IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 357

Each Tuesday, rather than a POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping hand. I generate more speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My family rolls its collective eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just have to write down this idea..." Here, I'll include the initial inspiration (quote, website, podcast, etc.) and then a thought or two that came to mind. These will simply be seeds -- plant, nurture, fertilize, chemically treat, irradiate, test or stress them as you see fit. I only ask if you let me know if anything comes of them. Regarding Fantasy, this insight was startling: “I see the fantasy genre as an ever-shifting metaphor for life in this world, an innocuous medium that allows the author to examine difficult, even controversial, subjects with impunity. Honor, religion, politics, nobility, integrity, greed—we’ve an endless list of ideals to be dissected and explored. And maybe learned from.” – Melissa McPhail.

Fantasy Trope: Witchcraft For World Peace!!!

Current Event:

http://wildhunt.org/2016/02/call-for-global-witchcraft-community-to-unite-against-terrorism.html

Saga Pai-Teles shook her head then said, “How much do you really expect us to accomplish?”

Djamel Vlach sighed, “I’m sure nothing, but what else can we do that might even conceivably make a difference? I’m not a soldier, and unless you enlisted in the Royal Marines or fought a stint with the Aegis Mercenaries in the past few months, I’m pretty sure you don’t have much experience with fighting, either.”

“But we’re not ‘fighting’ – not like that anyway. Our powers are of Earth, wind, ice, fire, and water.”

“Sounds like the name of an American band from the nineteen seventies.” She frowned at him and made a faint movement with her fingers. He laughed, “You think charms and wardings are going to be able to stave off the black market weaponry of Daesh, or Boko Haram, or the Taliban?”

“Shows how much YOU know! We’re not here to fight anger with anger. We’re here to fight anger with the power of nature and of the true spirit of Humanity. There are way more...”

Djamel wasn’t listening to her. His eyes had grown wide. “OK! Now you’re talking! Taking out Daesh with a hurricane or an earthquake or even a flood is totally cool! I could get into that and I even have a couple of spells that enhance water movement!”

“That’s not what I was talking about,” she stopped talking abruptly. “Then again, I have a couple of other spells that help anyone who’s got a gift for dowsing.”

“What’s that?”

She looked at him steadily and when she had his complete attention, she said, “Dowsing is all about FINDING water, Djamel. If I could find the water…”

“I could direct it.” Djamel scowled again. “My powers aren’t that…um…powerful.”

“Mine, neither. What we need is someone who can magnify or enhance our simple powers,” Saga said.

“I don’t have simple powers! They’re plenty strong enough!”

“That’s not what I meant! In order to deal world peace and muffle terrorism in our time, we have to overcome terror with peace. But it can’t be done if we’re weak.”

“We need, like, a talisman.”

“A crystal, or a…” Sag was saying.

Djamel cut her off, “The Vial of Trench!”

“What’s that?”

“A Vial of water collected from the bottom of the Marianas Trench.” He looked down at her, “Can you think of a more powerful talisman to increase our mission to bring peace on Earth than focusing our meager powers through a vial of water from the bottom of the Earth’s sea?”

“I can’t…”

“We’ll do it and it’ll start now?”

Names: ♀ Finland, Portugal; ♂ Algeria, Hungary

Image: http://www.skyscrapernews.com/images/pics/6255CaernarfonCastle_pic1.jpg

Slice of PIE: Morality, “I, Robot”, Tesla, and My Home Town

Using the Programme Guide of the World Science Fiction Convention in Helsinki Finland in August 2017 (to which I will be unable to go (until I retire from education)), I will jump off, jump on, rail against, and shamelessly agree with the BRIEF DESCRIPTION given in the pdf copy of the Programme Guide. The link is provided below…

Robot Morality

With robot cars soon on our streets and with robots as caretakers questions of ethics and morals rise. How should a robot car choose to react in an accident (save passenger or save most lives)? What kinds of ethics and moral questions rise from using robots as caretakers of our children, elderly, disabled or ill. What about killer robots that are constructed by the armies of the world? Is it morally right to teach a robot to kill?

Su J. Sokol: social rights activist, writer, lawyer

Tara Oakes: fan with collection of 330 robots

Lilian Edwards: a UK academic specializing in Internet law and intellectual property

Tony Ballantyne: author of novels and short stories that have appeared worldwide

Asimov and Jeff Vintar and Akiva Goldsman should have been here as well. You’ve probably heard of Isaac Asimov, the author who practically invented robotic morality with The Three Laws of Robotics:

0) A robot must not harm humanity.

1) A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

2) A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

3) A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.

The Wikipedia article below looks at dozens of additional laws proposed both realistically and in the interest of extending Asimov’s Laws, some tongue-in-cheek, and one, author Karl Schroeder's “Lockstep” character reflects that robots “probably had multiple layers of programming to keep [them] from harming anybody. Not three laws, but twenty or thirty.” [Thought: maybe my story from last week should be re-written taking robot morality into consideration; maybe even The 3 Laws…]

The other two names I mentioned above are screen writers – one a former English professor, the other with screenplays like “Charlie’s Angels” and “Mr. and Mrs. Smith” on his resume. Just the people to imbue a reflection on robotic morality with a really thoughtful storyline! *sigh*

Hopefully the discussion was well-done. The participants seem to have reasonable credentials (the one who collects models has most likely read extensively about each one of her exhibits.)

Robots with (or without) morals are fascinating to discuss, partially (I think) because to them, we’ll be “gods” – at the very least, their creators. Being “gods” is something Humans have deeply desired ever since the first Human deified himself or herself. We continue to do it even today – creating robots “in our image” seems to be a given.

But what about robots NOT in our image? Will we imbue (or program, if you prefer) them with laws that govern them? What about the sixth thing that the futurists were supposed to consider (“Will people accept self-driving cars?”) We already name our cars (can anyone reading this claim that they didn’t name ONE of their cars?), and we know that we’ve already moved away from paying attention to driving so we can focus on our interactions with social media and mechanizing minimum-wage jobs is already well under way. Cars parking themselves has made the leap from strangeness to “standard option” and I can’t see that insurance companies NOT giving people a discount for the feature.

