Tag: short story

An Inquiry Concerning the Curvature of the Earth’s Surface and Divers Investigations of a Metaphysical Nature by Roger Price

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An Inquiry Concerning the Curvature of the Earth’s Surface and Divers Investigations of a Metaphysical Nature by Roger Price (Monocle Magazine, 1958) is an undeveloped squib about a growing Flat Earth movement in what would seem to be an alternate world:

This Movement may turn out to be idealistic and premature but nevertheless I believe it should have “its day in court.” We must remember that people once laughed at men whose names are now household words as familiar to us as our own; men such as Oliver and Wilmer Write, Eli Fulton and Thomas Steamboat. The Flat Earthers are quite progressive in all of their ideas and they plan to get national publicity for their Movement next New Year’s Day by pushing a number of people off the edge. Their only difficulty so far has been in obtaining volunteers.  p. 162 (The Year’s Best SF #5, edited by Judith Merril, 1961)

Not worth the two pages it is printed on.
– (Poor). 500 words.

Mariana by Fritz Leiber

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Mariana by Fritz Leiber (Fantastic, February 1960) opens with Mariana discovering a secret panel of switches in her house, one of which has a lit sign labelled “Trees” underneath. When her husband Jonathan comes home from work she asks him about the switches:

“Didn’t you know they were radio trees? I didn’t want to wait twenty-five years for them and they couldn’t grow in this rock anyway. A station in the city broadcasts a master pine tree and sets like ours pick it up and project it around homes. It’s vulgar but convenient.”
After a bit she asked timidly, “Jonathan, are the radio pine trees ghostly as you drive through them?”
“Of course not! They’re solid as this house and the rock under it—to the eye and to the touch too. A person could even climb them. If you ever stirred outside you’d know these things. The city station transmits pulses of alternating matter at sixty cycles a second. The science of it is over your head.”  p. 156 (The Year’s Best SF #5, edited by Judith Merril, 1961)

While Jonathan is away at work the next day (spoiler) she switches off the trees, much to his annoyance when he comes home—and then exacerbates matters the next day when she switches off the “House”. Next to go is “Jonathan” when he angrily confronts her; then she switches off the “Stars” in the sky above.
After sitting in the dark for several hours (no sun rises as there are no stars) she notices the fifth switch is off and labelled “Doctor”. She switches this one on and shortly finds herself in a hospital room. A mechanical voice asks her whether she wants to accept treatment for her depression or continue with the wish-fulfilment therapy. Mariana responds by turning off the “Doctor” switch on a pedestal beside her and, when she is back in her virtual reality, she turns off the switch labelled “Mariana”.
This last action doesn’t really make any sense—why would therapy program let her suicide?—but the surreal, dream-like logic of the story may work for some readers.
** (Average). 1,900 words.

The Sword Against the Stars by A. F. Hall

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The Sword Against the Stars by A. F. Hall1 (New Worlds #159, February 1966) begins pretty much as it goes on:

Dated the 42nd year of our exile
The earth this year is death and stinking rubble, a pall of broken glass and rusted, empty cans. The earth this year is a thousand blasted cities, bleak and broken skylines, skeletons of buildings connected with crazy paving. There are some parts of our city which still burn with sporadic fires; a water main bursts and somewhere a stray dog howls. The earth this year is scarred and seared to wasteland, a planetary ghetto where all that’s left is dying, crawling to its slow, inevitable ending. The earth this year is sick of a million plagues, gaunt famines and a mad child’s crying.  p. 101

This initially appears to be a post-nuclear holocaust tale but we later discover that the devastation is the result of an alien invasion. The rest of the story is mostly description, and there is very little incident: a “dust priest” turns up at the narrator’s settlement; the group go scavenging in a city; the narrator finds a sword (which prompts much speculation about why there are red jewels in the handle):

The seven rubies must represent the stars—but why are the stars red? The sun is made of gold and the moon is silver but the stars glow with an angry light. When I was very young I used to think that the stars were white diamonds scattered on black velvet, I would have made the stars out of diamonds if the sword had been mine. It was only the forger of the sword who knew better, he must have known that the stars were hostile and he set seven red stones in his sword, red for the colour of war. He chose red stones so that those who came after him should remember when they saw his warning—but we who came after, we forgot. How did he know?  p. 109

Although the description is well enough done, there is far too much of it: this makes for a dull piece.
* (Mediocre). 4,200 words.

