The Butterfly Kiss — Text and Context

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In Category - Social Speculation

Authors: Savage, Arthur Dekker Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2012 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Science fiction; Short stories; War stories Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 9,981

Reading time 44 min

Text sections 1

This digital edition of The Butterfly Kiss — Text and Context is described by source-level measurements including 9,981 words, 44 min estimated reading time, and 1 detected text section.

The text analysis averages about 15.7 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Science fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #40991

Arthur Dekker Savage's 1953 story follows Sykin Supcel, a kidnapped Earth scientist with superhuman speed, as he infiltrates the enemy Sur-Malic world. The narrative shifts from bureaucratic exposition to fast-paced action, using clipped dialogue and visceral details to explore loyalty and deception in a galactic war.

Editorial Edition Score 4.4/5

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Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg40991

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There was a ripple of subdued laughter. The doctor cleared his throat and shifted his position. "They are the children of normal Earth parents, and are selected quietly, with parental approval, when certain combinations of factors appear on their school entrance examination records. They are naturally gifted; we try to encourage and improve these gifts, so that when they reach adulthood they will have a particular skill or skills to employ in the research and developmental laboratories. They are citizens, of course--and extremely valuable ones; they receive salaries commensurate with their military rank; they are free to travel, but we try to guard them against accident and mishap. Their real names are not revealed for security reasons; their laboratory names, such as Sykin Supcel AA-87, are a sort of code which designates their capabilities to their instructors and teammates."

He pressed a button on his desk. "To establish their complete normalcy, you might like to meet Arna Matt A-94, who happens to be waiting in the next room."

A door opened. A girl stopped on the threshold, a picture of poised surprise. The men looked at her appreciatively.

She moved to the doctor's side, lithely and with an easy grace. The shining metallic cloth of her brief uniform rustled in the silence. Many breaths were expelled at the same time, and she repressed a smile.

Dr. Wilton introduced her. "You will notice--" he coughed "--you have noticed," he continued broadly, "that Arna possesses several attributes." There were low murmurings. "But the single A in her number indicates that she ranks at the top of one field, and the number itself means that she is the ninety-fourth to become a trainee in the program which develops these unique humans; her code name reveals that she possesses Awareness in Mathematics--which is to say that she somehow immediately knows the answer to any mathematical problem presented, without having to consciously calculate or even think about it. Her particular gift was known on Earth as far back as the Seventeenth Century, but it has always been extremely rare and relatively undeveloped."

"Can she talk?" questioned a voice good-humoredly.

The psychologist chuckled. "Say something for the boys, Arna," he invited.

With the timing of a video star the girl parted her lips provocatively, leaned slightly forward and then, when expectancy was at its height, said "Boo!"

Friendly laughter echoed through the paneled room, coming from all but the Venusian. He rose stiffly. "This is all very well, but we're here t'get _all_ the dope on Sykin Supcel. Aren't you holding out something?"

Dr. Wilton looked at the man squarely. "Yes," he said softly. "Yes, I am." His gaze swept the others. "The interview is terminated, gentlemen--I hope your news stories will be sufficiently popular to make your trip worthwhile. Your lapel cameras and their eyepieces will be returned as you enter your 'copters."

The Venusian was the first to voice his thanks, with a ring of sincerity as true as in the others' polite speeches.

Alone with Arna, Dr. Wilton punched several buttons on the desk, consulted a memo and spoke briskly to a blank video screen. "Start--all--in. Step seven two eight of Operation Catskin successful. Sur-Malic spy among reporters, as predicted by eighty-two point six probability. Lor'lsoon, posing as Venusian, exposed by his inadequate training--probability about sixty; his unconscious belligerency--probability about ninety. He is to be undisturbed for forty-eight hours, then detained after an apparently routine round-up. Any contacts he may reveal during the next two days are to be observed but not disturbed. End--all--out."

Arna leaned over the desk and kissed him lightly. "Nice work, Dad." Then she went on, tensely: "Any word from Sy--or is he supposed to make contact later?"

