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4.5 2
by Vernor Vinge

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This second novel by multiple award-winner Vernor Vinge, from 1976, is a fast-paced adventure where galactic policies collide and different cultures clash as two scientists and their faith in technology are pitted against an elusive race of telekinetic beings.

Marooned on a distant world and slowly dying of food poisoning, two anthropologists are caught between


This second novel by multiple award-winner Vernor Vinge, from 1976, is a fast-paced adventure where galactic policies collide and different cultures clash as two scientists and their faith in technology are pitted against an elusive race of telekinetic beings.

Marooned on a distant world and slowly dying of food poisoning, two anthropologists are caught between warring alien factions engaged in a battle that will affect the future of the world's inhabitants and their deadly telekinetic powers. If the anthropologists can't help resolve the conflict between the feuding alien factions, no one will survive.

This edition features sixteen full-page illustrations by Doug Beekman.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

“Vernor Vinge has long been one of the best writers of innovative, thought-provoking, character-as-well-as-science-driven SF.” —Amazing Stories on Vernor Vinge

“Vernor Vinge is one of our most notable writers.” —Analog on True Names

“Vinge . . . is among the very best of the current crop of hard SF writers, producing work that is not only fast-paced and intellectually challenging, but also stylishly written and centered on carefully drawn characters.” —Publishers Weekly on A Deepness in the Sky

The Barnes & Noble Review
Vernor Vinge is best known for thematically massive, visionary science fiction epics like A Fire Upon the Deep and A Deepness in the Sky (both of which won the Hugo Award); but fans of the renowned literary futurist will be happy to know that Tor Books is busy re-releasing some of Vinge's earlier, more intimate works.

The Witling (1976), Vinge's second published novel, chronicles the adventures of two human explorers marooned on a planet inhabited by an sentient but unfriendly race. Slowly dying from the heavy metal concentration in the local food and water (and hopelessly stranded after their spacecraft crashed and burned), surly pilot Yoninne Leg-Wot and aging archeologist Ajao Bjault have only one chance to survive -- to somehow retrieve their weapons and communication devices from the native populace and transmit an emergency message requesting help. The Azhiri, however, although still a primitive Iron Age civilization, have extraordinarily powerful teleportation abilities…

If shelf-bending masterworks like the aforementioned A Fire Upon the Deep and A Deepness in the Sky are all-you-can-eat meals, then this unearthed Vinge classic is a delectable bite-sized dessert. With only a handful of integral characters and relatively uncomplicated story lines, the pacing of The Witling is fast and its narrative straightforward. But, as par for the course with all Vinge works, deeply thought-provoking themes (contrasting cultures, tolerance, prejudice, etc.) make this fast-paced adventure anything but simple reading fare. (Note: Fans still hungry for more VV should check out Tatja Grimm's World, The Peace War, and Marooned in Realtime, all early Vinge works recently reissued by Tor.) Paul Goat Allen
Library Journal
Vinge's sf tale finds human anthropologists stranded on a planet amidst an alien war between two indigenous species. The humans are dying slowly from natural toxins, but if they can't help bring peace, the planet's entire population will join them. This edition includes 16 illustrations. Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.

Product Details

Tom Doherty Associates
Publication date:
Edition description:
First Edition
Product dimensions:
5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.51(d)

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The Witling


Fall had come to Bodgaru-by-the-Sea, and winter was not now far away. All up the sides of the mountains that sheltered Bodgaru's northern flank, the tri-crowned pines stood green and snowy white in the fading sunlight. The town itself was still free of snow, but the cutting edge of the sea wind blew up off the beaches to lay sand and dust across the frosted brown grass that separated the townspeople's stone houses. Only the furry terns were about in the out-of-doors these days: they screaked and scrawked as they glided between the houses. The townspeople were Summerfolk, and when the weather turned cold, many of them moved south where summer was forever. Those who stayed kept indoors, and worked their mines buried thousands of feet within the mountains.

Parapfu Moragha looked out upon the scene, and silently cursed the day he had been appointed prefect of Bodgaru. Oh, at the time it had seemed quite a coup. His stone mansesat large and imposing on the ridge line that shielded the terminus of the Royal Road from the mountains to the north; he ruled a land larger than some duchies. But his vast "domain" was a cold, ugly borderland of the Summerkingdom. Bodgaru was seven leagues north of the equator—a short ride on the road, but more than two thousand miles as pilgrims walk it. The glaciers and mountains and snow-covered deserts that stretched from Bodgaru away to the North Pole were all claimed by the Snowking.

Moragha turned away from the thick quartz window to eye his visitors with barely disguised distaste. A half-wit, a Guildsman, and a common miner. It was outrageous that he should be bothered by the likes of these on the eve of the prince-imperial's visit, a visit that might be his last chance to persuade his friends at court to get him a new assignment. He eased himself onto the fur cushions that covered his stone chair, and said, "Really, Prou, why are you here?"

