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ISFDB<\/a> _____________________<\/p>\n Editor, John W. Campbell Jr.<\/p>\n Fiction: Non-fiction: _____________________<\/p>\n The first part of Jack Williamson\u2019s The Legion of Time<\/em><\/strong> leads off this issue.1<\/sup> It starts with Lanning, a college student, reading a paper on space and time in his shared undergraduate flat when a woman appears in his room:<\/p>\n A clear silvery voice had spoken his name. Dropping the book, he sat upright in his chair. He blinked, swallowed. A queer little shudder went up and down his spine. The door was still closed, and there had been no other sound. But a woman was standing before him on the rug. She shows him a vision of Jonbar, her city:<\/p>\n The lofty, graceful pylons of it would have dwarfed the skyscrapers of Manhattan. Of shimmering, silvery metal, they were set immensely far apart, among green park-lands and broad, many-leveled roadways. Great white ships, teardrop-shaped, slipped through the air above them. p. 7<\/p><\/blockquote>\n Lethonee explains to Lanning that he will have a pivotal role in ensuring the future existence of the city, and that he should guard himself against other forces:<\/p>\n \u201cThere is the dark, resistless power of the gyrane, and black Glarath, the priest of its murderous horror. There are the monstrous hordes of the kothrin, and their savage commander, Sorainya.\u201d Before she leaves him she warns him not to go to the flying club the next day with Halloran, his friend and flatmate: the latter is killed in an accident. Velvet night had fallen on the tropical Pacific. The watch had just changed, and now the decks were deserted. Lanning, the only passenger, was leaning on the foredeck rail, watching the minute diamonds of phosphorescence that winged endlessly from the prow. If Lethonee is Good Girlfriend then Sorainya quickly reveals herself to be Bad Girlfriend. Sorainya tries to lure him on to the craft but Lethonee arrives just as he moves towards Sorainya and tells him to look below: there is a shark is in the water, and as his hand passes through Sorainya\u2019s he realises that she is a projection too, and that he would have fallen to his death in the water. With a final warning Sorainya departs. \u201cThe World is a long corridor, from the Beginning of existence to the End. Events are groups in a sculptured frieze that runs endlessly along the walls. And Time is a lantern carried steadily through the hall, to illuminate the groups one by one. It is the light of awareness, the subjective reality of consciousness. It\u2019s a breath of fresh air to find a story that explains the\u00a0maguffin\u00a0in\u00a0such a concise and elegant way\u2014most other stories of this period would have a lone inventor banging on about etheric potentialities for a page and a half. This part is the cherry on the top of two crackingly paced chapters. Lanning climbed metal steps. Standing behind a bright wheel, under the flawless shell of crystal, he came upon a slight, strange little man\u2014or the shattered wreck of a man. His breath sucked in to the shock of sympathetic pain. For the stranger was hideous with the manifold print of unspeakable agony. The rest of this section details McLan\u2019s torture at the hands on the Gyronchi. Lanning is also shown their brutal world, and the civil war that has destroyed humanity leaving the Gyronchi and their ant warriors in control.<\/p>\n McLan also tells a Lanning of his temporal work (undoing the earlier elegant explanation a little), and how atomic power eventually let him build the Chronion<\/em> and travel in time. At the end, Lanning goes and swears the rest of the men to the service of Jonbar. Most of the rest of the fiction is, sadly, not up to the standard of the Williamson. The Incredible Visitor<\/em><\/strong> by Clifton B. Kruse, the first of two stories from this writer in this issue, is about a tiny, incredibly dense spaceship which comes to Earth from Sirius and causes a certain amount of turmoil, including the capture of two humans. The aliens, after their observations, decide they want to communicate with us. Island of the Individualists<\/em><\/strong> by Nat Schachner is the third (of five stories) in the \u2018Past, Present and Future\u2019 series. I was going to read the first two but, after reading this one, I was glad I didn\u2019t bother. This has three characters in a rocket ship running out of fuel over the Pacific. Fortunately, there is a data dump that brings us up to date:<\/p>\n \u201cHow far is it to land?\u201d asked Beltan. They see a strange island in the distance, and are scanned as they come into land. They find a race of men with really big heads who spend their time in contemplation.<\/p>\n One of the Heads talks to the three but, bored, retreats behind his force screen. Another Head talks to them, and feeds them before doing the same. A third speaks but then disappears. This one returns with the pursuing forces of Harg. There is a climactic battle on the island. In Procession of Suns<\/em><\/strong> by R. R. Winterbotham a female pilot lands in an isolated mountain valley where a man is hiding from the rest of the world. After he destroys her plane (to stop her escaping and revealing his whereabouts) they become engrossed in an astronomical puzzle.