{"id":9701,"date":"2019-02-05T15:34:32","date_gmt":"2019-02-05T15:34:32","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/?p=9701"},"modified":"2019-02-05T15:34:32","modified_gmt":"2019-02-05T15:34:32","slug":"astounding-science-fiction-v31n03-may-1943","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/?p=9701","title":{"rendered":"Astounding Science-Fiction v31n03, May 1943"},"content":{"rendered":"

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ISFDB link<\/a>
\nArchive.org link<\/a><\/p>\n

_____________________<\/p>\n

Editor, John W. Campbell Jr.; Assistant Editor, Catherine Tarrant<\/p>\n

Fiction:
\nGather, Darkness!<\/em><\/strong> (Part 1 of 3) \u2022 novel by Fritz Leiber \u2217\u2217\u2217\u2217<\/strong>
\nGhost <\/em><\/strong>\u2022 short story by Henry Kuttner \u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>+
\nPacer <\/em><\/strong>\u2022 short story by Raymond F. Jones \u2217<\/strong>\u2217<\/strong>
\nFifth Freedom<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 short story by Lester del Rey [as by John Alvarez] –
\nLet\u2019s Disappear<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 novelette by Cleve Cartmill \u2217<\/strong><\/p>\n

Non-fiction:
\nCover <\/em><\/strong>\u2022 by William Timmins
\nInterior artwork<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 by Frank Kramer (x7), Paul Orban (x6)
\n\u201c\u2014Wrap It Up\u2014\u201d<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 editorial by John W. Campbell, Jr.
\nIn Times to Come<\/em><\/strong>
\nThe Old Ones<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 science essay by Willy Ley
\nBrass Tacks<\/em><\/strong> \u2022 letters<\/p>\n

_____________________<\/p>\n

With this issue Astounding<\/em> reverts to a smaller size due to wartime rationing and other restrictions. The size of the magazine now appears to be, judging from the images of the scan I read, about 6 inches by 9 inches.<\/p>\n

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The Cover<\/em><\/strong> is William Timmins\u2019 best effort for the magazine so far, and illustrates Fritz Leiber\u2019s second novel Gather, Darkness! <\/em><\/strong>(this appeared a month after his first, Conjure Wife<\/em>, in Unknown Worlds<\/em>, April 1943). The scene depicts the Hierarchy\u2019s archpriests watching Brother Jarles preaching revolution to a crowd in the square while holding up his priests\u2019 robe with the repulsor field activated.
\nYou can probably gather from the aforementioned that this is one of those \u2018Science as Religion\u2019 stories, where scientists are fake priests, and their \u201cmiracles\u201d are achieved by using advanced science and technology. We soon learn that this \u201creligion\u201d is a result of scientists of a previous Golden Age acting to avoid humanity\u2019s descent into barbarism. Unfortunately, the ruling Hierarchy has turned into a tyranny (the priests not only have robes which have repulsor fields but also have \u201cwrath-rays,\u201d etc.) and they preside over a population reduced to medieval serfdom. A resistance movement called the Witchcraft is growing and the novel is about the struggle between these two sides.
\nThis all gets off to a cracking start (just like Conjure Wife<\/em>), and begins in the Great Square of Megatheopolis where Brother Chulian and Brother Jarles are handing out work assignments to the masses. We quickly learn a lot about the future world when Mother Jujy passes by to calls of \u201cWitch\u201d from a small boy in the crowd, and Jarles raises his eyes to the buildings of Sanctuary in the middle of the city:<\/p>\n

