Science fiction and comedy go together like trouble and tribbles. Authors like Douglas Adams, Harry Harrison and Terry Pratchett and television series like Red Dwarf, MST3K and Third Rock from the Sun are amongst SF's greatest success stories. As for movies, Men in Black is still the number one movie in Australia, having repeated the overwhelming success it has enjoyed elsewhere in the world. I must say my expectations of the movie weren't high after the disappointment of the previous mega-blockbuster Independence Day, but actually, I quite liked it (to borrow a phrase). Its origins in an underground comic were still discernable in some of its wittier moments, and its shortcomings are less distracting than they would be in a "serious" SF movie.
The genres of comedy and science fiction have a lot in common when you think about it; the appeal of each arguably lies in the interplay they create between the real world and the fictional, and this is highlighted when SF and comedy are combined. If you have your own opinions on this topic, or enjoy crossovers between SF and other genres besides comedy, please write in to Ibn Qirtaiba and share your views.
This issue marks the overdue return of our Coolest 10 SF Sites column. If you've got a favourite science fiction Web site, feel free to nominate it for the next column. Other features this issue are a werewolf story from SF SIG member Dennis Tallent, the conclusion of our Leann Arndt's Dear Sis serial, four more book reviews in Fred Noweck's Sci-Fi Corner, and the second of Keith Allen Daniels' poems. Read on and enjoy.
Short story: The
Interrogation by Dennis Tallent
Serial: Dear Sis, part
5 by Leann Arndt
Poem: Metalangelo, the Billion Dollar
Schizophrenic by Keith Allen Daniels
It had been a hectic weekend. I had to mow the lawn, deal with a stack of homework and now I was running late for baseball practice. Coach was going to chew my ass out for sure. I grabbed my glove and ran out of the house.
I think Papa wanted to tell me something but I was in too big a hurry to listen. I wasn't being rude just being a teenager. I was in such a hurry to get to practice, I didn't notice anything else. That was a bad mistake. I realized how bad it was when I found the tranquilizer dart in my butt.
I awoke to found myself tied tightly to a chair. A single bare
light bulb dangling over my head that cast ragged, ugly shadows
about the room. Sitting directly in front of me was a bearded,
fat man in a dark suit.
He sat silently, smoking a cigarette. He stared at me as if I was
bug under a microscope. Two men, one to each side of him, stood
at attention holding military assault rifles. I recognized him
from the description that Papa gave me; it was the Reverend Jim
Bob Biggs, self-styled demon hunter. I was in deep, deep shit.
He stood up, walked over, and reached out to slowly crush out the cigarette on my cheek. The pain! Be calm, concentrate, ignore the smell. Flesh is a servant, flesh is a tool, flesh does what it is told. I made no sound.
"I am a soldier in the service of the Lord."
"You're a killer," I said with contempt.
"Soldiers kill in a just cause," he said lighting up another cigarette. "However, I have been less than satisfied with my campaign against your kind."
"You haven't killed enough of us yet?" I snarled.
In response to my impudence, he again crushed out a cigarette on my face.
"For a soldier to be successful, he must have as much information about his enemy as possible. I've had your community under surveillance for some time, looking for a special opportunity; the opportunity to snatch a cub like you for, interrogation."
"You think because I am a kid I'm more likely to spill my guts."
"Exactly. This is the deal. You tell me what I want to know, and I will set you free. Lie to me, and you will die by slow torture," he said as he brought another cigarette towards my face.
"I'll talk! but you're not going to like it."
"Why?"
"There is a difference between telling the truth and telling you what you want to know. You think that we are a cult, that we worship the devil and practice human sacrifice."
"Isn't that how werewolves gain their power to change from men into wolves?"
"No, we are born this way. Like most humans you have it reversed. We are not men who change into wolves; the lupine form is our natural state. Besides, I don't think we look a thing like a wolf, but more like very large greyhounds with long legs, large brains and opposable thumbs. And while we are quite agile on all fours, we are bipeds just like you."
"What nonsense is this," he snarled and started to burn me again.
"Reverend! You have to put all that occult crap out of your head," I said struggling against my bonds.
"Be still cub, my men have silver bullets in their rifles."
"God damn it man, it doesn't make any difference if the bullets are silver, copper, gold or lead. I am not something supernatural; I am flesh and blood. Any kind of bullet will kill me."
"Boys, go wait outside." The two men obediently left the room. "See, I am a fair man. I could tell that my soldiers scared you so I have sent them out. Now there's only you and me. Talk to me."
