Analog, July/August 2007

In his Hugo-nominated novel, Eifelheim, based on a short story of the same name that appeared in Analog (11/1986), Michael F. Flynn demonstrated an understanding of the way the thought processes of Medieval man differ from modern man. It is so much more than just a matter of believing in “superstitions.” In “Quaestiones Super Caelo et Mundo,” Flynn demonstrates this understanding even further. Set in the fourteenth century, Flynn follows the conversations and activities of some of the most learned men of the period. Providing his characters with a little more understanding of physical laws, Flynn allows them to create the scientific method three centuries earlier than in our world, but in a realistic manner. While many readers may find the story a little slow moving, Flynn does an excellent job allowing his characters to discuss and rationalize what needs to be done, mixing in just the right amount of experimentation. At the end, Flynn points the reader in the direction this world will go with tantalizing hints, although he leaves the details up to the reader, or perhaps a future story.

Richard A. Lovett’s decision to use a folksy, first person narrator for “The Last of the Weathermen” gives the story much of its charm. Rather than being a look at an aged 1960s radical, the main character predicted the weather in the story’s distant past. Now living in the end of the twenty-first century, meteorology as a feature on the news has been made obsolete by technological advances. Given that technology forced the narrator out of a job, this story could have been anti-technology, instead, Lovett focuses on scientific knowledge and how necessary it is, even when technology apparently does everything needed. This idea isn’t new, Isaac Asimov used it in the story “The Feeling of Power” in If (February 1958), but Lovett handles his material in a charming, if perhaps a little twee, manner.

One of the problems with writing a series of linked stories featuring the same characters is that in addition to the regular willing suspension of disbelief a reader must bring to the story, there is a cumulative effect of all the stories. “A Time for Lawsuits” is Amy Bechtel’s eighth story about rural veterinarian Michael Clayton, and it does suffer from the sheer quantity of oddities Clayton has encountered over the years. Bechtel’s story covers a few days in Clayton’s life when he has to deal with a variety of patients, from the normal to the extremely odd. The plot almost takes a backseat to the simple, slice-of-life aspects of the story, and Bechtel’s characters and style are charming enough that even as she refers to his past exploits, piling disbelievable upon disbelievable, the reader is willing to allow her the benefit of the doubt and enjoy the story.

Joe Schembrie’s “The Caves of Ceres” hearkens back to the exploratory science fiction of the nineteen-fifties. Unfortunately, his story, about a woman who has arrived on Ceres seeking the mining claim her father had to abandon, also tends to take much of its dialogue and from the same period, providing the story with a familiar, but ultimately unsatisfying, feeling. At times, Schembrie descends into dialogue which would have been cliché if Fantastic Universe had published the story. However, Schembrie’s tale does evoke a sense of nostalgia in its ability to recapture the sense of wonder evoked in the stories of an earlier era.

“Probability Zero” is generally a clever, ironic story, and Kyle Kirkland strives to achieve this in “The Test,” in which a professor in 1860 meets with an alien space bat. Unfortunately, in the few words Kirkland has been allotted, he is unable to build a sense of the period, either in describing the scene or in his characterization of Professor Bartholemew Niblet. The humor is too telegraphed to be really surprising, and therefore doesn’t quite succeed.

Many authors tackle the idea of sentient machines. In “Jimmy the Box,” Scott Virtes does so with humor which almost makes the story seem like it should have been published under Analog’s “Probability Zero” title. The title character is an airport vending machine which develops its own sentience and becomes friends with a janitor. Unfortunately, word leaks out, and the press takes an interest, leading to Jimmy having to face an undesired, and undesirable, fame. While the story is entertaining, it also tends towards the fluffier side of science fiction. Virtes sets up a situation and essentially takes the easy way out without fully exploring the ramifications of the circumstances, instead giving the reader a little hint with a wink and a nod.

One theory of writing science fiction is known as “if this goes on,” in which an author takes a current trend and extrapolates from it. This is what C.W. Johnson does in “Political Science,” which takes the current U.S. administration’s tactics with regard to the “War on Terror” and combines it with its attitude towards science and religion. Johnson tosses in a large dose of isolationism and creates a world in which science takes a backseat to political concerns, and any consideration of the world outside the U.S. is tantamount to treason. The story looks at Howard Park, a scientist who contacts the president in order to warn her of an imminent threat. However, the warning runs afoul of the government’s paranoia, resulting in Park’s internment as a traitor at best and an enemy combatant at worst. In many ways, this is a preaching to the choir story. Those who disagree with the tactics of the Bush administration will see a warning in the continuation of policies of which they disapprove, and many who agree with the tactics of the administration will see Johnson making a mountain out of a molehill.