Megatheopolis was magically different. For there rose the gleaming buildings of the Sanctuary, topped by the incredible structure of the Cathedral, which fronted the Great Square.
\nJarles looked up at the Great God, and for a moment felt fingering through his anger a touch of the same awe and reverence and pious fear that vast idol had used to awaken in him when he was only a Commoner\u2019s child\u2014 long before he had passed the tests and begun to learn the Secrets of the Priests.
\nCould the Great God see his blasphemous rage, with those huge, searching, slightly frowning eyes? But such a superstitious fancy was unworthy even of a novice in the Hierarchy.
\nWithout the Great God, the Cathedral was still a mighty structure of soaring columns and peaked windows tall as pine trees. But where one might expect a steeple or a pair of towers, began the figure of the Great God\u2014the upper half of a gigantic human form, terrible in its dignity and serenity. It did not clash with the structure below, but was an integral and indisseverable part of it. The heavy folds of its drapery became the columns of the Cathedral, and it was built of the same smooth plastic.
\nFrom where it stood, it dominated all Megatheopolis, like some vast sphinx or unbelievable centaur. There was hardly an alley from which one could not glimpse the stern yet benignant face with the glowing nimbus of blue light. And as for the Great Square immediately below, one felt that the Great God was minutely studying every pygmy creature that crossed it, as if he could at any moment reach down and pick one up for a closer scrutiny.
\nAs if? Every Commoner knew there was no \u201cas if\u201d about it!
\nBut that massive figure did not rouse in Jarles one atom of pride at the glory and grandeur of the Hierarchy and his great good fortune in having been chosen to become part of it. Instead, his anger thickened and tightened, becoming an intolerable shell about his emotions\u2014as red and oppressive as the scarlet robe he wore.\u00a0 p. 12<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Jarles\u2019 colleague, Brother Chulian, is in the process of telling a woman called Sharlson Naurya that she will serve in the Sanctuary, but Naurya refuses and, after some back and forth, Chulian loses his temper:<\/p>\n

Chulian bounced up from the bench he shared with Jarles. \u201cNo Commoner may question the judgments of the Hierarchy, for they are right! I sense more here than simple stubbornness, more even than sinful obstinacy. There is only one sort of Commoner who would fear to enter the Sanctuary when bidden. I sense\u2014Witchcraft,\u201d he announced dramatically, and struck his chest with the flat of his hand. Instantly his scarlet robe ballooned out tautly, until it stood a hand\u2019s breath away from his body at every point. The effect was frighteningly grotesque, like some incredible scarlet pouter pigeon. And above his shaven head a violet halo glowed.
\nThere was a sibilant hiss of terror, and the faces of the Commoners grew more pale. But Naurya only smiled very faintly, and her green eyes seemed to bore into Chulian.
\n\u201cAnd that, once sensed, is easily discovered!\u201d the swollen little priest continued triumphantly. He stepped quickly forward. His puffy scarlet glove clutched at her shoulder without seeming quite to touch it, yet Jarles saw her bite her lips against sudden hurt. Then the scarlet glove flirted downward, ripping the heavy smock, so that the shoulder was uncovered.
\nThere were three circular marks on the white skin. Two burned angry red. The other was rapidly becoming so. Jarles thought that Chulian hesitated a moment and stared puzzlingly at them, before gathering himself and shrilling out, \u201cWitchmarks! Witchmarks! Proof!\u201d\u00a0 p. 12<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

At this point Jarles activates his own robe and attacks Chulian, knocking him unconscious. After depowering his robe he climbs on a table and proceeds to harangue the crowd, and reveals the Golden Age origin of their world, and that their religion is fake. He tells them there is no God, and that he does not have divine powers as a priest, taking off his robe and holding it up with the repulsor field and halo activated. When he throws it towards the crowd it comes to rest two feet off the ground.<\/p>\n

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Eventually, his long tirade is interrupted when the\u00a0huge plastic statue of the Great God leans forward and extends a huge finger towards him. Jarles\u00a0is saved from the discharge of the crackling blue energy by what appears to be two black hands that materialise out of nowhere and whisk him away. Gales of satanic laughter accompany the rescue.
\nThis huge (albeit cleverly done) data dump is followed by just as much information in the next chapter, where we see inside\u00a0the Sanctuary, and witness a meeting of the\u00a0Apex Council\u2019s\u00a0archpriests. Their leader is Brother Goniface, and we learn about the politics and factions of the Council, and that Goniface himself has fomented the crisis in the town square to flush out a growing unrest in the population, and to seize power for himself.
\nDuring this meeting several country priests appear before the council with reports of huge wolves prowling outside their towns and villages (these prove to be\u00a0solidographs\u2014holograms essentially\u2014projected by the Witchcraft to destabilise the regime). After dealing with this issue the archbishops then view a holographic recording of Brother Jarles in the town square. Goniface recognises the woman accused of witchcraft\u2014Naurya is really Knowes Geryl, a woman from his past. Goniface orders his cousin and chief scientist Deacon Deth to take her prisoner but keep it a secret.<\/p>\n

