#Cordwainer smith

[geekysteven]

[misforgotten2]

A book you very likely don’t have on your shelf #615

Cover by Ron Bradford -- 1963

[kastelpls]

wrote about the japanese reception to cordwainer smith and how he may have pioneered a lot of anime tropes like catgirls and is the reason evangelion has the term, human instrumentality project.

[homenecromancer]

I’ve been reading a lot of older science fiction on Project Gutenberg lately, and I thought it might be interesting to share some of it here. This copy does not contain illustrations, but I’ve done my best with the formatting.

Why share this story in particular: it’s a creative take on the bond between human and animal. There are a lot of science fiction stories from the 1950s and 1960s that start with the premise of people working in space and then go from there. Similarly, there are a lot of stories that use the bond between a human and a non-human being (of varying degrees of intelligence) to explore some concept.

If I keep posting old stories like this, I may need to give specific content warnings — but today I will say simply: this was written in 1955, read it at your own risk.

“The Game of Rat and Dragon” — Cordwainer Smith

[read on Project Gutenberg]

THE TABLE

Pinlighting is a hell of a way to earn a living. Underhill was furious as he closed the door behind himself. It didn't make much sense to wear a uniform and look like a soldier if people didn't appreciate what you did.

He sat down in his chair, laid his head back in the headrest and pulled the helmet down over his forehead.

As he waited for the pin-set to warm up, he remembered the girl in the outer corridor. She had looked at it, then looked at him scornfully.

"Meow." That was all she had said. Yet it had cut him like a knife.

What did she think he was—a fool, a loafer, a uniformed nonentity? Didn't she know that for every half hour of pinlighting, he got a minimum of two months' recuperation in the hospital?

By now the set was warm. He felt the squares of space around him, sensed himself at the middle of an immense grid, a cubic grid, full of nothing. Out in that nothingness, he could sense the hollow aching horror of space itself and could feel the terrible anxiety which his mind encountered whenever it met the faintest trace of inert dust.

As he relaxed, the comforting solidity of the Sun, the clock-work of the familiar planets and the Moon rang in on him. Our own solar system was as charming and as simple as an ancient cuckoo clock filled with familiar ticking and with reassuring noises. The odd little moons of Mars swung around their planet like frantic mice, yet their regularity was itself an assurance that all was well. Far above the plane of the ecliptic, he could feel half a ton of dust more or less drifting outside the lanes of human travel.

Here there was nothing to fight, nothing to challenge the mind, to tear the living soul out of a body with its roots dripping in effluvium as tangible as blood.

Nothing ever moved in on the Solar System. He could wear the pin-set forever and be nothing more than a sort of telepathic astronomer, a man who could feel the hot, warm protection of the Sun throbbing and burning against his living mind.

-

Woodley came in.

"Same old ticking world," said Underhill. "Nothing to report. No wonder they didn't develop the pin-set until they began to planoform. Down here with the hot Sun around us, it feels so good and so quiet. You can feel everything spinning and turning. It's nice and sharp and compact. It's sort of like sitting around home."

Woodley grunted. He was not much given to flights of fantasy.

Undeterred, Underhill went on, "It must have been pretty good to have been an Ancient Man. I wonder why they burned up their world with war. They didn't have to planoform. They didn't have to go out to earn their livings among the stars. They didn't have to dodge the Rats or play the Game. They couldn't have invented pinlighting because they didn't have any need of it, did they, Woodley?"

Woodley grunted, "Uh-huh." Woodley was twenty-six years old and due to retire in one more year. He already had a farm picked out. He had gotten through ten years of hard work pinlighting with the best of them. He had kept his sanity by not thinking very much about his job, meeting the strains of the task whenever he had to meet them and thinking nothing more about his duties until the next emergency arose.

Woodley never made a point of getting popular among the Partners. None of the Partners liked him very much. Some of them even resented him. He was suspected of thinking ugly thoughts of the Partners on occasion, but since none of the Partners ever thought a complaint in articulate form, the other pinlighters and the Chiefs of the Instrumentality left him alone.

Underhill was still full of the wonder of their job. Happily he babbled on, "What does happen to us when we planoform? Do you think it's sort of like dying? Did you ever see anybody who had his soul pulled out?"

"Pulling souls is just a way of talking about it," said Woodley. "After all these years, nobody knows whether we have souls or not."

"But I saw one once. I saw what Dogwood looked like when he came apart. There was something funny. It looked wet and sort of sticky as if it were bleeding and it went out of him—and you know what they did to Dogwood? They took him away, up in that part of the hospital where you and I never go—way up at the top part where the others are, where the others always have to go if they are alive after the Rats of the Up-and-Out have gotten them."

Woodley sat down and lit an ancient pipe. He was burning something called tobacco in it. It was a dirty sort of habit, but it made him look very dashing and adventurous.

"Look here, youngster. You don't have to worry about that stuff. Pinlighting is getting better all the time. The Partners are getting better. I've seen them pinlight two Rats forty-six million miles apart in one and a half milliseconds. As long as people had to try to work the pin-sets themselves, there was always the chance that with a minimum of four hundred milliseconds for the human mind to set a pinlight, we wouldn't light the Rats up fast enough to protect our planoforming ships. The Partners have changed all that. Once they get going, they're faster than Rats. And they always will be. I know it's not easy, letting a Partner share your mind—"

"It's not easy for them, either," said Underhill.

"Don't worry about them. They're not human. Let them take care of themselves. I've seen more pinlighters go crazy from monkeying around with Partners than I have ever seen caught by the Rats. How many do you actually know of them that got grabbed by Rats?"

-

Underhill looked down at his fingers, which shone green and purple in the vivid light thrown by the tuned-in pin-set, and counted ships. The thumb for the Andromeda, lost with crew and passengers, the index finger and the middle finger for Release Ships 43 and 56, found with their pin-sets burned out and every man, woman, and child on board dead or insane. The ring finger, the little finger, and the thumb of the other hand were the first three battleships to be lost to the Rats—lost as people realized that there was something out there underneath space itself which was alive, capricious and malevolent.

