A. E. Van Vogt - The Best Of A. E. Van Vogt

“THE BEST OF ...” collections are intended to present the representative stories of the

masters of science fiction in chronological order, their aim being to provide science fiction

readers with a selection of short stories that demonstrate the authors’ literary

development and at the same time to provide new readers with a sound introduction to

their work.

The collections were compiled with the help and advice of the authors concerned,

together with the invaluable assistance of numerous fans, without whose good work, time

and patience they would not have been published.

In particular the advice of Roger Peyton, Gerald Bishop, Peter Weston and Leslie Flood

is appreciated.

ANGUS WELLS, Editor

Also in Sphere Books in the “Best of ...” seríes:

THE BEST OF ISAAC ASIMOV

THE BEST OF ARTHUR C. CLARKE

THE BEST OF JOHN WYNDHAM

THE BEST OF ROBERT HEINLEIN

THE BEST OF FRITZ LEIBER

THE BEST OF JOHN W. CAMPBELL

THE BEST OF FRANK HERBERT

THE BEST OF CLIFFORD D. SIMAK

The Best of

A. E. van Vogt

Volume 2

SPHERE BOOKS LIMITED

30/32 Gray’s Inn Road, London WC1X 8JL

First published in Great Britain by Sphere Books Ltd. as part of a single volume 1974

TRADE

MARK

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated

without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar

condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Set in Monotype Times Roman

Printed in Great Britain by

Hazell Watson & Viney Ltd.

Aylesbury, Bucks

Contents

Acknowledgments ............................................................................................................... 6

Introduction ......................................................................................................................... 7

DEAR PEN PAL .............................................................................................................. 10

THE GREEN FOREST ..................................................................................................... 15

WAR OF NERVES .......................................................................................................... 30

THE EXPENDABLES ...................................................................................................... 44

SILKIES IN SPACE ........................................................................................................ 65

THE PROXY INTELLIGENCE ..................................................................................... 100

The Science Fiction Books of A. E. Van Vogt .................................................................. 133

About the e-Book ............................................................................................................ 136

Acknowledgments

Introduction

“BEST” is what is called in General Semantics a defining word. What this means is that the word of itself

implies a state, or level, of superiority in something.

But that, if you will think about it, is merely a value judgment of a person, a committee, or a group.

That is, it is an intellectual, or emotional, consideration. As such, it can never be an operational term.

So we are not surprised when, each year in the U.S.A. these days, half a dozen publishers issue

best-of-the-year science fiction. Worse, with a couple of well-advertised exceptions, none of the stories

in one “Best” is the same as those of any of the others.

Authors have lived with such contradictions with equa-nimity since the early days of SF.

Not too long ago, one of the best-of-that-year editors asked an SF writer if he had a story that had not

already been anthologized too often. Said author presently sent, along a story which he had selected

because, until then, it had only been printed in a collection of his own stories. The editor accepted it as

one of the best of the year without reading any of the other stories written by that author.

Now, it happened that the story which was submitted under these restricting requirements was the best

short story ever written by that author. That year it won the Hugo award of the World Science Fiction

Convention. None of the other “Best” editors had had the foresight to include it in their anthologies,

I have a lesser example from my own experience. Years ago, the editor of a magazine asked me to

select one of my stories for what was called an author’s choice of his own best story. The editor,

however, required that I limit my selection to a story printed in his magazine. The problem was he had

only published three of my stories.

Like most SF authors I handled this situation with the total aplomb of someone who realizes that failure

to make such a choice simply means your story is not included. P.S. I got the check.

Still--I should report--no one likes to be cynical.

Truth is, I have always had my own favorites among my stories, and occasionally re-read these.

Before I tell you my own choice, let me list for you those stories of mine which have repeatedly won

the accolade of my particular readership.

Short stories: (early titles) “Far Centaurus”, “Enchanted Village”, “The Monster”. This last has

sometimes been titled “Resurrection”, (more recent title) “Itself”.

Novelettes: (early titles) “Black Destroyer”, “Cooperate--Or Else”, The Weapon Shop”, (recent titles)

“The Proxy Intelligence”, “The Silkie”--novelette version--and “The Reflected Men”.