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The rest of the novel keeps up this pace of information and invention, and falls into two main threads. The first is from the viewpoint of Goniface and the Apex Council, and their attempts to stamp out Witchcraft; the other involves Brother Jarles (it turns out that the Witchcraft have rescued him, but he refuses to join them, and is hunted by the Heriarchy\u00a0on his release until Mother Jujy gives him shelter). This latter thread also deals with the activities of the Black Man (so-called because of his radiation absorbent clothing) who, when he is not being a prankster in church upsetting collection trays, runs the Witchcraft\u2019s resistance activities for an unseen leader called Asmodeus; the last main character is Sharlson Naurya.
\nThere are many parts of this I would like to talk about at length but I\u2019ll restrict myself to the section that describes the arrest of Naurya by Brother Chulian. When he and another priest go to her house to apprehend her she seems she seems unconcerned but, before they leave, there is an extraordinary event:<\/p>\n

\u201cRun, Puss!\u201d she cried with an almost mischievous urgency. \u201cTell the Black Man!\u201d
\nA glittering talon ripped at the waist the gray homespun of her dress\u2014from within. There was a rapid disturbance of the cloth. Then through the slit something wriggled and sprang.
\nSomething furry, big as a cat, but more like a monkey, and incredibly lean.
\nLike a swift-scuttling spider it was up the wall and across the ceiling, clinging effortlessly.
\nChulian\u2019s muscles froze. With a throaty gasp his companion lunged out an arm. From the pointing finger crackled a needle of violet light, scorching a shaky, zigzag track in the crude plaster of wall and ceiling.
\nThe thing paused for a moment in the air hole, looking back. Then it was gone, and the violet beam spat futilely through the air hole toward the black heavens, where one star glittered.
\nBut Chulian continued to stare upward, his slack jaw trembling. He had gotten one look at the tiny face. Not when the thing moved, for then it had been only a rippling blur, but when it paused to glance back.
\nNot all the features of a face had been there. Some were missing and others seemed somehow telescoped into each other. And the fine fur encroached on them.
\nNevertheless, where the features showed through the fur, they were white, and, in spite of all distortions, they were a peering, chinless, hellish, but terribly convincing caricature of the features of Sharlson Naurya.\u00a0 p. 32<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

This is the first explicit appearance of a \u201cfamiliar\u201d in the novel\u2014these are Witchcraft creatures bioengineered from their owners flesh, which feed on the their progenitor\u2019s blood, and stay in telepathic contact with them. They are an inventive and entertaining part of the novel, as indeed are all the other\u00a0witchy bits and pieces that Leiber introduces as part of the Witchcraft, such as old Mother Jujy, the Covens, etc.
\nAfter taking Naurya into custody, Chulian and his brother priest wend their way back through the city streets with their prisoner. They then find their way\u00a0blocked by an inky blackness (another solidograph projection) that not even their halos can illuminate, and\u00a0are forced\u00a0to change their route,\u00a0 having to pass a \u201chaunted house,\u201d an unsettling building left over from the Golden Age. When the group arrive in front of the house the blackness surrounds them completely and prevents further progress. Naurya escapes through the door but the priests are locked out. The blackness dissipates and Cousin Deth (Brother Goniface\u2019s henchman) arrives\u2014he is not impressed.<\/p>\n

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The siege of the house that follows is a set-piece that nods towards a similar one in A. E. van Vogt\u2019s story The Weapon Shop<\/em>. We have, of course, the usual problems with doors:<\/p>\n

