Grumbles From the Grave

CHAPTER XV

*'

ECHOES FROM STRANGER

EDITOR 's NOTE: Putnam 's sales on Stranger were not very Hood during the first year after publication. It went immediately into the book club edition, a two-year contract, and there was a second two-year book club contract. In the second year following publication, it was out in a paperback edition from Avon. Sales went from humdrum to medium to spectacular. This book turned out to be a "sleeper. " Only word-of-mouth advertising could have accounted for this. At this time, it has been in trade edition for many years, still selling enough copies to make it worthwhile for the publisher to keep it in print. And it still \flls merrily in the paperback edition, which is now with 4

October 9, 1966: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame

Herewith is -- 's letter to you re dramatizing Stranger. I have no idea what is proper and reasonable in this matter and will continue to leave it entirely up to your judgment. But I'm beginning to think that additional rights to Stranger, such as stage, TV, and movies, might someday be worth something-possibly through Ned Brown, possibly through other channels. The fan mail on this book has been steadily increasing instead of decreasing and it clearly is enjoying quite a lot of word-of-mouth advertising. I recently learned that it was considered the "New Testament" -- and compulsory reading-of a far-out cult called "Kerista." (Kee-mf!) I don't know exactly what "Kerista" is, but its L.A. chapter offered me a $100 fee to speak. (I turned them down.) And just this past week I was amazed to discover a full-page and very laudatory review of Stranger in (swelp me!) a slick nudist magazine-with the review featured on the cover...And there is an organization in the mountain states called "Serendipity, Inc.," which has as its serious purpose the granting of scholarships-but which has taken over "water sharing" and other phrases from the book as lodge slogans, sorta. Or something. And there is this new magazine of criticism, GROK-l have not seen it yet but it is advertised in the Village Voice. And almost daily I am getting letters from people who insist on looking at me as some sort of a spiritual adviser. (I fight shy of them!) All in all, the ripples are spreading amazingly-and Cady may be right in thinking that the book could be exploited in other media. (I'll settle for cash at the bedside; I want no part of the cults.)

November 6, 1966: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame

I think I mentioned to you that the Esalen Institute wants me to lead a seminar late in June on "Religion in the Space Age," along with Alan Watts, the Zen Buddhist writer, and an Episcopalian priest. It takes just one weekend, and the place (Big Sur) is near here, and the fee ($500) is satisfactory. Nevertheless I probably will not accept, as I do not see how I could take part without mortally offending both the priest and the Zen Buddhist. I'll negotiate it directly by telephone to the director, as I am reluctant to state my real misgivings bluntly in a letter.

December 22, 1966: Lurton Blassingame to Virginia Heinlein

...and to receive the Grok buttons. Might be news release to give additional stimulus to book.

April 15, 1967: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame

More about Stranger --

My brother Rex queried the shopkeeper from whom he had purchased several sorts of Stranger buttons, was told: "There are about a dozen different suppliers." He went on to say that one of them was a girl who was working her way through college making these buttons (no doubt other sorts than Stranger buttons).

This afternoon (now Sunday evening) a sculptor, -- of Los Gatos, called on us-to. show us a figure he had just completed in bronze of the death of the Martian named Smith. He asked permission to bring it over at once as he was taking it to his agent in San Francisco in negotiating a commission for an heroic-size crucifixion job for a church. ( -- is a successful sculptor, not a starving artist.) But [he] wanted me to see it first.

A young woman who came with him asked me where I had gotten the word grok -- no, she had not read the book, had not been able to lay hands on a copy [my emphasis added]...but that she knew what it meant as "everybody uses it now."

January 26, 1967: Lurton Blassingame to Robert A. Heinlein Checking on Grok magazine.

February 28, 1967: Lurton Blassingame to Robert A. Heinlein

In the 2/19 issue of the New York Times Book Review, there is an article you may want to see -- "Where the Action Is." It mention(s) Stranger and Grok. Reference seems responsible for stirring Hollywood interest. Another call asking if Stranger rights available.

March 14, 1967: Lurton Blassingame to Robert A. Heinlein Have two issues of Grok.

April 28, 1968: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame

I enclose a clipping sent to me from Toronto-please return for my Stranger file. "Fair Use" of course-but that book must have made a wide impression if a telephone company in Canada makes this use of a neologism from it. (And when I think how Putnam continues to refuse to reissue a hardcover of it, I get so annoyed I need a Miltown. Damn it, they should at least arrange a Grosset and Dunlap reprint; I get regular inquiries about where to buy it in hardcover. He's missing a lot of library sales, too.)

May 23, 1968: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame

Since I sent you that Canadian telephone ad I have run into three more uses of grok-one in a short story in Playboy, simply as a part of dialog with no explanation, same for a poem, and a report of a shop in Florida: "We Grok Bookshop." Oh, well, while it doesn't pay royalties, it does interest me to see this neologism spread. But the darnedest thing so far is an announcement in the UCLA Daily Bruin concerning "Experimental College Classes-Spring 1968" with one course billed as "J. D. Salinger, Robt. Heinlein, Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Other Personal Gurus -- "!!! And I'm such a square I don't even know who the third guru is. Nor does Ginny. However, I'm new to the guru business.

January 23, 1967: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame

Did I tell you that [Dr.] Jack Williamson is using Stranger as a study text in his class in SF at U of E. New Mexico? Quote: "I'm launching new courses in linguistics and modern grammar and another in the factual literature of science...(in my SF class) and we are now reading Stranger in a Strange Land. I was a little afraid lhat some of my students might not be sufficiently sophisticated for it, but the response so far is good-some class members feel that it is more successful than Huxley's Brave New World, which we have just finished."

Did I mention in some other letter that Stanford now offers a course in SF? Apparently SF is beginning to be accepted as a respectable genre of serious literature. It is u pleasant feeling-but I have to keep reminding myself that seeing my name in print is nothing; it is seeing it on a check that counts. It is still the clown business; the object is to entertain the cash customer-I shall simply have to try harder than ever.

February 3, 1967: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame

Did I give you the impression that the principal interest in Stranger was from teenagers? It may be, but I hope not and do not think so. I might be forced to drink hemlock for "teaching that the worse is the better part and corrupting the youth of the land." Stranger is definitely an adult book, and the comments in it on both sex and religion are such that I think it would be imprudent to attempt any sort of publicity which attempts to tie this book with teenagers.

Lurton, I myself am not the least afraid of corrupting the teenagers of this country; it can't be done. They are far more sophisticated, as a group, than are their parents. They take up in junior high school smoking, drinking, fellatio, cunnilingus, and soixante-neuf, and move on to coition, marijuana, and goof balls during senior high school, then get the Pill and join the New Left when they enter college-or at the very least are exposed to these things at these ages and sometimes earlier. Plus LSD and other drugs if they wish. Shock them or corrupt them -- impossible! If they refrain, it is voluntary, not because they haven't been exposed.

But their parents rarely know this-parents are always certain that it is the wild, beat crowd on the other side of town, not their little darlings! So, while I do not think Stranger can corrupt any reader, no matter how young-on the contrary I think it is a highly moral book-I think also that it would be impolitic to exploit it as a book for teenagers.

November 17, 1967: Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame

I finally heard from the University of Wisconsin...This was the bid I heard about through -- and concerning which I phoned you. I am about to turn it down-regretfully, since Oshkosh is so close by. But what they want me to do is lecture about Stfanger in a Strange Land. I decided years ago never to discuss my own works on a platform...and I think the pragmatic reasons behind this decision apply especially strongly to Stranger. A writer looks pretty durn silly "explaining" his stories. He said what he had to say in the ms. -- or should have. Stranger is a fairy tale; if it amuses the reader, he has received what he paid for. If he gets something more out of it, that's a free bonus. But I'm durned if I'll "explain" it.