So we’ve accepted robots into our culture. What about other cultures? How would robots go over in Nigeria? Haiti? India? I can take a guess about the first two cultures as I’ve spent A LITTLE time in them; I’ve never been to India, but I can guess that the introduction of true robots will have a profound impact. (Would robots either take the place of or become “untouchables”?) Even here, with the boom in the “sex doll” industry, are robotic prostitutes about to take over “the world’s oldest (contested) profession”? If so, what if a robotic prostitute wanted to leave her (its?) profession?

STAR TREK: The Next Generation debated something similar to that in one of its iconic episodes, “The Measure of a Man”. It “has been considered by critics to be the first great episode of The Next Generation. It has also been included in lists of the best and most groundbreaking episodes of the series.” In it, “…Data resigns his commission rather than be dismantled for examination by an inadequately skilled scientist, a formal hearing is convened to determine whether Data is considered property without rights or is a sentient being.” (imdb)

Clearly Data, Robbie the Robot, Sonny, and the Lost In Space robot had some sort of programming that included morals. Others like the dozens of robots featured on the long-running British DOCTOR WHO, have no compunctions whatever to do anything they’re asked to do, many of them killing both Humans and non-Humans. The robotic intelligences of regular science fiction writers Gregory Benford, Iain M. Banks, Keith Laumer, Gene Wolfe, and Alastair Reynolds are possibly monstrous, but unintentionally so – bacteria and viruses would probably consider us monstrous.

So – will robots have morals? It’s pretty clear that if they are INTENTIONALLY made to be like us (not always physically, but intellectually), then they most likely will. But if they are not made for that specific purpose, will we bother with imbuing them with morality, what will they be like?

VIKI, the AI from “I, Robot” who was designed to run the US Robotics company, certainly had the Three Laws programmed into it, but it could also choose to ignore those laws. Given no morality (which the faithful believers in The Singularity seem to believe will happen), what kinds of things are powerful computers and artificial intelligences capable of? The company that was purchased by Tesla was once called Perbix and engineered simple manufacturing robots. Tesla (according to the article), plans on taking the company to a whole new level – my question is that will they give their car manufacturing robots any kind of morality programming? What would a murder by a manufacturing robot look like? How would you investigate it? How would you prevent it?

Much food for thought!

Reference: http://www.startribune.com/tesla-buys-perbix-brooklyn-park-based-maker-of-factory-automation-equipment/455669603/, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Three_Laws_of_Robotics#Additional_laws, http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/MechanicalLifeforms

Program Book: https://sites.grenadine.co/sites/worldcon75/en/w75/schedule

Image: https://metrouk2.files.wordpress.com/2012/08/article-1345640978429-14a22dd0000005dc-246279_636x455.jpg

LOVE IN A TIME OF ALIEN INVASION 87: The Trials of Team 1 - 3

On Earth, there are three Triads intending to integrate not only the three peoples and stop the war that threatens to break loose and slaughter Humans and devastate their world; but to stop the war that consumes Kiiote economy and Yown’Hoo moral fiber. All three intelligences hover on the edge of extinction. The merger of Human-Kiiote-Yown’Hoo into a van der Walls Society might not only save all three – but become something not even they could predict. Something entirely new...

The young experimental Triads are made up of the smallest primate tribe of Humans – Oscar and Xiomara; the smallest canine pack of Kiiote – six, pack leaders Qap and Xurf; and the smallest camelid herd of Yown’Hoo – a prime eleven, Dao-hi the Herd mother. On nursery farms and ranches away from the TC cities, Humans have tended young Yown’Hoo and Kiiote in secret for decades, allowing the two, warring people to reproduce and grow far from their home worlds.

“We had nearly fallen into stagnation when we encountered the Kiiote.”

“And we into internecine war when we encountered the Yown’Hoo.”

 “Yown’Hoo and Kiiote have been defending themselves for a thousand revolutions of our Sun.”

 “Together, we might do something none of us alone might have done…a destiny that included Yown’Hoo, Kiiote, and Human.” (2/19/2015)

Qap said, “We are being watched.” She paused, adding, “I think it’s some version of Human, but the scents I catch are not completely the Always-Walkers. There is that of the Grasseaters as well, but it is not completely right, either.”

Towt had a thought, “What do we smell like to them, Auntie?”

She looked sharply at him, opened her mouth for a nip at Towt’s insubordinate query – he’d released a bit of challenge scent in what he said. She paused. “That is a wise question, Neuter. Have we been stained with Human and Yown’Hoo scent? What would we smell like to one of the Stupid,” Triad-name for any of the idiots, Pack, Herd, or Tribe, who fought the endless war without hope of any victory. “We must be, in their noses, tainted.”

“Then perhaps our scent is confusing to watchers?” Qilf growled.

“Or it is our scent that it follows,” said Towt. This time Qilf did nip the neuter. It stifled its surprise.

Qap snapped. They both fell to their chests as she did as well. Softly in Human Speak, she whispered, “Then we must lead our watchers on a chase.” She rumbled low in her chest, a second set of vocal cords evolved to give Kiiote the ability to use words emphasized by specific sounds. It could also be used to mimic the Humans as well as speech. With a slow lift of her lip, baring double rows – one set sharp, an inner row bladed – of teeth, she began to laugh a low, very Human laugh. Qilf and Towt knew the sound.

It was the sound announcing a game of Run, Hunt, & Kill. Towt howled and dashed north. Qilf waited, then crouched, forcing her bones into their long-running configuration then sprinted straight west.

Qap, proud of her Pack headed directly at the source of the watcher’s scent, nearly flying from the ground as she attacked. There was a clear scent of Human fear as the pine trees screening a form parted, then snapped back. She’d little experience hunting in a true wood. The forest around the Triad’s home was well-groomed.

