Simak, Cliffard D - So Bright The Vision - Notisblokk

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Simak, Cliffard D - So Bright The Vision

Title : So Bright the Vision

Author : Clifford D. Simak

Original copyright year: 1956

Genre : science fiction

Comments : to my knowledge, this is the only available e-text of this book

Source : scanned and OCR-read from a paperback edition with Xerox

TextBridge Pro 9.0, proofread in MS Word 2000.

Date of e-text : February 15, 2000

Prepared by : Anada Sucka

======================================================================

So Bright the Vision

Clifford D. Simak

The showroom was in the decorous part of town, where Kemp Hart seldom found

himself. It was a long way from his usual haunts and he was surprised to find

that he had walked so far. In fact, he would not have walked at all if his

credit had been good at the Bright Star bar where his crowd hung out.

As soon as he realized where he was he knew he should turn around and walk

rapidly away, for he was out of place in this district of swank publishers,

gold-plated warrens and famous eateries. But the showroom held him. It would not

let him go. He stood in front of it in all his down-at-the-heels unkemptness,

one hand thrust in a pocket, fugitively rubbing between thumb and finger the two

small coins that still remained to him.

Behind the glass the machines were shining-wonderful, the sort of

merchandise that belonged on this svelte and perfumed street. One machine in the

corner of the showroom was bigger and shinier than the others and had about it a

rare glint of competence. It had a massive keyboard for the feeding in of data

and it had a hundred slots or so for the working tapes and films. It had a mood

control calibrated more sensitively than any he had ever seen and in all

probability a lot of other features that were not immediately apparent.

With a machine such as that, Hart told himself, a man could become famous

almost automatically and virtually overnight. He could write anything he wished

and he would write it well and the doors of the most snooty of the publishers

would stand open to him.

But much as he might wish to, there was no use of going in to see it. There

was nothing to be gained by even thinking about it. It was just something he

could stand and look at from beyond the showroom's glass.

And yet, he told himself, he had a perfect right to go in and look it over.

There was not a thing to stop him. Nothing, at least, beyond the sneer upon the

salesman's face at the sight of him - the silent, polite, well-disciplined

contempt when he turned and slunk away.

He looked furtively up and down the street and the street was empty. The

hour was far too early for this particular street to have come to life, and it

occurred to him that if he just walked in and asked to see the machine, it would

be all right. Perhaps he could explain he did not wish to buy it, but just to

look at it. Maybe if he did that they wouldn't sneer at him. Certainly no one

could object. There must be a lot of people, even rich and famous people, who

only come to look.

He edged along the showroom, studying the machines and heading for the door,

telling himself that he would not go in, that it was foolish to go in, but

secretly knowing that he would.

Side 1

Simak, Cliffard D - So Bright The Vision

He reached the door and opened it and stepped inside. The salesman appeared

almost as if by magic.

"The yarner in the corner," Hart said. "I wonder if I might - "

"Most certainly," said the salesman. "If you'll just come along with me."

In the corner of the showroom, the salesman draped his arm across the

machine affectionately.

"It is our newest model," he said. "We call it the Classic, because it has

been designed and engineered with but one thought in mind - the production of

the classic. It is, we think, a vast improvement over our Best Seller Model,

which, after all, is intended to turn out no better than best sellers - even

though on occasion it has turned out certain minor classics. To be quite honest

with you sir, I would suspect that in almost every one of those instances, it

had been souped up a bit, I am told some people are very clever that way."

Hart shook his head. "Not me. I'm all thumbs when it comes to tinkering."

"In that case," said the salesman, "the thing for you to do is buy the best

yarner that you can. Used intelligently, there's virtually no limit to its

versatility. And in this particular model the quality factor is much higher than

in any of the others. Although naturally, to get the best results you must be

selective in your character film, and your narrative problem tapes. But that

needn't worry you. We have a large stock of tapes and films and some new mood

and atmosphere fixers that are quite unique. They come fairly high, of course,

but - "

"By the way, just what is the price of this model?"

"Ifs only twenty-five thousand," the salesman told him brightly. "Don't you

wonder, sir, how it can be offered at so ridiculous a figure? The engineering

that went into it is remarkable. We worked on it for ten full years before we

were satisfied. And during those ten years the specifications were junked and

redrawn time and time again to keep pace with our developmental research."

He slapped the shiny machine with a jubilant hand. "I can guarantee you,

sir, that nowhere can you get a product superior to this. It has everything.

Millions of probability factors have been built into it, assuring you of

sure-fire originality. No danger of stumbling into the stereotype, which is not

true at all with so many of the cheaper models. The narrative bank alone is

capable of turning out an almost infinite number of situations on any particular

theme and the character developer has thousands of points of reference instead

of the hundred or so you find in inferior models. The semantics section is

highly selective and sensitive and you must not overlook - "

"It's a good machine," interposed Hart. "But it costs a bit too much. Now,

if you had something else..."

"Most certainly, sir. We have many other models."