(I wonder if John Barth ever "explains" Giles Goat Boy? If he does, I'll bet he has his forked tongue in both cheeks and intentionally leaves the listener more bemused than ever. I was much impressed and enormously amused by Giles, and now I want to obtain and read and keep all his other fictional works-now that I can afford things other than building materials. On the other hand, Earth's fiction is not for Ginny; she lives life in simple declarative sentences with no veiled allusions, and she wants her fiction the same way.)

I am turning down the bid from Cornell; I turned down one yesterday from U of California; and I am turning down as they come in numerous lesser bids mostly from high schools here and there. Quite aside from the nuisance of speaking in public, this is not a year when I want to cope extemporaneously with the questions period which usually follows a platform talk-undeclared wars, race riots, the drop-out generation, etc., are all matters I prefer not to deal with orally and in public; I find these matters extremely complex and am not sure of the wisdom of my opinions.

But I did find it expedient to accept an invitation for March 30 for the Monterey Bay Area Libraries Book Festival; librarians are a special category. I feel that I have lo do it once, for the local libraries-then next time I can point out that I already have, and sorry, but this year I'm tied up. I waived their fee, however, as I prefer doing it free to accepting a small fee ($50) -- so that I can continue lo tell others that sure, I speak in public-but I'm a pro and my fees are horrendously high.

January 7, 1970: Virginia Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame

Some weeks ago, a fan letter came in from the jail in Independence, California. In a burst of generosity, Robert tried to do something about this girl who'd written him. It turned out that she was one of the Manson family. So if we're knifed in our beds like Sharon Tate, it's because of three letters from members of the family. Just tell the police. I'm leaving these notices everywhere I can, in hopes of preventing anything from happening.

PLAYBOY INTERVIEW

January 16, 1970: Virginia Heinlein and Robert A. Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame

Will you also please tell Mr. [Hugh] Hefner that the only reason Robert agreed to be interviewed was not publicity for himself, but the offer of a forum to boost the space program. Publication of this interview in an early issue might have helped. As it is, the space program is in ruins, and Hefner is attempting to make something of what might have been by the use of Stranger and the Manson case. We will not go along with this. He has not bought himself a tame rabbit by that contribution to the Ed White Memorial Fund. He can take his [magazine] and stuff it, having first folded it until it is all corners. Under no condition will we make any public statement about the Manson case and Stranger. We consider Mr. Hefner's suggestion very much out of line and an invasion of our privacy. It is not a matter of reluctance to discuss Robert's work, but a downright refusal to do so, which has been a policy of his for a very long time.

November 10, 1970: Virginia Heinlein to Lurton Blassingame

Believe this if you can-Stranger is on the Women's Lib reading list!

May 4, 1971: Lurton Blassingame to Virginia Heinlein

Doesn't think anything can be done about the Valentine Smith company. Wishes they would put their letterhead and all press releases that they're using name "from the character created by Robert A. Heinlein in Stranger in a Strange Land."

EDITOR'S NOTE: In 1971, a fan group that based many of its philosophies on Stranger in a Strange Land wrote to Heinlein asking permission to use material from the book. Permission was not granted. Later, a member of that group wrote to Heinlein asking why he was unsympathetic to its aims. Here is his reply.

January 20, 1972: Robert A. Heinlein to a Reader Facts:

1. The last time I was present at any organized SF fandom meeting was at Seattle in 1961 plus a very brief appearance at Chicago in 1962 to accept the Hugo for Stranger-brief because I showed up at the last minute, having been busy at NASA Houston on some writing for the Gemini program. Stranger was published in 1961. If Ihcre were any "nests" or such by Labor Day 1962, I was unaware of them. My contact with organized fandom Rlncc that day has been zero.

2. Before 1962 my contact with organized fandom was llighl I went several times to meetings of the LASFS [Los Angeles Science Fiction Society] in 1939-40 and went to the convention in 1940 or '41. Check: 1941, at Denver, as I recall now that I was in the east at that time in 1940. After 1940 the next contact that I recall was (I believe) in 1958 -- a meeting in

Newark-then again at Chicago in 1960, to receive a Hugo. I think that sums up the total of my contacts with organized fandom, although I may have forgotten some casual appearance, as the period spans thirty-three years and I kept no records on it. But I am certain that my last appearance at a meeting was ten years ago.

3. Contacts with individuals, fans of SF who may or may not have been part of organized fandom: There have been many of these, by letter, in my home, in other people's homes, or elsewhere. There have been more fan contacts in the past than in recent years, because of pressure of work and loss of time caused by illness. In many cases I do not know whether a stranger I have met (in person or by letter.) is or is not a member of organized fandom. In some cases I've learned it later (too late!) through learning that a private letter of mine has been published in one of those fan magazines, or have found that casual, social remarks have been treated, without my consent or review, as an "interview" and published in a garbled form...

4. As a result of the above we have become somewhat more cautious in recent years in our social contacts and in the letters we write, especially as the pressure from strangers has become much greater. I have to live behind a locked gate and with an unlisted phone to get any work done at all-and this is a hell of a note as my wife and I are by nature quite gregarious and social. Mrs. Heinlein usually answers and signs all of the mail, which tends to discourage the incipient "pen pals" who would, if allowed, take up all my time and leave none for writing. A rare exception, such as your letter, I answer myself. We necessarily find our social life among people who don't read science fiction.

5. All of the above adds up to this: There are very, very few people in organized fandom who know anything at all about me in the sense of knowing me personally or in being privy to my private opinions, tastes, or habits. My published works are widespread and anyone can read them. The public facts about my life are in several reference books in most public libraries. But a member of science fiction fandom is most unlikely to know any more about me than you do, and if he claims otherwise, he is almost certainly talking through his hat.

6. But I am repeatedly amazed at the number of people who claim to be "experts" on me. (One of them even wrote an entire book about me. I have never met him in my life.)

7. I have never expressed "antagonism" or hostility to "nests" or "water-brotherhoods." This is sheer fabrication. I would like to throw such a lie into the teeth of anyone saying so, if I knew who he was.

8. On the contrary, a number of "nests" have indeed gotten into contact with me. I have treated them with politeness. I have standing invitations to visit them. I think I am on good terms with every such organization which has taken the trouble to get into touch with me. If you have any specific data to the contrary, I would like lo hear it, in detail. (But I have no way to deal with malicious allegations from faceless, nameless strangers.)

Stranger. It is a work of fiction in parable form. It is not a "put-on" unless you choose to classify every work of fiction as such. Who are these persons who allege this?

I would like an opportunity to face up to one or more of ihcm...as this allegation has come back to me often enough to cause me to think that someone has been prcading it systematically and possibly with malice. But lie allegation always reaches me at least secondhand and

'•ever with the name of the person. Will you tell me where nu got this allegation? I would like to track down this

'Scarlet Pimpernel" and get him to hold still long nbugh to ask him what he is up to and why.

Now, for some background on Stranger and my stories in general: I write for the following reasons --

1. To support myself and my family;

2. To entertain my readers;

3. And, if possible, to cause my readers to think. The first two of these reasons are indispensable, and dilute, together, a commonplace market transaction.

