It seemed to me at one time that it would be an interesting project to write a series of stories about what the discovery of intelligent life elsewhere in the universe would mean to a selected cast of lead characters-a fashion designer (Martian prints the rage!), a philologist, a diplomat, etc. I managed to get two of the stories written-"Sad Solarian Screenwriter Sam," about a screenwriter in this situation, was one; this is the other. I doubt I will ever write more-but someone still should!
It is not easy to stop there, when there are other stories in the volume to talk about, and I remember so well every birth pang, every cranky teething through the typewriter. But I have something else I want to say, and that is to acknowledge a very large debt that accumulated over nearly a quarter of a century to two people. I am not the only one who owes much to them. Every science-fiction writer and every reader is in their debt, for being the first with the courage and the sagacity to make sf a staple in the mass-market paperback field.
I personally owe them something more than that. I owe them friendship, courtesy, help beyond the call of duty. . and love.
Their names are Betty and Ian Ballantine, and until the day I die they will both have a very special place in my heart.
-Frederik Pohi
1974