Hugo Awards: The Short Stories (Volume 1) Read online

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  1946

  NOMINEES

  THE WAVERIES

  CORRESPONDANCE COURSE

  The Ethical Equations

  THE ETHICAL EQUATIONS

  WHAT YOU NEED

  WINNER

  UNCOMMON SENSE

  1951

  NOMINEES

  THE GNURRS COME FROM THE VOODVORK OUT

  A SUBWAY NAMED MOBIUS

  COMING ATTRACTION

  BORN OF MAN AND WOMAN

  WINNER

  TO SERVE MAN

  1954

  NOMINEES

  STAR LIGHT, STAR BRIGHT

  IT’S A GOOD LIFE

  THE SEVENTH VICTIM

  A SAUCER OF LONELINESS

  WINNER

  THE NINE BILLION NAMES OF GOD

  1955

  WINNER

  ALLAMAGOOSA

  1956

  WINNER

  THE STAR

  1958

  WINNER

  OR ALL THE SEAS WITH OYSTERS

  1959

  NOMINEES

  THE MEN WHO MURDERED MOHAMMED

  TRIGGERMAN

  THE EDGE OF THE SEA

  THE ADVENT ON CHANNEL TWELVE

  THEORY OF ROCKETRY

  RUMP-TITTY-TITTY-TUM-TAH-TE

  SPACE TO SWING A CAT

  NINE YARDS OF OTHER CLOTH

  WINNER

  THAT HELL-BOUND TRAIN

  1960

  NOMINEES

  THE PI MAN

  THE ALLEY MAN

  THE MAN WHO LOST THE SEA

  WINNER

  FLOWERS FOR ALGERNON

  1961

  NOMINEES

  MY SISTER’S BROTHER

  WINNER

  THE LONGEST VOYAGE

  1963

  NOMINEES

  WHEN YOU CARE, WHEN YOU LOVE

  1964

  NOMINEES

  CODE THREE

  A ROSE FOR ECCLESIASTES

  WINNER

  NO TRUCE WITH KINGS

  1966

  NOMINEES

  THE DOORS OF HIS FACE

  “REPENT, HARLEQUIN!”

  1967

  NOMINEES

  MAN IN HIS TIME

  DELUSION FOR A DRAGON SLAYER

  THE SECRET PLACE

  MISTER JESTER

  LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS

  COMES NOW THE POWER

  WINNER

  NEUTRON STAR

  1968

  NOMINEES

  AYE AND GORMORRAH

  THE JIGSAW MAN

  WINNER

  I HAVE NO MOUTH

  1969

  NOMINEES

  THE DANCE OF THE CHANGER

  MASKS

  ALL THE MYRIAD WAYS

  WINNER

  THE BEAST THAT SHOUTED LOVE

  1970

  NOMINEES

  WINTER’S KING

  NOT LONG BEFORE THE END

  PASSENGERS

  WINNER

  TIME CONSIDERED AS A HELIX OF SEM-PRECIOUS STONES

  1971

  NOMINEES

  BRILLO

  JEAN DUPRES

  CONTINUED ON NEXT ROCK

  IN THE QUEUE

  WINNER

  SLOW SCULPTURE

  1972

  NOMINEES

  THE BEAR WITH THE KNOT IN HIS TAIL

  ALL THE LAST WARS AT ONCE

  SKY

  VASTER THAN EMPIRES AND MORE SLOW

  THE AUTUMN LAND

  WINNER

  INCONSTANT MOON

  1973

  NOMINEES

  WHEN IT CHANGED

  WHEN WE WENT TO SEE THE END OF THE WORLD

  WINNER

  EUREMA’S DAM

  THE MEETING

  1974

  NOMINEES

  WITH MORNING COMES MISTFALL

  WINGS

  CONSTRUCTION SHACK

  WINNER

  THE ONES WHO WALK AWAY

  1975

  NOMINEES

  THE FOUR-HOUR FUGUE

  CATHADONIAN ODYSSEY

  THE DAY BEFORE THE REVOLUTION

  SCHWARTZ BETWEEN THE GALAXIES

  WINNER

  THE HOLE MAN

  1976

  NOMINEES

  DOING LENNON

  ROGUE TOMATO

  SAIL THE TIDE OF MOURNING

  CHILD OF ALL AGES

  WINNER

  CATCH THAT ZEPPELIN!

