Men, Martians and Machines December 27, 2005
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Christmas musings by John Nunn

Earlier this year I read a ChessBase story which dealt with UFO sightings by Grandmaster Sergey Tiviakov, who was reacting to a possible UFO picture submitted by Tanya Karjakina (mother of Sergey Karjakin). This set me thinking about the works of British author Eric Frank Russell (1905-78). Sinister Barrier was Russell’s first novel and he went on to write a considerable number of science-fiction works, in at least one of which chess plays a part. While I would not rate him in the first rank of SF authors, many of his stories are worth reading.

Checking through my SF library I found a copy of Sinister Barrier, although in rather poor condition (it once belonged to my father). It was originally published in 1943 with a nondescript cover, but my edition is from 1948, and the cover is a good example of 1940s SF cover art.

Unusually, the book has a handful of full-page illustrations inside. It was EFR's first novel, and he later became a well-known SF author, famous for the chess-obsessed Martians in 'Men, Martians and Machines' (unfortunately, it seems that Russell knew little about chess) and award-winning stories such as '...and then there were none'.

The Frank Russell book which mentions chess is Men, Martians and Machines (1955), a collection of four stories involving the exploration spaceship Marathon and its crew, which consists of men, Martians and an android.

The Martians are obsessed with chess. They are a proud race and are highly unimpressed with the achievements of humans, except in the one matter of chess, which they consider to be humanity’s only worthwhile invention:

“As everyone knows, those goggle-eyed, ten-tentacled, half-breathing kibitzers have stuck harder than glue to the Solar System Chess Championship for more than two centuries. Nobody outside of Mars will ever pry them loose. They are nuts about the game and many’s the time I’ve seen a bunch of them go through all the colours of the spectrum in sheer excitement when at last somebody has moved a pawn after thirty minutes of profound cogitation.”

In one story the Marathon lands on a planet inhabited by a race with remarkable hypnotic powers. After the spaceship has left, one member of the crew makes an alarming discovery:

“What I saw when I applied my eyes to the small spy-hole made my back hairs jerk erect. The Red Planet gang were clustered as usual around a chessboard, all except Sug Farn who lay snoring in one corner. At one side of the board was Kli Dreen, his saucerish attention on the chess pieces as if his eyes were joined to them by invisible thread. I noticed that he was playing white. Facing him, a big ball of greasy black rope put out an end of itself, touched a black bishop but didn’t move it. The Martians took in a deep breath as though something had actually happened.”

There is little science in Russell’s stories. The spaceships are there solely to convey the protagonists to other worlds where the action can take place. He was more interested in sociology than in physics, and several of his stories deal with problems of communication and mutual understanding (or lack of it). His stories often have a light-hearted or humorous touch and bureaucrats are a regular target for ridicule. One notable work is The Great Explosion (1962). The cover-text writer definitely went over the top on this one!

The basic idea is that after the discovery of cheap and simple interstellar travel, every minority group on Earth has gone off to colonise a planet and set up a culture according to their own whims (this is the Great Explosion of the title). Four centuries later, Earth decides to bring these disparate cultures under its wing and create a Terran Empire.

The book describes the fortunes one of the immense space vessels sent out on this task. One and half miles long, eight hundred feet in diameter, bristling with the latest armaments, it would seem well suited to the task. It is crewed by a mixture of pompous, overweight bureaucrats, buffoonish military types and the engineers who actually run the ship. As is typical in Russell’s writing, many of the characters are caricatures. The ship’s mission has already run into trouble on a planet which was colonised by naturist fitness freaks, who now regard the wearing of clothes as an obscenity, much to the chagrin of the Terran Ambassador, who could not bring himself to disrobe in order to conduct negotiations.

However, even worse befalls the Terran emissaries in the last part of the part of the book, which had been published separately in 1951 under the title ...And Then There Were None. The story starts with the approach to planet K229, the only record of which is that it was colonised by ‘assorted dissidents’. The spaceship lands near a town and waits for some reaction from the inhabitants. However, no reaction is forthcoming; buses run nearby, farmers continue to plough their fields, all apparently oblivious to the immense starship squatting on the nearby landscape. Sergreant Major Bidworthy is dispatched to bring one of the farmers back to the ship:

‘Go get that farmer,’ Deacon told Sergeant Major Bidworthy. ‘And hurry – His Excellency is waiting.’