I have always had to work for a living, for myself and now for my dependents, and I come from a poor, country family-root, hog, or die. I have worked at many things, but I discovered, somewhat by accident, that I could produce a salable commodity-entertainment in the form of fiction. I don't know why I have this talent; no other membef of my family or relatives seems to have it. But I got into it for a reason that many writers have-it was what I could do at the time, i.e., I have been ill for long periods throughout my life, and writing is something a person can do when he is not physically able to take a 9-to-5 job. (Someday I would like to find time to do an essay on this. The cases range from blind Homer to consumptive R. L. Stevenson and are much more numerous than English professors seem to be aware of.)

But if a writer does not entertain his readers, all he is producing is paper dirty on one side. I must always bear in mind that my prospective reader could spend his recreation money on beer rather than on my stories; I have to be aware every minute that I am competing for beer money-and that the customer does not have to buy. If I produced, let us say, potatoes or beef, I could be sure that my product had some value in the market. But a story that the customers do not enjoy reading is worth nothing.

So, when anyone asks me why I write, if it is a quick answer, standing up, I simply say, "For money." Any other short answer is dishonest-and any writer who forgets that his prime purpose is to wangle, say 95 cents out of a customer who need not buy at all simply does not get published. He is not a writer; he just thinks he is.

(Oh, surely, one hears a lot of crap about "art" and "self-expression," and "duty to mankind" -- but when it comes down to the crunch, there your book is, on the newsstands, along with hundreds of others with just as pretty covers-and the customer does not have to buy. If a writer fails to entertain, he fails to put food on the table-and there is no unemployment insurance for freelance writers.)

(Even a wealthy writer has this necessity to be entertaining. Oh, he could indulge in vanity publication at his own expense-but who reads a vanity publication? One's mother, maybe.)

That covers the first two reasons: I write for money because I have a household to support and in order to earn that money I must entertain the reader.

The third reason is more complex. A writer can afford to indulge in it only if he clears the first two hurdles. I have written almost every sort of thing-filler paragraphs, motion picture and TV scripts, poetry, technical reports, popular journalistic nonfiction, detective stories, love stories, adventure stories, etc. -- and I have been paid for 99% of what I have written.

But most of the categories above bored me. I had enough skill to make them pay but I really did not enjoy the work. I found that what Idid enjoy and did best was speculative fiction. I do not think that this is just a happy coincidence; I suspect that, with most people, the work they do best is the work they enjoy.

By the time I wrote Stranger I had enough skill in how to entertain a reader and a solid enough commercial market to risk taking a flyer, a fantasy speculation a bit farther out than I had usually done in the past. My agent was not sure of it, neither was my wife, nor my publisher, but I felt sure that I would sell at least well enough that the publisher would not lose money on it-would "make his nut."

I was right; it did catch hold. Its entertainment values were sufficient to carry the parable, even if it was read Mrictly for entertainment.

But I thought that the parables in it would take hold, lot), at least for some readers. They did. Some readers (many, I would say) have told me that they have read this fantasy three, four, five or more times-in which case, it can't be the story line; there is no element of surprise left in the story line in a work of fiction read over and over again; it has to be something more.

Well, what was I trying to say in it?

I was asking questions.

I was not giving answers. I was trying to shake the reader loose from some preconceptions and induce him to think for himself, along new and fresh lines. In consequence, each reader gets something different out of that book because he himself supplies the answers.

If I managed to shake him loose from some prejudice, preconception, or unexamined assumption, that was all I intended to do. A rational human being does not need answers, spoon-fed to him on "faith"; he needs questions to worry over-serious ones. The quality of the answers then depends on him...and he may revise those answers several times in the course of a long life, (hopefully) getting a little closer to the truth each time. But I would never undertake to be a "Prophet," handing out neatly packaged answers to lazy minds.

(For some of the more important unanswered questions in Stranger see chapter 33, especially page 344 of the hardcover, the paragraph starting: "All names belong in the hat, Ben.")

Starship Troopers is loaded with unanswered questions, too. Many people rejected that book with a cliche --"fascist," or "militaristic." They can't read or won't read; it is neither. It is a dead serious (but incomplete) inquiry into why men fight. Since men do fight, it is a question well worth asking.

My latest book, / Will Fear No Evil, is even more loaded with serious, unanswered questions-perhaps too laden; the story line sags a little. But the questions are dead serious-because, if they remain unanswered, we wind up dead. It does not affect me personally too much, at least not in this life, as I will probably be dead before the present trends converge in major catastrophe. Nevertheless, I worry about them. I think we are in a real bind...and that the answers are not to be found in simplistic "nature communes," nor in "Zero Population Growth," which does not embrace the entire globe.

There may be no answers fully satisfactory...and even incomplete answers will be very difficult.

I find that I have written an essay to myself rather than a letter. Forgive me-perhaps I have reached the age at which one maunders. But I hope I have convinced you that Stranger is dead serious...as questions. Serious, nontrivial questions, on which a man might spend a lifetime. (And I almost have.)

But anyone who takes that book as answers is cheating himself. It is an invitation to think-not to believe. Anyone who takes it as a license to screw as he pleases is taking a risk; Mrs. Grundy is not dead. Or any other sharp affront to the contemporary culture done publicly-there are stern warnings in it about the dangers involved. Certainly "Do as thou wilt is the whole of the Law" is correct when looked at properly-in fact, it is a law of nature, not an injunction, nor a permission. But it is necessary to remember that it applies to everyone -- including lynch mobs. The Universe is what it is, and it never forgives mistakes-not even ignorant ones...

AFTERWORD

Before the cut version of / Will Fear No Evil was ready for publication, Robert was taken ill. For two years he was laid up with various illnesses and operations. At last, in 1972, he was well enough and very eager to begin writing again.

His next book was Time Enough for Love.

In addition to changes in the times and customs, Robert now had a reputation that allowed him to do such books as he preferred to do. It is possible that, at least in part, Stranger had had some effects upon the sexual revolution of the sixties and seventies. It was in tune with the moods of the times. So his publishers did not object to the length of Time Enough for Love, and one thing I found curious-there was no objection at all to the incest scenes. Not even reviewers mentioned it.

The following two years were mostly taken up with study of advances in physical and biological sciences. How could one write science fiction without keeping up with what was being discovered in those fields? These studies were undertaken for two articles for the Britan-nica Compton Yearbook: "Dirac, Antimatter and You," and "Are you a 'Rare Blood.' "

Another serious illness occurred in 1978. Following hi" recuperation from that, Robert went to his computer •nd wrote The Number of the Beast. Aside from a very few flags on the copy-edited manuscript, he was asked to cut by 2,000 words (!) out of an estimated 200,000 worth. That was, of course, an easy task.

Expanded Universe followed, at the behest of James Baen. To our surprise, this book generated far more mail than any other book Robert had ever written. For two years, I was tied to the computer answering the fan mail which resulted from its publication.

In 1981, at seventy-four years of age, Robert decided that he would no longer do any of the special little tasks which being a well-known writer entails: no more speeches (even to librarians), no more appearances at conventions-his health would not permit the pressure. He would simply write the books he wanted to write.

So he wrote Friday, then Job, The Cat Who Walks through Walls, and his final book, To Sail Beyond the Sunset. Each of these books differed from anything he had previously done, and some displayed new techniques he had been inventing.

To Sail was published on Robert's 80th birthday in 1987, by special arrangement with his publisher. The only further item Robert wrote was the foreword for Ted Sturgeon's novel Godbody. While contract negotiations for To Sail were still going on, Robert came down with what was to be his final illness. For almost two years, he hovered between illness and frail health, but finally succumbed on May 8, 1988.

APPENDICES

APPENDIX A

CUTS IN Red Planet

[Alice Dalgliesh, the editor at Scribner's, objected to anything that might be construed as having some sexual connotations and also to the use of guns by youngsters, as well as other matters. As a result, Heinlein was forced to make a number of cuts in his original manuscript. Some of these are shown here. Chapter and paragraph numbers refer to Red Planet as originally published.]

