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Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Lensman Smith




LENSMAN "SKYLARK" SMITH 



Great stories are not born but exist without framework. E.E. "Doc" Smith crafted a multi-volume story which deemed to tell itself truly with the final volume entitled "Children of the Lens".

Here was the full-blown Lensmen Experience as never before. As much a mystical experience as rousing adventure narrative the story reached the true pinnacle of author intent and the sweeping billions of year saga was brought to cataclysmic finale with exacting fortitude by the highly acknowledged master of scientific fiction.

He was not particularly prolific when you look at the publishing record; yet rest assured it is amazing qualitatively, sporadic as it was.

Doc's fiction was sneered at by a few and certainly areas are laughable by today's cultural standards but to his legions of fans he was largely esteemed in the fore-front of epic fiction. The term pulp was coined for stories such as Doc's; and his original books - published intermittently via serialization - had millions waiting impatiently for next month's issue.

Nevertheless Doc was a very busy writer - writing late into his life- as long as he possibly could.




Zabriskan Fontema


Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Hyperland - excerpt from "Skylark of Valeron"


Thanks Stephen Lucchetti for reminding of this amazing passage...


Chapter 11


HYPER-LAND


Raging but impotent, Seaton stood motionless beside his friend's wife upon the slowly rising lift; while Crane, Dorothy, and Shiro remained in the control room of the Skylark. All were helpless, incapable alike of making a single movement not authorized by their grotesque captors. Feeble the hypermen were, as has been said; but at the first tensing of a human muscle in revolt there shot from the insulated teeth of the grappling hypertrident such a terrific surge of unbearably poignant torture that any thought of resistance was out of the question. Even Seaton-fighter by instinct though he was, and reckless as he was and desperate at the thought of being separated from his beloved Dorothy-had been able to endure only three such shocks. The unimaginable anguish of the third rebuke, a particularly vicious and long-continued wrenching and wringing of the most delicate nerve centers of his being, had left him limp and quivering. He was still furious, still bitterly humiliated. His spirit was willing, but he was physically unable to drive his fiendishly tortured body to further acts of rebellion. Thus it was that the improvised elevator of the hypermen carried two docile captives as itwent past not through the spherical arenak shell of Skylark Two and up the mighty well which the vessel had driven in its downward plunge. The walls of that pit were glassily smooth; or, more accurately, were like slag; as though the peculiarly unsubstantial rock of the hyper planet had been actually melted by the force of the cruiser's descent, easy and gradual as the fall had seemed to the senses of the Terrestrials. It was apparent also that the hypermen were having difficulty in lifting the, to them, tremendous weight of the two human bodies. The platform would go up a few feet, then pause. Up and pause, up and pause; again and again. But at last they reached the top of the well, and, wretched as he was, Seaton had to grin when he perceived that they were being hoisted by a derrick, whose over-driven engine, attended though it was by a veritable corps of mechanics, could lift them only a few feet at a time. Coughing and snorting, it ran slower and slower until, released from the load, it burst again into free motion to build up sufficient momentum to lift them another foot or so. And all about the rim of that forty-foot well there were being erected other machines. Trusses were rising into the air, immense chains were being forged, and additional motors were being assembled. It was apparent that the Skylark was to be raised; and itwas equally evident that to the hypermen that raising presented an engineering problem of no small magnitude.
"She'll be right here when we get back, Peg, as far as those jaspers are concerned,"Seaton informed his companion.
"If they have to slip their clutches to lift the weight of just us two, they'll have one sweet job getting the old Skylark back up here. They haven't got the slightest idea of what they're tackling-they can't begin to pile enough of that kind of machinery in this whole part of the country to budge her."
"You speak as though you were quite certain of our returning," Margaret spoke somberly. "I wish that I could feel that way."
"Sure I'm certain of it," Seaton assured her. "I've got it all figured out. Nobody can maintain one hundred per cent vigilance forever, and as soon as I get back into shape from that last twisting they gave me, I'll be fast enough to take advantage of the break when it comes."
"Yes, but suppose it doesn't come?"
"It's bound to come sometime. The only thing that bothers me is that I can't even guessat when we're due to snap back into our own three-dimensional space. Since we couldn't detect any motion in an ether wave, though, I imagine that we'll have lots of time, relatively speaking, to get back here before the Skylark leaves. Ah! I wondered if they were going to make us walk to wherever it is they're taking us, but I see we ride-there comes something that must be an airship. Maybe we can make our break now instead of later."
But the hyperman did not relax his vigilance for an instant as the vast, vague bulk of theflier hovered in the air beside their elevator. A port opened, a short gangplank shot out, and under the urge of the punishing tridents the two human beings stepped aboard. A silent flurry ensued among the weird crew of the vessel as its huge volume sank downward under the unheard-of-mass of the two captives, but no opportunity was afforded for escape-the gripping tridents did not relax, and at last the amazed officers succeeded in driving their motors sufficiently to lift the prodigious load into the air of the hyper planet.
"Take a good long look around, Peg, so that you can help find our way back," Seaton directed, and pointed out through the peculiarly transparent wall of their conveyance.
"See those three peaks over there, the only hills in sight? Our course is about twelve or fifteen degrees off the line of the right-hand two-and there's something that looks like a river down below us. The bend there is just about on line-see anything to mark it by?"
"Well, there's a funny-looking island, kind of heart-shaped, with a reddish-colored spire of rock--see it?"
"Fine-we ought to be able to recognize that. Bend, heart-island, red obelisk on what we'llcall the upstream end. Now from here, what? Oh, we're turning-going upstream. Fine business! Now we'll have to notice when and where we leave this river, lake, or whatever it is."
They did not, however, leave the course of the water. For hundreds of miles, apparently, it was almost perfectly straight, and for hours the airship of the hypermen bored through the air only a few hundred feet above its gleaming surface. Faster and faster the hypership flew onward, until it became a whistling, yelling projectile, tearing its way at aterrific but constant velocity through the complaining air.
But while that which was beneath them was apparently the fourth dimensional counterpart of an Earthly canal, neither water nor landscape was in any sense familiar. No sun was visible, nor moon, nor the tiniest twinkling star. Where the heavens should have been there was merely a void of utter, absolute black, appalling in its uncompromising profundity. Indeed, the Terrestrials would have thought themselves blind were it not for the forbidding, Luciferean vegetation which, self-luminous with a ghastly bluish-violet pseudo-light, extended outward-flat-in every direction to infinity.
"What's the matter with it, Dick?" demanded Margaret, shivering. "It's horrible, awful, unsettling. Surely anything that is actually seen must be capable of description? But this .. ."
Her voice died away.
"Ordinarily, three-dimensionally, yes; but this, no," Seaton assured her. "Remember that our brains and eyes, now, really pseudo-fourth-dimensional, are capable of seeing those things as they actually are; but that our entities-intelligences-whatever you like-are still three-dimensional and can neither comprehend nor describe them. We can grasp them only very roughly by transposing them into our own three-dimensional concepts, and that is a poor subterfuge that fails entirely to convey even an approximate idea. As for that horizon-or lack of it-it simply means that this planet is so big that it looks flat. Maybe it is flat in the fourth dimension-I don't know!"
