Category: Carol Emshwiller

Hunting Machine by Carol Emshwiller

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Hunting Machine by Carol Emshwiller (Science Fiction Stories, May 1957) opens with Joe illegally modifying their robotic “hound” so he and his wife Ruthie can hunt a 1500lb black bear they saw the previous day. It will be the final trophy of their holiday.
The next day Joe releases the robot hound, and the pair then have a comfortable breakfast in the luxury camping site that has been provided for them. Later on the hound sends a signal indicating it has sighted the bear and is following it at a distance. Despite the bear’s best efforts, it cannot evade the hound.
Later on, after the couple have been following the hounds’ signal for a couple of hours, they start getting close to the bear:

[They] stopped for lunch by the side of the same stream the bear had waded, only lower down. And they used its cold water on their dehydrated meal—beef and onions, mashed potatoes, a lettuce salad that unfolded in the water like Japanese paper flowers. There were coffee tablets that contained a heating unit too and fizzled in the water like firecracker fuses until the water was hot, creamy coffee.
The bear didn’t stop to eat. Noon meant nothing to him. Now he moved with more purpose, looking back and squinting his small eyes.
The hunter felt the heart beat faster, the breathing heavy, pace increasing. Direction generally south.
Joe and Ruthie followed the signal until it suddenly changed. It came faster; that meant they were near.
They stopped and unfolded their guns. “Let’s have a cup of coffee first,” Ruthie said.
“Okay, Hon.” Joe released the chairs which blew themselves up to size. “Good to take a break so we can really enjoy the fight.”

While they have their coffee, the hound is instructed to goad the bear into a fury before it starts driving it towards them. When the pair eventually sight the bear, and it runs towards them (spoiler), they only give it a couple of medium energy shots to prolong the “fight”. Then they get in each other’s way and fall over—and Joe panics and orders the hound to intervene. It quickly kills the bear and, afterwards, Joe surveys the corpse and decides it is too moth-eaten to skin for a trophy.
This is quite well done for the most part, and the story makes its point about the cruelty and vacuousness of hunting (especially when you have such an overwhelming technological advantage). However, the story’s final events are flat and anticlimactic, and I’d rather hoped there would be a clever biter-bit ending.
**+ (Average to Good). 2,200 words. Story link.

Day at the Beach by Carol Emshwiller

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Day at the Beach by Carol Emshwiller (F&SF, August 1959) begins with two (hairless) parents discussing, over their oatmeal, the dangers in commuting to the city to get food. Thereafter we get other hints that this is a post-holocaust or post-Collapse future when a discussion about a possible trip to the beach has mention of the boardwalk having been used for firewood and, when the couple’s three-year old comes in from outside, he is described as having down growing along his backbone (the woman wonders “if that was the way the three year olds had been before”). The child also bites a small chunk out of his mother’s shoulder when she chastises him for knocking over his oatmeal.
After this setup the couple decide—partly because they think it’s Saturday, partly because it’s a nice day—to go to the beach: they fill the car with only enough petrol to get there, and take a can’s worth for the return trip (which they plan to hide while they are on the beach). They also take weapons: a wrench for her, and a hammer for him.
On the drive there they see only a solitary cyclist and then, when they get to the beach, no-one at all. Later on, however, three men appear and threaten them, saying they want the couple’s gasoline. There is then an altercation during which the husband kills the leader with his hammer and the other two run off. Then the couple realise that the child has disappeared.
The remainder of the story sees the couple searching for the kid, and the husband eventually bringing him back. At this point the wife notes that they have time for one last swim (this with the attacker’s body still lying nearby). Then, on the way home:

He fell asleep in her lap on the way home, lying forward against her with his head at her neck the way she liked. The sunset was deep, with reds and purples.
She leaned against Ben. “The beach always makes you tired,” she said. “I remember that from before too. I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”
They drove silently along the wide empty parkway. The car had no lights, but that didn’t matter.
“We did have a good day after all,” she said. “I feel renewed.”
“Good,” he said.
[. . .]
“We had a good day,” she said again. “And Littleboy saw the sea.” She put her hand on the sleeping boy’s hair, gently so as not to disturb him and then she yawned. “I wonder if it really was Saturday.”  p. 174 (The Year’s Best SF #5, edited by Judith Merril, 1961)

This is an effectively dystopian piece, but its impact will probably be blunted for most readers by the many similar tales that have appeared since. I suspect, however, this story was notably grim for the time, and it foreshadows later new wave stories.
*** (Good). 4,100 words. Story link.