Then one of the young priests strode with great dignity toward the house, bearing his rod of wrath above his head like a gleaming sword. Heads turned as, breathlessly, every Commoner watched his approach.
\n\u201cThis place is evil!\u201d he cried suddenly in a great voice, \u201cit is offensive to the nostrils of the Great God. Tremble, Sathanas! Cower, ye fiends! For, lo, I inscribe above the door the brand of the Hierarchy.\u201d
\nHe stopped directly in front of the oddly wrinkled doorway or entry-sphincter. A violet brilliance gushed from the extended rod, of the same hue as his halo, which was almost invisible in the sunlight. Slowly he traced a burning circle.
\nWhat happened next was not part of the program. He leaned forward suddenly to peer through the irregular orifice in the doorway, leaving the fiery circle unclosed. He must have seen something of exceptional interest, for he thrust in his head. Instantly the doorway puckered and snapped tight around his neck, leaving him frantically kicking and plunging, while his rod, still gushing violet light, set the green weeds smoking.
\nThere were gasps and scattered screams and a few shrieks of hysterical laughter from the crowd. The three other young priests dashed forward to help their companion, one of them snatching up the fallen rod, which instantly ceased to flame. They tugged and pushed at him violently, and pried at the doorway. The wall gave a little, as if semielastic. That was all.
\nThen the door opened wide of its own accord and they all sprawled backward in the smoking weeds. The young priest who had been trapped sprang up and darted into the house before the others could stop him, even if they had tried to. The door clenched shut behind him. The house began to shake.
\nIts slack walls tightened, bulged, were crossed by ripples and waves of movement. Its windows all squeezed shut. One wall stretched perceptibly, another contracted. There were other distortions.
\nAn upper window dilated and through it the young priest was ejected, as if the house had tasted him and then spat him out. Halfway down he exerted his Inviolability. so that his fall was slowed and cushioned. He bounced gently.
\nThis time the laughter of the crowd did not sound entirely hysterical.
\nThe house became quiescent.\u00a0 p. 41-42<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Cousin Deth brings forward more advanced weapons (\u201cUnlimber the zero-entropy spray, Brother Sawl!\u201d) to \u201cexorcise\u201d the house, but is initially matched by its Golden Age technology.
\nAll of this gets Leiber\u2019s novel gets off to a hugely entertaining start, and it is probably the most fun I\u2019ve had since reading Jack Williamson\u2019s The Legion of Time<\/em>.
\nGhost <\/em><\/strong>by Henry Kuttner is another story that has supernatural references but, unlike the Leiber, all these do is serve to confuse matters. After a talking-heads start about a modern-day ghost in a computing facility in the Antarctic we find that the machine isn\u2019t haunted but has absorbed a case of manic depression from a previous operator who committed suicide. It is now inducing the same madness in its current operator Crockett.<\/p>\n

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To \u201ccure\u201d the machine a psychologist called Dr Ford goes to the station with a patient who has a similar\u00a0manic-depressive condition. The plan is to cure the patient, and induce a similar cure in the machine.
\nWhile this therapy takes place we get a feel for the oppressive and claustrophobic nature of the station:<\/p>\n

There were shadows in the station. After a few days Dr. Ford noticed those intangible, weary shadows that, vampiric, drew the life and the energy from everything. The sphere of influence extended beyond the station itself. Occasionally Crockett went topside and, muffled in his heat-unit parka, went off on dangerous hikes. He drove himself to the limits of exhaustion as though hoping to outpace the monstrous depression that crouched under the ice.
\nBut the shadows darkened invisibly. The gray, leaden sky of the Antarctic had never depressed Crockett before; the distant mountains, gigantic ranges towering like Ymir\u2019s mythical brood, had not seemed sentient till now. They were half alive, too old, too tired to move, dully satisfied to remain stagnantly crouching on the everlasting horizon of the ice fields. As the glaciers ground down, leaden, powerful, infinitely weary, the tide of the downbeat thrust against Crockett. His healthy animal mind shrank back, failed, and was engulfed.\u00a0 p. 65<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

At the end of the story the psychologist\u00a0effects a cure in both patient and machine but, unknown to the former, another problem remains. . . .<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

The talky start, computer jargon, and outdated psychology theory do not help the story\u00a0get going but it improves later, there is some effective description, and it also has a neat twist ending.
\nI think there is a better story in here where the ghost stuff is dumped\u2014this is really about sanity or insanity, and the latter would have been a better title.
\nPacer <\/em><\/strong>by Raymond F. Jones is an okay piece of space opera that starts with Commodore Ed Ingraham tearing strips off the men in his fleet. Further vexing him are the orders he has to intercept a slow-moving freighter and escort it to Earth.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Before that rendezvous there is some back story about Ingraham\u2019s past with his father on a commercial ship, and how the latter has supposedly retired to Earth. Surprise!\u2014when they meet the freighter it is Ingraham\u2019s old ship, and his father is piloting it. Cue much embarrassment for Ingraham when, in front of his men, his father calls his martinet son \u201cKid\u201d, etc. Relations further deteriorate when Commodore Ingraham tries to force his father to transfer his valuable cargo of crystallium so the convoy won\u2019t be slowed down by his ship, which would become the \u201cpacer,\u201d or slowest vessel. Needless to say his father refuses and threatens to blow up his ship (as you do when dealing with rebellious children: stop fighting in the back seat or I\u2019ll blow up the car).<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