Planoforming was sort of funny. It felt like like—

Like nothing much.

Like the twinge of a mild electric shock.

Like the ache of a sore tooth bitten on for the first time.

Like a slightly painful flash of light against the eyes.

Yet in that time, a forty-thousand-ton ship lifting free above Earth disappeared somehow or other into two dimensions and appeared half a light-year or fifty light-years off.

At one moment, he would be sitting in the Fighting Room, the pin-set ready and the familiar Solar System ticking around inside his head. For a second or a year (he could never tell how long it really was, subjectively), the funny little flash went through him and then he was loose in the Up-and-Out, the terrible open spaces between the stars, where the stars themselves felt like pimples on his telepathic mind and the planets were too far away to be sensed or read.

Somewhere in this outer space, a gruesome death awaited, death and horror of a kind which Man had never encountered until he reached out for inter-stellar space itself. Apparently the light of the suns kept the Dragons away.

-

Dragons. That was what people called them. To ordinary people, there was nothing, nothing except the shiver of planoforming and the hammer blow of sudden death or the dark spastic note of lunacy descending into their minds.

But to the telepaths, they were Dragons.

In the fraction of a second between the telepaths' awareness of a hostile something out in the black, hollow nothingness of space and the impact of a ferocious, ruinous psychic blow against all living things within the ship, the telepaths had sensed entities something like the Dragons of ancient human lore, beasts more clever than beasts, demons more tangible than demons, hungry vortices of aliveness and hate compounded by unknown means out of the thin tenuous matter between the stars.

It took a surviving ship to bring back the news—a ship in which, by sheer chance, a telepath had a light beam ready, turning it out at the innocent dust so that, within the panorama of his mind, the Dragon dissolved into nothing at all and the other passengers, themselves non-telepathic, went about their way not realizing that their own immediate deaths had been averted.

From then on, it was easy—almost.

-

Planoforming ships always carried telepaths. Telepaths had their sensitiveness enlarged to an immense range by the pin-sets, which were telepathic amplifiers adapted to the mammal mind. The pin-sets in turn were electronically geared into small dirigible light bombs. Light did it.

Light broke up the Dragons, allowed the ships to reform three-dimensionally, skip, skip, skip, as they moved from star to star.

The odds suddenly moved down from a hundred to one against mankind to sixty to forty in mankind's favor.

This was not enough. The telepaths were trained to become ultrasensitive, trained to become aware of the Dragons in less than a millisecond.

But it was found that the Dragons could move a million miles in just under two milliseconds and that this was not enough for the human mind to activate the light beams.

Attempts had been made to sheath the ships in light at all times.

This defense wore out.

As mankind learned about the Dragons, so too, apparently, the Dragons learned about mankind. Somehow they flattened their own bulk and came in on extremely flat trajectories very quickly.

Intense light was needed, light of sunlike intensity. This could be provided only by light bombs. Pinlighting came into existence.

Pinlighting consisted of the detonation of ultra-vivid miniature photonuclear bombs, which converted a few ounces of a magnesium isotope into pure visible radiance.

The odds kept coming down in mankind's favor, yet ships were being lost.

It became so bad that people didn't even want to find the ships because the rescuers knew what they would see. It was sad to bring back to Earth three hundred bodies ready for burial and two hundred or three hundred lunatics, damaged beyond repair, to be wakened, and fed, and cleaned, and put to sleep, wakened and fed again until their lives were ended.

Telepaths tried to reach into the minds of the psychotics who had been damaged by the Dragons, but they found nothing there beyond vivid spouting columns of fiery terror bursting from the primordial id itself, the volcanic source of life.

Then came the Partners.

Man and Partner could do together what Man could not do alone. Men had the intellect. Partners had the speed.

The Partners rode their tiny craft, no larger than footballs, outside the spaceships. They planoformed with the ships. They rode beside them in their six-pound craft ready to attack.

The tiny ships of the Partners were swift. Each carried a dozen pinlights, bombs no bigger than thimbles.

The pinlighters threw the Partners—quite literally threw—by means of mind-to-firing relays direct at the Dragons.

What seemed to be Dragons to the human mind appeared in the form of gigantic Rats in the minds of the Partners.

Out in the pitiless nothingness of space, the Partners' minds responded to an instinct as old as life. The Partners attacked, striking with a speed faster than Man's, going from attack to attack until the Rats or themselves were destroyed. Almost all the time, it was the Partners who won.

With the safety of the inter-stellar skip, skip, skip of the ships, commerce increased immensely, the population of all the colonies went up, and the demand for trained Partners increased.

Underhill and Woodley were a part of the third generation of pinlighters and yet, to them, it seemed as though their craft had endured forever.

Gearing space into minds by means of the pin-set, adding the Partners to those minds, keying up the mind for the tension of a fight on which all depended—this was more than human synapses could stand for long. Underhill needed his two months' rest after half an hour of fighting. Woodley needed his retirement after ten years of service. They were young. They were good. But they had limitations.

So much depended on the choice of Partners, so much on the sheer luck of who drew whom.

THE SHUFFLE

Father Moontree and the little girl named West entered the room. They were the other two pinlighters. The human complement of the Fighting Room was now complete.

Father Moontree was a red-faced man of forty-five who had lived the peaceful life of a farmer until he reached his fortieth year. Only then, belatedly, did the authorities find he was telepathic and agree to let him late in life enter upon the career of pinlighter. He did well at it, but he was fantastically old for this kind of business.

Father Moontree looked at the glum Woodley and the musing Underhill. "How're the youngsters today? Ready for a good fight?"