Both fell silent, staring at the weird terrain over which they were being borne at such an insane pace. Along its right line above that straight watercourse sped the airship, a shrieking arrow; and to the right of the observers and to left of them spread, as far as the eye could reach, a flatly unbroken expanse of the ghostly, livid, weirdly self-luminous vegetation of the unknowable hyperworld. And, slinking, leaping, or perchance flyingbetween and among the boles and stalks of the rank forest growth could be glimpsed monstrous forms of animal life. Seaton strained his eyes, trying to see them more clearly; but owing to the speed of theship, the rapidity of the animals' movements, the unsatisfactory illumination, and the extreme difficulty of translating at all rapidly the incomprehensible four-dimensional forms into their three-dimensional equivalents, he could not even approximate either the size or the appearance of the creatures with which he, unarmed and defenseless, might have to deal.
"Can you make any sense out of those animals down there, Peg?" Seaton demanded.
"See, there's one just jumped out of the river and seemed to fly into that clump of bamboo-like stuff there. Get any details?"
"No. What with the poor light and everything being so awful and so distorted, I can hardly see anything at all. Why-what of them?"
"This of 'em. We're coming back this way, and we may have to come on foot. I'll try to steal a ship, of course, but the chance that we'll be able to get one-or to run it after we do get it-is mighty slim. But assuming that we are afoot, the more we know about what we're apt to go up against the better we'll be able to meet it. Oh, we're slowing down-been wondering what that thing up ahead of us is. It looks like a cross between the Pyramid of Cheops and the old castle of Bingen on the Rhine, but I guess it's a city-it seems to be where we're headed for."
"Does this water actually flow out from the side of that wall, or am I seeing things?" the girl asked.
"It seems to-your eyes are all right, I guess. But why shouldn't it? There's a big archway,you notice-maybe they use it for power or something, and this is simply an outfall . . ."
"Oh, we're going in!" Margaret exclaimed, her hand flashing out to Seaton's arm.
"Looks like it, but they probably know their stuff." He pressed her hand reassuringly.
"Now, Peg, no matter what happens, stick to me as long as you possibly can!''As Seaton had noticed, the city toward which they were flying resembled somewhat an enormous pyramid, whose component units were themselves mighty buildings, towering one above and behind the other in crenelated majesty to an awe-inspiring height. In the wall of the foundation tier of buildings there yawned an enormous opening, spanned by a noble arch of metaled masonry, and out of this gloriously arched aqueduct there sprang the stream whose course the airship had been following so long. Toward that forbidding opening the hypership planed down, and into it she floated slowly and carefully.
Much to the surprise of the Terrestrials, however, the great tunnel of the aqueduct was not dark. Walls and arched ceiling alike glowed with the livid, bluish-violet ultra-light which they had come to regard as characteristic of all hyperthings, and through that uncanny glare the airship stole along. Once inside the tunnel its opening vanished-imperceptible, indistinguishable from its four-dimensional, black-and-livid-blue background. Unending that tunnel stretched before and behind them. Walls and watery surface alike were smooth, featureless, and so uniformly and weirdly luminous that the eye could not fix upon any point firmly enough to determine the rate of motion of the vessel-or even to determine whether it was moving at all. No motion could be perceived or felt and the time-sense had long since failed. Seaton and Margaret may have traveled in that gigantic bore for inches or for miles of distance; for seconds or for weeks of hypertime; they did not then and never did know. But with a slight jar the hypership came to rest at last upon a metallic cradle which had in some fashion appeared beneath her keel. Doors opened and the being holding the tridents, who had not moved a muscle during the interminable journey, made it plain to them that they were to precede him out of the airship. They did so, quietly and without protest, utterly helpless to move save at the behest of their unhuman captor-guide. Through a maze of corridors and passages the long way led. Each was featureless andblank, each was lighted by the same eerie, bluish light, each was paved with a material which, although stone-hard to the hypermen, yielded springily, as yields a soft peat bog, under the feet of the massive Terrestrials. Seaton, although now restored to full vigor, held himself rigorously in check. Far from resisting the controlling impulses of the trident he sought to anticipate those commands. Indeed, recognizing the possibility that the captor might be aware, through those electrical connections, of his very ideas, he schooled his outward thoughts to complete and unquestioning submission. Yet never had his inner brain been more active, and now the immense mentality given him by the Norlaminians stood him in good stead. For every doorway, every turn, every angle and intersection of that maze of communicating passageways was being engraved indelibly upon his brain-he knew that no matter how long or how involved the way, he could retain his orientation with respect to the buried river up which they had sailed. And, although quiescent enough and submissive enough to all outward seeming, his inner brain was keyed up to its highest pitch, ready and eager to drive his muscles into furious activity at the slightest lapse of the attention of the wielder of the mastering trident. But there was no such lapse. The intelligence of the hyperman seemed to be concentrated in the glowing tips of the forceps and did not waver for an instant, evenwhen an elevator into which he steered his charges refused to lift the immense weight put upon it. A silent colloquy ensued, then Seaton and Margaret walked endlessly up a spiral ramp. Climbed, it seemed, for hours, their feet sinking to the ankles into the resilient material of the rock-and-metal floor, while their alert guardian floated effortlessly in the air behind them, propelled and guided by his swiftly revolving tail. Eventually the ramp leveled off into a corridor. Straight ahead, two aisles-branch halfright-branch half left-first turn left-third turn right-second doorway on right. They stopped. The door opened. They stepped into a large, office-like room, thronged with the peculiar,sea-horselike hypermen of this four-dimensional civilization. Everything was indescribable, incomprehensible, but there seemed to be desks, mechanisms, and tier upon tier of shelf-like receptacles intended for the storage of they knew not what. Most evident of all, however, were the huge, goggling, staring eyes of the creatures as they pressed in, closer and closer to the helplessly immobile bodies of the man and the woman. Eyes dull, expressionless, and unmoving to Earthly, three-dimensional intelligences; but organs of highly intelligible, flashing language, as well as of keen vision,to their possessors. Thus it was that the very air of the chamber was full of speech and of signs, but neither Margaret nor Seaton could see or hear them. In turn the Earthman tried, with every resource at his command of voice, thought, and pantomime, to bridge the gap-in vain. Then strange, many-lensed instruments were trundled into the room and up to the helpless prisoners. Lenses peered; multicolored rays probed; planimeters, pantographs,and plotting points traced and recorded every bodily part; the while the two sets of intelligences, each to the other so foreign, were at last compelled to acknowledge frustration. Seaton of course knew what caused the impasse and, knowing the fundamental incompatibility of the dimensions involved, had no real hope that communication could be established, even though he knew the hypermen to be of high intelligence and attainment. The natives, however, had no inkling of the possibility of three-dimensional actualities. Therefore, when it had been made plain to them that they had no point of contact with their visitors-that the massive outlanders were and must remain unresponsive to their every message and signal-they perforce ascribed that lack of response to a complete lack of intelligence. The chief of the council, who had been conducting the examination, released the forcesof his mechanisms and directed his flashing glance upon the eyes of the Terrestrials' guard, ordering him to put the specimens away... and see to it that they are watchedvery carefully," the ordering eye concluded. "The Fellows of Science will be convened and will study them in greater detail than we have been able to do here."
"Yes, sir; as you have said, so shall it be," the guard acknowledged, and by means of the trident he guided his captives through a high-arched exit and into another labyrinth of corridors. Seaton laughed aloud as he tucked Margaret's hand under his arm and marched along under the urge of the admonishing trident.
