One for the Neophytes

"ALL RISE." (The science fiction fans rise.)

"The opening sermon of this convocation of the order of science fiction fans will be delivered by Brother Bova. Take it away, Ben."

"Thank you, Brother Isaac. Tell me, assembled multitude, where is our future?"

"SPACE!" Yeah! Yeah!

"When do we want to get there?"

"SOON!" Don't we know it!

"Beware the narrow-minded politician, but fear not: for whether we go there for war, for profit, or for fun, our evolution into space is..."

"INEVITABLE! INEVITABLE! INEV..."

They are one, united in purpose. All congratulate each other on the wisdom of their foresight, and lament the ignorance and mundanity of the outside world. Oh, if only everyone knew what they know!

****

Ben Bova, a science fiction writer for more than 20 years and the field's most respected magazine editor, got tired of preaching to the converted. continuing a trend shown in his last few books and by his switch last year from Analog, which appeals to a limited science fiction readership, to Omni, one of Bob Guiccione's glossy publications. Bova is aiming for the mass market with Kinsman. It's science fiction, yes, the reliable Bova blend of advanced science and backward bureaucrats, but science fiction intended primarily for the uninitiated--those sad souls who do not see the value of space travel or the vast potential of the raw materials out there; short, those who are letting, and helping, the space program go down the tubes.

Bova conveys his message entertainingly. His writing is competent, if not spectacular, and while the "futuristic technology" involved--killer satellites (gasp!) and moon bases--is old hat to science fiction fans, the interplay between science and politics and the bitter metamorphosis of Chester Arthur Kinsman should keep readers interested.

Chester Arthur Kinsman is one of Bova's ideal astronauts. These are not the sterile, blandly patriotic robots projected by NASA flacks, but intensely human and necessarily flawed men--and women--who believe in what they are doing and possess enough independence to reject or exploit bureaucratic maneuvering that surrounds them. As Bova portrays it, the path into space--whether it be military, industrial or political--will be strewn with the carcasses of careers and programs that, regardless of merit, lose behind-the-scenes struggles of power and influence.

As the novel opens, Kinsman is 21, an idealistic Air Force test pilot. He loves to fly, and he wants to be an astronaut. He is told: "You don't believe they'll actually give you what you want, do you? They'll use you for cannon fodder... They'll put you in a war plane and order you to kill people." Kinsman, already straining his Quaker heritage by joining the military, vows he won't be a pawn of a system he does not like but must deal with to get what he wants--into space.

He gets there, all right, but his accomplishment is tarnished. Sent into orbit to inspect a Soviet satellite, Kinsman kills a Russian cosmonaut by yanking out her airhose as they grapple soundlessly in the vacuum. Haunted and horrified that he could commit such an act Kinsman must find out what made him kill another human being without reason. Only then can he bring into space his victory of morality over military training, confrontation politics, and the squandering of resources...all earthbound evil.

Barring our premature destruction, we're going out into space, says Bova. It may take a while--politicians have these tar pits they call committees--but industry will want raw materials and the military nice spots to place their nuclear weapons. Power and the profits will be their motivations, not scientific curiosity or the thrill and the strangeness of space. They won't "come in peace for all mankind." But a few--like Kinsman--may. The game will be played; we might as well start rooting for the good guys