<\/p>\n \u201cI fled to these mountains and made my home in this crater of an extinct volcano. It was here that I found among some old books I had rescued in your land, certain vague references to a science called astronomy\u2014the study of stars.\u201d The rest of the story is little more than a lecture, ending with Fao\u2019s deduction that the Earth is acting like an ion in a capacitor\u2014or some such scientific nonsense, I forget. This is an awful non-story.<\/p>\n The second part (there are overlapping serials in this issue) of Three Thousand Years!<\/em><\/strong> by Thomas Calvert McClary provides a temporary respite from the dross. The fish pools had been stretched for two miles, with lengthy necks reaching into the river. At high tide the necks were bottled up. Birch and some sugar maple had been found. A poor grade of clay yielded a few pots which did not leak too badly. Birch and maple tea were the camp drink, both made by steaming twigs. There was no way to boil as yet. The inferior clay pots couldn\u2019t stand it. A little coal had been discovered buried beneath hard packed mud. It was dug out with sticks and broken laboriously with heavy stones. Some of the men go out to scout, and they later return on two elephants, with grim tales of colleagues lost in accidents and to huge bands of savages. There are also reports of widespread cannibalism, including one episode among their own expedition when they were desperate.<\/p>\n Some of the scouts do not return and Llewelyn goes out to find them, discovering Steve trapped in an underground tunnel with a group are living\u00a0there. Steve and the eight hundred survivors go back to the camp. Passionately, [Gamble] gave them a picture of the world science could create for them\u2014corn high as their wall in five days from planting. Clothing in such quantity they could throw it into refabrication when it grew shoddy. Cars and private baths for every member of the family, luxuries for all and poverty for none. It was a beautiful picture. It left them silent and stunned. Most go with Gamble but a few decide instead to go with Drega to set up their own society. Static<\/em><\/strong> by Kent Casey is the second of the \u2018Dr. von Theil and Sgt. John West\u2019 stories. I had hopes for this one as I liked aspects of the previous tale, but this just recycles it in another conflict with the Uranians. This time the latter\u2019s spaceships are impenetrable to the weapons used by Earth, so the General summons von Theil\u00a0to find out how their shields work. Von Theil\u00a0picks up the now Lieutenant West (promoted for valour after the opening space battle scene), and they head off for Mars with one of von Thiel\u2019s inventions. This is a very long setup for a weak and unconvincing ending that involves (spoiler) a thought scrambler. The story doesn\u2019t really make any sense (how did Von Thiel\u2019s thought scrambler work away from\u00a0Mars?), and it has an uncomplicated and straightforward ending. The cornball humour is very weak.<\/p>\n Ra for the Rajah<\/em><\/strong> by John Victor Peterson2<\/sup> is narrated by Ward Jetland, the Freshman President at Royal Astrotech College in 2039 A. D. When he is introduced to a new student who is Martian royalty, his Royal Highness Ianay Fonay, it does not go well:<\/p>\n I was Freshman President by virtue of what was termed brilliance in prep school polo when the exclusive Coloe Palus prep Godsped the Rajah across to Royal. The last sentence telegraphs the arc of the story. While they are working in the same lab on a rocket thrust dispersion problem they are both introduced to Rosalie Ames, a beautiful heiress:<\/p>\n She swept in like a queen, surveyed the Rajah and me haughtily and then swooped to our level with an even, white smile that made my heart surge like a hypoed jet-blast and keep going faster than a Perseid. I ogled at the Rajah; he ogled at me. After she leaves, their truce ends:<\/p>\n \u201cListen, Rajah Phoney,\u201d I growled, \u201call hands clear. The deck\u2019s mine and you\u2019re just a third-grade blaster. She gave me the orbs first, so just arc for Callisto and keep your unlovely proboscis clear of the heart-shiverin\u2019 until I slap an I-do around the pretty\u2019s fin\u2014 The rest of the story is about their rivalry, and concludes with a game of rocket polo. Niedbalski\u2019s Mutant<\/em><\/strong> by Clifton B. Kruse is his second (and pseudonymous) story in the issue, and it is narrated by a sentient plant that can \u2018hear\u2019 the thoughts of its scientist creator and later matches this to his speech. The plant teaches itself to speak and attempts to communicate, only for the scientist to react with horror and leave, never to reappear. This plot loop is repeated with a woman who comes into possession of the plant. With its third owner, a botanist, the plant remains silent until it comes into bud, at which point it needs a viola tricolour for pollination. Once again the owner disappears but this time the plant learns that its attempts at communication are blanking the minds of the recipients. The Brain-Storm Vibration<\/em><\/strong> by Moses Schere occurs after the events of his earlier story Anachronistic Optics<\/em> (Astounding<\/em>, February 1938), but is independent of it. This one has Joshua the handyman becoming the subject of an experiment to increase intelligence (or \u201cratiocinative ability\u201d as the story puts it). After they retire to the library a burglar breaks into the house; he is subdued and later used as a test subject which, of course, turns him into a criminal mastermind. There is a lot of explanatory dialogue and hand waving science explanation in the final act of this weak piece.