"Father always wants a fight," giggled the little girl named West. She was such a little little girl. Her giggle was high and childish. She looked like the last person in the world one would expect to find in the rough, sharp dueling of pinlighting.

Underhill had been amused one time when he found one of the most sluggish of the Partners coming away happy from contact with the mind of the girl named West.

Usually the Partners didn't care much about the human minds with which they were paired for the journey. The Partners seemed to take the attitude that human minds were complex and fouled up beyond belief, anyhow. No Partner ever questioned the superiority of the human mind, though very few of the Partners were much impressed by that superiority.

The Partners liked people. They were willing to fight with them. They were even willing to die for them. But when a Partner liked an individual the way, for example, that Captain Wow or the Lady May liked Underhill, the liking had nothing to do with intellect. It was a matter of temperament, of feel.

Underhill knew perfectly well that Captain Wow regarded his, Underhill's, brains as silly. What Captain Wow liked was Underhill's friendly emotional structure, the cheerfulness and glint of wicked amusement that shot through Underhill's unconscious thought patterns, and the gaiety with which Underhill faced danger. The words, the history books, the ideas, the science—Underhill could sense all that in his own mind, reflected back from Captain Wow's mind, as so much rubbish.

Miss West looked at Underhill. "I bet you've put stickum on the stones."

"I did not!"

Underhill felt his ears grow red with embarrassment. During his novitiate, he had tried to cheat in the lottery because he got particularly fond of a special Partner, a lovely young mother named Murr. It was so much easier to operate with Murr and she was so affectionate toward him that he forgot pinlighting was hard work and that he was not instructed to have a good time with his Partner. They were both designed and prepared to go into deadly battle together.

One cheating had been enough. They had found him out and he had been laughed at for years.

Father Moontree picked up the imitation-leather cup and shook the stone dice which assigned them their Partners for the trip. By senior rights, he took first draw.

-

He grimaced. He had drawn a greedy old character, a tough old male whose mind was full of slobbering thoughts of food, veritable oceans full of half-spoiled fish. Father Moontree had once said that he burped cod liver oil for weeks after drawing that particular glutton, so strongly had the telepathic image of fish impressed itself upon his mind. Yet the glutton was a glutton for danger as well as for fish. He had killed sixty-three Dragons, more than any other Partner in the service, and was quite literally worth his weight in gold.

The little girl West came next. She drew Captain Wow. When she saw who it was, she smiled.

"I like him," she said. "He's such fun to fight with. He feels so nice and cuddly in my mind."

"Cuddly, hell," said Woodley. "I've been in his mind, too. It's the most leering mind in this ship, bar none."

"Nasty man," said the little girl. She said it declaratively, without reproach.

Underhill, looking at her, shivered.

He didn't see how she could take Captain Wow so calmly. Captain Wow's mind did leer. When Captain Wow got excited in the middle of a battle, confused images of Dragons, deadly Rats, luscious beds, the smell of fish, and the shock of space all scrambled together in his mind as he and Captain Wow, their consciousnesses linked together through the pin-set, became a fantastic composite of human being and Persian cat.

That's the trouble with working with cats, thought Underhill. It's a pity that nothing else anywhere will serve as Partner. Cats were all right once you got in touch with them telepathically. They were smart enough to meet the needs of the fight, but their motives and desires were certainly different from those of humans.

They were companionable enough as long as you thought tangible images at them, but their minds just closed up and went to sleep when you recited Shakespeare or Colegrove, or if you tried to tell them what space was.

It was sort of funny realizing that the Partners who were so grim and mature out here in space were the same cute little animals that people had used as pets for thousands of years back on Earth. He had embarrassed himself more than once while on the ground saluting perfectly ordinary non-telepathic cats because he had forgotten for the moment that they were not Partners.

He picked up the cup and shook out his stone dice.

He was lucky—he drew the Lady May.

-

The Lady May was the most thoughtful Partner he had ever met. In her, the finely bred pedigree mind of a Persian cat had reached one of its highest peaks of development. She was more complex than any human woman, but the complexity was all one of emotions, memory, hope and discriminated experience—experience sorted through without benefit of words.

When he had first come into contact with her mind, he was astonished at its clarity. With her he remembered her kittenhood. He remembered every mating experience she had ever had. He saw in a half-recognizable gallery all the other pinlighters with whom she had been paired for the fight. And he saw himself radiant, cheerful and desirable.

He even thought he caught the edge of a longing—

A very flattering and yearning thought: What a pity he is not a cat.

Woodley picked up the last stone. He drew what he deserved—a sullen, scared old tomcat with none of the verve of Captain Wow. Woodley's Partner was the most animal of all the cats on the ship, a low, brutish type with a dull mind. Even telepathy had not refined his character. His ears were half chewed off from the first fights in which he had engaged.

He was a serviceable fighter, nothing more.

Woodley grunted.

Underhill glanced at him oddly. Didn't Woodley ever do anything but grunt?

Father Moontree looked at the other three. "You might as well get your Partners now. I'll let the Scanner know we're ready to go into the Up-and-Out."

THE DEAL

Underhill spun the combination lock on the Lady May's cage. He woke her gently and took her into his arms. She humped her back luxuriously, stretched her claws, started to purr, thought better of it, and licked him on the wrist instead. He did not have the pin-set on, so their minds were closed to each other, but in the angle of her mustache and in the movement of her ears, he caught some sense of gratification she experienced in finding him as her Partner.

He talked to her in human speech, even though speech meant nothing to a cat when the pin-set was not on.

"It's a damn shame, sending a sweet little thing like you whirling around in the coldness of nothing to hunt for Rats that are bigger and deadlier than all of us put together. You didn't ask for this kind of fight, did you?"

For answer, she licked his hand, purred, tickled his cheek with her long fluffy tail, turned around and faced him, golden eyes shining.

For a moment, they stared at each other, man squatting, cat standing erect on her hind legs, front claws digging into his knee. Human eyes and cat eyes looked across an immensity which no words could meet, but which affection spanned in a single glance.

