Kydd Komet: Interview with a Scout

Kydd Komet: Interview with a Scout

By Wilbur Michalowitz, Ph.D.

Originally Published in The Journal of the Cine Industry, July 1958, Vol. 23, No. 7, pp. 68-75 [ Earth 4419/TS 7].

What follows is a rare find: an account of an encounter with an Inter-dimensional Scout written by a scholar from another dimension. It is doubly rare in that the Scout is none other than the famously successful Ajax Stottelmeyer. The British English spellings and punctuation of the original manuscript have been retained. However, the voluminous footnotes have been converted to endnotes to improve the flow of the text. This is not to suggest the footnotes are unimportant. They provide us with invaluable insights into a place and time remarkably akin to Alpha Earth’s own Hollywood during the 1930s. Indeed, they suggest Michalowitzs’ Earth 4419 may closely adjoin our own Alpha Earth based on Williamson’s Ecological Model of Quantum Dimensional Drift. — Editor

I.      Introduction

In 1936, Republica Studios brought Barry Black over from England to Holywood to do properties and especial effects for its Kydd Komet, Space Racer cine serial. As it happened, I, too, had been hired over from Britain to script the serial’s 12 episodes.^i. The scripts and scenics were to be based on the hugely popular Barron Features Syndicate comic strip by the same name.ⁱⁱ  

Like myself, ⁱⁱⁱ Black had learnt his tradecraft in the British military during the Greatest War; in his case being that of a master model builder. Following the Armistice in 1921, he transferred his skills at making training models of aeroplanes and three-dimensional terrain maps into making movie props and creating special effects for the burgeoning film industry, first in Great Britain and later in America.

‘Back in Britain during the war, we had begun using plastic in place of wood as it allowed for rather more detail and facilitated mass replication,’ Black told me in 1950^iv when I interviewed him for my book, The Wonderful Worlds of Barry Black: Movies’ Master Magician. ‘But in the States back then, plastic was still something new and novel,’ Black recalled. ‘Republica executives were leery until I showed I could make one item and then cheaply cast multiple plastic replicas … rather than having to make them one at a time out of wood or metal. This saved money and don’t you know the bloody studio accountants loved that!’

(Republica Studios was infamous for ‘squeezing every nickel until the eagle screamed,’ as the saying went. Back then, they even fined you if you didn’t turn the lights off when you left the room. So, it came as no surprise that Kydd Komet’s tight production budget constantly forced Black to engage in bricolage en extremis.^v) 

‘There wasn’t enough money in the straitened purse to build even a portion of the exterior of Captain Kydd’s spaceship, Space Vessel (S/V) Komet,’ Black recalled. ‘This was a conundrum as most of your scripts called for at least a hatch and section of the rocket’s hull for the transition scenes between the Komet interior and the surface of whatever planet they had landed on that week.’ 

Desperate for a solution, Black recounted how he took his hip flask and wandered through the studio’s cavernous properties warehouses one night, sipping gin and looking for a hatch.

Finally, he stumbled onto a solution. ‘Literally,’ he laughed, ‘as I had just finished the gin!’ In the gloom, he had walked face-on into the full-scale mock-up of a bathysphere — a large horizontal tank with a raised hatch on top. It had been built for the 1933 bio-pic Dive to the Bottom of the Sea^vi about the adventures of William Bábie, the famous underwater explorer. 

‘I solved the hatch problem by replacing the astrolabe dome on top of the special-effects model [of the S/V Komet] with a hatch resembling the one on the full-size bathysphere — which then became the hatch for the Komet in close-up scenes,’ Black said. ‘Ben [Bender, the comics artist,] liked the look so much, he changed the design of the Komet in his strip.’

My last interview with Black for the new book took place on August 26, 1950. By the time we finished, it was quite late, and the table was cluttered with a half-dozen ‘dead soldiers’ in addition to my tape recorder and reels of recording tape.

It was only then, after much drink and some hemming and hawing, that Black shared with me an incident so strange as to beggar belief. So bizarre, Black avowed, he had never told another soul.