<\/p>\n The Cover<\/em><\/strong>\u00a0by Charles Schneeman (it is uncredited but is a colour mirror image of the first internal illustration) is for Williamson\u2019s serial and is okay, I suppose, but not as good as his internal work which is probably the best in the issue. I note in passing that the coloured banners at the top and bottom of the previous covers are absent in this issue but will be back in the next. The rest of the Interior artwork<\/em><\/strong> is by Jack Binder, Elliott Dold, Jr., C. R. Thomson, and H. W. Wesso. A few are uncredited (I suspect the illustrations for McClary\u2019s serial are by Brown, as they are similar to last issue\u2019s, which were in turn similar to the\u00a0credited cover). After Schneeman\u2019s illustrations I like Wesso\u2019s best. They look old-fashioned but are nicely detailed. The longer I look at all the different parts of the picture (look at those immaculately drawn skyscrapers in the background, the arches under the far stand) the more I think it is the best illustration in the issue. I have a grudging appreciation of Dold\u2019s work (who illustrates three of the stories) even though it is rather crude. Jack Williamson has opened up another field for time-travel plots. The Legion of Time<\/em> is itself a memorable story. It has a new plot. But more than that\u2014it has a new concept\u2014a mutant plot. If the future can follow either of many paths\u2014and that, I feel, must be so, if our modern science is reasonably sound\u2014then there is a new possibility. In the year 5938, for instance, either of two civilizations might exist. A time-traveler going down the paths to Tomorrow might reach either one or the other. I don\u2019t see why the latter should necessarily pertain, or why Campbell is getting so excited about Williamson\u2019s twist; he goes on to say that this \u201ccompletely new idea\u201d \u201ccan give rise to a hundred plots.\u201d I hope not, I don\u2019t want to read the same story a hundred times. 3<\/sup><\/p>\n Catastrophe!<\/em><\/strong> is a science article by Edward E. (\u2018Doc\u2019) Smith about the formation of our solar system. As with most of these pieces it is outdated\u2014the nebular theory it discounts (because of angular momentum concerns) is the one that is now supported.4<\/sup> Smith finishes with a lively description of another theory\u2014a wandering star striking or coming very close to a binary system, where one of the two stars was our sun. What broke through my customary lethargy is not the mere fact that these sprightly and courteous gentlemen did not like \u201cGalactic Patrol\u201d\u2014I cannot even hope, and certainly do not expect, to please everybody; and their tastes are their own. Nor is it the tone of the communication, the weapons they have chosen\u2014I have been bawled out before, by experts, without undue or unseemly urges to violence. He goes on to give details, and challenges the original correspondents to state which passages of this novel show scientific knowledge incompatible with holding a Ph. D. Once again we have an issue that has a few items of note, and a lot of what can only be described as dross. \u25cf<\/p>\n _____________________<\/p>\n 1. In Campbell\u2019s letter of 28th<\/sup> February 1938 to his friend and correspondent Robert Swisher (in Fantasy Commentator<\/em> #59\/60\u2014recommended, and available at Lulu.com<\/a>), he talks about the writers and material of this period:<\/p>\n \u201cYou know. I swear….we ought to get an appreciable and real circulation increase during the next three months. I think we\u2019ve gotten some damn good stories, along with the ones that are just a bit weak. \u2018Three Thousand Years and \u2018Legion of Time\u2019 are good yarns. Those Kent Casey shorts are good and (Clifton B.) Kruse has dropped his lousy W62 series (space adventure stories) for some rather nicely handled pieces. The competition from the author\u2019s viewpoint, is getting fierce. I\u2019m betting a number of those who appeared begin to drop out. Eando Binder has been in a bit of a slump, and his beat was never too strong. He may be retired gradually. (R.R.) Winterbotham is improving gradually and just fast enough to keep up. But he may not. Later on in the same letter Campbell has this to say about the artwork the magazine uses:<\/p>\n \u201cBy the way, any originals (covers and interior drawings) you\u2019d like? We pass \u2019em out fairly liberally because they just get thrown out. You can even get a cover