Novels: (early) Slan, The Voyage of the Space Beagle and The World of Null-A, (recent) Quest for

the Future and The Darkness on Diamondia.

Now, why are those not my choices also? Well, I like far-out science fiction.

Does far-out--you may wonder--mean unscientific? Does it mean that I have a fantasy orientation as

distinct from scientific extrapolation. Does it mean that I like it when an author creates bizarre but

impossible situations.

No--to all three questions.

Take “The Storm”--which I include in my list. Surely, at first look, some of the ideas in it are as

far-fetched as you could ask for. A “storm” in space. A planet revolving around the most fantastic sun in

the known universe: S-Doradus.

I’ll concentrate on that last item. When I got the idea, I wrote John W. Campbell, editor of

Astounding, and asked him if it was possible to obtain any valid concept of such a planet. What would

the sky look like? The plant life? etc. He wrote an astronomer friend. Among the three of us we evolved

the planet as described in the story. So far as I know it’s the only description in existence. And it’s

accurate.

There is an error in the original magazine version--and I have decided to let it stand in this present

volume. Just to show you how difficult these matters are, let me describe the mistake. The astronomy

texts I had available did not clearly identify which of the Magellanic Clouds contain S-Doradus. This

particular point did not cross my mind during the correspondence. Suddenly, it was too late. I had to

guess. Now, in those days I gave a lot of attention to the sounds of words. It was my belief that certain

letters all by themselves conveyed a feeling. And so, when I wanted this feeling, or that, I would look for

words with those sounds in them, and substitute them for words that might, otherwise, appear to be more

suitable.

My critics presently took me apart on my use of the English language, particularly ridiculing such

passages. So I abandoned the technique. However, before I was demol-ished, I decided that the word

Lesser had a better feeling for my purposes than Greater. So, on this basis, I placed the great and

glorious S-Doradus in the Lesser Magellanic Cloud.

A few years later, while I was looking up something else in another text, there was the truth. Meaning,

it was in the Greater Magellanic Cloud.

Those things happen to SF authors, alas.

Another example: I read an entire text book on the production and manufacture of steel and its

by-products. I used the terminology in a little short story, titled, “Jugger-naut”. To my dismay, a reader

wrote in with a puzzled appraisal, stating that I seemed to know something about the subject; but that, as

a steel man himself, he had to report that he had never heard any of the terms.

It developed that I had read a book about British steel production.

A third story needing comment is “The Ghost”. It appeared originally in Unknown Worlds, a fantasy

magazine. Well, it’s science fiction. The idea in it derives from the time theories of a British philosopher,

named Dunne. He called his time concept serial time.

When I was age eighteen--and a would-be writer--I loved the lush style of A. Merritt, the cosmic

stories of E. E. Smith, and the western yarns of Max Brand. By the time I got around to eighteen a

second time (age thirty-six, for you people who can’t add) I was myself a science fiction writer, and had

in fact written most of the stories which were subsequently regarded as my “Best”. I spent my third

eighteen years making a study of human behavior. During this time, I wrote a non-fiction book, The

Hypnotism Hand-book for a psychologist. In 1962, The Violent Man, my Red China novel (not

science fiction) was published by Parrar, Straus and Giroux. Another study begun in the fifties recently

culminated in a second non-fiction title, The Money Personality. A third study--on women--will have an

SF novel based on it (The Secret Galactics) to be published by Prentice-Hall, Inc. in March 1974.

In 1964 I again started to write science fiction. The first of my new stories was “The Expendables”.

I am bemused by the possibility that what I wrote with a hammer and a chisel (so to speak) in my

younger days, adhering rigidly to an 800-word-scene-method writing, is actually better than what I can

now do when I am so much more knowledgeable. For example, today I feel that I understand human

behavior, money, women, men (though not children), exercise, dreams, and writing technique as never

before. Then, I just let character happen according to the needs of the story. Now, I know at all times

what I’m doing, and why. It feels better. And I really think it’s going to turn out better.