"Time to get in," he said.

She walked docilely into her spheroid carrier. She climbed in. He saw to it that her miniature pin-set rested firmly and comfortably against the base of her brain. He made sure that her claws were padded so that she could not tear herself in the excitement of battle.

Softly he said to her, "Ready?"

For answer, she preened her back as much as her harness would permit and purred softly within the confines of the frame that held her.

He slapped down the lid and watched the sealant ooze around the seam. For a few hours, she was welded into her projectile until a workman with a short cutting arc would remove her after she had done her duty.

-

He picked up the entire projectile and slipped it into the ejection tube. He closed the door of the tube, spun the lock, seated himself in his chair, and put his own pin-set on.

Once again he flung the switch.

He sat in a small room, small, small, warm, warm, the bodies of the other three people moving close around him, the tangible lights in the ceiling bright and heavy against his closed eyelids.

As the pin-set warmed, the room fell away. The other people ceased to be people and became small glowing heaps of fire, embers, dark red fire, with the consciousness of life burning like old red coals in a country fireplace.

As the pin-set warmed a little more, he felt Earth just below him, felt the ship slipping away, felt the turning Moon as it swung on the far side of the world, felt the planets and the hot, clear goodness of the Sun which kept the Dragons so far from mankind's native ground.

Finally, he reached complete awareness.

He was telepathically alive to a range of millions of miles. He felt the dust which he had noticed earlier high above the ecliptic. With a thrill of warmth and tenderness, he felt the consciousness of the Lady May pouring over into his own. Her consciousness was as gentle and clear and yet sharp to the taste of his mind as if it were scented oil. It felt relaxing and reassuring. He could sense her welcome of him. It was scarcely a thought, just a raw emotion of greeting.

At last they were one again.

In a tiny remote corner of his mind, as tiny as the smallest toy he had ever seen in his childhood, he was still aware of the room and the ship, and of Father Moontree picking up a telephone and speaking to a Scanner captain in charge of the ship.

His telepathic mind caught the idea long before his ears could frame the words. The actual sound followed the idea the way that thunder on an ocean beach follows the lightning inward from far out over the seas.

"The Fighting Room is ready. Clear to planoform, sir."

THE PLAY

Underhill was always a little exasperated the way that Lady May experienced things before he did.

He was braced for the quick vinegar thrill of planoforming, but he caught her report of it before his own nerves could register what happened.

Earth had fallen so far away that he groped for several milliseconds before he found the Sun in the upper rear right-hand corner of his telepathic mind.

That was a good jump, he thought. This way we'll get there in four or five skips.

A few hundred miles outside the ship, the Lady May thought back at him, "O warm, O generous, O gigantic man! O brave, O friendly, O tender and huge Partner! O wonderful with you, with you so good, good, good, warm, warm, now to fight, now to go, good with you...."

He knew that she was not thinking words, that his mind took the clear amiable babble of her cat intellect and translated it into images which his own thinking could record and understand.

Neither one of them was absorbed in the game of mutual greetings. He reached out far beyond her range of perception to see if there was anything near the ship. It was funny how it was possible to do two things at once. He could scan space with his pin-set mind and yet at the same time catch a vagrant thought of hers, a lovely, affectionate thought about a son who had had a golden face and a chest covered with soft, incredibly downy white fur.

While he was still searching, he caught the warning from her.

We jump again!

And so they had. The ship had moved to a second planoform. The stars were different. The Sun was immeasurably far behind. Even the nearest stars were barely in contact. This was good Dragon country, this open, nasty, hollow kind of space. He reached farther, faster, sensing and looking for danger, ready to fling the Lady May at danger wherever he found it.

Terror blazed up in his mind, so sharp, so clear, that it came through as a physical wrench.

The little girl named West had found something—something immense, long, black, sharp, greedy, horrific. She flung Captain Wow at it.

Underhill tried to keep his own mind clear. "Watch out!" he shouted telepathically at the others, trying to move the Lady May around.

At one corner of the battle, he felt the lustful rage of Captain Wow as the big Persian tomcat detonated lights while he approached the streak of dust which threatened the ship and the people within.

The lights scored near-misses.

The dust flattened itself, changing from the shape of a sting-ray into the shape of a spear.

Not three milliseconds had elapsed.

Father Moontree was talking human words and was saying in a voice that moved like cold molasses out of a heavy jar, "C-A-P-T-A-I-N." Underhill knew that the sentence was going to be "Captain, move fast!"

The battle would be fought and finished before Father Moontree got through talking.

Now, fractions of a millisecond later, the Lady May was directly in line.

Here was where the skill and speed of the Partners came in. She could react faster than he. She could see the threat as an immense Rat coming direct at her.

She could fire the light-bombs with a discrimination which he might miss.

He was connected with her mind, but he could not follow it.

His consciousness absorbed the tearing wound inflicted by the alien enemy. It was like no wound on Earth—raw, crazy pain which started like a burn at his navel. He began to writhe in his chair.

Actually he had not yet had time to move a muscle when the Lady May struck back at their enemy.

Five evenly spaced photonuclear bombs blazed out across a hundred thousand miles.

The pain in his mind and body vanished.

He felt a moment of fierce, terrible, feral elation running through the mind of the Lady May as she finished her kill. It was always disappointing to the cats to find out that their enemies whom they sensed as gigantic space Rats disappeared at the moment of destruction.

Then he felt her hurt, the pain and the fear that swept over both of them as the battle, quicker than the movement of an eyelid, had come and gone. In the same instant, there came the sharp and acid twinge of planoform.

Once more the ship went skip.

He could hear Woodley thinking at him. "You don't have to bother much. This old son of a gun and I will take over for a while."

Twice again the twinge, the skip.

He had no idea where he was until the lights of the Caledonia space board shone below.