"Would you take a machine in trade?"

"Gladly. What kind of machine do you have, sir?"

"An Auto-Author Ninety-six."

The salesman froze just slightly. He shook his head, half sadly, half in

bewilderment. "Well, now, I don't know if we could allow you much for that. It's

a fairly old type of machine. Almost obsolete."

"But you could give me something?"

"I think so. Not a great deal, though."

"And time payment?"

Side 2

Simak, Cliffard D - So Bright The Vision

"Yes, certainly. We could work something out. If you would give me your

name."

Hart told him what it was.

The salesman jotted it down and said, "Excuse me a moment, sir."

Hart stood for a moment, looking after him. Then, like a sneak thief in the

night, he moved softly to the front door and walked swiftly down the street.

There was no use in staying. No use at all of waiting for the salesman to

come back and shake his hand and say, 'We're very sorry, sir.'

We're very sorry, sir, because we've looked up your credit rating and it's

absolutely worthless. We checked your sales record and found you sold just one

short story in the last six months.

"It was a mistake to go for a walk at all," Hart told himself, not without

bitterness.

Downtown, in a section of the city far removed from the glamorous showroom,

Hart climbed six flights of stairs because the elevator was out of whack again.

Behind the door that said IRVING PUBLICATIONS, the preoccupied receptionist

stopped filing her nails long enough to make a motion with her thumb toward the

inner office.

"Go on in and see him," she said.

Ben Irving sat behind a heaped-up desk cluttered with manuscripts, proofs

and layout sheets. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and he wore an

eyeshade. He always wore the eyeshade and that was one of the minor mysteries of

the place, for at no time during the day was there light enough in his dingy

office to blind a self-respecting bat.

He looked up and blinked at Hart.

"Glad to see you, Kemp," he said. "Sit down. What's on your mind today?"

Hart took a chair. "I was wondering. About that last story that I sent you -

"Haven't got around to it yet," said Irving. He waved his hand at the mess

upon his desk by way of explanation.

"Mary!" he shouted.

The receptionist stuck her head inside the door.

"Get Hart's manuscript," be said, "and let Millie have a look at it"

Irving leaned back in his chair. "This won't take long," he said. "Millie's

a fast reader."

"I'll wait," said Hart.

"I've got something for you," Irving told him. "We're starting a new

magazine, aimed at the tribes out in the Algol system. They're a primitive sort

of people, but they can read, Lord love them. We had the devil's own time

finding someone who could do the translations for us and it'll cost more than we

like to pay to have the type set up. They got the damnedest alphabet you ever

saw. We finally found a printer who had some in his fonts."

"What kind of stuff?" Hart asked.

"Simple humanoid," Irving replied. "Blood and thunder and a lot of

Side 3

Simak, Cliffard D - So Bright The Vision

spectacle. Life is tough and hard out there, so we have to give them something

with plenty of color in it that's easy to read. Nothing fancy, mind you."

"Sounds all right."

"Good basic hack," said Irving. "See how it goes out there and if it goes

all right we'll make translations for some of the primitive groups out in the

Capella region. Minor changes, maybe, but none too serious."

He squinted meditatively at Hart.

"Not too much pay. But if it goes over we'll want a lot of it"

"I'll see what I can do," said Hart "Any taboos? Anything to duck?"

"No religion at all," the editor told him. "They've got it, of course, but

it's so complicated that you'd better steer clear of it entirely. No mushy

stuff. Love don't rate with them. They buy their women and don't fool around

with love. Treasure and greed would be good. Any standard reference work will

give you a line on that. Fantastic weapons - the more gruesome the better.

Bloodshed, lots of it. Hatred, that's their dish. Hatred and vengeance and

hell-for-leather living. And you simply got to keep it moving."

"I'll see what I can do."

"That's the second time you've said that."

"I'm not doing so good, Ben. Once I could have told you _yes_. Once I could

have hauled it over by the ton."

"Lost the touch?"

"Not the touch. The machine. My yarner is haywire. I might just as well try

to write my stories by hand."

Irving shuddered at the thought.

"Fix it up," he said, "Tinker with it."

"I'm no good at that. Anyhow, it's too old. Almost obsolete."

"Well, do the best you can. I'd like to go on buying from you."

The girl came in. Without looking at Hart she laid the manuscript down upon

the desk. From where he sat, Hart could see the single word the machine had

stamped upon its face: REJECTED.

"Emphatic," said the girl. "Millie almost stripped a gear."

Irving pitched the manuscript to Hart.

"Sorry, Kemp. Better luck next time."

Hart rose, holding the manuscript in his hand. "I'll try this other thing,"

he said.

He started for the door.

"Just a minute," Irving said, his voice sympathetic.

Hart turned back.

Irving brought out his billfold, stripped out two tens and held them out.

"No," said Hart, staring at the bills longingly.

"It's a loan," said the editor. "Damn it, man, you can take a loan. You'll

be bringing me some stuff."

Side 4

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