plot feels stretched even over these 10 pages. This would be bad enough but it, as you can probably tell from the quoted phrase above, invokes some horrible racism.
This can be seen most prominently in the villain of the piece. Duke Feng encapsulates every negative Asian stereotype, managing to somehow be both Fu Manchu and a sniveling traitorous coward. Whilst there are problems in Howard’s original work (the finer points of which my colleague Cora and I have expended much paper debating) this takes it many steps further.
One star
After Armageddon by Paris Flammonde
At the start of the “Final War”, Tom accidentally stumbles on the fountain of youth. Centuries later, after everyone else has died, Tom continues to wander the Earth.
This is another last man tale, the melancholic philosophical kind that used to fill the pages of New Worlds a few years back. This is not a great example and doesn’t add anything new to the already overused subgenre.
Two Stars
A Report on J. R. R. Tolkien by Lester Del Rey
The editor gives a look at the publishing history of The Lord of the Rings, the status of its planned sequels and the effect it is having on the industry.
Fine for what it is but, at only two pages, it does not delve into the why or give any information not already reported in multiple places.
Three Stars
The Man Who Liked by Robert Hoskins
A small man appears in the city dispensing joy to the residents. Who is he? And why is he being so generous?
A pleasant vignette, but one where you are continually waiting for the penny to drop. When it does, it is not where I would have predicted it going, but it works well.
Three Stars
Delenda Est by Robert E. Howard
The first printing of one of the many unpublished manuscripts that were left by the late author. This one is primarily a historical tale, set in the Vandal Kingdom of the Fifth Century. As King Genseric ponders his position, a mysterious stranger comes to convince him to sack Rome.
Howard clearly did his research and manages to explain the history of this much neglected period in an entertaining fashion. It also only contains a mild piece of speculative content (the rather obvious identity of the stranger), which is probably why it remained unsold.
Three Stars
However by Robert Lory
After having accidentally caused his boatman to be eaten, Hamper finds himself stuck in Grath. There, people are committed to only doing their profession, no matter how useless or obsolete it is. As such, getting across the water is to prove incredibly tricky.
Robert Lory has been writing for the main magazines for over 5 years, with some modern feeling pieces under his belt. This, however, feels like a reprint from the 19th century, one that might have been intended as a satire of mechanization but now reads as a tall tale.
Serviceable but silly and rambling.
Two Stars
A Delicate Balance
What the New-New London Bridge may look like
As can be seen, trying to do stories in an old style can be difficult work. Some, like Anderson and Warren, are able to use the ideas in a new way to make something profound. Others, such as de Camp and Carter, create an object of significantly less value. Whether constructing prose or pontoons it takes both skill and imagination few possess. However, those that do make the journey rewarding.
"Fans are Slans", or so the legend goes. Inspired by the psychic supermen in A. E. Van Vogt's Slan, the notion is that SF fans are a breed apart. Better than the average Joe, who are comparative Palookas. And why not? We're obviously smarter, given our intellectual proclivities, and our favored choice of fiction has all the answers. A problem is presented, our brilliant heroes hatch a solution, and we live happily ever after.
How else to explain Fred Pohl's call for Galaxy readers to submit solutions (in 100 words or fewer!) to the Vietnam war? Never mind that the problem has occupied our greatest minds for two decades, with no solution in sight. Indeed, ever since the Tet offensive, things have gotten more complicated.
You see, according to the Pentagon (per Aviation Weekly and Space Report), we won the Tet offensive. Handily. And that onslaught was actually a desperate 'Hail Mary'–Soviet and Chinese advisors had told the North Vietnamese that they were losing, big-time, and they had to do something to shatter American and South Vietnamese morale, no matter the cost.
And it worked! It induced LBJ to throw in the towel, declare a bombing holiday, and start a peace process, the only tangible effect of which has been to allow the communists to resume logistical deliveries down the Ho Chi Minh Trail and to offload shipments of Soviet materiele in the port of Haiphong, which had been interdicted by the U.S. Air Force.
That's not the only setback to the Allied cause–Khe Sanh, that forward Marine base that held out against siege for a full season, has been abandoned. No good explanation has been forthcoming.
Now, I'm not defending our presence in Vietnam, and I'm not arguing against the peace process. I'm saying no science fiction writer, no matter how brainy, is going to have an answer. Not even an easy one. I don't think there is one.
But so long as easy solutions exist in our science fiction, we Slans will keep thinking there is. Certainly, this month's issue of Analog is chock full of solvable problems, a bunch of scenarios that might well have been developed by high school or college professors as logic puzzles for their students.These are the kind of stories you find most often in Analog, which aims at the clear-thinking, black-and-white engineering set.
Now, that's fine. Analog's job is to make money, and it has the most readers of any SF mag, so it must be doing something right. It's certainly not editor Campbell's job to disabuse fans of their Slan aspirations.
Nevertheless, as someone who isn't an engineer, I find Analog often to be a slog. I like to have more story in my stories. Sometimes Campbell lets a compelling tale slip into his pages; more often he does not. The proportion of story types usually determines whether I give an issue more or fewer than three stars.
Given the tone of this preamble, you can probably guess what kind of issue this will be…
by Kelly Freas
Logic Puzzles
The Baalim Problem, by Bruce Daniels
by Kelly Freas
Problem posed: the human race has spread throughout the stars, setting up all sorts of empires, nations, and leagues. They have never encountered evidence of aliens–until now: a putatively nonhuman distress beacon has gone off over an independent human world. Two polities, an extremely libertarian nation and a group-thinking bureaucracy, have, at their computers' recommendations, sent single representatives to investigate.
The beacon leads them both to a hostile world, one beyond the means of either of scouts to handle alone. So, these adversaries must work together to escape the planet and bring back news of what they've found.
