[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
perspiration.
"We can tell you've been wounded, Commander," Lamehd pointed out uncer-tainly.
"We can tell from your medals. You don't have to "
"And every time I was wounded, they repaired me good as new. Better. Look at
that arm." I flexed it for them. "Before it was burned off in a small razzle
six years ago, I could never build up a muscle that big. It's a better arm
they built on the stump, and, believe me, my reflexes never had it so good."
"What did you mean," Wang Hsi started to ask me, "when you said before "
"Fifteen times I was wounded," my voice drowned him out, "and fourteen times
the wound was repaired. The fifteenth time The fifteenth time Well, the
fifteenth time it wasn't a wound they could repair. They couldn't help me one
little bit the fifteenth time."
Roger Grey opened his mouth,
"Fortunately," I whispered, "it wasn't a wound that showed."
Weinstein started to ask me something, decided against it and sat back. But I
told him what he wanted to know.
"A nucleonic howitzer. The way it was figured later, it had been a defective
shell. Bad enough to kill half the men on our second-class cruiser. I wasn't
killed, but I was in range of the back-blast."
"That back-blast," Lamehd was figuring it out quickly in his mind. "That
back-blast will sterilize anybody for two hundred feet. Unless you're
wearing "
"And I wasn't." I had stopped sweating. It was over. My crazy little precious
Page 13
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
secret was out. I took a deep breath. "So you see well, anyway, I know they
haven't solved that problem yet."
Roger Grey stood up and said, "Hey." He held out his hand. I shook it. It felt
like any normal guy's hand. Stronger maybe.
"Sling-shot personnel," I went on, "are all volunteers. Except for two
categories: the commanders and soldier surrogates."
"Figuring, I guess," Weinstein asked, "that the human race can spare them most
easily?"
"Right," I said. "Figuring that the human race can spare them most easily." He
nodded.
"Well, I'll be damned," Yussuf Lamehd laughed as he got up and shook my hand,
too. "Welcome to our city."
"Thanks," I said. "Son."
He seemed puzzled at the emphasis.
"That's the rest of it," I explained. "Never got married and was too busy
getting drunk and tearing up the pavement on my leaves to visit a sperm bank."
"Oho," Weinstein said, and gestured at the walls with a thick thumb. "So this
is it."
"That's right: this is it. The Family. The only one I'll ever have. I've got
almost enough of these " I tapped my medals " to rate replacement. As a
sling-shot com-mander, I'm sure of it."
"All you don't know yet," Lamehd pointed out, "is how high a percentage of
re-placement will be apportioned to your memory. That depends on how many more
of these chest decorations you collect before you become an ah, should I say
raw material?"
"Yeah," I said, feeling crazily light and easy and relaxed. I'd got it all out
and I didn't feel whipped any more by a billion years of reproduction and
evolution. And I'd been going to do a morale job on them! "Say raw material,
Lamehd."
"Well, boys," he went on, "it seems to me we want the commander to get a lot
more fruit salad. He's a nice guy and there should be more of him in the
club."
They were all standing around me now, Weinstein, Lamehd, Grey, Wang Hsi. They
looked real friendly and real capable. I began to feel we were going to have
one of the best sling-shots in What did I mean one of the best? The best,
mister, the best.
"Okay," said Grey. "Wherever and whenever you want to, you start leading
us Pop."
Afterword
There's not much I have to say about "Down Among the Dead Men." Horace L. Gold
said he needed a novelette almost immediately for Galaxy, and most of all he
wanted a space opera.
"You've never written a space opera, a real bangety-bang space opera," he
said. "Why not?"
"I don't like them," I told him. "I don't like to read them, and I don't like
to write them. Science-fiction westerns: they're
kill-'em-on-Mercury-instead-of-Montana."
Well, he explained, if in spite of my bullshit fastidiousness I managed to
write one in the next week, he would give me a large bonus on the word rate
and voucher the check through immediately.
As always, in those days, I could very much use the money; so I agreed to
think about it. To my surprise, by the time I got home, I had an idea. I began
writing.
It went fast. I completed the piece in a weekend.
Horace loved it, bought it. "It's a real space opera," he marveled, "but all
the important action takes place completely offstage. A tour deforce!"
I rarely agreed with Horace, but I told him I was thoroughly with him on his
last sentence.
Page 14
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
The point being that, despite its disreputable origin, I have grown to be very
fond of this story. I'm almost astonished to say that now I would rank it
among my best.
And it is a space opera. Of a kind, anyway.
Written 1954 / Published 1954
Page 15 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl szkicerysunki.xlx.pl
perspiration.
