Thursday, April 7, 2011

Retro Review - "The Eternal Wall" (Raymond Z. Gallun, 1942)


"Retro Reviews - Raymond Z. Gallun, "The Eternal Wall"

(c) 2010, 2011 by Jordan S. Bassior


Introduction

Raymond Z. Gallun is one of the often-forgotten pioneers of high-concept science fiction, and he was distinguished by his acceptance of alien diversity at a time when many writers simply treated alien beings as "monsters." This is very apparent in his most famous story, "Old Faithful" (1934), in which a Martian is at once shown to be very alien and yet a sympathetic character. He was not the first in this regard -- E. E. "Doc" Smith, Stanley G. Weinbaum, and (the later) H. P. Lovecraft also explored aliens as civilized beings rather than merely scary creatures -- but he did come early, and he did it well.

Unfortunately, his total output was relatively small, given his long career as a science fiction writer. That's why I was happy to discover this work, which I'd never seen anthologized, online on Project Gutenberg (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/27110/27110-h/27110-h.htm).

It's a tale of a man from our time, who lives to meet a race after Man on the Earth of the far future.

I. Plot

Ned Vince, a young man of around 18, has hopes of going with his girlfriend Betty to college, but his hopes are dashed when he runs off the road into a deep and cold alkali lake. Ned drowns in his wrecked roadster, but his corpse is preserved through the mixture of low temperature and high pH of the water, being fossilized as a perfect mummy (1)

Hundreds of thousands of years pass. Man rises to great heights, becomes a race of "Gods," expands outward to the stars, and finally abandons the Earth. A new sapient race evolves on Earth, descended from prairie dogs (2), and ultimately surpasses the technology of 20th century humnanity, building great cities and mastering advanced machinery.

They discover the mummified Ned in the rusted remains of his roadster, and take him to their city of Kar-Rah, where Loy Chuk, one of their scientists, decides to attempt an actual re-vivication of the corpse -- possible only because of its good condition and the rodent race's super-science.

Ned Vince is restored and brought back to life. Loy Chuk has learned his language telepathically, and communicates with him by vocoder. Ned is devastated to learn that he has slept for hundreds of millennia, and is now the last human being alive on Earth; possibly the last old-style human in existence anywhere in the Universe. He misses the rest of humanity; in particular he misses Betty.

Overcome with despair, he runs out into the wasteland, half-hoping to die on this inhospitable Earth. He falls unconscious, but before he can die of exposure is rescued by Loy Chuk and his assistants.

Later, Ned Vince begs Loy Chuk to send him back to the 20th century. Loy, aware that Ned is suicidal, agrees. He puts Ned Vince into a machine and zaps him back in time -- Ned is delighted to find himself back in his old machine shop, in the company of his beloved Betty ...

But Loy Chuk couldn't really send him back: not even the Gods themselves were ever able to build a time machine. So, instead, what really did was to build a replica of Ned's machine shop and an android replica of Betty, and -- keeping a credulity ray on Ned to suppress his suspicions.

Ned will live out his life, happily, in this illusion of 20th-century Earth, while Loy Chuk continues to study him ...

II. Characters

Only two, really, but they are strongly drawn as they need to be for the story.

Ned Vince is a nice young man, reasonably bright, but perhaps a bit too rash and emotional, which is how he crashed his car and died; and also how he wound up in his zoo enclosure. A calmer man would not have run off the road; a calmer man would not have fled into the wasteland from the obviously friendly Lok Choy, and a calmer man would have made damned sure that the people of Kar-Rah actually could build time machines, rather than insisting that they must be able to simply because 20th-century science fiction mentioned it as a possibility. An unkind observer (not Lok Choy, who at least means well) might imagine that Lok Choy need not push that credulity ray beyond its lowest setting, in order to trick Ned.

Loy Chuk is a good scientist and a kindly being. As Gallun puts it

Little Loy Chuk was in a black, discouraged mood, himself. He could understand the utter, sick dejection of this giant from the past, lost from his own kind. Probably insanity looming. In far less extreme circumstances than this, death from homesickness had come.

Loy Chuk was a scientist. In common with all real scientists, regardless of the species from which they spring, he loved the subjects of his researches. He wanted this ancient man to live and to be happy. Or this creature would be of scant value for study.


Now, this is remarkable for two reasons. The first is that Loy, an alien, is portrayed as being empathetic enough to understand the despair of Ned Vince. The second is that Gallun is aware that scientists, far from being passionless machines beyond mere emotionality (the stereotype of 1930's-1940's pulp SF) actually love their work.

A third reason might be possibly mentioned: that Loy Chuk is aware (as far too many real students of animal psychology today are clearly not) of the importance of keeping his subject sane for the validity of his results. What this shows is that Gallun had more common sense than did B. F. Skinner and his disciples!

We don't learn much of Loy Chuk's life in his own culture, or of that culture itself, aside from the fact that it is advanced, technological, and at least as and arguably more humane than our own. True, Loy Chuk sees no problem with keeping Ned in what amounts to a padded zoo for the rest of his life, but then we treat experimental animals (even probably sapient ones) far worse than that: at least Loy Chuk intends kindness (albiet from somewhat selfish motives).

III. Setting

The Earth of around a million years in the future is briefly but hauntingly sketched. As with many Gallun stories, it leaves one wanting more: I really wish that he'd developed it further in a series. I discuss this in greater detail in the "Science and Technology" section, but suffice it to say that Earth, Moon and possibly Sun have all apparently suffered some damage, possibly due to the activities of the Gods in times past. As far as I can tell, the Solar System is being left fallow by the Gods, who have decided for reasons of their own not to interfere further in the affairs of Earth's other children.

Kar-Rah is a beautiful but claustrophobic place, as one would expect given that the cynomys sapiens (my term for them) are both subterranean in origin and considerably smaller than humans. I got the impression that cynomys sapiens is a friendly and cooperative species, and that their city is comfortable and lovely to them.

IV. Science and Technology

Atom-Blast Excavator

The bell-like muzzle of a strange excavator-apparatus, which seemed to depend on a blast of atoms to clear away rock and soil.

Essentially, a highly-controlled plasma drill. This is quite possible; because plasma is hot but tenuous, it can if controlled properly vaporize one section of a solid while only barely heating adjacent sections. This was usually called an "atom-blast" in 1930's and 1940's science fiction, with the terminological focus being on the (implicitly-nuclear) power-source rather than the precise type of beam produced.

It was generally assumed at the time that nuclear energy would require particle accelerators, and that the same effect could be channeled off from the reactor to produce a destructive beam. This is sort of correct, but for slightly different reasons: you could indeed funnel some hot plasma from a fusion reactor and use it as a torch.

The State of the Earth

She's seen better days:

The spreading continental plateau of North America seemed to crawl backward, beneath. A tremendous sand desert, marked with low, washed-down mountains, and the vague, angular, geometric mounds of human cities that were gone forever.

Beyond the eastern rim of the continent, the plain dipped downward steeply. The white of dried salt was on the hills, but there was a little green growth here, too. The dead sea-bottom of the vanished Atlantic was not as dead as the highlands.

... Besides, in this latter day, the nights were very cold, the shelter of subterranean passages and rooms was welcome.


This is a remarkable amount of geological change for a mere half-million to million years. Some of it might be explainable by shorter assumed timescales before the invention of radio-isotope dating (generally, in the 1930's and 1940's, the Earth was assumed to be only 2-3 billion years old) and some by a lack of understanding of how seas opened and closed before the general acceptance of the theory of continental drift, but this still seems a bit much for such a short geological stretch of time. It is certainly possible that the Gods did something which severely damaged the Earth's surface.

One thing that is obvious is that the Earth has lost a lot of water. There are numerous possibilities as to "why" -- my guess would be a combination of extensive export of water offworld (possibly as fusion fuel and reaction mass for starflight) and very heavy bombardment of the Earth by charged particles (possibly war damage). It may be relevant here that the ancestors of Loy Chuk's people were medium-sized tunnel dwellers -- perhaps most large surface animals went extinct?

The Earth might be cold as well as dry for various reasons. Back in the 1930's-40's, most popular science assumed that the Sun would "burn out" rather than increase solar output (see Vance's "Dying Earth" stories, for example). This might actually be possible if the Gods engaged in some sort of stellar engineering at some point, and left the Sun in less-than-ideal condition for their successors. Another possibility is that there has been at least one major episode of carbon sequestration between the present and this future, which perhaps went a little too far.

A little later it is mentioned that the air is thinner, and in terrain which would today be a few hundred feet below sea level, which strongly implies that something has stripped off some of the Earth's atmosphere. Intense solar flares is one possibility: perhaps the Gods induced small nova flares at some point as part of a stellar engineering project, and it got a bit out of control.

Astronomical Developments

The Moon was a gigantic, pock-marked bulk. The constellations were unrecognizable.

Luna seems to have come closer and acquired more craters; possibly the result of Godly mega-engineering projects or wars. After a million or so years, the constellations would indeed be "unrecognizable;" many large bright stars would have novaed, while stars visible due to proximity would have changed apparent positions quite noticably.

Cynomys Sapiens City

Far out in a deep valley, Kar-Rah, the city of the rodents, came into view—a crystalline maze of low, bubble-like structures, glinting in the red sunshine. But this was only its surface aspect. Loy Chuk's people had built their homes mostly underground, since the beginning of their foggy evolution.

...

The rodent city was a glowing expanse of shallow, crystalline domes, set among odd, scrub trees and bushes. The crags loomed on all sides, all their jaggedness lost after a million years of erosion under an ocean that was gone.


The sapient prairie dogs would obviously no longer need to hide from predators, but the legacy of their vulnerable racial childhood would affect them just as the legacy of ours has affected us. We like to live in grassy plains at forest edges, and so configure our cities and parks; they would feel comfortable dwelling mostly underground.

