The Best Of A. E. Van Vogt: Volume 2 Part 1

The Best of A. E. van Vogt.

Volume 2.

SPHERE BOOKS LIMITED.

A. E. van Vogt.

Introduction.

"BEST" is what is called in General Semantics a defining word. What this means is that the word of itself implies a state, or level, of superiority in something.

But that, if you will think about it, is merely a value judgment of a person, a committee, or a group. That is, it is an intellectual, or emotional, consideration. As such, it can never be an operational term.

So we are not surprised when, each year in the U.S.A. these days, half a dozen publishers issue best-of-the-year science fiction. Worse, with a couple of well-advertised exceptions, none of the stories in one "Best" is the same as those of any of the others.

Authors have lived with such contradictions with equanimity since the early days of SF.

Not too long ago, one of the best-of-that-year editors asked an SF writer if he had a story that had not already been anthologized too often. Said author presently sent, along a story which he had selected because, until then, it had only been printed in a collection of his own stories. The editor accepted it as one of the best of the year without reading any of the other stories written by that author.

Now, it happened that the story which was submitted under these restricting requirements was the best short story ever written by that author. That year it won the Hugo award of the World Science Fiction Convention. None of the other "Best" editors had had the foresight to include it in their anthologies, I have a lesser example from my own experience. Years ago, the editor of a magazine asked me to select one of my stories for what was called an author's choice of his own best story. The editor, however, required that I limit my selection to a story printed in his magazine. The problem was he had only published three of my stories.

Like most SF authors I handled this situation with the total aplomb of someone who realizes that failure to make such a choice simply means your story is not included. P.S. I got the check.

Still--I should report--no one likes to be cynical.

Truth is, I have always had my own favorites among my stories, and occasionally re-read these.

Before I tell you my own choice, let me list for you those stories of mine which have repeatedly won the accolade of my particular readership.

Short stories: (early t.i.tles) "Far Centaurus", "Enchanted Village", "The Monster". This last has sometimes been t.i.tled "Resurrection", (more recent t.i.tle) "Itself".

Novelettes: (early t.i.tles) "Black Destroyer", "Cooperate--Or Else", The Weapon Shop", (recent t.i.tles) "The Proxy Intelligence", "The Silkie"--novelette version--and "The Reflected Men".

Novels: (early) Slan, The Voyage of the s.p.a.ce Beagle and The World of Null-A, (recent) Quest for the Future and The Darkness on Diamondia.

Now, why are those not my choices also? Well, I like far-out science fiction.

Does far-out--you may wonder--mean unscientific? Does it mean that I have a fantasy orientation as distinct from scientific extrapolation. Does it mean that I like it when an author creates bizarre but impossible situations.

No--to all three questions.

Take "The Storm"--which I include in my list. Surely, at first look, some of the ideas in it are as far-fetched as you could ask for. A "storm" in s.p.a.ce. A planet revolving around the most fantastic sun in the known universe: S-Doradus.

I'll concentrate on that last item. When I got the idea, I wrote John W. Campbell, editor of Astounding, and asked him if it was possible to obtain any valid concept of such a planet. What would the sky look like? The plant life? etc. He wrote an astronomer friend. Among the three of us we evolved the planet as described in the story. So far as I know it's the only description in existence. And it's accurate.

There is an error in the original magazine version--and I have decided to let it stand in this present volume. Just to show you how difficult these matters are, let me describe the mistake. The astronomy texts I had available did not clearly identify which of the Magellanic Clouds contain S-Doradus. This particular point did not cross my mind during the correspondence. Suddenly, it was too late. I had to guess. Now, in those days I gave a lot of attention to the sounds of words. It was my belief that certain letters all by themselves conveyed a feeling. And so, when I wanted this feeling, or that, I would look for words with those sounds in them, and subst.i.tute them for words that might, otherwise, appear to be more suitable.

My critics presently took me apart on my use of the English language, particularly ridiculing such pa.s.sages. So I abandoned the technique. However, before I was demolished, I decided that the word Lesser had a better feeling for my purposes than Greater. So, on this basis, I placed the great and glorious S-Doradus in the Lesser Magellanic Cloud.

A few years later, while I was looking up something else in another text, there was the truth. Meaning, it was in the Greater Magellanic Cloud.

Those things happen to SF authors, alas.