" `Nobody 'ome-they ain't got no sense,' says his royal nibs. `Tyke 'em awye!' " he exclaimed.
"Why so happy all of a sudden, Dick? I can't see very much change in our status."
"You'd be surprised." He grinned. "There's been a lot of change. I've found out that they can't read our thoughts at all, as long as we don't express them in muscular activity. I've been guarding my thoughts and haven't been talking to you much for fear they could getmy ideas some way. But now I can tell you that I'm going to start something pretty quick.I've got this trident thing pretty well solved. This bird's taking us to jail now, I think, andwhen he gets us there his grip will probably slip for an instant. If it does he'll never get it back, and we'll be merrily on our way."
"To jail!" Margaret exclaimed. "But suppose they put us... I hope they put us in the same cell!"
"Don't worry about that. If my hunch is right it won't make a bit of difference-I'll have you back before they can get you out of sight. Everything around here is thin almost to the point of being immaterial, you know-you could whip an army of them in purely physical combat, and I could tear this whole joint up by the roots."
"A la Samson? I believe that you could, at that." Margaret smiled.
"Yeah; or rather, you can play you're Paul Bunyan, and I'll be Babe, the big blue ox. We'll show this flock of prop tailed gilliwimpuses just how we gouged out Lake Superior to make a he-man's soup bowl!"
"You make me feel a lot better, Dick, even if I do remember that Babe was forty-seven ax handles across the horns." Margaret laughed, but sobered quickly. "But here we are-oh, I do hope that he leaves me with you!"
They stopped beside a metal grill, in front of which was poised another hyperman, his propeller tail idling slowly. He had thought that he was to be Seaton's jailer, and as he swung the barred gate open he engaged the Terrestrial's escort in optical conversation-a conversation which gave Seaton the mere instant of time for which he had been waiting.
"So these are the visitors from outer space, whose bodies are so much denser than solid metal?" he asked curiously. "Have they given you much trouble?"
"None at all. I touched that one only once, and this one, that you are to keep here, wilted at only the third step of force. The orders are to keep them under control every minute, however. They are stupid, senseless brutes, as is of course to be expected from their mass and general make-up. They have not given a single sign of intelligence of even the lowest order, but their strength is apparently enormous, and they might do a great deal of damage if allowed to break away from the trident."
"All right; I'll hold him constantly until I am relieved," and the jailer, lowering his own trident, extended a long, tentacular arm toward the grooved and knobbed shaft of the one whose teeth were already imbedded in Seaton's tissues. Seaton had neither perceived nor sensed anything of this conversation, but he was tense and alert; tight-strung to take advantage of even the slightest slackening of the grip of the grappling fingers of the controller. Thus in the bare instant of transfer of control from one weird being to the other he acted-instantaneously and highly effectively. With a twisting leap he whirled about, wrenching himself free from the punishing teeth of the grapple. Lightning hands seized the shaft and swung the weapon in a flashing arc. Then, with all the quickness of his highly trained muscles and with all the power of his brawny right arm, Seaton brought the controller down full upon the grotesque head of the hyperman. He had given no thought to the material character of weapon or of objective; he had simply wrenched himself free and struck instinctively, lethally, knowing that freedom had to be won then or never. But he was not wielding an Earthly club or an Osnomian bar; nor was the flesh opposing him the solid substance of a human and three-dimensional enemy.
At impact the fiercely driven implement flew into a thousand pieces, but such was the power behind it that each piece continued on, driving its relentless way through the tenuous body substance of the erstwhile guard. That body subsided instantly upon the floor, a shapeless and mangled mass of oozing, dripping flesh.
Weaponless now, holding only the shattered butt of the ex-guard's trident, Seaton turned to front the other guardwho, still holding Margaret helpless, was advancing upon him, wide-open trident to thefore. He hurled the broken stump; then as the guard nimbly dodged the flying missile, heleaped to the barred door of the cell. He seized it and jerked mightily; and as the anchor bolts of the hinges tore out of the masonry he swung the entire gate in a full-sweeping circle. Through the soft body the interlaced bars tore, cutting it into grisly, ghastly dice, and on, across the hall, tearing into and demolishing the opposite wall.
"All right, Peg, or did he shock you?" Seaton demanded.
"All right, I guess-he didn't have time to do much of anything."
"Fine, let's snap it up, then. Or wait a minute, I'd better get us a couple of shields. We've got to keep them from getting those stingarees into us again-as long as we can keep them away from us we can do about as we please around here, but if they ever get hold of us again it'll be just too bad."
While Seaton was speaking he had broken away and torn out two great plates or doors of solid metal, and, handing one of them to his companion, he went on: "Here, carry this in front of you and we'll go places and do things."
But in that time, short as it was, the alarm had been given, and up the corridor down which they must go was advancing a corps of heavily armed beings. Seaton took one quick step forward, then realizing the impossibility of forcing his way through such ahorde without impalement, he leaped backward to the damaged wall and wrenched out a huge chunk of masonry.
Then, while the upper wall and the now unsupported ceiling collapsed upon him, their fragments touching his hard body lightly and bouncing off like so many soft pillows, be hurled that chunk of material down the hall and into the thickest ranks of the attackers. Through the close-packed phalanx it tore as would a plunging tank through massed infantry, nor was it alone. Mass after mass of rock was hurled as fast as the Earthman could bend and straighten his mighty back, and the hypermen broke ranks and fled in wild disorder. For to them Seaton was not a man of flesh and blood, lightly tossing pillows of eiderdown along a corridor, through an assemblage of wraithlike creatures. He was to them a monstrous being, constructed of something harder, denser, and tougher than any imaginable metal. A being driven by engines of unthinkable power, who stood unharmed and untouched while masses of stone, brickwork, and structural steel crashed downupon his bare head. A being who caught those falling masses of granite and concrete and steel and hurled them irresistibly through rank after rank of flesh-and-blood men!
"Let's go, Peg!" Seaton gritted. "The way's clear now, I guess-we'll show those horse-faced hippocampuses that what it takes to do things, we've got!"
Through the revolting, reeking shambles of the corpse littered corridor they gingerly made their way. Past the scene of the battle, past intersection after intersection they retraced their course, warily and suspiciously at first. But no ambush had been laid-the hypermen were apparently only too glad to let them go in peace-and soon they werehurrying along as fast as Margaret could walk.They were soon to learn, however, that the denizens of this city of four-dimensional space had not yet given up the chase. Suddenly the yielding floor dropped away beneath their feet and they fell, or rather, floated, easily and slowly downward. Margaret shrieked in alarm, but the man remained unmoved and calm."
'Sall right, Peg," he assured her. "We want to go clear down to the bottom of this dump,anyway, and this'll save us the time and trouble of walking down. All right; that is, if we don't sink into the floor so deep when we hit that we won't be able to get ourselves out of it. Better spread out that shield so you'll fall on it-it won't hurt you, and it may help a lot."
So slowly were they falling that they had ample time in which to prepare for the landing; and, since both Seaton and Margaret were thoroughly accustomed to weightless maneuvering in free space, their metal shields were flat beneath them when they struck the lowermost floor of the citadel. Those shields were crushed, broken, warped and twisted as they were forced into the pavement by the force of the falling bodies-as would be the steel doors of a bank vault upon being driven broadside on, deep into a floor of solid concrete.