  1977

  NOMINEES

  A CROWD OF SHADOWS

  WINNER

  TRI-CENTENNIAL

  1978

  NOMINEES

  TIME-SHARING ANGEL

  WINNER

  JEFFTY IS FIVE

  1979

  NOMINEES

  STONE

  COUNT THE CLOCK

  VIEW FROM A HEIGHT

  THE VERYSLOW TIME MACHINE

  WINNER

  CASSANDRA

  1980

  NOMINEES

  giANTS

  UNACCOMPANIED SONATA

  CAN THESE BONES LIVE?

  DAISY IN THE SUN

  WINNER

  THE WAY OF CROSS AND DRAGON

  1981

  NOMINEES

  SPIDERSONG

  OUR LADY OF THE SAUROPODS

  WINNER

  THE GROTTO OF THE DANCING DEER

  1982

  NOMINEES

  THE QUIET

  ABSENT THEE FELICITY AWHILE

  WINNER

  THE PUSHER

  1983

  NOMINEES

  SUR

  SPIDER ROSE

  THE BOY WHO WATERSKIED TO FOREVER

  IKE AT THE MIKE

  WINNER

  MELANCHOLY ELEPHANTS

  1984

  NOMINEES

  THE PEACEMAKER

  THE SERVANT OF THE PEOPLE

  WONG’S LOST AND FOUND EMPORIUM

  WINNER

  SPEECH SOUNDS

  THE WAVERIES

  Frederic Brown

  Definitions from the school-abridged Webster-Hamlin Dictionary 1998 edition:

  wavery (WA-ver-i) n. a vader-slang

  vader (VA-der) n. inorgan of the class Radio

  inorgan (in-OR-gan) n. noncorporeal ens, vader

  radio(RA-di-o) n.

  1. class of inorgans

  2. etheric frequency between light and electricity 3. (obsolete) method of communication used up to 1977

  The opening guns of invasion were not at all loud, although they were heard by millions of people. George Bailey was one of the millions. I choose George Bailey because he was the only one who came within a googol of light-years of guessing what they were.

  George Bailey was drunk and under the circumstances one can't blame him for being so. He was listening to radio advertisements of the most nauseous kind. Not because he wanted to listen to them, I hardly need say, but because he'd been told to listen to them by his boss, J. R. McGee of the MID network.

  George Bailey wrote advertising for the radio. The only thing he hated worse than advertising was radio. And here on his own time he was listening to fulsome and disgusting commercials on a rival network.

  "Bailey," J. R. McGee had said, "you should be more familiar with what others are doing. Particularly, you should be informed about those of our own accounts who use several networks. I strongly suggest . . ."

  One doesn't quarrel with an employer's strong suggestions and keep a five
hundred dollar a week job.

  But one can drink whisky sours while listening. George Bailey did.

  Also, between commercials, he was playing gin rummy with Maisie Hetterman, a cute little redheaded typist from the studio. It was Maisie's apartment and Maisie's radio (George himself, on principle, owned neither a radio nor a TV set) but George had brought the liquor.

  "-only the very finest tobaccos," said the radio, "go dit-dit-dit nation's favorite cigarette-"

  George glanced at the radio. "Marconi," he said.

  He meant Morse, naturally, but the whisky sours had muddled him a bit so his first guess was more nearly right than anyone else's. It was Marconi, in a way. In a very peculiar way.

  "Marconi?" asked Maisie.

  George, who hated to talk against a radio, leaned over and switched it off.

  "I meant Morse," he said. "Morse, as in Boy Scouts or the Signal Corps. I used to be a Boy Scout once."

  "You've sure changed," Maisie said.

  George sighed. "Somebody's going to catch hell, broadcasting code on that wave length."

  "What did it mean?"

  "Mean? Oh, you mean what did it mean. Uh- S, the letter S. Dit-dit-dit is S. SOS is did-dit-dit dah-dah-dah dit-dit-dit."

  "O is dah-dah-dah?"

  George grinned. "Say that again, Maisie. I like it. And I think you are dah-dah-dah too."

  "George, maybe it's really an SOS message. Turn it back on."

