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| Cover art by H. R. Van Dongen |
| IMPERIAL STARS E. E. "Doc" Smith with Stephen Goldin |
Rating: 5.0 High |
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| New York: Pyramid Books, February 1976 | ISBN 0-515-3839-3 | 143pp. | SC | $1.25 | |
E. E. Smith was a master of the over-the-top space opera type of works, typified by white-hot fight scenes and space battles filled with ravening beams of coruscating energy from space cruisers or planetary defense installations. He was best known for his Lensman series of seven novels.
This novel was written later than that.1 It is volume one of his "Family D'Alembert" series, which runs to ten titles. The D'Alemberts are a circus family, going back several generations. Natives of the three-gravity world called DesPlaines, they are powerfully built, and the high-wire work makes them agile as well. Those traits come in handy when they are called upon to do undercover work for the Empire, which now spans over a thousand planets. Lately, such an occasion has arisen. All previous attempts to penetrate a conspiracy aiming to bring down the Empire have failed. Top talent is called for. That defines the D'Alemberts. The Head2 brings in Jules and Yvette, aerialists from the circus troupe, and here's a sample of the rousing action of which they're capable. (As I say, the writing is a bit over the top. It continues in that vein for eleven more paragraphs.)
The cover depicts Jules D'Alembert. That is not his usual garb, however; the gaudy getup, and the flamboyant behavior he exhibits while wearing it, are part of his disguise. His sister Yvette, posing as his wife, dresses and behaves in kind.
Those legs don't look like they grew under 3 G's. But why quibble over cover art?
"The old-time circus battle-cry of "Hey Rube! had survived even to this day—at least in part—so that her shout of "Rube!" brought her brother, as well as herself, into instant action. She grabbed the heavy Estvan's bottle the the bartender had resealed, gripped it firmly by its neck and hurled it even as she dropped. A vicious blaster beam blazed through the air, incinerating the slender Earthman and sweeping through the space her chest had occupied just an instant before. Still in air, falling almost flat, she braced one foot against the bar and pushed off it as strongly as her powerful thighs could manage. Her drive brought her head-first under the nearest table; bending her back, she heaved it upward. But the deadly blaster beam she feared had already died out—along with the gunman who'd fired it. The heavy bottle, made of thick glass and half-filled, had been hurled with a DesPlainian's strength and with an aerialist's sure control. It has struck bottom-on squarely in the middle of the gunner's face—and now the gunner had no face at all, and scarcely enough head to be recognizable as human. Jules had not been idle during this interval, either. He, too, had dropped at his sister's warning, scanning the room as he fell. But he hit the floor like a spring, with his legs tight under him. In what looked to be a contradiction in action, he fell to the ground and leaped simultaneously. His leap was high and far, toward a table for six three meters away at which only two couples sat. One of the men at that table, half hidden behind a tall, statuesque blonde, had begun to rise to his feet and was reaching for an object inside his overtunic that made just the slightest bulge near the left armpit. Jules lit flat on the table and slid angle-wise across its length. His terrific momentum carried him—along with a welter of breaking and flying dishes, glasses, sliverware, food and drink—directly at the man trying so frantically to draw his weapon. En route, Jules stuck out one arm and brushed the blonde aside. He didn't push her hard at all—just a gentle, one-handed shove, enough to get her out of the way. Nevertheless, she went over backward, chair and all, performing an involuntary somersault that sent her skirt flying to reveal a stun-gun hidden on the inside of her thigh. She landed on her head and was knocked instantly unconscious. Continuing his slide, Jules made a point of his left elbow and rammed it into the man's gut. Then, as the man doubled up and whooshed in agony, Jules whirled off the table to a standing posture and chopped the hard, calloused edge of his right hand down on the back of his victim's neck. The snap of that neck breaking was audible ten meters away above the uproar and screams then going on. – Pages 30-31 |
The story is not just a series of rock-'em, sock-'em episodes, however. Jules and Yvette follow a coherent plan. It includes financial analysis (performed by The Head's staff) as well as mayhem. They also make progress reports to The Head, and often draw on other members of their clan. And Smith understands technology; he writes about it plausibly, and his characters use it intelligently.
You can read about "Doc" Smith at Wikipedia (he really did have a doctorate) and in this entertaining sketch by a friend of his daughter. His fiction, in my opinion, deserves to be better known — especially the Lensman novels. This novel is somewhat lighter in tone. Enjoy it, then pass it on.
To contact Chris Winter, send email to this address.