But they served their purpose; they kept the bodies of the Terrestrials from sinking beyond their depth into the floor of the hyperdungeon. As they struggled to their feet,unhurt, and saw that they were in a large, cavernous room, six searchlight-like projectors came into play, enveloping them in a flood of soft, pinkish-white light. Seaton stared about him, uncomprehending, until he saw that one of the hypermen, caught accidentally in the beam, shriveled horribly and instantly into a few floating wisps of luminous substance which in a few seconds disappeared entirely.
"Huh! Death rays!" he exclaimed then. "'Sa good thing for us we're essentially three-dimensional yet, or we'd probably never have known what struck us. Now let's seewhere's our river? Oh, yes; over this way. Wonder if we'd better take these shields along? Guess not, they're pretty well shot-we'll pick us up a couple of good ones on theway, and I'll get you a grill like this one to use as a flail."
"But there's no door on that side!" Margaret protested.
"So what? We'll roll our own as we go along."
His heavy boot crashed against the wall before them, and a section of it fell outward. Two more kicks and they were through, hurrying along passages which Seaton knew ledtoward the buried river, breaking irresistibly through solid walls whenever the corridor along which they were moving angled away from his chosen direction. Their progress was not impeded. The hyperbeings were willing-yes, anxious-for their unmanageable prisoners to depart and made no further attempts to bar their path. Thusthe river was soon reached.The airship in which they had been brought to the hypercity was nowhere to be seen, and Seaton did not waste time looking for it. He had been unable to understand the four dimensional controls even while watching them in operation, and he realized that even ifhe could find the vessel the chance of capturing it and of escaping in it was slight indeed. Therefore, throwing an arm around his companion, he leaped without ado into the speeding current.
"But, Dick, we'll drown!" Margaret protested. "This stuff is altogether too thin for us toswim in-we'll sink like rocks!"
"Sure we will, but what of it?" he returned.
"How many times have you actually breathed since we left three-dimensional space?"
"Why, thousands of times, I suppose-or, now that you mention it, I don't really know whether I'm breathing at all or not-but we've been gone so long . . . Oh, I don't believe that I really know anything!"
"You aren't breathing at all," he informed her then. "We have been expending energy, though, in spite of that fact, and the only way I can explain it is that there must be fourth-dimensional oxygen or we would have suffocated long ago. Being three-dimensional, ofcourse we wouldn't have to breathe it in for the cells to get the benefit of it-they grab it direct. Incidentally, that probably accounts for the fact that I'm hungry as a wolf, but that'll have to wait until we get back into our own space again."
True to Seaton's prediction, they suffered no inconvenience as they strode along uponthe metaled pavement of the river's bottom, Seaton still carrying the bent and battered grating with which he had wrought such havoc in the corridor so far above. Almost at the end of the tunnel, a sharklike creature darted upon them, dreadful jaws agape. With his left arm Seaton threw Margaret behind him, while with his right he swung the four-dimensional grating upon the monster of the deeps. Under the fierce power of the blow the creature became a pulpy mass, drifting inertly away upon the current, and Seaton stared after it ruefully.
"That particular killing was entirely unnecessary, and I'm sorry I did it," he remarked.
"Unnecessary? Why, it was going to bite me!" she cried.
"Yeah, it thought it was, but it would have been just like one of our own real sharks trying to bite the chilled steel prow off a battleship," be replied. "Here comes another one. I'm going to let him gnaw on my arm, and see how he likes it."
On the monster came with a savage rush, until the dreadful, out thrust snout almost touched the man's bare, extended arm. Then the creature stopped, dead still in midrush, touched the arm tentatively, and darted away with a quick flirt of its powerful tail.
"See, Peg, he knows we ain't good to eat. None of these hyperanimals will bother us-it's only these men with their meat hooks that we have to fight shy of. Here's the jump-off. Better we hit it I wouldn't wonder if that sandy bottom would be pretty tough going. I think maybe we'd better take to the beach as soon as we can."
From the metaled pavement of the brilliantly lighted aqueduct they stepped out upon the natural sand bottom of the open river. Above them was only the somberly sullen intensity of velvety darkness; a darkness only slightly relieved by the bluely luminous vegetation upon the river's either bank. In spite of their care they sank waist-deep into that sand,and it was only with great difficulty that they fought their way up to the much firmerfooting of the nearer shore. Out upon the margin at last, they found that they could make good time, and they set out downstream at a fast but effortless pace. Mile after mile they traveled, until, suddenly, as though some universal switch had been opened, the ghostly radiance of all the vegetation of the countryside disappeared in an instant, and utter and unimaginable darkness descended as a pall. It was not the ordinary darkness of an Earthly night, nor yet the darkness of even an Earthly dark room; it was indescribable, completely perfect darkness of the total absence of every ray of light.
"Dick!" shrieked Margaret. "Where are you?"
"Right here, Peg-take it easy," he advised, and groping fingers touched and clung.
"They'll probably light up again. Maybe this is their way of having night. We can't do much, anyway, until it gets light again. We couldn't possibly find the Skylark in this darkness; and even if we could feel our way down river we'd miss the island that marks our turning-off point. Here, I feel a nice soft rock. I'll sit down with my back against it andyou can lie down, with my lap for a pillow, and we'll take us a nap. Wasn't it Porthos, or some other one of Dumas' characters that said, 'He who sleeps, eats'?"
"Dick, you're a perfect peach to take things the way you do." Margaret's voice was broken.
"I know what you're thinking of, too. Oh, I do hope that nothing has become of them!"
For she well knew that, true and loyal friend though Seaton was, yet his every thought was for beloved Dorothy, presumably still in Skylark Two---just as Martin Crane came first with her in everything.
"Sure they're all right, Peg."
An instantly suppressed tremor shook his giant frame."They're figuring on keeping them in the Lark until they raise her, I imagine. If I had known as much then as I know now they'd never have got away with any of this stuff-but it can't be helped now. I wish I could do something, because if we don't get back to Two pretty quick it seems as though we may snap back into our own three dimensions and land in empty space. Or would we, necessarily? The time coordinates would change,too, of course, and that change might very well make it obligatory for us to be back in our exact original locations in the Lark at the instant of transfer, no matter where wehappen to be in this hyperspace-hypertime continuum. Too deep for me-I can't figure it.Wish Mart was here, maybe he could see through it."
"You don't wish so half as much as I do!" Margaret exclaimed feelingly.
"Well, anyway, we'll pretend that Two can't run off and leave us here. That certainly is a possibility, and it's a cheerful thought to dwell on while we can't do anything else. Now close your eyes and go bye-bye."
They fell silent. Now and again Margaret dozed, only to start awake at the coughing grunt of some near-by prowling hyperdenizen of that unknown jungle, but Seaton did notsleep. He did not even half believe in his own hypothesis of their automatic return to their space ship; and his vivid imagination insisted upon dwelling lingeringly upon every hideous possibility of their return to three-dimensional space outside their vessel's shelteringwalls. And that same imagination continually conjured up visions what might be happening to Dorothy-to the beloved bride who, since their marriage upon far distant Osnome, had never before been separated from him for so long a time.
He had to struggle against an insane urge to do something, anything; even to dash madly about inthe absolute darkness of hyperspace in a mad attempt-doomed to certain failure beforeit was begun-to reach Skylark Two before she should vanish from four-dimensional space. Thus, while Seaton grew more and more tense momently, more and ever moredesperately frustrated, the abysmally oppressive hypernight wore illimitably on. Creeping-plodding---d-r-a-g-g-i-n-g endlessly along; extending itself fantastically into the infinite reaches of all eternity.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