This was wilderness. Her paw broke through an icy cap in the snow and her foot plunged through. But she was faster than an Earth wolf – her people had evolved on a world fractionally larger than this planet. Her reflexes kept her from breaking the leg.

But not preventing the painful twist. She landed hard on her back and discovered that there had been other watchers as well. They swept out of the forest, small Humans riding Kiiote backs, thin, almost-wire lassos twirling overhead. If Qap had been alone, she’d have been snared and tied in an instant.

But Qilf and Towt had flanked the Hunted and closed on them with pincher precision; a move they’d practiced under Retired’s tutelage hundreds of times. It was as if he’d planned for this particular maneuver. As if he’d trained this other Human-Kiiote Tribe-Pack. Qap rolled, squirming across the snow wildly, rearranging her skeletal structure. Doing it like this as easier than doing it standing, the ground acting to push and shove the bones into their proper secondary positions.

She leaped to her feet, springing at the first Human astride its mount and knocked them off. He – she saw when his hood flopped back – landed with a thud that knocked the wind out of him. Qap leaped again, hooking the next rider by the throat just as it began to ululate a Kiiote warning cry. It cut off before she – Qap saw that this one was a female Human – could do more than sound the first note. Qilf and Towt had taken down the third member of the watchers and pinned a very young Human and Kiiote to the ground. They were quite awake and hopelessly tangled in each other’s limbs. The first two pairs lay unconscious and separate in the snow.

Qap leaped to the Kiiote and used the imperative Pack Female tones to say, “You watch us! You lay a trap! Why have you done this when all we do is seek…”

She snarled back, “You appeared from under the ground.”

Startled, Qap said, “We came from the abandoned Human building. We have spent the night there.”

The female started to argue, then stopped. She said, “You smell of The Lieutenant. He does not live here. He travels here, gives orders, then leaves. Why do you smell of The Lieutenant?”

The female’s Human rider stirred, groaning. She looked at Qap and said, “You’re not from here. Your fur, your braids, they do not belong in the Northland.”

Qap hadn’t thought that her braids, something all the Triad Kiiote wore, were out of the ordinary. She’d assumed they were a race tradition. She said, “We are not from here. And we work with Retired.” The female pinned to the ground growled and struggled. Qap snapped, “The one you call The Lieutenant is the same one we call ‘Retired’. He sent us to you.”

She stopped, then turned slowly to sniff Qap’s foreleg, saying, “You have his scent. But he has never mentioned anyone as fine as you.”

Qap leaned harder and the female growled faintly. “Flattery will get you a torn throat.”

“Not flattery, observation. We are poor here in the Northland. We serve The Lieutenant’s mission, but we live on game and little else. I do not complain, Pack Leader, only inform.”

Qap eased back. The female was falling into the cadence of more formal speech. She’d been speaking like a near-wild animal at first. Qap released her and waited until the youngster rearranged her structure for upright locomotion. She lifted her chin and said, “I am Pack Leader Kang.” She stretched her neck, offering her throat.

Qap reached out, took a token scratch then said, “The Lieutenant sent us here. We did not expect to find you so easily.” Kang’s neck fur bristled and Qap touched it to smooth it. “We do not come to fight, Sister, but to ask for help.”

“Help? From us? We barely stay alive here.” In the snow, the three Human riders began to stir. “Sister, the Herd in these woods Hunt both Pack and Tribe for sport.”

Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/Rhll_wire_rope.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 356

Each Tuesday, rather than a POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping hand. I generate more speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My family rolls its collective eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just have to write down this idea..." Here, I'll include the initial inspiration (quote, website, podcast, etc) and then a thought or two that came to mind. These will simply be seeds -- plant, nurture, fertilize, chemically treat, irradiate, test or stress them as you see fit. I only ask if you let me know if anything comes of them.

SF Trope: inside a computer system

Current Event: http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn23343-interspecies-telepathy-human-thoughts-make-rat-move.html

Old Event: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Willard_(1971_film)

Amelia Qasoori curled her lower lip, tucking it under her teeth then tapped them as she stared at the Apple 27 inch Cinema Display screen. She tapped another key on her computer.

Artem Torres tossed his backpack on the lab table, peeked over her shoulder then went to his own computer and booted it up. His screen was much smaller however and there were multiple images. All of the images were of rats.

Amelia glanced over at him and wrinkled her nose and said, “I don’t know how you can stare at those ugly things all day long.”

He smirked at her and said, “I can open the cages and play with them if you’d like.”

“You’re both obscene and disgusting at the very same instant,” she said, leaning closer to her screen and tapping a section of an image. The screen was covered with tiny squares.

“What’s even more disgusting and obscene is that we’re trying to do the same thing with organic and inorganic matter.”

Amelia nodded slowly as she tapped another square then made an entry on an old-fashioned yellow notepad with an even older-fashioned pencil. She made a few more notes, then typed for several minutes. The images on the screen whirled wildly and when they were done, Artem leaned back on his lab stool, looked at the image and said, “I don’t see any difference.”

Amelia made a raspberry. “That’s because you’re a wetwareologist. You people couldn’t feel your way off a kindergartner’s graphing calculator.”

“That’s not true! I use computer modeling all the time!” He waved at his smaller computer screen. “Just because everything I do is reality instead of virtuality doesn’t mean it’s not important.”

“I’m not talking about ‘importance’ here, Art! I’m talking about relevance. What I do is relevant. What you do is...cute in a sort of old-fashioned way.”

From behind them, a stentorian voice spoke, “My two favorite high school geniuses continue to banter mindlessly, ignoring my strict instructions to MELD the techniques and technology to form something new.”

Artem and Amelia jumped to their feet, spinning around. In unison they said, “Hello, Dr. Willard.”

He nodded to them and passed between them. He was tall. Unusually tall, well over two meters tall. He patted both of them on their heads. “So, my tremendous twins, what do you have for me today?”

“Look, Dr. Willard, I can make a fine rat robot for you! There’s no need for...”

“Dr. Willard, if you get me some really great tech who won’t talk back every time I ask for something, I could have a ‘borg rat ready for you in two shakes of a…a...”