Another example: I read an entire text book on the production and manufacture of steel and its by-products. I used the terminology in a little short story, t.i.tled, "Juggernaut". To my dismay, a reader wrote in with a puzzled appraisal, stating that I seemed to know something about the subject; but that, as a steel man himself, he had to report that he had never heard any of the terms.

It developed that I had read a book about British steel production.

A third story needing comment is "The Ghost". It appeared originally in Unknown Worlds, a fantasy magazine. Well, it's science fiction. The idea in it derives from the time theories of a British philosopher, named Dunne. He called his time concept serial time.

When I was age eighteen--and a would-be writer--I loved the lush style of A. Merritt, the cosmic stories of E. E. Smith, and the western yarns of Max Brand. By the time I got around to eighteen a second time (age thirty-six, for you people who can't add) I was myself a science fiction writer, and had in fact written most of the stories which were subsequently regarded as my "Best". I spent my third eighteen years making a study of human behavior. During this time, I wrote a non-fiction book, The Hypnotism Handbook for a psychologist. In 1962, The Violent Man, my Red China novel (not science fiction) was published by Parrar, Straus and Giroux. Another study begun in the fifties recently culminated in a second non-fiction t.i.tle, The Money Personality. A third study--on women--will have an SF novel based on it (The Secret Galactics) to be published by Prentice-Hall, Inc. in March 1974.

In 1964 I again started to write science fiction. The first of my new stories was "The Expendables".

I am bemused by the possibility that what I wrote with a hammer and a chisel (so to speak) in my younger days, adhering rigidly to an 800-word-scene-method writing, is actually better than what I can now do when I am so much more knowledgeable. For example, today I feel that I understand human behavior, money, women, men (though not children), exercise, dreams, and writing technique as never before. Then, I just let character happen according to the needs of the story. Now, I know at all times what I'm doing, and why. It feels better. And I really think it's going to turn out better.

Here, without further preliminary discussion, is my list of my favorites: shorter stories: (early) "The Monater", "War of Nerves", (later) "The Ultra Man"; novelettes: (early) "Vault of the Beast", "The Storm", "Hand of the G.o.ds", (later) "Silkies in s.p.a.ce", "The Proxy Intelligence"; novels: (early) The World of Null-A, (later) The Silkie, The Battle of Forever.

Those are my very top choices. Following close behind these are: "Dear Pen Pal", "The Cataaaaa", and "Juggernaut" (short); "Expendables", "The Ghost", "The Weapon Shop", "Secret Unattainable", and "The Green Forest" (novelettes); and the novels, The Weapon Shops of Isher, The Wizard of Linn and Future Glitter.

I want to make a brief comment about a couple of those choices. "Proxy Intelligence" is a sequel to an early novella, "Asylum", which at one time I considered one of my best stories. I still do; but I prefer "Proxy". (At some future time there will be another sequel, t.i.tled "I.Q. 10,000"--at the moment I don't quite feel up to doing that.) It is very likely that, of my Linn stories, "Hand of the G.o.ds" is the most perfectly organized. These first Linn stories were to some extent unconsciously modeled on Robert Graves's I, Claudius--so I had pointed out to me later. But I had done such a vast amount of reading in that particular Roman period that I really thought it was Roman history. However, the Linn family tree was modeled on the Medici line of Florence. So Clane is a combination of Claudius and Lorenzo. Transferred to 12,000 A.D., the whole thing acquired a life of its own, and even won a grudging accolade from my princ.i.p.al U.S. critic Damon Knight.

The stories printed in this present volume, and the novels I have named, qualify for my personal accolade because they are farther out than the stories not included in my list.

I recommend them to all my far-out reader types.

A. E. van Vogt.

Hollywood, Calif., 1973.

DEAR PEN PAL.

Planet Aurigae II.

DEAR Pen Pal:.

When I first received your letter from the interstellar correspondence club, my impulse was to ignore it. The mood of one who has spent the last seventy planetary periods--years I suppose you would call them--in an Aurigaen prison, does not make for a pleasant exchange of letters. However, life is very boring, and so I finally settled myself to the task of writing you.

Your description of Earth sounds exciting. I would like to live there for a while, and I have a suggestion in this connection, but I won't mention it till I have developed it further.

You will have noticed the material on which this letter is written. It is a highly sensitive metal, very thin, very flexible, and I have enclosed several sheets of it for your use. Tungsten dipped in any strong acid makes an excellent mark on it. It is important to me that you do write on it, as my fingers are too hot--literally--to hold your paper without damaging it.

I'll say no more just now. It is possible you will not care to correspond with a convicted criminal, and therefore I shall leave the next move up to you. Thank you for your letter. Though you did not know its destination, it brought a moment of cheer into my drab life.

Skander.

Aurigae II.

Dear Pen Pal:.

Your prompt reply to my letter made me happy. I am sorry your doctor thought it excited you too much, and sorry, also, if I have described my predicament in such a way as to make you feel badly. I welcome your many questions, and I shall try to answer them all.

You say the international correspondence club has no record of having sent any letters to Aurigae. That, according to them, the temperature on the second planet of the Aurigae sun is more than 500 degrees Fahrenheit. And that life is not known to exist there. Your club is right about the temperature and the letters. We have what your people would call a hot climate, but then we are not a hydrocarbon form of life, and find 500 degrees very pleasant.

I must apologize for deceiving you about the way your first letter was sent to me. I didn't want to frighten you away by telling you too much at once. After all, I could not be expected to know that you would be enthusiastic to hear from me.

The truth is that I am a scientist, and, along with the other members of my race, I have known for some centuries that there were other inhabited systems in the galaxy. Since I am allowed to experiment in my spare hours, I amused myself in attempts at communication. I developed several simple systems for breaking in on galactic communication operations, but it was not until I developed a subs.p.a.cewave control that I was able to draw your letter (along with several others, which I did not answer) into a cold chamber.

I use the cold chamber as both sending and receiving center, and since you were kind enough to use the material which I sent you, it was easy for me to locate your second letter among the ma.s.s of mail that acc.u.mulated at the nearest headquarters of the interstellar correspondence club.

How did I learn your language? After all, it is a simple one, particularly the written language seems easy. I had no difficulty with it. If you are still interested in writing me, I shall be happy to continue the correspondence.

Skander.

Dear Pen Pal:.

Your enthusiasm is refreshing. You say that I failed to answer your question about how I expected to visit Earth. I confess I deliberately ignored the question, as my experiment had not yet proceeded far enough. I want you to bear with me a short time longer, and then I will be able to give you the details. You are right in saying that it would be difficult for a being who lives at a temperature of 500 degrees Fahrenheit to mingle freely with the people of Earth. This was never my intention, so please relieve your mind. However, let us drop that subject for the time being.

I appreciate the delicate way in which you approach the subject of my imprisonment. But it is quite unnecessary. I performed forbidden experiments upon my body in a way that was deemed to be dangerous to the public welfare. For instance, among other things, I once lowered my surface temperature to 150 degrees Fahrenheit, and so shortened the radioactive cycle-time of my surroundings. This caused an unexpected break in the normal person to person energy flow in the city where I lived, and so charges were laid against me. I have thirty more years to serve. It would be pleasant to leave my body behind and tour the universe--but as I said I'll discuss that later.

I wouldn't say that we're a superior race. We have certain qualities which apparently "your people do not have. We live longer, not because of any discoveries we've made about ourselves, but because our bodies are built of a more enduring element--I don't know your name for it, but the atomic weight is 52.9 #.[*] Our scientific discoveries are of the kind that would normally be made by a race with our kind of physical structure. The fact that we can work with temperatures of as high as--I don't know just how to put that--has been very helpful in the development of the sub-s.p.a.ce energies which are extremely hot, and require delicate adjustments. In the later stages these adjustments can be made by machinery, but in the development the work must be done by "hand"--I put that word in quotes, because we have no hands in the same way that you have.

I am enclosing a photographic plate, properly cooled and chemicalized for your climate. I wonder if you would set it up and take a picture of yourself. All you have to do is arrange it properly on the basis of the laws of light--that is, light travels in straight lines, so stand in front of it--and when you are ready think "Ready!" The picture will be automatically taken.

Would you do this for me? If you are interested, I will also send you a picture of myself, though I must warn you. My appearance will probably shock you.

Sincerely, Skander.

Planet Aurigae II.

Dear Pen Pal:.