Between Chapter II, paragraph 13 and Chapter II, middle of paragraph 23:

The second generation trooped out. Phyllis said, "Take the charges out of your gun, Jimmy, and let me practice with it."

"You're too young for a gun."

"Pooh! I can outshoot you." This was very nearly true and not to be borne; Phyllis was two years younger than Jim and female besides.

"Girls are just target shooters. If you saw a water-nccker, you'd scream."

"I would, huh? We'll go hunting together and I'll bet you two credits that I score first."

"You haven't got two credits."

"I have, too."

"Then how was it you couldn't lend me a half credit yentcrday?"

Phyllis changed the subject. Jim hung up his weapon in his cupboard and locked it. Presently they were back in the living room, to find that their father was home and dinner ready.

Phyllis waited for a lull in grown-up talk to say, "Daddy?"

"Yes, Puddin'? What is it?"

"Isn't it about time I had a pistol of my own?"

"Eh? Plenty of time for that later. You keep up your target practice."

"But, look, Daddy-Jim's going away and that means that Ollie can't ever go outside unless you or mother have time to take him. If I had a gun, I could help out."

Mr. Marlowe wrinkled his brow. "You've got a point. You've passed all your tests, haven't you?"

"You know I have!"

"What do you think, my dear? Shall we take Phyllis down to city hall and see if they will license her?"

Before Mrs. Marlowe could answer Doctor MacRae muttered something into his plate. The remark was forceful and probably not polite.

"Eh? What did you say, Doctor?"

"I said," answered MacRae, "that I was going to move to another planet. At least that's what I meant."

"Why? What's wrong with this one? In another twenty years we'll have it fixed up good as new. You'll be able to walk outside without a mask."

"Sir, it is not the natural limitations of this globe that I object to; it is the pantywaist nincompoops who rule it -- These ridiculous regulations offend me. That a free citizen should have to go before a committee, hat in hand, and pray for permission to bear arms-fantastic! Arm your daughter, sir, and pay no attention to petty bureaucrats."

Jim's father stirred his coffee. "I'm tempted to. I really don't know why the Company set up such rules in the first place."

"Pure copy-cattism. The swarming beehives back on

Earth have similar childish rules; the fat clerks that decide these things cannot imagine any other conditions. This is a frontier community; it should be free of such."

"Mmmm...probably you're right, Doctor. Can't say that I disagree with you, but I'm so busy trying to get on with my job that I really don't have time to worry about politics. It's easier to comply than to fight a test case." Jim's father turned to his wife. "If it's all right with you, my dear, could you find time to arrange for a license for Phyllis?"

"Why, yes," she answered doubtfully, "if you really think she's old enough." The doctor muttered .something that combined "Danegeld" and the "Boston Tea Party" in the same breath. Phyllis answered:

"Sure, I'm old enough, Mother. I'm a better shot than Jimmy."

Jim said, "You're crazy as a spin bug!"

"Mind your manners, Jim," his father cautioned. "We don't speak that way to ladies."

"Was she talking like a lady? I ask you, Dad."

"You are bound to assume that she is one. Drop the matter. What were you saying, Doctor?"

"Eh? Nothing that I should have been saying, I'm sure."

Between Chapter VIII, paragraph 29 and Chapter VIII, paragraph 3:

"Sure." Jim got up. In so doing he woke Willis, who extended his eyes, sized up the situation, and greeted them. Jim picked him up, scratched him, and said, "What time did you come in, you tramp?" then suddenly added, "Hey!"

" 'Hey' what?" asked Frank.

"Well, would you look at that!" Jim pointed at the tumbled silks.

Frank got up and joined him. "Look at what? Oh -- "

In the hollow in which Willis had been resting were a dozen small, white spheroids, looking like so many golf balls.

"What do you suppose they are?" asked Jim.

Frank studied them closely. "Jim," he said slowly, "I think you'll just have to face it. Willis isn't a boy; he's a she."

"Huh? Oh, no!"

"Willis good boy," Willis said defensively.

"See for yourself," Frank went on to Jim. "Those are eggs. If Willis didn't lay them, you must have."

Jim looked bewildered, then turned to Willis. "Willis, did you lay those eggs? Did you?"

"Eggs?" said Willis. "What Jim boy say?"

Jim set him down by the nest and pointed. "Did you lay those?"

Willis looked at them, then figuratively shrugged his shoulders and washed his hands of the whole matter. He waddled away. His manner seemed to say that if Jim chose to make a fuss over some eggs or whatever that just happened to show up in the bed, well, that was Jim's business; Willis would have none of it.

"You won't get anything out of him," Frank commented. "I suppose you realize this makes you a grandfather, sort of."

"Don't be funny!"

"Okay, forget the eggs. When do we eat? I'm starved."

Jim gave the eggs an accusing glance and got busy on the commissary. While they were eating Gekko came in. They exchanged grave greetings, then the Martian seemed about to settle himself for another long period of silent sociability-when he caught sight of the eggs.

Neither of the boys had ever seen a Martian hurry before, nor show any signs of excitement. Gekko let out a deep snort and left the room at once, to return promptly with as many companions as could crowd into the room. They all talked at once and paid no attention to the boys.

"What goes on here?" asked Frank, as he crowded against a wall and peered through a thicket of legs.

"Blessed if I know."

After a while they calmed down a little. One of the larger Martians gathered up the eggs with exaggerated care and clutched them to him. Another picked up Willis and they all trooped out.

Jim stood hesitantly at the door and watched them disappear.

In place of text between Chapter XIII, paragraph 6 and Chapter XIII, paragraph 17:

"Certainly, certainly," agreed MacRae, "but speaking non-professionally, I'd rather see the no-good so-and-so hang. Paranoia is a disorder contracted only by those of fundamentally bad character."

"Now, Doctor," protested Rawlings.

"That's my opinion," insisted MacRae, "and I've seen a lot of cases, in and out of hospitals."

Insert to Chapter XIV, paragraph 49:

"Everything about Mars is startling. Another thing: we've never been able to find anything resembling sex on this planet-various sorts of specie conjugation, yes, but no sex. It appears to me that we missed it. I think that all the nymph Martians, the bouncers, are female; all of the adults are male. They change. I use the terms for want of better ones, of course. But if my theory is...

After the current ending:

Jim took it well. He accepted MacRae's much expurgated explanation and nodded. "I guess if Willis has to hibernate, well, that's that. When they come for him, I won't make any fuss. It was just that Howe and Beecher didn't have any right to take him."

"That's the slant, son. But it's right for him to go with the Martians because they know how to take care of him, when he needs it. You saw that when you were with them."

"Yes." Jim added, "Can I visit him?"

"He won't know you. He'll be asleep."

"Well-look, when he wakes up, will he know me?"

MacRae looked grave. He had asked the old one the same question. "Yes," he answered truthfully, "he'll have all his memory intact." He did not give Jim the rest of the answer-that the transition period would last more than forty Earth years.

"Well, that won't be so bad. I'm going to be awfully busy in school right now, anyhow."

"That's the spirit."

Jim looked up Frank and they went to their old room, vacant of womenfolk at the moment. Jim cradled Willis in his arms and told Frank what Doc had told him. Willis listened, but the conversation was apparently over the little Martian's depth; Willis made no comment.

Presently Willis became bored with it and started to sing. The selection was the latest Willis had heard, the tango Frank had presented to Jim: iQuien es la Sefiorita?

When it was over Frank said, "You know, Willis sounds exactly like a girl when he sings that."