“A rat’s tail, Mr. Torres? There’s no need for me to have a biological brain, Ms. Qasoori?” He stood back and studied her screen. Then he stepped sideways and leaned forward to study Artem’s screen. Straightening, he said, “What I need, dear pupils, is a seamlessly integrated part organic-part inorganic creature to do a very, very interesting job.” He favored each one with a cold glare, then left the lab, adding without turning around, “A word from me can get you into the most select graduate study programs in the world.” He stopped in the doorway, and still without turning around, said, “A word form me can get you barred from the most pathetic study programs in the world.”

Names: ♀ Australian (NSW), Pakistan; ♂ Russian, Spanish

Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/b/b1/3,2,1_blast-off!_(15871161250).jpg/511px-3,2,1_blast-off!_(15871161250).jpg

POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY -- AND TODAY, BEYOND...Futurism and Alzheimer's -- Where Are The Brilliant Answers?

Using the Programme Guide of the World Science Fiction Convention in Helsinki Finland in August 2017 (to which I will be unable to go (until I retire from education)), I will jump off, jump on, rail against, and shamelessly agree with the BRIEF DESCRIPTION given in the pdf copy of the Programme Guide. The link is provided below…

The Future is Approaching Quickly: SF As An Alternative to Future-Oriented Think

The Economist recently ran a feature on how people who want to figure out what the tech is heading should read Iain M Banks. They argue the Culture is "space opera that anticipates some of the challenges that technology is beginning to pose in the real world" and that science fiction serves as an idea library that informs tech industry. What do you think that the near future will look like? Do you believe in the singularity? Will we figure out reasonable security? Will big data ruin it all? Would block chains make for good sf material? Will people accept self-driving cars?

Stephanie Saulter: author, Jamaican, Londoner by choice, in America along the way; books about who people really are.

Kristina Knaving: Doctoral student in Interaction Design (Department of Computer Science and Engineering)

Nick Price: Speaker and Consulting Futurist; consultant

Klaus Æ. Mogensen: editor, writer, Futurist

Qiufan Chen: writer, columnist, scriptwriter, technology start-up CMO

You know, it’s a personal bias, but I have trouble with all these fancy futurists.

They appear to be all about the “next best cell phone” and “how to make money better” and “how do we REALLY integrate our technology to make it easier for us to ignore the real world?”

None of them seem to be looking at real problems – except of course, “anthropogenic global warming” (or whatever the most recent iteration of the term is), and then it’s all about creating projections that are both increasingly horrifying (https://www.bbc.com/ideas/videos/opinion-the-super-rich-are-damaging-the-environmen/p064kjgj)

and ridiculously specific (for example, frog croaking ( http://www.agenciasinc.es/en/News/A-classifier-of-frog-calls-for-fighting-against-climate-change)). The phrase continues to change as well, from laying the blame for climate change on Humans (excluding the researchers, Al Gore, and Leonardo di Caprio because they are the warriors for rationality) to climate variability (maybe because by using this wishy-washy term they can gather more people back under their banner).

I don’t see, however, futurists looking at the problems of increasingly serious diseases of the rapidly aging (and rapidly living longer) in the industrialized world. 

Alzheimer’s is one disease that these futurists don’t seem to worry about – perhaps because they are mostly “thirty-somethings” and dealing with their technology fetishes (I am the father of two near-thirty-somethings, father-in-law to another two, and foster father to one; I do have some experience with this age group…).

I worry about it both because my father is in a “memory care” unit and my mother may have been undiagnosed (she was certainly affected by dementia near the end). But I don’t see much science fiction or futurism that looks at dealing with Alzheimer’s and related “brick walls”.

That’s not to say the writing community doesn’t explore the disease – this 2014 article in the New Yorker gives a clear and succinct review of the major fictional works up to that time: https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/place-beyond-words-literature-alzheimers. io9 briefly reviews THE LAST DAYS OF PTOLEMY GRAY (https://io9.gizmodo.com/5687146/what-would-you-give-up-for-an-alzheimers-disease-cure), and there is Vernor Vinge’s 2006 RAINBOW’S END, and there are some 68 listed in GoodReads (https://www.goodreads.com/list/show/16500.Alzheimer_s_Disease_in_Fiction)

I even wrote a story about a scientist and an Alzheimer’s cure (long before my parents were diagnosed) here: http://theworkandworksheetsofguystewart.blogspot.com/2018/05/a-pig-tale-by-guy-stewart-analog.html

I hope they spent time at this session talking about real Human challenges and how communities – scientific, intellectual, science fictional, social, political, geographic, racial, and cultural might together seek ways to not just cure Alzheimer’s/dementia at some fantastic future date, but to not just “deal with it”, but to actually meet the challenges presented in ways other than (and there is guilt speaking here), institutionalizing our family members.

For a second story I wrote and CANNOT seem to find anyone interested in publishing, here is a piece I wrote specifically FOR a company looking at future issues: (stop now if you’re not interested in reading a story. If you do stop, thanks for reading this far!) –

I'VE PULLED THIS STORY BECAUSE I'M GOING TO TRY A REWRITE. IF THE CHANGES ARE SUBSTANTIAL ENOUGH, I'LL REPOST THIS...2/29/2020)

Program Book: https://sites.grenadine.co/sites/worldcon75/en/w75/schedule

Image: http://img.timeinc.net/time/magazine/archive/covers/2000/1101000717_400.jpg

MARTIAN HOLIDAY 126: Stepan of Burroughs

On a well-settled Mars, the five major city Council regimes struggle to meld into a stable, working government. Embracing an official Unified Faith In Humanity, the Councils are teetering on the verge of pogrom directed against Christians, Molesters, Jews, Rapists, Buddhists, Murderers, Muslims, Thieves, Hindu, Embezzlers and Artificial Humans – anyone who threatens the official Faith and the consolidating power of the Councils. It makes good sense, right – get rid of religion and Human divisiveness on a societal level will disappear? An instrument of such a pogrom might just be a Roman holiday...To see the rest of the chapters, go to SCIENCE FICTION: Martian Holiday on the right and scroll to the bottom for the first story. If you’d like to read it from beginning to end (70,000+ words as of now), drop me a line and I’ll send you the unedited version.