"We can tell you've been wounded, Commander," Lamehd pointed out uncer-tainly.
"We can tell from your medals. You don't have to "
"And every time I was wounded, they repaired me good as new. Better. Look at
that arm." I flexed it for them. "Before it was burned off in a small razzle
six years ago, I could never build up a muscle that big. It's a better arm
they built on the stump, and, believe me, my reflexes never had it so good."
"What did you mean," Wang Hsi started to ask me, "when you said before "
"Fifteen times I was wounded," my voice drowned him out, "and fourteen times
the wound was repaired. The fifteenth time The fifteenth time Well, the
fifteenth time it wasn't a wound they could repair. They couldn't help me one
little bit the fifteenth time."
Roger Grey opened his mouth,
"Fortunately," I whispered, "it wasn't a wound that showed."
Weinstein started to ask me something, decided against it and sat back. But I
told him what he wanted to know.
"A nucleonic howitzer. The way it was figured later, it had been a defective
shell. Bad enough to kill half the men on our second-class cruiser. I wasn't
killed, but I was in range of the back-blast."
"That back-blast," Lamehd was figuring it out quickly in his mind. "That
back-blast will sterilize anybody for two hundred feet. Unless you're
wearing "
"And I wasn't." I had stopped sweating. It was over. My crazy little precious
Page 13
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
secret was out. I took a deep breath. "So you see well, anyway, I know they
haven't solved that problem yet."
Roger Grey stood up and said, "Hey." He held out his hand. I shook it. It felt
like any normal guy's hand. Stronger maybe.
"Sling-shot personnel," I went on, "are all volunteers. Except for two
categories: the commanders and soldier surrogates."
"Figuring, I guess," Weinstein asked, "that the human race can spare them most
easily?"
"Right," I said. "Figuring that the human race can spare them most easily." He
nodded.
"Well, I'll be damned," Yussuf Lamehd laughed as he got up and shook my hand,
too. "Welcome to our city."
"Thanks," I said. "Son."
He seemed puzzled at the emphasis.
"That's the rest of it," I explained. "Never got married and was too busy
getting drunk and tearing up the pavement on my leaves to visit a sperm bank."
"Oho," Weinstein said, and gestured at the walls with a thick thumb. "So this
is it."
"That's right: this is it. The Family. The only one I'll ever have. I've got
almost enough of these " I tapped my medals " to rate replacement. As a
sling-shot com-mander, I'm sure of it."
"All you don't know yet," Lamehd pointed out, "is how high a percentage of
re-placement will be apportioned to your memory. That depends on how many more
of these chest decorations you collect before you become an ah, should I say
raw material?"
"Yeah," I said, feeling crazily light and easy and relaxed. I'd got it all out
and I didn't feel whipped any more by a billion years of reproduction and
evolution. And I'd been going to do a morale job on them! "Say raw material,
Lamehd."
"Well, boys," he went on, "it seems to me we want the commander to get a lot
more fruit salad. He's a nice guy and there should be more of him in the
club."
They were all standing around me now, Weinstein, Lamehd, Grey, Wang Hsi. They
looked real friendly and real capable. I began to feel we were going to have
one of the best sling-shots in What did I mean one of the best? The best,
mister, the best.
"Okay," said Grey. "Wherever and whenever you want to, you start leading
us Pop."
Afterword
There's not much I have to say about "Down Among the Dead Men." Horace L. Gold
said he needed a novelette almost immediately for Galaxy, and most of all he
wanted a space opera.
"You've never written a space opera, a real bangety-bang space opera," he
said. "Why not?"
"I don't like them," I told him. "I don't like to read them, and I don't like
to write them. Science-fiction westerns: they're
kill-'em-on-Mercury-instead-of-Montana."
Well, he explained, if in spite of my bullshit fastidiousness I managed to
write one in the next week, he would give me a large bonus on the word rate
and voucher the check through immediately.
As always, in those days, I could very much use the money; so I agreed to
think about it. To my surprise, by the time I got home, I had an idea. I began
writing.
It went fast. I completed the piece in a weekend.
Horace loved it, bought it. "It's a real space opera," he marveled, "but all
the important action takes place completely offstage. A tour deforce!"
I rarely agreed with Horace, but I told him I was thoroughly with him on his
last sentence.
Page 14
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
The point being that, despite its disreputable origin, I have grown to be very
fond of this story. I'm almost astonished to say that now I would rank it
among my best.
And it is a space opera. Of a kind, anyway.
Written 1954 / Published 1954
Page 15 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]