The last act is a space battle with the alien Correne, who are currently wiping out humanity as they progress through the solar system. Ingraham\u2019s Dad has a plan to defeat them that involves his mysterious crystallium cargo, and (spoiler) the speed that it can safely be transported.
\nFifth Freedom<\/em><\/strong> by Lester del Rey starts off with Tommy Dorn in a future American labour camp during a war with \u201cCentralia,\u201d whose forces have pushed forward to the English Channel. He is a conscientious objector, and therefore despised by his bunk mates and estranged from his family.
\nPart of the beginning is interestingly meta-fictional:<\/p>\n

He tried again to cut the blaring radio out, with its news and propaganda that neither interested nor impressed him, hut dinned remorselessly into his ears, and turned back to the latest Astounding; it had arrived for him only today, and as yet he\u2019d only glanced at the cover and readers\u2019 corner. Hopefully, he began on the cover story:
\n.<\/span>
\nMajor Elliot glanced up from the papers as the captain entered, nodded, and went on reading through the reports. \u201cCentralia\u2019s moving up; big offensive at midnight tomorrow, Captain Blake. I want you to take six volunteers\u2014\u201d
\nDamn! The boy\u2019s lips tightened and he threw the magazine under his bunk, his raw nerves whipped by the fresh insult; even there, war! All day, he\u2019d been counting the hours and minutes until his shift went off and he could find release from the horrible reality, only to find science-fiction as filled with it as all else. He jerked the lumpy pillow up, threw his head against it, and tried to drown out the mutter of voices behind him and rest.\u00a0 p. 109-110<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

After a promising beginning Dorn\u2019s story turns into a manipulative, by-the-numbers soap opera that involves a bunk mate called Jimmy, who is crippled by polio, and Alice, a girlfriend from the woman\u2019s camp (sensitive Tommy meets her when he is playing his violin up on the hill). When New York is later radiation bombed by Centralia, Jimmy saves Tommy from a beating at the hands of a group of the camp thugs.<\/p>\n

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Later, an Air Force recruiter tries to get Tommy (a qualified pilot) to fly the new rocket ships, but he refuses. Shortly afterwards the camp is attacked by enemy bombers and Alice is seriously injured. The Air Force man returns with a rescue team and once again tries to convince Tommy to join the military. When he fails he gives Tommy a respectful homily about how the country is a democracy and that people aren\u2019t forced to do things against their conscience. The Air Force man adds that he\u2019ll have him shipped out to a better place in the Mid-West.
\nThe bombers return later, and Tommy watches as three of the new American rocket ships intercept them: two intentionally blow up their ships, destroying the enemy fleet.<\/p>\n

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The last scene has Tommy at Alice\u2019s deathbed. After she passes away he decides to volunteer. I hope he turned out a better combat pilot than he was a conscientious objector.
\nI realise that this was written in the middle of a World War but it is a manipulative piece, and irritatingly sanctimonious\u2014as well as an obvious early example of \u201cpushing Campbell\u2019s buttons\u201d (i.e. pandering to that Editor\u2019s beliefs or hobby horses). Avoid like the plague.
\nLet\u2019s Disappear<\/em><\/strong> by Cleve Cartmill has an overly padded beginning that has an investigator called Thorne Raglan (who owns and runs a company called Hunt Inc.) pick up a contract to find a man called Colin Fane. Fane is one of the beneficiaries of\u00a0a dead man\u2019s estate, but there are parties who do not want him found.<\/p>\n

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Apart from Raglan having to deal with being followed by persons unknown, he also has to deal with Hubert Davenport (a relative of Fane\u2019s, and not very helpful), his niece Emily, and a rabble-rousing politician called Coffman, who espouses anarchist ideals and, unknown to Raglan, wants to get hold of a force field weapon that he believes Fane possesses.<\/p>\n