Stepan said,  “First I’m going to grow a garden, help in any way that I can – and I was a paramedic in the Free Martian Combined Forces, so I can run a clinic. I’ll share my food,” he looked pointedly down at Quinn, “And I’ll work to guide those who want to learn skills they can use to build a freer, stronger Mars.”

“You’d do that? When do you talk about your God?” QuinnAH asked.

Stepan shrugged and looked down the stairwell, “When the time is right. First I serve people, then I share with them.”

“So you trick people into wanting to know about your god?”

Stepan spun around, suddenly reminded of himself questioning Dad’s philosophy. Remembering Dad’s hand flashing out at his impertinent son. Stepan grimaced and nodded, “I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”

Quinn spread both arms wide, “What other way is there to look at it?”

Stepan started down the staircase, looked over his shoulder and said, “I think of it as earning the privilege to be heard.” He kept on down. Quinn ran across the roof, presumably to grab the gMod disk, and followed Stepan down a short time later. Quinn didn’t stop to examine the space-suited skeleton. He had better things to do. He stopped. What was the skeleton in the spacesuit? Clearly not one of the delphinoid alien who belonged to the other spacesuit. But was it Human by default? Why did he – and the others – assume that just because the suit was bipedal and bilaterally symmetrical that it had to be a Human suit?

He stopped and went back up the stairs to the landing and knelt down, looking at the suit in the dim light. He pulled out his recorder and lit the scene. In the stark light, the suit certainly looked like it had been worn by a Human. It was “face down”. After recording it by stepping around it, he knelt down, narrating, “I’m going to flip the suit over.” He reached underneath, wondering if there were any microscopic life forms that still survived on the surface of the suit.

Stiff with age, it didn’t manipulate like it was made of material. It turned like a huge, person-shaped pancake. The helmet remained globular. It flopped over, raising a cloud of dust when it fell. Stepan held his breath as it settled. Using the light again, he saw instantly that there were no attached identification patches, at least that still remained, though there were not circular or rectangular markings that might indicated they’d been attached. Enough Humans on Mars went around without patches, though it was not only socially gauche, it was also illegal in some Dome jurisdictions. But, Burroughs wasn’t one of them – at worst, it was considered bad manners.

The bad-mannered Human, so old it was only bones in a bag. He pursed his lips, considered, then reached out and popped the seals on the helmet.

There were no seals left. Metal grated and easily released. He set it aside. He could stand up, grab the feet and shake out the bones. He could also treat the dead with respect. He slowly reached in, not particularly excited about touching the bones of a dead person.

He was startled when he touched a large, smooth bone – though it wasn’t shaped like an bone he’d ever seen on a Human. He gently grabbed it and pulled it out. He flashed the light again to reveal an obvious beak, probably the upper half if the dull curve on the tip was an indication.

“What the hell are you doing up there?” QuinnAH shouted from the foot of the stairs.

Stepan almost dropped the remains. “I found something,” he shouted down.

Quinn charged up the stairs like any other teenager confronted by mystery. “What…” he began, then froze, one foot still in the air. His mouth worked, but no sound came out.

Stepan said softly, “I think we’ve found ourselves another alien.”

Image: https://media.recovery.org/wp-content/uploads/recovery-shutter280148666-man-watching-sunrise-over-city-640x300.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 355

Each Tuesday, rather than a POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping hand. I generate more speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My family rolls its collective eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just have to write down this idea..." Here, I'll include the initial inspiration (quote, website, podcast, etc.) and then a thought or two that came to mind. These will simply be seeds -- plant, nurture, fertilize, chemically treat, irradiate, test or stress them as you see fit. I only ask if you let me know if anything comes of them.

http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BarredFromTheAfterlife

Current Event: “…theorize that the nuclear war destroyed the afterlife…”, “…some people...have studied and manipulated The Dark to such an extent that they've become functionally immortal…”

Functional immortality: “Research suggests that lobsters may not slow down, weaken, or lose fertility with age, and that older lobsters may be more fertile than younger lobsters. This longevity may be due to telomerase, an enzyme that repairs long repetitive sections of DNA sequences at the ends of chromosomes, referred to as telomeres. Telomerase is expressed by most vertebrates during embryonic stages but is generally absent from adult stages of life. However, unlike vertebrates, lobsters express telomerase as adults through most tissue, which has been suggested to be related to their longevity. Despite internet memes, lobsters are not immortal. Lobsters grow by molting which needs a lot of energy and the larger the shell the more energy, eventually the lobster dies from exhaustion during a molt. Older lobsters are known to stop molting which means the shell will become damaged, infected, or fall apart and they die.”

Juana de Forlán shook herself hard, took a deep breath and said, “I can feel the synthetic lobster juice in me…”

Shaking his head, Koegathe Melamu, “You can’t possibly feel a hundred milliliters of a transparent liquid  in your...”

“I know that!” Juana exclaimed. She shook her arms, “My head knows it, but my body says otherwise.” She took a deep breath, shuddering. “I feel like I’m getting younger by the moment.”

“It’s not an elixir of youth! If it worked the way we thought it should, the telomerase will let your cells keep dividing – more or less forever. But it’s not going to make you younger.”

She held out both of her hands, palms up, and said, “Might as well. I’m gonna live forever!”

Koegathe shook his head, saying, “Maybe – but we have no idea what the long-term effects of living forever as a lobster might be.” They both laughed, but after a few minutes, Koegathe reigned his mirth in when he noticed the pitch of his voice had been climbing. He took a deep breath then said, “Maybe that wasn’t as funny as it sounded.”

She shrugged, suddenly feeling light-headed.

"What's wrong?" Koegathe said, stepping toward her.