Note that Kar-Rah is obviously delved into what was once a submerged canyon, possibly the oceanic extension of what is today a river. One likely candidate is the Hudson River Submarine Valley, which today extends a hundred miles beyond the mouth of New York Harbor. Others are of course possible. Water might still flow past Kar-Rah; obviously, some supply of fresh water would be essential for a mammalian conurbation.

Reviving the Remains

The mummy was taken to Loy Chuk's laboratory, a short distance below the surface. Here at once, the scientist began his work. The body of the ancient man was put in a large vat. Fluids submerged it, slowly soaking from that hardened flesh the alkali that had preserved it for so long. The fluid was changed often, until woody muscles and other tissues became pliable once more.

This part of it is exactly what we might do, if we wanted to restore some ancient mummified flesh to greater flexibility. We generally don't, of course, because wetting a mummy resumes the processes of cellular deterioration. But the super-prairie-dog scientist does more:

Then the more delicate processes began. Still submerged in liquid, the corpse was submitted to a flow of restorative energy, passing between complicated electrodes. The cells of antique flesh and brain gradually took on a chemical composition nearer to that of the life that they had once known.

Pure Golden Age pulp science, there. But believable, if you grant that the chemical baths contain restorative enzymes or nanomachines which require energy inputs to work, which would be the point of the "complicated electrodes."

The final step is "vital energy" right out of the 1931 Frankenstein movie.

With a cold, rosy flare, energy blazed around that moveless form.

And Ned Vince is wakey-wakey!

The Black Box

Loy Chuk put an odd, metal-fabric helmet on its head, and a second, much smaller helmet on his own. Connected with this arrangement, was a black box of many uses. For hours he worked with his apparatus, studying, and guiding the recording instruments. The time passed swiftly.

This device, applied to Ned before re-awakening, scanned his language centers, and transferred Ned's knowledge of English to Loy Chuk. Its functioning is left mysterious in the story, but it obviously includes a powerful computer and translator unit. I can see why it would take at least "hours" to seek out the stored linguistic memories of another species and transfer them into the user's own mind!

Vocoder

Loy Chuk had only to press certain buttons to make the instrument express his thoughts in common, long-dead English. Loy, whose vocal organs were not human, would have had great difficulty speaking English words, anyway.

Ironically, if we ever learn the real-world prairie dog language, we'll need to use something like this to speak and understand it, since prarie-dog chirps and chitters are in part above both our hearing and our vocal range. Loy Chuk is probably a bit bigger than a real prarire dog, but he probably needs to step-up Ned's (to Loy) infra-bass utterances to hear them, too.

The Gods

... and a second man-skeleton that was not quite human. Its neck-vertebrae were very thick and solid, its shoulders were wide, and its skull was gigantic.

Gallun here grasps something that not all writers of his day understood, which is that a super-intelligent humanoid (with an appropriately bigger head) would have a powerful neck and shoulders to carry that head. Many other writers of the 1930's and 1940's just assumed that the supermen would simply make do with vulnerable, easily-broken necks, but that would be silly (the more so if they got smarter through genetic engineering rather than ordinary evolution)). Gallun doesn't specify, but I would imagine either that they were born through caesarians, or else their females had rather exotic pelvic anatomy.

The Ned Vince Show

He did not know anything about the invisible radiations beating down upon him, soothing and dimming his brain, so that it would never question or doubt, or observe too closely the incongruous circumstances that must often appear. The lack of traffic in the street without, for instance — and the lack of people besides himself and Betty.

He didn't know that this machine-shop was built from his own memories of the original. He didn't know that this Betty was of the same origin — a miraculous fabrication of metal and energy-units and soft plastic. The trees outside were only lantern-slide illusions.

It was all built inside a great, opaque dome. But there were hidden television systems, too. Thus Loy Chuk's kind could study this ancient man — this Kaalleee. Thus, their motives were mostly selfish.


The credulity ray is a nice touch. In fact (as was not known in the 1940's) there is a characteristic EEG pattern associated with belief, and the ability to induce belief would be a relatively trivial application of the technology that produced the telepathic translator.

The life-like artificial habtitat is just a more sophisticated version of the sort of thing that we build today for smart animals, to enrich their zoo habitats and keep them happy. This has to be a very life-like habitat, of course, since Vince isn't much stupider (if at all) than the cynomys sapiens who constructed it, though the credulity ray helps.

The Betty-droid is a remarkable achievement, considering that it has to fool a man who knew Betty intimately in life. It's not obvious whether or not it is independently sapient, or "merely" an remotely operated "avatar." (Furry fans may speculate about the psychology and attitudes of the avatar's operator toward Vince: real prairie dogs have complex emotions and social interactions, so romantic feelings are not impossible).

The "lantern slide show" is probably done by laser-generated hologram. We could almost do that, now, and the prarie-dogs obviously have a technology equivalent to that we may develop by 2050-2100, from a modern POV.

V. Theme

"You can't go home again, and you should be careful wishing for it," I'd guess. It's a dark story by the standards of the 1940's: Ned Vince, who one might suspect from his description at the start was going to do some great deeds in the future, in fact totally failed to find a place, utterly spurning the opportunity to learn the super-science of the cynomys. Because of his suicidal reaction, instead he must now live -- perhaps forever -- in the hollow illusion of having returned to his own time. He may be happy, but it is not a fate I would wish upon myself.

VI. Analysis

The story bears obvious comparison with L. Sprague de Camp's and P. Schuyler Miller's Genus Homo (1941), a short novel about a busload of humans who find themselves in a similarly posthuman future. Because of the dates of publication and the small size of the early-1940's science fiction world, I wonder if Genus Homo inspired Gallun? On the other hand, Gallun's own "Seeds of the Dusk" (1936) was about a semi post-human future (the "humans" of that story aren't exactly our own species) with sympathetic nonhuman sapients, and may have inspired De Camp.

Genus Homo goes into its posthuman Earth in considerably greater detail; there are numerous species and a long and involved story. Gallun couldn't do this here, since he was writing a shorter story and making an entirely different point: that a solitary time-castaway might be so alienated from the posthuman future that he literally could not face its reality. This theme bears comparison to Poul Anderson's related point in "The Man Who Came Early" (1956), in which a solitary man cast into medieval Iceland fails to fit in or change history, and winds up dying without accomplishing anything. The cumulative point, especially when comparing with stories like Eric Flint's Grantville universe or S. M. Stirling's Nantucket novels, is that you need friends if you're going to be castaway in an alien time -- and stay sane.

Footnotes

(1) This would mostly work. Cold water retards decomposition, and a sufficiently alkaline lake might dessicate a corpse while preserving its internal structure. Our own science would not be able to revive a victim preserved in this manner, but some more advanced science might be up to the task. The technology of the city of Kar-Rah does it through a "zap, you're healed" energy beam; in reality it would probably be much harder.

(2) Gallun was fascinated by the concept of animal sapience, and was a good judge of the intelligence of real animals. In "Seeds of the Dusk" (1938) he had sapient ravens just one of many intelligent races on a far-future Earth. Interestingly, subsequent research has shown that ravens are tool-users, and prairie dogs have an apparently-syntactical language, making both good candidates for ultimate evolution to advanced technological capabilities.

Conclusion

"The Eternal Wall" is a short but remarkably beautiful and effective story: strange, dark and cold; alienating while featuring a race of very friendly aliens by the standards of early 1940's science fiction. The story is packed full of creativeness, sense of wonder and strange invention. The situation is credible, but much is left unexplained, and one is left speculating about this fascinating far future Earth.

Definitely worth reading at least once.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

"The Eternal Wall," by Raymond Z. Gallun, (c) 1942

THE
ETERNAL
WALL

By RAYMOND Z. GALLUN

(c) 1942

A scream of brakes, the splash into icy waters, a long descent into alkaline depths ... it was death. But Ned Vince lived again—a million years later!


"See you in half an hour, Betty," said Ned Vince over the party telephone. "We'll be out at the Silver Basket before ten-thirty...."

Ned Vince was eager for the company of the girl he loved. That was why he was in a hurry to get to the neighboring town of Hurley, where she lived. His old car rattled and roared as he swung it recklessly around Pit Bend.

There was where Death tapped him on the shoulder. Another car leaped suddenly into view, its lights glaring blindingly past a high, up-jutting mass of Jurassic rock at the turn of the road.

Dazzled, and befuddled by his own rash speed, Ned Vince had only swift young reflexes to rely on to avoid a fearful, telescoping collision. He flicked his wheel smoothly to the right; but the County Highway Commission hadn't yet tarred the traffic-loosened gravel at the Bend.

 
An incredible science, millions of years old, lay in the minds of these creatures.


Ned could scarcely have chosen a worse place to start sliding and spinning. His car hit the white-painted wooden rail sideways, crashed through, tumbled down a steep slope, struck a huge boulder, bounced up a little, and arced outward, falling as gracefully as a swan-diver toward the inky waters of the Pit, fifty feet beneath....

Ned Vince was still dimly conscious when that black, quiet pool geysered around him in a mighty splash. He had only a dazing welt on his forehead, and a gag of terror in his throat.

Movement was slower now, as he began to sink, trapped inside his wrecked car. Nothing that he could imagine could mean doom more certainly than this. The Pit was a tremendously deep pocket in the ground, spring-fed. The edges of that almost bottomless pool were caked with a rim of white—for the water, on which dead birds so often floated, was surcharged with alkali. As that heavy, natronous liquid rushed up through the openings and cracks beneath his feet, Ned Vince knew that his friends and his family would never see his body again, lost beyond recovery in this abyss.

The car was deeply submerged. The light had blinked out on the dash-panel, leaving Ned in absolute darkness. A flood rushed in at the shattered window. He clawed at the door, trying to open it, but it was jammed in the crash-bent frame, and he couldn't fight against the force of that incoming water. The welt, left by the blow he had received on his forehead, put a thickening mist over his brain, so that he could not think clearly. Presently, when he could no longer hold his breath, bitter liquid was sucked into his lungs.