Jim chuckled. "iQuien es la Seftorita, Willis?"

Willis managed to look indignant. "Willis fine boy!" she insisted.

APPENDIX B

Postlude to Podkayne of Mars -- Original Version

| The editor at Putnam's was unhappy with Heinlein's original ending for Podkayne of Mars. Heinlein therefore made some changes to satisfy his requirements. In the published version, Podkayne survives; in Heinlein's original, she did not.]

POSTLUDE

I guess I had better finish this.

My sister got right to sleep after I rehearsed her in what we were going to do. I stretched out on the floor but didn't go right to sleep. I'm a worrier, she isn't. I reviewed my plans, trying to make them tighter. Then I slept.

I Ve got one of those built-in alarm clocks and I woke just when I planned to, an hour before dawn. Any later and there would be too much chance that Jojo might be loose, any curlier and there would be too much time in the dark. The Venus bush is chancy even when you can see well; I didn't wiinl Poddy to step into something sticky, or step on something that would turn and bite her leg off. Nor me, either.

Hut we had to risk the bush, or stay and let old Gruesome kill us at her convenience. The first was a sporting t hunce; the latter was a dead certainty, even though I had a terrible time convincing Poddy that Mrs. Grew would kill us. Poddy's greatest weakness-the really soft place in her head, she's not too stupid otherwise-is her almost total inability to grasp that some people are as bad as they are. Evil. Poddy never has understood evil. Naughtiness is about as far as her imagination reaches.

But I understand evil, I can get right inside the skull of a person like Mrs. Grew and understand how she thinks.

Perhaps you infer from this that I am evil, or partly so. All right, want to make something of it? Whatever / am, I knew Mrs. Grew was evil before we ever left the Tri-corn...when Poddy (and even Girdie!) thought the slob was just too darling for words.

I don't trust a person who laughs when there is nothing to laugh about. Or is good-natured no matter what happens. If it's that perfect, it's an act, a phony. So I watched her...and cheating at solitaire wasn't the only giveaway.

So between the bush and Mrs. Grew, I chose the bush, both for me and my sister.

Unless the air car was there and we could swipe it. This would be a mixed blessing, as it would mean two of them to cope with, them armed and us not. (I don't count a bomb as an arm, you can't point it at a person's head.)

Before I woke Poddy I took care of that alate pseudo-simian, that "fairy." Vicious little beast. I didn't have a gun. But I didn't really want one at that point; they understand about guns and are hard to hit, they'll dive on you at once.

Instead I had shoe trees in my spare shoes, elastic bands around my spare clothes, and more elastic bands in my pockets, and several two-centimeter steel ball bearings.

Shift two wing nuts, and the long parts of the shoe trees become a steel fork. Add elastic bands and you have a sling shot. And don't laugh at a slingshot; many a sand rat has kept himself fed with only a sling shot. They are silent and you usually get your ammo back.

I aimed almost three times as high as I would at home, to allow for the local gravity, and got it right on the sternum, knocked it off its perch-crushed the skull with my heel and gave it an extra twist for the nasty bite on Poddy's arm. The young one started to whine, so I pushed the carcass over in the corner, somewhat out of sight, and put the cub on it. It shut up. I took care of all this before I woke Poddy because I knew she had sentimental fancies about these "fairies" and I didn't want her jittering and maybe grabbing my elbow. As it was-clean and fast.

She was still snoring, so I slipped off my shoes and made a fast reconnoiter.

Not so good -- Our local witch was already up and reaching for her broom; in a few minutes she would be unlocking Jojo if she hadn't already. I didn't have a chance to see if the sky car was outside; I did well not to get caught. I hurried back and woke Poddy.

"Pod!" I.whispered. "You awake?"

"Yes."

"Wide awake? You've got to do your act, right now. Make it loud and make it good."

"Check."

"Help me up on the perch. Can your sore arm take il?"

She nodded, slid quickly off the bed and took position •t the door, hands ready. I grabbed her hands, bounced to her shoulders, steadied, and she grabbed my calves as I let go her hands-and then I was up on the perch, over ihe door. I waved her on.

Poddy went running out the door, screaming, "Mrs. Grew! MRS. GREW! Help, help! My brother!" She did make it good.

And came running back in almost at once with Mrs. (ircw puffing after her.

I landed on Gruesome's shoulders, knocking her to the floor and knocking her gun out of her hand. I twisted and snapped her neck before she could catch her breath.

Pod was right on the ball, I have to give her credit. She had that gun before it stopped sliding. Then she held it, looking dazed.

I took it carefully from her. "Grab your purse. We go, right now! Stick close behind me."

Jojo was loose, I had cut it too fine. He was in the living room, looking, I guess, to see what the noise was about. I shot him.

Then I looked for the air car while keeping the gun ready for the driver. No sign of either one-and I didn't know whether to groan or cheer. I was all keyed up to shoot him but maybe he would have shot me first. But a car would have been mighty welcome compared with heading into the bush.

I almost changed my plan at that point and maybe I should have. Kept together, I mean, and headed straight north for the ring road.

It was the gun that decided me. Poddy could protect herself with it-and I would just be darn careful what I stepped on or in. I handed it to her and told her to move slowly and carefully until there was more light-but get going!

She was wobbling the gun around. "But, Brother, I've never shot anybody!"

"Well, you can if you have to."

"I guess so."

"Nothing to it. Just point it at 'em and press the button. Better use both hands. And don't shoot unless you really need to."

"All right."

I smacked her behind. "Now get going. See you later."

And I got going. I looked behind once, but she was already vanished in the smog. I put a little distance between me and the house, just in case, then concentrated on approximating course west.

And I got lost. That's all. I needed that tracker but I had figured I could get along without it and Pod had to have it. I got hopelessly lost. There wasn't breeze enough for me to tell anything by wetting my finger and that polarized light trick for finding the Sun is harder than you would think. Hours after I should have reached the ring road I was still skirting boggy places and open water and trying to keep from being somebody's lunch.

And suddenly there was the most dazzling light possible and I went down flat and stayed there with my eyes buried in my arm and started to count.

I wasn't hurt at all. The blast wave covered me with mud and the noise was pretty rough but I was well outside the real trouble. Maybe half an hour later I was picked up by a cop car.

Certainly, I should have disarmed that bomb. I had intended to, if everything went well; it was just meant to be a "Samson in the Temple" stunt if things turned out dry. A last resort.

Maybe I should have stopped to disarm it as soon as I broke old Gruesome's neck-and maybe Jojo would have caught both of us if I had and him still with a happy-dust hangover. Anyhow I didn't and then I was very busy shooting Jojo and deciding what to do and telling Poddy how to use that gun and getting her started. I didn't think •bout the bomb until I was several hundred meters from I he house-and I certainly didn't want to go back then, even if I could have found it again in the smog, which is doubtful.

But apparently Poddy did just that. Went back to the house, I mean. She was found later that day, about a kilometer from the house, outside the circle of total de-Mruction-but caught by the blast.

With a live baby fairy in her arms-her body had protected it; it doesn't appear to have been hurt at all.

That's why I think she went back to the house. I don't know that this baby fairy is the one she called "Ariel." It might have been one that she picked up in the bush.

But that doesn't seem at all likely; a wild one would have clawed her and its parents would have torn her to pieces.

I think she intended to save that baby fairy all along and decided not to mention it to me. It is just the kind of sentimental stunt that Poddy would do. She knew I was going to have to kill the adult-and she never said a word against that; Pod could always be sensible wheni absolutely necessary.

Then in the excitement of breaking out she forgot to I grab it, just as I forgot to disarm the bomb after we no I longer needed it. So she went back for it.