"I think I'm going to..." It seemed like the world around her rushed into a single dot of focused, bright light. Everything else was dark around her. The point of light remained steady for some time -- she wasn't sure how long because her *-sense of time was abruptly gone. Then the light moved toward her. She might have been moving toward the light. It didn't make any difference. It might have taken time. It might have happened instantaneously, she had no idea.

Once the light grew around her, she found herself standing on solid ground of pearly white. In a throne of the same pearly substance, there sat a being. She knew that it was Death. There was certainly some kind of harvest implement laying on the ground beside the throne, though it looked more like a silver weed whacker. Death didn't wear a robe, it -- he? -- wore solid work clothes, more or less like a technician in a computer manufacturing plant, though he didn't have a mask or gloves. He did have protective goggles pushed up on his head. Black, well-trimmed, wavy hair made it look like he was wearing a cap. The name badge clipped to his collar read, "Greaper".

"Cute," Juana said. "You're the Grim Reaper?" She rolled her eyes as only  a young woman who grew up in the booming first two decades of the 21st Century could.

He lifted a leg to drape it over the arm of the throne and said, "You've presented me with a problem I've never faced before, young lady."

"What?"

"You're dying -- but you are functionally immortal -- and I have no idea what to do with you."

Names: ♀ Uruguay; ♂ Botswana

https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2-arXKTiwzTybeiZ-IjR8P9j_aP2vqKXJulRCqqk_e42EoyXriDrQffp-dV_b96wQqLf5Y-M9XYpYkS4Lpz0PJvQcjGfHXS3M8QSPWCq9l9UURqlah0AR2TAlNeS4yX_NR2arOLIZVuY/s1600/2212_1025142570.jpg

POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY: Left Behind In YA Lit? Boys, For The Most Part…

Using the Programme Guide of the World Science Fiction Convention in Helsinki Finland in August 2017 (to which I will be unable to go (until I retire from education)), I will jump off, jump on, rail against, and shamelessly agree with the BRIEF DESCRIPTION given in the pdf copy of the Programme Guide. The link is provided below…

Are Boys Left Behind in YA? Many YA novels have strong female protagonists. Does this mean boys are forgotten completely? What do boys read these days?

Marieke Nijkamp

Django Wexler

Peadar Ó Guilín

Sebastien de Castell

Val Ontell

Why are boys left behind right now in YA Lit? “Because,” the Trope says, “It was all about boys before and it’s HIGH TIME girls got their own stories! Boys have ALWAYS gotten it better than the girls!”

OK – I do read current YA SF, but let’s start in the past: I grew up on Robert A Heinlein, Andre Norton, Alan E. Norse, John Christopher, and Madeleine L’Engle. Yes, Heinlein’s characters were almost exclusively boys – that’s who he was trying to get into reading.

Today, girls dominate science fiction for young adults, with the shining stars of course, being Katniss Everdeen (HUNGER GAMES), Honor Harrington (Series), Meg Murray (WRINKLE IN TIME series), Cordelia Vorkosigan (VORKOSIGAN SAGA), Beatrice, aka Tris (DIVERGENT series), Lauren Olamina (SOWER series), Max Ride (Series), Miranda Evans (LIFE AS WE KNEW IT), Lina Mayfleet (EMBER series), Amy Martin (ACROSS THE UNIVERSE series), Juliette (SILO series), (THE LUNAR CHRONICLES series), Lilac Laroux (THESE BROKEN STARS series), Lessa (DRAGONRIDERS OF PERN series), Menolly (DRAGONSINGER series)…you probably get the idea.

Boys? Well, there’s…Thomas (THE MAZE RUNNER series), Luke Skywalker, Andrew “Ender” Wiggin (ENDER series), Doon Harrow (EMBER series), Miles Vorkosigan (VORKOSIGAN SAGA)…I’m sure I left some out.

However, I find the logic of having more heroines in science fiction self-defeating. While I have not PROBLEM with them and I’ve read and loved many of the books I’ve listed above, and I have no trouble admitting I was a boy who had little trouble reading girls as main characters. Maybe I’m unique…

My problem is that boys don’t read. They’ve NEVER been readers – I’ve known this viscerally as a boy who spent more time reading than playing sports; and there are statistics that back me up as well:  https://www.brookings.edu/research/girls-boys-and-reading/

Science fiction writers today are so intent on redressing sexism in society that they’ve stopped worrying about drawing boys – especially boys who are from other cultures and races – into the world of the future, that I would have challenged the writers in this group to name a Mexican boy who lives in the future and makes a positive contribution. A Somali boy? A Jordanian boy? How about a deaf boy? An Australian Aboriginal boy? A Dakota boy? Where are they in the future? Do we have Chilean boys living on Mars (which would make SENSE, actually!)?

Nope. Girls dominate the future – even in my own work http://theworkandworksheetsofguystewart.blogspot.com/search/label/Heirs%20of%20the%20Shattered%20Spheres%3A%20Emerald%20of%20Earth, but I’m working to change that.

Trying to find them in the current crop of YA lit would be an exercise in futility. I’m trying to change that – read this: http://cm-cdn.cricketmag.com/ProductImages/pdfs/sample%20issues/CKT1301.pdf, but I’m not good enough yet to get lots of my work published.

So where are the boys in the future? Where?

Program Book: https://sites.grenadine.co/sites/worldcon75/en/w75/schedule

Image: http://www.popstaronline.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/604025_D001_07127_CROP.jpg

LOVE IN A TIME OF ALIEN INVASION 86: Oscar Alone 2

On Earth, there are three Triads intending to integrate not only the three peoples and stop the war that threatens to break loose and slaughter Humans and devastate their world; but to stop the war that consumes Kiiote economy and Yown’Hoo moral fiber. All three intelligences hover on the edge of extinction. The merger of Human-Kiiote-Yown’Hoo into a van der Walls Society might not only save all three – but become something not even they could predict. Something entirely new...