His last thoughts were those of a drowning man. The machine-shop he and his dad had had in Harwich. Betty Moore, with the smiling Irish eyes—like in the song. Betty and he had planned to go to the State University this Fall. They'd planned to be married sometime.... Goodbye, Betty ...

The ripples that had ruffled the surface waters in the Pit, quieted again to glassy smoothness. The eternal stars shone calmly. The geologic Dakota hills, which might have seen the dinosaurs, still bulked along the highway. Time, the Brother of Death, and the Father of Change, seemed to wait....





"Kaalleee! Tik!... Tik, tik, tik!... Kaalleee!..."

The excited cry, which no human throat could quite have duplicated accurately, arose thinly from the depths of a powder-dry gulch, water-scarred from an inconceivable antiquity. The noon-day Sun was red and huge. The air was tenuous, dehydrated, chill.

"Kaalleee!... Tik, tik, tik!..."

At first there was only one voice uttering those weird, triumphant sounds. Then other vocal organs took up that trilling wail, and those short, sharp chuckles of eagerness. Other questioning, wondering notes mixed with the cadence. Lacking qualities identifiable as human, the disturbance was still like the babble of a group of workmen who have discovered something remarkable.

The desolate expanse around the gulch, was all but without motion. The icy breeze tore tiny puffs of dust from grotesque, angling drifts of soil, nearly waterless for eons. Patches of drab lichen grew here and there on the up-jutting rocks, but in the desert itself, no other life was visible. Even the hills had sagged away, flattened by incalculable ages of erosion.





At a mile distance, a crumbling heap of rubble arose. Once it had been a building. A gigantic, jagged mass of detritus slanted upward from its crest—red debris that had once been steel. A launching catapult for the last space ships built by the gods in exodus, perhaps it was—half a million years ago. Man was gone from the Earth. Glacial ages, war, decadence, disease, and a final scattering of those ultimate superhumans to newer worlds in other solar systems, had done that.

"Kaalleee!... Tik, tik, tik!..." The sounds were not human. They were more like the chatter and wail of small desert animals.

But there was a seeming paradox here in the depths of that gulch, too. The glint of metal, sharp and burnished. The flat, streamlined bulk of a flying machine, shiny and new. The bell-like muzzle of a strange excavator-apparatus, which seemed to depend on a blast of atoms to clear away rock and soil. Thus the gulch had been cleared of the accumulated rubbish of antiquity. Man, it seemed, had a successor, as ruler of the Earth.

Loy Chuk had flown his geological expedition out from the far lowlands to the east, out from the city of Kar-Rah. And he was very happy now—flushed with a vast and unlooked-for success.

He crouched there on his haunches, at the dry bottom of the Pit. The breeze rumpled his long, brown fur. He wasn't very different in appearance from his ancestors. A foot tall, perhaps, as he squatted there in that antique stance of his kind. His tail was short and furred, his undersides creamy. White whiskers spread around his inquisitive, pink-tipped snout.

But his cranium bulged up and forward between shrewd, beady eyes, betraying the slow heritage of time, of survival of the fittest, of evolution. He could think and dream and invent, and the civilization of his kind was already far beyond that of the ancient Twentieth Century.

Loy Chuk and his fellow workers were gathered, tense and gleeful, around the things their digging had exposed to the daylight. There was a gob of junk—scarcely more than an irregular formation of flaky rust. But imbedded in it was a huddled form, brown and hard as old wood. The dry mud that had encased it like an airtight coffin, had by now been chipped away by the tiny investigators; but soiled clothing still clung to it, after perhaps a million years. Metal had gone into decay—yes. But not this body. The answer to this was simple—alkali. A mineral saturation that had held time and change in stasis. A perfect preservative for organic tissue, aided probably during most of those passing eras by desert dryness. The Dakotas had turned arid very swiftly. This body was not a mere fossil. It was a mummy.

"Kaalleee!" Man, that meant. Not the star-conquering demi-gods, but the ancestral stock that had built the first machines on Earth, and in the early Twenty-first Century, the first interplanetary rockets. No wonder Loy Chuk and his co-workers were happy in their paleontological enthusiasm! A strange accident, happening in a legendary antiquity, had aided them in their quest for knowledge.

At last Loy Chuk gave a soft, chirping signal. The chant of triumph ended, while instruments flicked in his tiny hands. The final instrument he used to test the mummy, looked like a miniature stereoscope, with complicated details. He held it over his eyes. On the tiny screen within, through the agency of focused X-rays, he saw magnified images of the internal organs of this ancient human corpse.

What his probing gaze revealed to him, made his pleasure even greater than before. In twittering, chattering sounds, he communicated his further knowledge to his henchmen. Though devoid of moisture, the mummy was perfectly preserved, even to its brain cells! Medical and biological sciences were far advanced among Loy Chuk's kind. Perhaps, by the application of principles long known to them, this long-dead body could be made to live again! It might move, speak, remember its past! What a marvelous subject for study it would make, back there in the museums of Kar-Rah!

"Tik, tik, tik!..."

But Loy silenced this fresh, eager chattering with a command. Work was always more substantial than cheering.





With infinite care—small, sharp hand-tools were used, now—the mummy of Ned Vince was disengaged from the worthless rust of his primitive automobile. With infinite care it was crated in a metal case, and hauled into the flying machine.

Flashing flame, the latter arose, bearing the entire hundred members of the expedition. The craft shot eastward at bullet-like speed. The spreading continental plateau of North America seemed to crawl backward, beneath. A tremendous sand desert, marked with low, washed-down mountains, and the vague, angular, geometric mounds of human cities that were gone forever.

Beyond the eastern rim of the continent, the plain dipped downward steeply. The white of dried salt was on the hills, but there was a little green growth here, too. The dead sea-bottom of the vanished Atlantic was not as dead as the highlands.

Far out in a deep valley, Kar-Rah, the city of the rodents, came into view—a crystalline maze of low, bubble-like structures, glinting in the red sunshine. But this was only its surface aspect. Loy Chuk's people had built their homes mostly underground, since the beginning of their foggy evolution. Besides, in this latter day, the nights were very cold, the shelter of subterranean passages and rooms was welcome.

The mummy was taken to Loy Chuk's laboratory, a short distance below the surface. Here at once, the scientist began his work. The body of the ancient man was put in a large vat. Fluids submerged it, slowly soaking from that hardened flesh the alkali that had preserved it for so long. The fluid was changed often, until woody muscles and other tissues became pliable once more.

Then the more delicate processes began. Still submerged in liquid, the corpse was submitted to a flow of restorative energy, passing between complicated electrodes. The cells of antique flesh and brain gradually took on a chemical composition nearer to that of the life that they had once known.

At last the final liquid was drained away, and the mummy lay there, a mummy no more, but a pale, silent figure in its tatters of clothing. Loy Chuk put an odd, metal-fabric helmet on its head, and a second, much smaller helmet on his own. Connected with this arrangement, was a black box of many uses. For hours he worked with his apparatus, studying, and guiding the recording instruments. The time passed swiftly.

At last, eager and ready for whatever might happen now, Loy Chuk pushed another switch. With a cold, rosy flare, energy blazed around that moveless form.





For Ned Vince, timeless eternity ended like a gradual fading mist. When he could see clearly again, he experienced that inevitable shock of vast change around him. Though it had been dehydrated, his brain had been kept perfectly intact through the ages, and now it was restored. So his memories were as vivid as yesterday.

Yet, through that crystalline vat in which he lay, he could see a broad, low room, in which he could barely have stood erect. He saw instruments and equipment whose weird shapes suggested alienness, and knowledge beyond the era he had known! The walls were lavender and phosphorescent. Fossil bone-fragments were mounted in shallow cases. Dinosaur bones, some of them seemed, from their size. But there was a complete skeleton of a dog, too, and the skeleton of a man, and a second man-skeleton that was not quite human. Its neck-vertebrae were very thick and solid, its shoulders were wide, and its skull was gigantic.

All this weirdness had a violent effect on Ned Vince—a sudden, nostalgic panic. Something was fearfully wrong!

The nervous terror of the unknown was on him. Feeble and dizzy after his weird resurrection, which he could not understand, remembering as he did that moment of sinking to certain death in the pool at Pit Bend, he caught the edge of the transparent vat, and pulled himself to a sitting posture. There was a muffled murmur around him, as of some vast, un-Earthly metropolis.

"Take it easy, Ned Vince...."

The words themselves, and the way they were assembled, were old, familiar friends. But the tone was wrong. It was high, shrill, parrot-like, and mechanical. Ned's gaze searched for the source of the voice—located the black box just outside of his crystal vat. From that box the voice seemed to have originated. Before it crouched a small, brownish animal with a bulging head. The animal's tiny-fingered paws—hands they were, really—were touching rows of keys.

To Ned Vince, it was all utterly insane and incomprehensible. A rodent, looking like a prairie dog, a little; but plainly possessing a high order of intelligence. And a voice whose soothingly familiar words were more repugnant somehow, simply because they could never belong in a place as eerie as this.

Ned Vince did not know how Loy Chuk had probed his brain, with the aid of a pair of helmets, and the black box apparatus. He did not know that in the latter, his language, taken from his own revitalized mind, was recorded, and that Loy Chuk had only to press certain buttons to make the instrument express his thoughts in common, long-dead English. Loy, whose vocal organs were not human, would have had great difficulty speaking English words, anyway.

Ned's dark hair was wildly awry. His gaunt, young face held befuddled terror. He gasped in the thin atmosphere. "I've gone nuts," he pronounced with a curious calm. "Stark—starin'—nuts...."