John G. Hemry takes up the idea of sentient machines, or at least machines that mirror humans, from Virtes in “Do No Harm.” The story opens with a spaceship showing indications of an epileptic seizure. When a psychiatrist and physician help diagnose the problem, they find themselves impressed into the ship’s crew for its shakedown cruise. Along the way, the spaceship, called Sandra, begins to show signs of survival instincts, not unlike those exhibited by HAL 9000 in 2001: A Space Odyssey, a similarity that the author also comments on. Unlike HAL, Sandra’s actions are not one of sentience or planning, but merely the same sort of response the human body might have to an infection. Hemry’s story works quite well, presenting the humans on board with a problem and raising (and answering) the sort of moral questions that can arise when dealing with other living creatures.

If you keep the train moving fast enough, the passengers won’t have time to scrutinize the scenery.

This sage advice urges aspiring writers to maintain brisk forward plot movement in their writing. While the authors of “Loki’s Realm” are certainly no novices, it unfortunately reads more like a weekend stroll than a spaceship ride.

This novella by C. Sanford Lowe and G. David Nordley is one of a series published by Analog dealing with the Black Hole Project (BHP), a multi-decade endeavor to create an artificial black hole some light-years from Earth. The narrator is a 23rd-century science historian who wants to be a part of the history he teaches about. He offers his services on one of the ships involved in the BHP, bound for Epsilon Eridani. When unexpected complications arise in the mission, he stumbles at first, but once he finds his space legs, his contributions save the day.

Like most Analog stories, this one relies on clear, competent prose. The setting, laid out in precise and remarkable detail, includes awesome heavenly bodies and massive feats of off-world engineering. Physics on a stellar scale drives the plot, and Epsilon Eridani is almost a character in itself. The science is rigorous, even for Analog; the authors certainly give the impression that they have not only done their homework, they could teach at MIT. The premise is as impressively imaginative as the setting.

That being said, very little actually happens in this story, a fatal flaw in a piece of this length. There is barely a hint of the story’s central conflict—or any conflict at all—until the second chapter begins. From there, the plot progresses only in fits and starts, like a train stopping at too many stations. Even the rare “action” sequence is often plodding and tedious. The climactic revelation, if not predictable, is at least unsurprising. The romantic subplot has no spark whatsoever.

In the meantime, readers have a lot of “scenery” to scrutinize. The setting is nicely presented, but unfortunately, the landscape is peopled with rather flat characters. The narrator is likeable enough, studious and respectful, but overall a rather dry personality. He is resolutely Scottish, and his stereotypical Scottish accent comes off as hackneyed rather than authentic. That there may even be a such thing as a “Scottish accent” in the 23rd century challenges one’s suspension of disbelief.

Similarly, the Texan project leader has a horse ranch and a drawl, and another male character often spouts off sexist nonsense that is out-of-date even today (one would hope). These are little more than 20th-century caricatures transported 200 years into the future, where their personalities are told to us rather than shown to us. Their dense, jargon-laced dialogue is usually a tool for exposition rather than character development.

Read it for the physics, read it for the setting, read it for the masculine wish-fulfillment—but don’t read it for the story.

“Bringing It All Back Home” by Bud Webster is the latest installment in a series featuring Bubba, a lovable specimen of the unsophisticated Everyman his name invokes. From his prior adventures, Bubba has acquired a small flying saucer and an artificially intelligent but wise alien friend. In this story, the National Air and Space Museum commissions Bubba to retrieve the first lunar lander from the Moon; it’s “the ultimate tow job.” The assignment takes him not only to the Moon and back, but deep into his personal past, where unfinished business awaits him.

The story gets off to a quick and engaging start, despite some clunky expository dialogue on page 1. Dialogue dominates until well into the story, and while this helps keep the pacing brisk, it sometimes becomes monotonous, and the setting remain underdeveloped. Later, however, when the setting is the Moon, the author allows his prose to flower, and the effect is extremely poignant.

In the middle of the piece, there is an abrupt shift from narrative to travelogue format, and this can be jarring. Once a reader gets used to it, though, the story unfolds smoothly and with the same easy humor of the earlier pages. Backstory abounds, but it is deftly woven into the story’s main thread. At first the denouement may seem overlong, but it is building to a secondary climax. The overall effect is heartwarming and affirming, and the story is likely to leave you with a smile.

To enjoy this piece, however, a reader must be fully invested in the character of Bubba: if you don’t like him, or at least identify with him, you probably will not like this story much. Like the other novella in this issue, it is a bit too long for its actual plot, so sometimes it is the protagonist himself who holds the reader’s interest.

At times the author belabors his main theme—that as a society, we have lost our sense of wonder with regard to science. Still, it is a timely message, and one that should provoke introspection and concern. While we cling to a belief in UFOs, we are somehow bored with true spacecraft, as well as other scientific marvels that should excite us. This reviewer wholeheartedly concurs with the author’s sentiments.

[Reviewed by Steven H Silver except for “Loki’s Realm” by C. Sanford Lowe and G. David Nordley and “Bringing It All Back Home” by Bud Webster which were reviewed by Brit Marschalk.]