From "The Best of E E (DOC) Smith - Preface and Foreward



The following text copyright © 1975 by Verna Smith Trestrail

PREFACE

When "The Skylark of Space" was published in AMAZING STORIES in 1928 it gave the science fiction fraternity the road to the stars. It also had a profound effect on other writers, notably John W. Campbell, who took their cue from Smith.
TO THE FAR REACHES OF SPACE, a complete-in-itself excerpt from the famous novel, records this initial leap beyond the solar system. Told with verve and gusto, the narrative admirably shows Smith's panache in handling vast distances and strange alien worlds.
As "The Skylark of Space" shattered the confines of the space story in 1928, so ROBOT NEMESIS widened the frontiers of the robot story when it first appeared (under another title) in 1934. Robots in the early days of science fiction were usually clanking monstrosities who threatened their scientist creators. In this story Smith's illimitable imagination postulates a future wherein robots actually threaten to supplant mankind as the Lords of Creation.
Smith's writing was never better than in the opening chapters of 'Triplanetary." The complex structure of the pirate base, a self-contained world in space, comes across with absolute credibility in the complete segment PIRATES OF SPACE.
THE VORTEX BLASTER is definitive Smith, with its skillful intermingling of super-science and human interest. The tragedy of Neal Cloud immediately grips the reader who easily identifies with Cloud in his fight against the atomic horror responsible for his wife's death.
In TEDRIC (1953) and LORD TEDRIC (1954), the reader is offered two lost gems which were originally published in two of the rarest magazines in the field. Here one finds a fascinating blend of sword and sorcery and the paradoxes of time travel, in the inimitable Smith style.
SUBSPACE SURVIVORS (1960) is a compelling novelette written in the modern tradition which marked Smith's triumphant return to the pages of ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION after a thirteen year absence.
THE IMPERIAL STARS (1964) marks the high watermark of the final phase of Smith's work. Whilst presented in the slick, modern manner, it evokes the old magic of the Lensman series, with its galactic agents and star-spanning intrigues. Intended as the first in a new series, later parts are said to exist in outline and may yet appear in some form or other.
That is something to look forward to. Meanwhile you will find encompassed here the best of "Doc" Smith, eight stories spanning an incredible five decades of science fiction, by its best loved pioneer.


PHILLIP HARBOTTLE
WELLSEND,
MARCH 1975









FOREWORD


EDWARD E SMITH, PhD - CIVILIZATION'S HISTORIAN

Dekanore VI - A non-Tellurian planet inhabited by immensely ugly, spider-like beings, to whom Kimball Kinnison was a shuddersome sight.
Adams of Procia - Commander-in-chief of Procyon's armed forces; appointed general of Procyon by Roderick Kinnison in the formation of the Galactic Patrol.
Croleo's - A bar in the city of Ardith, on Radelix.
Slasher-worm - A Venerian creature which Herkimer threatened to use in torturing Jill Samms.
Thought cap - the Jelm version of the thought-transfer device, or mechanical educator.
"Tail high, brother!"- The Vegian war-cry.

Devoted followers of those doughty heroes Richard Seaton, Kimball Kinnison and Neal Cloud will be able make good sense of these items from The Universes of E E Smith. They are typical of hundreds of entries in a unique concordance to the eleven best-known novels of the late Edward Elmer Smith, Ph.D., which took two of his disciples four years to compile.* Its 270 pages from a complete reader's guide to the complex webwork of imaginary worlds and fantastic creations which earned the beloved "Doc" the title of "Historian of Civilization;" a fitting memorial to one of the most inventive and influential writers to leave his mark on the popular literature of science fiction.
* By Ron Ellik and Bill Evans. Advent Publishers, Chi 1966.

Few others have made such an impact as he did at his first appearance in 1928, or continued so long to delight a host of fans most of whom remained faithful even after his work had been dismissed as artless and juvenile. That his first novel, "The Skylark of Space", opened the door for the most extravagant excursions of super-science into the remotest regions, and led the way for "space opera," has been held against him in recent years where once it was deemed a vital spur to the development of the genre. Yet, despite their undoubted limitations on the literary level, the sweeping "epics" of "Skylark" Smith are still relished for their sheer exuberance.
The pioneering Amazing Stories magazine was in its third year when it serialized what it described as "one of the out-standing scientifiction stories of the decade," predicting that it would be "referred to by fans for years to come." The prediction proved perfectly valid. Nearly twenty years later, when the first of several enterprising specialist book publishers began to resurrect "classic" tales from the magazines, the much-vaunted Skylark was an obvious choice - and sold out so quickly that the firm had to be reorganized to cope with the demand. Since 1946 it has seen publication in several forms in many parts of the world, and it is still being reprinted, like the other "Doc" Smith serials that followed at intervals through the years. Yet, before Amazing Stories accepted it, The Skylark had gathered what the author cheerfully claimed was "probably the most complete collection of rejection slips in America."

