by Ray Bradbury
HELL SHIP, in last year's ASTOUNDING, Arthur J. Burks put forth an ideawhich had been discussed by engineers before he had ever used It. Theyjust didn't know how to do it. Mr. Burks did--didn't he write the story.At least, the idea gave him more earthly benifit than it gave theengineers. Maybe he thinks he invented it--I don't know, nor does itmatter: He used it, the idea of gravatic lines of force, forming aspider web throughout the solar system. With the proper machinery,which he ascribed with good attention to detail, you could crawl upthose lines of force like a spider. This idea is so plausable that itmight be placed in the same catagory as rocket propulsion, which isfact.
THE MOTH, in this year's ASTOUNDING, contains another of those ideas ofinterplanatary locomotion which I call one of THE BEST WAYS TO GETAROUND. Don't worry, I'm not pointing to myself with pride. I just wrotethe story, Charles R. Tanner conceived the idea. He tossed it offparanthetically one night, and promptly forgot about it. The idea----Ifall objects are in motion, according to the Lorentz-Fitzgeraldcontraction theory, lose length in the direction of motion, why couldn'tan artificialy produced cause instantaneous motion, why couldn't anartificialy produced contraction cause instantaneous motion,proportional to length-loss? Not a thing in the world against it, myfriends, all you have to do is to find a way to cause the artificialcontraction of the ship in question. Of course, in my story, I inventeda force-field----very handy when you're in a tight spot!----which causedtho electrons to flatten out. This force acted on the ship andeverything within. Therefore, any speed up to a little below that oflight could be obtained, and that bogey man so often ignored inscientifiction, acceleration, was disposed of at the start, since therewas nothing that had a tendancy to stay behind. There is the realinertialess drive, which E.E. Smith talked of, but never used.
(Paranthetically: When Charles R. Tanner saw the story containing hisidea in print, he became enthused, and promptly invented and named allmachines used in the process, discovered a new and ultimate particlecalled the "graviton", that which makes the proton 1846 times heavierthan the electron, and practically drew plans for the force field whichcaused the contraction. When he finished we knew exactly _how_ to obtainspeeds far exceding both those of Smith and Campbell. Our inventionswere plausable, and they'd work, provided----)
I've just about reached the end of the list, though there are one or twoothers that might be mentioned right here at the tail end of thearticle. Jules Verne, I suppose, has to be credited with the first shipfired from a canon, in ONCE AROUND THE MOON. Wells takes the bow forgravity plates, which Willy Ley so neatly disposed of, only he called it"cavorite" in THE FIRST MEN IN THE MOON., and Roy Cummings used iteffectivly in AROUND THE UNIVERSE (and a hundred others). In a story inthe old WONDER Donald Wolheim put his rocket ship on a huge wheel,rotated the wheel and flung it off into space. Fair, except that theacceleration would be killing.
AND THAT'S ABSOLUTLY ALL THE BEST WAYS TO GET AROUND. Unless there aresome of those which I haven't heard of. If you know of some, I wouldlike to be enlightened.
--ROSS ROCKYLYN
--THE SYMPHONIC ABDUCTION--
"I suppose you've heard about what happened to my brother Jerry?" RaySpencer asked me; I shook my head. "The whole family was worried abouthim for a while: couldn't tell whether he had sleeping-sickness, orwhat. All we knew was that he'd gone coma listening to some phonographrecords when he was alone in the house. Perhaps the intense emotionaleffect of the music, plus its stentor, was the cause.
"When I returned home, he lay cold on the floor in front of theradio-phonograph. The automatic release had shut off the record, but thecurrent was still on, and the volume dial was turned full strength.Nothing I could do would rouse my brother, so--scared--I put him to bedand called a doctor, who had him taken to a hospital for observation. Noone could determine what was the trouble, and since we couldn't affordto keep him at the hospital indefinitely, we brought Jerry back home.And although it wasn't exactly appropriate, I couldn't help rememberingthe story of the Sleeping Beauty whenever I looked into his room and sawhim, apparently only napping.
