November 11, 2014

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 183


http://www.redflagmagazine.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/Extinction-5.jpg

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.

H Trope: Apocalyptic Diary

REMOVED FOR SUBMISSION PURPOSES, IT WAS SO GREAT!

November 9, 2014

POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAYS: “INTERSTELLAR” – Bad Reviews by Science Geeks Say “WHAT???!!!”, Part I


http://cdn.fansided.com/wp-content/blogs.dir/229/files/2014/09/Interstellar-Matthew-McConaughey-and-Anne-Hathaway.jpg
I know that PIE isn’t supposed to be in this rotation, but I saw “Interstellar” this weekend and was wowed.

I was surprised to discover that the reviews in places that are “pro-science” were pretty harsh. Attacking everything from science to character development, they typically pointed out that while the movie was visually stunning, it was very weak on character development with logic loopholes all over the place.

Let’s start with the movie perceived to be “the best science fiction movie ever made” (as opposed to the best science fiction novel ever written – 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY is the former; DUNE is the latter. I’d like to point out that the novel by Arthur C. Clarke has not been judged the “best SF novel ever written”. It won no Hugo; Nebular; British SF Award (though it hadn’t been invented at that time...); and didn’t make the New York Times Best Seller List. Conversely, DUNE has gotten all of those awards, but movies attempted from the book have been...poor substitutes at best.)

I saw “2001: A Space Odyssey” when I was young. I thought I was 13 at time, but unless they rereleased it to the theaters, I would have been 11 and I doubt that my parents would have let me go to a movie alone at that age. So...let’s say I was 13 and watching a re-release.

I didn’t get it.

I stumbled into SF by myself, though I guess my dad read it. I started with SPACESHIP UNDER THE APPLE TREE and WODERFUL FLIGHT TO THE MUSHROOM PLANET in elementary school. In 7th grade, I discovered THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. After that, I was hooked. Around the same time, my dad started watching Star Trek (at the time, there was no appellation added to the end. It was the only Star Trek around). After seeing the hideous “Yog: Monster From Space” (1970), I eagerly anticipated seeing "A Space Odyssey".

I STILL didn’t get it.

In fact, I wasn’t the only one. Despite the implication in the reviews of “Interstellar” that “2001” was an instant critical and popular hit, the truth is somewhat less crystalline: “Upon release, 2001 polarized critical opinion, receiving both ecstatic praise and vehement derision.” As well, “Eminent historian Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr. deemed the film ‘morally pretentious, intellectually obscure and inordinately long ... a film out of control’.” Science fiction writers Ray Bradbury, Lester Del Ray, and even Samuel R. Delany disliked the movie and thought the dialogue “banal”. Asimov liked it, and James P. Hogan liked it but didn’t understand the ending – enough so to steal the story and write a novel with a different ending.

The fifty-seven-year-old me still isn’t sure about how “2001: A Space Odyssey” ended. But I loved “Interstellar”, I understood the ending, and while there were parts I would have liked seeing strengthened (Murph’s and her dad’s relationship); the movie as a whole had a powerful effect on me.

No other review I’ve read has pointed out the metaphor of the shallow ocean on Miller’s world – all of their relationships were shallow and all of them were nearly swept away by the consequences of that shallowness. That was immensely meaningful to me at this time in my life.

I am also a sucker for the reconciliation of parents and their children. No matter how many times I see “October Sky”, I always choke up when Homer’s dad puts his arm around his shoulder during the final rocket launch. Even though “Interstellar”’s parental reconciliation is decidedly science fiction-y, it is, nevertheless powerful. Matthew McConaughey weeping uncontrollably when he views Murphy’s message twenty years after it was sent seemed either real or the result of a superior actor’s submersion in his role, and their final scene together is both humorous and touching. I found it especially poignant that Cooper’s descendants had no idea who he was. The fact that Anne Hathaway’s character does NOT get to reconcile with her father made me weep as well for personal reasons I don’t need to go into here. The fact that Cooper is estranged from his son – the one he was closest to at the beginning – is a further slice of reality that I could have done without, but realize is realistic on many levels.