Bidworthy sought around for a lesser rank, remembered that they were all inside, cleaning ship and not smoking, by his order. He, it seemed, was elected. Tramping across four fields and coming within hailing distance of his objective, he performed a precise military halt, released a barracks square bellow of, ‘Hi, you!’ and waved urgently.

The farmer stopped his steady trudging behind the tiny cultivator, wiped his forehead, glanced casually around. His indifferent manner suggested that the mountainous bulk of the ship was a mirage such as are five a penny around these parts. Bidworthy waved again, making it an authoritative summons. Now suddenly aware of the sergeant major’s existence, the farmer calmly waved back, resumed his work.

Bidworthy employed a brief but pungent expletive which – when its flames had died out – meant, ‘Dear me!’ and marched fifty paces nearer. He could now see that the other was bushy-browed, leather-faced, tall and lean. 'Hi!’ he bawled. Stopping the cultivator again, the farmer leaned on one of its shafts and idly picked his teeth.

Smitten by the ingenious thought that perhaps during the last few centuries the old Terran language had been abandoned in favour of some other lingo, Bidworthy approached to within normal talking distance and asked, ‘Can you understand me?’

‘Can any person understand another?’ inquired the farmer with clear diction.

Bidworthy found himself afflicted with a moment of confusion. Recovering, he informed hurriedly, ‘His Excellency the Earth Ambassador wishes to speak with you at once.’

‘Is that so?’ The other eyed him speculatively, had another pick at his teeth. ‘And what makes him excellent?’

‘He is a person of considerable importance,’ said Bidworthy, unable to decide whether the other was trying to be funny at this expense or alternatively was what is known as a character. A lot of these long-isolated pioneering types liked to think of themselves as characters.

‘Of considerable importance,’ echoed the farmer, narrowing his eyes at the horizon. He appeared to be trying to grasp a completely alien concept. After a while, he inquired, ‘What will happen to your home world when this person dies?’

‘Nothing,’ Bidworthy admitted.

‘It will roll on as before?’

‘Yes.’

‘Round and round the sun?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then,’ declared the farmer flatly, ‘if his existence or non-existence makes no difference he cannot be important.’ With that, his little engine went chuff-chuff and the cultivator rolled forward.

Digging his nails into the palms of his hands, Bidworthy spent half a minute gathering oxygen before he said in hoarse tones, ‘Are you going to speak to the Ambassador or not?’

‘Not.’

‘I cannot return without at least a message for His Excellency.’

‘Indeed?’ The other was incredulous. ‘What is to stop you?’ Then, noticing the alarming increase in Bidworthy’s colour, he added with compassion, ‘Oh, well, you may tell him that I said’ – he paused while he thought it over – ‘God bless you and good-bye.’

The reason for this unusual behaviour is gradually revealed. I won’t spoil the story by disclosing too much, but I will offer the small clue that the planet’s inhabitants call themselves ‘Gands’. The text of ...And Then There Were None is available online.

Russell received few awards for his writing. He did win a Hugo Award in 1955 (one of the leading awards for SF writing) for his amusing short story Allamagoosa (text available online) and ...And Then There Were None was included in a classic 1973 collection of the best SF writing called The Science Fiction Hall of Fame. In later years Russell stopped writing, although nobody seems to know why.

After these Science Fictions musings we come, at last, to our Christmas Chess Puzzle. It is another helpmate, but a particularly beautiful one, which won a First Honourable Mention when it was published.

Viktor Zheglov, Suomen Tehtaevaeniekat 1998-99

Helpmate in 12 (Black to play helps
White to deliver mate in twelve moves)

The concept of helpmates was introduced in yesterday's column. Long helpmates are often a question of logic – first find the mating position and then work out how to get there! For those of you who have experience with this kind of problem: happy solving. For those who are completely mystified, here are some pointers.