original after it\u2019s about three months old\u2014provided you don\u2019t ask for an astronomical cover. Schneeman\u2019s work is really neat in the originals. Binder\u2019s originals aren\u2019t as good as the reproduction\u2014because he draws for the reproduction, not the original. The April cover is already bespoke\u2014by Tom McClary. He can have it when we have the June cover to hang in the office. Wesso is doing that original astronomical plate. p. 82<\/p><\/blockquote>\n 2. I couldn\u2019t find out much about John Victor Peterson. According to his ISFDB page<\/a>, he wrote eight stories (one a collaboration) in the late-1930s\/early-1940s and was then out of the field for over a decade, returning in the mid-1950s with another eleven works. There was a final novel in 1970, Rock the Big Rock<\/em>. I have before me as I write a battered copy of the first-ever issue of New Worlds<\/em>\u2014not the one which Ted Carnell and Frank Arnold persuaded Stephen Frances (alias Hank Janson) to launch under the Pendulum Publications imprint in 1946, but the March 1939 issue, the first of what turned out to be a run of four produced by means of a primitive duplicator. It contains a story by John Victor Peterson, a British writer who had already made five appearances in the American SF pulps, and a discussion of his writing methods by one \u201cThornton Ayre.\u201d\u00a0p. 94<\/p><\/blockquote>\n 3. Sam Moskowitz mentions one story that may have been inspired by Williamson\u2019s in Fantasy Commentator<\/em> #59\/60:<\/p>\n The identical plot would be used with great effectiveness and poignancy in C.L. Moore\u2019s \u2018Greater Than Gods\u2019 (Astounding<\/em> Science Fiction<\/em>,\u00a0January, 1939), possibly urged upon her by Campbell. It was the \u2018Branches of Time\u2019 plot used several times previously, even as early as Edward Everett Hale and Mark\u00a0Twain (\u2018Hands Off, Harper\u2019s, March, 1881 and \u2018The Mysterious Stranger\u2019, Harper\u2019s, 1922, respectively). p. 68-69<\/p><\/blockquote>\n 4. Wikipedia\u2019s Formation and evolution of the Solar System<\/em> page<\/a>.<\/p>\n 5. The Analytical Laboratory<\/em> results for this issue appeared in July:<\/p>\n I agree with the top two, but the next three are among the four worst stories in this issue; the Kruse stories are better, and Peterson\u2019s definitely so, but I can see how the latter split opinion. \u25cf<\/p>\n Edited 15th November 2019: formatting, archive.org link.<\/em><\/p>\n ISFDB Archive.org _____________________ Editor, John W. Campbell Jr. Fiction: The Legion of Time (Part 1 of 3) \u2022 serial by Jack Williamson \u2217\u2217\u2217+ The Incredible Visitor \u2022 short story by Clifton B. Kruse \u2217 Island of the Individualists \u2022 novelette by Nat Schachner Procession of Suns \u2022 short story by R. R. Winterbotham Three Thousand […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[15],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4576","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-astounding"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6Pcj7-1bO","jetpack-related-posts":[],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4576","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4576"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4576\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":14469,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4576\/revisions\/14469"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4576"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4576"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4576"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nArchive.org<\/a><\/p>\n
\nThe Legion of Time<\/em><\/strong> (Part 1 of 3) \u2022 serial by Jack Williamson \u2217\u2217\u2217<\/strong>+
\nThe Incredible Visitor<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 short story by Clifton B. Kruse \u2217<\/strong>
\nIsland of the Individualists<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 novelette by Nat Schachner
\nProcession of Suns<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 short story by R. R. Winterbotham
\nThree Thousand Years!<\/em><\/strong> (Part 2 of 3) \u2022 serial by Thomas Calvert McClary \u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>
\nStatic<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 novelette by Kent Casey
\nRa for the Rajah<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 short story by John Victor Peterson \u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>
\nNiedbalski\u2019s Mutant<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 short story by Clifton B. Kruse [as by Spencer Lane] \u2217<\/strong>
\nThe Brain-Storm Vibration<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 short story by Moses Schere<\/p>\n
\nCover<\/em><\/strong> \u2022\u00a0Charles Schneeman
\nInterior artwork<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 Charles Schneeman (3), Jack Binder, Elliott Dold, Jr. (5), C. R. Thomson (2), H. W. Wesso, uncredited (4)
\nNot \u2018The\u2019 But \u2018A\u2019<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 editorial by John W. Campbell, Jr.