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None of this really matters as it is a typical Cleve Cartmill piece\u2014an excuse for a lot of running around punctuated with the odd fist fight or, on this occasion, a wildly acrobatic flight\/chase in an air taxi.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

In the last fight of the story (spoiler) a sword belonging to Hitler is used to slash Coffman\u2019s throat, presumably to give the story some contemporary colour. It ends with one of those \u201cthis knowledge is too dangerous to survive\u201d endings where they decide to destroy the weapon and burn the plans.
\nI\u2019m beginning to dread seeing Cartmill\u2019s byline in the magazine.<\/p>\n

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The Interior artwork<\/em><\/strong> continues to be rather lacklustre: I thought that Paul Orban\u2019s work was much better than Frank Kramer\u2019s\u2014some of the latter\u2019s work has a very perfunctory feel to it (look at the first illustration for the Lester del Rey story, \u201cMan sits beside filing cabinet in office\u201d).
\n\u201c\u2014Wrap It Up\u2014\u201d<\/em><\/strong>\u00a0by John W. Campbell, Jr. is an editorial about the results of war science, focussing particularly on rubber substitutes, elastomers, etc., and their uses.
\nIn Times to Come <\/em><\/strong>refers to production problems and the lack of an Analytical Laboratory<\/em> feature:<\/p>\n

This being the first issue in which the new type face and new format are used, our calculations slipped a bit; this space was supposed to be some three times as great. The lack of Analytical Laboratory is not due to lack of space, however\u2014it\u2019s due to lack of letters.
\nThe March issue had been on the stands only a few days when this issue went to press. Trying to offset the inevitable delays of transportation, we are pushing our press dates ahead; this lack of Lab, or a held-over Lab, is apt to be more frequent in the future.\u00a0 p. 59<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

I don\u2019t know why Campbell just doesn\u2019t just do the obvious and slip the results by a month.
\nThe last sentence mentions a new \u2018Gallagher\u2019 story from Henry Kuttner, \u201ca nice, if slightly cockeyed, yarn\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

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The Old Ones<\/em><\/strong> by Willy Ley is an article about zoological geography, the distribution of animals around the globe due to historical land mass change. This has some interesting parts but is overlong, and too often descends into endless lists of animals by continent or area\u2014I started skimming before the end. There should also have been an illustration rather than a page of text describing the original three continents\u00a0(p. 93, etc.)<\/p>\n

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Brass Tacks<\/em><\/strong> has a long and considered letter (see above) from J. V. Lewis which is rather (shallowly) dismissed by Campbell. The letter before this, from Edmond M. Clinton Jr., San Francisco, CA, is about how SF is extrapolation not prophecy. A later letter from Chandler (Chan) Davis,1<\/sup> Cambridge, MA, has a top ten for 1942 that omits Nerves<\/em> and The Twonky<\/em>. I note that there has been little enthusiasm in either the Analytical Laboratory<\/em> or Brass Tacks<\/em> for that latter story. One wonders how it became a \u201cclassic.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

It is definitely worth getting this issue for the Leiber serial, and Kuttner\u2019s story is worth a look, too.\u00a0 \u25cf<\/p>\n

_____________________<\/p>\n

1. Chan Davis would start publishing in Astounding<\/em> in 1946. He would go on to publish thirteen stories, half a dozen of which Campbell published. He seems to have drifted away from that editor when he returned to writing after a five-year gap (1953 to 1958). See Davis\u2019s page at\u00a0ISFDB<\/a>.\u00a0 \u25cf<\/p>\n\"rss\"<\/a>\"rss\"<\/a><\/span>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

ISFDB link Archive.org link _____________________ Editor, John W. Campbell Jr.; Assistant Editor, Catherine Tarrant Fiction: Gather, Darkness! (Part 1 of 3) \u2022 novel by Fritz Leiber \u2217\u2217\u2217\u2217 Ghost \u2022 short story by Henry Kuttner \u2217\u2217+ Pacer \u2022 short story by Raymond F. Jones \u2217\u2217 Fifth Freedom \u2022 short story by Lester del Rey [as by […]<\/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-9701","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\/p6Pcj7-2wt","jetpack-related-posts":[],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9701","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=9701"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9701\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9741,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9701\/revisions\/9741"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=9701"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=9701"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sfmagazines.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=9701"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}