And lost the inertial tracker, somehow. At least it; wasn't found on her or near her. Between the gun and her purse and the baby fairy and the tracker she must have dropped it in a bog. Must be, because she had plenty of time to go back and still get far away from the house. She should have been ten kilometers away by then, so she must have lost the tracker fairly soon and walked in a circle.

I told Uncle Tom all about it and was ready to tell the Corporation people, Mr. Cunha and so forth, and take my medicine. But Uncle told me to keep my mouth shut. He agreed that I had fubbed it, mighty dry indeed-but so had he-and so had everybody. He was gentle with me. I wish he had hit me.

I'm sorry about Poddy. She gave me some trouble from time to time, with her bossy ways and her illogical ideas -- but just the same I'm sorry.

I wish I knew how to cry.

Her little recorder was still in her purse and part of the tape could be read. Doesn't mean much, though; she doesn't tell what she did, she was babbling, sort of:

" -- very dark where I'm going. No man is an island, complete in himself. Remember that, Clarfcie. Oh, I'm sorry I fubbed it but remember that; it's important. They all have to be cuddled sometimes. My shoulder -- Saint Podkayne! Saint Podkayne, are you listening? UnkaTom,

Mother, Daddy-is anybody listening? Do listen, please, because this is important. I love -- "

It cuts off there. So we don't know whom she loved.

Everybody maybe.

Mr. Cunha made them hold the Tricorn and now Uncle Tom and I are on our way again. The baby fairy is still alive and Dr. Torland says it doesn't have radiation sickness. I call it "Ariel" and I guess I'll be taking care of it a long time; they say these fairies live as long as we do. It is taking to shipboard life all right but it gets lonely and has to be held and cuddled or it cries.

APPENDIX C

HEINLEIN RETROSPECTIVE OCTOBER 6, 1988

Trip report-October 30, 1988

On the evening of October 6, 1988, I received on Robert's behalf, the NASA Distinguished Public Service Medal, following a small dinner party given that evening. There were approximately 700 people present for the ceremony, and the presentation was made by Dr. Noel Hinners, Associate Deputy Administrator (Institution) of NASA.

The Description and Criteria of NASA Honor Awards reads: "NASA Distinguished Public Service Medal (DPSM) is granted to any individual who is not an employee of the Federal Government or was not an employee during the period in which the service was performed. The award is granted only to individuals whose meritorious contributions produced results which measurably improved, expedited, or clarified administrative procedures, scientific progress, work methods, manufacturing techniques, personnel practices, public information service, and other efforts related to the accomplishment of the mission of NASA."

The citation itself reads:

The National Aeronautics and Space Administration Awards to

ROBERT ANSON HEINLEIN the

NASA-DISTINGUISHED PUBLIC SERVICE MEDAL

In recognition of his meritorious service to the Nation and mankind in advocating and promoting the exploration of space. Through dozens of superbly written novels and essays and his epoch-making movie Destination Moon, he helped inspire the Nation to take its first step into space and on to the moon. Even after his death, his books live on as testimony to a man of purpose and vision, a man dedicated to encouraging others to dream, explore, and achieve.

Signed and sealed at Washington, D.C. this sixth day of October

Nineteen Hundred and Eighty-Eight.

/s/James C. Fletcher

Administrator, NASA.

The medal itself can be described as a sunburst, with a globe in the center, on a ribbon with a wide center strip in navy blue, with two lighter blue stripes on the sides, and a golden strip in the center of the lighter blue. There are two buttonhole ornaments to be worn with civilian dress; one is a copy of the medal, the other a dark blue button, with the gold and light blue used as a sunburst on that background. (I've seen Croix de Guerre holders use those ribbon buttonhole ornaments on their lapels.)

After thanking Dr. Hinners for the honor, I used Robert's "This I Believe" credo for my talk. I had tried to write a speech, then remembered this talk of Robert's and thought it would be appropriate for this occasion. So I sent the record to Ward Botsford in New York, and he put it onto tape for me. Transcribed, it is below. (Ward told me that it was lucky I had not tried to tape it myself, as it might have ruined the only copy in existence, I believe.)

I told the audience how this particular piece of writing had come into being, and that it seemed to me to be appropriate to this occasion, and I had consulted several people about my feeling, and they had said --"Go ahead. It's the perfect thing to do."

THIS I BELIEVE

I am not going to talk about religious beliefs but about matters so obvious that it has gone out of style to mention them. I believe in my neighbors. I know their faults, and I know that their virtues far outweigh their faults.

Take Father Michael down our road a piece. I'm not of his creed, but I know that goodness and charity and lovingkindness shine in his daily actions. I believe in Father Mike. If I'm in trouble, I'll go to him.

My next-door neighbor is a veterinary doctor. Doc will get out of bed after a hard day to help a stray cat. No fee-no prospect of a fee-I believe in Doc.

I believe in my townspeople. You can knock on any door in our town saying, "I'm hungry," and you will be fed. Our town is no exception. I've found the same ready charity everywhere. But for the one who says, "To heck with you-I got mine," there are a hundred, a thousand who will say, "Sure, pal, sit down."

I know that despite all warnings against hitchhikers I can step to the highway, thumb for a ride and in a few minutes a car or a truck will stop and someone will say, "Climb in Mac-how far you going?"

I believe in my fellow citizens. Our headlines are splashed with crime yet for every criminal there are 10,000 honest, decent, kindly men. If it were not so, no child would live to grow up. Business could not go on from day to day. Decency is not news. It is buried in the obituaries, but it is a force stronger than crime. I believe in the patient gallantry of nurses and the tedious sacrifices of teachers. I believe in the unseen and unending fight against desperate odds that goes on quietly in almost every home in the land.

I believe in the honest craft of workmen. Take a look around you. There never were enough bosses to check up on all that work. From Independence Hall to the Grand Coulee Dam, these things were built level and square by craftsmen who were honest in their bones.

I believe that almost all politicians are honest...there are hundreds of politicians, low paid or not paid at all doing their level best without thanks or glory to make our system work. If this were not true we would never have gotten past the thirteen colonies.

I believe in Rodger Young. You and I are free today because of endless unnamed heroes from Valley Forge to the Yalu River. I believe in-I am proud to belong to -- the United States. Despite shortcomings from lynchings to bad faith in high places, our nation has had the most decent and kindly internal practices and foreign policies to be found anywhere in history.

And finally, I believe in my whole race. Yellow, white, black, red, brown. In the honesty, courage, intelligence, durability, and goodness of the overwhelming majority of my brothers and sisters everywhere on this planet. I am proud to be a human being. I believe that we have come this far by the skin of our teeth. That we always make it just by the skin of our teeth, but that we will make it. Survive. Endure. I believe that this hairless embryo with the aching, oversize brain case and the opposable thumb, this animal barely up from the apes will endure. Will endure longer than his home planet-will spread out to the stars and beyond, carrying with him his honesty and his insatiable curiosity, his unlimited courage and his noble essential decency.

This I believe with all my heart.

Robert's talk got a standing ovation. I don't take credit for that; it was his -- speech, his ideas. There were other speakers, too. Jerry Pournelle gave

* some reminiscences of Robert; Catherine and L. Sprague de Camp did much the same thing. Tom Clancy told how Robert's work had taught him to write. Captain Jon McBride (an astronaut) gave credit to Robert for his early work on spaceflight; Dr. Charles Sheffield told how Robert was not an American writer, but a British one...and Tetsu Yano, all the way from Tokyo, talked about his work in translating Robert's work-weeping at the end for Robert's loss.

Then there was a showing of Destination Moon.