I will return to my analysis of “Interstellar” in the future, but for now that’s all I have to say.

Resources: http://io9.com/interstellar-is-the-best-and-worst-space-opera-youll-ev-1654807305, http://www.slate.com/articles/health_and_science/space_20/2014/11/interstellar_science_review_the_movie_s_black_holes_wormholes_relativity.2.html, http://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/great-movie-2001-a-space-odyssey-1968, http://blogs.indiewire.com/shadowandact/review-interstellar-is-not-quite-the-2001-a-space-odyssey-youre-looking-for-20141107, http://www.timeout.com/london/film/the-100-best-sci-fi-movies (Leading sci-fi experts, filmmakers, science fiction writers, film critics and scientists pick the best sci-fi movies ever made), http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2001:_A_Space_Odyssey_(film), http://io9.com/stop-putting-new-age-pseudoscience-in-our-science-ficti-1656432047?utm_campaign=socialflow_io9_facebook&utm_source=io9_facebook&utm_medium=socialflow

November 6, 2014

LOVE IN A TIME OF ALIEN INVASION -- CHAPTER 23



The Cold War between the Kiiote and the Yown’Hoo has become a shooting war.  On Earth, there are three Triads one each in Minneapolis, Estados United; Pune, India; and Harbin, China. Protected by the Triad Corporation, they intend 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. The Yown’Hoo know about the extra-Universe Braider, aliens whose own “civil war” mirrors the Cold War. The Braiders accidentally created a resonance wave that will destroy the Milky Way and the only way to stop it is to physically construct a sort of membrane that will produce a canceling wave – generated from the rim of the Galaxy inward. The Braiders don’t DO physical stuff on that scale – the Yown’Hoo-Kiiote-Human Triads may be their only chance of creating a solution. The merger of Human-Kiiote-Yown’Hoo into a van der Walls Society may produce a stability capable of launching incredible expansion, creativity, longevity and wealth – and building the Membrane to stop the wave.

The young experimental Triads are made up of the smallest primate tribe of Humans –two; the smallest canine pack of Kiiote – six; and the smallest camelid herd of Yown’Hoo – a prime eleven. 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. Grendl, Manitoba is one such place. No one but the Triad Company has ever heard of it and the physical plant goes by the unobtrusive name of Organic Prairie Dairy.

The city Triads never hear of anything they aren’t spoon fed in their luxury worlds and have heard only rumors of the farms and ranches. Surrounded by a Humanity that has degenerated into a “duck-and-cover” society as the Big Boys fight their war, the Triads don’t care about anything but their own lives. Oblivious, cocooned, manipulated, they have no idea that their privileges are about to be violently curtailed and all of their biology ransacked for the correct Membrane pattern. (update: 5/2/2014)

Lieutenant Commander Patrick Bakhsh make a face and finally said, “It all depends on whether the trip goes off without a hitch. The truck has some cutting-edge Human defense tech, but I’m not sure it will protect you from a full on thermonuclear explosion. The Unbalance – they call themselves the Key!balyemaheng – are intent on destroying Earth as a breeding ground for Yown’Hoo, Kiiote, and Human alike. They especially want the Triads – they see you all as a real threat to their plans.”

“Their plans?” I exclaimed. “Their plans are to kill us all!”

He snorted, then added, “Way bigger than that, kid.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Their plan is to capture the Triads and torture everything out of you.” I gulped. He wasn’t being obnoxious anymore. Just dead serious. “After that, they plan to wipe out all life on this planet.”

“Why?” Ka’Shayla asked.

“Because it’s the only planet anyone knows of where all three of us can raise viable young. It’s an adequate nursery and Humans have been raising Kiiote and Yown’Hoo for nearly a hundred years.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all. Now, everyone get in. Our first leg’s going to be bumpy.”

“Why?” this time from Qap. He ended it with snap and a snarl.

The Commander grinned and said, “Because Oscar over there’s gonna be the driver.”

‘Shayla didn’t protest. She didn’t get mad ‘cause Commander Bakhsh had chosen me to do the honor. Nah. She busted out laughing. “Hey! I can drive!”