Here, without further preliminary discussion, is my list of my favorites: shorter stories: (early) “The

Monater”, “War of Nerves”, (later) “The Ultra Man”; novelettes: (early) “Vault of the Beast”, “The

Storm”, “Hand of the Gods”, (later) “Silkies in Space”, “The Proxy Intelligence”; novels: (early) The

World of Null-A, (later) The Silkie, The Battle of Forever.

Those are my very top choices. Following close behind these are: “Dear Pen Pal”, “The Cataaaaa”,

and “Juggernaut” (short); “Expendables”, “The Ghost”, “The Weapon Shop”, “Secret Unattainable”, and

“The Green Forest” (novelettes); and the novels, The Weapon Shops of Isher, The Wizard of Linn and

Future Glitter.

I want to make a brief comment about a couple of those choices. “Proxy Intelligence” is a sequel to an

early novella, “Asylum”, which at one time I considered one of my best stories. I still do; but I prefer

“Proxy”. (At some future time there will be another sequel, titled “I.Q. 10,000”--at the moment I don’t

quite feel up to doing that.)

It is very likely that, of my Linn stories, “Hand of the Gods” is the most perfectly organized. These first

Linn stories were to some extent unconsciously modeled on Robert Graves’s I, Claudius--so I had

pointed out to me later. But I had done such a vast amount of reading in that particular Roman period

that I really thought it was Roman history. However, the Linn family tree was modeled on the Medici line

of Florence. So Clane is a combination of Claudius and Lorenzo. Transferred to 12,000 A.D., the whole

thing acquired a life of its own, and even won a grudging accolade from my principal U.S. critic Damon

Knight.

The stories printed in this present volume, and the novels I have named, qualify for my personal

accolade because they are farther out than the stories not included in my list.

I recommend them to all my far-out reader types. A. E. van Vogt,

Hollywood, Calif., 1973

DEAR PEN PAL

Planet Aurigae II

DEAR Pen Pal:

When I first received your letter from the interstellar correspondence club, my impulse was to ignore it.

The mood of one who has spent the last seventy planetary periods--years I suppose you would call

them--in an Aurigaen prison, does not make for a pleasant exchange of letters. However, life is very

boring, and so I finally settled myself to the task of writing you.

Your description of Earth sounds exciting. I would like to live there for a while, and I have a suggestion

in this connection, but I won’t mention it till I have developed it further.

You will have noticed the material on which this letter is written. It is a highly sensitive metal, very thin,

very flexible, and I have enclosed several sheets of it for your use. Tungsten dipped in any strong acid

makes an excellent mark on it. It is important to me that you do write on it, as my fingers are too

hot--literally--to hold your paper without damaging it.

I’ll say no more just now. It is possible you will not care to correspond with a convicted criminal, and

therefore I shall leave the next move up to you. Thank you for your letter. Though you did not know its

destination, it brought a moment of cheer into my drab life.

Skander

Aurigae II

Dear Pen Pal:

Your prompt reply to my letter made me happy. I am sorry your doctor thought it excited you too

much, and sorry, also, if I have described my predicament in such a way as to make you feel badly. I

welcome your many questions, and I shall try to answer them all.

You say the international correspondence club has no record of having sent any letters to Aurigae.

That, according to them, the temperature on the second planet of the Aurigae sun is more than 500

degrees Fahrenheit. And that life is not known to exist there. Your club is right about the temperature and

the letters. We have what your people would call a hot climate, but then we are not a hydrocarbon form

of life, and find 500 degrees very pleasant.

I must apologize for deceiving you about the way your first letter was sent to me. I didn’t want to

frighten you away by telling you too much at once. After all, I could not be expected to know that you

would be enthusiastic to hear from me.

The truth is that I am a scientist, and, along with the other members of my race, I have known for some

centuries that there were other inhabited systems in the galaxy. Since I am allowed to experiment in my

spare hours, I amused myself in attempts at communication. I developed several simple systems for

breaking in on galactic communication operations, but it was not until I developed a subspacewave

control that I was able to draw your letter (along with several others, which I did not answer) into a cold

chamber.

I use the cold chamber as both sending and receiving center, and since you were kind enough to use

the material which I sent you, it was easy for me to locate your second letter among the mass of mail that

accumulated at the nearest headquarters of the interstellar correspondence club.

How did I learn your language? After all, it is a simple one, particularly the written language seems

easy. I had no difficulty with it. If you are still interested in writing me, I shall be happy to continue the

correspondence. Skander

Dear Pen Pal:

Your enthusiasm is refreshing. You say that I failed to answer your question about how I expected to

visit Earth. I confess I deliberately ignored the question, as my experi-ment had not yet proceeded far

enough. I want you to bear with me a short time longer, and then I will be able to give you the details.

You are right in saying that it would be difficult for a being who lives at a temperature of 500 degrees

Fahrenheit to mingle freely with the people of Earth. This was never my intention, so please relieve your

mind. How-ever, let us drop that subject for the time being.

I appreciate the delicate way in which you approach the subject of my imprisonment. But it is quite

unnecessary. I performed forbidden experiments upon my body in a way that was deemed to be

dangerous to the public welfare. For instance, among other things, I once lowered my surface

temperature to 150 degrees Fahrenheit, and so shortened the radioactive cycle-time of my surroundings.

This caused an unexpected break in the normal person to person energy flow in the city where I lived,

and so charges were laid against me. I have thirty more years to serve. It would be pleasant to leave my

body behind and tour the universe--but as I said I’ll discuss that later.

I wouldn’t say that we’re a superior race. We have certain qualities which apparently “your people do

not have. We live longer, not because of any discoveries we’ve made about ourselves, but because our

bodies are built of a more enduring element--I don’t know your name for it, but the atomic weight is 52.9

#. Our scientific discoveries are of the kind that would normally be made by a race with our kind of

physical structure. The fact that we can work with temperatures of as high as--I don’t know just how to

put that--has been very helpful in the development of the sub-space energies which are extremely hot,

and require delicate adjustments. In the later stages these adjustments can be made by machinery, but in

the development the work must be done by “hand”--I put that word in quotes, because we have no

hands in the same way that you have.

I am enclosing a photographic plate, properly cooled and chemicalized for your climate. I wonder if

you would set it up and take a picture of yourself. All you have to do is arrange it properly on the basis of

the laws of light--that is, light travels in straight lines, so stand in front of it--and when you are ready think

“Ready!” The picture will be automatically taken.

Would you do this for me? If you are interested, I will also send you a picture of myself, though I must

warn you. My appearance will probably shock you.

Sincerely,

Skander

Planet Aurigae II

Dear Pen Pal:

Just a brief note in answer to your question. It is not necessary to put the plate into a camera. You

describe this as a dark box. The plate will take the picture when you think, “Ready!” I assure you it will

be flooded with light. Skander

Aurigae II

Dear Pen Pal:

You say that while you were waiting for the answer to my last letter you showed the photographic

plate to one of the doctors at the hospital--I cannot picture what you mean by doctor or hospital, but let

that pass--and he took the problem up with government authorities. Problem? I don’t understand. I

thought we were having a pleasant corres-pondence, private and personal.

I shall certainly appreciate your sending that picture of yourself.

Skander

Aurigae II

Dear Pen Pal:

I assure you I am not annoyed at your action. It merely puzzled me, and I am sorry the plate has not

been returned to you. Knowing what governments are, I can imagine that it will not be returned to you for

some time, so I am taking the liberty of inclosing another plate.

I cannot imagine why you should have been warned against continuing this correspondence. What do

they expect me to do?--eat you up at long distance? I’m sorry but I don’t like hydrogen in my diet.

In any event, I would like your picture as a memento of our friendship, and I will send mine as soon as

I have re-ceived yours. You may keep it or throw it away, or give it to your governmental

authorities--but at least I will have the knowledge that I’ve given a fair exchange.

With all best wishes

Skander

Aurigae II

Dear Pen Pal:

Your last letter was so slow in coming that I thought you had decided to break off the correspondence.

I was sorry to notice that you failed to enclose the photograph, puzzled by your reference to having a

relapse, and cheered by your statement that you would send it along as soon as you felt better--whatever

that means. However, the important thing is that you did write, and I respect the philosophy of your club

which asks its members not to write of pessimistic matters. We all have our own problems which we

regard as overshadowing the problems of others. Here I am in prison, doomed to spend the next 30

years tucked away from the main stream of life. Even the thought is hard on my restless spirit, though I

know I have a long life ahead of me after my release.