In a pleasant correspondence which we conducted in the late 1940s, he told me how he had begun to write the story after starting out as a chemical engineer in 1914 and did not complete it until 1920. For two years Mrs. Lee Hawkins Garby, - the wife of an old classmate, helped him with the romantic interest that readers found so treacly but which hardly interfered with the high-geared action. But she didn't have the staying power of the determined Smith, who by the time he was 25 had held down a dozen different jobs from millhand and stevedore to street-car conductor.
Born 1890 in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, E. E. Smith was raised on a riverside homestead in northern Idaho, where he worked as a lumberjack until his eldest brother and sister helped him get to the university. By 1915 he was earning enough as a food chemist with the U.S. Bureau of Standards to marry a girl from Idaho and settle down in Washington, D.C., where his wife went to work as a stenographer to enable him to get his Ph.D. This is why the book version of "The Skylark of Space" is dedicated "To Jeannie" - though Mrs. Garby got her name in the by-line—and her share of the 125 dollars he was paid for the magazine serial.

In spite of the college-boy dialogue and the melodramatic exchanges between heroic Dick Seaton and his scheming rival "Blackie" DuQuesne, Amazing Stories readers, whose ranks I had recently joined, clamored for a sequel. So, in "Skylark Three", which followed in 1930, Smith took his atom-powered voyagers out again to the rescue of the people of the Green System who faced annihilation by the marauding Fenachrone. This "tale of the galactic cruise which ushered in universal civilization" presented a stupendous panorama of alien life-forms, mile-long spaceships, traveling faster than light, devastating ray-weapons, and frightful battles in the void ending in inevitable triumph for the visiting Earthmen.
To keep him in tow, Amazing paid Smith more generously for this three-part serial, to which he wrote an epilogue suggesting that his readers had heard the last of the all-conquering Dick and his musical sweetheart. By way of a change, in 1931 he came up with another story, "Spacehounds of IPC", which confined his new heroes of the Inter-Planetary Corporation to the solar system. This, he insisted, was true scientific fiction, not pseudo-science, and he planned to make it the first of a series - but it wasn't what his fans wanted. "We want Smith to write stories of scope and range. We want more Skylarks!" was the cry. And Amazing's 80-year-old editor Dr. T. O'Conor Sloane, who still had seven years to go before he retired, pointed a lean finger out towards the Milky Way.

But whatever the critics said about the results of his labors, Smith was never a "hack" writer. He planned his stories with care, and took his time writing them. Invariably he would plot a graph to help him in developing his plot, the reactions of his characters to the situations they encountered and the background atmosphere he weaved into the story. "Not that I ever managed to stick to one of them all the way," he confessed. "Somehow my characters always break loose and take the yarn out of my hands - which is a good thing, I guess."
As science fiction advanced into the 1930s there were other editors, too, who wanted to get hold of his stories. Competition had set in - but so had the Depression, and if it had not suffered a temporary setback in 1933, Astounding Stories would have featured "Triplanetary”, the story which gave rise to the "Lensman" series. In any event, it went to enliven four issues of Amazing in 1934. It was this story that introduced the concept of the "inertialess drive" by which, it was assumed - since it could neither be proved nor disproved - spaceships might traverse the impossible gulfs of Smith's literary cosmos. When asked about the scientific probability of such a device, Smith responded: "It is not probable at all, at least in any extrapolation of present-day science. But as far as I can determine, it cannot be proved absolutely impossible and that is enough for me. In fact, the more improbable a thing, the better I like it - so long as it cannot be demonstrated mathematically impossible. I got the idea of inertialessness from a lecture given at the University of Michigan in 1912."

So, this time, the eight-limbed amphibians of the far planet Nevia, who were greedy for iron rations, were properly frustrated by Conway Costigan and his colleagues, and obliged to sign a Treaty of Eternal Peace. And thirteen years later, to make a book of it, Smith wrote six new chapters to precede the Amazing story, harking back to the dawn of creation, recalling the end of Atlantis and the fall of Rome, and drawing on his own experiences during two world wars. All history is seen as a titanic struggle between two races of super-beings, the Arisians and the Eddorians, who influence human-kind for good or ill as civilization advances to the era of the Triplanetary League.
When the book appeared in 1948, even Smith's gentler critics had difficulty in digesting this turgid mixture of cosmic imagery and rip-roaring adventure. Nevertheless it was accepted as a useful prelude to the "Lensman" saga—most of which had already run its course in the revived Astounding Stories. The missing link was "First Lensman", which Smith wrote specially for book publication in 1950 to bridge the gap between "Triplanetary" and "Galactic Patrol", first serialized in 1937-38. By that time Astounding readers had claimed "Doc" Smith for their own. Prodded by editor F. Orlin Tremaine, he had produced a third "Skylark" story which the magazine presented with a fanfare in 1934 and ran through seven issues. With the first installment of "Skylark of Valeron" the magazine's sales soared, and at the end the author had increased his fans by thousands. He had also put what seemed to be an irreversible end to the luckless DuQuesne by reducing him to a capsule of pure intellect and flinging him into the fourth dimension. But good villains die hard, and he was still immortal...

That Astounding was in its most expansive conceptual period at this time lent power to Smith's imagination, and thus Dick Seaton's mental capacity, his new spaceship and area of operations were all enlarged to maximum proportions. After Valeron it seemed there was nothing left to explore, nor any more possible variations on the familiar themes which had made Smith's tales so popular. And he was still a part-time writer; he had business problems to wrestle with. For seventeen years he had been employed as chief chemist with a Michigan firm concerned with the specialist art of compounding doughnut mixes. In 1936 he moved to a new firm in which he had a financial interest, and it left him little time for science fiction. Yet, within a year, Smith was busily plotting the "Lensman" series, which began in Astounding at about the same time that Olaf Stapledon's "Star Maker" appeared, which outdistanced Stapledon's previous work "Last and First Men".
To equate the beloved "pulp" writer Smith with the equally genial philosopher Stapledon might seem almost profane; yet, though their methods and literary styles are poles apart, in the final analysis their works are essentially similar, especially in the scope of their projection and their concern with the eternal struggle of good and evil which, in Smith's stories, is reduced to its simplest elements. The idea of an interstellar police force protecting a community of worlds against piracy and insurrection was familiar in American science fiction when Smith devised his Galactic Patrol. But he used it to better effect against a more elaborate background in which the ancient Arisians, who had sown the seeds of life throughout the galaxy, enlisted the Lensmen in the struggle to subdue the power-crazy rulers of Eddore, a planet in another space-time continuum.