  George turned it back on. The tobacco ad was still going. "-gentlemen of the most dit-dit-dit -ing taste prefer the finer taste of dit-dit-dit arettes. In the new package that keeps them dit-dit-dit and ultra fresh-"

  "It's not SOS. It's just S's."

  "Like a teakettle or-say, George, maybe it's just some advertising gag."

  George shook his head. "Not when it can blank out the name of the product. Just a minute till I-"

  He reached over and turned the dial of the radio a bit to the right and then a bit to the left, and an incredulous look came into his face. He turned the dial to the extreme left, as far as it would go. There wasn't any station there, not even the hum of a carrier wave. But:

  "Dit-dit-dit," said the radio, "dit-dit-dit."

  He turned the dial to the extreme right. "Dit-dit-dit." George switched it off and stared at Maisie without seeing her, which was hard to do.

  "Something wrong, George?"

  "I hope so," said George Bailey. "I certainly hope so." He started to reach for another drink and changed his mind. He had a sudden hunch that something big was happening and he wanted to sober up to appreciate it. He didn't have the faintest idea how big it was. "George, what do you mean?"

  "I don't know what I mean. But Maisie, let's take a run down the studio, huh? There ought to be some excitement."

  April 5, 1977; that was the night the waveries came.

  It had started like an ordinary evening. It wasn't one, now.

  George and Maisie waited for a cab but none came so they took the subway instead. Oh yes, the subways were still running in those days. It took them within a block of the MID Network Building.

  The building was a madhouse. George, grinning, strolled through the lobby with Maisie on his arm, took the elevator to the fifth floor and for no reason at all gave the elevator boy a dollar. He'd never before in his life tipped an elevator operator.

  The boy thanked him. "Better stay away from the big shots, Mr. Bailey," he said. "They're ready to chew the ears off anybody who even looks at 'em."

  "Wonderful," said George.

  From the elevator he headed straight for the office of J. R. McGee himself.

  There were strident voices behind the glass door. George reached for the knob and Maisie tried to stop him. "But George," she whispered, "you'll be fired!"

  "There comes a time," said George. "Stand back away from the door, honey."

  Gently but firmly he moved her to a safe position. "But George, what are you-?"

  "Watch," he said.

  The frantic voices stopped as he opened the door a foot. All eyes turned toward him as he stuck his head around the corner of the doorway into the room.

  "Dit-dit-dit," he said. "Dit-dit-dit."

  He ducked back and to the side just in time to escape the flying glass as a paperweight and an inkwell came through the pane of the door.

  He grabbed Maisie and ran for the stairs.

  "Now we get a drink," he told her.

  The bar across the street from the network building was crowded but it was a strangely silent crowd. In deference to the fact that most of its customers were radio people it didn't have a TV set but there was a big cabinet radio and most of the people were bunched around it.

  "Dit," said the radio. "Dit-dah-d'dah-dit-danditdah dit-"

  "Isn't it beautiful?" George whispered to Maisie.

  Somebody fiddled with the dial. Somebody asked, "What band is that?" and somebody said, "Police." Somebody said, "Try the foreign band," and somebody did. "This ought to be Buenos Aires," somebody said. "Dit-d'dah-dit-" said the radio.

  Somebody ran fingers through his hair and said, "Shut that damn thing off." Somebody else turned it back on.

  George grinned and led the way to a back booth where he'd spotted Pete Mulvaney sitting alone with a bottle in front of him. He and Maisie sat across from Pete.

  "Hello," he said gravely.

  "Hell," said Pete, who was head of the technical research staff of MID.

  "A beautiful night, Mulvaney," George said. "Did you see the moon riding the fleecy clouds like a golden galleon tossed upon silver-crested whitecaps in a stormy-"

  "Shut up," said Pete. "I'm thinking."

  "Whisky sours," George told the waiter. He turned back to the man across the table. "Think out loud, so we can hear. But first, how did you escape the booby hatch across the street?"

  "I'm bounced, fired, discharged."

  "Shake hands. And then explain. Did you say dit-dit-dit to them?"

  Pete looked at him with sudden admiration. "Did you?" "I've a witness. What did you do?"

  "Told 'em what I thought it was and they think I'm crazy."