Now, Black was famous for his practical jokes.^vii So, when he finished his tale, I told him he should apologize to H. G. Wills, for plagiarizing his work. Black took umbrage at this, insisting his tale was true and he had proof.

However, he never presented this proof and I concluded it was another story ‘born in the bottle’ so to speak, and omitted any mention of it in my biography of him when it was published in 1952.  

Five years passed, and I heard nothing from my old drinking companion Then, I received a small package from Black in the morning post. Opening it, I found a heavy, sealed envelope with ‘I found it at last!’ scrawled on the outside in Black’s swooping hand. Curious, I retrieved the miniature sword from my Oscar’s hands and slit open the envelope.

Imagine my surprise when I shook out four small golden ingots and a card with strange, alien markings!

The gold was .999 percent pure — I had the ingots assayed. I cannot imagine even a practical joker like Black going to such great expense just to ‘sell’ a story.

What follows is a faithful transcript of Black’s remarks that I recorded that hot August night in 1950.  I still find his account difficult to believe. But the evidence is sufficiently compelling I feel constrained to pass it on.

II. Black’s Strange Narrative

Solving the hatch problem that night left me feeling really chuffed. What the Hell, I remember thinking. I’m already half in the bag. Let’s go back to the prop department and have a real beano!

But, when I got back to the prop building,  d***ed if it wasn’t lit up inside like Times Circle on New Year’s Eve! 

You can cut the curse words, can’t you, Snotty?^ix Good. 

Well, I was already down a couple of quid to the turn-off-the-lights patrol, so I hustled inside to see if they’d left me a U-O-Me chit. But, when I went in, the lights were off. 

The light — I kid you not — was coming from this, uh, thing dressed in a robot costume, dancing around like a dervish and shouting something like ‘Dor-e-too! Dor-e-too!’ For a half a mo’ I thought it was Freddy — remember him? The costume designer? — come to show off a new outfit for the show. But it was too nice. We were making do with a dog’s breakfast of old Robin Hood and Four Musketeer costumes with fins and pointy antennae tacked on here and there.

This costume looked new. It looked … real.

It was bright, bright yellow and it glowed.

I kid you not, Snotty, the suit glowed! And there were all sorts of lights blinking on this big backpack. Whatever — whoever — was in it must have heard me come in, as he turned around and I saw the suit had a box with dials and gauges on its chest and pockets everywhere. It was wearing a helmet, and it had no face.

That got my wind up, I can tell you.

Lacking a proper weapon, I yanked the Kydd Komet Cosmic Ray Pistol hero prop^x out of its holster on the workbench. ‘Hands up!’ I shouted, pointing the prop gun at him and trying not to shake.

The creature stopped dancing and obligingly raised its arms. Then it very slowly moved the index finger of its gloved right hand to press a button on the side of the helmet.

With a whoosh, and a puff of water vapor, the mirrored faceplate — for that’s what it was  — vanished up into the helmet, revealing a smiling human face.

‘Forty-two!’ it — he — shouted. ‘It’s a forty-two! You’re forty-two!’ He started dancing again.

‘I’m twenty-six, not forty-two,’ I said waving the gun about. ‘And stop that infernal gamboling!’ He'd scared the p**s out of me, and I was irritable.

‘Sorry, I got so excited … Once in a lifetime … Where are my manners?’ he said and reached into a pocket and, after some digging, handed me a dog-eared business card printed on heavy cream stock. Embossed on the card were the words ‘Representative, Emporium et Bazar Interdimensionnel, Earth/Alpha/T10.’ The name ‘Ajax Stottelmeyer’ had been handwritten above that in pencil.

‘Interdimensional Emporium and Bazaar,’ I interpreted. ‘You’re claiming you’re a time traveler from France, Mister, er, Stottelmeyer?’

