Anyhow-I’m not trying to sell you that last story; I’m just trying to say that it was not a pointless story, but one of the most daring themes I have ever tackled, and, so far as I know, never before attempted in science fiction.
Returning to our muttons: I am extremely grateful to you for the help you have been to me in every way during this two-year try at commercial writing. And I don’t want you to feel that I have taken what I wanted and walked out. One of my reasons for the continual scouting I have done for Astounding and Unknown has been that I anticipated my own retirement and wanted to be able to say, “Okay, John, I’m quitting, but here are half a dozen other writers, my proteges, who take my place several times over.” I expect to continue that scouting indefinitely.
Besides that, I have laid down no hard and fast ultimatum to myself that I won’t write science fiction at all. If I get an idea that really intrigues me, I’ll write a story about it and submit it. Naturally, I don’t expect you to maintain the former financial arrangement. I won’t take a rate cut, but you are welcome to buy at a cent a word under the Lyle Monroe name, a cent and a quarter for Caleb Saunders, or, if you think a story merits it, a cent and a half for Heinlein or MacDonald. If one of the latter two makes the grade in slicks, it will be withdrawn from pulp entirely, but that is still a remote possibility.
SIXTH COLUMN
September 16, 1941: Robert A. Heinlein to John W. Campbell, Jr.
My own work-I am taking you at your word that “Creation Took Eight Days” [“Goldfish Bowl”] can be fixed up to sell to you in either one of two ways, by changing the ending or by changing the earlier part to make the ending less of a surprise. Of the two I prefer to change the earlier part; otherwise it is a completely different story and not my kind of a story. I have never written a World-Saver story of the usual formula, because I don’t believe in them. Even in “Sixth Column” I was careful to point out that the job was just started and never would be finished. This particular story was intended to give an entirely fresh angle on the invasion-by-alien-intelligence theme. So far as I know, every such story has alien intelligences which treat humans as approximate equals, either as friends or as foes. It is assumed that A-I will either be friends, anxious to communicate and trade, or enemies who will fight and kill, or possibly enslave, the human race. There is another and much more humiliating possibility-alien intelligences so superior to us and so indifferent to us as to be almost unaware of us. They do not even covet the surface of the planet where we live-they live in the stratosphere. We do not know whether they evolved here or elsewhere-will never know. Our mightiest engineering structures they regard as we regard coral formations, i.e., seldom noticed and considered of no importance. We aren’t even nuisances to them. And they are no threat to us, except that their “engineering” might occasionally disturb our habitat, as the grading done for a highway disturbs gopher holes.
Some few of them might study us casually-or might not. Some odd duck among them might keep a few of us as pets. That was .what happened to my hero. He got too nosy around one of their activities, was captured, and by. pure luck was kept as a pet instead of being stepped on. In time he understood his predicament, except in one respect-he never did realize to its full bitterness that the human race could not even fight these creatures. He was simply a goldfish in a bowl-who cares about the opinions of a helpless goldfish? I have a fish pond in my patio. Perhaps those fish hate me bitterly and have sworn to destroy me. I won’t even suspect it-I’ll lose no sleep over it. And it seems to me that the most esoteric knowledge of science would not enable those fish to harm me. I am indifferent to them and invulnerable.