HarperVoyager an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2015
Stories from this collection have previously appeared in the following publications:
The Book of Brian Aldiss, Science Fantasy (1963), Daily Express Science Annual (1963), Starswarm, New Worlds Science Fiction (1964), Galaxy (1964), Science Fantasy (1964).
Copyright © Brian Aldiss 2015
Cover illustration © Shutterstock.com Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Brian Aldiss asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780007482290
Ebook Edition © September 2015 ISBN: 9780007586394
Version: 2015-07-31
Contents
Copyright
Introduction
1 Comic Inferno
2 The Impossible Star
3 In the Arena
4 The International Smile
5 Sector Violet
6 Skeleton Crew
7 The Thing Under the Glacier
8 Counter-Feat
9 Jungle Substitute
10 Lazarus
11 Man on Bridge
12 Never Let Go Of My Hand!
13 No Moon Tonight!
14 One-Way Strait
15 Pink Plastic Gods
16 Unauthorised Persons
About the Author
Also by Brian Aldiss
About the Publisher
PETERBOROUGH
Both blessings or curses can fall upon us in early childhood, but in many cases there may exist, underlying such fortunes or misfortunes, a submerged vein of temperament. That vein may continue throughout life, guiding our fortunes.
Indeed, we may encounter loving women who read – or claim to read – that characteristic in our eyes.
In any case, it seems I was writing short stories at the age of three. My mother was so delighted by this feat that she preserved my brief tales by folding them into covers cut from an unused roll of wallpaper. So I was frequently told. Of course, old Father Time, of bad reputation, did away with those tales many years ago.
Nevertheless, we may regard such infant tales as products of my temperament, as an urge to tell a story, perhaps a wish to display or at least ornament a truth or a falsity. In any case, accidents would befall my young self which served to fortify – indeed almost destroy – this aspect of my temperament. Traces of it can be found in several of my stories including, most markedly ‘Supertoys Last All Summer Long’.
My mother, May Wilson, married to become May Aldiss, gave birth to her first baby, a daughter. Alas, the child was stillborn, and deep was my mother’s sorrow regarding this poor dead offspring.
The causes for this disaster? My father in World War I had been injured in the Dardanelles, to spend the rest of the conflict in a hospital in Cairo. Could that have had its effect on the pregnancy? It certainly had an effect on my future father’s temper.
Five years after the birth of this dead sister came my birth – in a shower of tears, because a daughter was what was hoped for. But there I was, unwanted but determined to make the best of things.
Another five years passed. Once more my mother became pregnant. Ah, but this time I was decidedly in the way, for I had contracted whooping cough. Just supposing, if I gave this vile disease to my dear new baby sister …!
My parents decided they had to get rid of me. One of the assistants in Father’s shop drove me the sixty miles from East Dereham, Norfolk, to Peterborough, Northants. From virtually a village to a vivid and busy city.
Thus, fate showed its hand. Well, both hands.
The Peterborough Wilsons, my mother’s family, were different company from the Aldisses. Wilsons were genial and sociable and kind to little boys. Especially sick little boys; such attributes applied most liberally to my Uncle Bert. He took charge of me. He was an architect and well-occupied, but he cared.
Uncle Bert took me with him to the great arena of the Fens; he was involved in their drainage. So there I stood among all that alien greenery, which stretched to the far horizons. And I thought about it. Indeed, I marvelled.
Uncle Bert took me to the railway station, when the great LNER locomotive flier rocketed through on its journey from London to Edinburgh, shaking the entire edifice, us included, as it hammered past. Wonderful!
Uncle Bert took me to the museum. Yes, of course Peterborough had a museum – wherein Uncle had business. I waited for a while in an outer room. And there I discovered a skeleton, lying under glass. I was just tall enough to see this skeleton in its case. I could walk from one end of it, marvelling, to the other. Never had I come across such a wonder before! Perfect! Not a bone missing.
A little label announced that the skeleton of this plesiosaurus had been discovered in the muds of the River Nene.
I gazed through the windows of the museum. There was the River Nene itself! I cannot say what amazing transactions worked through my brain.
And more wonders were to come.
My dear uncle found that a total eclipse of the Sun was shortly due. He took the trouble to explain to me how eclipses occurred. He drew diagrams. And on the day of the eclipse he drove my granny and me up to Milton Park, outside