And what they find is that the "alien" evidence is an obvious hoax, developed by…someone…for…some purpose. Who might have hatched the scheme and why is the puzzle to be deciphered by the reader. Or, if the reader be lazy, to simply read about as the characters in the story explain the answer to each other.
The sentiment is nice, but I'd rather have had the thing play out narratively rather than in narration.
Three stars.
The Fuglemen of Recall, by Jack Wodhams
by Leo Summers
Problem posed: a number of people seem to have lost their minds, convinced they are someone else. The Feds investigate and determine the common factor was that each had just had an engagement with Lidlun Spacial Electronic Enterprises. Some kind of mind/memory transfer hocus pocus is clearly afoot. But when they apprehend the President of Lidlun for interrogation, is he really who he seems?
I suppose the lesson of this tale is that cops should always have a picture of the person to prevent a false arrest.
Unfortunately, Wodhams had to write a bit too obliquely and clumsily, and also had to make the investigators morons, to make this puzzle a challenge for the reader.
Two stars.
How the Soviets Did it in Space, by G. Harry Stine
Problem posed: how did the USSR so handily beat us to orbit, and why did they keep scoring space spectaculars earlier than us?
If you've got a subscription to Aviation Weekly, you know the answer, but rocketry popularizer Stine does an excellent job of summarizing all the tidbits that have been leaked over the last few years. Now we know that the Soviets had a Saturn-class rocket from the beginning while we were still piddling around with Thors, Jupiters and Atlases.
So why didn't the Russkies keep their lead? Well, we don't know that another Soviet spectacular isn't around the corner. But assuming it isn't, I would guess it's because our Saturn 1 was the beginning of a family of superboosters whereas their Vostok/Luna/Zond launcher has already topped out its potential.
On the other hand, their new Proton rocket seems to be operational, and something launched Soyuz 1…
Great schematics, and I appreciated the strong line drawn between the development of ICBMs and the almost incidental exploitation of the rockets for civilian applications.
Four stars.
Appointment on Prila, by Bob Shaw
by Leo Summers
Problem posed: a gray terror, an alien being that can mimic anything perfectly, is trapped on a hostile cinder of a world when a Terran survey team arrives. Six self-contained pods leave the human mothership to conduct a geodetic survey; seven return. Worse still, the alien has the ability to take over any organic mind that it finds. Is there anything the team can do to withstand this menace?
Well, as it turns out, no. Indeed, the humans do precious little, and salvation relies on factors already baked into the scenario. I will confess that I had the ending spoiled for me before I started, so that might have diminished things.
That said, Shaw is a sensitive and evocative author, and this work is the highlight of the issue.
Problem posed: Serendipity Inc., a knowledge broker for the loose knit Polesotechnic League of stars, is actually an intelligence-gathering front for the Shenn, an up-and-coming race of rapacious beings. Plenty of stuff happens as a lead up to this, the fourth installment in the serial, but most of it is inconsequential. This particular instance is concerned with the following questions:
1) Who are the Shenn, and how, with their frankly primitive, impulsive, and aggressive mindset, did they get control of an advanced, robotic civilization?
2) How can one reconcile their above racial habits with the fact that they are herbivores, who tend toward peaceful, communal societies?
3) How did the six human members of Serendipity's board end up in thrall to the Shenn, and how is that the linchpin to dealing with the seemingly implacable aliens?
These are all fine questions, and they are all answered tidily, in pages and pages of explanation that might well have been copied from a 30th Century encyclopedia. As often happens with Poul's work, he's created an interesting universe, only developed a plot for half of his story, and employed uninteresting caricatures to carry it out.
I'm sick of Nicholas van Rijn and his lusty Dutch oaths. I'm tired of the Buddhist dragon-centaur Adzel and the irritable (though admittedly adorable) Chee Lan, and the callow Davy Falkayn. Again, I want stories, not historical tracts of Anderson's future universe.
Two stars for this installment and 2.5 for the book as a whole.
Specialty, by Joe Poyer
by Kelly Freas
Problem posed: Tupac Araptha is an Alto Plano Peruvian, adapted to low pressure from birth. As a result, he is uniquely qualified to work on the moon. He can operate his suit at lower pressures, which means less resistance to movement, meaning he can work eight hours a "day" (twenty-four hour cycles are arbitrary on the moon) whereas lowlanders can barely manage three. How does Kelly, the local mining boss, handle the interpersonal jealousy that springs from this issue?
This story would be better served if it weren't set in the same timeline as "Spirits of '76", in which a dozen moonshiners (pun intended) establish a libertarian "republic" on the moon; it makes the context sillier, when the story is rather serious. I was also annoyed that Kelly's first solution was to suggest that Tupac beat up his rival in a manly display (on the moon? Surrounded by high vacuum?!), and when Tupac demurs, Kelly's next solution is to…take a leave of absence.
There could have been an interesting story here, but there ultimately isn't.
Two stars.
Harsh reality
Doing the math, Analog finishes at a mediocre 2.7. As uninspiring a finish as this is, it actually consitutes a median: Fantasy and Science Fiction (2.4) was worse, as were Fantastic (2.3) and Orbit 3 (2.3). IF (2.8) was a near tie.
The saving graces of this month were Famous Science Fiction (3.5), though that was mostly reprints, and Galaxy (3.9), which I seemed to like more than everyone else. Well, that's my privilege!
Despite the low aggregate ratings, there was actually enough good stuff to fill two decent sized magazines. Women contributed 10.5% of the new fiction this month, which sounds better than average, but all but one of the tales was in Orbit, which is technically a paperback rather than a magazine.
Bringing things full circle, the issue of getting more women in print has been a perennial one, one that has defied solution (or even the notion that it's a problem that needs solving). Since the magazines won't or can't fix the situation, women have moved to other media. So we see women in anthologies like Orbit. We see women like A. M. Lightner and Madeleine L'Engle writing "young adult" (the new term for juvenile) series. We see women prominent in the writing and production of science fiction shows like Star Trek.
I think it's fandom's loss when the SF mags become stag parties. I remember the salad days of Galaxy and F&SF back in the early '50s, and part of what made them great was the diversity of stories, the range of viewpoints and styles. I'd hate to lose that to other venues (though the mags' loss is obviously other media's gain).
How do we get more women back into the mags? How do we get folks to recognize the value of women in the mags? I wish I knew. After all, I'm no Slan, just a man…
This month, the legendary Earl Warren, former governor of my state of California, and Chief Justice during one of the Supreme Court's most dramatic eras, announced that he was stepping down. No sooner had he done this that President Johnson tapped Abe Fortas, Associate Justice since 1965, for the chief position among the top black-robes.
Fortas and LBJ go way back, all the way to 1948's Texas Democratic primary for Senator, when the young lawyer successfully won a legal challenge to LBJ's victory. Since then, their stars have been interlinked. Some of Fortas' fellow justices (and many newspapers) suggest that the Justice and the President's relationship is a bit too chummy. Still, Fortas has been a good, liberal judge, and he'd probably be a fine Chief Justice. Sometimes the good ol' boy network doesn't hurt anybody.
This segues nicely into my review of this month's issue of Analog. Campbell, like many SF magazine editors, has a stable of reliable authors. This means he always has work of a certain quality to fill his issues. It also tends to crowd out new talent. This results in a kind of conservatism, and often a bit of mediocrity. This month, however, things work out a bit better than average.
Howard Farman is the pilot of the Pika-don, a cross between the SR-71 hypersonic recon plane and the VTOL "Harrier" (which is about to enter British service). On a mission to monitor a French weapons test, some scientificish gobbledegook happens, knocking Farman back in time to 1917–the midst of The Great War. Sort of a reverse of the Twilight Zone episode, The Last Flight.
Once there, he finds himself ensconced with a French fighter squadron. They are being trounced by a German Ace. Eighty men died trying to break his spree, but no one can stop the bloody Red Baron of Germany. Actually, it's not Richtofen; it's a fictional(?) #2, for whom there is no canine counterpart.
Farman is convinced that he can turn things around if he can just get his advanced fighter off the ground, something that will require building a whole industry of jet fuel production. And even once he manages that, his missiles and radar won't track the wood-and-canvas Fokkers of the enemy. What to do?
This is a very pleasant story, quite readable. It does have a few holes big enough to ram a Nieuport through. For one, it is most unrealistic that a man from 1975 with ten thousand flight hours would have no understanding of propeller planes. You can't get Air Force wings today without first racking up dozens of hours in simple prop aircraft, and Farman must have first gotten commissioned before or around 1968. Maybe if the jet came from some time in the 21st Century, it'd be more plausible (though I can't imagine ever starting fighter jocks on jets–that's a recipe for disaster).
The second hole is that Farman is oblivious for far too long of the effects of the jet wash, something with which he should be intimately familiar.
Finally, while I appreciate the nod to logistics, what with Farman needing to manufacture kerosene for his plane, it strains credulity that a super-advanced jet could reliably fly after several months in a field with no maintenance.
Four stars, but it is clear that McLaughlin (who has been AWOL from Analog since 1964) does not have a strong aviation background.
Null Zone, by Joe Poyer
by Kelly Freas
How does one stop the Ho Chi Minh trail, when it is really a vast network of mini-trails with far too many branches to interdict? By building a highway of nuclear waste across it, of course!
Joe tells an engaging story, with the spark of color with which he always imbues his technical pieces. But I can't imagine the logistics of transport/production make this a feasible possibility, never mind the humanitarian aspects. Does editor Campbell ever mind the humanitarian aspects?
Three stars.
"To Sleep, Perchance to Dream … ", by W. C. Francis
by Kelly Freas
Alright, there's always an exception that proves the rule. I've never heard of Francis before, so I guess Campbell did save a slot for a novice.
On the way to the stars, a spaceman in stasis finds himself lost in an increasingly convoluted nightmare. Is this part of the process, or has something gone off the rails?
Reading this story was akin to hearing someone tell you about the dreams they had last night. It's usually fascinating for the teller and dull for the audience. The ending to the tale, however, pulls this piece into the low three star range.
Winkin, Blinkin and πR²?, by R. C. FitzPatrick
by Kelly Freas
I think this one takes place in the same setting as The Circuit Riders from six years back. Cops are using emotion detectors to track down a gang of bank robbers. For the most part, the criminals keep their cool, but every so often, their ring-leader blows his stack, and it pops up as a blip on a scope at police HQ.
Kind of a dull tale, this police procedural, with a lot of casual grousing and bickering in lieu of characterization. Probably the worst piece in the mag.
Two stars.
Icarus and Einstein, by R. S. Richardson
Analog's resident astronomer offers up a science fact piece about the Earth-grazing (comparatively) asteroid of Icarus. The bulk of the piece is on how the mile-long hunk of rock could be used to test General Relativity, in the same way Mercury has been.
It's a fascinating topic, though Richardson fails to explain why General Relativity affects orbits. This is a common failing of all works on the topic, mainly because the explanation is not particularly simple to relate. Well, maybe it's not. Let me try:
There is a Special Relativity variant of Newton's law of motion, in which a bit (expression) is added to the equation to factor for an object's proximity to the speed of light. It can generally be omitted at the low speeds we're used to since the speed of light is on the bottom of that fraction, and thus, it comes out pretty close to zero most of the time.