He snatched back the card. ‘Heaven’s no. Goodness no!’ He slipped the card back into his pocket. ‘Sorry, but I can’t change my weight. Now, I’m only here for twenty minutes—’ A small red light on his chest box lit up and chirped — ‘fifteen minutes now. Let me just explain things to you so we can get down to business. First, I am not a time traveler. Nor am I from France. The company thought its name sounded sicker in French. More exotic. And time travel is a crock. To travel forward or backward in time you would have to be able to stuff all the sun’s energy into something the size of a dustbin. Can’t be done. I am a Dimensional Scout. Quantum theory and all that. Can’t go forward or backward in time, but anyone can slip sideways for a sec. Happens all the time. Mandela Effect and all that.’ 

‘Quantum? Mandela?’ I asked.

‘Not important. Anyway, the suit and the energy in my batteries,’ he jabbed a thumb in the direction of his backpack, ‘allow me to stay in your dimension for twenty minutes. At which point I slide back to Alpha Earth where I belong.’

‘And the forty-two?’

‘Last question! Time’s a-wasting. Adam’s Law says that only one out of every forty-two dimensional earths will have life as we know it. There are an infinite number of dimensions from which to choose and ninety-seven-point-six percent of them are duds. Maybe the earth never formed, maybe dinosaurs didn’t get clobbered by a comet, or people turned their world into a radioactive cinder. Hence the protective suit. Some Scouts can go their entire lives and never find a forty-two. Yours makes my fifth!’ He laughed like a loon. ‘Sorry. Got carried away. Now, let’s get down to business. What kind of gun is that?’

‘It’s a Cosmic Ray Pistol,’ I said.

‘Really?’ He looked around the room. ‘No offense, but I wouldn’t have thought your civilization was that advanced. How does it work?’

I decided to take a chance and tell the truth.

‘Er, it’s a prop gun, really,” I said putting it back on the prop table.  ‘For a movie. Kydd Komet, Space Racer.’

 ‘Oh, too bad,’ he said. ‘Had it been real, that would have made you an eleven on the T-Scale. I had you pegged correctly then as either a high seven or a low eight.’

‘T-Scale?’

‘“Technology Scale.” On Alpha Earth, we set our technology level at ten on the scale — capable of developing interdimensional travel. So, I am a time traveler of sorts. Always looking for an earth with a T Scale ahead of ours. No one’s found one. Yet.’

Another red light on his chest box lit up and beeped.

‘Ten minutes left. Look, Mister …?’

‘Black. Barry Black.’

‘Look, Mister Black, I’m a dimensional scout and when we visit another dimension, we like to bring little things back with us. Bones, bangles, and beads. Little stuff. Helps prove we were there. So, how much do you want for that Cosmic Disintegrator of yours?’

‘Cosmic Ray Pistol,’ I absent-mindedly corrected him. I was thinking about what some extra plush would mean to my church mouse lifestyle. After all, I can always make another one, I thought.

‘How much are you willing to pay?’ I asked.

‘Let’s see, shall we?’

He took a white box the size of a small book out of a thigh pocket. He tapped its face and ‘000.000’ appeared in red letters. 

‘Scale of Justiss,’ he explained.

‘Scale of justice?’ 

‘J-u-s-t-i-s-s,’ he spelled it out. ‘Name of the Scout who discovered you have to leave another dimension weighing the same as when you arrived down to three decimal places. She put a rock in her hip pocket. Lost an equal amount of her arse when she snapped back.’

‘If you dumped all your equipment, could you take me? There. Wherever.’ I asked on impulse.

‘I could, but I’d have to kill you first.’

‘What?!’

‘Sorry. Scout humour. Nothing alive, I’m afraid.’

‘But you’re here.’

‘I wouldn’t be able to stay in your dimension for more than a mo’ if it weren’t for the suit. Wonderful thing about that, I can breathe your air and not have to worry about taking any bugs back with me. Or leaving any. Anyway, inanimate stuff only.’ 

Another light. Another beep. Five minutes.

‘But time’s a-wasting. Put your Cosmic Ray Gun on the scale, please.’ 