Loy's box, with its recorded English words and its sonic detectors, could translate for its master, too. As the man spoke, Loy read the illuminated symbols in his own language, flashed on a frosted crystal plate before him. Thus he knew what Ned Vince was saying.

Loy Chuk pressed more keys, and the box reproduced his answer: "No, Ned, not nuts. Not a bit of it! There are just a lot of things that you've got to get used to, that's all. You drowned about a million years ago. I discovered your body. I brought you back to life. We have science that can do that. I'm Loy Chuk...."





It took only a moment for the box to tell the full story in clear, bold, friendly terms. Thus Loy sought, with calm, human logic, to make his charge feel at home. Probably, though, he was a fool, to suppose that he could succeed, thus.

Vince started to mutter, struggling desperately to reason it out. "A prairie dog," he said. "Speaking to me. One million years. Evolution. The scientists say that people grew up from fishes in the sea. Prairie dogs are smart. So maybe super-prairie-dogs could come from them. A lot easier than men from fish...."

It was all sound logic. Even Ned Vince knew that. Still, his mind, tuned to ordinary, simple things, couldn't quite realize all the vast things that had happened to himself, and to the world. The scope of it all was too staggeringly big. One million years. God!...

Ned Vince made a last effort to control himself. His knuckles tightened on the edge of the vat. "I don't know what you've been talking about," he grated wildly. "But I want to get out of here! I want to go back where I came from! Do you understand—whoever, or whatever you are?"

Loy Chuk pressed more keys. "But you can't go back to the Twentieth Century," said the box. "Nor is there any better place for you to be now, than Kar-Rah. You are the only man left on Earth. Those men that exist in other star systems are not really your kind anymore, though their forefathers originated on this planet. They have gone far beyond you in evolution. To them you would be only a senseless curiosity. You are much better off with my people—our minds are much more like yours. We will take care of you, and make you comfortable...."

But Ned Vince wasn't listening, now. "You are the only man left on Earth." That had been enough for him to hear. He didn't more than half believe it. His mind was too confused for conviction about anything. Everything he saw and felt and heard might be some kind of nightmare. But then it might all be real instead, and that was abysmal horror. Ned was no coward—death and danger of any ordinary Earthly kind, he could have faced bravely. But the loneliness here, and the utter strangeness, were hideous like being stranded alone on another world!

His heart was pounding heavily, and his eyes were wide. He looked across this eerie room. There was a ramp there at the other side, leading upward instead of a stairway. Fierce impulse to escape this nameless lair, to try to learn the facts for himself, possessed him. He bounded out of the vat, and with head down, dashed for the ramp.





He had to go most of the way on his hands and knees, for the up-slanting passage was low. Excited animal chucklings around him, and the occasional touch of a furry body, hurried his feverish scrambling. But he emerged at last at the surface.

He stood there panting in that frigid, rarefied air. It was night. The Moon was a gigantic, pock-marked bulk. The constellations were unrecognizable. The rodent city was a glowing expanse of shallow, crystalline domes, set among odd, scrub trees and bushes. The crags loomed on all sides, all their jaggedness lost after a million years of erosion under an ocean that was gone. In that ghastly moonlight, the ground glistened with dry salt.

"Well, I guess it's all true, huh?" Ned Vince muttered in a flat tone.

Behind him he heard an excited, squeaky chattering. Rodents in pursuit. Looking back, he saw the pinpoint gleams of countless little eyes. Yes, he might as well be an exile on another planet—so changed had the Earth become.

A wave of intolerable homesickness came over him as he sensed the distances of time that had passed—those inconceivable eons, separating himself from his friends, from Betty, from almost everything that was familiar. He started to run, away from those glittering rodent eyes. He sensed death in that cold sea-bottom, but what of it? What reason did he have left to live? He'd be only a museum piece here, a thing to be caged and studied....

Prison or a madhouse would be far better. He tried to get hold of his courage. But what was there to inspire it? Nothing! He laughed harshly as he ran, welcoming that bitter, killing cold. Nostalgia had him in its clutch, and there was no answer in his hell-world, lost beyond the barrier of the years....





Loy Chuk and his followers presently came upon Ned Vince's unconscious form, a mile from the city of Kar-Rah. In a flying machine they took him back, and applied stimulants. He came to, in the same laboratory room as before. But he was firmly strapped to a low platform this time, so that he could not escape again. There he lay, helpless, until presently an idea occurred to him. It gave him a few crumbs of hope.

"Hey, somebody!" he called.

"You'd better get some rest, Ned Vince," came the answer from the black box. It was Loy Chuk speaking again.

"But listen!" Ned protested. "You know a lot more than we did in the Twentieth Century. And—well—there's that thing called time-travel, that I used to read about. Maybe you know how to make it work! Maybe you could send me back to my own time after all!"

Little Loy Chuk was in a black, discouraged mood, himself. He could understand the utter, sick dejection of this giant from the past, lost from his own kind. Probably insanity looming. In far less extreme circumstances than this, death from homesickness had come.

Loy Chuk was a scientist. In common with all real scientists, regardless of the species from which they spring, he loved the subjects of his researches. He wanted this ancient man to live and to be happy. Or this creature would be of scant value for study.

So Loy considered carefully what Ned Vince had suggested. Time-travel. Almost a legend. An assault upon an intangible wall that had baffled far keener wits than Loy's. But he was bent, now, on the well-being of this anachronism he had so miraculously resurrected—this human, this Kaalleee....

Loy jabbed buttons on the black box. "Yes, Ned Vince," said the sonic apparatus. "Time-travel. Perhaps that is the only thing to do—to send you back to your own period of history. For I see that you will never be yourself, here. It will be hard to accomplish, but we'll try. Now I shall put you under an anesthetic...."

Ned felt better immediately, for there was real hope now, where there had been none before. Maybe he'd be back in his home-town of Harwich again. Maybe he'd see the old machine-shop, there. And the trees greening out in Spring. Maybe he'd be seeing Betty Moore in Hurley, soon.... Ned relaxed, as a tiny hypo-needle bit into his arm....





As soon as Ned Vince passed into unconsciousness, Loy Chuk went to work once more, using that pair of brain-helmets again, exploring carefully the man's mind. After hours of research, he proceeded to prepare his plans. The government of Kar-Rah was a scientific oligarchy, of which Loy was a prime member. It would be easy to get the help he needed.

A horde of small, grey-furred beings and their machines, toiled for many days.





Ned Vince's mind swam gradually out of the blur that had enveloped it. He was wandering aimlessly about in a familiar room. The girders of the roof above were of red-painted steel. His tool-benches were there, greasy and littered with metal filings, just as they had always been. He had a tractor to repair, and a seed-drill. Outside of the machine-shop, the old, familiar yellow sun was shining. Across the street was the small brown house, where he lived.

With a sudden startlement, he saw Betty Moore in the doorway. She wore a blue dress, and a mischievous smile curved her lips. As though she had succeeded in creeping up on him, for a surprise.

"Why, Ned," she chuckled. "You look as though you've been dreaming, and just woke up!"

He grimaced ruefully as she approached. With a kind of fierce gratitude, he took her in his arms. Yes, she was just like always.

"I guess I was dreaming, Betty," he whispered, feeling that mighty sense of relief. "I must have fallen asleep at the bench, here, and had a nightmare. I thought I had an accident at Pit Bend—and that a lot of worse things happened.... But it wasn't true ..."





Ned Vince's mind, over which there was still an elusive fog that he did not try to shake off, accepted apparent facts simply.

He did not know anything about the invisible radiations beating down upon him, soothing and dimming his brain, so that it would never question or doubt, or observe too closely the incongruous circumstances that must often appear. The lack of traffic in the street without, for instance—and the lack of people besides himself and Betty.

He didn't know that this machine-shop was built from his own memories of the original. He didn't know that this Betty was of the same origin—a miraculous fabrication of metal and energy-units and soft plastic. The trees outside were only lantern-slide illusions.

It was all built inside a great, opaque dome. But there were hidden television systems, too. Thus Loy Chuk's kind could study this ancient man—this Kaalleee. Thus, their motives were mostly selfish.

Loy, though, was not observing, now. He had wandered far out into cold, sad sea-bottom, to ponder. He squeaked and chatted to himself, contemplating the magnificent, inexorable march of the ages. He remembered the ancient ruins, left by the final supermen.

"The Kaalleee believes himself home," Loy was thinking. "He will survive and be happy. But there was no other way. Time is an Eternal Wall. Our archeological researches among the cities of the supermen show the truth. Even they, who once ruled Earth, never escaped from the present by so much as an instant...."

THE END
 

The Promise of Boundlessness

(this started as a comment to a post of [info]akilika at http://akilika.livejournal.com/1072154.html)

----
All existing human cultures are deeply founded on a pre-Newtonian and pre-Copernican world view, in which the Earth is "special" as the stage for life and human activity, amd the rest of the Universe is merely a background. This prejudice is reinforced by our ignorance: the Earth is, in fact, the only part of the Universe about which we possess much detailed knowledege, so it is easy for us to imagine that it is the only place of any importance.

If we bother to seriously think about it, this attitude is obviously absurd, but it is an easy opinion to return to, and we return to it at every chance, finding new excuses in each case. The implicit excuse of the Mundane SF movement is that we have serious ecological problems on the Earth and that thinking about colonizing other places "distracts" us from solving them.

The first fallacy, of course, is a variant of that of the Excluded Middle. "We" (Mankind) are not a unitary entity which can only think about colonizing other worlds or problems on Earth, one or the other. Indeed even "we" in the sense of each separate nation are not so bound: it is quite reasonable to envision some people in each country working on Earth-based ecological problems while others work on colonizing other worlds.

A deeper error lies in the assumption that activities "in space" and activities "on Earth" must compete in the long run for resources: that effort we put "into space" is somehow lost to "the Earth." The reason why this is an error is that progress is synergistic and often serendipitous: advances made in one field often are prerequisites or triggers to advances made in another field, as explored in the classic series Connections http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Connections_(TV_series) .

