Randall Garrett - Takeoff

Takeoff

By Randall Garrett

Cover illustration by Phil Foglio

Interior illustrations by Kelly Freas

Edited by Polly and Kelly Freas

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to Jerry Moore, without whose indefatigable research it would not have

been possible.

Table of Contents

INTRODUCTION

FOREWORD

GENTLEMEN: PLEASE NOTE

BACKSTAGE LENSMAN

THE BEST POLICY

THE COSMIC BEAT

DESPOILERS OF THE GOLDEN EMPIRE

THE HORROR OUT OF TIME

LOOK OUT! DUCK!

MASTERS OF THE METROPOLIS

MUSTANG

...NO CONNECTIONS

ON THE MARTIAN PROBLEM

PREHISTORIC NOTE

“REVIEWS IN VERSE”

ISAAC ASIMOV’S “THE CAVES OF STEEL”

ALFRED BESTER’S “THE DEMOLISHED MAN”

L. SPRAGUE DE CAMP’S “LEST DARKNESS FALL”

A.E. VAN VOGT’S “SLAN”

POUL ANDERSON’S “THREE HEARTS AND THREE LIONS”

JOHN W. CAMBELL’S “WHO GOES THERE?”

THE ADVENTURES OF “LITTLE WILLIE”

INTRODUCTION TO BENEDICT BREADFRUIT

THROUGH TIME AND SPACE WITH BENEDICT BREADFRUIT

INTRODUCTION

By A. E. van Vogt

In my opinion, the author of Takeoff should have been under official surveillance from the day he

was conceived. At some distant future time, when we really know how to do things right, such as Randall

Garrett will be watched closely from a very early age.

Why?

About 10 years ago I read a new work by the famous Russian psychologist, A. R. Luria (whose

book The Nature of Human Conflicts made him world famous many decades earlier). The new work,

possibly Luria’s last, was about a man with the “greatest” memory in all of Russia.

Well! ...I don’t know whether Randall Garrett has in his time possessed the greatest memory in

North America, or if he still possesses it. But I am sure that he has been right up there with the finalists.

I cannot recall anyone ever mentioning Randall’s super ability. No American Luria sought him out,

tested him periodically, and finally wrote him up as a case history of eidetic recall.

Actually, the Luria account of the Russian memory wizard was not up to the standard of this

scientist’s earlier work—from my point of view. It gave the numerous tests and their results. It described

to a small extent some of the memory aids the Russian had worked out all by himself. (There were some

elements in these of the Roth memory-by-association system.) But it failed to describe any of the

commonplaces of, or the side effects of the ability on, the man’s daily life. The commonplaces of

Randall’s life shall come under closer scrutiny—let me assure you—right here in these pages. Though

neither I nor anyone else has apparently ever received direct replies from him on basic aspects of his life.

When was Randall born? The only printed clue I have been able to find is given in the editor’s

introduction to the original magazine version of Masters of the Metropolis, as follows:

“Randall Garrett and Lin Carter had not been born when Hugo Gernsback created RALPH 124C 41+. To stress

their youth further (for one can, like me, be far from young and still have been born after the first appearance of

RALPH in Modern Electrics), they had not even been born when Gernsback founded Amazing Stories, the first

all-science-fiction magazine….”

Yet, sitting across from me and my Russian princess at the L,A. airport Mariott Hotel Capriccio

Restaurant recently, Randall made the statement that he had known me for 30 years.

He is the one with the eidetic memory. So, since Gernsback founded Amazing in 1926 (and

Randall wasn’t born by then), and thirty years ago was 1948, we can put two and one together into

twenty-one, or two and zero together into twenty.

Randall, did you emerge into this cruel world in 1927.? Or was that strange party you gave in the

spring of 1978 a celebration of half a hundred years of life?

Where was I in 1948 that our paths crossed? I have many memories of Randall over the years. But

that ‘48 meeting is a blur to a memory-mine-that cannot even recall the title of Luria’s book on Russia’s

greatest observed rememberer.

(Alas, I bought the book. Read it. Gave it as a gift to a friend. And have never been able to locate

another copy.)

Are Randall’s parents still alive? Where was Randall born? Where did he go to school’? What was

the title of his first published work? Does he have brothers and sisters? Was he born a Catholic? Or did

he convert?

These last two, particularly, are relevant questions, Because Randall for ten years (after his initial

foray into SF) attended seminary training, and became a Catholic priest.

Did his Russian alter ego experience some similar moral concern? There is no record of such details

in Luria’s work.