It was by merest chance that Sykin Supcel happened to be at the military spaceport of Dirik when the prisoner was made to land--and he had brought along an alibi to prove it. A year after his capture and removal to the key city of Pronuleon II, he had successfully convinced the Sur-Malic High Command that he would have been a willing traitor even without the rank and gold and promises. "Damned, dirty Earth lice," he had been wont to growl--at precisely propitious moments--"murdered my folks and stuck me in a stinking lab and cut up my insides--can't even be comfortable in a room with regular people because my temperature's too high. I'll wreck the whole League for that!" And he would angrily swipe at a perspiring brow.

It was easily established that his normal body temperature stayed about two degrees above average; he early established his need for long, cooling outdoor walks through the semi-tropical city and surrounding countryside. He had become the most trusted of all renegade aliens after voluntarily becoming a Sur-Malic citizen of Pronuleon II.

Continue Reading →

The story opens not with the titular kiss but with a press conference. Dr. Horace Wilton, Chief Military Psychologist, fields questions about the kidnapping of Sykin Supcel, a scientist whose recent cosmic ray engine improvement could tip the balance in a looming war. The scene is heavy with exposition: reporters from Venus and Mars, a gleaming alloy desk, and careful political hedging. Yet the language soon pivots. When Sy himself appears on Pronuleon II, the prose sheds its bureaucratic weight for a lean, almost hardboiled rhythm. He gambles, kills, and moves faster than the eye can track. The narrative voice, initially measured and official, becomes terse and visceral—a shift that mirrors the story's central tension between calculated strategy and raw, instinctive violence.

From Briefing Room to Back Alley

The first excerpt establishes a world of official language: “It has become increasingly difficult,” “Simple logic,” “I can't speak for the government.” Dr. Wilton speaks in measured paragraphs, his syntax reflecting institutional caution. But once Sy is on the Sur-Malic homeworld, the sentences shorten. Action is rendered in blunt fragments: “He straightened resignedly and accepted the responsibility.” Dialogue becomes clipped: “Okay. Give him this: Start—all—in.” The shift is not merely stylistic; it signals a change in narrative focus from political maneuvering to physical survival. The reader moves from a room full of reporters to a gambling den, then to a cottage ambush, each scene accelerating the pace.

Speed as a Narrative Device

Sy's lab-developed ability to move faster than the normal eye can follow is not just a plot point—it shapes the story's rhythm. Descriptions of his actions are deliberately sparse: “Even Arna, who knew what to expect, could detect only a blur of motion.” The text refuses to slow down for the reader, mirroring Sy's own perception. When he kills six Sur-Malic officers, the prose records only the aftermath: “Sy wiped his long knife on one of the bodies.” This restraint creates a sense of hyper-competence and moral ambiguity. The story trusts the reader to infer the violence, much as Sy trusts his own reflexes. The pacing, like the protagonist, is efficient and unforgiving.

Objects and Their Weight

Small details carry disproportionate narrative weight. The empty money pouch left on a wet stain of uniform; the needle gun that Sy refuses to use because he “can't depend on mechanical things”; the ampli-tel apparatus reduced to “jumbled scrap.” These objects are not decorative. They anchor the story's speculative elements in tactile reality. The pouch signals a death we do not see. The destroyed machine prevents enemy use of the technology. Even the dice game—a run of luck “unequaled in the known universe”—is described through its material consequence: “no more gold coin to be found.” The story's world is built not through elaborate description but through the purposeful placement of things that break, stain, or vanish.

The excerpts end before the story's resolution, leaving key questions open: Does Sy's mission succeed? What is the butterfly kiss of the title? Readers should attend to the story's use of speed—both as a literal ability and as a structural principle. The narrative withholds explanation, forcing attention on what characters do rather than what they say. This is a story that rewards close reading of its gaps and silences.

There’s a moment in The Butterfly Kiss where Sykin’s speed becomes less about escape and more about the ache of carrying a secret alone. It reminded me of the quieter, human weight in A Man Obsessed — Text and Context, where obsession bends loyalty in ways that feel less like action and more like weather. Both linger past their final pages.