With a weariness that lay almost beyond the limits of thought, he threw his mind back into rapport with the pin-set, fixing the Lady May's projectile gently and neatly in its launching tube.

She was half dead with fatigue, but he could feel the beat of her heart, could listen to her panting, and he grasped the grateful edge of a thanks reaching from her mind to his.

THE SCORE

They put him in the hospital at Caledonia.

The doctor was friendly but firm. "You actually got touched by that Dragon. That's as close a shave as I've ever seen. It's all so quick that it'll be a long time before we know what happened scientifically, but I suppose you'd be ready for the insane asylum now if the contact had lasted several tenths of a millisecond longer. What kind of cat did you have out in front of you?"

Underhill felt the words coming out of him slowly. Words were such a lot of trouble compared with the speed and the joy of thinking, fast and sharp and clear, mind to mind! But words were all that could reach ordinary people like this doctor.

His mouth moved heavily as he articulated words, "Don't call our Partners cats. The right thing to call them is Partners. They fight for us in a team. You ought to know we call them Partners, not cats. How is mine?"

"I don't know," said the doctor contritely. "We'll find out for you. Meanwhile, old man, you take it easy. There's nothing but rest that can help you. Can you make yourself sleep, or would you like us to give you some kind of sedative?"

"I can sleep," said Underhill. "I just want to know about the Lady May."

The nurse joined in. She was a little antagonistic. "Don't you want to know about the other people?"

"They're okay," said Underhill. "I knew that before I came in here."

He stretched his arms and sighed and grinned at them. He could see they were relaxing and were beginning to treat him as a person instead of a patient.

"I'm all right," he said. "Just let me know when I can go see my Partner."

A new thought struck him. He looked wildly at the doctor. "They didn't send her off with the ship, did they?"

"I'll find out right away," said the doctor. He gave Underhill a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder and left the room.

The nurse took a napkin off a goblet of chilled fruit juice.

—

Underhill tried to smile at her. There seemed to be something wrong with the girl. He wished she would go away. First she had started to be friendly and now she was distant again. It's a nuisance being telepathic, he thought. You keep trying to reach even when you are not making contact.

Suddenly she swung around on him.

"You pinlighters! You and your damn cats!"

Just as she stamped out, he burst into her mind. He saw himself a radiant hero, clad in his smooth suede uniform, the pin-set crown shining like ancient royal jewels around his head. He saw his own face, handsome and masculine, shining out of her mind. He saw himself very far away and he saw himself as she hated him.

She hated him in the secrecy of her own mind. She hated him because he was—she thought—proud, and strange, and rich, better and more beautiful than people like her.

He cut off the sight of her mind and, as he buried his face in the pillow, he caught an image of the Lady May.

"She is a cat," he thought. "That's all she is—a cat!"

But that was not how his mind saw her—quick beyond all dreams of speed, sharp, clever, unbelievably graceful, beautiful, wordless and undemanding.

Where would he ever find a woman who could compare with her?

[fishstickmonkey]

The October 1962 issue of Galaxy Science Fiction. Cordwainer Smith's novelette The Ballad of Lost C'Mell was the cover story. Artwork by Virgil Finlay.

[bracketsoffear]

Carnivore (Justin Boote) "Detective Inspector Jim Morfield is worried. In the quiet, countryside village of Fritton, human remains have begun appearing. Bodies so viciously mutilated that only their bones are left behind, in some cases less than a few hours after they were reported missing. What creature could possibly devour human remains so quickly? Surely, as with the case of farmer Stanley Walters, it couldn’t be his cows nearby and covered in blood that dismembered and devoured him? Then, when another person is attacked by a horse, his arm nearly torn off, he has no choice but to consider the impossible. The problem is that there is another killer to contend with. One who has Fritton terrified. A serial killer hiding among the woods and fields, unseen, unchallenged. Now Jim has to decide if the bodies accumulating in the area are the works of a human or something as harmless as the local wildlife."

A Planet Named Shayol (Cordwainer Smith) "The protagonist, Mercer, who lives within the Empire, has been convicted of "a crime that has no name". He is condemned by the Empire to the planet Shayol, where he lives in a penal colony whose inhabitants must undergo grotesque physical mutations caused by tiny symbiotes called dromozoans. Most grow extra organs, which the Empire harvests for medical purposes. The bull-man B'dikkat administers the prisoners a drug called super-condamine that alleviates the pain of their punishment and various surgeries.

More than a century passes. Mercer has found a lover, named Lady Da. B'dikkat shows the couple a sight that horrifies him: children have been sent to Shayol -- alive, though with their brains removed. Lady Da knows how to contact the Lords of the Instrumentality so that they can intervene. When the Lords arrive on Shayol, they are shocked by what they find. Moreover, the children there are heirs to the throne. Apparently, the Imperium has become so bureaucratic and corrupt that it condemned them to prevent them from committing treason when they matured.

The Instrumentality voids permission to allow the Empire to exist and to maintain Shayol. They will free the prisoners who are still sentient and provide a cure for their suffering with a substitute for the super-condamine, namely an electronic "cap" which stimulates the brain's pleasure center. The mindless prisoners will be decapitated, their heads "taken away and killed as pleasantly as we can manage, probably by an overdosage of super-condamine", leaving the bodies to be used by the dromozoa."

[bookmaven]

ATOMSK by Carmichael Smith [aka Paul Linebarger; aka Cordwainer Smith] (New York: Newell, Sloan, Pearce,1949)

Drawing on Paul Linebarger's own expertise in the field of psychological warfare, the book is a study of the personality of a U.S. operative (Major Michael Dugan) who has little in common with James Bond except his extreme resourcefulness under cover and in danger.

It is considered b some to be the first Cold War secret agent novel.