\nCatastrophe!<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 science essay by Edward E. Smith
\nScience Discussions<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 letters
\nBrass Tacks<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 letters
\nIn Times to Come<\/em><\/strong>
\nThe Analytical Laboratory: March 1938<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/sfmagazines.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/AST193805p006x600.jpg?resize=625%2C473&ssl=1\")
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\nA plain white robe swept long to her feet. Her hair, a glowing mahogany-red, was held back with a blue, brilliant band like a halo. The composure of her perfect, classic face was almost stern. But, behind it, Lanning felt agony.
\nBefore her, in two small hands, she held a thing about the size and shape of a football\u2014but shimmering with splendid prismatic flame, like a colossal, many-faceted diamond. p. 6
\n[. . .]
\n\u201cI am Lethonee,\u201d she said. Her voice, Lanning noticed, had an unfamiliar musical rhythm. \u201cAnd I am not really in your room, but in my own city of Jonbar. It is only in your mind that we meet, through the chronotron,\u201d\u2014her eyes dropped briefly to the immense flashing gem\u2014\u201cand only your study of Time made possible this complete rapport.\u201d p. 6<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
\nThe white beauty of Lethonee had become almost stern. A sorrow darkened her eyes, yet they flashed with a deathless hatred.
\n\u201cShe is the greatest peril.\u201d It was a battle-chant. \u201cSorainya, the Woman of War! She is the evil flower of Gyronchi. And she must be destroyed.\u201d
\n[. . .]
\n\u201cOr,\u201d she finished, \u201cshe will destroy you. Denny.\u201d
\nLanning looked at her a long time. At last, hoarse with wonder, he said: \u201cWhatever is going to happen, I\u2019m willing to help\u2014if I can. Because you are\u2014beautiful.\u201d p. 7-8<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
\nThe second chapter continues at an equally brisk pace. Lanning graduates and takes a job reporting in Nicaragua. He travels to his new post by ship and, while on deck one night, he receives another visit:<\/p>\n
\n[. . .]
\nAnd it startled him strangely when a ringing golden voice [. . .] called: \u201cDenny Lanning!\u201d
\nHis heart leapt and paused. He looked up eagerly, and hope gave way to awed wonderment. For, flying beside the rail, was a long golden shell, shaped like an immense shallow platter. Silken cushions made a couch of it, and lying amid them was a woman.
\nSorainya\u2014Woman of War!
\nLethonee\u2019s warning came back. For the long-limbed woman in the shell was dad in a gleaming, sleeveless crimson tunic of woven mail that yielded to her full lissom curves. A long, thin sword, in a jeweled sheath, lay beside her. She had put aside a black-plumed, crimson helmet, and thick masses of golden hair streamed down across her strong, bare arms.
\nThe white, tapered fingers, scarlet-nailed, touched some control on the shell\u2019s low rim, and it floated nearer the rail. Upraised on the pillows and one smooth elbow, the woman looked up at Lanning, smiling. Her eyes were long and brilliantly greenish. Across the white beauty of her face, her mocking lips were a long scarlet wound, voluptuous, malicious.
\nFlower of Evil\u2014Lethonee\u2019s words again. Lanning stood gripping the rail, and a trembling weakness shook him. Swift, unbidden desire overcame incredulity, and he strove desperately to be its master. p. 9-10<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
\nLethonee tells Lanning that if he ever yields to Sorainya then Jonbar will never exist, and explains why:<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAgain and again the corridor branches, for it is the museum of all that is possible. The bearer of the lantern may take one turning, or another. And so, many halls that might have been illuminated with reality are left forever in the darkness.
\n\u201cMy world of Jonbar is one such possible way. It leads through splendid halls, bright vistas that have no limit. Gyronchi is another. But it is a barren track, through narrowing, ugly passages, that comes to a dead and useless end.\u201d
\nThe wide solemn eyes of Lethonee looked at him, over the slumberous flame of the jewel. Lanning tensed and caught his breath, as if a light, cold hand, from nowhere, had touched his shoulder.
