Short Fiction by Robert Sheckley (interesting novels in english txt) 📕
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Robert Sheckley was one of science fiction’s most prolific short story writers. Though less known today than he was in his heyday, he was a giant of his time and was nominated for the Hugo and Nebula awards.
Even though many of his stories deal with serious topics, they are most widely remembered for their comedic wit. His writing was compared to that of Douglas Adams, who held Sheckley in high regard: “He’s a very, very funny writer. He’s also a stylist. Very few science fiction writers write English well. Robert Sheckley can.” Sheckley was also well-respected by Kingsley Amis who, in his book New Maps of Hell: A Survey of Science Fiction, included Sheckley in a list with Frederik Pohl and Arthur C. Clarke, and said their volumes should “be reviewed as general fiction, not tucked away, as one writer has put it, in something called ‘Spaceman’s Realm’ between the kiddy section and dog stories.”
Sheckley wrote about and pioneered many science fiction concepts, such as in his story “Watchbird,” where he explores the ability to detect murder before it happens—three years before Philip K. Dick’s “The Minority Report.” Or in “Ask a Foolish Question,” a story about an all-knowing Answerer to whom people pose the ultimate question of life—twenty-six years before Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Alongside these two stories, this collection includes all of his public domain short fiction ordered by date of first publication.
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- Author: Robert Sheckley
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“I know all that,” Morrison said. “But I’m telling you, I only need a day or two more—”
“Absolutely impossible. By the rules, we shouldn’t even help you out now. The time to report bankruptcy was a week ago, when your sandcar broke down. Your garage man reported, as required by law. But you didn’t. We would be within our rights to leave you stranded. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, of course,” Morrison said wearily.
“However, the company has decided to stretch a point in your favor. If you turn back immediately, we will keep you supplied with water for the return trip.”
“I’m not turning back yet. I’m almost on the real stuff.”
“You must turn back! Be reasonable, Morrison! Where would we be if we let every prospector wander over the desert while we supplied his water? There’d be ten thousand men out there, and we’d be out of business inside of a year. I’m stretching the rules now. Turn back.”
“No,” said Morrison.
“You’d better think about it. If you don’t turn back now, Public Utility takes no further responsibility for your water supply.”
Morrison nodded. If he went on, he would stand a good chance of dying in the desert. But if he turned back, what then? He would be in Venusborg, penniless and in debt, looking for work in an overcrowded city. He’d sleep in a community shed and eat at a soup kitchen with the other prospectors who had turned back. And how would he be able to raise the fare back to Earth? When would he ever see Janie again?
“I guess I’ll keep on going,” Morrison said.
“Then Public Utility takes no further responsibility for you,” Reade repeated, and hung up.
Morrison packed up his telephone, took a sip from his meager water supply, and went on.
The sandwolves loped along at each side, moving in closer. Overhead, a delta-winged kite found him. It balanced on the updrafts for a day and a night, waiting for the wolves to finish him. Then a flock of small flying scorpions sighted the waiting kite. They drove the big creature upstairs into the cloud bank. For a day the flying reptiles waited. Then they in turn were driven off by a squadron of black kites.
The traces were very rich now, on the fifteenth day since he had left the sandcar. By rights, he should be walking over goldenstone. He should be surrounded by goldenstone. But still he hadn’t found any.
Morrison sat down and shook his last canteen. It gave off no wet sound. He uncapped it and turned it up over his mouth. Two drops trickled down his parched throat.
It was about four days since he had talked to Public Utility. He must have used up the last of his water yesterday. Or had it been the day before?
He recapped the empty canteen and looked around at the heat-blasted landscape. Abruptly he pulled the telephone out of his pack and dialed Max Krandall in Venusborg.
Krandall’s round, worried face swam into focus on the screen. “Tommy,” he said, “you look like hell.”
“I’m all right,” Morrison said. “A little dried out, that’s all. Max, I’m near goldenstone.”
“Are you sure?” Krandall asked.
“See for yourself,” Morrison said, swinging the telephone around. “Look at the stone formations! Do you see the red and purple markings over there?”
“Traces, all right,” Krandall admitted dubiously.
“There’s rich stuff just beyond it,” Morrison said. “There has to be! Look, Max, I know you’re short on money, but I’m going to ask you a favor. Send me a pint of water. Just a pint, so I can go on for another day or two. We can both get rich for the price of a pint of water.”
“I can’t do it,” Krandall said sadly.
“You can’t?”
“That’s right. Tommy, I’d send you water even if there wasn’t anything around you but sandstone and granite. Do you think I’d let you die of thirst if I could help it? But I can’t do a thing. Take a look.”
Krandall rotated his telephone. Morrison saw that the chairs, table, desk, filing cabinet and safe were gone from the office. All that was left in the room was the telephone.
“I don’t know why they haven’t taken out the phone,” Krandall said. “I owe two months on my bill.”
“I do too,” said Morrison.
“I’m stripped,” Krandall said. “I haven’t got a dime. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not worried about myself. I can always eat at a soup kitchen. But I can’t ’port you any water. Not you or Remstaater.”
“Jim Remstaater?”
“Yeah. He was following a trace up north past Forgotten River. His sandcar broke an axle last week and he wouldn’t turn back. His water ran out yesterday.”
“I’d bail him out if I could,” said Morrison.
“And he’d bail you out if he could,” Krandall said. “But he can’t and you can’t and I can’t. Tommy, you have only one hope.”
“What’s that?”
“Find goldenstone. Not just traces, find the real thing worth real money. Then phone me. If you really have goldenstone, I’ll bring in Wilkes from Tri-Planet Mining and get him to advance us some money. He’ll probably want fifty percent of the claim.”
“That’s plain robbery!”
“No, it’s just the high cost of credit on Venus,” Krandall answered. “Don’t worry, there’ll still be plenty left over. But you have to find goldenstone first.”
“OK,” Morrison said. “It should be around here somewhere. Max, what’s today’s date?”
“July thirty-first. Why?”
“Just wondering. I’ll call you when I’ve found something.”
After hanging up, Morrison sat on a little boulder and stared dully at the sand. July thirty-first. Tomorrow
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