1. This is Hall’s only SF story, according to ISFDB.

Temporary Resident by Philip E. High

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Temporary Resident by Philip E. High (New Worlds #159, February 1966) opens with a Terran representative called Savaran almost rammed by another car on a planet called Spheriol. Savaran continues his journey but, further down the road, he sees his own car being towed—it appears to have side impact damage. Matters become even odder when he arrives at his Embassy to find it staffed by people he doesn’t know. The next morning he wakes up to see a doctor standing by his bedside who explains that he is in “transition”, and is on another “plane of existence”.
Later he meets people from his life who he thought were long dead, and discusses Terran defence plans with one of them. At this point (spoiler) the story cuts to a Spheriol minister talking to a man called Detrick, who is explaining that Savaran’s experience is all a ruse (he is at a false location which is staffed with actors) set up to let them defeat the anti-interrogation brain psychographing he has undergone.
The final twist, which has Savaran turning up at the building where the Minister and Detrick are holding their meeting, sees Savarand fade out of existence after he arrives there. The Minister then reveals to Detrick that he is the one experiencing a plane of existence shift, but a real one, and not a pretence like Savaran. Or something like that—it’s one of those stories whose endings can lose you.
This doesn’t convince, and it’s essentially the same old Terran spy nonsense that had been appearing in the magazines for decades already. And a Phil Dick-ian twist at the end doesn’t improve it much.
* (Mediocre). 5,250 words.

Scherzo with Tyrannosaur by Michael Swanwick

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Scherzo with Tyrannosaur by Michael Swanwick (Asimov’s SF, July 1999) opens with the supervisor of a time travel event called The Cretaceous Ball, which is held in the past, describing the family at one of the tables. The wealthy couple seated there have a daughter, Melusine, who is eyeing Hawkins, the young palaeontologist assigned to their table. They also have a son called Phillipe, who is wildly enthusiastic about dinosaurs.
Later on, and after the supervisor is called back to the future to deal with an incident (TSOs—Time Safety Officers—have busted a couple of waiters for trying to pass information from the future to the past), he returns and is accosted by Hawkins, who reports that Melusine has been hitting on him. Matthews begs to be relieved of his hosting duties, and the supervisor tells him to write a memo about the incident and avoid his tent for the rest of the evening.
The supervisor subsequently takes over as the family’s host, and he gives Phillipe a serrated dinosaur tooth just before an aging T. Rex called Satan is drawn to the enclosure in front of the protected dining area by a blood lure. Satan subsequently charges the armoured glass and the boy is hugely impressed. After the supervisor has finished talking to the boy about his job ambitions, he recovers a fallen napkin for Melusine and gives it to her—inside there is a promotional leaflet with a note saying to meet at a specific tent later—but signed not with the supervisor’s name but with Matthews’.
The final piece of the setup takes place shortly afterwards, when the supervisor sleeps with Melusine in Matthews’ dark tent; she is unaware of who she is with. Meanwhile the supervisor, thanks to a note from his future self, thinks about Matthews outside the compound—where he is about to be killed by Satan.
The denouement of the story unwinds the setup (spoiler), and this begins when the supervisor reads Hawkins’ memo later on. This reveals that Hawkins is the grown up Phillipe, and that he isn’t Melusine’s brother but her son, who was transported back in time so the grandparents could bring up him and Melusine as sister and brother. Then the supervisor realises that he is Phillipe’s father—that the boy is the result of the encounter he has just had with Melusine—and he sits down to send a note to himself in the past that will prevent his son’s death. However, before he can do that, a much older version of himself turns up and advises against his intended actions (saying, among other things, that the mysterious “Unchanging” will remove humanity’s ability to time travel). The older man finally hands the supervisor a version of the memo that simply tells of Hawkins’ death, and the story closes with the supervisor making a decision about which one to send.
This is a very cleverly plotted and inventive story but it is also a little unengaging. This is maybe because the supervisor is an unlikeable character, and it’s hard to care what his decision will be, and also, perhaps, that the story is pretty tightly packed and everything seems to rush by (which makes Swanwick’s stories the mirror image of much of today’s bloat).
Although it’s a good enough story it wouldn’t have been my choice for the 2000 Hugo Award for Best Short Story. 1
*** (Good). 4,550 words.