We've already seen this, more than once, in regards to this very issue. When we were first able to see the whole Earth from space, we realized that she was a planet and a unitary thing as we never had before, which gave impetus to the environmental movement. And the development of Landsats made it possible for us to monitor global processes on a global scale, without restrictions created by the accident of accessibility to ground and air expeditions.

We can expect further advances in the future. As the cost of Earth-to-orbit and orbit-to-Earth travel drops, Earth will become economically connected to extraterrestrial resources -- first to terrestrially rare ones such as tri-helium and certain uncommon metals, eventually to others as the cost drops even further. Mining and industry will increasingly move off-Earth, enabling Earth to become a garden planet.

But the truth is starker than this, because I've just described it from Earth's perspective. Though there will long be a practical, and still longer be a sentimental human tie to the motherworld, in the truly long run, Earth is only one planet among literally trillions in our Galaxy, and quintillions to sextillions in the Universe as a whole.

If Man is successful as a sapient species, we will expand out into the Solar System, the Galaxy, and the Universe beyond, and one day Earth will be at best only a distant memory, an echo of long ago and far away. And if Man is not successful as a sapient species, then we will perish, and one or more of the unknown number of other sapient species in the Universe will succeed in our place, and to then Earth will be at best an archaeological dig site, possibly not even that, if they don't discover the planet before the Sun expands into her red giant phase and whiffs her into vapor.

This is the true root of the Mundane SF movement: not just Fear of Boundlessness, as I argued before (http://fantasticworlds-jordan179.blogspot.com/2011/01/fear-of-boundlessness-explanation-for.html) but the Fear of Insignificance. We recoil at the chasms of deep space and deep time in our future; we fear that everything we hold dear may mean less to the Cosmos than the little worlds of the Two Rivers or the Nile -- in which our fundamental moral system evolved -- meant to the Earth as a whole.

To this fear I can offer two counters and a hope. The counters are that it doesn't matter -- reality is whether we choose to pay attention to it or not, and more trivially that places beyond the Earth exist and will be expanded into by other human cultures and subcultures, even if any particular human culture (yes, even America!) chooses to squeeze her eyes firmly shut and chant "you're not there, you're not there!"

The hope is simple.

The Universe is out there. We may be worthy of it. And if we are sufficiently worthy, then Man -- rather than being insignificant, as the insignificance of our birthworld might make us imagine -- might be one of the most significant productions of the Cosmos, as the entity destined to become at least part of the great stream of sapient life which will organize the Cosmos and bring it consciousness. Earth in this view would merely be like a single fertilized human egg, a tiny insignificant thing which can produce the most momentous consequences in the form of a new human being, if it succeeds.

A baby can't succeed if it spends its whole life in the womb. And Man can't succeed if we spend our whole life as a species on Just One Earth.

There's a whole big Universe out there. Let's grow into it.

Monday, April 4, 2011

Worlds for Man - Part 2 - Venus


"Worlds For Man - Part 2 - Venus"

(c) 2007, 2011 by Jordan S. Bassior

Venus is in many ways a disappointment. The cllosest separate planet to the Earth, with almost the size and mass of the Earth, with the gravity to retain a thick atmosphere, Venus should be a prime choice for colonization. But the planet's proximity to the Sun and lack of a moon, coupled with a denser crust and resultant feebler tectonic action, have caused her to suffer a runaway greenhouse effect (the atmosphere is mainly composed of carbon dioxide) that has resulted in surface temperatures averaging over 400 degrees Celsius -- hotter than Mercury, and owing to atmospheric convection experienced globally rather than merely on the dayside.  To put more simply, Venus is everywhere, at every latitude, even in the shade or underground, at temperatures sufficient to melt lead (1).


With such high temperatures, and a surface pressure of 90 atmospheres coupled with clouds of sulfuric acid vapor, Venus is an extraordinarily hostile environment. Even robot probes can only endure a matter of hours on the Venusian surface, and vehicles capable of protecting organic life forms from such conditions would have be extraordinarily well-armored and thus bulky. Any permanent habitations would require powerful heat pumps to maintain survivable conditions within for prolonged periods (vehicles could operate for shorter periods using heat sinks) (2). Thus, the colonization of the Venusian surface would be very expensive, dangerous (3) and difficult.

Near-Term,  there is fortunately another option. 50 km above the Venusian surface, the pressure and temperatures are Earth-like (1 atmosphere and 0-50 degrees Celsius). In addition, at this altitude solar energy is abundant -- 1.9 times per square meter the amount available on Earth. Consequently, the early colonization of Venus might involve the construction of blimp or dirigible-like floating stations ("aerostat habitats," in Geoffrey Landis' terms), in which the provision of life support would not be unusually difficult. From these stations, human crews could supervise robots and conduct excursions onto the surface. The stations might float freely, blown by the winds around the planet every 100 hours or less; or they might be tethered to the ground (4).

One thing that would ease their design is that ordinary Earth air (a 21:79 oxygen-nitrogen mix) is a lifting gas under Venusian atmospheric conditions -- consequently, the aerostats' gas bags could be used as combination air reservoirs and large common areas (5). Thus, life in such a hab might not be unduly claustrophic; provided that the total load was not increased too much the gas bags could be formed as parkland, complete with soil, plants, and water lakes whose aqueous contents could double as droppable ballast (6).

Ground stations might also exist, but would be used as bases for surface operations rather than long-term habs. The ground stations would be mostly robot-manned, and most actual scouting work would probably be done by fleets tele-operable semi-independent robot robers, with humans remaining within the safety of the thick-walled ground habs rather than risking their lives in bulky, probably mecha-like Venus Suits (7). Conditions within the ground stations would certainly be spartan and claustrophobic, especially during this early phase of colonization.

Venus offers some useful resources. The planet is probably metal rich, though not as much so as the Earth (8), and certainly contains volatiles, especially carbon, oxygen and nitrogen. Unlike most terrestrial worlds, it lacks ice, but with the available solar energy and hydrogen-containing minerals, enough water could be obtained for colonial purposes. Venus also has a moderate gravity which would be better for health purposes than the lower gravities obtaining on the other terrestrials. Unfortunately, none of these advantages are particularly dramatic (Venus is outcompeted by Mercury as a source of minerals and by Earth and Mars as a source of volatiles) and hence Venusian colonization will probably be a slow process (9).

Middle-term colonization will see this slow process yield significant growth. The aerostat habs will have grown into genuine "floating cities" (again using Landis' terms); on the surface, the ground stations will have time to grow into immense warrens.

Load will be a major problem in the floating cities: every effort will be made to build things out of light but strong substances, such as the nanoformed carbon-filament polymers which will be then be spinnable kilometers long (10). Here will live many humans and organic artificials, in a sort of floating fairyland.

Refrigeration will be the major problem on the ground: where ever possible labor will be done by inorganic artificals, so that as little space as possible needs to be conditioned to Earth norms. Thus the surface will be the realm of robots -- specifically, ones designed to survive Venusian temperatures and pressures.

By this time, the work of terraforming may have begun. The main problems are the heat, and the lack of water. The heat could be reduced by orbiting sunshields (which could double as solar power stations) (11), as proposed by Robert Zubrin. Water (on the scale needed to terraform a moderate-sized terrestrial planet) would be a more difficult problem: iceteroid bombardment would take a very long time to deliver enough to make a difference.

Paul Birch has suggested crashing one of Saturn's small ice moons onto Venus to deliver a lot of water at once: of course, if colonization has already begun, this would be a very dangerous technique. Perhaps an ice moon could be pushed into Venus orbit, behind a sunshield, and then the moon sliced up and dropped onto Venus in smaller, more manageable pieces?

Landis has pointed out that the floating cities could also serve as sunshields and atmosphere converters. While a single floating city would not be able to achieve much in this regard, as they spread (especially if linked by large areas of artifical floating "wilderness") a lot of floating cities could perform considerable terraforming over time.

Because of the division of Venus into two main environments -- the soaring sky-world and the sweltering surface -- there is an obvious social conflict likely to develop. Especially where terraforming issues are concerned, the interests of the organic sapients in the cloud-cities and the inorganic sapients in the surface-habs may not be compatible. Skydwelling humans, cosmopolitan in outlook, might take for granted that Venus would be improved by becoming more Earthlike; but robots already optimized to Venusian surface conditions may see no need to introduce corrosive free oxygen and salt water into their world.

Long-Term

In the end, Venus is likely to be terraformed, if only because by doing so the Venusians would be joining a community of Earth-like worlds in the Inner System, including Earth, Luna, Mars and Mercury. This process may or may not involve a war between Sky and Surface, or some degree of accommodation to the needs of the surface-dwellers (12).

Venus will become Earth-like, but it will not be Earth. Two great continents will stand amidst shallow salty seas, but these continents lack the rugged mountains and these oceans the abyssal depths of the Earth's, because of the much simpler Venusian geological history (which involved complete crustal recycling every several hundred millions years rather than Earth's tectonic dance of eruption, merging and subduction) (13). The air will be breathable, but also thicker -- the process of carbon-sequestration will reduce its density but not down to that of the Earth, and a thicker atmosphere will be beneficial as protection from solar radiation, especially given the weaker magnetic field.

Venusian populations, fauna and flora will be more slender than those of Earth, both because of the lower gravity and because ectomorphy is adaptive to hot environments. With thick air and low gravity, flight will be easier. Humans won't be able to fly with simple strap-on wings, but the minimum practical airplane or glider will be much smaller and more manageable than is the case on Earth (14). It is possible that a Venusian subrace may emerge which is engineered for flight with hollow bones and improved respiration -- shades of Olaf Stapledon! This flying culture might develop from the old floating cities, and use them as homes (15).