[tomoleary]

Virgil Finlay, illustration for Cordwainer Smith’s story Under Old Earth, Galaxy Magazine (Feb. 1966)

Source

[arcticdementor]

On the history of catgirls, in meme format:

Broke: talking about Masamune Shirow's Puma sisters

Woke: talking about Osamu Tezuka's Bagi

Bespoke: talking about Cordwainer Smith's C'mell

[killj0y616]

This week we learn about the insane lengths Helge Meyer went to help starving kids in the Yugoslav Wars and the CIA/ Chinese Nationalist Party ties of acclaimed Sci-Fi writer Cordwainer Smith. A listener email explains why King Tut was particularly stiff when mummified.

[geekysteven]

[deseopolis]

Le dijo que cuando las gentes viajaban entre los astros, los sentimientos antiguos que llevaban en el interior despertaban, y el abismo de sus mentes era más espantoso que los más negros abismos del espacio. El espacio no cometía crímenes. Sólo mataba. La naturaleza podía transmitir la muerte, pero sólo el hombre podía contagiar el crimen de un mundo a otro.

Piensa azul, cuenta dos. Cordwainer Smith

[mckitterick]

and then of course there's the stories where cats are vital crew members to help deal with things like Space Dragons

such as in the SF classic, "The Game of Rat and Dragon," by Cordwainer Smith (Galaxy Science Fiction, October 1955):

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/29614/29614-h/29614-h.htm

Cats are the new bosses.

[infactforgetthepark]

[Free eBook] The Best of Cordwainer Smith by Cordwainer Smith [Vintage Classic Science Fiction]

The Best of Cordwainer Smith by the late Cordwainer Smith, the sfnal writing pseudonym of scholar Paul Linebarger, edited by J. J. Pierce, is a collection of vintage science fiction stories, free for a limited time courtesy of publisher Phoenix Pick Press.

This is their featured Free Ebook of the Month offer for March and was originally published in 1975 by Ballantine Books as part of their Ballantine's Classic Library of Science Fiction line. A bonus freebie from February is also still offered, the fantasy Earth Magic by Alexei & Cory Panshin, as well as a tie-in discount to another Smith novel.

The collection contains a selection of Smith's short stories and novelettes from the 1950s and 1960s in his Instrumentality of Mankind future setting where humanity has colonized a number of other planets, plus two essays by editor Pierce about the author and the Instrumentality universe. Several stories have been much-translated, and one of the novelettes was nominated for the Retro Hugo Award which recognizes early sfnal work from before the awards' creation.

Offered DRM-free worldwide through the month of March and probably until April 3rd (the offer usually rotates on the first Tuesday of each month), available directly from the publisher.

Free for a limited time through March directly @ the publisher's special promo page (DRM-free ePub & Mobi bundle available worldwide in return for your valid email address; follow the instructions on the page to reset the suggested cart price to $0.00 during checkout)

There's also a discounted tie-in offer for $2.99 of a reprint of Cordwainer Smith's 1975 novel Norstrilia, a dystopian planetary adventure in the Instrumentality of Mankind universe, originally published by Ballantine Books (now a Penguin Random House imprint). This has previously been offered free and also in a number of other tie-in sales, so you might already have a copy.

Description Cordwainer Smith was one of the original visionaries to think of humanity in terms of thousands of years in the future, spread out across the universe. This brilliant collection, often cited as the first of its kind, explores fundamental questions about ourselves and our treatment of the universe (and other beings) around us and ultimately what it means to be human.

In “Scanners Live in Vain” we meet Martel, a human altered to be part machine—a scanner—to be able withstand the trauma space travel has on the body. Despite the stigma placed on him and his kind, he is able to regrasp his humanity to save another.

In “The Dead Lady of Clown Town” we get to know the underpeople—animals genetically altered to exist in human form, to better serve their human owners—and meet D’Joan, a dog-woman who will make readers question who is more human: the animals who simply want to be recognized as having the same right to life, or the people who created them to be inferior.

In “The Ballad of Lost C’mell” the notion of love being the most important equalizer there is—as first raised in “The Dead Lady of Clown Town”—is put into action when an underperson, C’mell, falls in love with Lord Jestocost. Who is to say her love for him is not as valid as any true-born human? She might be of cat descent, but she is all woman!

And in “A Planet Named Shayol” it is an underperson of bull descent, and beings so mutilated and deformed from their original human condition to be now considered demons of a hellish land, who retain and display the most humanity when Mankind commits the most inhumane action of all.

[rhetoricandlogic]

Oops, I Just Bought a Planet: Norstrilia by Cordwainer Smith

Alan Brown Wed Jun 8, 2022 11:00am

In this bi-weekly series reviewing classic science fiction and fantasy books, Alan Brown looks at the front lines and frontiers of the field; books about soldiers and spacers, scientists and engineers, explorers and adventurers. Stories full of what Shakespeare used to refer to as “alarums and excursions”: battles, chases, clashes, and the stuff of excitement.

One of the lesser-known gems of the science fiction world in the mid-20th century is the work of author Cordwainer Smith. He brought an international flavor to a science fiction field that, for all its creativity, was deeply rooted in the culture and conventions of the United States. His stories of the Instrumentality of Mankind were intriguing, giving the reader science fiction tales with the storytelling conventions of fantasy and legend. And in the centerpiece of this future history, the novel Norstrilia, he brought young and naïve Rod McBan to the mysterious and dangerous planet called Earth.

As I recollect, the copy of Norstrilia I used for this review is the copy I bought about a year after graduating from college, and according to the title page is the third Del Rey edition, printed in 1978. That date would put my purchase in the Alaskan town of Sitka, a tiny seacoast community accessible only by air or water. There was only one bookstore in the tiny town, right across the main street from the Russian Orthodox church with its onion-dome spires. Fortunately for me, the store had a good selection of paperback science fiction that turned over regularly.