  "Are you?"

  "Yes."

  "Good," said George. "Then we want to hear-" He snapped his fingers. "What about TV?"

  "Same thing. Same sound on audio and the pictures flicker and dim with every dot or dash. Just a blur by now."

  "Wonderful. And now tell me what's wrong. I don't care what it is, as long as it's nothing trivial, but I want to know."

  "I think it's space. Space is warped."

  "Good old space," George Bailey said.

  "George," said Maisie, "please shut up. I want to hear this."

  "Space," said Pete, "is also finite." He poured himself another drink. "You go far enough in any direction and get back where you started. Like an ant crawling around an apple."

  "Make it an orange," George said.

  "All right, an orange. Now suppose the first radio waves ever sent out have just made the round trip. In seventy-six years."

  "Seventy-six years? But I thought radio waves traveled at the same speed as light. If that's right, then in seventy-six years they could go only seventy-six light-years, and that can't be around the universe because there are galaxies known to be millions or maybe billions of light-years away. I don't remember the figures, Pete, but our own galaxy alone is a hell of a lot bigger than seventy-six light-years."

  Pete Mulvaney sighed. "That's why I say space must be warped. There's a short cut somewhere."

  "That short a short cut? Couldn't be."

  "But George, listen to that stuff that's coming in. Can you read code?"

  "Not any more. Not that fast, anyway."

  "Well, I can," Pete said. "That's early American ham. Lingo and all. That's the kind of stuff the air was full of before regular broadcasting. It's the lingo, the abbreviations, the barnyard to attic chitchat of amateurs with keys, with Marconi coherers or Fessenden barreters-and you can listen for a violin solo pretty soon now.
I'll tell you what it'll be."

  "What?"

  "Handel's Largo. The first phonograph record ever broadcast. Sent out by Fessenden from Brant Rock in late 1906. You'll hear his CQ-CQ any minute now. Bet you a drink."

  "Okay, but what was the dit-dit-dit that started this?"

  Mulvaney grinned. "Marconi, George. What was the most powerful signal ever broadcast and by whom and when?"

  "Marconi? Dit-dit-dit? Seventy-six years ago?"

  "Head of the class. The first transatlantic signal on December 12, 1901. For three hours Marconi's big station at Poldhu, with two-hundred-foot masts, sent out an intermittent S, dit-dit-dit, while Marconi and two assistants at St. Johns in Newfoundland got a kite-born aerial four hundred feet in the air and finally got the signal. Across the Atlantic, George, with sparks jumping from the big Leyden jars at Poldhu and 20,000-volt juice jumping off the tremendous aerials-"

  "Wait a minute, Pete, you're off the beam. If that was in 1901 and the first broadcast was about 1906 it'll be five years before the Fessenden stuff gets here on the same route. Even if there's a seventy-six light-year short cut across space and even if those signals didn't get so weak en route that we couldn't hear them-it's crazy."

  "I told you it was," Pete said gloomily. "Why, those signals after traveling that far would be so infinitesimal that for practical purposes they wouldn't exist. Furthermore they're all over the band on everything from microwave on up and equally strong on each. And, as you point out, we've already come almost five years in two hours, which isn't possible. I told you it was crazy."

  "But-"

  "Ssshh. Listen," said Pete.

  A blurred, but unmistakably human voice was coming from the radio, mingling with the cracklings of code. And then music, faint and scratchy, but unmistakably a violin. Playing Handel's Largo.

  Only suddenly it climbed in pitch as though modulating from key to key until it became so horribly shrill that it hurt the ear. And kept on going past the high limit of audibility until they could hear it no more.

  Somebody said, "Shut that God damn thing off." Somebody did, and this time nobody turned it back on.

  Pete said, "I didn't really believe it myself. And there's another thing against it, George. Those signals affect TV too, and radio waves are the wrong length to do that."

  He shook his head slowly. "There must be some other explanation, George. The more I think about it now the more I think I'm wrong."

  He was right: he was wrong.

  "Preposterous," said Mr. Ogilvie. He took off his glasses, frowned fiercely, and put them back on again. He looked through them at the several sheets of copy paper in his hand and tossed them contemptuously to the top of his desk. They slid to rest against the triangular name plate that read: