It was a beautiful
spring semester at Marshall University when I signed up for “The
Literature of Science Fiction.” At the time, I didn't really read
much science fiction, being more of a high fantasy buff myself, but
I decided it might be time to see what all the fuss about. So the Rev.
Brian Worley and I took this class, and I read the stories and was amazed
(both by the stories themselves, and by our professors seeming inability
to accurately recall any of them, even after teaching the class for
over a decade). Science fiction was beautiful and powerful and funny,
and the short story seemed practically invented for its dispositions.
I spent more time drawing Spider-man's head (in the same pose, because
you've got to go with what you know) and ignoring rants about the second
gas tank on ancient Volkswagens than actually studying science fiction
and … what's that? You have a question already?
What is
an Atomjack? Well, aside from being a new science fiction magazine,
that is? That was going to be my big finish, but I guess now's as good
a time as any.
The
year is 1942. (Imagine a silver screen showing that stock footage of
the bombs dropping, and the voice of the 1942 newsreel narrator.) Brazil
has just declared war on Germany and Italy. Francisco France fires his
foreign minister, Serrano Súñer. An attempt by the Germans
to liquidate the Jewish ghetto in Lakhva leads to an uprising. The RMS
Laconia, carrying Allied soldiers, Italian POWs and civilians, is torpedoed
off the coast of West Africa and sinks. The Americans have committed
themselves fully to the world war they tried so hard to stay out of.
And in the midst of all this dramatic turmoil, a magazine named Astounding
Science Fiction is published with a novella by Lester Del Rey.
Its name is
“Nerves.” It's the story of an American scientist named Jorgensen
racing against time to stop his atomic plant from melt-down and the
subsequent destruction of half the continent. (There are husky, barrel-chested
men walking around in the background, whose job description is “splitting
the atom.” They are, of course, called atomjacks.) I read this
story in a class with a professor who insisted on calling skimmers "skippers,"
and insisted that he was right when I tried to correct him on details
(because I'm always right.) He was... an inadequate professor, to put
it nicely, and I was glad when I walked away from the final exam in
that class because I'd never have to see him again. But despite being...
inadequate, he had damned good taste when it came to science fiction,
and like a hunched figure holding the switch (getting brain juice all
over the controls), he brought my love of good sci-fi to life (as well
as giving me a second gas tank.)
But wait...
“Nerves” was written in 1942? (Our professor might've mentioned
this, but I'm sure that only melted into a lecture about the time he
went on a camping trip with his wife and his dog got sick and....) 1942
is only four years after the first successful experiment with nuclear
fission. The magazine itself came out three months before the first
self-sustaining nuclear chain reaction. This is three years before the
devastating atomic drops on Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Nine years before
the first successful nuclear reactor. Twelve years before the first
commercial use of nuclear power. Thirty-seven years before the accident
at Three-Mile-Island, and forty-four years before the first true nuclear
meltdown in the history of mankind. (It's also sixty-four years before
the publication of a science fiction magazine named after the aforementioned
big, burly laborers.)
Science fiction
has done many things, been many things, and one of the most notable,
the most exceptional things it has been, is prophetic. There was a story
written before we ever sent a satellite into space describing a journey
to the moon. There was a story written that described the concept of
radar when the airplane was still a fledgling newborn. The list goes
on and on. There have been stories about what Mars will be like. What
first contact will be like. What mankind will evolve into, where our
journeys will take us, the soil we will imprint with our boots; these
stories have been written and are being written as you read this. That
professor said once that good science fiction stopped being written
in the sixties. I disagree, and I think this magazine will be my argument.
With that,
I want to introduce you to the first issue of Atomjack, created only
three years after I began reading science fiction (and composing e-mails
to StrongBad for an hour three days a week.) I hope that some of the stories here
will prove as long-lasting and powerful as the ones written by the masters
and their disciples. Perhaps, we are even fostering some of the next
masters here. This issue has some great stories and great artwork, and
I hope you will enjoy it as much as I have.
Can I return
now to my personal anecdote that was supposed to introduce this? I've
got some more jokes about that professor lined up. What do you mean
the introduction's already way too long? Fine... let's just get started.