"Then one day I heard him--still in his trance--whisperingly singing.The indistinct notes were reminiscent of one of Chaikovsky's balletpieces. I tried vainly to wake him. He sighed on and on until the faintbreath of a voice softened into silence....
"When at last he did awake, I had been listening to some continentalcommuniques in the adjoining room, with the door open so that I couldlook in on him in case of emergency. The program ended and was followedby concert music. I don't care much for symphony, so I arose and went tothe radio to switch it off. At the same time, Jerry stirred: I heard hisbed creak. Turning to look his way, I twisted the wrong dial, and themusic thundered: my brother began to toss on his bed. Disregarding theracket for a moment in excitement at seeing him move, I ran in to him,shouting, shaking him a little. His hands groped, found mine, and clungto them. Painfully he endeavored to raise himself, dropped backperspiring and panting. Then he screamed--horribly!--as if all Hell'sdevils were shovelling all Hell's coals on him, and opened his eyes, hisface taut with dread. He recognized me. In a moment I had soothed himback to normalcy. He was perfectly all right from then on.
"Or at least we thought so. But since you're so interested inmetaphysics, get him to tell you about the vision he had during hiscatalepsy. He won't feel embarrassed; he's told it to others. Just saythat I mentioned it to you." Ray had finished. Later, when I chancedupon Jerry Spencer, I brot him up to my apartment for dinner. The mealover, he smiled at my query concerning his comatose dream, and related:
"None in my family are as interested in music as I: my belief is that torealize its full magic you must leave off talking--better still, listento it alone--and, closing your eyes, open your mind to it. Relax--forgetyourself. All of my folks poke fun at me when I sit on the floor by theradio during the concert broadcasts, my ears close to the speaker. Butthat is the only way by which I can really enjoy music. The veryloudness, blasting at my hearing, emphasizes the tone-magic,overwhelming everything else. And sometimes, if my eyes are shut, I cansee fantastic dream worlds, fiery pageants inspired by thundrousharmonies.
"I had never dared to turn on the amplifier as loud as I'd have wished.My family said that it would annoy the neighbors. So that day when I wasalone at home, I thot that then was my chance, if ever, and proceededto play my favorite record; the first scene of Chaikovsky's SWAN LAKEballet, as loudly as possible. The sound was not so deafeningas--maddening, or better still, intoxicating. How I Loved it! I satcross-legged, eyes shut, dreaming, at last absolutely happy. More:ecstatic.
"The first notes were like an invitation emanating from a lostdimension, calling me, wheedling. Promising haven, peace. The call ofthe unknown: not the lure of dashing adventure but of mystery, mournfulsorcery, epic splendors....
"Deep in my heart there's a sort of innate Slavic sadness whichresponded to the music's plaint, and my thought traveled with the melodyeffortlessly on and on. The warm darkness of my closed eyes lightened toinfinities of cold, deep-blue emptiness, through which I felt myselfgliding as the theme progressed.
"Each harmonic burst, every wailing echo, dominated me. My thought wasborne farther and farther like a leaf in a tempest.... There were basechords which made my throat quiver, and tears burned under my loweredeyelids. I felt a tingling at my shoulders, and with eyes still closedbut discerning by a sort of dream-vision, I half-consciously turned,beheld luminous yellow--draperies?--fluttering behind me, bouying me:like scarf-wings, whipping comet-tails.
"An instinctive transient fright gripped me, admonishing me to withdrawfrom this blue region into the calid darkness from which I had come--butthe melody's urge was stronger than my feeble urge to retreat. The azurebecame flecked with diamond points of light which augmented into greatwhite moons, and from one to another in a vast network rayed pulsingfilaments, vascular channels of fluid light.
"A stupendous chorus of clear unhuman voices, as from diamond throats,emanated from these linked moons,
of which the music which had conveyedme was only a distorted, ghostly echo.... In tangible waves this greatermusic rippled around the webbed moons, beating against me as though toforce me away on its tides I know not whither.
"Beneath me was a limitless tract of grey slime which rose and felltorpidly as with the breathing of a somnolent subterranean thing. Themoonlight burned brightly on it, and crawling across it from some remoteplace came--trees?--snaky-rooted things whose prehensile branches bore,instead of leaves, flexible lenses.... They left behind them red trailson the slime, and excrementory ribbons of thin blue vapor streamed fromtheir topmost appendages. Occasionally they paused to feed, focussingtheir lenses upon the gelatinous ground, which became luminously whiteunder the concentrated light. The sucking mouths of the serpentine rootsabsorbed this matter, and red viscosity seeped into the eaten places,greying rapidly under the moon's effulgence, chemically affected by it.
"And the trees mated. Gynandrous, they converged in pairs or groups,pressing close together, thrusting their limbs into one enormouscluster, aggregating their lenses into a series of complex, compactforms ... shuddering with a violent ardor.... From erectileprotuberances rimming the lenses ruby liquid spurted, bursting withincandescence under the condensed moonlight.
"Spent, drooping, the trees separated, and the radiant orgasmic matterdrifted lightly down to the slime, burning fitfully as the trees movedaway indifferently.
"Apparently these flickering radiances fed, for gradually they grew,dulling, becoming opaque, substantial----thrusting out probing roots,developing limbs, wandering like their parents. They snailed onward outof sight, all of them.
"Silently, a phosphorescent green river raced like a bolt of furcatelightning over the green wastes. It was composed not of water but ofmyriad tiny luminous crawling insects. A conscious river, altering itstortuous course at will, small streams deviating from the main body andmeandering erratically, then rejoining the general current. This river'send drew into sight, flashed under me and into the distance, leavingfast-greying red paths on the slime.
"The moon's music assailed me; simultaneously I felt those man-measures,which had carried me so long, cease, leaving me without a link to my ownworld--helpless against the inexorable tide of the lunar melody, which,bursting more loudly, swept me higher, through an interstice of thecirculatory web, into blue infinity. And there it left me; fadingripples of it would lap me, but were too dissapated then to sweep mefarther.
"I floated aimlessly in the void, it seemed for ages, less a body than amind, aware of neither hunger nor thirst nor ill of any sort other thana dreadful sapping weariness.
"There was no way of reckoning time, but after an eternity of lonelinessand self-boredom, I heard a glissando of mellow tintinabulations. Atroop of small stars flashed toward me like a scattered handful ofsparkling white gems, whirling in interweaving dance of enchantment,tinkling glad clear tunes like the babbling of crystal brooks. Thejoyous, youthful essence of their song so charmed me that I forgot myweariness and vocally ventured to imitate it.
"At last they broke their circle and swept away, single-file, out ofsight, diminishing with distance.
"For awhile I hummed their song, but with every repetition it lost someof its starry quality and gained a human-ness, earthiness,animalism--until it impressed me no longer beautiful, and I wassilent.... Wearily the sluggish ages passed ... in the illimitable bluesolitudes....
"Eventually I heard the man-music, again like a summons--its vibrationspiercing the moon-net, receding, drawing me with it. Its power increasedwith every unit of retregression, dragging me with it. Over the wastesof slime it dragged me, all in a fraction of seconds. Wind tore at me,racketing in my ears, drowning music of both moons and man.
"In a flash of cataclysm, of cosmic pandemonium, the moons, jostled outof their places by my abrupt passage through the web, strained apart,snapping their pulsant filamental arteries. White, searing drops ofblood of light oozed from the severed ducts, hissing as they fell, andsplashed on the slime, which heaved torturedly. The crawling treesreared upon their writhing roots, flailing their lensed limbs, and thephosphorescent rivers halted suddenly, piling into swiftlydisintegrating mounds.
"The rain of light blood thinned and ceased: the moons dimmed andplunged earthward, lusterless. As they touched the tempestuously tossingslime, it shrieked stridently, deafeningly--_cosmically_! An outcryvoicing all life's inherent dread of the horror of pain and death, whicharose from all sides, like an auditory vise, tightening upon andcrushing me. The blue chaos was wiped away by utter blackness; theshriek weakened, ceased.
"I opened my eyes, shut them--dazzled by daylight, and opened themagain, but cautiously. My brother Ray was standing over me, shaking me,calling my name ... AND IT WAS I WHO HAD SCREAMED!"
as i remember----
As I remember, August Derleth wrote, a time back: "My personal favoriteof the Lovecraft stories is THE RATS IN THE WALL, followed by DUNWICHHORROR, COLOUR OUT OF SPACE, THE OUTSIDER, WHISPERER IN DARKNESS." H.P.L.liked MUSIC OF ERICH ZANN as well as anything he did, COLOUR next.Donald Wandrei is busy in St. Paul writing plays and shorts. "My averageday brings me anywhere from ten to fifty letters that must be answered."
As I remember one night in Coney Island found seven strange lookingfellows, fans and authors, crowded into a car for a posed picture. RossRocklynne, freshly freckled by a New Yawk sun, at the steering wheel,Jack Agnew at his side with Mark (I'm makin' my mark in pulps) Reinsburgand immediately in back of Rocklynne a fellow with too much hair, a tanthat would make an Ethiopian blush, and teeth, Bradbury, augmented bythe humorously verbose Erle Korshak, the professorly nice Bob Madle andone V. Kidwell. I recall also a night at Mort Weisinger's home duringJuly with Rocklynne, Ackerman, Morojo, Hornig, Binder, Schwartz, Darrowand again Bradbury. A picture was taken that night and the only oneswith decent smiles were Ackerman and the under-done personality whoedits this magazine. Hornig looked strangely thoughtful with his hand tohis chin, Mort had a cigarette drooping from his lip and Darrow,Schwartz and Binder all were lost in profound contemplation of thelittle birdie which Mort's brother held. I remember also a night onCentral Park, a stag night, when it was raining convulsively and Binder,Bradbury, Hornig, Rocklynne and Darrow all clambered into a rocking boatand swished out onto the glittering water, yodeling popular tunes at theway-way top of their corny contraltos. Binder has a pleasing bath-tubbaritone, while Hornig can imitate a frog at the drop of a body. Darrowwas strangely silent, but that man Bradbury and Rocklynne set up such ahowl that the Park authorities came out in a submarine, thinking thatthe Loch Ness monster had turned up again. This was all settled whensomeone pulled the plug and everyone drowned peacefully.
Going way back in the cobwebs I seem to recall a letter arriving at anEastern post-office addressed to Mars. It was returned marked:Insufficient Postage.
As I remember Charlie Hornig wrote, on January 9th: "On Tuesday,February 20th, 1940, I'll be in Los Angeles. I will write for FuturiaFantasia, but my rates are 12 cents a word, before acceptance. I haven'tseen GONE WITH THE WIND yet, but if I stop off to see it on the road,expect me two days later than heretofore planned. If I walk it, expectme at the city limits on the R car-line, Whittier, the same time of themorning, only about 18 months later. I'll bring my overcoat and shovelalong for the annual sun showers and orange blizzards." And later, fromHornig: "I liked the latest issue of Futuria Fantasia very much,especially the page of conventional descriptions over which I laughedmyself sick and silly. The note about Bradbury and the mask and theblonde in the Paramount is the funniest thing I've ever read in afan-mag."
I seem to remember being at someone's house not so long ago and glancingthru a thick manuscript under submission to John W. Campbell. I seen toremember that the author was Robert A. Heinlein, member of our LaSfl.And the other day that story popped up in Astounding as a Nova, "IF THISGOES ON--" And it seems to me that here and now Bob should take a bowfor a swell story. And thanks to Campbell for providing it with a Rogerscover and R
ogers interiors. OMEGA----
* * * * *
_COMING in MAY_
"DARKNESS AND DAWN"
FAMOUS FANTASTIC MYSTERIES
MARCH
15c
"BLIND SPOT"
THE IMMORTAL HALL _and_ FLINT FINLAY