"Listen," I said catching my breath and trying to hold my fear. "It would help if you think of us as ship wreaked sailors."
"Fascinating," he said scratching his neck. "You're saying that you came here in a ship from the old world?"
"In a way, yes."
"What happened, did you ship go down in a storm?"
"No, the hyperspace jump engines exploded."
"The... what?"
"Hyperspace jump engines. Those are standard equipment on interstellar exploration vessels." The Reverend gave me a blank look. "Space ships. I didn't lie when I said we came from the old world, I just didn't mean this one."
"You're telling me you are an alien from outer space?!"
"I'm not an alien from outer space; I was born in Waco, Texas. However, my great, great grandfather was from the home world. The ship came down in the general area of New York city."
"I find that hard to believe. Why are there no newspaper accounts of such an occurrence happening? Something like that would be hard to miss."
"That's probably because the printing press had not been invented."
"That would have been around the time of the Civil War and there were plenty of printing presses around."
"No, the crash happened during the middle ages." The Reverend looked at me incredulously. "We are a rather long lived race."
This is all bullshit! You just happen to be able to turn into human beings!"
"Not just human but any type of life form. We are perfect mimics."
"So you're saying that every thing I think I know about werewolves is wrong?"
"No, there's one thing you know about us that's true. If we bite a human, he or she, becomes one of us."
"I suppose you have a rational scientific explanation for that also," he said sarcastically.
"Of course I do. We were a highly advanced, technological people. The crew of our space ship were all members of an extended family group, but a species can only tolerate so much inbreeding before it gets into trouble. They devised a symbiotic virus that would stay in their system to pass on from one generation to another. When the virus entered the bloodstream of the selected aboriginal person, it would immediately begin to resequence their DNA along our lines. I'm speaking from experience here."
"Explain."
"I'm adopted. It was winter and the roads were icy. The car lost control, slid over an embankment, and my parents - my biological parents - were both killed. Papa dug me out of the wreckage and took me home with him. At least that is what Papa told me. I was too young to remember any of it."
"And you believed this story?"
"Papa has his faults but he's not a liar."
"Oh Lord, an innocent human child has been recruited and corrupted by the powers of darkness! I'm almost sorry I have to kill you."
"You haven't believed a word I said."
"You can't help but believe all the lies you have been told. You were raised in the presence of evil. None of this is your fault, and I am a fair man. Boys come back in here!" His two thugs promptly reentered the room. "I promise you will die quickly. Shoot him, John".
"I don't think so," one man replied. "I am, however, going to ground his ass for a month for being so careless." The man smiled - dare I say - wolfishly at the Reverend.
"Papa, is that you?".
"Don't be silly," he replied.
"John?" the Reverend said, with fear in his voice.
"You should have paid more attention to my son, Reverend. He was being truthful when he told you that we are perfect mimics."
"I don't understand," said the Reverend.
"Your men were relieved of guard duty."
Papa said, "I hope you learned a lesson, son. I wanted to tell you before you ran out the house, that the Reverend was seen in our neighborhood. Even so, you should have spotted him following you. Carelessness can get you killed."
"Yes, Papa," I answered contritely.
"Kill them both, David," the Reverend screamed at the second man.
"You really should have listened to our son," answered the second man as he came over to untie me. "And you really shouldn't have tortured him."
I'll be damned, I thought. The second man is Mama. I had never seen her put on a male form before. She was good. She was also pissed.
"What a day," said Papa as he took off his clothes. "All this and you missed baseball practice too."
"No big deal," I said.
"Considering how low your batting average is, I don't agree."
Then he turned toward the Reverend and began to change.
"You see, Reverend," I said. "We don't look anything like a wolf."
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Hi! I was reading an old issue of IQ
earlier where you mention including fantasy articles in with SF. Please
please do this, as fantasy has so much to offer, and the
lines between SF and fantasy are so thin, that sometimes it is
hard to tell the difference!
Lisa
Australia
P.S. Don't rubbish Xena! Sure it may not be the world's best TV show, but IQ is for both highbrow and lowbrow SF. (And what's wrong with a little unrealistic escapism, may I ask?)
Ed: Absolutely nothing! However removing Xena as the token "low-brow TV series that Ibn Qirtaiba will never cover" will leave me in the difficult position of having to find a replacement. Long-time readers will remember that seaQuest DSV originally held this dubious honour, however I replaced it with Xena after I received complaints from seaQuest fans. Is there a dud SF&F series out there someone that fans unanimously deride? Please let me know your suggestions!