Thengets del Prou returned his accusing look with characteristic blandness. Only the glint in his eyes told Moragha that the tall, dark-skinned Guildsman was really laughing at his discomfiture. "I am within my covenanted territory, My Lord. Bodgaru is less than eight leagues from Dhendgaru."

Theso Lagha, first speaker of the miners' association, bobbed his head respectfully. He, at least, showed proper courtesy. "I asked him to come here tonight, My Lord Prefect. It seemed to me that what Hugo saw was important, so important that you might need the Guild immediately."

Moragha grimaced. Covenant or no, he feared the Guild. And he trusted Prou even less than the average Guildsman; the dark-faced smart aleck was of desert stock, with a practically unpronounceable name. Moragha wished that the miners didn't need Prou's senging quite so often, that theGuildsman would stick to his assigned city. "Very well, good Theso, just what did your man see?"

Lagha urged the third visitor toward Moragha's throne. "Yes, My Lord. Hugo here is indentured to our association as a woodcutter. Tell My Lord Prefect what you saw, Hugo."

Hugo was obviously a half-wit and a witling. His eyes wandered aimlessly about the room as he fiddled nervously with the sewn bladders of his slicker; Lagha and Prou at least had the grace to leave theirs by the pool. After several incoherent garglings, the old man finally managed: "May it please M'lord, I cut wood ... for freeman and his friends, them that pull the rock from the hills. Mostly, I cut tri-crown pine over ... over ..."

"Over northeast of town, away from the prospecting hills," put in Lagha.

"Yea ... nice up there. No people. No things, excepting paddlefeet sometimes ... and that only after the snow comes all the way into town ... ." He paused for a long moment but his owner did not prod him on. Finally he recovered his chain of thought. " ... But this last nineday, before the first snow, there's been some ... thing so strange up there. Lights, faint. Like you see over Bilala's marsh at night sometimes in the summer. I thought it might be same thing, but no, the lights stay and stay. Pretty. I go closer last night. Come in from the north ... . Quiet, quiet. There are people there, M'lord, watching us, watching town."

"How many?" snapped the prefect.

The witling's face twisted in concentration. "Hard to say. Two, I think ... they have a little house there and they sit and watch us from inside. And they're strange. One's so big, so tall ... much taller even than the honored Guildsman." He nodded at Thengets del Prou. " ... I go close, closer, quiet like the paddlefoot, and then ..."

His voice faded, as he stared beyond the thick stone walls at some remembered vision. Faintly, the prefect heard the wind keening through the twilight outside. He shivered. This place was so far north of where decent men should live. "Well?" he asked finally. "What happened then?"

"I run. I run! I'm so scared." The old man collapsed blubbering onto his stone chair.

Moragha turned on Lagha. "For this you waste my time, freeman? Don't you know that the prince-imperial"—the witling, boorish prince-imperial— "arrives in the Bodgaru prefecture tomorrow? I have more important things to do than listen to the ravings of your village idiot!"

Lagha's civility faded the tiniest fraction. "My Lord Prefect, Hugo has certain—problems, but he has been the property of my association for nearly thirty years, and in all that time I don't believe he has ever told tales." The object of their discussion sat looking dismally at the floor. "Frankly, My Lord, I believe he saw something up there."

"Squatters?" asked Prou.

"I don't know, sir. There are things that don't fit: the creatures are very strange, by Hugo's telling. That's why I thought My Lord Prefect might want to commission you to seng the hills. If there's a number of Snowfolk squatters up there you would detect it. And if these strange things be something else ..." His voice trailed off.

Moragha wondered briefly why the bad luck always happened to him. The prince-imperial was an untalented lout, a stain upon the royal family's honor, but he was first in line of succession, and he was visiting the prefecture tomorrow. That visit was very important to Parapfu Moragha. But now there was this new problem to worry about; it just wasn't fair. On the other hand—and here the prefect brightened—inthe unlikely event that there were Snowfolk close to town, his detecting them on the eve of the imperial visit would indeed be a coup ... . Even if he had to deal with the Guild to achieve it.

"Well," he said grumpily to Thengets del Prou, "will you reconnoiter that area for us?"

Prou stretched his long legs lazily toward Moragha's throne. "You know the Guild doesn't like to involve itself with disputes between kingdoms."

"But we don't know for sure what it is Hugo saw up there," said Lagha.

"True," said the Guildsman. "Very well, My Lord Prefect, I will take the job. The Guild's commission will be one hundred imperials."

Moragha started. That was ten times the usual seng fee. "Go to it, then."

