Galactic Derelict by Andre Norton
Published in 1959, Galactic Derelict is the sequel to The Time Traders, which came out the year before. The main character of the first book takes a back seat to a newcomer, Travis, who is Apache by descent, and proud of his traditions.
Set against the background of a Cold War which has continued into the last quarter of the twentieth century, this story contains many ideas which were progressive for the age in which it was written. Some of these include racial equality and a more enlightened view of extraterrestrial species, certain of which are described with an inventiveness which render them truly alien. The only strange aspect is that Norton seems to equate odors which are perceived by humans as “foul” with malevolence, whereas aliens with inoffensive odors are benign.
The characters have distinct personalities, and are described convincingly, and although the story is not by any means devoid of introspection on the part of the protagonist, it is primarily a fast-paced adventure filled with action. This action takes the form of outwitting and battling enemies and vicious beasts, and struggling with alien technologies and trying to devise solutions to seemingly insurmountable problems.
Naturally, some aspects of the alien spaceship will seem outdated to modern readers. Since Galactic Derelict was written prior to the digital age, the pilot relies on buttons, levers and wires, mechanics and apparently electrics, to control engines capable of propelling the craft into hyperspace. The ship also carries a kind of liquid fuel in its tanks, and there is no mention of artificial gravity during flight. In addition, these highly advanced aliens, who are capable of time travel and maintaining a galactic empire, recorded information on wire tapes, and the course the ship takes through space is reliant upon the control board reading one of these recordings as it is fed through a machine. These details of course would not have jarred with readers of sixty years ago, as they may with audiences today. In a couple of places the atmosphere and alien beings reminded me of The Time Machine by H.G. Wells, although the story is entirely different.
All in all, Galactic Derelict is an absorbing and satisfying tale of multidimensional adventure, which is made all the more fascinating by the era in which the book was written.
Below are some representative quotations from the text of the book:
Elsewhere around the world deserts had been flooded, through man's efforts, with sea water freed of its burden of salt. Ordered farms beat ancient sand dunes into dim memories. Mankind was fast becoming no longer subject to the whim of weather or climate.
Photographing the past, beginning with a few hours past, by the infra-red waves, had succeeded in experimentation as far back as twenty years previously—during the late fifties.
"... so we discovered the Reds had time travel and were prospecting back into the past. What they dredged up there couldn't be explained by any logic based on the history we knew and the prehistory we had pieced out. What we didn't know then was that they had found the remains—badly smashed—of a spaceship. It was encased in the ice of Siberia, along with preserved mammoth bodies and a few other pertinent clues to suggest the proper era for them to explore.
We keep away from the natives, we don't get involved in any happenings back there. Our only reason for going through is to make as sure as we can that the technical boys are not going to be disturbed while they work on that wreck.
He had heard enough during the past few days to judge that any contact with the original owners of the galactic ships could be highly dangerous.
Of course he had in a measure felt the same lack of self consciousness with Dr. Morgan. To Prentiss Morgan a man's race and the color of his skin were nothing—a shared enthusiasm was all that really mattered.
What had the Apache been then —and the white man? Roving hunters with skill in spear and knife and the running down of game. Yet it was at that time that these aliens had produced this ship, voyaged space, not only between the planets of a single system, but from star to starl
"The controls must now be set with some sort of a guide-perhaps a tape. Once we are grounded and I can get to work, that might just be reversed. But there are a hundred 'ifs' between us and earth, and we can't count on anything."
Ashe had already mastered the operation of a small projector which "read" the wire-kept records, and so opened up not a new world but worlds. The singsong speech which went with the pictures meant nothing to the Terrans. But the pictures— and such pictures! Three-dimensional, colored, they allowed one a window on the incomprehensible life of a complex civilization stretching from star to star.
"To themselves they may be men," Ashe returned, "and we might represent monsters. All relative, son. At any rate, I believe that they do not regard us with kindness."
These natives must depend upon that shelter for their lives. Break it open and they're just as dead as if we mowed them down with blasters. They may not be anything or anybody we'd care to live with, but this is their world and we're intruders.
Like the blue flyers, the subject bore baffling resemblances to living things they knew, and yet was in its totality alien.
Whether he could reset another tape, or reverse the present one, he did not yet know."I don't know about rewinding this one." He tapped the coin-sized disk they had seen ejected from the board on the morning of their arrival. "If the wire breaks—" He shrugged and did not need to elaborate."So you'd like to have another to practice on." Ashe nodded.
There are certain basic patterns which become familiar—which you can use as the framework for your guess.""Human patterns," Travis reminded. "Here we do not deal with humans.""No, we don't. Unless you widen the definition of human to include any entity with intelligence and the power to use it. Which I believe we shall have to do, now that we are no longer planet—or system—bound.
And men from his world would search and speculate, and learn, and guess—perhaps wrongly. Then, after a while there again would be a new city rising somewhere—maybe on his own world—which would serve as a storehouse of knowledge gained from star to star. Time would pass, and that city, too, would die. Until some representative of a race as yet unborn would come to search and speculate—and guess—Travis slept.