The young experimental Triads are made up of the smallest primate tribe of Humans – Oscar and Xiomara; the smallest canine pack of Kiiote – six, pack leaders Qap and Xurf; and the smallest camelid herd of Yown’Hoo – a prime eleven, Dao-hi the Herd mother. On nursery farms and ranches away from the TC cities, Humans have tended young Yown’Hoo and Kiiote in secret for decades, allowing the two, warring people to reproduce and grow far from their home worlds.

“We had nearly fallen into stagnation when we encountered the Kiiote.”

“And we into internecine war when we encountered the Yown’Hoo.”

 “Yown’Hoo and Kiiote have been defending themselves for a thousand revolutions of our Sun.”

 “Together, we might do something none of us alone might have done…a destiny that included Yown’Hoo, Kiiote, and Human.” (2/19/2015)

I was finally loose enough to set off on my own trek. I had about thirty kilometers to go until I could head back up to the surface. Retired had said I should be close to the Dunes by then. He’d another surprise, too. He’d given me directions to a shelter that contained a wing I could use to fly, combining helium and a small hydrogen jet. Slow, sure, but faster than walking to Saint Clodoald. Once there, he wanted me to see if I could get the cargo plane flying or the tank running, or some other thing that could carry us all the way to Grendl.

I found that if I kept my elbow pressed to my side, I could almost jog. As I lit out for my rendezvous with the surface, I realized that if I had secret orders, then everyone else could have secret orders, too.

I just hoped we were all working on the same side, though we knew that the conjures wouldn’t be…no idea where the things would crop up.

On the other hand, why would Retired have sent me to get something so big if we were just going to sneak away by ourselves? He had a plan. For all of us. For all I knew, he was working with others as well.

We hadn’t heard from the Triad Corporation for months before we were attacked down in the Cities. They were supposed to have taken care of us.

But what if Retired was our contact with the Corporation? What if my great uncle Rion was our contact? Both of them were gone now and they’d put me – literally – on point. I had to get the transport – the rest of them would gather the people that would go on the transport.

For a moment, I was blinded as the entire plan came into sharp view: each Team would gather up a leader of some sort. My guess would be each Group would gather up some one that would be safe for us to connect with – allies, I’d hope.

Retired, GURion, and me? If I had the transport, there had to be someone who would be able to run it. Who? Human allies? There weren’t any that we know of. It seemed that this whole thing was being run by…well, aliens.

But what about St. Admiral? She’d given her life for the plan – a plan that was supposed to meld all three societies into one. We’d been taught that the society the Corporation was hoping for would be a van Der Waals society.

The name came from a scientist in the 20^th Century who came up with evidence that there was a force that held molecules together – it wasn’t as strong as ionic and covalent bonds which did their work by either sharing or giving up or picking up electrons. But it was more subtle than the others and was the force that let geckos walk on walls, and nanotechnology, and holding enzymes together, as well as being fundamental to condensed matter physics. It was both mysterious and incredibly powerful.

That was us. At least that’s what we were supposed to become – something better than any of the three could be paired or alone.

I kept running, taking breaks for water and some of the protein bars I had in my hip pack. It wasn’t really long before I reached a branch in the tunnel. This was my place to get off and go up to the surface. I could still see my breath – it had been a constant ten degrees C our whole time. The sleeping room had been warmer, but I also knew it was winter up on top.

That would probably mean snow. I stopped at a ramp I came to. There were no more branches. The ground just went up. At the foot of the ramp was a chest which I opened. Boots, pants, a jacket, and a fur-lined hat. All of them a little big for me, but I tied the boots tight and figured they’d be fine. From here, Saint Clodoald was about thirty-five kilometers straight west. I glanced at my chrono. It was still light, but at this time of year, it would remain so for only another hour. I wasn’t excited about floundering around in the dark, so I poked around, finding a backpack which I opened.

There was a Kiiote coldlight and I used that to root around in the bag – it was designed to be held in the mouth – where I found a knife and a collapsible bottle as well as a small supply of dried food. By then, sunset was less than a half an hour away. I ran up to the surface and cracked the door.

Something rammed it, knocking me back, my head slamming against the wall…

Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/Rhll_wire_rope.jpg

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 354

Each Tuesday, rather than a POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping hand. I generate more speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My family rolls its collective eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just have to write down this idea..." Here, I'll include the initial inspiration (quote, website, podcast, etc.) and then a thought or two that came to mind. These will simply be seeds -- plant, nurture, fertilize, chemically treat, irradiate, test or stress them as you see fit. I only ask if you let me know if anything comes of them. Regarding Fantasy, this insight was startling: “I see the fantasy genre as an ever-shifting metaphor for life in this world, an innocuous medium that allows the author to examine difficult, even controversial, subjects with impunity. Honor, religion, politics, nobility, integrity, greed—we’ve an endless list of ideals to be dissected and explored. And maybe learned from.” – Melissa McPhail.

Fantasy Trope: Historical Fantasy (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/HistoricalFantasy)

Current Event: http://www.mlive.com/entertainment/bay-city/index.ssf/2015/12/the_spirit_of_christmas_was_al.html

Filip Dybdahl sighed then said, “All of the magic has gone out of the world.” He was working a potion to lay down gold circuitry on an enchanted matrix for a board to be packed off into space. The telescope the University was working on for the United Nations would help astrologers make more accurate horoscopes for each of the signatory countries. Non-signatories would just have to take their chances with fate. 

Shrugging, Maja Wiig said, “Our ancestors didn’t help keep the saints alive, you know. They could have been Catholic, but chose to be Protestants instead. Killing off all the saints, as it were.”

Filip grunted. “If there was one bit of magic I could call back,” he began.

“Don’t!” Maja exclaimed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t you know anything about the intersection of the real and the fantastic?”

He straightened up, thumbs going into the small of his back, shaking his head. “I had the same fundamental courses you did before I sat for my Masters in Alchemy. What are you talking about?”

“You remember when you took that elective class in Classical Egyptian Incantations?”

“Duh. Professor McGuillicudy said if I wanted to get my bachelor’s I had to take her class.”