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06-15-2005
Dear Sis:
I've come back again. I'm eating shrubs again. I'm ticked off again; actually I'm even more ticked off.
This is it Sis. I'm not going through this again and again anymore. I don't see Beezle, so my little plan probably did work. However, it is just a matter of time before Lucy sends another gung ho, yahoo, demon after me.
My brain has come up with another plan. I'm going to nip the whole dang thing in the bud. I'm going to sneak into the house when my back is turned, whack myself over the head, and hide myself in the closet. This time those aliens aren't going to get me. I won't have to deal with any of it. How does that sound?
I'm not entirely sure about the outcome. Will all this mess become part of some other reality? Will this be my reality? I know one thing that is true and right and that is that I can't take it anymore. I'm gonna do this Lucy. Wish me luck.
Lucy, before I go, my baby will be okay. I can feel it.
Hang on!
Mina
06-16-2005
Dear Sis:
You know how you always tell me not to watch so many science fiction movies? I guess you were right. I had this most amazing dream.
I woke up this morning and barely recognized my own son. Can you believe that? I didn't know my own sweet Zoltan. I even dreamed that he was the spawn of an alien dictator. Can you imagine? Not only that, he was still in my womb and destined to remain there for three long years.
I dreamed that I was abducted by these aliens, turned into a porn star, and then kidnapped by Lucifer! Plus, I spent what seemed like forever trying to return home. I can't even imagine where I got these notions from! I know, I watch way too much television and read too many books.
My dear husband, my Beet, was a demon named Beezlebub. I know he has a temper. It's just that I wouldn't call his temper demonic. Who am I fooling? I would call his temper demonic. However, I know Beet isn't a demon.
What do you think mom would say? She'd just probably be disappointed that I didn't dream up some vampires to play with. That's our mom.
Mina
Gentlemen, Colleagues,
The following item was placed in my hands before I could complete and send this missive. It is a confirmation of authenticity from Zoltan Harkeway III.
August 20, 2075
Dear Professor Hurkley
The letters that your institute sent me for authentication are identical, except for content, to letters stored in my home archive. The letters I refer to are written by my great grandmother, Mina Harkeway and addressed to my great aunt, Lucy Westendra. After examing both sets, the latter preceding your letters, I have to come to the conclusion that your letters are indeed authentic.
I, upon closer examination of my archive, have also come across some letters referring to a latter period in my great grandmother's life. If your institute would care to examine these letters that could be arranged.
Thank you for giving me the opportunity to further my knowledge of my great grandmother's, Mina Harkway's, life.
Sincerely,
Zoltan Harkeway III
Gentlemen, Colleagues,
I'm sure that you comprehend the significance of this letter. This is not just significant to the letters we currently hold. This is significant in light of Mr. Harkeway's discovery of new letters.
AIFAAES will notify the scientific community once there has been ample opportunity to study this find. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Professor Daniel Hurtley
AIFAAES
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As we move into cooler weather (warmer below the equator), I find that I'm reading more new books as opposed to older books from my shelves. I've drifted into some lengthier stories, too (quite by accident), so it's a good thing that I have some text on file.
Still no news on my scanner, so keep your fingers crossed (that makes it very difficult to do anything. Have you noticed?). [Ed: For those who can't wait for Fred's scanner, I've come up with some scans of my own for the books reviewed this issue.] So, without further ado, let's look at what we have this month. They are:
Endgame Enigma was written originally in the 80's before the breakup of the Soviet Union, so the villains are a little dated, but that does not detract from what the book really is: a finely crafted techno-thriller.
The Russians have built a gigantic space station in orbit. They say that it is an orbital colony, designed to be a showcase of Russian ingenuity and communist efficiency. But plans leaked to the U.S. intelligence community reveals it to be an orbital weapons platform. There is, however, no hard evidence of this. The only way to find out for sure is to send a pair of agents up there, posing as journalists, to get the information. And they are promptly captured by security.
Once in the prison facility aboard the station (and who but Russians would have a city-sized prison in an orbital colony), they must find out who to trust and who to help them escape while trying to ferret out the secret of this orbital enigma.
Hogan puts lots of hard science into his stories, so that when you knock on the walls of his fabrications, you hear the solid thump of reality. If the USSR had not collapsed, I can just see the Russians pulling something like this. In the reality of Endgame Enigma, it's chilling to see how close the Russians come to taking over everything.
With Full Honors is military SF. If you have never read any of McQuinn's material (and I haven't), it takes a while to get into the way his mind works. A little background would be helpful...