It is interesting that the Russian with the supermemory was a newspaper reporter when Luria first

met him. I mean, both men—Randall and the Russian—became writers automatically. Since Luria does

not mention it, and because newspapermen do not normally have their works collected, we cannot

examine the writings of the Russian mental marvel for clues about his personal life.

Fortunately, that is not our problem with Randall. He has a body of literature to his credit. Of which

you, dear reader, hold a portion in your hands. And a very revealing portion it is.

In these pages you will find...pastiches. Stories written in the styles of other writers. Here you will

find E. E. Smith, Ph.D. and H. P. Lovecraft and Eric Frank Russell as if returned from the dead, etc.

Randall remembers each author’s style exactly. In the case of the E. E. Smith “takeoff’ he actually, after

more than thirty years, repeated an entire paragraph of E. E. Smith’s without having seen the story in the

interim. Since he had made no conscious effort to memorize the story at the time he read it, he

subsequently realized by vivid recall what he had done, and rewrote the offending item. Rewrote it

because there are unknowing people who would have considered it plagiarism if it had ever come to

light. The pastiche, though not called such, is a well-known phenomenon of the Hollywood film game. It

is an act of paralleling someone else’s work, using a new concept. So far as I know, no psychologist has

ever made a serious study of the TV writers—particularly—who do this well. (Do they also have

exceptional memories?)

Each week these men and women write the exact same format for a continuing series, but with a

different story. If you think this is easy, try it some time. (The writers who find such paralleling sheer

agony are the ones you hear screaming about TV censorship. The others collect their $10,000 or so for

an hour script without a peep of protest. And in fact they seem to wonder what all the fuss is about.)

Randall is a mimic in voice, also. Like an actor, he can duplicate the way other people talk, and

imitate the exact intonation of a foreign language. I am personally, currently, in process of learning 200

languages, and, not being the mimic type, am learning them on the hearing level only, to start. As a

consequence of this study, I have observed that less than 5% of the populace are mimics.

One of the first things to notice about a Randall Garrett story, pastiche or otherwise, is the elegance

of his style. The beauty of his imagery. The easy insertion of difficult technical information. No matter

what he writes, the style flows poetically.

Which reminds me that in England, until recently, students were required to memorize thousands of

lines of poetry during a school year. Shakespeare, in the days of Elizabeth I, had to do the same.

Virtually all the men and women who gave England such a rich poetic heritage were forced memorizers.

So it is interesting that we find our Randall of the marvelous natural memory writing his reviews in

poetic form. Entire novels are condensed, and commented on-poetically. Think about that. And when

you read the reviews in this collection bear in mind that no one ever told Randall to do it that way.

Undoubtedly, perfect memory has its drawbacks. For example’ one is bound to

recall—perfectly—the unpleasant along with the pleasant. Once again, Luria—from whom we could

have learned so much that would be useful-fails us. He does not mention that aspect of the greatest

memory in all the Russias.

Indeed, toward the end of his book we suddenly find him referring to the man as having died

several years before. How did he die? From what? Was the death memory-related? Not a mention of

such in Luria’s work.

At this point let me apologize slightly for these criticisms of the great Russian psychologist. I believe

he was over eighty years old when he wrote this final book. Also, we have to credit him with having done

anything at all. So far as I know, it is the only work of its kind ever published by a psychologist.

But it’s true, alas, that he has no advice for Randall as to what to watch out for as he grows into his

second half century.

I do have one comment. It is significant that Randall, when he drinks, takes his liquor straight—no

water, no 7-Up, no dilution with ice. What is significant about this is that liquor is the one thing that can

temporarily dim vivid unpleasant memory images.

We live in an intermediate stage of history. The great scientific millennium is still ahead of us. When

that millennium arrives, both special and unspecial—an even more difficult type to evaluate or

help-people will be noticed early for what they are, or are capable of.

And the correct action will be taken.

Until then, here’s Randall who, in doing the best he could on his own with a perfect memory, has

given us a few glimpses of that strange, wonderful world of the human mind. Question: is it possible that

all people with good memories have a need to write pastiches?

Which brings us back to what I said earlier: somebody in authority should be looking into Randall

Garrett. And maybe even looking after him.

FOREWORD

By Randall Garrett

In the first chapter of Tolkien’s Fellowship of the Ring, the venerable Bilbo Baggins makes a

speech at the party he is giving to celebrate his eleventy-first birthday. In that speech, he tells the

assembled hobbits that he does not know half of them as well as he should like, and he likes less than half

of them half as well as they deserve.