The work of Cordwainer Smith was not new to me when I found Norstrilia, as I had read some of his work in my dad’s Galaxy magazines during my youth. I had always found his stories intriguing, if a bit strange compared to the more straightforward adventures I was used to reading in Analog.

About the Author

Paul Myron Anthony Linebarger (1913-1966), who wrote science fiction under the name Cordwainer Smith, was an author and scholar who wrote influential works on psychological warfare and on East Asian politics. He was born in Wisconsin, and lived during his youth in the United States, Europe, Japan, and China, reportedly attending more than thirty schools. He spoke multiple languages, and attained a PhD at age 23. He began writing science fiction in college in the late 1920s, although his stories didn’t start appearing in the leading magazines until the late 1940s.

Commissioned as a lieutenant during WWII, Linebarger served in Army Intelligence in China and India, rising to the rank of major. He remained in the reserves, eventually attaining the rank of colonel. He was recalled to aid the British in a Malaysian guerrilla conflict, and recalled again during the Korean War. He was a professor at Johns Hopkins University, but is also reported to have been a behind-the-scenes advisor to the CIA and the US government.

Most of Linebarger’s science fiction work was set in a unique and evocative future history, the Instrumentality of Mankind. By using unusual terms and names without much explanation, he created the impression this universe was much larger than what appeared within the pages of the stories (I will have to dip into Linebarger’s other stories to find out what Mother Hinton’s Littul Kittons are, for example). This was a society that was anything but a utopia: so advanced that much of its science was akin to magic, with a hereditary ruling class, a brutal police state to enforce their will, space pilots called “scanners” whose brains were damaged by their work, and animals called the “underpeople” raised to human intelligence and near-human appearance, but treated as slaves. One of the programs of the Instrumentality was the Rediscovery of Man, which was intended to strengthen humanity and reduce stagnation by reintroducing disease and unrest to society. The human economy was dominated by stroon, a drug which extended life, and was only available from giant diseased sheep grown on the planet Norstrilia.

Linebarger’s body of science fiction work was not large, as he lived a busy life and died at the relatively young age of fifty-three. He wrote only a handful of novels, Norstrilia being the most widely known, and about three dozen short stories.

You can find some of Smith’s work on Project Gutenberg, including “The Game of Rat and Dragon,” one of his better-known stories, and some of his non-fictional works, including the seminal book Psychological Warfare.

Cordwainer Smith is not to be confused with Cordwainer Bird, a pseudonym sometimes used by science fiction author Harlan Ellison (the fact that a cordwainer is a kind of cobbler, and birds do not need shoes, amused Ellison). The use of this pseudonym was then made even more confusing when author Philip José Farmer began using the name for a fictional character in some of his own works.

The Lonely Protagonist

Rod McBan is a lonely protagonist, pulled out of his own world and culture with little to no notice, and thrust into a world he only dimly understands. And while reading Norstrilia, I realized that, while he is a lonely character, he is far from alone in the field of science fiction. The genre is full of characters who are orphaned, exiled, or just plain don’t fit in. When you consider that Linebarger spent his youth in many countries and dozens of schools, it is not surprising that he could skillfully depict someone who feels apart from his surroundings.

The frequency of lonely heroes in science fiction might be due to the prevalence of the familiar story structure known as the Hero’s Journey, which has appeared in literature throughout human history. One of the characteristics many mythical adventures share is the removal of the protagonist from the world they grew up in or are comfortable with. Looking through the books I have reviewed over the years for this column, I found that about a third of them feature a character that might fit the description of a lonely protagonist. Of course, being lonely does not mean that the characters are alone, as they encounter mentors, antagonists, guides, and love interests in the course of their journeys.

I’ve also noticed that many of the readers of science fiction share characteristics of loneliness with the fictional protagonists they follow. This type of character might be so popular because it speaks to the readers in a way they understand. Being a science fiction fan, especially when I was young, could be a lonely existence. For my own part, growing up in the 1950s through the 1970s, there were very few people I knew (other than my father and brothers) who were as enthusiastic about science fiction as I was. My intimate knowledge of Marvel comics, for example, was not something I mentioned to girls I wanted to date. In those days, choosing to be a science fiction fan was to choose something hard to share with others. And I’ve seen signs of this loneliness when I’ve met other fans.

That aspect of being a science fiction fan seems to be eroding in recent decades, as science fiction and comic book stories have come to dominate the entertainment business. You don’t have to wait to attend a science fiction club meeting or convention to find someone to discuss your favorite passions with—one of the positive aspects of social media is that it can bring together groups of people who enjoy the same things. I sometimes wonder if these changes in society might eventually have an impact on the literature of science fiction, and we might see fewer stories of isolated heroes and more stories about groups working in collaboration. Only time will tell…

Norstrilia

The book opens more like a fairy tale than a novel. While the story is science fiction, the form and narrative owe more to fantasy than the straightforward style of science fiction. Norstrilia begins by telling us, rather than showing us, what the story is about. This allows the author to introduce us to a great deal of backstory all at once, but because little of this information is explained, the reader is tossed into the literary equivalent of deep water, and must quickly learn to swim in this dense and sometimes inscrutable narrative.

We meet young Rod McBan, 151st of his name, who is on the cusp of inheriting the family ranch, the ominously named Station of Doom, where giant sickly sheep produce the precious drug called stroon. His inheritance is far from certain, however. Rod, unlike other Norstrilians, cannot spiek or hier telepathically (not reliably, anyhow). When he does hier, he can listen in to many people’s minds over wide distances. And when he spieks, he transmits powerful emotions, again over wide distances. In attempts to correct these deficiencies, he has had his childhood restarted a number of times, living those years over and over. Now, he must face what is called the Garden of Death, a trial that determines whether Norstrilians will be executed by drugs that kill them with happiness, or allowed to go on with their lives. His only friends are an old battle computer, hidden on the farm, which has educated him over the years, and his cousin Lavinia, one of the few people who is comfortable speaking to him with her voice in the old manner.