She laughed harder.

The Triad started to mutter; shifting. I knew them well enough to see that if I was gonna lead, I had to take control. But I couldn’t smack her. That was plain wrong – and the Kiiote and Yown’Hoo knew enough about Humans to know that it was wrong, too. Both of their people valued leading by example, though to tell you the truth, a little hind quarters nipping and butt-snapping helped to emphasize a Kiiote Leader’s and Pack Mother’s commands at times.

Which gave me an idea. “I may not be a great driver yet,” I snarled, “But I’m going to learn how!” I didn’t give ‘Shayla time to save face. I brushed past her, making sure I clipped her shoulder as I ran for the truck and leaped into the driver’s seat and shouted, “Anyone’s who’s ready to do this had better get in or I’m leaving without you!”

A few seconds later, Herd, Pack, and with a look that could have blasted paint off an armored tank, the other half of the Tribe, followed me.

“I’ll be riding shotgun,” the Commander said as he went to the side-panel of the truck and thumbed it. A panel a meter long opened. A giant rifle, glowing wicked red a choice points, extended out to him on a rack. He took it and thumbed another spot. This time a helmet popped out. When he was tricked out, he came back and sat down in the shotgun seat and said, “Ready kid?”

I had to clear my throat before I could say, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He nodded, adding, “Then Godspeed to us all.”

“I don’t believe in a god.”

Without looking at me, he said, “I believe we need as much help as we can get, Kid.”

I started the truck and said, “Godspeed it is, then.”
Image: http://a57.foxnews.com/global.fncstatic.com/static/managed/img/Leisure/2009/876/493/armor-cop-truck-660-2.jpg?ve=1&tl=1

November 4, 2014

IDEAS ON TUESDAYS 182


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.



I’m not from around here. In fact, where I’m from, the worlds you ascribe to authors like JK Rowling and JRR Tolkien are pale representations of life in OUR 21st Century…

Even so, we got one thing in common – there are scumbags in both places. My dad is a cop in a place I’ll call Rowkien. He works in the biggest city, the equivalent of your New York or Los Angeles, called Mohrpohrq.

The problem is that I’m NOT supposed to be here and it’s really, really hard for a teenager with a horse’s body and a human chest, arms, and head to hide out until the gate that let him through to here opens again. It’s a good thing I learned how to glamour in Rowkien and for whatever reason, that kind of low-level magic works here, so I can make it appear that I'm a regular horse. The other problem is that what are totally COOL names in Rowkien -- like mine -- are not very...um...powerful here. My name's Hokey Flemm. Yup. Cool in Rowkien. Not so much here.

Keeping up the glamour is hard work and it makes me incredibly hungry. I also like to eat a whole lot more than just oats. We aren’t a vegetarian people in Rowkien. Especially us centaurs. I was losing weight and starting to look pretty scrawny. Worst of all, I couldn’t keep the glamour up for more than a few hours at a time, so I mostly had to let it down when I thought I was alone.
That’s how Waqas Said and me met, which just so happened to be the night both of us almost died...

Names: ♂ Rowkien; ♂ Pakistan

November 2, 2014

POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAYS: Wandering Into A Mediocre Future


http://futuredude.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/2001-a-space-odyssey-film-1967-rotating-space-station.jpg
Science fiction writers are so intent on imagining fantastic futures for Humanity, that we have looked up from our keyboards to find that we have ended up wandering into a less-than-fantastic future...

In one of my favorite short stories in the magazine STUPEFYING STORIES, “We Don’t Plummet Out Of The Sky Any More”, author M. David Blake bases his work on the fact that despite fantastic predictions, we do NOT have practical flying cars yet! Implied in that lament, is the issue it encompasses – the lack of technology capable of bringing such a thing about. The situation begs the question of “Why not?”