Most of his guests sit around trying to work it out and see if it comes out a compliment.

I am still doing exactly the same thing with Van’s introduction to this book.

Van vastly underrates his own memory and even more vastly overrates mine. I remember our first

meeting well, but

Why should A. E. Van Vogt, who has been a glittering star in the science fiction firmament since

1939, remember an unimpressive, awestruck fan who had one very minor story published under another

name four years before? That summer of 1948, I found his name in the L.A. phone book and

trepidatingly called him up. I must have said something right, for he invited me to his home.

I showed up, but I have the feeling that Van was far more impressed by the blue-eyed ‘honey

blonde I brought with me.

Van’s working out of my age is a marvel of mathematical exactitude. I was born in 1927. Unlike

Bilbo, I have never liked birthday parties, especially my own. Just for the novelty, I decided to celebrate

my fiftieth, but only after it had passed;

You are all invited to my next such party, to be held sometime after my eleventy-first birthday.

By that time, I may have enough material to put together another book like this, but that is

problematical. You see, I only do them when I bloody well feel like it. If the right idea for a pastiche or

parody hits me, I do it, but that doesn’t happen often. This book represents some twenty years of that

kind of work.

The difference between a pastiche and a parody is, perhaps, a subtle one..

A pastiche attempts to tell a story in the same way that another author would have told it. In this

book, The Best Policy is a pastiche, not a parody. I used, to the best of my ability, Eric Frank Russell’s

style of writing and his way of telling a story.

A parody, when properly done, takes an author’s idiosyncrasies—of style, content, and method of

presentation—and very carefully exaggerates them. You jack them up just one more notch. The idea is

to make those idiosyncrasies blatantly visible. Thus, Backstage Lensman is a parody. Doc Smith would

never have-very probably could never have-written it. It is very difficult indeed for a writer to see his

own idiosyncrasies; they are too much a part of him.

But the line between parody and pastiche is not hard and thin; it is broad and fuzzy. Is The Horror

Out of Time a pastiche or a parody? I don’t know. You tell me.

I do not decide to write a pastiche or parody just for the sake of writing one. The story idea comes

first. In 99.44% of the cases, I write my own story in one of my own styles. But once in a very great

while it seems to me that the idea belongs in someone else’s universe. Then I write a pastiche. See,

herein, No Connections.

And when the idea belongs in another’s universe—except that it is patently ridiculous—I write a

parody. The idea for Backstage Lensman, for instance, you will find in the next-to-last scene, in a simple

mathematical formula. All the rest of it came from that.

The “Reviews in Verse” are a different breed of mutant. They are quite deliberate. The idea is to tell

the plot with reasonable accuracy—and leave out the entire point that the author was trying to

make! So even if you do not heed my warning at the beginning of that section, you will still not know

what the story is really about. For that, go to the originals.

The “Little Willies” are takeoffs of an Englishman named Harry Graham, who originated them.

Since he was a retired officer of Her Majesty’s [Victoria, that is.] Coldstream Guards, he wrote under

the name “Col. D. Streamer.”

The Benedict Breadfruit stories need no introduction from me. My very good friend, Reginald

Bretnor, got his very good friend, Grendel Briarton, to do an introduction for them. And Mr. Briarton,

apparently, had to go to Ferdinand Feghoot for the final copy.

I have not, by any means, given what might be called The Garrett Treatment to all the writers I

admire. Although Van’s Slan is in here, his distinctive style is ripe for story treatment. Ted Sturgeon

would be fun. Fritz Leiber is on my little list. Bob Silverberg is begging for it. Lester del Rey is going to

get his one of these days. Cordwainer Smith has it coming. Frank Herbert will not go unscathed. Mack

Reynolds is overdue. Avram Davidson will not be neglected. Neither will Michael Kurland. There are

others. Just wait.

Maybe before my eleventy-first...

Wait! Don’t go away! This book is like a tapestry. I supplied the basic material, and Frank Kelly

Freas supplied the lovely embroidery. [Is that a crewel remark?] When this book becomes an expensive

collector’s item (when. not if). it will be because of Kelly’s work, not mine.

(Kelly, if you or Polly cut what follows because of some false feeling of modesty, may your pencils

break, your inkpots run dry, your typewriter clog, your paints become gelatinous, and your canvas rot.

Truth, dammit, is truth!)

This book is Kelly’s work in more than one way. Let me give you some background, and then I’ll

tell you a true story.

