times. You don’t have to know people to be friends … said the man who has
collaborated on well over a dozen novels with people he still hasn’t met!
Secret alliances, shaky relationships, and worse
Janet and I formed a secret alliance in 1980 (“Vash-anka’s Minion” and “Shadow’s
Pawn,” and no I do Not intend to write a nautical story called “Shad’s Prawn” as
one darling fan suggested in ’81), and sprang it on Bob-I-mean-Dad, thus forcing
him to run our stories back to back. He got even; his Jubal “sold” Tempus to
that godawful Kurd, slicer of living humans. Then he and Janet colluded (does
that word exist?-it does now; Offutt’s the resident grammarian-linguician). The
book ended with Kurd’s industriously paring and sawing this and that part off
immortal Tempus. A few months later, darling Dad-Bob called me. (This is always
difficult. He speaks a shade faster than a Sten gun, and probably plays whole
games of Risk while listening to my Kentuckianly drawled replies.)
“Andy! ThisisBob! Janet – and – Ineedyerhelp(beat)Kurd-has-Tempus-andwe-were
wonderingifHanse’dget-himout!”
Beat, beat, beat: “Hi-i (beat) Boob,” I said …
So Hanse starred in “The Vivisectionist”-surely the ugliest word in this or any
language. Right up there next to “edit”-in which he got the maimed Tempus out of
the dripping hands of Kurd the Turd. We all loved each other, even Tempus and
Hanse. Then H. saw how T. regenerated those lost parts, and got shaky. So did
their relationship. Meanwhile, or rather about a year later, Bob and I had an