Similarly, with General Relativity, in addition to the effect of gravity being equal to the proportion of the masses of two objects divided by the square of their distance, there's an additional expression that factors in the warping of space by the gravity of a mass, which gets higher the closer one gets to it. As in the Special Relativity equation, the value of this expression is usually close to zero. But when the object is as massive as the Sun, and the other object gets really close, it becomes significant.
There. That wasn't so hard.
Anyway, the problem with the article isn't the content, but the presentation. I understood it, but I also majored in astrophysics. I suspect most people will scratch heads in confusion. Which is a little weird; Richardson is usually better than that.
If you recall the last installment of this serial, merchant captain David Falkayn and his raccoon-like associate, Chee Lan, had arrived at the mysterious world of Satan. The planet had been in a deep freeze for eons, but now it is approaching its hot sun, and its cryosphere is evaporating, uncovering a bonanza of valuable minerals. But 23 alien warships have suddenly also appeared, and a confrontation is inevitable.
When it occurs, Falkayn is surprised to find that Latimer, one of the five shareholders for Serendipity Inc. (the knowledge brokers that have become a linchpin of the galactic economy), is working for Gahood, a member of the minotaur-like race of aliens called the Shenn. The Shenn are using Serendipity as a kind of fifth column, and they are the first real threat to the Galactic Commonwealth.
Some genuinely thrilling scenes ensue. I particularly liked the evocative bit where Falkayn's ship, the Muddlin' Through, careens through the stormy atmosphere of Satan, 19 robotic destroyers in hot pursuit. I kept thinking, "You can't find this kind of imagery anywhere but in books. Movie technology just can't capture such magic the way the printed word can."
But just as I was about to give this segment a four on the Star-o-meter, the last five pages brought back the bawdy merchant Van Rijn and the collossal bore, Adzel, along with five pages of expositional writing.
Back to three it goes! Conclusion next month.
Leveraging human capital
I don't say this too often, but thank goodness for Analog! Clocking in at 3.1 stars, it and Fantasy and Science Fiction (3.3) are the only mags that ended above the 3 star line.
You could fit all of the above-3 stuff in a single magazine (wouldn't that be nice?) And women accounted for just 2.6% of all the new material–that is to say, thanks to Carol Emshwiller and F&SF from keeping this month from being a stag shut-out.
Another reason to look beyond plowed pastures for talent–we might get more stories by women-folk in our mags!
This July Amazing—wait, what? You thought Amazing appeared in even-numbered months? No more. The mis-dating of the April issue as June means that what was to be the June issue has been pushed back—or at least the cover date has been—to avoid the confusion and likely loss of display time and sales had the publisher released a second issue dated June. And Fantastic is pushed from July to August to keep these bimonthly magazines in alternate months rather than in direct competition.
This issue looks a little better than the last. There’s a new and seemingly higher grade of paper; the pages look less pulpy and the magazine is a bit thinner. The cover, by Johnny Bruck, is lighter and more attractive than his usual; even though there’s a line of guys waving ray guns, for the foreground he’s borrowed another sort of cliché from Ed Emshwiller—guy with firm jaw, determined expression, and clenched fist staring out towards the viewer, like he just stepped off an Ace Double. Relatively speaking, it’s a relief.
by Johnny Bruck
Once more, all but one item of fiction are reprints, though this issue’s exception is more considerable than some: House A-Fire, by Samuel R. Delany, described as a short novel (at 33 pages!) on the cover and contents page, though editor Harrison acknowledges in the letter column that it is actually an excerpt from Delany’s new novel Nova, forthcoming from Doubleday. Delany’s name is misspelled on the cover and contents page and in Harrison’s editorial, spelled correctly on the story’s title page and in the letter column. Are you getting tired of all this nit-picking? So am I. But the persistent sloppiness of this magazine continues to irritate.
Editor Harrison, clearly chafing under the reprint regime, continues to tout the non-fiction contents (seemingly the only part of the magazine that he actually controls) on the cover—“New Feature by HARRY HARRISON” (an editorial) and “New Article by ROBERT SILVERBERG POUL ANDERSON and LEROY TANNER” (the book review column).” There are also a new “Science of Man” article by Leon Stover (see below) and a London and Oslo Letter by Brian Aldiss, recounting his travels in Scandinavia. The book review column includes Robert Silverberg’s thoughtful review of Brunner’s new novel Quicksand, Poul Anderson’s slightly celebrity-struck review of Asimov’s Mysteries, and two reviews by “Leroy Tanner,” a Harrison pseudonym. One is a perfectly reasonable review of James Blish and Norman L. Knight’s A Torrent of Faces. The other, of Algis Budrys’s The Amsirs and the Iron Thorn, spends more space (about a page!) denouncing Budrys for his review in another magazine of a book Harrison co-edited than it does on Budrys’s book. This is distasteful to read and represents notably bad judgment on the editor’s part.
Harrison’s editorial, titled The Future of the Future, picks up where last issue’s mistakenly truncated editorial left off, reiterating his division of the world into SF-1, SF-2, and SF-3, and proceeding mostly to a series of platitudes. (“SF-3. This is wide open now and there are no rules. No one school is SF-3 and no one particular style or clique is any more important than the others.”) He does amusingly recount that he asked J.G. Ballard to tell him what inner space is, and he was about to answer, but just then someone interrupted them and the answer never came. The letter column, with its traditional title Or So You Say, is back as well, for those who care.
