f the Cuban missile crisis hadn't been peacefully resolved, might the prospect of nuclear conflict have prompted some higher intelligence to save us from ourselves without our knowing it? If Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin had perished from some accident during their moon landing, would suspicion of Soviet sabotage have provided American justification for using ever-increasing levels of doomsday weapons against perceived enemies? Could two stranded astronauts on the moon repopulate the barren satellite like Adam and Eve, even though both astronauts are men?
How can we be so sure that what we think of as real is real, or is the only reality there is? Do certain assumptions about the origin and evolution of the universe support the idea that there are multiple realities, multiple versions of ourselves and multiple outcomes of differing decisions? Is it possible that universes unfold on the microscopic level, within our very bodies, or that perhaps our universe is within a larger entity? Are humans the only sentient beings aware of a greater cosmos, and, if not, why aren't we aware of any others? Are they keeping themselves from us, and why would they do that?
If a writer wants to place a set of characters in a slightly different, but parallel storyline, maybe because he liked an idea but it didn't fit into the original novel, or even just for the fun of it, shouldn't he be able to? It's all made up anyway, right?
If Philip K. Dick had been more interested in astrophysics than pharmacology, would he have been Stephen Baxter?
This universe, at least, is fortunate to have had the presence of both authors. It's hard to decide whose worldview is actually the scarier—Dick's drug-fueled paranoia or Baxter's calmly rational scientific explanations for how much more weird and possibly fabricated a construct a taken-for-granted reality could be.
The wonderful worlds of "What if?"
Phase Space is a collection of Baxter short stories from 1997 to 2002, many of which originally appeared in Asimov's and Interzone. The title is a term that signifies "all conceivable states of a system," i.e., the multiple dimensions of what we think of as reality. Carrying the subtitle "Stories from the Manifold and Elsewhere," the book jacket copy misleadingly suggests that this is another Reid Malenfant adventure, in reference to the Heinlein-esque hero who appears in Baxter's Manifold trilogy, each volume of which presents a different scenario to resolve the Fermi Paradox: If there is other intelligent life in the universe, why aren't we aware of it?
While structured like the Manifold books (i.e., a prologue in which Malenfant is in some predicament that the reader won't understand until the book's conclusion), the attempt is a bit strained. In fact, Malenfant himself makes only one full appearance, in the penultimate tale, "Touching Centauri," which also manages to incorporate Kate Manzoni, a character from Baxter's collaboration with Arthur C. Clarke, The Light of Other Days. Indeed, while there are other Manifold-related stories (the best of which are "Sheena 5" and "Huddle"), they add up to only six of the 23 collected tales. Baxter fans will also recognize characters and situations from his novels Voyage and Titan. While it's not entirely necessary to be up with the entire Baxterian oeuvre, some references that seem to be nothing more than "inside jokes" to the initiated will leave less familiar readers puzzled.
What all these stories share is the Baxterian obsession with the nature of the universe and why human beings appear to be alone in the universe—so far, anyway. Actually, the repetition of the same theme in ways that are not always all that different dilutes their individual effect. Conceivably, a story that may seem mediocre in the context of very similar stories might have stood out more in its original publication among a presumably more eclectic range of fiction. It is interesting, however, to see how one story is more successful than another in doing the same thing—contrast, for example, "The Lost Continent" with the much better (perhaps because it demonstrates that Baxter can be funny) "The Twelfth Album." Both pivot on providing clues to a world similar to our own in which certain significant events have turned out differently.
A perhaps more serious flaw is inherent in the expository nature of hard SF—stories such as the too-cute "We Who Sing," which posits sentience to astrophysical events, are simply excuses to expound on scientific concepts and conjecture. Also typical is the lack of deep characterization coupled with wooden dialogue whose purpose is to present ideas rather than an actual plotline. Take, for example, this sort of prose:
"Think about it. What if we had been placed in some form of 'planetarium,' perhaps generated using an advanced virtual reality technology, designed to give us the illusion of an empty universe—while beyond the walls with their painted stars, the shining lights of extraterrestrial civilizations grow unseen."
"Which would resolve Fermi," Malenfant said. "They're there, but they're hiding."
"Which would resolve Fermi, yes."
"And now the planetarium's, uh, projector is breaking down. ... Is that what you are saying?"
"Exactly."
Ironically, the best of Baxter's short fiction, such as "War Birds" and "Spindrift," have less to do with pondering scientific extrapolations than pondering individual courage and sheer human persistence in spite of difficult odds in an uncaring universe.