Likewise, in the extensive shallow seas, there might develop a marine sapient culture. This might be based around cetaceans, and it might also include marine-modified humans like the "selkies" of Earth (see Part 3), who might also participate in Venusian colonization.

A terraformed Venus might resemble the Venus of the old pulps in several ways. With shallow seas and low-lying lands, there would be much marine life and wide marshes. Extensive forests and jungles would be an obvious ecological component stablizing the terraforming and keeping carbon dioxide sequestered. If there was political disunity, possibly stemming from the terraforming disputes, there might be all sorts of exotic adventures and intrigue. With the ruins of earlier colonization stages and failed projects littering the landscape, it might even be a place that an Eric John Stark or a Northwest Smith might find not wholly unfamiliar. Heck, at least one zoology enthusiast might create a safari park stocked with dinosaurs, and some might later escape and go feral ...

Venus would have a rich future, possibly with as much change and history and brilliant culture as has the Earth.
===
Notes:

(1) - The Venusian crust has had more than enough time to equalize itself to atmospheric temperatures.  Unlike Earthly caverns, Venusian ones won't have cooled during the night and retained the lower temperatures, because the Venusian night isn't that much cooler than the Venusian day.  Furthermore, since Venus is still geologically active, temperature probably increases with depth as one descends, just as is the case on Earth below a certain level.  This factor, coupled with the lack of plate tectonics, is one big reason why the Venusian crust melts every several hundred million years, renewing its own surface.

(2) - This would necessitate nuclear reactors as the only practical means of powering the air conditioning.  Fortunately, Venus is probably almost as rich in radioactives as is the Earth, since it is still geologically active and hence probably has a uranium-thorium core just like our own planet.

Furthermore, given the extreme deadliness of the Venusian heat, each base would probably require multiple reactors and backup air conditioning systems for safety purposes.  Most Solar worlds will kill you slowly on a life support failure:  Venus would kill you relatively quickly.  One backup system that would help would be to maintain a "cold room" containing ice or liquid nitrogen, which could be used as a heat sink should the air conditioning temporarily fail.

(3) - Any significant breach in a compartment would be instantly fatal to the occupants:  90 atmospheres of 400 degree Centigrade carbon dioxide liberally laced with sulfuric acid would pulp, bake and dissolve the unfortunates therein, leaving only thready black goo in roughly humanoid shape.  Some large bones and the teeth might survive for a while.  One would be wise to design habs and large vehicles with multiple hulls and sealable compartments to limit the consequences of such a penetration:  given the extreme atmospheric pressure, however, this solution would be more than minimally expensive, meaning that some would be tempted to cut corners, resulting in the occasional disaster.

(4) - An airhab might be designed to do both:  it might be an airship which docked for long periods at a time to provide services to ground habs, much like crane-ships and drill-ships do in the seas and harbors of our Earth.  Docking would not necessarily require descending to the surface:  with the carbon- and silicon-fiber cabling already under development, the airhab could remain at a cooler and lower-pressure altitude, communicating by cable-car with the groundhab.  The cable-car could mate with an airlock at the groundhab, so that the passengers could travel from airhab to groundhab in a shirtsleeves environment.

(5) - This is a somewhat counter-intuitive design, because Earthly airships (which use hydrogen or helium as lifting gas) keep their passenger gondolas or decks below their lifting gas bags, so that gas leaks will have no effect on equipment or personnel.  However, on Venus, breathing and lifting gas can be the same, so the design works just fine.

(6) - Safety gratings could ensure that the airhab didn't jettison livestock or (worse) passengers while ensuring an emergency ballast drop.

(7) - The main problem in spacesuit design is combining protection with flexibility. In the Venusian environment, any sizable suit breach would be instantly fatal, and even a pinhole puncture would cause severe injury to the wearer. Consequently, the best design for a Venus suit is a spherical or ellipsoid, heavily armored life support capsule, with the head turret, arms and legs being remotely operated from within that capsule: rather like the "Fat Man" deep-sea diving suits from Tom Swift, Jr.

(8) - Venus is smaller, less dense, and (unlike most terrestrial worlds) hotter and under greater pressure than the Earth, which complicates mining operations.

(9) - I see Venus as the location of hardship stations, and possibly even penal colonies.  Escape from a Venusian penal colony would be considerably more difficult than from a Lunar or Martian one:  even technically-competent prisoners with access to the machine shops would have trouble cobbling together a Venus Suit.

(10) - Carbon-filament nanofibers would probably be destroyed by the conditions pertaining on the Venusian surface, but then the aerohabs aren't meant to descend to the surface, and probably couldn't survive such a descent even if they were made of more refractory materials.

(11) - As has been pointed out already in reference to terraforming Mercury.

(12) - The air-dwellers would have better access to space and hence the commercial advantage, but their large low-density cities would be terribly vulnerable to nuclear weapons; the surface-dwellers would have ready access to all sorts of metals and would be living in habs equivalent to massively-strong bomb shelters, but would have difficulty reaching space against the opposition of the air-dwellers.  It would be an interesting conflict for wargaming purposes.

Of course, it would be better for both sides if they didn't fight, as each would have things the other would need, and hence good grounds for mutually-beneficial trade.  However, because they would probably be culturally-divergent, this might not be enough to keep them from engaging in open warfare.

(13) - It might be a good idea for the terraformers to deliberately open some volcanic rifts, even though this would add to their gas sequestration problems, if only to relieve the internal heat and pressure and hence postpone the Big Melt.  Not that the Melt would be likely to happen any time soon, but I would imagine that some pretty big faulting and rifting occurs naturally on Venus from time to time well before the Melt -- better to have this occur at times and places of the terraformers' choosing, rather than right under a city!

(14) - We've already developed man-portable single-user jetwing vehicles:  these would work even more efficiently on Venus than they do on Earth.  Jet-powered aircycles might become a common mode of personal transportation up among the airhabs.

(15) - Once Venus was fully terraformed, there would be no particular need of the old-fashioned airhabs, but traditions die hard, and hence the culture might continue, finding new economic occupations.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

"Rescue Party" (Arthur C. Clarke, 1946) - Retro Review

"Retro Review of 'Rescue Party' (Arthur C. Clarke, 1946)"

(c) 2008, 2011 by Jordan S. Bassior

 Introduction

There was a decade in which Arthur C. Clarke wrote science fiction short stories so tightly-plotted and beautifully-polished that each was a gem of its kind; a textbook example of the craft of writing. Each such story had a strong central theme, and often they ended with a twist which was both surprising and yet flowed logically from the expression of that theme.

The first of these was "Rescue Party."

Plot

The mile-long Galactic Survey Ship S9000, product of an ancient interstellar civilization, is racing toward a star about to go nova. Her mission is to save as much as possible of the native civilization. Because the existence of this culture was unsuspected until very recently, there will not be enough time to save more than a tiny fraction of its population, but the noble Galactic Federation must at least try.

The star is Sol, and it is the human race which is about to die.

Alveron, Captain of the S9000, orders down two landing parties in the starship's tenders, which are shuttlecraft of immense size and capacity (each 1/1000 the mass of the main vessel). The first, led by Orostron, finds an abandoned radio station beaming images and data from the Earth outward to some unknown location. The second, led by Torkalee, discovers a government building, filled with records, and then nearly loses a party led by Alarkane for good when they accidentally board an intercontinental vacuum-tube subway. This party is rescued with the aid of the Paladorian mass-mind (which personally likes Alarkane) and the S9000's energy cannons.

Lying in the lee of Earth's shadow, the S9000's warning of the nova comes with the brightening of the Moon. The great starship flees under maximum drive, making it safely beyond the danger zone before her engines finally fail under the stress.

The mission has been a failure. None of the people of Earth have been found -- only the abandoned relics of their civilization, now vaporized by the nova. And it must have been a worthwhile civilization. The reason that the Federation had overlooked it is that it normally takes races millions of years to progress from sapience to radio, and there had been no sapient race noticable on Earth when the planet was last surveyed a mere 400 thousand years earlier.

But Rugon has an idea. It occurs to him that the radio station was beaming its signal to somewhere else. That "somewhere else" might very well be a remote interplanetary outpost -- perhaps one so far out to the edges of the Solar System that on it humans might survive.

Under its secondary drive, the S9000 limps on the course described by that beamed transmission. And she finds ...

... a vast spacefleet, composed of thousands of miles-long arks. Primitive -- they are attempting to cross the interstellar void by means of sublight rocketry -- but this is what happened to the Earth's population. They did not die in deep shelters, but instead chose to hazard the gulfs between the stars in the hopes of finding a new home for humanity.

The Money Quote

As Orostron prepares to make contact with the Earth people, Captain Alveron and his second-in-command Rugon stand on the bridge of the S9000 and muse on the future:

"You know," he said to Rugon, "I feel rather afraid of these people. Suppose they don't like our little Federation?" He waved once more toward the star-clouds that lay massed across the screen, glowing with the light of their countless suns.

"Something tells me they'll be very determined people," he added. "We had better be polite to them. After all, we only outnumber them about a thousand million to one."

Rugon laughed at his captain's little joke.

Twenty years afterward, the remark didn't seem funny.


Characterization

Minimal but effective. The issue is complicated by the fact that every character is a representative of a nonhuman race and in most cases the only representative of his race, so we do not know to what extent their characteristics are racial versus personal. However, they are perfectly believable as members of a professional service (analogous to the Royal Air Force, which Clarke would have been intimately familiar) doing a difficult and dangerous job with cool competence.

The characters are:

Captain Alveron, a multi-tentacled being belonging to the dominant race of the Galactic Federation. He is decisive and noble.

Deputy Captain Rugon, who is also the Chief of Communication, and Captain Alveron's closest friend. He is also multi-tentacled, and moves with a "graceful flowing motion that no mere biped could imitate." He may be of the same race as Alveron.

Orostron, leader of one of the two landing parties.

