ndré Marek is an assistant history professor who chooses to live out
the past rather than just study it, and who's proficient with swords and lances
as well as ancient languages. Katherine Erickson is a would-be architect
lured into hands-on historical studies, where she can put her skills as a
rock-climber to unusual uses. Chris Hughes is a muddled graduate student
with a puppy-dog demeanor and lot of unapplied knowledge. They're an eclectic group with little in common, other than their respect for their
mentor, Yale history professor Edouard Johnston, who's heading their
excavation of a medieval French monastery.
When Johnston leaves the site to speak to his benefactors at ITC, the
American technology corporation funding the dig, the excavation continues
on schedule. But Johnston's students discover something strange in his
absence--a note that says "HELP ME" in his handwriting, on medieval
parchment buried in a room that's apparently been sealed for
centuries. The
note's dated 1357. Tests confirm the date of the parchment and
the ink, but
the group's handwriting expert insists that the note's not a forgery or a coincidence.
Some things become clearer when ITC contacts the group and reluctantly
reveals that the company's developed a technology that allows people to
travel into other potential universes by moving through wormholes in
quantum foam. Professor Johnston insisted on trying out the
technology and
was trapped in another universe in the 14th century. His
students are
expected to take the same trip and find and retrieve him. It's not time
travel, an ITC vice president insists vehemently. Time travel is
impossible. It's just "an orthogonal multiverse coordinate change." Regardless, the professor has to be rescued by someone familiar with the
medieval monastery he visited, and presumably familiar with his habits and with the time period. Johnston's assistants agree, but they quickly find out that their knowledge of the real truth behind the written history is limited at best.
A picture book for (sort of) grownups
The amazing financial success of the Jurassic Park movie adaptation
may have been the last nail in the coffin of Michael Crichton's literary ambition.
Each of his novels since then has read a little more like an
action screenplay in paragraph form--spare, slick, exciting and
illogical, aimed at hitting a variety of emotional buttons, but without more than a
glancing contact with the brain. Timeline takes that trend to a new
low. It's crammed with enough glib pseudo-scientific theorizing and
medieval factoids to resemble Crichton's earlier, more erudite books, but
it's also crammed with chases, explosions, and plot holes that a T. Rex could amble through. (Most significantly, if Johnston is trapped in an alternate universe, why does his parchment note turn up in this universe?)
Much of Timeline's weaknesses and omissions look like sheer
laziness on the part of the writer. The sequence of events that trapped Johnston makes little sense,
so it's glossed over. The book's opening segments, involving an ITC
employee whose strange medical condition drags a small-town policeman and doctor into ITC's secret project, are dismissed offhandedly in
one sentence midway through the book. The book's major antagonist pops up from nowhere for a few chase scenes and is never anything more than a vague bogey. It
feels like the book's been edited from a longer work into one endless
slapstick chase sequence. Even basic scene-setting is missing in many
parts; Crichton substitutes little drawings for detailed descriptions,
heightening the impression that Timeline was meant as a visual work--a film--and that the novel was an afterthought.
Timeline is eminently readable, though. It's fast-paced due to all the missing
character development, plot justifications and descriptive text, and it's full of interesting historical tidbits, albeit tidbits
reduced to their lowest common denominator. (For instance, Crichton goes
out of his way to explain the medieval custom of constructing elaborate
castle-shaped pastries as feast showpieces...so he can set up a
slapstick scene where someone smashes one during a chase.) But
it's also packed with paradoxes, illogic, and scientific illiteracies. If nothing else, it would have been nice if the main characters were
something other than a checklist of skills. Will anyone be surprised to
know that Marek saves the day by jousting, Erickson by rock-climbing, and Hughes with random knowledge? Probably not, since their abilities
are about all readers know about their characters.
In other
words, this is a summer action flick, in the wrong format, at the wrong time of year.
-- Tasha
ector General receives multiple distress signals from a nearby star system in
James White's Double Contact, the latest installment in his long-running series about a space
station hospital that specializes in rescuing and treating newly discovered
species. Upon investigation, a multi-species rescue team discovers two
disabled ships orbiting an Earth-like planet. One of the ships, the
Terragar, contains a human crew. The other is from a
civilization previously uncontacted. In order to gather information, the team decides to rescue the humans first. A scan reveals all the Terragar's electronic equipment is dead, so radio contact is impossible.
