Introduction — Stanley Schmidt
When I read a story that makes a really strong impression on me, I tend to remember not only the story, but where I was and what I was doing when I read it. That doesn’t happen for many stories, but it certainly did with the first one I bought from Brad R. Torgersen.
I was sitting in the waiting area in the lobby of a big medical center, where my wife was being interviewed for a job. I had come along to give moral support in case it was needed1, and to do some other errands after her interview. At that time I was the editor of Analog Science Fiction and Fact [magazine] and my work schedule was flexible enough to easily accommodate this kind of thing. I worked mostly at home, so I just took along a briefcase full of manuscripts to read during Joyce’s interview.
These were the last days in which most of our manuscripts came in on paper rather than electronically, so the ones I took to read that day were ones that I was pretty sure I couldn’t just skim, to make sure I could keep busy even if the interview ran long. Mostly that meant they were by old pros who I knew would almost certainly grab my attention and demand a close reading, but there was also one by some guy named Torgersen who I didn’t know at all. All I knew was that I had started to speed-read his story along with a pile of slush2 and found that it wouldn’t let me. I got hooked almost immediately, and put the story aside to read at a time like this, when I needed a small number of manuscripts that I could expect to demand—and reward—my full attention.
“Outbound” lived up to its initial promise, and then some. It’s obviously an after-the-holocaust story and a coming-of-age story, and those are a dime a dozen—but not this kind. This one had enormous scope in a remarkably compact space, but it also dealt intimately with the impact of its enormous drama on real and likable individuals. And, unlike too many post-apocalypse tales, which have little to offer but depression, this one gave reason for hope even under the most adverse of conditions. I don’t remember much about what was going on in the waiting room around me, except that that’s where I was, but I do know that when Joyce emerged from her interview I was able to announce confidently that I’d just made an important discovery.
Analog’s readers agreed, resoundingly voting “Outbound” our best novelette of the year in The Analytical Laboratory, our annual reader poll (often just called “Anlab”). But that was only the beginning. Discoveries like that—finding myself thoroughly captivated by a story by an unknown writer—were the biggest kick I ever got out of editing Analog. But what was even better was when such a writer produced not just one memorable story, but a continuing stream of them.
Brad was like that. In my last couple of years at Analog, I bought several of his stories, and our readers liked them all. There was plenty of diversity in them, and plenty of food for thought. Sometimes military life and religion, which I don’t usually think of as my favorite topics, figured prominently in his tales, and in his hands—perhaps due in part to his personal background—they became thoroughly engaging. What all his stories have in common (or at least a little of it) is riveting portrayal of memorable but “ordinary” people doing extraordinary things under extraordinary circumstances. And he does all of that with admirably rigorous attention to the details of both human nature and hard science. The effect is often rather reminiscent of Robert A. Heinlein, but it is by no means mere imitation of Heinlein.
I was pleased to get several more of his stories, and to have readers coming up to me at conventions and saying, “How can you improve Analog? Publish more Brad Torgersen!” But he was producing more than we had room for, so his stories started appearing in other venues too—and you’ll find samples of them here.
I believe the last story I bought from Brad before retiring from Analog was “Ray of Light”—which happens to be the other “bookend” story in this collection. That one not only did well in the Anlab, but was a finalist for science fiction’s two most prestigious awards: the Nebula (given by the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America) and the Hugo (given by the World Science Fiction Convention). Yet I think what impressed me most was something I saw at the next year’s Worldcon.
Worldcon always includes an art show featuring some of the best work by some of the best science fiction illustrators in the world. One of them, that year, was Bob Eggleton’s original painting for the Analog illustrating “Ray of Light.” It was a magnificent piece of art in its own right, which needed no accompanying commentary to command attention from viewers. But Bob had prominently displayed next to the painting a paragraph about how much he had admired the story that inspired it. Not every artist would do that—and not every story would make the artist want to.
If you look at “Ray of Light” and “Outbound” together, I think you’ll find that not only do they both fit the book’s title very well (though in quite different ways), but they have some other important things in common. I’ll leave it to you to think about what they are. They matter to all of us.
Meanwhile, I notice that “The Chaplain’s Legacy” is in the latest Analog, which recently came in the mail—and that while I haven’t yet read it, Joyce has. She has the best system I’ve ever seen for deciding how to vote in the Anlab: as soon as she reads a story, she gives it a numerical score, and then lets a computer rank them at the end of the year. I see that she gave “The Chaplain’s Legacy” one of her highest possible ratings—so I know I’ll have to read it soon.
But I knew that anyway—and you get to read it, along with all the rest, right here in this book. Enjoy!
1 It wasn’t—she got the job.
2 Unsolicited manuscripts, of which we got so many that most, of necessity, could be given only a quick reading and no detailed feedback.
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