Klarten, "a multitentacled tripedal creature from a globular cluster at the edge of the Milky Way." He also seems to have more than two eyes.

Hansur I and Hansur II, "twin beings from the planet Thargon."

T'sindaree, a many-legged (perhaps centipedal) being from one of the oldest races in the Federation (older than even Alveron's).

Alarkane, a being from one of the youngest known races, who has a wry sense of humor.

The Paladorian, one cell of an FTL mass mind (one goes with T'sindaree, others are back on the S9000).

Setting

The Galactic Federation

The S9000 is never presented in detail (we merely know that it is a mile long, has two tenders, at least two kinds of space drives, and a viewscreen on its bridge), as most of the action occurs on the doomed Earth. We also get only a glimpse of the society of the Galactic Federation which produced her, but we do learn some important details.

(1) The Galactic Federation is over a billion years old.

(2) It was founded by Alveron's race because they felt the responsibility to rule so as to ensure that justice was done.

(3) It comprises some billion planets, presumably thus having a population in the quintillions of sapient beings.

(4) All its races are very conservative by Human standards, especially where technological development is concerned.

There are very clear parallels between Clarke's Galactic Federation and David Brin's Five Galaxies from the Uplift Universe, to the point that I think Brin may have been explicitly inspired by "Rescue Party." One major difference is that the Five Galaxies have no analogue to Alveron's people to maintain justice among their peoples, with the result that interstellar politics in the Uplift Universe can be quite vicious and frequently genocidal. Carl Sagan may also have been inspired by Clarke's concept.

Obvious inspirations for Clarke would have been Edmond Hamilton's "Federation of Suns" (from the late 1920's - early 1930's), Olaf Stapledon's interstellar community from Star Maker (1930's) and E. E. "Doc" Smith's "Civilization" (the main three Lensman novels had all been published in the magazines before Clarke wrote this tale). The notion of a peaceful interstellar federation had become popular by the late 1930's and early 1940's -- some of Asimov's early stories were set in a similar milieu.

Earth

The exact Earth year of the nova is not mentioned, but evidence from the story places it as happening sometime in the 22nd century. We learn a few things about the future history (from a 1945 POV) of Clarke's Earth:

(1) The development of air travel, particularly helicopters, led to the gradual abandonment of most cities, presumably for the suburbs and exurbs.

(2) There was little progress in electronics: radio and TV transmitters still used vacuum tubes and governments kept track of their citizens by means of Hollerith punch-card analyzers (a real technology of the early 20th century).

(3) At some point the Earth obviously developed atomic, probably fusion-powered space rocketry (evident from the description of the ark fleet).

(4) Another interesting technology was the vacuum-tube intercontinental tubeway, though we don't know if this was put into general use (the one that T'sindaree, Alarkane and the Paladorian get trapped in was the World President's private system).

(5) We do know that a world government was achieved, this being implicit in the existence of a "World President" in the first place.

(6) Earth scientists predicted the nova in enough time to build a fleet of thousands of miles-long starships (hence, probably sometime in the 21st century). We know that the ark fleet contained the whole human race because there are neither swarms of desperate humans nor piles of corpses on Earth when the S9000 arrives.

(7) Something about the Earth culture is going to cause the Federation great trouble a mere twenty years in the future of the story (evident from the concluding paragraphs). We don't know whether this is simply going to be human innovativeness, or something far more sinister (such as armed aggression).

Theme

This is a classic -- perhaps one of the better known, since often anthologized -- "Terra uber alles" story, so beloved of John W. Campbell (and "Rescue Party" was first published in Astounding Science Fiction). Plucky humanity has not merely survived a nova, but by doing so impressed the representatives of a billions-year-old Galactic Federation. And there is the strong hint at the end that the advent of the humans will utterly upset that ancient culture.

This is one reason why readers love the story. It may also be a reason why Clarke later came to dislike the story's popularity. Certainly, it represented an optimism and energy that would, by the time of Clarke's old age, become utterly alien to the land of his birth. It also exemplifies the optimism and energy of Golden Age science fiction, which is why the story is still read. It is really a shame that Clarke lost so much of his energy and optimism as time went on -- perhaps it is the hazard of old age, perhaps more specifically a consequence of our turn away from space travel in the 1970's.

I, for one, am unabashedly on the side of the Golden Age science-fiction writers, and opposed to the pessimistic lethargy and despair that constitutes far too much modern science fiction, especially the heap of litcritter-dung called the "Mundane SF" movement. The human race of "Rescue Party" aren't stopped even by the destruction of their Solar System, while the humans of many modern science fiction works would be stymied by hangnails. Better hubris than utter despair.

Stray Comments

Clarke, like most Golden Age SF writers, utterly missed the coming advances in electronics. He has an excuse in "Rescue Party" -- it was written earlier in the same year that Shockley invented the transistor, and thus Clarke had no way of knowing what was about to happen. Still, it's remarkable that Clarke didn't foresee some general advance in electronics, given that he was a radio engineer by profession.

Considering what Clarke is most famous for first proposing, it is interesting that the story doesn't show the Earth as having any communications satellites. This is especially true because he proposed such satellites as early as 1945. On the other hand, given the limited electronics in the story, such stations would have been manned -- and abandoned, as a matter of course, for the ark fleet.

We now know that the Sun can't go nova: the Chandrasekhar Limit was discovered in 1930. Clarke should have known this, but Eddington among others opposed the theory, and I do not know to what degree it had still failed of acceptance by 1946. The story's good enough that I don't give a damn about its astrophysical improbability.

Though Clarke is mostly remembered today for his technological optimism, he had a deeply pessimistic side which positively reveled in cataclysm. Many of his early stories, and IMHO his most powerful ones, are about some hideous disaster, whether general or personl. Clarke also came out of not merely a science-fiction but a SF horror background (one of his early favorites was H. P. Lovecraft), and it shows in many of these early works.

Clarke loved the idea of catastrophic novae: he used them in several later stories, most notably "The Star." What better doom than the destruction of a whole solar system? And Clarke used novae well -- the apparently-inexorable doom of the landing-party in the subway, and the escape of the S9000 from the Solar System as the nova actually flares are tense and exciting moments, the more notable because this is a story in which all the peril is of purely natural origin.


Conclusion

"Rescue Party" is one of Clarke's most famous stories, and despite the fact that it was only his second professionally-published work, it is one of his best. Despite the dubious astrophysics and clunky electronics, it is a powerful and exciting tale, and well worth rereading today.

END.

The Seminal Status of "Doc" Smith's Lensman series

"The Seminal Status of "Doc" Smith's Lensman Series"

(c) 2007, 2011 by Jordan S. Bassior

E. E. "Doc" Smith is today sometimes dismissed as "merely" a pulp science fiction writer who produced "cliche" space operas. What is not commonly realized is the extent to which he actually originated many ideas which were so widely copied by other writers that they became "cliche." Here is a quick listing of some of his most important ideas


I.  Most importantly, the Lensman series was the first to put forward and explore in detail (1) the concept of a multi-species interstellar federation as a future civilization. (2) This idea is very common today, largely because of the near universality of its acceptance by both science fiction fans and mundanes as a plausible model for an interstellar civilization. It's the clear inspiration for the Federation of Star Trek, Central Control of Andre Norton's space opera stories, Poul Anderson's Polesotechnic League, etc. Even when you have something nastier (such as Anderson's Terran Empire) it exists in an auctorial awareness that better things are possible.

Before "Doc" Smith, it usually was TAKEN FOR GRANTED that if different species met the only possibilities would be (a) genocidal warfare, as in Wells' War of the Worlds or (b) domination of most species by a "master race," as in the situation on Barsoom and by implication in most 1930's multi-racial Solar Systems (for that matter, Smith's first two Skylark novels tended to assume that humanoid oxygen-breathers couldn't get along with non-humanoid or non-oxygen breathers).  This concept was part and parcel of the rise of illiberal philosophies starting with 19th-century Romanticism, darkening with Marx, Gobineau, Spencer and Nietzsche, and reaching its full horrible depths in the decades from 1914 through 1976, leading to the rises of Lenin,Stalin, Hitler and Mao, and systematic murder on the most massive scales.

When reading the science fiction of the interwar era it is important to realize that the (non-Commuinist) dominant intellectuals of that age considered some sort of fight for racial supremacy to be normal and historically necessary.  (The Communist ones considered some sort of fight for class supremacy to serve the same role).  "Doc" Smith was bucking the intellectual trends of the 1930's by asserting that the applciation of a liberal idea of racial equality, even across species, was possible.

Smith was one the first science fiction writers to see that there was, inherent in sapience, the possibility of a peaceful resolution to the struggle for survival between species, and was most certainly the first science fiction writer to make this the theme of a major work. Note that one BIG reason Civilization triumphs over Boskone is that Civilization can make use of the talents of all its races, while Boskone (which is strictly hierarchical) keeps most races in such subjection that they cannot fully develop their capabilities.

II.  Smith was one of the first writers (3) to grasp the immense scales of energy, time, and distance which were inherent in cultures with atomic power and interstellar spaceflight. In the Lensman series, fleets comprised of thousands and eventually millions of large warships (made possible because they are produced by two warring cultures each of which contain dozens of major and thousands of minor production planets) clash in campaigns which span tens of thousands of light years and battles which sprawl out across whole solar systems.

They attack and defend with energies and explosives utterly dwarfing anything producible by planetbound, 20th century Man. Against their awesome forces, no more primitive culture could hope to last for an instant (in The Vortex Blaster, Cloudd ends a lower-tech interplanetary war by using a Civilization lifeboat's engines offensively) (4)

III.  Smith was one of the first science fiction writers to grasp the inherent (i.e. institutional and systematic) advantages which free societies have over unfree societies (5). As such, he can be argued to be the true father of not only space opera but also of libertarian science fiction (6).