House A-Fire, by Samuel R. Delany
Delany’s excerpt House A-Fire is about a bunch of overprivileged kids who are seemingly able to gallivant around the galaxy at whim. We first meet Lorq von Ray, son of a mining magnate in the Pleaides Federation (Earth is in Draco), as a child. Lorq’s parents are big shots in local politics. They vacation (or something) on an off-the-map world called Brazillia where things are a little primitive; one of the local amusements is a variation on cockfighting. There, he meets two other children, Prince Red and his sister Ruby Red; their father, Aaron Red, is a hyper-wealthy spaceship mogul from Earth, proprietor of Red-shift Ltd. (I guess Acme was taken.) Prince has an artificial right arm and is belligerently sensitive about it.
by Gray Morrow
Young Lorq is of course brilliant and among other things, when he’s a little older, has his own spaceship, which he races in the New Ark regatta, coming in second, before heading off to a party thrown by Prince on Earth—in Paris, at the Ile St. Louis. (“Caliban can make Earth in three days.”) He and his crew arrive and Prince immediately recruits them to rescue Che-ong, “the psychodrama star,” and her hangers-on, who have gotten stuck in a snowstorm in the Himalayas and upon rescue, prove to be a bunch of stereotypically air-headed teenagers.
At the party, everyone must have masks, and Prince has prepared an elaborate pirate mask for Lorq. Delany has hinted to the reader, but kept Lorq in the dark, about Lorq’s father being involved in piracy. A bit later, Lorq encounters Ruby Red, who has gotten pretty grown up since last seen, and who lets him in on the joke. Prince shows up and tells Lorq to get away from his sister, they have a fight, and Prince lays Lorq out and messes up his face with his prosthetic fist. Lorq’s crew carries him away and Ruby shows up on the river in her skimmer-boat and takes them all to the spaceport. Later, in a final scene, we see Lorq, now back home, rich, and scarred, and contemplating his future.
This all sounds in summary like an overripe pulp space opera, but it is framed in some striking visualization and writing, as one would expect from Delany. Like Lorq’s first glimpse of the mature Ruby Red:
“Then there was this: her eyes were smashed disks of blue jade, her cheek bones angled high over the white hollows of her wide face. Her chin was wide, her mouth thin, red, and wider. Her nose fell straight from her forehead to flare at the nostrils (she breathed in the wind—and watching her, he became aware of the river’s odor, the Paris night, the city wind); these features were too austere and violent on the face of a young woman. But the authority with which they set together would make him look again, he knew, once he looked away; make him remember, once he had gone away. Her face compelled in the way that makes the merely beautiful sick with jealousy.”
Yeah, a bit hokey, but it’s good hokum, suitable to our modern age. And keep in mind that this is obviously all stage-setting for what one can hope are more substantial doings in the novel it is mined from. Four stars, optimistically.
Next up, straight from the September 1929 Amazing Stories Quarterly, is Edmond Hamilton’s Locked Worlds, all 50 pages of it. It’s a sort of mad scientist story. Dr. Adams, head of Physics at Northeastern University (a real place!), brilliant but widely disliked, discovers that the seemingly loose electrons sometimes found in atoms are really evidence that matter partakes of two worlds; our world’s electrons going around in one direction, the other world’s going in opposite directions. Room for everybody!
The rest of the profession isn’t having it and mocks Adams, who is determined to show them and get his own back. Shortly he disappears, leaving his apparatus and a pile of bluish clay behind. His assistant Rawlins comes to narrator Harker with an awful suspicion—and the newspaper clippings to prove it, sort of—that Adams has fled to the other world and that he’s planning his revenge there (the clippings refer to large and small piles of blue clay found at various places around the Earth). So what to do for Rawlins and Harker but reconstruct Adams’s apparatus, follow him into whatever world he’s gone to, and thwart him?
And so they do, finding themselves on a mostly barren world with a blazing white sun overhead and blue clay under their feet. And then—the giant spiders attack!
by Frank R. Paul
Now Hamilton does not seem just to be trading on arachnophobia here. Going forward, he refers to these giant spiders as spider-men, and shows them with a fairly advanced civilization. But still, they signify that a cliched plot is about to take off, featuring captivity, aerial escape, pursuit, return in force with Earth’s new allies the bird-men (the birds and spiders engage in a dogfight), confrontation with the mad Dr. Adams, some literal cliff-hanging, and the ultimate triumph of good over evil.
Well, that was tedious. It’s not for lack of enthusiasm on Hamilton’s part. A sample, as our heroes escape the spiders with Nor-Kan, the bird-man, in the latter’s aircraft:
“He whirled to the craft’s controls, opened its speed lever to the last notch, and sent the air-boat racing on toward the south in a burst of added speed. The great flying-platforms swiftly leapt after us, hurtling through the air at immense speed and slowly drawing ever closer toward us moving obliquely toward our own course. Closer they came, and closer, air-boat and flying-platforms cleaving the air at a velocity unthinkable; now we saw from the foremost of the platforms behind us a shaft of brilliant orange light that burned toward us at the same moment. Nor-Kan swerved the air-boat to avoid it. He turned toward us, motioned swiftly toward the long tube-like projector mounted on a swivel at the stern of our own air-boat, and which I had already noticed.
“ ‘The static-gun!’ he cried. ‘There are a few charges left in it—try to stop them with it!’ ”
Back in 1929 that would have been enough to get everyone’s blood up. But in this decadent age, hot pursuit by ray-bearing airborne spiders just doesn’t seem to make it any more. Or maybe it would take Delany to bring the spider-men to life. Two stars.
The Genius, by Ivar Jorgensen
Uncredited
The other reprints in this issue are all from the 1950s, which is not necessarily good news. Ivar Jorgensen is present with The Genius, from the September 1955 Amazing, except that Mr. Jorgensen is not really present because he doesn’t exist, being a house name used variously by Howard Browne, Harlan Ellison, Paul W. Fairman, Randall Garrett, Robert Silverberg, and Henry Slesar. It is alleged in some circles that Randall Garrett is the mystery guest this time. The story is a caveman epic, about old Zalu, who is trying to prove he’s still worth feeding so his grandson Cabo won’t bash his head in to get rid of him. His plan doesn’t work, but Zalu does something rather significant en route to getting his head bashed in. It’s short, readable, and mildly amusing. Three stars.