\n\u201cAnd you, Denny Lanning,\u201d came the silver rhythmic voice, \u201care destined, for a little time, to carry the lantern. And\u2014yours is the choice of reality.\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
\nAfter this eventful beginning, Williamson uses the next section to rearrange the furniture. Years pass. He is visited once more by Sorainya, who tries to make him kill himself. He receives another treatise on time from his old college roommate McLan, and then one from Chan, the fourth of his roommates, after which he leaves to join him in China.
\nThere, Lanning and Chan work as pilots in an unspecified war. During one raid they get their aircraft airborne but it is badly damaged. As they plummet towards the surface a spectral ship\u2014with the dead Barry Halloran aboard\u2014materialises beside them. They are plucked from the aircraft and Lanning later wakes on board to find Halloran watching over him.
\nLanning finds out he is on the Chronion<\/em>, a time-ship, and meets other military men plucked from various years\u00a0to fight Sorainya. He then meets the ship\u2019s captain, who is his old friend Will McLan, but finds him much changed:<\/p>\n
\nThe hands\u2014restlessly fumbling with an odd little tube of bright-worn silver that hung by a thin chain about his neck\u2014were yellow, bloodless claws, trembling, twisted with pain. The whole thin body was grotesquely stooped and gnarled, as if every bone had been broken on a torture wheel.
\nBut it was the haggard, livid face, cross-hatched with a white net of ridged scars that chilled Lanning with its horror. Beneath a tangled abundance of loose white hair, that face was a stiff, pain-graven mask, terrible to see. Dark, deep-sunken, the eyes were somber wells of agony\u2014and of a deathless, brooding hatred.
\nStrangely, those dreadful orbs lit with recognition.
\n\u201cDenny!\u201d It was an eager whisper, but queerly dry and voiceless.
\nThe little man limped quickly to meet him, thrust out a trembling hand that was thin and twisted and broken, hideous with a web of scars. His breath was a swift, whistling gasp.
\nLanning tried to put down the wondering dread that shook him. He took that frail dry claw of a hand, and tried to smile.
\n\u201cWil?\u201d he whispered. \u201cYou are Wil McLan?\u201d
\nHe choked back the other, fearful question: What frightful thing has happened to you, Wil?
\n\u201cYes, Denny,\u201d hissed that voiceless voice. \u201cBut\u2014I\u2019ve lived forty years more than you have. And ten of them in Sorainya\u2019s torture vault.\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/sfmagazines.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/AST193805p026x600.jpg?resize=625%2C473&ssl=1\")
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\nA pretty good start to the novel.<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/sfmagazines.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/AST193805p034x600.jpg?resize=396%2C600&ssl=1\")
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\nOne of the human scientists tries to tell the military that this is what the aliens are attempting, but (spoiler) he is overruled and, when the aliens attempt to return the two captives, they are attacked with\u00a0a neutron ray. The ship is unaffected, but the humans (spoiler) are only saved by being recreated with alien bodies. They will be brought back to consciousness after the long journey back to Sirius.<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/sfmagazines.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/AST193805p044x600.jpg?resize=625%2C473&ssl=1\")
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\n\u201cAs near as I can calculate,\u201d said Sam, \u201calmost a thousand miles. Too far to swim, as friend Kleon has justly remarked.\u201d
\nThe Greek shrugged. \u201cI never did like the sea,\u201d he declared. \u201cI prefer solid ground underfoot, where I can brace myself and charge the enemy with my good sword flashing. It is my fault. Had I not remarked about the sleeping Gymnosophists in the mountains of Tibet, this would never have happened.\u201d
\n\u201cNo more your fault than mine,\u201d Sam Ward told him warmly. \u201cThey were our last chance. We ranged over most of North America seeking evidences of other cities, other civilizations. Aside from Hispan we could find nothing. And always behind us, hemming us in, hunting us like rabbits, were the rocket hordes of Harg, headed by Vardu. Our only chance lay in escape across the Pacific, to find the sleepers who had given you the life-immobilizing formula.\u201d
\n\u201cIt is a pity that there was a leak in the tank,\u201d observed the Olgarch with calm indifference. \u201cOtherwise we could have made it. As it is, I regret nothing. I have lived more completely this past six months with you two as comrades, than in all the prior years of purposeless luxury within the neutron walls of Hispan.\u201d He smiled reflectively. \u201cA strange thing, our association. A Greek from the time of Alexander\u2014an American from the twentieth century\u2014and I, an Olgarch of Hispan, who once thought myself the proud apex of the ninety-eighth century.\u201d p. 44<\/p><\/blockquote>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/sfmagazines.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/AST193805p054x600.jpg?resize=396%2C600&ssl=1\")
