Of all my science fiction, these books were most successful. First published in 1951, 1952 and 1953, respectively, they have been in print constantly as hard-covers ever since, despite the appearance of numerous soft-cover editions. And in 1966, at the 24th World Science Fiction Convention, in Cleveland, the 'Foundation' series received a Hugo (science fiction's equivalent of the Oscar) as the 'Best All-Time Series.'
After 'Foundation' I was ready to try a serious positronic robot story for the first time in half a year. This one, 'Run-around,' was submitted to Campbell on October 20, 1941, and he accepted it on the twenty-third. It appeared in the March 1942 issue of Astounding and was eventually included in I, Robot.
I then had to get to work at once on a sequel to 'Foundation.' 'Foundation' had been brought to an inconclusive ending on the assumption that a sequel would be forthcoming, and I had to come through. On November 17, the sequel, 'Bridle and Saddle,' which was the second story of the 'Foundation' series, was submitted to Campbell, and he accepted it the same day -a record in speed. What's more, it was the longest story I had yet written - eighteen thousand words - and even though I received no bonus, the check, for $180, was the largest single check I had yet received. 'Bridle and Saddle' was eventually included in Foundation.
Now, at last, I had a series of long stories going, together with my 'positronic robot' series of short stories. I was feeling quite good.
On November 17, 1941, the day I submitted and sold 'Bridle and Saddle,' Campbell told me his plan for starting a new department in Astounding, one to be called 'Probability Zero.' This was to be a department of short-shorts, five hundred to one thousand words, which were to be in the nature of plausible and entertaining Munchausen-like lies. Campbell 's notion was that, aside from the entertainment value of. these things, they would offer a place where beginners could penetrate the market without having to compete quite so hard with established writers. It would form a stairway to professional status.
This was a good idea in theory and even worked a little. Ray Bradbury, later to be one of the best-known and successful of all science fiction writers, broke into the field with a 'Probability Zero' item in the July 1942 Astounding. Hal Clement and George O. Smith also published in 'Probability Zero' near the very start of their careers.
Unfortunately, it didn't work enough. Campbell had to start the department going with professionals, hoping to let the amateurs carry on once they saw what it was Campbell wanted. There were, however, never enough amateurs who could meet Campbell 's standards even for short-shorts of an undemanding nature, and after twelve appearances of 'Probability Zero' over a space of two and a half years, Campbell gave up.
On November 17, however, he was just beginning, and he wanted me to do a 'Probability Zero' for him. I was delighted that he considered me to be at that stage of virtuosity where he could order me to do something for him according to measure. I promptly sat down and wrote a short-short called 'Big Game.' On November 24, 1941, I showed it to Campbell. He glanced over it and, rather to my astonishment, handed it back. It wasn't what he wanted.
I wish I could remember what 'Big Game' was about, for I thought enough of it to try submitting it to Collier's magazine (an over-awing slick) in 1944 - and it was, of course, rejected. The title, however, recalls nothing to my mind, and the story now no longer exists.
I tried a second time and did a humorous little positronic robot story called 'First Law.' I showed it to Campbell on December 1, and he didn't like that, either. This time, though, I kept the story. Thank goodness, I had finally learned that stories must be carefully saved for eternity, however many times they are rejected, and however firmly you imagine they are retired. 'Big Game' was the eleventh of my stories to disappear, but it was also the last.
In the case of 'First Law' there came a time when a magazine that did not exist in 1941 was to ask me for something. The magazine in question was Fantastic Universe, whose editor, Hans Stefan Santesson, asked me for a story at rates that would have been fine in 1941 but that by the mid-1950s I was reluctant to accept. I remembered 'First Law,' however, and sent it in. Santesson took it and ran it in the October 1956 issue of Fantastic Universe, and, eventually, I included it in The Rest of the Robots.
But back to 'Probability Zero' -
I tried a third time with a short-story called 'Time Pussy,' which I wrote on the morning of Sunday, December 7, 1941, finishing it just before the radio went crazy with the news of Pearl Harbor. I brought it in to Campbell the next day (life goes on!), and this time he took it, but 'not too enthusiastically,' according to my diary.
Time Pussy [15]
This was told me long ago by old Mac, who lived in a shack just over the hill from my old house. He had been a mining prospector out in the Asteroids during the Rush of '37, and spent most of his time now in feeding his seven cats.
'What makes you like cats so much, Mr. Mac?' I asked him.
The old miner looked at me and scratched his chin. 'Well,' he said, 'they reminds me o' my leetle pets on Pallas. They was something like cats - same kind of head, sort o' - and the cleverest leetle fellers y' ever saw. All dead!'
I felt sorry and said so. Mac heaved a sigh.
'Cleverest leetle fellers,' he repeated. They was four-dimensional pussies.'
'Four-dimensional, Mr. Mac? But the fourth dimension is time.' I had learned that the year before, in the third grade.
'So you've had a leetle schooling, hey?' He took out his pipe and filled it slowly. 'Sure, the fourth dimension is time. These pussies was about a foot long and six inches high and four inches wide and stretched somewheres into middle o' next week. That's four dimensions, ain't it?' Why, if you petted their heads, they wouldn't wag their tails till next day, mebbe. Some o' the big ones wouldn't wag till day after. Fact!'
I looked dubious, but didn't say anything.
Mac went on: 'They was the best leetle watchdogs in all creation, too. They had to be. Why, if they spotted a burglar or any suspicious character, they'd shriek like a banshee. And when one saw a burglar today, he'd shriek yesterday, so we had twenty-four hours' notice every time.'
My mouth opened. 'Honest?'
'Cross my heart! Y' want to know how we used to feed them? We'd wait for them to go to sleep, see, and then we'd know they was busy digesting their meals. These leetle time pussies, they always digested their meals exactly three hours before they ate it, on account their stomachs stretched that far back in time. So when they went to sleep, we used to look at the time, get their dinner ready and feed it to them exactly three hours later.'
He had lit his pipe now and was puffing away. He shook his head sadly. 'Once, though, I made a mistake. Poor leetle time pussy. His name was Joe, and he was just about my favorite, too. He went to sleep one morning at nine and somehow I got the idea it was eight. Naturally, I brought him his feed at eleven. I looked all over for him, but I couldn't find him.'
'What had happened, Mr. Mac?'
'Well, no time pussy's insides could be expected to handle his breakfast only two hours after digesting it. It's too much to expect. I found him finally under the tool kit in the outer shed. He had crawled there and died of indigestion an hour before. Poor leetle feller! After that, I always set an alarm, so I never made that mistake again.'
There was a short, mournful silence after that, and I resumed in a respectful whisper: 'You said they all died, before. Were they all killed like that?'