I did as he asked, adding the holster and belt. He noted the weight and handed them back. Then he reached into a pocket pouch and brought out some small gold ingots about the length of my index finger. He put three on the scale. ‘Not enough,’ he muttered. He added a fourth ingot. ‘Hmmm. Just a whisker under.’ He added his dog-eared business card. ‘Perfect!’

He handed me the four ingots and business card with a flourish. From the smug smile on his face, he thought he had gotten the better part of the deal.

‘Well, nice meeting you, Mr. Black,’ he said reaching for the button on his helmet. 

‘Wait!’ I said. ‘Why did you tell me all this? What if I tell people?’

He smiled. ‘Who’d believe you, Mr. Black? Now, that is. Someday maybe when you have the Internet.’

‘Inter—?’

The fourth light lit and beeped. The stranger started to shimmer and fade.

‘How can I get in touch with you?’ I shouted.

‘The back of the card. When you can read that, you’ll know we have a permanent outpost here. Goodbye.’

His visor snapped down and — pfft! — he was gone.

I tied on a real blinder that night, I can tell you! And in my drunken state, I hid the ingots and card someplace safe. So safe, the next day I couldn’t remember where I put them. 

But I’ll look for them again, Snotty, and, if I ever find them, I’ll send them to you.

[Tape ends]

III. Conclusion

And he did.

Send them to me, that is.

At last. Five years later.

There is nothing distinctive about the gold ingots or the business card to indicate it came from elsewhere, let alone another dimension. But the best codebreakers of 1957 remain unable to decipher the elaborate Rosetta Stone image printed on the card’s back:

Someday, perhaps.

Endnotes

ⁱ          The first episode introduced the hero and his dangerous endeavour and was 30 minutes long — a so-called ‘three reeler’ as each reel lasted 10 minutes. The 11 episodes that followed were each 20-minutes long (i.e., ‘two reelers’). Each of the episodes ended with either the hero or heroine in deadly danger; said plot device being intended to bring the audience back next week, curious to see how they escaped.

ⁱⁱ        The Kydd Komet comix strip premiered as a daily feature in the New York Knickerbocker in 1930 and broke new ground by telling an ongoing story, centered around Captain Thomas Kydd and his space racer, S/V Komet. The strips were colourized and reprinted in Cosmic Comix beginning in 1934. The 1936 serial further inflamed interest. Rosey Air Guns sold Kydd Komet Cosmic Ray Pistols and Hupley Toys sold a metal replica of the S/V Komet—early examples of cine merchandising.

ⁱⁱⁱ       The author, Leftenant Michalowitz (RNR) wrote and produced propaganda films for the British public during the Greatest War.

^iv        By this time in his life, the ‘Dean of Creature Features’ had retired to the country where he built a studio to experiment with new, more realistic especial effects.

^v         Bricolage: ‘Construction or creation of a work from a diverse range of things such as happen to be on hand.’ Western Dictionary, 1949 edition.

^vi       Dive to the Bottom of the Sea (1933) was a critical and financial disappointment for Republica. The studio seriously miscast the grossly overweight and overwrought British thespian, Sir Charles Lohwton, as Bábie. Besides chewing the scenery, Lohwton reportedly had to lose 20 pounds before he could fit down the hatch.

^vii      The hatch became an inside joke in Episode Eight, Zombie Pirates of Mars. As they were setting off from their secret base in the asteroid belt, Kydd paraphrased Lohwton’s speech in Dive to the Bottom of the Sea. Pausing in the open hatch, Kydd turned to the heroine, Venus Trapp, and said: ‘Do not mourn us if we do not return! We are about to plumb the depths of the galaxy’s greatest mystery.’ Carrying the joke still further, Conrad Steuben, the director, made sure the camera angle, actors’ positions, and lighting in the scene mimicked the scene in Dive to the Bottom of the Sea. ‘We were churning out a 20-minute chapter every three-day and had to do something to maintain our sanity,’ Steuben later recalled.

^viii     The author’s nickname from boarding school days, owing to an unfortunate sinus condition.

^ix       A prop used by the hero. Because it appeared in close-ups, it was more highly detailed than the props carried by extras.