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\nA poor pulp potboiler.<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/sfmagazines.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/AST193805p065x600.jpg?resize=396%2C600&ssl=1\")
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\nBanna nodded. \u201cI know,\u201d said she. \u201cIt was the stars and astronomy that caused the latest upheaval\u2014the stars that promised the end of the world.\u201d
\n\u201cYou mean those twenty flaming suns up there?\u201d asked Fao with a smile, pointing to the sky. Although the sun had not set, a long streamer of stars was visible, trailing across the heavens behind the Earth\u2019s primary\u2014twenty flashing stars of more than first magnitude. p. 65-66<\/p><\/blockquote>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/sfmagazines.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/AST193805p072x600.jpg?resize=625%2C473&ssl=1\")
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\nThis section details the first attempts by Drega\u2019s group at organising themselves in the post-apocalyptic world into which they have awakened. Food is short, and an attempt by the mob to eat a horse is\u00a0stopped when a sailor turns up with a three-pound fish. Drega starts organising the men:<\/p>\n
\nDrega\u2019s clan had grown to two thousand, but increasing deaths from colds and infection threatened to reduce the number. The meager diet of fish and roots and dandelion greens was not sufficient to build up starved bodies. There had been an attempt to eat green berries which proved almost fatal. Some oysters and clams had been discovered. For the first time, a bird had been caught with enough meat on its bones to eat.
\nNo dogs had come to this camp, but five cats were protected by Drega\u2019s order. An onslaught of rats had threatened the camp\u2019s very existence, and not until the arrival of the cats had this menace been curbed. p. 77-78<\/p><\/blockquote>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/sfmagazines.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/AST193805p087x600.jpg?resize=396%2C600&ssl=1\")
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\nDrega meantime has organised food for the winter, and the defence of the camp. Lead tokens are made by a smelting pit process for use as currency. For all his planning food starts to run short as winter approaches, and riots are only just supressed.
\nAt the end of this instalment, Gamble (who caused the three thousand-year \u2018sleep\u2019) turns up with the offer of a better life:<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIt will take a little time,\u201d Gamble said. \u201cBut not long. There is only one condition. You all work and there is no money. At least money of the kind you know. In return, you get everything you can wish for. There will be no need for money.\u201d
\nA cheer rose and fell dead into stunned silence. There could be no doubt Gamble spoke at least some truth. Look at his shining boots and the presents he had brought! Even bolts of silk and woolens!
\n\u201cMr. Drega,\u201d Gamble went on, \u201cdoes not agree with my views. He will probably wish to withdraw from any part of them.\u201d
\nIf Gamble had expected Drega to capitulate, he was disappointed. Drega was white but firm. He said to his people, \u201cA world cannot exist without money! There must be trade.\u201d
\nHis clan was silent. p. 93<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
\nThis part doesn\u2019t have the startling events of the first instalment and is a more traditional post-apocalypse piece with some interesting parts.<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/sfmagazines.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/AST193805p097x600.jpg?resize=396%2C600&ssl=1\")
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\nHis knee bent in homage, a Sophomore Martian introduced us: \u201cFrosh prexy Ward Jetland, this is his Royal Highness Ianay Fonay, eldest son of Lanay Fonay, Over-Rajah of Syrtis Ma\u2014\u201d
\n\u201cI-am-a-phoney!\u201d I punned softly and chuckled. Consciousness was concurrent with the discovery that my aching mouth tasted of Martian knuckles and the realization that even a Martian can be insulted.
\nTradition went smash! For a common frosh can\u2019t sock the prexy, even if he is a Rajah\u2019s heir-apparent. It\u2019s worse than mutiny on a space-trajectory; it\u2019s worse than a privately tutored youngster prancing innocently into the Blaster\u2019s Dive on Ganymede and asking for milk!
\nNaturally, I promptly recovered my pugilistic prestige, and for three years afterward we had secret rendezvous behind the polo hangars and nurtured black eyes, skinned knuckles, acid burns and whatnot. We rounded the final pylon sound-limbed and going strong. Then radium, atomic energy, rockets, thrust-dispersion, polo, and\u2014last and most important\u2014Rosalie Ames, came cometing into our bittersweet lives and things really got serious! p. 110<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
\n\u201cCanal frogs peeping on a June night!\u201d he sighed, which, if you\u2019ve been to Mars, is a beautiful thing, \u201ca vision!\u201d
\nOf course, he said it just loud enough to hear\u2014
\nShe dimpled prettily and I decided that those telepix didn\u2019t do the darling justice; then Widdlemere introduced us. Simultaneously something short-circuited in the unattended cyclotron\u2014atoms disrupted in a hot, white, snapping flash\u2014the durite vacuum tank cracked in twain.