The Lensmen and their ladies, selected from many worlds for their superior qualities, are so-called because they carry a device enabling them to communicate with any form of sentient life their creator can dream up, and which brings quick death to unauthorized users. Their leading heroes are First Lensman Virgil Samms, who extended the Triplanetary League to embrace the entire solar system; Grey Lensman Kim Kinnison, whose exploits range over two galaxies, and his mate Clarissa MacDougall, the red-headed nurse who made good as a Second Stage Lensman. Not until many tyrants have been overthrown on as many as many planets are Kim and "Mac" able to get married and complete the ages-long breeding program culminating in the five Children of the Lens, who are destined to succeed the Arisians as the Guardians of Civilization.
In all, the "Lensman" series helped to fill out eighteen issues of Astounding over a ten-year period ending in 1948, during which that exacting editor John W. Campbell held sway. In between times the number of science fiction pulps had multiplied, but few of the newcomers survived the war years; the real boom came afterwards. One of the casualties was Comet Stories, edited by Tremaine, for whom Smith agreed to write new series featuring "Storm" Cloud, a nuclear physicist and spaceman whose job is to snuff out atomic power plants when they run wild like oil wells. Only one story appeared before the magazine was extinguished in 1941, leaving Astonishing Stories to feature two more before it too folded. Because of their loose connection with the "Lensman" tales, in 1960 the three stories were combined in a book titled "The Vortex Blaster", published here more recently as "Masters of the Vortex".
The war hit Smith hard, too. He found himself redundant and was forced to live on his savings until, at 51, he went to work in an ordnance plant. Only when he was back in the cereals business in Chicago after the war did he essay "Children of the Lens" - with an eye to his own three children and their offspring. "This," he informed me, to settle arguments between his fans over the proper sequence of these stories, "is the real Lensman story, to which the other three are merely introductory material." This led up to something he especially wanted to say about his endings and which he repeated elsewhere "It's a darn hard job to write a book which is part of a series and yet have it end clean, without a lot of loose ends dangling. Many authors - Edgar Rice Burroughs, for instance - didn't try. But I hate loose ends. Besides, suppose the author should die or something without ever finishing the damn thing? In Galactic Patrol and Grey Lensman I could clean them up -without too much trouble, but in Second Stage Lensman it was practically impossible. I sweat blood . .." And how he got over the impasse he told in his essay on "The Epic of Space". (In Of Worlds Beyond: The Science of Science Fiction Writing. Fantasy Press, Reading, Pennsylvania, 1947; Dobson, London, 1965.)


In 1957 Smith retired to live in Florida - and continued his writing. For he could not ignore the current trends in science fiction, which challenged his powers; especially after his earlier work, which he had spent ten years revising for revising for book publication, had been diminished by relentless critics, for example, P. Schuyler Miller, who, reviewing Grey Lensman in 1952, lambasted his "incredible heroes, unbelievable weapons, insurmountable obstacles, inconceivable
In 1957 Smith retired to live in Florida—and continue his writing. For he could not ignore the current trends in science fiction, which challenged his powers; especially after his earlier work, which he had spent ten years revising for before publication, had been diminished by relentless critics, for example, P. Schuyler Miller, who, reviewing Grey Lensman in 1952, lambasted his "incredible heroes, unbelievable weapons, insurmountable obstacles, inconceivable, omnipotent villains, and unimaginable cataclysms." And Groff Conklin, in whom it evoked "alternate waves of incredulous laughter and dull, acid boredom" because, he inspected, "science fiction is growing up and leaving these primitive artifacts behind." So, in The Galaxy Primes, he introduced the sort of concepts that were being encouraged in Astounding, deriving from what editor Campbell termed 'psi phenomena": Smith's pseudo-living, telepathic Lens, he instanced, was "essentially a psi machine." But Campbell didn't care so much for his new story, which Amazing found more acceptable and serialized in 1959 before it emerged, finally, as a paperback.
Undaunted, Smith contrived to make his last appearance Astounding the following year with Subspace Survivors, a short story paving the way for a novel—which Campbell found wanting. It reached Smith's devoted fans in 1965 as a hardcover book entitled Subspace Explorers. And towards the end he found a more receptive market for his work in the magazine Worlds of If, which in 1961 - featured Masters of Space, a two-part tale which al carried in its by-line the name E. Everett Evans. Of Smith's army of admirers, this one-time secretary of The Galactic Roamers fan club was the most constant, and when he died leaving this novel unfinished, Smith revised it completely.
The affectionate regard in which "The Doc" was held the science fiction fraternity was demonstrated when, 1963, at the 21st World Convention in Washington—where The Skylark was hatched—veteran fans presented him with their Hall of Fame award. By then he was having trouble with his eyes, but he had still not done with writing. The following year he reappeared in If with The Imperial Stars in which he tried to recapture some of the atmosphere the "Lensman" stories. This tale, too, gave promise of series featuring a troupe of circus performers involved sabotage in a galactic empire. Then editor Frederik Pol having egged him on, surprised Smith's old-time followers by presenting Skylark DuQuesne, in which the legendary villain who had been dispatched thirty years before w reincarnated, and compelled to join Dick Seaton in resisting another grim menace from afar. The serial had hardly ended when the news reached his friends, in August 19 that "Skylark" Smith had died of a heart attack. In the end of what If had called "the most famous science fiction saga of all time."

* In Of Worlds Beyond: The Science of Science Fiction Writing. Fantasy Press, Reading, Pennsylvania, 1947; Dobson, London, 1965

WALTER GILLINGS Ilford, Essex, 1975.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Larger Than Life


From "Expanded Universe" ~ Robert A. Heinlein ~ 1980 ~ Ace Books

August 1940—a back road near Jackson, Michigan— a 1939 Chevrolet sedan:

"Doc" Smith is at the wheel; I am in the righthand seat and trying hard to appear cool, calm, fearless—a credit to the Patrol. Doc has the accelerator floor-boarded . . . but has his head tilted over at ninety de­grees so that he can rest his skull against the frame of the open left window—in order to listen by bone con­duction for body squeaks.

Were you to attempt this position yourself—car parked and brakes set, by all means; I am not suggest­ing that you drive—you would find that your view of the road ahead is between negligible and zero.

I must note that Doc was not wearing his Lens.

This leaves (by Occam's Razor) his sense of percep­tion, his almost superhuman reflexes, and his ability to integrate instantly all available data and act there­from decisively and correctly.

Sounds a lot like the Gray Lensman, does it not?

It should, as no one more nearly resembled (in char­acter and in ability—not necessarily in appearance) the Gray Lensman than did the good gray doctor who created him.

Doc could do almost anything and do it quickly and well. In this case he was selecting and road-testing for me a secondhand car. After rejecting numberless other cars, he approved this one; I bought it. Note the date August 1940. We entered World War Two the following year and quit making automobiles. I drove that car for twelve years. When I finally did replace it, the mechanic who took care of it asked to be permitted to buy it rather than have it be turned in on a trade ... because, after more than thirteen years and hundreds c thousands of miles, it was still a good car. Doc Smith had not missed anything.

Its name? Skylark Five, of course.

So far as I know, Doc Smith could not play a dulcimer (but it would not surprise me to learn that he had). Here are some of the skills I know he posessed:

Chemist & chemical engineer—and anyone who thinks these two professions are one and the same is neither a chemist nor an engineer. (My wife is a chemist and is also an aeronautical engineer—but she is not a chemical engineer. All clear? No? See me after class.

