Damon Knight - Orbit 17

—“At the End of the Spectrum,” by The Planet Prince, Wonder Stories, December 1931

I’ll never forget the time I wrote a gag-piece on a Goose that laid golden eggs and invited readers to write in with suggestions as to how to get the golden eggs to hatch. I got a number of letters, some from men and some from women. The men went through all sorts of scientific folderol (some of it damned ingenious). As for the women, almost to a woman, they said, “Get a gander.”

—Isaac Asimov, in PITFCS 136, undated (1960)

Just Fooling Around, Though?

3. Mechanical isolation. Mating is attempted but fertilization cannot be achieved because the genitalia do not fit together. This type of incompatibility was long thought to be a primary isolating mechanism in animals. At present, however, there is little evidence that matings in which the genitalia are markedly different are ever seriously attempted.

—Genetics, by Monroe W. Strickberger

Eat Your Heart Out, John Glenn

“What, your wife is going with you?”

“Somebody must do the housekeeping, even in the rocket. That is not work for men.”

—“A Daring Trip to Mars,” by Max Valier, Wonder Stories, July 1931

Swingers of Space

Each girl looked at the other, and each liked what she saw. (The Skylark of Space, p. 61.) “If you don’t need us for anything, Dick, I think Peggy and I will go upstairs,” Dorothy broke the long silence. (Skylark Three, p. 50.)

. . . Seaton stood motionless beside his friend’s wife upon the slowly rising lift; while Crane, Dorothy, and Shiro remained in the control room of the Skylark. (Skylark of Valeron, p. 86.)

They drank; lightly and intermittently at first, then deeply. (Skylark of Valeron, p. 114.)

“Well, I won’t, then—why, I wouldn’t touch that thing for a million dollars!”

“All right; watch me feel mine, then. . . (Skylark of Valeron, p. 65.)

Seaton, although now restored to full vigor, held himself rigorously in check. (Ibid., p. 91.)

“No; keep on coming one minute more, Peg—” (Ibid.., p. 105.)

“ ‘And that,’ ” put in Margaret roguishly, “as you so feelingly remark, ‘is a cheerful thought to dwell on—let’s dwell on itl’ ” (Ibid., p. 116.)

“Yes ... and I love you .. . it’s wonderful, how happy you and I are ... I wish more people could be like us . . . more of them will be, too, don’t you think, when they have learned what cooperation can do?” (Ibid., p. 206.)

Try your nefarious schemes on anyone else, but never on a thousand-year-old woman whose children die young.

The old lady popped a chocolate in her mouth and began reading from a slender volume of poetry. “ ‘First the Waves shall lose their biting Salts / The Winds shall cease to sound in hollow Vaults / and wanton Fish shall leave their native Seas / and bask on Earth, or brouse on leavy Trees.’ ” She turned and looked at her companion. “Do you know who said that, Glaucus?”

“No, madam, I do not. I was not hired to know such things.”

“Be that as it may, I am trying to teach you. Now, Glaucus, you were the author of that poetic phrase.”

"Madam, I did no such thing. I have no talent. Perhaps you wrote it?”

“I haven’t written any poetry since I was a little girl, and you know that was a very long time ago. You didn’t really write it, a human wrote it in the eighteenth century, one William Diaper. A character of his named Glaucus said that.”

“Diaper. An odd name for a poet. Are you trying to play a joke —is it a pun?”

“Robots!” Sibyl sighed. “Would I lie to you, my own slave?”

“No, madam, I suppose you would not. Can you tell me anything else about this William Diaper?”

“Yes. Swift said of him, ‘His name is Diaper, P— on him.’ Will that do?”

“I think that will do. How much longer are you going to be teaching me poetry? Even though I am a robot, I grow tired of poetry easily. Why do you teach me this thing you call poetry?”

“Oh, I don’t really know. I suppose it is because it is more amusing than counting my money.”

“Perhaps, madam, if you had some children, you would enjoy teaching them.”

“Glaucus, you know I haven’t had any children in four hundred years. I could have some, I know, but it is so disappointing. They die so soon. Most of them don’t even live a quarter of a century. Such a shame. I don’t believe that I even have any grandchildren. Of course, I could have forgotten one or two.”

“No, madam, I think they are all dead. As I recall from studying your family records, the only one who didn’t die of Wainright’s Syndrome was young Jack Hall, who wandered off in the swamps of Venus. He was your twenty-three times great-grandson.”

“Anyway, I don’t think I want to have any more children. Besides, I’ve not found any attractive men who could love me for my money and ignore my looks. I guess no one wants to fool around with a wrinkled old prune, even if she is strong, healthy, and disgustingly wealthy.”

“Yes, madam. Shall I prepare your tea?”

Sibyl nodded, and Glaucus rolled out of the sunroom. Sibyl sat down in a plush chair and read a volume of twenty-fourth-century verse. After a few minutes, Glaucus rolled back in.

“Madam?”

She looked up. “Where’s the tea, Glaucus? We haven’t run out of cakes, have we?”

“No, madam, there’s someone to see you.”

“Tell them I’m not interested. I gave up charities a hundred years ago. Show them out, if you’ve made the mistake of letting them in.”

“No, madam, they aren’t asking for charity. It is a Miss Ann Hall, who claims to be related to you. Her papers seem to be authentic—I took the liberty of checking, since there are many who would like to claim to be related to you.”

“Oh, her. I remember now. I’d forgotten. Don’t know how I could have, when you mentioned Jack Hall a few minutes ago. She’s Jack’s daughter. Wrote me a few years ago and wanted some money. I, of course, ignored her. I made my way in the world, and she must make hers, in the few short years she has to live. How old is she?”

“Twenty.”

“She’ll live five more years, and then Wainright’s Syndrome will get her too, if the Hall blood runs true. I suppose I must be civil, so show her in.”

Glaucus left, and rolled back a few minutes later with Ann Hall and a tall green man.

Sibyl looked up. “You must be Ann Hall. Who is your green young friend, and why is he smoking a cigar in my house?”

“Hello, Grandmother.” Ann smiled hesitantly. “This is Rintz Jawakian. He’s from Venus, and he’s my boy friend.” Rintz smiled and puffed on his cigar.

“If you are my granddaughter, you ought to be more careful whom you associate with. I thought the Venerians were still savages.” She sniffed the air. “You smell funny, too. Are you a savage, Mr. Jawakian?”

Rintz turned a brighter shade of green and looked at Ann. Ann smiled and nudged him.

“My people are not savages,” he said. He puffed his cigar a little.

“Please, Mr. Jawakian. Give me your cigar. The stench is enough to turn my delicate little stomach.”

Rintz sighed, took one last puff, and handed it to Sybil. She held it gingerly and put it in a little box on the bookshelf. “Thank you, Mr. Jawakian. Now, who wrote, ‘Twas near that long deserted hut / Which in the wood decays / Death’s axe, selfwielded, struck his root/and lopped his desperate days’?”