Rod’s trial board consists of three people, two local, and one surprisingly the Lord Redlady, a Commissioner of the Instrumentality. Redlady convinces the board that Rod’s different abilities are not a liability, but rather a gift. And he is allowed to live.

Rod’s survival angers an old childhood adversary, who is now a government official with the title of Onseck, a corruption of the ancient term Honorary Secretary. The Onseck has placed blocks on Rod’s inheritance of the Station of Doom. Rod visits his computer, which suggests that, working together, they could corner the market on stroon, making Rod richer and giving him more power over his destiny. They succeed beyond their wildest dreams, and after a long trading session, Rod finds himself not only the richest man in civilization, but also owner of the planet Earth.

Being incredibly rich turns out to bring problems of its own. The Onseck attempts to murder Rod with a genetically engineered bird, and there are rumors of kidnapping plots. The Lord Redlady appears to help, and convinces Rod to go to Earth. But to slip Rod past those who wish to harm him, they must ship him as cargo. So, in a sequence replete with body horror, an intelligent ape in Redlady’s service amputates Rod’s head, freeze-dries the rest of his body, and packs him up in a small box. When Rod is reconstructed, to protect him, he is molded into the form of an underperson descended from a cat, and married to the famously lovely courtesan, C’Mell. This reconstruction leads to additional dangers, as Rod retains a sense of privilege that could get him killed for violating the rigid laws that apply to underpeople. A servant from his ranch, Elanor, accompanies Rod to Earth, and agrees to have her body reformed into an image of his, throwing off the efforts of those seeking him. Lord Redlady, while he does everything in his power to ensure all Rod’s wishes for his trip to Earth are granted, also has his own agenda, as do the underpeople, whose leader, the mysterious E’telekeli, meets with Rod and gives him aid.

I won’t continue the recap further, as I don’t want to reveal spoilers (although I will say that Elanor finds she prefers life as a young man who resembles the richest man on Earth to being a female servant on Norstrilia…). Rod’s journey through the culture of Earth is absolutely fascinating, with many interesting asides. This culture is by no means a utopia, and is even ugly and cruel. But despite its dark and whimsical aspects, it also feels very real and plausible. Without being heavy-handed, the book deals with issues of free will, duty, diversity, racism, slavery, and the very nature of what makes a person. The journey tends to wander, but always in directions I found fascinating. And in the end, when Rod returns to Norstrilia, we are given a heartwarming ending that, in only a couple of lines, also becomes absolutely heartbreaking.

Final Thoughts

Cordwainer Smith is a writer who should not be forgotten. His work was rich and fascinating, and unlike the output of many other writers of his era, his tales have aged like a good whiskey. Norstrilia is available in a number of formats, and a few years ago, the NESFA Press put out The Rediscovery of Man, a collection of his short works.

And now, I look forward to hearing your thoughts on Smith’s work and his legacy. Are you as captivated by the Instrumentality of Man as I am?

[bracketsoffear]

A Planet Named Shayol (Cordwainer Smith) "The protagonist, Mercer, who lives within the Empire, has been convicted of "a crime that has no name". He is condemned by the Empire to the planet Shayol, where he lives in a penal colony whose inhabitants must undergo grotesque physical mutations caused by tiny symbiotes called dromozoans. Most grow extra organs, which the Empire harvests for medical purposes. The bull-man B'dikkat administers the prisoners a drug called super-condamine that alleviates the pain of their punishment and various surgeries.

More than a century passes. Mercer has found a lover, named Lady Da. B'dikkat shows the couple a sight that horrifies him: children have been sent to Shayol -- alive, though with their brains removed. Lady Da knows how to contact the Lords of the Instrumentality so that they can intervene. When the Lords arrive on Shayol, they are shocked by what they find. Moreover, the children there are heirs to the throne. Apparently, the Imperium has become so bureaucratic and corrupt that it condemned them to prevent them from committing treason when they matured.

The Instrumentality voids permission to allow the Empire to exist and to maintain Shayol. They will free the prisoners who are still sentient and provide a cure for their suffering with a substitute for the super-condamine, namely an electronic "cap" which stimulates the brain's pleasure center. The mindless prisoners will be decapitated, their heads "taken away and killed as pleasantly as we can manage, probably by an overdosage of super-condamine", leaving the bodies to be used by the dromozoa."

Food of the Gods (Arthur C. Clarke) "In this imagined future, we have stopped killing animals for meat and started to grow tissue in vats instead (to help support our even-more-massive population). People actually retch at the thought of eating animal flesh, although the vast majority of the various manufactured foods replicate the characteristics of various meats exactly. Several companies manufacture the stuff and get into a competition about who can make the best. Eventually, one company makes one that apparently tastes delicious and is perfectly tailored to human needs, calling it "Ambrosia Plus". The competition goes before a Senate subcommittee to explain why this might be a problem: "Yes, Triplanitary's chemists have done a superb technical job. Now you have to resolve the moral and philosophical issues. When I began my evidence, I used the archaic word 'carnivore'. Now I must introduce you to another: I'll spell it out the first time: C-A-N-N-I-B-A-L …""

Excerpt from Romance of the Three Kingdoms (Luo Guanzhong) "Untitled, fictitious story in the larger work, meant to demonstrate Liu Bei's incredible character. He stops at the home of Liu An (a hunter, and one of his relatives). Liu An doesn't have enough meat to feed his lord and his retinue, to he kills, butchers, cooks and serves his own wife so that Liu Bei and company wouldn't be under-served. When Liu Bei finds out this he is shocked, but not outraged, at having been unknowingly fed human flesh. He is, instead, amazed at Liu An's devotion to hospitality (to the point of feeding his lord his own wife), and instead praises him as a model citizen. And this is a story the author inserted to make Liu Bei sound more virtuous and heroic than he was in actual history!"