I met Kelly in the early fifties at a science fiction convention. I don’t remember which one; they all

begin to blend into one another after all this time. (See, Van? I told you!) I don’t remember the con, but I

remember Kelly. At that time, he sported a large red mustache and a smile which kept it turned up at the

ends. I loved the man immediately.

Kelly is witty, outgoing, friendly, gregarious, and articulate. He is shrewd, careful, intelligent, and

analytical. He is sensitive, understanding, warm and compassionate. And he knows the science and

technique of art as few people in history have known it.

He is, of course, a science fiction fan of the highest caliber. It shows in every illustration he does.

He cares about science fiction. And he cares about the people who write and read it.

That’s not all the background I could give you on the man, but it will have to do for the nonce.

Now comes the story.

A while back, I was talking to Kelly on the phone about a book of mine that didn’t quite measure

up to his and Polly’s specifications. Suddenly, he said: “Hey! What about a book of your parodies and

pastiches?”

“Is the world ready for this?” I asked.

“Damn right it is!” and he mentioned several stories he liked. He got me enthusiastic, and I went to

work finding them.

About a week later he called me. “I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” he shouted into my tender ear.

Carefully easing the receiver back toward that offended organ, I said: “you do? Is it contagious?”

“No, no! I’ve got the title for your book!”

Nero Wolfe once said: “I have no talent. I have genius or nothing.” The thing about Kelly is that he

has both.

His talent lies in his ability to use any and every artistic medium that exists. His genius lies in the way

he uses them. And that genius shows through every medium.

Let me give you an imaginative example-what Albert Einstein called a “thought experiment.”

I am fond of churches as works of art; I am a church buff, among other things, and I go absolutely

ape over the Gothic style. The great Gothic cathedrals of Europe really turn me on, and if I were going to

build a church, it would be in that style. Suppose I had enough money to build the church of my dreams.

It would take many tens of millions of dollars today.

With that vast sum in my pocket, I would go to Frank Kelly Freas and say: “Kelly, build me that

church. Hire engineers, hire architects, hire artisans of any kind you need. Money is no object, but build

me that church.”

He could do it; you damn well betcha he could. The spires, the gargoyles, the statues, the stained

glass windows-all. And when he was through (assuming a lifespan of some three centuries), it would be

the most beautiful church in all Christendom. That is his talent.

And those who know his genius would take one look at it and say, in no irreverent tone: “My God!

That’s a Frank Kelly Freas Church!”

Selah.

GENTLEMEN: PLEASE NOTE

By Randall Garrett

This might be considered an “alternate history” story, and in a way, I suppose it is. But not in

the sense that, say, the Lord Darcy stories are. This is a takeoff, not on history, but on the way

certain self-important know-it-alls do their best to put down the gifted person just because his

notions don’t agree with theirs. And, far too often, they succeed.

This is a study in “how to stomp on the crackpot.”

With the exception of General B-f, all the characters mentioned in this story were actual

historical persons, but, with the possible exception of King Charles II, were nothing like I have

depicted them.

My apologies especially to Isaac Barrow, who, as far as my historical reading has led me to

believe, was a much nicer guy.

18 June 1957

Trinity College

Cambridge

Sir James Trowbridge

No.14 Berkeley Mews

London

My dear James,

I’m sorry to have lost touch with you over the past few years; we haven’t seen each other since the

French War, back in 1948. Nine years! It doesn’t seem it.

I’ll tell you right off I want a favour of you. (No, I do not want to borrow another five shillings! I

haven’t had my pocket picked again, thank you. ) This has to do with a little historical research I’m doing

here. I stumbled across something rather queer, and I’m hoping you can help me with it.

I am enclosing copies of some old letters received by Isaac Newton nearly three hundred years

ago. As you will notice, they are addressed to “Mr. Isaac Newton, A.B.”; it rings oddly on the ear to

hear the great man addressed as anything but “your Grace,” but of course he was only a young man at

the time. He hadn’t written his famous Principia yet—and wouldn’t for twenty years.

Reading these letters is somewhat like listening to a conversation when only one of the speakers is

audible, but they seem to indicate another side to the man, one which has not heretofore been brought to

light. Dr. Henry Blake, the mathematician, has looked them over, and he feels that it is possible that

Newton stumbled on something that modern thought has only recently come up with-the gravitational and

light theories of the Swiss mathematician, Albert Einstein.

I know it’s fantastic to think that a man of even Newton’s acknowledged genius could have

conceived of such things three centuries before their proper place in history, but Blake says it’s possible.

And if it is, Blake himself will probably do to Newton’s correspondents the same thing that was done to

Oliver Cromwell at the beginning of the Restoration—disinter the bodies and have them publicly hanged

or some such thing.

Actually, Blake has managed to infect me with his excitement; he has pointed out phrases in several

of the letters which tally very well with Einstein’s theory. But, alas, the information we have is woefully

incomplete.

What we need, you see, are Newton’s letters—the ones he sent which provoked these answers.

We have searched through everything here at Cambridge, and we haven’t found even a trace; evidently

the Newton manuscripts were simply discarded on the basis that they were worthless, anyway. Besides,

records of that sort were poorly kept at that time.

But we thought perhaps the War Office did a somewhat better job of record-keeping.

Now, I realise full well that, due to the present trouble with the Austro-Hungarian Empire, the War

Office can’t take a chance and allow just anyone to prowl through their files. It wouldn’t do to allow one

of the Emperor’s spies to have a look at them. However, I wondered if it wouldn’t be possible for you to

use your connexions and influence at the War Office to look for Newton’s letters to one of the

correspondents, General Sir Edward Ballister-ffoulkes. You can find the approximate dates by checking

the datelines on the copies I am sending you.

The manuscripts are arranged in chronological order, just as they were received by Newton

himself. Of them all, only the last one, as you will see, is perfectly clear and understandable in all its

implications.

Let me know what can be done, will you, old friend?

With best wishes,

SAM

Dr. Samuel Hackett

Department of History

12 November 1666

London

Mr. Isaac Newton, A.B.

Woolsthorpe

Dear Mr. Newton:

It was very good of you to offer your services to His Majesty’s Government at this time. The

situation on the Continent, while not dangerous in the extreme, is certainly capable of becoming so.

Your letter was naturally referred to me, since no one else at the War Office would have any need

for the services of a trained mathematician.

According to your précis, you have done most of your work in geometry and algebra. I feel that

these fields may be precisely what are needed in our programme, and, although you have had no

experience, your record at Trinity College is certainly good enough to warrant our using your services.

If you will fill in the enclosed application blank, along with the proper recommendations and

endorsements, we can put you to work immediately.

Sincerely,

Edward Ballister-ffoulkes, Bart.

General of Artillery

Ballistics Research Dept.

12 November 1666

Cambridge

Mr. Isaac Newton, A.B.

Woolsthorpe

My dear Isaac,

I am sorry to hear of your decision to remain at home for a while longer instead of returning to the

College, but if you feel that your health is delicate, by all means rest until you are in better spirits.

I think, however, that you should attempt to return as soon as possible; you have a great deal of

work ahead of you, my boy. Mathematicians-like Rome-are not built in a day-nor in four years.

If, however, you would like to do a part of your studies by post, I see no objection to it, under the

circumstances, although, of course, it will be necessary to spend a part of your lime in residence here,

and the final examinations will have to be taken here.

Later on, when you are feeling better, I will send an outline of some work I intend to do on conic

sections; I think it would be of great benefit to you to work with me on this. I have always had

confidence in your ability. You are young yet, but, given time and plenty of study, you should make a

place for yourself in the world of mathematics.

I think that the work I have in mind for you should prove stimulating.

Most sincerely,

Isaac Barrow, Ph.D.

16 November 1666

London

Dear Mr. Newton:

It would most certainly be quite convenient for you to do your work there at Woolsthorpe.

An explanation of the work we are trying to do and some of the problems we are up against will be

despatched to you as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

Ballister-ffoulkes

21 November 1666

Cambridge

My dear Isaac,

Your paper has arrived. I haven’t had time to look it over yet, but I shall find time to peruse it

during the forthcoming holidays. I am, of course, very interested in what problems concerned you during

the summer.

A very merry Christmas to you, my boy.

Is. Barrow

22 November 1666

FROM: Ballistics Research Dept.,

British Army Artillery

TO: Isaac Newton, A.B.,

Woolsthorpe

SUBJECT: Ballistics research data.

ENCLOSURE: Range table sample for 9 lb. artillery.

2nd ENCLOSURE: Outline and general discussion of ballistics 1. In order to better understand the

problems facing this Department, you will familiarise yourself with the enclosed material.

2. This material is confidential, and is not to be allowed to fall into unauthorised hands.

By order of the Commanding General

SECOND ENCLOSURE

Randall Garrett - Takeoff

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