Metallurgist—an arcane art at the Trojan Point of Black Magic and science.

Photographer—all metallurgists are expert photographers; the converse is not necessarily true.

Lumberjack

Cereal chemist

Cook

Explosives chemist—research, test, & development

—product control

Blacksmith

Machinist (tool & diemaker grade)

Carpenter

Hardrock miner—see chapter 14 of FIRST LENSMAN, titled "Mining and Disaster." That chapter wa: written by a man who had been there. And it is a refutation of the silly notion that science fiction does not require knowledge of science. Did I hear someone say well. In this case he was selecting and road-testing fo me a secondhand car. After rejecting numberless other cars, he approved this one. I bought it. Note the date that there is no science in that chapter? Just a trick vocabulary—trade argot—plus description of some commonplace mechanical work—

So? The science (several sciences!) lies just below the surface of the paper . . . and permeates every word. In some fields I could be fooled, but not in this one. I've been in mining, off and on, for more than forty vears.

Or see SPACEHOUNDS OF IPC, chapters 3 & 4, pp. 40-80 . . . and especially p.52 of the Fantasy Press hardcover edition. Page 52 is almost purely autobio­graphical in that it tells why the male lead, "Steve" Stevens, knows how to fabricate from the wreckage at hand everything necessary to rescue Nadia and him­self. I once discussed with Doc these two chapters, in detail; he convinced me that his hero character could do these things by convincing me that he, Edward E. Smith, could do all of them . . . and, being myself an experienced mechanical engineer, it was not possible for him to give me a "snow job." (I think he lacked the circuitry to give a "snow job" in any case; incorrupti­ble honesty was Dr. Smith's prime attribute— with courage to match it.)

What else could he do? He could call square dances. Surely, almost anyone can square-dance . . . but to be­come a caller takes longer and is much more difficult. When and how he found time for this I do not know— but, since he did everything about three times as fast: as ordinary people, there is probably no mystery.

Both Doc and his beautiful Jeannie were endlessly hospitable. I stayed with them once when they had nine houseguests. They seemed to enjoy it.

But, above all, Doc Smith was the perfect, gallant knight, sans peur et sans reproche.

And all of the above are reflected in his stories.

It is customary today among self-styled "literary critics" to sneer at Doc's space epics—plot, character­ization, dialog, motivations, values, moral attitudes. etc. "Hopelessly old-fashioned" is one of the milder disparagements.

As Al Smith used to say: "Let's take a look at the record."

Edward Elmer Smith was born in 1890, some forty years before the American language started to fall to pieces—long, long before the idiot notion of "re­stricted vocabulary" infected our schools, a half cen­tury before our language was corrupted by the fallacy that popular usage defines grammatical correctness.

In consequence Dr. Smith made full use of his huge vocabulary, preferring always the exact word over a more common but inexact word. He did not hesitate to use complex sentences. His syntactical construc­tions show that he understood and used with precision the conditional and the subjunctive modes as well as the indicative. He did not split infinitives. The differ­ence between "like" and "as" was not a mystery to him. He limited barbarisms to quoted dialog used in characterization.

("Oh, but that dialog!") In each story Doc's male lead character is a very intelligent, highly educated, cheerful, emotional, enthusiastic, and genuinely mod­est man who talks exactly like Doc Smith who was a very intelligent, highly educated, cheerful, emotional, enthusiastic, and genuinely modest man.

In casual conversation Doc used a number of clichés . . . and his male lead characters used the same or similar ones. This is a literary fault? I think not. In casual speech most people tend to repeat each his own idiosyncratic pattern of clichés. Doc's repertory of clichés was quite colorful, especially so when com­pared with patterns heard today that draw heavily on "The Seven Words That Must Never Be Used in Tele­vision." A 7-word vocabulary offers little variety.

("But those embarrassing love scenes!") E. E. Smith's adolescence was during the Mauve Decade; we may assume tentatively that his attitudes toward women were formed mainly in those years. In 1914, a few weeks before the war in Europe started, he met his Jeannie—and I can testify of my own knowledge that, 47 years later (i.e., the last time I saw him before his death) he was still dazzled by the wonderful fact that this glorious creature had consented to spend her life with him.

Do you remember the cultural attitudes toward ro­mantic love during the years before the European War? Too early for you? Never mind, you'll find them throughout Doc Smith's novels. Now we come to the important question. The Lensman novels are laid in the far future. Can you think of any reason why the attitudes between sexes today (ca. 1979) are more likely to prevail in the far future than are attitudes prevailing before 1914?

(I stipulate that there are many other possible pat­terns. But we are now comparing just these two.)

I suggest that the current pattern is contrasurvival. is necessarily most temporary, and is merely one symptom of the kaleidoscopic and possibly cata­strophic rapid change our culture is passing through (or dying from?).

Contrariwise, the pre-1914 values, whatever faults they may have, are firmly anchored in the concept that a male's first duty is to protect women and children. Prosurvival!

"Ah, but those hackneyed plots!" Yes, indeed!—and for excellent reason: The ideas, the cosmic concepts, the complex and sweeping plots, all were brand new when Doc invented them. But in the past half century dozens of other writers have taken his plots, his con­cepts, and rung the changes on them. The ink was barely dry on SKYLARK OF SPACE when the imita­tors started in. They have never stopped—pygmies, standing on the shoulders of a giant.

But all the complaints about "Skylark" Smith's al­leged literary faults are as nothing to the (usually un­voiced) major grievance: Doc Smith did not go along with any of the hogwash that passes for a system of social values today.

He believed in Good and Evil. He had no truck with the moral relativism of the neo- (cocktail-party) Freudians.

He refused to concede that "mediocre" is better than "superior."

He had no patience with self-pity.

He did not think that men and women are equal— he would as lief have equated oranges with apples. His stories assumed that men and women are different, with different functions, different responsibilities, and different duties. Not equal but complementary. Neither complete without the other.

Worse yet, in his greatest and longest story, the 6-volume Lensman novel, he assumes that all humans are unequal (and, by implication, that the cult of the common man is pernicious nonsense), and bases his grand epic on the idea that a planned genetic breeding program thousands of years long can (and must) pro­duce a new race superior to h. sapiens . . . supermen who will become the guardians of civilization.

The Lensman novel was left unfinished; there was to have been at least a seventh volume. As always, Doc had worked it out in great detail but never (so far as I know) wrote it down . . . because it was unpublishable—then. But he told me the ending, orally and in private.

I shan't repeat it; it is not my story. Possibly some­where there is a manuscript—I hope so! All I will say is that the ending develops by inescapable logic from clues in CHILDREN OF THE LENS.

So work it out for yourself. The original Gray Lens­man left us quite suddenly—urgent business a long way off, no time to spare to tell us more stories.

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