While the rescue ship, the Rhabwar, maneuvers to rendezvous with
the Terragar, its medical commander, Dr. Prilicla, empathically monitors the emotions of the crew on the damaged ship. As the
Rhabwar approaches, the Terragar's crew becomes increasingly
agitated. When the Rhabwar persists in attempting the
rescue, the Terragar fires its thrusters in a desperate attempt to
get away. Unfortunately, this takes it into the planet's atmosphere,
causing its hull temperature to rise dangerously. The only way to save the
Terragar's crew is to capture it in the Rhabwar's tractor beam and
gently tow it to the planet's surface, where the ocean can cool the hull
quickly.
Once on the planet's surface, the rescuers set up a field clinic on a small
island and begin to treat the Terragar's crew, who are too badly
injured from their ship's heating to interrogate immediately. Captain
Fletcher discovers the crew tried to avoid contact because their ship is infected with a devastating computer virus. Knowing this, Fletcher
takes Prilicla and some human officers to investigate the alien vessel. However, it becomes increasingly clear that whoever is on the ship
will allow the insectoid Prilicla to investigate but won't allow
the humans to do so. And while the doctor tries to gain their trust, a
primitive, previously undetected civilization on the planet kidnaps one of the team's surgeons.
A throwback to an earlier era...
Double Contact, in a very positive way, is a throwback to an
earlier era in science fiction. White creates a universe that exudes
optimism and is filled with advanced species working together harmoniously. But it's far from a simple portrayal--something that becomes clear later in the book when the injured aliens reveal why they fear the humans so much. Perhaps White's most impressive accomplishment is creating a narrative in which making the
effort to build trust and avoid conflict is as exciting and
suspenseful as conflict itself would be.
Another part of what makes the book so effective and enjoyable is White's fine sense of pacing. The story moves along at a consistent speed, and the key events unfold efficiently and naturally. It's not a complicated plot, but White has enough surprises along the way to keep readers interested. Perhaps the weakest element of the book is its characterizations, which don't go much beyond the minimum to support the plot. White uses multiple viewpoint characters, with Prilicla getting most of the attention. The result is that he's the one readers get to know best. He has some very interesting traits rooted in his species' survival psychology--a hypersensitivity to others' emotions, causing him to try to please as much as possible, and a basic cowardice, balanced by a persistence in trying to save the alien patients and a pleasant Machiavellian streak.
Unfortunately, White died earlier this year, so if Double Contact isn't the last of his works, it's certainly one of the last. It's not that deep or complex a book, but in the guise of writing science fiction as entertainment, White communicates an admirable philosophy of kindness, charity, and peace. And he does it with grace and subtlety.
I'm embarrassed to admit that until now, I'd only read a few of
White's short stories in anthologies. This is a very enjoyable
introduction to his Sector General series, and I'll be looking for more of his books.
-- Clint
ndré Marek is an assistant history professor who chooses to live out
the past rather than just study it, and who's proficient with swords and lances
as well as ancient languages. Katherine Erickson is a would-be architect
lured into hands-on historical studies, where she can put her skills as a
rock-climber to unusual uses. Chris Hughes is a muddled graduate student
with a puppy-dog demeanor and lot of unapplied knowledge. They're an eclectic group with little in common, other than their respect for their
mentor, Yale history professor Edouard Johnston, who's heading their
excavation of a medieval French monastery.
ector General receives multiple distress signals from a nearby star system in
James White's Double Contact, the latest installment in his long-running series about a space
station hospital that specializes in rescuing and treating newly discovered
species. Upon investigation, a multi-species rescue team discovers two
disabled ships orbiting an Earth-like planet. One of the ships, the
Terragar, contains a human crew. The other is from a
civilization previously uncontacted. In order to gather information, the team decides to rescue the humans first. A scan reveals all the Terragar's electronic equipment is dead, so radio contact is impossible.