In spite of your friendly letter, I won’t feel that you have completely re-established contact with me

until you send the photograph. Yours in expectation

Skander

Aurigae II

Dear Pen Pal:

The photograph arrived. As you suggest, your appearance startled me. From your description I

thought I had mentally reconstructed your body. It just goes to show that words cannot really describe an

object which has never been seen.

You’ll notice that I’ve enclosed a photograph of myself, as I promised I would. Chunky, metallic

looking chap, am I not, very different, I’ll wager, than you expected? The various races with whom we

have communicated become wary of us when they discover we are highly radioactive, and that literally

we are a radioactive form of life, the only such (that we know of) in the universe. It’s been very trying to

be so isolated and, as you know, I have occasionally mentioned that I had hopes of escaping not only the

deadly imprison-ment to which I am being subjected but also the body which cannot escape.

Perhaps you’ll be interested in hearing how far this idea has developed. The problem involved is one of

exchange of personalities with someone else. Actually, it is not really an exchange in the accepted

meaning of the word. It is necessary to get an impress of both individuals, of their mind and of their

thoughts as well as their bodies. Since this phase is purely mechanical, it is simply a matter of taking

complete photographs and of exchanging them. By complete I mean of course every vibration must be

registered. The next step is to make sure the two photographs are exchanged, that is, that each party has

somewhere near him a complete photograph of the other. (It is already too late, Pen Pal. I have set in

motion the sub-space energy interflow between the two plates, so you might as well read on.) As I have

said it is not exactly an exchange of personalities. The original personality in each individual is suppressed,

literally pushed back out of the consciousness, and the image personality from the “photographic” plate

replaces it.

You will take with you a complete memory of your life on Earth, and I will take along memory of my

life on Aurigae. Simultaneously, the memory of the receiving body will be blurrily at our disposal. A part

of us will always be pushing up, striving to regain consciousness, but always lacking the strength to

succeed.

As soon as I grow tired of Earth, I will exchange bodies in the same way with a member of some other

race. Thirty years hence, I will be happy to reclaim my body, and you can then have whatever body I last

happened to occupy.

This should be a very happy arrangement for us both. You, with your short life expectancy, will have

out-lived all your contemporaries and will have had an interesting experience. I admit I expect to have the

better of the ex-change--but now, enough of explanation. By the time you reach this part of the letter it

will be me reading it, not you. But if any part of you is still aware, so long for now, Pen Pal. It’s been nice

having all those letters from you. I shall write you from time to time to let you know how things are going

with my tour. Skander

Aurigae II

Dear Pen Pal:

Thanks a lot for forcing the issue. For a long time I hesitated about letting you play such a trick on

yourself. You see, the government scientists analyzed the nature of that first photographic plate you sent

me, and so the final decision was really up to me. I decided that anyone as eager as you were to put one

over should be allowed to succeed.

Now I know I didn’t have to feel sorry for you. Your plan to conquer Earth wouldn’t have gotten

anywhere, but the fact that you had the idea ends the need for sympathy. By this time you will have

realized for yourself that a man who has been paralyzed since birth, and is subject to heart attacks,

cannot expect a long life span. I am happy to tell you that your once lonely pen pal is enjoying himself,

and I am happy to sign myself with a name to which I expect to become accustomed.

With best wishes

Skander

THE GREEN FOREST

“HERE!” said Marenson.

He put the point of his pencil down in the center of a splotch of green. His eyes focused on the wiry

man opposite him.

“Right here, Mr. Clugy,” he said, “is where the camp will be built.”

Clugy leaned forward and glanced at the spot. Then he looked up; and Marenson was aware of the

spaceman’s slate-gray eyes studying him. Clugy drew slowly back into his chair, and said in a monotone:

“Why that particular spot?”

“Oh,” said Marenson, “I have a feeling we’ll get more juice from there.”

A. E. Van Vogt - The Best Of A. E. Van Vogt

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