It’s my contention that we’ve wandered into a mediocre future in which the greatest advances in technology have to do with us being able to take endless pictures of ourselves and our dogs, as well as talk to our “friends” while sitting in a room across from ANOTHER set of “friends” who are also not talking to us but their other “friends” who are not in the room…

We have somehow wandered into a future that creates endless iterations of video games and gaming systems but continues to be OK with a lame-o “space station” (actually a collection of aluminum cans wired together and in perpetual danger of being abandoned because space stations don’t aid “friend” communication nor do they entertain me…) that is neither state-of-the-art, nor particularly impressive.

Infighting even among practitioners of the future – the SF community – have helped derail the fantastic futures SOME OF THEM HELPED IMAGINE. For example, David Brin once dazzled me with a fantastic vision of a future in which genetic engineering and bold steps into space allowed us to meet alien beings both wonderful and frightening. That same author now decries any attempt whatsoever to contact that selfsame alien life (http://www.davidbrin.com/setisearch.html).

The glut of horrific “dystopian” futures pandered by myopic elder-angst to our best dreamers – teens who see much of the future as POSSIBLE (and who needed to be “put in their place” by old folks too disappointed in their own generation’s performance to feel comfortable allowing the NEXT generation the opportunity to do better than they did) – has made a bold attempt to preempt the effort of any of those dreamers to make the world a better place.

And so we have this lame-o present, full of near-sighted scientists whining about the current state of “science education” (http://faithandsciencefiction.blogspot.com/2014/10/possibly-irritating-essays-science.html); and after an announcement that a pick-up-truck-sized fusion reactor is imminent…hordes of nay-sayers HOGPILE on it in general jealous whining driven by the fact that someone ELSE might make more money and be able to take a selfie with the President then text it to their buddies in the next room...(http://www.businessinsider.com/scientists-bash-lockheed-on-nuclear-fusion-2014-10).

Speculating on the future rarely takes in the attitudes of our future selves. While we’re adept at naming our generations – GenX, The Me Generation (my generation of Boomers), The Greatest Generation, Millenials, Gen Z, et al – the title is based on when they were born. Then we assign attributes to those folks and call it a day. The Me Generation, which happens to include most of the authors of the “teen dystopian” novels I’ve talked about before (and which same Me Generation “poo-poos” the concerns of people like me and Neal Stephenson (http://hieroglyph.asu.edu/)), is largely part of the effort to break up the landing strip of the only people who can really DO something about the future.

Teenagers and kids in late elementary school are the ONLY ones who can shake off the siren call of a mediocre future. It’s time we GAVE them the tools to do so rather than taking sledgehammers to their runway.


October 30, 2014

MARTIAN HOLIDAY 61: Paolo Enroute


http://thefoxisblack.com/blogimages/jeremy-geddes-2.jpg
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.

Staring down at the strange satellite, Paolo Marcillon ran through magnetic scans and while there was curious blip over the surface at 9 Tesla, the level typically used for MRIs in hospitals, but that was all. There wasn’t anything else he could do, though possibly...He tried a sonar pulse and fell backward, stunned, blind, and deaf.

He woke with a pounding headache, staring into the noon Sun. A bit less than half as bright as the Sun that would have blinded him from Earth, it still made the pounding in his head worse. He slow-rolled: rocking back and forth until he was able to get on his side. On his side, he could wriggled until his arm was down and he could push himself up. Knees. Then stand up. Panting, he finally stood looking down at the satellite.

He’d never heard of anything like it. Why would any Earth satellite react to sonar? He bent to gently test the satellite’s weight. He picked it up easily then cautiously moved toward the ‘bug. The thing might have some sort of mass reduction, but that didn’t mean it’s inertia would have been cancelled. In fact, he couldn’t make any assumptions about the thing.

Once inside, he set it down inside the airlock and closed the inside door, evacuating the lock again. He unsealed his helmet and popped off the upper torso and set it down, staring through the window at the satellite. He closed pulled the shield over the window and went to the lab station. Designed in the olden days to monitor and direct research studies, most marsbugs still tipped their collective helmets to their science roots.

It still had a suite of equipment. He tapped the viewscreens in the airlock to life. Six screens, floor to ceiling, one from above, another one to roam. It also allowed for examination of an object or objects in multiple perspectives as well as a variable frequencies.

