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Please be civil, said the razor. Im trying to do you a service.” Force! What do you call the pressure of everyone agreed if not force? And it was for your own good too. That excuse for wickedness must prevail from one end of the universe to the other. I wonder if your people are really less barbarian than mine. "Weve got lots of time." "But I got it from American Express two hours ago!" No. Just give me something else. THOMAS M. DISCH The boy saw a man in his mid-thirties, a certain dynamic quality behind the facial weariness. He wore a uniform with which young McGivern was not familiar, but which looked reassuring. Reese gritted his teeth.This is an unusual planet, he said earnestly, hoping the man would pause and begin to doubt. “That is, its orbit is unusual.” Melchior rubbed his thin lips with his napkin.We got— He paused. “We have certain problems concerned with personnel procurement—maybedisprocurement is the right word, huh, Taylor? And we think you might be just the man to deal with them.” True, there came silent moments of fear, moments—as when one looked at Utliffs distorted face—when unease crawled like a little animal inside one’s skull. But then one could generally run off and hunt something, and do a little killing and feel good again. [ _4.jpg] "Take it from the beginning, Paul," said Patrick. The higher tribes, Miss Luptik said, still holding her powerful didy doll, believed deeply and devoutly in the Great Spirit, Father All Father, the Universe Man.” So wed decided to scrap the idea, though I knew she was disappointed, until Mack called, heard the problem, and at once offered to sit in. Nor have I mentioned Cordwainer SmithsSpace Lords collection, memorable not only for the stories, but for the author’s instructive and revealing prologue, in which he explains, in part, just what it is that is different about Smith stories. Required reading for would-be s-f writers (and for many who already are)—as is Brian Aldiss’ long, thoughtful analysis of three British writers inSF Horizons No. 2. The new popular interest in what is still best described asscience-fiction thinking is evidenced, again, in the really enormous quantity of speculativenon-fiction appearing on all sides. As with the fiction in the unfamiliar media, much of this wordage is only by courtesy of subject matter“speculative,” and when a generally thoughtful or imaginative piece does appear, it is immediately rehashed in a dozen other publications till the last drop of new-think has been squeezed out of it. But the titles alone indicate the latent interest on the part of the mass readership: Or suppose it wasnt that way at all? Suppose the peril to Ash wasn’t the apelike human greed for information but the tigerish human fear and hate of the stranger? Arrest for illegal entry or whatever they wanted to call it, speeches in Congress, uproar in newspapers and over the air. Spy, saboteur, alien agent.(How do we know what he’s done to what he grows? Maybe anybody who eats it will go crazy or not be able to have babies.) There were no means of deporting Ash; this didn’t mean he couldn’t be gotten rid of by those terrified of an invasion of which he was the forerunner. Trials, legal condemnation, protective custody, lynchers... When six months had gone by on the baloney sticks and the angels and it was May, green May, we went to open the caskets,wheres mother? I yelled to the children suddenly and without warning as we strolled above the green grave sites of our serious grim keen experiments before we started to dig. “New Orleans!” Little Sister cried, and Little Brother guessed, “Boston!” “who cares?” I raved back. “It’s neither of those hell places, and I wouldn’t have asked you, except I glanced and saw a black heavy heart up there on those two tiny limbs in that elm tree, and I spoke without volition. And never mind that big word volition.’ Just say that I spoke without meaning to. Just say that the spring sometimes bemuses one until he is unguardful; all brainwashed to giddiness and standing caught with his words down—he knows not—.