Just a brief note in answer to your question. It is not necessary to put the plate into a camera. You describe this as a dark box. The plate will take the picture when you think, "Ready!" I a.s.sure you it will be flooded with light.

Skander.

Aurigae II.

Dear Pen Pal:.

You say that while you were waiting for the answer to my last letter you showed the photographic plate to one of the doctors at the hospital--I cannot picture what you mean by doctor or hospital, but let that pa.s.s--and he took the problem up with government authorities. Problem? I don't understand. I thought we were having a pleasant correspondence, private and personal.

I shall certainly appreciate your sending that picture of yourself.

Skander.

Aurigae II.

Dear Pen Pal:.

I a.s.sure you I am not annoyed at your action. It merely puzzled me, and I am sorry the plate has not been returned to you. Knowing what governments are, I can imagine that it will not be returned to you for some time, so I am taking the liberty of inclosing another plate.

I cannot imagine why you should have been warned against continuing this correspondence. What do they expect me to do?--eat you up at long distance? I'm sorry but I don't like hydrogen in my diet.

In any event, I would like your picture as a memento of our friendship, and I will send mine as soon as I have received yours. You may keep it or throw it away, or give it to your governmental authorities--but at least I will have the knowledge that I've given a fair exchange.

With all best wishes.

Skander.

Aurigae II.

Dear Pen Pal:.

Your last letter was so slow in coming that I thought you had decided to break off the correspondence. I was sorry to notice that you failed to enclose the photograph, puzzled by your reference to having a relapse, and cheered by your statement that you would send it along as soon as you felt better--whatever that means. However, the important thing is that you did write, and I respect the philosophy of your club which asks its members not to write of pessimistic matters. We all have our own problems which we regard as overshadowing the problems of others. Here I am in prison, doomed to spend the next 30 years tucked away from the main stream of life. Even the thought is hard on my restless spirit, though I know I have a long life ahead of me after my release.

In spite of your friendly letter, I won't feel that you have completely re-established contact with me until you send the photograph.

Yours in expectation.

Skander.

Aurigae II.

Dear Pen Pal:.

The photograph arrived. As you suggest, your appearance startled me. From your description I thought I had mentally reconstructed your body. It just goes to show that words cannot really describe an object which has never been seen.

You'll notice that I've enclosed a photograph of myself, as I promised I would. Chunky, metallic looking chap, am I not, very different, I'll wager, than you expected? The various races with whom we have communicated become wary of us when they discover we are highly radioactive, and that literally we are a radioactive form of life, the only such (that we know of) in the universe. It's been very trying to be so isolated and, as you know, I have occasionally mentioned that I had hopes of escaping not only the deadly imprisonment to which I am being subjected but also the body which cannot escape.

Perhaps you'll be interested in hearing how far this idea has developed. The problem involved is one of exchange of personalities with someone else. Actually, it is not really an exchange in the accepted meaning of the word. It is necessary to get an impress of both individuals, of their mind and of their thoughts as well as their bodies. Since this phase is purely mechanical, it is simply a matter of taking complete photographs and of exchanging them. By complete I mean of course every vibration must be registered. The next step is to make sure the two photographs are exchanged, that is, that each party has somewhere near him a complete photograph of the other. (It is already too late, Pen Pal. I have set in motion the sub-s.p.a.ce energy interflow between the two plates, so you might as well read on.) As I have said it is not exactly an exchange of personalities. The original personality in each individual is suppressed, literally pushed back out of the consciousness, and the image personality from the "photographic" plate replaces it.

You will take with you a complete memory of your life on Earth, and I will take along memory of my life on Aurigae. Simultaneously, the memory of the receiving body will be blurrily at our disposal. A part of us will always be pushing up, striving to regain consciousness, but always lacking the strength to succeed.

As soon as I grow tired of Earth, I will exchange bodies in the same way with a member of some other race. Thirty years hence, I will be happy to reclaim my body, and you can then have whatever body I last happened to occupy.

This should be a very happy arrangement for us both. You, with your short life expectancy, will have out-lived all your contemporaries and will have had an interesting experience. I admit I expect to have the better of the exchange--but now, enough of explanation. By the time you reach this part of the letter it will be me reading it, not you. But if any part of you is still aware, so long for now, Pen Pal. It's been nice having all those letters from you. I shall write you from time to time to let you know how things are going with my tour.

Skander.