The original colonists of what is now a twelve planet empire were (so to speak) unwilling colonists. That is to say, prisoners. However, these were not the comparatively innocuous transportees of Botany Bay. These were prisoners so violent that they could not be tolerated in civilization.
No one but a few historians remember what they are descended from. The first "Emperor" led the revolt that killed the crew of their prison ship. Unfortunately for them, they also killed the navigators, so they couldn't find their way back to Earth.
Ok, now you are up to speed. There are plots and counter-plots surrounding the present emperor and all of them center around the actions of Captain Lannat of the Imperial Rifles as he tries to find an honorable path to follow through all the conspiracies... and his honor may just get him and all his men killed....
This story was interesting to me, but if you have no interest in military stories, you may want to give this one a miss. This book does not generate an interest in the genre that isn't there already.
Imperial Bounty, the continuing story of bounty hunter Sam McCade. Sam has been hired to find a most unlikely fugitive... the heir to the throne of Imperial Earth. He has only three months to find a man who disappeared several years previously or else the heir's sister will take the throne. To make matters worse, she ardently wants to rule and she knows Sam has been hired to find her brother....
While, strictly speaking, this is military SF, Dietz draws you in, in spite of yourself. He generates the interest that McQuinn does not. He leads you down the garden path and, at the end, jumps up and says "Surprise! This is military SF!"
I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Exile's Song is the continuing saga of Darkover, a planet on which a colonization ship crash-landed in the early years of exploration. The planet was lost to Earth for thousands of years before being rediscovered. In the intervening years, the inhabitants of Darkover had changed and developed their own sciences and technologies, based on the powers of the mind. The Seven Families, descendants of the original families that developed laran or psi-power, still control all usage of these mental sciences.
Enter Marja Alton, whose father was exiled from Darkover at the end of the Sharra Rebellion. She has returned to Darkover in the course of her university studies and promptly been caught up in the intrigues surrounding the Families. And she, knowing nothing of laran, immediately gets into trouble.
If you haven't read any of Bradley's Darkover books, a lot of this story will be very strange. But if you read all of them starting with the first one, Darkover Landfall, it all becomes clear. I recommend this book highly and am, even now, awaiting the next in the series.
That's all for now and send your letters and comments to fred@sf.sig.au.mensa.org. All letters of interest to our readers will be published in this column.
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| 1 | SFF Net | Not restricted to SF & F as the name implies, this site offers resources to authors, editors, readers, and publishers of genre literature. |
| 2 | SFNet | Not to be confused with SFF Net, the latest incarnation of the Web site of SFX Magazine is much improved from its predecessor. |
| 3 | Tangent | A quarterly review magazine, focussing on short fiction published in American professional and prominent fan magazines and anthologies. |
| 4 | tomorrowsf | None other than Algis Budrys occupies the editor's chair of this magazine, which will only remain free until October 9 1997 (so be quick!). |
| 5 | SF, F & H Writers Web World | One to view with the graphics turned off. The information it contains, however, will be highly useful for any would-be SF author. |
| 6 | 4E Net Magazine |  An occasional and somewhat
eccentric e-zine dedicated to "Mr. Sci-Fi"; fan
legend Forry Ackerman. |
| 7 | Nuketown | A quality Webzine featuring news, reviews, fiction and links. Sounds almost like Ibn Qirtaiba. |
| 8 | Sci-Fi Central | Contains SF resources you won't find elsewhere - at least, not in one place - including MIDI files, fonts and graphics. |
| 9 | Ambit's Sci Fi Sector | A personal Web site with a highly professional appearance. It contains a small number of interesting resources on science fiction television. |
| 10 | Sci-Fi UK | "This site is dedicated to providing you with the most comprehensive guide to Science Fiction & Fantasy." Actually, it's just an on-line merchandise shop. |
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The robot sculptor works in chrysoprase,
in Iceland spar and foils of gadolinium.
And if media reflect the mind of the artist,
what can we deduce of positronic pathways,
the human sensorium augmented with chips
and coated conformally? Its commentary
offers answers: "I see you sheathed
in apple-green cocoons you cannot see,
in prisms of refractive ices that forever
skew perception. Cosmic rays reflected
from this metal make stars all around you,
peel the green apples and melt the ice away.
This freedom is not without tears
(especially disporting in the infrared),
and the interactions between your imagos
deform and reshape your psyches
in waves of color, each a different
frequency of pain. I fear the full spectrum
of discord has distracted me from taxidermy,
the true calling of my kind."