“Yeah? Well I took a physics class instead.”

His eyes widened. “You took Planar Mathematic Spells for Physicists?”

She shrugged again. “Calculus was always fun for me. Conjuring gravity anomalies was a great way to meet boys with brains.”

“So you learned about this what, ‘intersection of the real and the fantastic’? What’s that supposed to mean?”

She scowled at him and said, “You sound pretty hostile. I don’t know if I want to tell you about it. Especially if you’re standing there ready to bite my head off. Whatever happened to your Scandinavian coolness?”

“It heated up when we got here. The Massachusetts Institute of Thaumaturgy isn’t exactly a place where I can lay back on my frozen butt and bask in the glories of my previous accomplishments! I’ve had to fight against these Gud forbannet Amerikanere for everything I’ve gotten.” He swung a flat-handed chop at her. “You have, too!”

She surrendered with both hands up and a laugh, “You’re the one who wanted to bring back the magic of Christmas!”

He opened his mouth to continue his attack, then closed it. He closed his eyes, then put dug one thumb into each temple, adding, “I’m tired. Not myself.” He looked up at her and for a moment, his gaze was bleak. “And I miss home. It’s Christmas…”

Names: ♀ Norway; ♂ Norway

Image: http://www.skyscrapernews.com/images/pics/6255CaernarfonCastle_pic1.jpg

WRITING ADVICE: What Went RIGHT With “A Woman’s Place” (Submitted 11 times since 2000, sold to PERIHELION in 2013) Guy Stewart #43

In September of 2007, I started this blog with a bit of writing advice. A little over a year later, I discovered how little I knew about writing after hearing children’s writer, Lin Oliver speak at a convention hosted by the Minnesota Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. Since then, I have shared (with their permission) and applied the writing wisdom of Lin Oliver, Jack McDevitt, Nathan Bransford, Mike Duran, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, SL Veihl, Bruce Bethke, and Julie Czerneda. Together they write in genres broad and deep, and have acted as agents, editors, publishers, columnists, and teachers. Since then, I figured I’ve got enough publications now that I can share some of the things I did “right”.

While I don’t write full-time, nor do I make enough money with my writing to live off of it...neither do all of the professional writers above...someone pays for and publishes ten percent of what I write. When I started this blog, that was NOT true, so I may have reached a point where my own advice is reasonably good. We shall see! Hemingway’s quote above will now remain unchanged as I work to increase my writing output and sales! As always, your comments are welcome!

As far as I can tell, I tried to sell this story longer than anything else I’ve ever written – with the possible exception of EMERALD OF EARTH…

Why did I keep at it?

I guess because I loved this story. On reflection, I think my mom was the model (appropriate as next weekend is Mother’s Day) for . This summer, we’ll celebrate her memory two years after her passing. Ruby Marcillon is a long-time Lunar worker, pilot, paramedic, and anything else she needs to be.

She’s got a smart mouth and she’s funny! I loved her, but then, I love my mom, too, so my perspective wasn’t exactly unbiased. So let me see if I can step back and be objective. What did I do RIGHT about this story?

Let me go for a second, into one of the things that went wrong. “A Woman’s Place” was written when the electronic magazine age had barely begun. One of the subs I made was to SciFi.com, edited by Ellen Datlow, which ceased publication in 2005. I sent it twice to Artemis, which closed down in 2003. Tales of the Unanticipated died a few years ago, as did Ray Gun Revival and Absolute Magnitude. Two others, I can’t even find references for: Fantastic Stories (2002), and HMS Beagle (2002)…so of the places I submitted the story, only ANALOG, ANDROMEDA SPACEWAYS, and the Baen Contest remain active; so I suppose it’s a good thing I didn’t try and send it anywhere else.

I revised the story and send it to PERIHELION after Sam Belatto published my first piece with them, “Invoking Fire”. Sam took it and ran it.

It can’t be accessed anymore, but I just discovered that he does keep a few Permalinks of stories at the author’s request. I want to pursue that…

At any rate, why did it eventually get accepted?

Ruby is a great character! Her entrance into the story and her first words is fabulous: “From the shadow in front of the LookOut!’s door, a female tenor voice crooned, ‘If you ain’t the Pickled Sexist from the Twentieth Century, then I just won the Miss Universe swimsuit competition in a bikini.’”

Priceless! She and her ex-husband, who is nearly as famous as she is, are sent out on a Lunar rescue mission which necessitates her removing her helmet and becoming the first Human to breathe the air of an alien world. The science of it, while close to fantastic is at least feasible; and the resolution of the story covers both the rescue and a their personal struggle – as they haven’t spoken about the death of their adopted daughter for years.

I don’t usually say this, but after thirteen years of re-writes, I think I finally got this story right. I SHOULD have tried ANALOG again; even ASIMOV’s or F&SF. There’s a good chance it would have been picked up.

As it is, it was an exercise for me in developing character.

I went down to my paper files to look up how she grew and it was…instructive. In several earlier drafts, when she enters the Lunar Bar (or Martian Bar in one version), she announces, “If that ain’t the Last Sexist of the Twenty-Second Century, then I  must be at the Gorilla Recovery Reserve outside of Kinshasa, Zaire.”

Hmm…that would have landed with a resounding “thud!” on the ears (or eyes as the case may be). It’s not in the slightest bit funny, though it was trying to be. I guess that it might have been practice that finally made her line sing. Thirteen years of practice…

The piece I sold to PERIHELION clocked in at 5000 words. I’ve discovered that that is a sweet spot for fiction magazines, though hitting it regularly has been a struggle for me. It seems MY sweet spot in about 8000 words. *sigh*

At any rate, the reason it was successful was because I wrote it over a period of 13 years. I also wrote it at the correct length and I’d finally developed a sense of comedic timing. Oh, and I finally learned to trim out things I thought were funny – because they weren’t funny at all.

All for the best – I had an idea yesterday for a humorous story about a road veterinarian who gets a call to northern Minnesota because a US experiment may have invaded Canada…stay tuned for details.

Later!

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