1. The story’s other award nominations can be seen on its ISFDB page. It seems to have been fighting it out with another Swanwick story, Ancient Engines (Asimov’s SF, February 1999).

Hi, Sancho! by Paul Jents

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Hi, Sancho! by Paul Jents (New Worlds #159, February 1966) starts with a fugitive in the future making a perilous crossing of one road (with high-speed traffic) to get to another, northbound, one that will take him to the city. After he manages to hitch a lift he ends up at an old flame’s house and, after a night with her, later ends up with a black man who wants to stage a bombing. Worried about the loss of innocent life, the fugitive hides the explosives and calls security.
The story then cuts to the fugitive’s interrogation, which involves a data dump about camps in Africa and a forced eugenics program. He escapes again, and takes the explosive back to the institution where he was being imprisoned. In the closing passage there is some reference to Don Quixote that I didn’t get (and the character thus named refers to the fugitive as Sancho).
This is fast-paced, readable stuff, but it seems little more than a series of random episodes linked together.
* (Mediocre). 4,650 words.

Ripples in the Dirac Sea by Geoffrey A. Landis

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Ripples in the Dirac Sea by Geoffrey A. Landis (Asimov’s SF, October 1988) is about a time traveller who spends most of his time in 1965 San Francisco with a hippy friend called Dancer, and a woman called Lisa:

[Dancer] never locked the door. “Somebody wants to rip me off, well, hey, they probably need it more than I do anyway, okay? It’s cool.” People dropped by any time of day or night.
I let my hair grow long. Dancer and Lisa and I spent that summer together, laughing, playing guitar, making love, writing silly poems and sillier songs, experimenting with drugs. That was when LSD was blooming onto the scene like sunflowers, when people were still unafraid of the strange and beautiful world on the other side of reality. That was a time to live. I knew that it was Dancer that Lisa truly loved, not me, but in those days free love was in the air like the scent of poppies, and it didn’t matter. Not much, anyway.  p. 93

Woven around this central relationship thread (which eventually ends with Dancer’s premature death) are various other snippets of information and narrative: the Dirac science (or hand-wavium) that enables the time travelling device’s operation; other trips the narrator undertakes (the San Francisco earthquake in 1906, the crucifixion of Christ—where he almost dies); imaginary lectures that answer questions about time paradoxes; and so on.
This plods along until the climax of the story, which sees the narrator in a hotel room the night before he is due to unveil the time travel device to a group of scientists. However, before that can happen (spoiler), he wakes up to find his room is on fire, and we learn that he only has thirty seconds left to live—and that he has been using (and extending) that time by continually travelling to the past. He now has about ten seconds left.
I thought this was okay, and certainly improved by the climactic gimmick, but I don’t think it’s worth an Nebula Award (it won the 1990 award for short story).1 I can only assume that the 1960’s hippie nostalgia vibe did it for some readers.
I also note in passing that it is a gloomy piece, which was fairly typical of Asimov’s SF during this period if I remember correctly.
** (Average). 5,400 words.

1. The story was second in the annual Asimov’s Reader’s Poll, third in the Hugo, and 11th in the Locus list. More information on ISFDB.