He’d already done a simple scan with the limited equipment of the suit. There was only the suit recorder, but it’s depth was minimal. He started as he had before, though at the highest end of the electromagnetic spectrum. The thing had been exposed to cosmic rays for however long it had lain on the surface of Mars before he ran over it.

He laughed low, starting the visual record as well as records spanning the EM spectrum: gamma rays sliding into X-rays through UV into visible light. He got an odd spike at 550 nanometers what the Human eye recognized as green light. For a  moment, he thought he saw faded writing. He backed the generator to 550 again. Markings leaped out at him, incomprehensible but clearly intelligent. He left it for a while, then ran the movable camera over as much of the visible surface as he could. He could analyze it later.

Ramping it up again, he slid through infrared wave, radio, and finally the lowest frequencies of radio. Sound waves required that he poke around in the computer for a while before he finally found a program that would generate sound at both frequency and decibel.

He set it up to start, watching carefully, hoping that at whatever frequency the satellite had reflected back to him would be deflected or absorbed by the walls of the airlock.

Beginning at ten Hertz, he set the program to vary frequency in hundred Hz intervals first then increase decibels from zero to the loudest sound ever recorded – the explosion of a thermonuclear device. After the first blast, he toned it back. His suit hadn’t been able to make anything even close to that amount of noise. He figured he could continue running it from silence to a jack hammer at one meter. He barely heard that through the lock.

He watched and listened as the frequency rose from two thousand to twenty thousand Hz. No reaction. The pitch went up until he heard nothing. The meter read thirty-eight thousand, four hundred and twelve Hz when one of the screens blanked – the one closest to a rectangular marking he’d seen at 550 nm. Logically, that might be the “nozzle” of the ultrasound “gun”.

But why did it have the ability to broadcast in the ultrasonic in the first place. He set the chamber to 55o nm and 38,412 Hz or 38 kHz, slowing the recording rate of the overhead camera and fired again.

Staggering backwards, Paolo crumpled to the floor.

October 29, 2014

IDEAS ON TUESDAY 181


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: Aesoptinium ((http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/Aesoptinum)

Current Event:


Sophie Sperl stared at the researcher and pursed her lips. "How is this legal?"

The technician who was hooking up the wires that led into the helmet shrugged. "You're like fourteen?" Sophie nodded slowly. He continued, "And you're in a maximum security prison, so I figure you probably committed some really bad crime, so you have no, like, rights or anything." Sophie growled and squirmed. The tech looked at her and said, "I should let you know that the room is completely monitored and I'm armed with a taser,  and whoever's watching can send sleep gas into here in a second." He worked for a while then said, "What'd you do?"

Sophie snorted. "I killed someone."
"Duh," said the tech.

Sophie looked at him and said, "What's your name, handsome?" She squirmed in the chair until the straps pressed up under her breasts.

"Arnava Boqpool, and I'm gay."

Sophie looked disappointed and squirmed until she was comfortable again.

"Sorry, kiddo."

"You're the same age as me! I'm as much of a kiddo as you are!"

He shrugged, finished the contacts in the helmet and said, "Yeah, but I'm a genius."

"I am, too."

"You're a genius at murder. I'm a genius at being a sponge."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He picked up the helmet and tried to place it on her head. She snapped her head back and forth until he stopped and said, "You can be conscious for this or I can tase you out cold." He shrugged. "Up to you."

She stopped struggling and let him put the helmet on her head. He snugged a strap under her chin and said, "There. This shouldn't take too long. They say your brain is no match for mine."

He sat down across from her and lifted an aluminum bad bristling with wires and spikes and placed it on his head.

"What, you're a refugee from GAME OF THRONES?"

"Nope." He leaned to one side and said, "When I turn on the interface, we'll meet mind to mind. You'll try and kill me. I'll absorb you like so much spilled Koolaid." He flipped the switch.

Names: ♀ India ; ♂, Germany

Resource: “Robert Sawyer…Neanderthal Parallax…plans sent by aliens…lets people read each other’s minds...strongly implied that this will lead to utopia.”