The entire evening (with the exception of the motion picture) was videotaped, and I am very anxious to obtain a copy. It has been said that if enough people write in to ask how to obtain tapes for their own use, they might be sold by NASA.

Among those present were Robert's oldest friend, Rear Admiral Cal Laning; Rear Admiral and Mrs. J. Gal-braith; and Woodie Teague, who came all the way from Colorado Springs. I had all those over to the hotel for a drink afterwards. (And a few others, too.)

The following evening, Eleanor Wood, Jim Baen, and I went out to the Kondo's new home in Columbia, MD for a party. A very nice party, with lots of old friends there. Next day, Eleanor and I went up to NY, and I saw more old friends-took Margo Fischer to lunch on Sunday-she's now 87, I think, and each time I see her, I think to myself it might be the last time.

Spent the rest of the weekend and a couple of days of the following week up in the country with Eleanor, and her kids; the fall colors were on display, and it was lovely.

Arrived home with a king-sized case of jet lag, got Pixel out of the kennel, and now we've settled down for the winter. No rain so far, but I do hope there will be! -- we're on water restrictions now, and it could get a lot worse, if we don't get a lot of rain here.

BIBLIOGRAPHY (In order of publication)

FICTION

"Life-Line," Astounding Science Fiction, August 1939. Reprinted in The Man Who Sold The Moon, Baen Books.

"Misfit," Astounding Science Fiction, November 1939. Reprinted in The Past Through Tomorrow, Ace Books.

"Requiem," Astounding Science Fiction, January 1940. Reprinted in The Past Through Tomorrow, Ace Books.

"If This Goes On -- ," Astounding Science Fiction, February, March 1940. Reprinted in The Past Through Tomorrow, Ace Books.

" 'Let There Be Light,' " Super Science Stones, May, 1940 (under pseudonym Lyle Monroe). Reprinted in The Man Who Sold The Moon, Baen Books.

"The Roads Must Roll," Astounding Science Fiction, June 1940. Reprinted in The Man Who Sold The Moon, Baen Books.

"Coventry," Astounding Science Fiction, July 1940. Reprinted in The Past Through Tomorrow, Ace Books.

"Blowups Happen," Astounding Science Fiction, September 1940. Reprinted in The Man Who Sold The Moon, Baen Books.

"The Devil Makes the Law," Unknown, September 1940, (under pseudonym Anson MacDonald). Reprinted as "Magic, Inc.," in Waldo And Magic Inc., Del Rey Books.

"Sixth Column," Astounding Science Fiction, January, February, March 1941 (under pseudonym Anson MacDonald). Reprinted by Baen Books.

" ' -- And He Built a Crooked House -- ,' " Astounding Science Fiction, February 1941.

"Logic of Empire," Astounding Science Fiction, March 1941. Reprinted in The Green Hills of Earth, Baen Books.

"Beyond Doubt," Astonishing Stories, April 1941 (under pseudonym Lyle Monroe and Elma Wentz).

"They," Unknown, April 1941.

"Universe," Astounding Science Fiction, May 1941. Reprinted in Orphans Of The Sky, Ace Books.

"Solution Unsatisfactory," Astounding Science Fiction, May 1941 (under pseudonym Anson MacDonald). Reprinted in Expanded Universe, Ace Books.

" ' -- We Also Walk Dogs,' " Astounding Science Fiction, July 1941 (under pseudonyn Anson MacDonald). Reprinted in The Past Through Tomorrow, Ace Books.

Methuselah's Children, Astounding Science Fiction, July, August, September, 1941.

"Elsewhere" ("Elsewhen"), Astounding Science Fiction, September 1941 (under pseudonym Caleb Saunders). Reprinted in Assignment In Eternity, Baen Books.

"By His Bootstraps," Astounding Science Fiction, October 1941 (under pseudonym Anson MacDonald). Reprinted in The Menace From Earth, Baen Books.

"Commonsense," Astounding Science Fiction, October 1941. Reprinted in Orphans Of The Sky, Ace Books.

"Lost Legion" ("Lost Legacy"), Super Science Stories, November 1941 (under pseudonym Lyle Monroe). Reprinted in Assignment In Eternity, Baen Books.

" 'My Object All Sublime,' " Future, February 1942.

"Goldfish Bowl," Astounding Science Fiction, March 1942 (under pseudonym Anson MacDonald). Reprinted in The Menace From Earth, Baen Books.

"Pied Piper," Astonishing Stories, March 1942 (under pseudonym Lyle Monroe).

Beyond This Horizon, Astounding Science Fiction, April, May 1942 (under pseudonym Anson MacDonald). Reprinted by New American Library.

"Waldo," Astounding Science Fiction, August 1942 (under pseudonym Anson MacDonald). Reprinted in Waldo And Magic Inc., Del Rey Books.

"The Unpleasant Profession of Jonathan Hoag," Unknown Worlds, October 1942 (under pseudonym John Riverside).

"The Green Hills of Earth," Saturday Evening Post, February 8, 1947. Reprinted in The Green Hills Of Earth, Baen Books.

"Space Jockey," Saturday Evening Post, April 26, 1947. Reprinted in The Past Through Tomorrow, Ace Books.

"Columbus Was a Dope," Startling Stories, May 1947 (under pseudonym Lyle Monroe). Reprinted in The Menace From Earth, Baen Books. "They Do It With Mirrors," Popular Detective, May 1947 (under pseudonym Simon York). Reprinted in Expanded Universe, Ace

Books. " 'It's Great To Be Back!' "Saturday Evening Post, July 26, 1947.

Reprinted in The Past Through Tomorrow, Ace Books. "Jerry Is a Man," ("Jerry Was a Man"), Thrilling Wonder Stories,

October 1947. Reprinted in Assignment In Eternity, Baen Books. "Water Is for Washing," Argosy, November 1947. Reprinted in The

Menace From Earth, Baen Books.

Rocket Ship Galileo, Scribner's, 1947. Reprinted by Del Rey Books. "The Black Pits of Luna," Saturday Evening Post, January 10, 1948.

Reprinted in The Green Hills Of Earth, Baen Books. "Gentlemen, Be Seated!" Argosy, May 1948. Reprinted in The Green

Hills Of Earth, Baen Books. "Ordeal in Space," Town and Country, May 1948. Reprinted in The

Green Hills of Earth, Baen Books.

Beyond This Horizon (revised version), Fantasy Press, 1948. Reprinted by New American Library.

Space Cadet, Scribner's, 1948. Reprinted by Del Rey Books. "Our Fair City," Weird Tales, January 1949. "Nothing Ever Happens on the Moon," Boys' Life, April, May 1949.

Reprinted in Expanded Universe, Ace Books. "Poor Daddy," Calling All Girls, 1949. "Gulf," Astounding Science Fiction, November, December 1949.

Reprinted in Assignment In Eternity, Baen Books. "Delilah and the Space Rigger," Blue Book, December 1949. Reprinted in The Past Through Tomorrow, Ace Books. "The Long Watch," American Legion Magazine, December 1949.

Reprinted in The Green Hills Of Earth, Baen Books. Red Planet, Scribner's, 1949. Reprinted by Del Rey Books. "Cliff and the Calories," Senior Prom, August 1950. Farmer In The Sky, first serialized as Satellite Scout in Boys' Life,

August, September, October, November 1950. Scribner's, 1950.

Reprinted by Del Rey Books. "The Man Who Sold the Moon," (not serialized), in The Man Who

Sold the Moon, Shasta, 1950. Reprinted by Baen Books. "Destination Moon," Short Stories Magazine, September 1950. Between Planets, serialized as Planets in Combat in Blue Book, September, October 1951. Scribner's, 1951. Reprinted by Del Rey

Books. The Puppet Masters, serialized in Galaxy Science Fiction, September,

October, November 1951. Doubleday, 1951. Reprinted by Del Rey

Books. "The Year of the Jackpot," Galaxy Science Fiction, March 1952.