None of the above can be said about Milton Lesser’s The Impossible Weapon (Amazing, January 1952), which is the kind of silly finger-exercise fluff that filled the back pages of the lower-level SF magazines in the 1950s. Earth is losing a war to the League (League of what? I forget), and our hero Stokes has figured out how to counter their super-weapon, but no one will listen to him, so in cahoots with a spaceman he meets in the wake of a barroom brawl, he commandeers a spaceship and takes off and proves he can do it. Yeah, that oversimplifies a bit, but mercifully. Stokes’s invention is silly, as is the supposed scientific rationale for it, as are all the other events from the beginning of the story to the end, so much so that I can’t bear to recount them. Read the damn thing yourself if you must. One star, too generously.
This Is My Son, by Paul W. Fairman
by Tom Beecham
Paul W. Fairman’s This Is My Son is from Fantastic for October 1955, during his two-year absence from the editorial masthead of that magazine. It too is pretty dreadful. Protagonist Temple, a young physicist with a fixation on getting a son, and his new wife are trying to reproduce, without success. Temple has a great career opportunity and signs a contract taking him to South America for five years. Jill is not pleased. She wires him four months later that his son is due in five months. But he can’t go back under his contract and if he breaks it he’ll be blacklisted. After the five years he heads home to meet his son, and everybody’s happy, until he finds the manufacturer’s receipt for the android child, and reacts xenophobically. Jill slaps him across the chops and then leaves after telling him, double-edgedly, that the child is as human as he is. So he’s miserable for years, finally begins to see the error of his ways and sends the kid a gift. Then the kid lands in the hospital after saving a couple of other kids from a fire. Temple beats it to the hospital, the kid’s on the brink, so he offers an “old-fashioned blood transfusion” instead of the bottled plasma the nurse is about to give him. Curtain, music swells, everything’s going to be fine. It’s ridiculously contrived, sentimental, and manipulative, but at least demonstrates a little more craft than The Impossible Weapon. Grading on the curve, barely two stars.
Killer Apes—Not Guilty! , by Leon E. Stover
After the last two I am definitely in the mood for the contentious Dr. Stover, whose “Science of Man” article, Killer Apes—Not Guilty!, is suitably abrasive. He takes on Robert Ardrey’s best-selling African Genesis from a few years ago, and he clearly has been waiting for his chance. Ardrey attributed the bloody-minded and -handed character of homo sapiens to the apes from whom we descended. Not so, says Stover; the apes were peaceful vegetarians (though not averse to the occasional grub or worm mixed in with their roughage), and the next step up (homo erectus) were carnivorous browsers, not carnivorous hunters. We sapiens achieved our predatory status all on our own.
Along the way Stover asserts with confidence a great deal about such subjects as the effect of domesticating fire on prehistoric social life, though without much explanation of how the dots were connected. But he is also happy to patronize those of a different view, such as Ardrey’s favorite, the distinguished Professor Raymond Dart, late of the University of Witwatersrand: “Everybody is more than willing to let the old gentleman play with his pet theory that Australopithecus stood up to adult baboons and clouted them with humerus bones taken from antelopes. Few take it seriously.” Good times! Three stars.
Summing Up
Once more, business as usual at Amazing: signs of editorial vitality struggling to be seen beneath the clammy wet blanket of the publisher’s reprint policy, against the backdrop of negligent or indifferent production. The stalemate continues.
The universe is based on a host of magic numbers. Without them, the cosmos would be entirely different and probably uninhabitable. Some of these "constants" are familiar to the layman, Pi perhaps being the most so. Engineers are familiar with electron-Volts and atomic masses. Chemists know Avogadro's number, the relationship between atomic mass and metric mass. Mathematicians know e.
e is a truly fascinating number. Roughly equal to 2.71828, it is the fundament of exponential growth. For example, if you have a $1 compounded annually at 100% interest, at the end of a year you'll have $2. If you have $1 compounded monthly at 100% interest, at the end of the year you'll have $2.62. If you have $1 compounded continuously (i.e. over an infinite number of instants), you will have $2.71828 at the end of the year.
In calculus, if you integrate the function e to the x power, you get… e to the x power! Conversely, of course, the derivative of e to the x is e to the x. That means that e to the x is the one function whose rate of change is the same as its position is the same as its acceleration.
What does this have to do with Analog Science Fiction, particularly this latest issue?
by Kelly Freas
Well, when you have the same editor for 30 years, and he hires the same writers every issue, and he has a rigid editorial policy that eschews innovation and prioritizes certain pseudo-scientific fetishes, you end up with a certain kind of consistency. Not necessarily a desirable consistency, but consistency nevertheless. Read on, and you'll see what I mean.
You know you're in trouble when Chris Anvil gets the cover. Actually, this continuan of the saga of Captain Roberts and his crew of two isn't so bad. Previous installments had the trio serendipitously developing a mind-control ray and using it to wrest a planet from a despotic computer. Then the three posed as nobility to sway said planet further. It was all very glib and distasteful, and I didn't like it.
This story spends two thirds of its length rehashing the events of those stories for new readers and then bringing the trio back, making it a quartet (with Bergen from a story in the December 1967 issue), and unleashing them on a new problem. A somewhat primitive planet is fractured into more than a dozen petty kingdoms, and the Interstellar Patrol needs a majority of them to agree in order to establish a base. In the last third of Royal Road, we get the solution to this conundrum. It mostly involves creating an economic catastrophe that only kingdoms favorable to the Imperial Patrol are equipped to address, thus putting these kingdoms on top. Anvil does note that the gambit could have killed millions, so at least things aren't quite so glib as before.
At least now the quartet of Captain Roberts has been transformed into a sort of Retief series. Anything's an improvement. Anyway, I didn't hate it. A low three stars, I guess.
After the vastly superior alien federation shows up on Earth, a sociologist is brought back to see what he assumes will be their advanced technology. Instead, it turns out that humans have been quite a bit more successful than the ee-tees, at least in one vital field.
A Twilight Zone episode writ small, but inoffensive. Three stars.
Kent is a person with a literal split personality. His left half is under the control of a silent partner, dubbed "Pard", while Kent, nominally the "dominant" personality, runs the right half. Together, they lead a pleasant life as an extremely successful concert pianist. That is until Pard gets them both tangled up in a spy conspiracy that threatens not just the world…but themselves!
I liked the story's handling of mental handicaps, and it's a pleasant piece overall. Three stars, but the highest three stars in the issue.
It's RIGHT Over Your Nose!, by Ben Bova
by Kelly Freas
In this science-ish article, Bova suggests that quasars, highly red-shifted quasi-stellar radio sources, may in fact be Bussard ramjets run by aliens. Thus, rather than being natural phenomena of tremendous power far outside the galaxy, they are artificial phenomena of middlin' power within.
I tend to prefer natural over artificial solutions to problems. Plus, why is every star-drive in the galaxy going away from us?
Still, it's readable, if breathless. Three stars.
The Mind Reader, by Rob Chilson
by Leo Summers
Robot mini-planes prove to be decisive in the next Southeast Asian war. This story is told mostly in dialogue between two people in a sort of "As you know, Bob…" fashion.
The concept is interesting and unique. The story is not compellingly told. Two stars.
Finally, we have the next installment in Satan's World, which started last month. The crew of Muddlin' Through was split up when David Falkayn was abducted by Serendpity Inc., a galactic information clearing house. This provoked Polesotechnic League magnate Nicholas Van Rijn to take a personal hand in things, sending Adzel the saurian centaur to retrieve the poor lad.
Turns out Falkayn (predictably) had been brainwashed. It also turns out that Serendipity is working with, perhaps in the thrall of, a race of mysterious aliens known as the Elders. The ulterior motive of this ostensibly neutral organization suggests some new power may be planning some kind of galactic conquest.
Meanwhile, Chee Lan the foul-mouthed Cynthian and Falkayn head to the world Serendipity told him about in part one–the frozen world in a cometary orbit that is closing in on its star, Beta Crucis. This will cause its cryosphere to melt, revealing a mother-lode of precious metals. But Van Rijn's team isn't the only one interested in the world, aptly dubbed "Satan". Twenty UFOs have just dropped out of hyperspace in the vicinity, and they don't look friendly…
Anderson has a lot of tics I don't like, particularly his drawing of characters as…well, assemblages of tics. Adzel is a placid Buddhist, Falkayn is a cipher, Chee Lan is a salty Little Old Lady from Pasadena, and Van Rijn is a lustier, more Dutch version of Raymond Burr's Ironside.
The author also devotes lots of ink to the physical descriptions of his astronomical creations, which I'm sure are fascinating to some, but perhaps are most gratifying for the three cents a word they earn him.
That said, just as I start to get bored, I find myself turning the page and reading on. So, another three star segment.
Less than Three
So, just like the constant "e", Analog clocks in at just under three. Indeed, that's how I feel about the magazine as a whole lately. Sure, there are better issues than others, and sure, there are some standout pieces, but for the most part, I find myself doing anything–cleaning the bathroom ceilings, cataloging my 45s, sorting stamps–rather than read Analog. Not that I hate the experience when I get to it. It simply doesn't give the thrill of anticipation that Galaxy still gives me after all of these years. Even F&SF, which hasn't been terrific since 1962, retains residual goodwill.
Of course, this month's Analog clocks in at 2.9 (rounding up 2.85), which is better than Fantasy and Science Fiction (2.6). But it's worse than Galaxy (3.1) and IF (3.3).
It was a really thin month for magazines, and out of the four that were published, the better-than-three-star stories would barely fill one of them. At least women wrote 11% of new fiction pieces, which is on the higher end lately.
Well, here's hoping that next month's Analog picks a different constant to ape, if it can. And let's hope it's not Planck's Constant!
Luna 14 is the Soviet Union's latest space success story. Launched April 7, it slipped into lunar orbit a couple of days later and began relaying data. Per TASS, the spacecraft is still working fine, returning space weather reports and mapping the moon's hidden contours through the wobbling of its path due to lunar gravity.
No pictures have been returned, nor has there been any mention of an onboard camera. However, since Luna 12 (launched October '66) did have one, it is generally believed that Luna 14 has one too–and it broke. We'll probably never know.
Campbell's Seven
The latest issue of Analog is also not an unmixed bag. However, it's still the best issue of the mag by a long shot since January. That's something worth celebrating!
David Falkayn is back! The fair-haired protoge of Polesotechnic League magnate Nicholas van Rijn has been sent to Earth to find untold fortune. More specifically, to inquire at Serendipity Inc., storehouse of all the universe's lore, for the quickest route between Point A (Falkayn) and Point B (wealth). It's amazing what can be done with computers in the Mumblethieth Century!
by Kelly Freas
To do so, he puts himself at the mercy of the board of Serendipity, becoming a guest on their lunar estate. His crewmates, Adzel the monastic saurian who talks like Beast from The X-Men, and Chee, who talks like Nick Fury from Sgt. Fury, stay behind…and worry.
With good reason, for Falkayn has been shanghaied, purportedly in love with one of the Serendipity board, but probably brainwashed or something. Van Rijn gives Adzel and Chee the green light to investigate.
Falkayn stories are always somewhere in the lower middle for Anderson–serviceable but unexciting. Once again, the author utilizes some cheap tricks to move things along, even calling them out in text in an attempt to excuse them (the long explanation of Serendipity's modus operandi; the sudden coincidence of a call by a critical character, etc.) None of the characters is particularly interesting, perhaps because of the extremely broad brush with which they're described, particularly Van Rijn.
Nevertheless, mediocre is pretty good for a Falkayn story, and I'm kind of interested. Plus, Anderson's astronomy is always pretty good.
Three stars so far.
Exile to Hell, by Isaac Asimov
by Kelly Freas
This story is remarkable for being the first time Isaac has appeared in Analog (the magazine was Astounding when wrote for Campbell). It is otherwise unremarkable–this vignette is written in '40s style, with a hoary "twist" ending, which was already incorporated as one of many elements in The Moon is a Harsh Mistress.
This one surprised me: alien anarchists, who by their law are forbidden to have polities larger than 10,000 people, take over a recovering post-nuclear Earth. The Terrans are worried that they will suffer a fate similar to that of the Cherokees–annihilation, assimilation, relocation, or a combination of all three.
Told from the point of view of one the conquerers, it very much seems like this will be one of those fatuous Campbellian tales where it turns out that free enterprise and libertarianism are the superior forces, and that the solution to "the aboriginal problem" has a neat and obvious solution.
But the story has a sting in its tail.
I had not expected to find an anti-capitalist, anti-libertarian screed in the pages of Analog, much less an acknowledgement of the American genocide…yet there it is! And because the viewpoint character is an alien (and a comparatively sympathetic one, at that), the full impact of the story is saved for the end.
Prox(y)ad(miral) Elmo Ixton lands his patrol ship, the sentient craft, Rollo, on the planet of Roseate on the trail of a rebel proxad who has gone to ground and recruited a network of criminal accomplices. The agoraphobic and irritable Ixton ingratiates himself with very few people, but he does get his man…in time for the tables to be turned when the renegade takes over his ship.
Luckily, Rollo is not about to become an unwitting accomplice.
Not bad. I didn't much like the Gestapo methods with which the "good guys" extracted the truth from suspects, though.
Three stars.
Fear Hound, by Katherine MacLean
by Kelly Freas
In late 20th Century New York, the city seethes with a despair so palpable, it almost seems the echoes of one person's broadcast pain. Indeed, that is exactly what it is. And the Rescue Squad, a corps of intellectual empaths, are on the case to find the source before s/he perishes in anguish, and in the process, telepathically pushes hundreds, maybe thousands more, to the brink of insanity or even death.
There's a lot of neat stuff in this one. Obviously, you have to buy telepathy as plausible (something Campbell obviously does). Given that, the idea of a group of people tracking down injured folk by their subtle telepathic emanations, and the unconscious mass effects these have on others, is pretty innovative. MacLean writes in the deft, immediate style that has made her one of SF's leading lights for two decades; the dreamy, choppy execution fits the circumstances of the story.
On the other hand, the bits about smart people essentially providing the brain for dozens of sub-average IQ types through unconscious telepathic links was something I found distasteful. There are also a few, lengthy explainy bits that could have been better worked in, I think.
A high three stars.
Project Island Bounce, by Lawrence A. Perkins
by Kelly Freas
The alien Ysterii arrive on an Earth not unlike that depicted in Conquest by Default. Here, the crisis is that the blobby amphibians prefer the archipelagos of Asianesia to the dry expanses of Eurica. This is causing a trade imbalance that will ultimately not only destabilize the world, but potentially lead to a cut-off of peaceful relations with the galaxy altogether.
Perkins doesn't tell the story very well, especially compared to Vinge's writing, and the "solution" is dumb. Two stars.
Skysign, by James Blish
by Leo Summers
Carl Wade, a Berkeley radical type finds himself trapped on an alien vessel floating above San Francisco. As memory returns to his headachey brain, he recalls the he was the one "lay volunteer" among dozens of men and women chosen as ambassadors for their various technical expertise.
Now, Carl and a hundred-odd humans are prisoners in the gilded cage of the ship, offered all manner of food and a fair bit of recreation. But they are nevertheless under the control of the alien crew, humanoids in skintight suits, with the ability to teleport and put the human captives to sleep at any time.
That is, until Carl, with the help of the Jeanette Hilbert, a brilliant meteorologist, figure out how to wrest control of the whole system from the aliens. That's only half the story, since Carl and Jeanette have differing ideas on what to do with absolute power.
I liked this story, and Blish does a good job of putting us in the boots of a not-entirely savory character. I find it particularly interesting that our radical protagonist is something of a jerk; I originally thought that this might be a subtle, anti-leftist dig, but Blish is an outspoken peacenik, so I think he just wanted to create a nuanced character.
Four stars.
Batting Average
Analog thus ends up at a reasonable 3.1 stars–not stellar, but certainly worth the 60 cents you pay for it (less if you have the subscription, of course). That puts it at the bottom of the new mags (vs. IF and Fantasy and Science Fiction (3.5), but better than the reprints (Fantastic (2.7) and Amazing (2.0)). The magazine average for the month was 3.1.
All told, if you took the four and five star stories of this month and squished them into one mag…well, you'd need one and a half. That amounts to about 40% of all new fiction this month. Again, not bad.
The sad news is only one story this month was woman-penned, making up for 4.3% of the newly published works. And that one was MacLean's, meaning Analog wins this month's pink ribbon in a mass forfeit.
Well, I suppose you take your victories where you find them. At least we ended up on the positive side of the ledger this month…
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![[June 30, 1968] Hawk among the sparrows (July 1968 <i>Analog</i>)](https://i0.wp.com/galacticjourney.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/680630cover.jpg?resize=672%2C372&ssl=1)
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![[May 31, 1968] Euler's Issue (June 1968 <i>Analog</i>)](https://i0.wp.com/galacticjourney.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2023/05/680531cover.jpg?resize=672%2C372&ssl=1)
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