Entry from Earth by Daphne Castell

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Entry from Earth by Daphne Castell (New Worlds #159, February 1966) gets off to a colourful start at a music festival on the alien planet of Pigauron. After this setup, the story cuts to Lord D’aon Auwinawo, a visiting cultural minister from Tren who is bored with the event and returns to his tents, only to be unexpectedly visited by Mirilith tak, an Assistant Secretary for the Festival, and Slok, a bulldog-like alien. The latter is the “Personal Complainant” to another of the attendees, and is there with a grievance about the noise D’aon’s slaves are making by singing during the night.
D’aon stays awake that evening to listen to them, and then orders them entered into the festival where they are received politely. After their performance, D’aon talks to one the slaves about their history, and this reveals a pattern of enslavement. The story (spoiler) subsequently ends with them singing “The Rivers of Babylon” revealing them to be Jewish slaves captured from Earth.
This has a colourful start, and an okay idea, but you can see the end coming from a mile off, even without the foreshadowing.
** (Average). 3,050

The Orbs by John Watney

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The Orbs by John Watney1 (New Worlds SF #159, February 1966) begins with the female narrator, Julia, telling of the appearance of huge floating “orbs,” (think of a much larger, longitudinal version of the spaceships in the movie Arrival) that appeared decades previously over certain parts of the Earth. After an initial period, where they provided better weather as well as a sense of general well-being for the humans below, they descended and sucked up all the people and other loose debris underneath them. This was repeated at intervals thereafter.
Julia’s tells of her grandfather’s memories of this day, and how one woman fell back down onto a tree, living long enough to describe what had happened to her:

“She screamed. ‘There’s no-one there,’ she said, ‘just cold invisible hands, taking your clothes off, hanging you upside down, and the water swishing at you from all sides. I slipped off the hook. I don’t know how. I lay in a sort of gutter. The water was swishing over me all the time. I could hardly breathe.
I was being pushed along by the water. The bodies were above. They were being split open like fish by invisible knives. Everything was falling down on top of me. The bodies swung away on the line. I fell down a chute’.”
The woman died. But there have always been a few survivors, and their accounts, incoherent though they have been, have always been much the same: the invisible hands and knives, the continuous water, the bodies swinging emptily away into the interior of the Orb. Of course, the accounts come only from the early days when the victims were not anaesthetised, when indeed no-one knew the rhythm of the Orbs and were not able to calculate in advance the exact moment they would descend in search of their prey.  p. 51

The final part of the story (spoiler) reveals that Julia has been selected as part of the next sacrificial group, and we learn of the system that developed after Earth’s initial failed resistance. The story closes with Julia’s calm participation in a sacrifice ceremony.
The weakest part of this is the alien abattoir part in the middle of the story, a silly idea that should probably have been left in the 1930’s pulp magazines. But the beginning of this is okay, as is the ending which describes human society’s adaptation (beauty contests are one of the ways the best are selected for the orbs). Julia’s dutiful acceptance of her fate is a particularly interesting (and novel) aspect of the story.
** (Average). 5,050 words.

1. This was John Watney’s only story, although it looks from his ISFDB page that he wrote a biography or book about Mervyn Peake (who may possibly have been his connection to Michael Moorcock, the editor of New Worlds).

The Dreamsman by Gordon R. Dickson

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The Dreamsman by Gordon R. Dickson (Star Science Fiction #6, 1959) begins with a Mr Willer shaving, until:

[He] poises the razor for its first stroke—and instantly freezes in position. For a second he stands immobile. Then his false teeth clack once and he starts to pivot slowly toward the northwest, razor still in hand, quivering like a directional antenna seeking its exact target. This is as it should be. Mr. Willer, wrinkles, false teeth and all, is a directional antenna.  p. 78 (The Year’s Best SF #5, edited by Judith Merril, 1961)

Shortly afterwards, Willer goes to a house and confronts the couple who live there, stating that they are telepaths who are transmitting. After he manages to win their confidence (admitting in the process that he is almost two hundred years old) he tells the couple that he can take them to a colony of similarly talented people. They then drive to a military base and, after Willer has hypnotised his way past the soldiers and guards, reach a spaceship that will supposedly take the couple to Venus.
At this point (spoiler) a man dressed in silver mesh arrives and reveals that Willer routinely disposes of psi-capable people so Earth people won’t evolve and be admitted into Galactic Society (of which the silver-mesh man is a representative). The reason? Mr Willer likes things the way they are.
An unconvincing squib that is a collection of worn out clichés.
* (Mediocre). 2,850 words.