jankp's Full Review: A. E. Van Vogt, A.E. Van Vogt, Bob E. Flick - Slan
Author's Note--Dr. Freudine is a fictional psychiatrist. You can find all Dr. Freudine installments on profile page. When the story left off, the doctor escaped a maniacal Irish at a bar to use the restroom.
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I am deep in thought as I come out of the women's bathroom, but suddenly a "Yoo hoo, Doc!" yanks me back into the world. I follow the voice and groan. I'm being flagged down by none other than Jan sitting at the bar of The Cat and the Fiddle. There's no way to ignore her as she waves a red napkin and gestures to the empty barstool next to her. Hopefully I glance towards the back where girls have surrounded Irish, then sigh and join her.
"Are you stalking me?" I ask, unsmiling and refusing to sit. Jan opens her brown eyes wide and sputters with laughter.
"Take it easy, Doc. I'm going to be honest with you about who I am, okay? Have a seat."
I consider her while she pushes a pulp science fiction novel over to me. What the heck...? Slan by A.E. Van Vogt, "a recognized giant of Campbell's golden age." I sit and open it up as Jan calls over the hunky bartender straight out of Playgirl. Impulsively I order a Long Island Ice Tea, heavy on the ice, and Jan whistles. She orders tomato juice with a celery stick, then begins.
"A.E. Van Vogt was my grandfather on my birthmother's side and an actual slan, though he presents the slan race as fiction. I was adopted then by human beings when my family was forced into hiding underground." She pauses as if overwhelmed by the thought. "A slan, as described in the book, is a mutated form of human being capable of enormous strength and endurance, can read minds and live at least one hundred and fifty years, but that was back in the '40s while today it's more like two hundred..."
Dropping the book, I throw my head into my hands and shake it. Irish and her really are working together to freak me out, not just tonight with their alien stories, but all along. I raise my head as the drinks arrive and immediately Jan pays for both. I couldn't leave now.
"Okay, I'll bite. Tell me about the story."
"Be glad to! Enjoy your drink. It starts off with a nine-year-old slan boy and his slan mother trying to enter the city for the boy's education, but they are recognized by their tendrils escaping their hats, I think. Tendrils are like antennae for mind-reading. I have them, too, but learned how to glue them down as many of them do in the book."
"Uh huh," I mumble and sip my drink cautiously as she shows me the slightly irregular scalp on both sides of her head.
"Well, the boy is told to run fast and escape, but the mother dies. His father has already been killed so the boy, Jommy Cross, searches frantically for a place to live undetected. He finds it with "Granny," who wants to use him as a thief. He endures her for six years until at fifteen he's allowed to open up a secret box of his dad's scientific discoveries. His dad left him a powerful gadget for protection and right away Jommy uses it against three cops, but he doesn't like killing and won't do it again. True slans are all like that."
"Well, that's good to know," I joke and hiccup. The tea is not really my kind of drink, but I do feel more agreeable to listening to more, shall we say, crap? "I can predict that this slan boy will find a way to conquer humans with mind control and finally a pretty slan girl to make slan babies, right?"
Jan gets excited. "Nosiree, doc! Slans are waiting for humans to die out like Cro-Magnon man and the rest. It's only a matter of time. Already sterility is growing with each year, quickened by human beings' poor diet, lifestyle and overpopulation measures. In the book Jommy discovers a war between true slans and tendrilless slans who can't read minds and don't trust true slans. I think Irish might be one, Doc, because I'm unable to read his mind most of the time. His mind shield is solid except when he drinks."
I burst out laughing. This is getting ridiculous!
With a little pout, the 'slan' glares as I smile at her. "Hey, my grandfather's story may be made up for extra excitement--going to Mars, tunneling underground for two miles, the goofy physics (or are concentrated atoms stronger than diffused ones?) and bringing the dead slan back to life through replacement surgery--but how can you laugh off the suggestion that your race will die out as others before it?"
"I wasn't. It was what you said about Irish..." Suddenly there's a tap on my shoulder. I turn my neck to encounter the man himself, grinning to show the world how many teeth he has. My face falls, becoming even hotter.
"Talking about me, ladies?" Then he spots the book and stares, then picks it up gently. "Wow, I loved this as a kid. So did all my buds. Slan is simply the granddaddy of science fiction novels, the most important one in the forties and fifties at least. I wanted to be Jommy Cross so bad, brave, quick-thinking, a risk-taker, compassionate...I didn't like the Kathleen parts, she was the slan girl, and was thrilled when the secret police..." He breaks off when Jan shushes him.
"Doc still hasn't read it, so don't spoil it for her, okay?"
He eyes me. "Oh, you'll be fascinated with their mind-reading ability and how real Van Vogt makes his futuristic world. So detailed, full of emotion and action. There were a couple of flaws with the ending..."
"Did you expect Joanna Hillory, too?" Jan asks. I wonder if she read his mind, hehe.
"Yeah, she, a tendrilless slan, was supposed to betray her misguided race and help Jommy return to Earth and save...um, someone, then she's never spoken of again. Still it's full of original ideas and you'll have fun with it. It's a no-brainer! Well, it makes you think, too. Whatever. Just give it to me when you're done."
"Sure thing, Irish. Can you drive? I'ma rarin' ta go," I slur my words and laugh.
He notes the remnants of my Long Island Ice Tea being taken away by the bartender, pockets the book and steadies me as I hop off the stool. "I can see you are, Doc. Let's go. 'Night, slan." I gasp. Surely I misheard with my ears all abuzz. Of course I did...
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