\n\u201cDamnation!\u201d I yelped. \u201cVoila: my next month\u2019s allowance gone with the proverbial wind!\u201d
\n\u201cI will pay all,\u201d sighed the Rajah ecstatically. \u201cIt is as nothing compared with meeting the famous and beauteous Rosalie\u2014\u201d
\nShakespeare really had nothing on Fonay!\u00a0p. 110-111<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
\n\u201cListen, Vacuity Jetland,\u201d he snapped back, \u201cthe dame\u2019s mine. But if you must fight over everything, I\u2019ll make you a bargain. Seeing that you\u2019re Captain of the Royal American Varsity and I\u2019m Cap of the Martian Varsity\u2014well, when the annual Commencement Game comes off, the winner takes the spoils. In other words, the beauteous Rosalie is to be escorted to the Reception by the winning Captain, and the age-old custom of the engagement announcement will be preserved, all parties willing. Okel-dokel ?\u201d p. 111<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
\nThe story is enjoyable but a little unclear at times due to its unusual and colourful style: one wonders what readers of the time thought of passages such as those above.<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/sfmagazines.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/AST193805p132x600.jpg?resize=396%2C600&ssl=1\")
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\nThere are some interesting aspects to this story, but its tragic arc is overlong and a bit pointless.<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/sfmagazines.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/AST193805p141x600.jpg?resize=625%2C473&ssl=1\")
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\nJohn W. Campbell, Jr.\u2019s Not \u2018The\u2019 But \u2018A\u2019<\/em><\/strong> is an editorial that focusses mainly on the time-travel plot variant in Jack Williamson\u2019s serial:<\/p>\n
\nBut, as Williamson points out, those two cannot be real to each other. If either can exist, and if they have the power, the knowledge to see through Time\u2014then they may struggle for existence! But they cannot attack each other! p. 107<\/p><\/blockquote>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/sfmagazines.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/AST193805p121x600.jpg?resize=396%2C600&ssl=1\")
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\nScience Discussions<\/em><\/strong> has three letters, the first from Arthur C. Clarke (Hon. Treasurer of the British Interplanetary Society) which takes issue with the rocket flight equations in Leo Vernon\u2019s article in the January issue.
\nBrass Tacks<\/em><\/strong> has letters defending \u2018Doc\u2019 Smith\u2019s Galactic Patrol<\/em> against comments made in an earlier issue, including a letter from Doc Smith himself:<\/p>\n
\nWhat got my dander up to writing pitch is the accusation\u2014by inference, it is true, but none the less clearly connoted\u2014that I am sailing under false colors by using the Ph. D. Since Edward E. Smith is my real name, the thing is of course on record.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
\nAs for the other letters, there a couple who thought (as I did) that the ending to Galactic Patrol<\/em> was abrupt, and there are the usual comments about the artwork. One of the readers, Mary Rogers of Muskogee, OK, compliments Smith\u2019s novel and the new mutant cover, and finishes with \u201cKeep up the good work and next time I\u2019ll send orchids.\u201d
\nCampbell\u2019s reply is, \u201cWe\u2019ll expect orchids when the May Astounding<\/em> appears.\u201d
\nIn Times to Come<\/em><\/strong>\u00a0announces a new feature, the Analytical Laboratory<\/em><\/strong>,5<\/sup> and goes into matters in some detail\u2014I\u2019m not entirely sure what all the symbols mean:<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/sfmagazines.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/AST193807p163x600.jpg?resize=396%2C600&ssl=1\")
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\n\u201cGallun\u2019s a funny one. Once in a while he hits a high-spot like \u2018Old Faithful\u2019 and deserves a lot. Most of the time he rides along. He\u2019s gotten three accepts in the last three weeks. One weak, hut not too weak. One medium good. One that almost reaches \u2018Old Faithful\u2019, \u2018Seeds of Dusk\u2019 is the latter. p. 82-83<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
\nI did find one snippet in Space, Time, and Infinity: Essays on Fantastic Literature<\/em> by Brian M. Stableford, Borgo Press 2007, (Amazon<\/a>) which has this:<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/sfmagazines.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/04\/AST193807p099x600.jpg?resize=396%2C600&ssl=1\")
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