Reprinted in The Menace From Earth, Baen Books. The Rolling Stones, serialized as Tramp Space Ship in Boys' Life,

September, October, November, December 1952. Scribner's, 1952. Reprinted by Del Rey Books.

"Project Nightmare," Amazing Stories, April 1953. Reprinted in The Menace From Earth, Baen Books.

"Skylift," Imagination, November 1953. Reprinted in The Menace From Earth, Baen Books.

Starman Jones, Scribner's, 1953. Reprinted by Del Rey Books.

The Star Beast, serialized as The Star Lummox in Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, May, June, July 1954. Scribner's, 1954. Reprinted by Del Rey Books.

Tunnel In The Sky, Scribner's, 1955. Reprinted by Del Rey Books.

Double Star, serialized in Astounding Science Fiction, February, March, April 1956. Doubleday, 1956. Reprinted by Del Rey Books.

Time For The Stars, Scribner's, 1956. Reprinted by Del Rey Books.

The Door Into Summer, serialized in Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, October, November, December 1956. Doubleday, 1957. Reprinted by Del Rey Books.

"The Menace From Earth," Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, August 1957. Reprinted in The Menace From Earth, Baen Books.

Citizen Of The Galaxy, serialized in Astounding Science Fiction, September, October, November, December 1957. Scribner's, 1957, Reprinted by Del Rey Books.

"The Elephant Circuit" ("The Man Who Traveled in Elephants"), Saturn, October 1957.

"Tenderfoot in Space," Boys' Life, May, June, July 1958.

Have Space Suit-Will Travel, serialized in Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, August, September, October 1958. Scribner's, 1958. Reprinted by Del Rey Books.

"All You Zombies -- ," Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, March 1959.

Methuselah's Children (revised version), Gnome Press, 1958. Reprinted by Baen Books.

Starship Troopers, serialized as Starship Soldier in Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, October, November 1959. Putnam, 1959. Reprinted by Baen Books.

Stranger In A Strange Land, Putnam, 1961. Hardcover available, also reprint, Ace Books.

"Searchlight," Scientific American, August 1962; Fortune, September 1962. Reprinted in The Past Through Tomorrow, Ace Books.

Podkayne Of Mars, serialized in Worlds oflf, November 1962, January, March 1963. Putnam, 1963.

Glory Road, serialized in Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, July, August, September 1963. Putnam 1963. Reprinted by Ace Books.

Farnham 's Freehold, serialized in If, July, August, October 1964. Putnam, 1964. Reprinted by Ace Books.

The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress, serialized in If, December 1965, January, February, March, April 1966, Putnam, 1966. Reprinted by Ace Books.

"Free Men," in The Worlds of Robert A. Heinlein, Ace Books, 1966. Reprinted in Expanded Universe, Ace Books.

I Will Fear No Evil, serialized in Galaxy, July, August, October, December 1970. Putnam, 1970. Reprinted by Ace Books.

Time Enough For Love, Putnam 1973. Reprinted by Ace Books.

"No Bands Playing," Vertex: The Magazine of Science Fiction, December 1973. Reprinted in Expanded Universe, Ace Books.

The Notebooks Of Lazarus Long, Putnam, 1978. (Taken from two chapters of Time Enough For Love).

The Number Of The Beast, Fawcett Columbine, 1980. Reprinted by Ace Books.

Expanded Universe, Ace Books, 1980. Reprinted by Ace Books.

"A Bathroom of Her Own," Expanded Universe, 1980. Reprinted by Ace Books.

"On the Slopes of Vesuvius," Expanded Universe, 1980. Reprinted by Ace Books.

Friday, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1982. Reprinted by Del Rey Books.

Job: A Comedy Of Justice, Del Rey Books, 1984. Reprinted by Del Rey Books.

The Cat Who Walks Through Walls, Putnam, 1985. Reprinted by Ace Books.

To Sail Beyond The Sunset, Putnam, 1987. Reprinted by Ace Books.

MISCELLANEOUS

(These two items defy classification.)

Tomorrow, The Stars, Doubleday, 1952. This is an anthology, which was put together by someone else, and Robert wrote the preface for it.

Destination Moon, Gregg Press, 1979, edited by David G. Hartwell. The title page says it is by Robert A. Heinlein, with a new introduction by David G. Hartwell. This book contains a novelette titled "Destination Moon," and an article called "Shooting Destination Moon," which originally appeared in Astounding Science Fiction, July 1950. It also contains a number of still pictures from DM, and photocopies of many newspaper and magazine clippings.

NONFICTION

"Discovery of the Future," Guest of Honor speech at Denver, Colorado, 1941 World Science Fiction Convention. Printed in Vertex, issue if I.

"Man in the Moon" ("Back of the Moon"), Elks Magazine, 1947.

"Flight Into the Future," Collier's, August 30, 1947.

"On the Writing of Science Fiction," published in Of Worlds Beyond, Fantasy Press, 1947,

"Baedecker of the Solar System," The Saturday Review of Literature, December 24, 1949. Review of Bonestell and Ley's book, Conquest of Space.

"Where To?" article, Galaxy, February 1952.

"Shooting Destination Moon," Astounding Science Fiction, July 1950.

Article about writing, Writer's Digest, March, 1950.

"This I Believe," radio article written for Edward R. Murrow series of the same title. [Broadcast December 1, 1952]

"Ray Guns and Rocket Ships," published by the Bulletin of the School Library Association of California, 1952.

"The Third Millennium Opens," Amazing Stories, April 1956.

"Science Fiction: Its Nature, Faults and Virtues," Advent Publishers, 1959.

"Who Are the Heirs of Patrick Henry?," published April 12, 1958, Colorado Springs Gazette Telegraph. Also in Expanded Universe.

" 'Pravda' Means 'Truth'," American Mercury, October 1960.

"Inside Intourist," published in Expanded Universe.

"Appointment in Space," Popular Mechanics, 1963.

"The Happy Road to Science Fiction," McClurg's Book News, 1964.

"Science Fiction: The World of 'What If?'," World Book, 1964.

Foreword for Beyond Jupiter, by Chesley Bonestell and Arthur C. Clarke, Viking Press, 1972.

Forrestal Lecture, 1973, published in Analog, January 1974.

"A United States Citizen Thinks About Canada," Canada and the World, April 1975.

"Dirac, Antimatter and You," Compton Yearbook, 1975.

"Are You a Rare Blood?" Compton Yearbook, 1976.

Testimony before joint session, House Committee on Aging and House Committee on Science and Technology, August 19, 1979, published in Expanded Universe, 1980, as "Spinoff."

"Larger Than Life," written for MosCon I, published in Expanded Universe, 1980.

Preface for Ted Sturgeon novel, Godbody, Donald I. Fine, 1985.

About the Author

Robert Anson Heinlein was born in Butler, Missouri, in 1907. A graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy, he was retired, disabled, in 1934. He studied mathematics and physics at the graduate school of the University of California and owned a silver mine before beginning to write science fiction in 1939. In 1947 his first book of fiction, Rocket Ship Galileo, was published. His novels include Double Star (1956), Starship Troopers (1959), Stranger In a Strange Land (1961), and The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress (1966), all winners of the Hugo Award. Heinlein was guest commentator for the Apollo 11 first lunar landing. In 1975 he received the Grand Master Nebula Award for lifetime achievement. Mr. Heinlein died in 1988.