Wicked grate weary
Within a few years, half the entries were by writers with whom my only contact was in the formality of securing permission—sometimes that was done through an agent or previous publisher. With many, I did not have even the previous acquaintance of reader-and-writer. (Some had written in other fields, but often as not I did not get around to the back-reading till after the anthology was finished.) There was more to discuss in what was happening to science fiction as a whole: the change in range of interests, the broadening area of publication, the refinement of techniques. What the men of thePequod saw floating on the water—I know this passage by heart, Ive studied it so carefully —was a vast pulpy mass, furlongs in length and breadth, of a glancing cream color . . . innumerable long arms radiating from its center, and curling and twisting like a nest of anacondas.’ Erl laughed and said,Im glad I’m not in hats. I haven’t got over the rush to get rid of grey suits last week. We sent over 3000 to the dumps, and all the other stores likewise. Hey, remember the time it was a cat-lover, and they all threw their cats out into the streets? A tin of Navy Cut, if you have it. Not far away, the Soviet delegate could see the submarines off the coasts of the United States, the missiles arcing down the vital industrial areas, the bombers on their long one-way missions, and the unexpected land attack to settle the problem for once and for all. As he thought, he revised the plan continuously, noting an unexpected American strength here, and the possibility of a dangerous counter blow there. I dont mean right here. You got gas at home is what I mean. Six of us are locked in the corridor rooms today. We attacked the Charge with chairs and split his skull. J. G. decided he had better be going before these People got angry with him, but Ambush leapt to the door and blocked it. True. Carl released his chin, his eyes becoming alive again. This place,” he said. “The place where you dream that you are being held. Describe it.” He checked her protest. “Yes, again, if you please. In detail.” He smiled a little at her hesitation. “Take your time and dontbe afraid. We are here to help you.” The United States government was, therefore, faced with a dilemma. If they let Chien go to the International Conferences, there was the chance that he would be forced, in some way, to divulge secrets that were vital to the national defense of the United States. On the other hand, if they forbade him to go, the Communist governments would suspect that Ch’ien knew something important, and they would check back on his previous work and find his publications of 1980. If they did, and realized the importance of that paper, they might be able to solve the secret of the interstellar drive. Dont be silly, Ponder said. He is in no need of capturing. He seems quite rational and, as he has been subjected to due process of law so far, he is, according to precedent, entitled to the full extent of that due process. Proceed with the case.” It was only later, much later, that I found the goonie could also be trained for work of various kinds. I accepted this, too, in the same spirit we trained colts on the farm to ride, to pull the plow, to work. Those old-timers who dont function anymore in the highly overstocked urban and suburban complex are weeded out, said Penrose. Should it turn out that an individual senior citizen still has a valid function he can always be reclaimed.” I shook my head. And there are dozens of other angles, but by now youll have the general picture. The Avenue thinks it knows all about Hidden Persuasion—believe me, it doesn’t. The world’s bestpractical psychologists are in the east these days. Remember Korea, and brainwashing? We’ve learned a lot since then. There’s no need for violence any more; people enjoy being brainwashed, if you set about it the right way. He rode to the livery, turned the bay over to the hostler, then allowed the wind to push him past the inn and along a grassy branch of the levee road toward the wharf. As he drew abreast of the gangplank at the battered little steamers waist, the old Civil War veteran, Dana, came hurrying out of the lamplit cargo hold, clutching a bottle of forty-rod whiskey. Dana glared at him in passing, muttered something, and scooted off to find a place to do his solitary drinking. He was evidently the last of the store boat’s initial wave of customers. No one was visible in the hold and the decks were deserted except for a kanaka deckhand lounging near the rusty calliope. I understand a copy of launching Pad is on its way to me; in return, some recommendations for Mr. MacBeth—high grade calamity fiction from last years New Worlds: Charles Platt’s “Lone Zone,” James Colvin’s “The Mountain,” and Colin R. Fry’s “The Night of the Gyul.” And Gerald Kersh, coming up—* * * * wicked grate weary This sounds like the sort of thing that makes them keepsaying science is catching up with science fiction. Actually, it is Russell Baker, keeping his usual jump ahead of both science and fiction from the vantage point of The Observer..