Prou nodded, closed his eyes, and seemed to relax even more. There was a long silence as the dark-faced young man senged far beyond the manse. Moragha closed his own eyes. He had always prided himself on his Talent. He could easily perceive the densities of the rock and air beyond the walls of the manse. His artisans had arranged the flagstones about the building in subtle patterns of varying density, and every part of that design was clear to him. Beyond that he could seng several transit pools in the area, but the spaces in between were hazy, and without visiting them personally he never could quite place them in true space. That was the only real difference between himself and the likes of Thengets del Prou, who even now was perceiving densities thousands of yards up in the hills. Moragha tried to imagine what it must be like to have such omniscience—but as always, he failed.

Finally the Guildsman opened his eyes. For a moment he seemed disoriented. Then, "You just wasted one hundred imperials, My Lord Perfect," he said. "I senged nothing up there but the densities of snow and rock."

There was something strange in the other's expression, and Moragha struggled for a moment to identify it. There was no laughter behind Prou's dark eyes! That was it. For the first time in the nearly two years he had known the man, that ironic glint was gone. The Guildsman had senged something, something so important he was willing to break the Guild's bond to lie about it. Moragha suppressed a sneer, and said, "Thank you, good Thengets, but I think I will check further. The Royal Atsobi Garrison is only one league to the south. I can have a company of mountain troops up here in an hour. Freeman Lagha, you'll have your Hugo direct the imperial soldiers. Any questions or comments?"

Moragha raised his hand in dismissal. Lagha retired with Hugo to the salt water pool at the center of the room and departed. The prefect stood as the Guildsman prepared to slip into the water after them. "A moment, good Thengets."

"Yes?" The Guildsman had recovered his old composure. There was even the beginning of a faint smile on his face.

"Are you sure you didn't miss anything on your survey?"

"Of course not, My Lord. You know it's nearly impossible to detect objects as small as individual men—their densities are so much like water. But there is no large group up there, I assure you."

"Very good. Still, it might be wise for you to stay in town the next few hours. If my troops were to find you up in the hills, we might conclude that you had senged something strange up there and were trying to get to it first. I wouldnever want the Guild to be suspected of violating the trust we put in it."

Thengets del Prou stood very still for a moment, his smile slowly broadening. Finally he said, "As you wish, My Lord Prefect."

Copyright © 1976 by Vernor Vinge

Meet the Author

Vernor Vinge has won five Hugo Awards, including one for each of his last three novels, A Fire Upon the Deep (1992), A Deepness in the Sky (1999), and Rainbow's End (2006). Known for his rigorous hard-science approach to his science fiction, he became an iconic figure among cybernetic scientists with the publication in 1981 of his novella "True Names," which is considered a seminal, visionary work of Internet fiction. His many books also include Marooned in Realtime and The Peace War.

Born in Waukesha, Wisconsin and raised in Central Michigan, Vinge is the son of geographers. Fascinated by science and particularly computers from an early age, he has a Ph.D. in computer science, and taught mathematics and computer science at San Diego State University for thirty years. He has gained a great deal of attention both here and abroad for his theory of the coming machine intelligence Singularity. Sought widely as a speaker to both business and scientific groups, he lives in San Diego, California.

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Witling 4.5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 2 reviews.
harstan More than 1 year ago
The male archeologist Bjault and the female space pilot Yoninne Leg-Wot disagree on how to go about their assignment to explore the planet Giri. She insists they know enough having ¿spied¿ from space on the feudal society below but he says they only picked up information about women and children as the men are minors. Still with their incredibly superior technology, they land on the planet with a human superiority complex. Prince Imperial Pelio wants to be recognized as the heir to his father¿s throne, but he is a Witling so even his sire Lord Prefect of Bodgaru knows his offspring is unworthy as his son cannot mentally transport himself or objects like most people can and do at the speed of light. However, though dreaming of becoming the Lord Prefect, Prince Pelio had no hope of succession as any attempt would not just fail, but also expose him as a Witling and turn him into a slave that is he had no expectation until the two outsiders landed. They are Witlings like him, but they contain knowledge and technology far advanced than those on his planet. If he can exploit their knowledge, he can become the Lord Prefect even as a lowly Witling. --- This is a reprint of a superb look at necessity is the mother of invention as Bodgaru society uses mental telepathy that limits the need for technological advancement especially in transportation for many people. However those lacking the skill are considered handicapped and treated as slaves way beneath those with the talent. The two pompous outsiders land at a time when the have-nots want to break the yoke of slavery while the haves prefer the status quo. Fast-paced and insightful, readers will appreciate this delightful insightful tale of a technological backwater world that for most people do not need wheeled-vehicles. --- Harriet Klausner
Anonymous More than 1 year ago