This is a major theme of the series, and one which is implicitly and explicitly repeated in every book. Time and time again, whether conceptually (as in the case of the repeated underestimation of the rising Civilization by Boskone) or physically (as in the negasphere duels) Boskone's rigid and hierarchical nature dooms the Boskonians to defeat. Time and time again, whether on the grand scale (Virgil Samms' willingness to regard the Rigellians and Palanians as fit partners for the Triplanetary League) or the most personal (Kinnison's mercy towards Ilona of Lonabar), the essential humaneness and tolerance of Civlization gives it major advantages and wins it new allies and vital information.

I'll note here that Smith's ideas in this regard were very advanced -- most Western intellectuals wouldn't come around to his point of view until 1989, when the fall of the Berlin Wall exposed the rottenness at the heart of the 20th century's greatest totalitarianism -- and ended the long nightmare the West had been in since 1914.  Smith's own universe had the Cold War end in World War III, but it is obvious that Civilization itself is far more descended in terms of culture, economy, and political system from the Free World than it is from the Communist one, and one may assume that the "Tyrant of Asia" (actually an energized flesh-form of Gharlane of Eddore) ruled as some sort of Communist.

IV.  E. E. "Doc" Smith was one of the first sf writers to realize the tremendous potential capabilities of propaganda, subversion, terrorism, and psychological operations in large scale warfare. You could argue that he was merely copying the real-life events of World War II here, except that the series originated conceptually as a future police story, and Galactic Patrol (copyright 1939, and hence written before the Second World War started) already has drug dealing subversion and terrorism as major elements of the Boskonian attack on Civilization. In his stories, both sides make extensive use of this sort of warfare -- Boskone inflitrates Civilization repeatedly from the start, and Kinnison repeatedly infiltrates Boskone (most importantly in the last part of Second Stage Lensman). In the conquest of the Second Galaxy, Civilization repeatedly converts Boskonian worlds to Civillized norms by intensive propaganda, and in the last phase of the war, Boskone uses systematic terrorism to destablize numerous Civilized worlds.

V.  E. E. "Doc" Smith was one of the first sf writers -- or indeed military affairs writers! -- to recognize the immense importance of what is today termed C3I (command, control, communications, and intelligence) in large scale military operations. His concepts of the plotting tank and of the "Directrix" were not only revolutionary in fiction, they have been credited by the US Navy as seminal influences in the development of REAL-LIFE ship-board Combat Information Centers!

His fiction in general stresses the importance of intelligence (both intellectual and espionage) in warfare, and in battle after battle, Civilization prevails owing to a superior command structure -- which in turn, as I've noted before in this mini-essay, comes from its superior social structure.

VI.  E. E. "Doc" Smith was one of the first (though not THE first) science fiction writer to realize that, owing to the escalating energies present on the battlefield, it would eventually be impossible for unprotected and unaugmented humans to survive combat. All his combatants wear at least "space armor" (which note, by the time of the main story cycle, includes duralloy armor and a personal force field) if there is a serious fight brewing, and specialized combatants (such as the Valerian Space Marines) are fighting in what amounts to man-portable legged tankettes. He was one of the first sf writers to predict powered armor, which Kinnison develops first for his personal use. (7).  At several points in the series, power-armored combatants are able to defeat much larger soft-skinned enemy forces.

Smith was one of the first sf writers to realize that, if psychic powers were really possible, they could be scientifically studied and utilized in large-scale "psi-tech" type applications (8) (the most obvious example being the Lens itself, and some lesser ones being Worsel's handy-dandy miniaturized death-ray, the Triplanetary Service's meteor badges, and the Patrol's tele-projectors). Note that in Smith's world, it was possible for the utterly materialistic and mechanistic Eddorians to deduce and employ both psionics and (if you take Kyle as canon) necromancy on a large scale. Note the essentially materialistic description of the climatic psionic attack of Civilization against Eddore, at the close of Children of the Lens.

This is one of the sources of virtually every science fictional use of psionics since.

Conclusion

Well, that's all I can think of at the moment. I'll note that even ONE of these achievements would be enough to win any other science fiction writer fame for life -- and we're talking here about SEVERAL such achievements in just ONE of the series of an author who wrote several series in his lifetime.

E. E. "Doc" Smith was one of the greatest minds the genre has ever known -- a giant in his field, and the originator of many ideas in our genre -- and even some in our civilization as a whole.

====
Notes:

(1) - Aside from being really good adventure stories, the various episodes involving Kimball Kinnison's undercover missions are vehicles for exploration of Civilization itself -- we learn a lot about the various planets, races, cultures and subcultures of Smith's world from the bottom up (sometimes literally as Kim starts a mission as a street bum or ordinary worker and wiggles his way up through the levels of an enemy organization).  The high command strategic scenes display important features of the politics and economics of Civilization, giving a top-down view.  In Second Stage Lensman, we get to see the Boskonian culture as well. 

Edmond Hamilton created something like Civilization as early as the late 1920's, but he used it merely as a backdrop for world-wrecking adventures of alien invasion; he did not go into detail about his universe the way that Smith did. Nevertheless, he must have strongly inspired Smith, a fact I learned after the first publication of this essay.

One could argue that Olaf Stapledon's Galactic and Universal Minds worked sort of like Civilization, except that in Stapledon's universe a race had to be incredibly superhuman AND able to move itsr whole planet to engage in interstellar travel or to get along peacefully with sapients not of your own species. Note that the super-moral Second Men and the Martians couldn't get along, even his Fifth Men had to exterminate the Venusians, and the ultimate (and passionately sympathetic) Eighteenth Men, who were each superhumanly intelligent, routinely formed 98-fold thinking-and-mating groups, and could on occasion form a World Mind, didn't have the jets to swing to flee their dying Solar System -- and they DID try to launch starships, they just weren't up to the job.

By contrast, Civilization easily incorporates something like half a dozen sapient races in the Solar System alone (especially if you take Spacehounds of IPC to be in the continuity at least in terms of its description of the Jovian System) before even developing FTL travel and concludes its first interstellar war with a rational peace treaty, incorporating its former foes into its own culture. (all in Triplanetary!) By the time of Kimball Kinnison and the Children, exceedingly alien races like the Rigellians and Palanians cooperate with the more humanoid races smoothly and as a matter of course.

(2) - Edmond Hamilton and Jack Williamson wrote early stories of the naval and military forces of interstellar civilizations, of which Edmond Hamilton's was a peaceful multi-racial federation along the lines which Smith would later draw his Civilization, and Williamson's a more humanity-centered culture protected by the Legion of Space.  Neither provided much detail about their cultures, compared to Smith. 

Olaf Stapledon, who was working under the handicap of his own snobbish refusal to read the science fiction magazines, which meant that he was insulated from many of the best ideas of his era, depicted interstellar federations but only of vastly superhuman beings and only on the broadest scope.  Unsurprisingly, 1930's and later science fiction writers mined Stapledon's novels for ideas.

(3) - The others, obviously, were Olaf Stapledon (who was working under the handicap of his own snobbish refusal to read popular sf, which meant that he was insulated from many of the best ideas of the pulp and Golden Age eras) and Edmond Hamilton (who was nicknamed "World Wrecker" for this reason).  "Common sense" notions of the limits of the application of energy were based on our familiarity with merely chemical energy sources:  our culture was slow to grasp the difference in quality when one can convert mass to energy.  To be fair, we only learned that it was possible in 1905:  in the 1930's, the mass-energy equivalence was as recent a discovery as is, say, quark dynamics today.

(4) - Smith was one of the first sf writers to see that the scale of energies required to enable spaceflight would be utterly devastating compared to unaugmented humans. And in real life, the Apollo missions lifted off atop rockets each of which contained about as much energy as an atomic bomb.  Cloudd's lifeboat was capable of greater levels of thrust.  H. G. Wells' movie Things to Come may have anticipated the point with the classic scene where a whole rioting mob is (presumably) blown to bits by standing too close to the firing of a Moon-capable Earth-based launch cannon.

(5) -  And note: he began writing the series in the late 1930's, at a time when most intellectuals were wondering not if liberal democracy could survive (they ASSUMED it to be doomed) but rather whether it would be Communism or Fascism that would dominate the world. Reading the series today, his arguments for the inherent superiority of freedom over totalitarianism seem very modern; by contrast Stapledon's slavish worship of socialism seems very old-fashioned.

(6) - While Civilization seems very authoritarian and militaristic in the stories, this is because they focus on an interstellar WAR -- it is explicitly stated in one of the books that under normal circumstances the tax rate is something like 1% and in another that most citizens of Civilization go throughout their lives without ever seeing anything more violent than a fistfight).  The extreme hostility of Civilization to drug production and smuggling is in part derived from the propaganda Smith read growing up, and in part from the fact that narcotics are being used against Civilization as a Boskonian tool of subversion to crash Civilized cultures.

(7) - Robert A. Heinlein, who immensely respected and was was immensely inspired by "Doc" Smith, would of course be the first sf writer to develop this notion in detail, in Starship Troopers. John Ringo, in his Posleen vs. Terran novels, has recently taken the whole notion a lot further.

(8) - To be fair, the concept of "psi-tech" could also be said to date back to the "Lost Race" science fiction of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. "Vril powered" Atlantean airships were a staple of these tales, Lovecraftian "magic" worked on this principle (see especially "The Dreams in the Witch House" and "The Shadow Out of Time"), and Stapledon's "psychic gravity" could be viewed as (accidental and disastrous) terraforming on a very large scale!

Also, an even earlier example of fictional psi-tech comes from Hodgson's The Night Land, in which much about the human soul is scientifically understood. Hodgson may have pioneered this notion, in this work and in his Carnacki the Ghost-Finder stories.

Smith himself used the concept of psionics, as a higher-order energy form, in his earlier Skylark series.  In the later books it becomes utterly vital to the plot.