he deal in Moscow had gone bad and Adrien's battered body is proof of
his failed attempt to acquire the latest in illegal HIT implants. Human
Interface Technology offers a crude, one-way form of mental telepathy
whereby the main user, or Watcher, can vicariously experience, via satellite
link, the activities and emotions of others with corresponding implants.
Watching is a favorite pastime of the wealthy, who can afford both the
technology and extravagant salaries paid to the "trans," individuals who
agree to be watched. Adrien enjoys life as a trans but becomes alarmed
when his Watcher learns how to manipulate him by projecting Watcher feelings
to Adrien--something that's not supposed to happen.
In fact, it's this manipulation that compels Adrien to try smuggling new
HIT from the Deep. But the heist is thwarted by Max, a formidable human
representative of the formless mental network that makes up the Deep. The
new software has frightening potential because it
allows both Watcher and trans to inhabit the same body. Adrien is ignorant
of the purpose of the software and his Watcher's intentions to eventually
take complete control of Adrien's body.
Adrien only knows that, after his encounter with Max, he is saved from
death by a mysterious Croatian woman named Sabina. Sabina is a composer who
disapproves of Adrien's status as a trans but wonders if HIT might expand
her ability to create music. At the same time, Adrien's Watcher wonders if
Sabina may be a better host than Adrien for the upcoming experiment proposed
by the Deep.
An identity crisis of monumental proportions
In her second novel, relative newcomer Tricia Sullivan tackles the
complex, if unoriginal, subject of individual identity. Sullivan's characters investigate questions such as
what constitutes identity, how does experience shape it, who controls it,
and what happens when it becomes lost. The narrative is a delight to read,
in a style reminiscent of Ian McDonald. Sullivan paints
vivid pictures: "Sentiment. Setting in like the flu, fluttering in
the bones and stealing over the house, knocking you flat on your back. You
had to fight it."
But Sullivan can do more than paint pretty word pictures. There's also
lots of action, and the main characters are given opportunities throughout
the text to tell segments of the story from their own perspectives. The near
future is an extension of the present, with a society whose blatant
commercialism and fixation on pleasure would make any baby boomer feel right
at home.
Technology is gradually replacing drugs as the preferred method for
participating in hallucinogenic and mood altering experiences. Sex, power,
delusions of grandeur, and mountain top religious feelings are readily
available through the "wire" trade, and Watchers have turned hi-tech
voyeurism into a fine art. Once again, promising technology is used to twist
original expectations into dark possibilities. The result is an imaginative
and thoughtful look at unexpected outcomes from the fusion of technology and
the human psyche.
ot many science fiction writers today dare to peer more than a few
decades or at most a century or two into the future. In Far Futures,
physicist and prolific author Gregory Benford has collected a quintet of
novellas, all of which take place at least 1,000 years in the future.
Greg Bear sets "Judgment Engine" at the
very twilight of the universe. Matter, energy, and time itself are sputtering out of existence. An entity called a "social=mind" reboots
the consciousness of a 21st century human to help out with a vexing
moral issue. An ancient mathematical theorem suggests that conquest and
brutal warfare is an inescapable feature of any civilization, no matter
how advanced. Would it be ethical, then, for the universe's last
survivors to attempt a migration into a new universe?
Donald Kingsbury (Courtship Rite) revisits a far-future
milieu first seen in the pulp magazines of the 1930s. "Historical
Crisis" takes place in Isaac Asimov's Foundation universe. "Crisis" follows a young scientist who breaks with the
galaxy's ruling cadre of "psychohistorians," who use mathematics and
psychology to predict--and control--the course of civilization.
In Joe Haldeman's "For White Hill," a group of artists journey to an
Earth that has been rendered nearly lifeless by alien biological
weapons. They arrive just in time for a second, even more lethal strike
by the unseen aliens. A doomed romance and grubby interstellar politics round out the story.
In Poul Anderson's "Genesis," the whole galaxy is coalescing into a sort
of brain comprised of hugely intelligent "nodes." The node on Earth has
broken contact with the rest of the galactic brain. A secret agent in
human form investigates and learns that the Earth node is carrying out
strange experiments on human civilizations--both "real" humans
struggling to survive and "virtual" humans
endlessly replaying variations on key events in human history.
"At the Eschaton," by Charles Sheffield, chronicles the life, and
afterlife, of obsessive widower Drake Merlin from the early 21st century
to the very end of time, when the universe collapses on itself, time
uncoils, and, as physicist Frank Tipler speculates, all beings who ever
existed live again (including Drake's beloved wife). Along the
way, Drake leads posthumanity in a war against a foe who devours entire
galaxies.
Still homo sapiens? You need to upgrade.
All of the stories in Far Futures are good; none of them are great,
except perhaps "For White Hill," which is excellent as literature but
almost-but-not-quite excellent as science fiction. Kingsbury's
faux-Foundation novella is the most fun story of the bunch, with a
sympathetic hero on the run, vivid imagery (which Asimov avoided in his
own Foundation stories) and a thoughtful examination of the ethics of
the Foundation universe.
The weakest entry is Sheffield's "At the Eschaton," which is never less
than interesting but asks readers to swallow some major
improbabilities. The immortal hyperintelligences of the distant future,
for example, are incapable of fighting a galaxy-devouring foe until they
resurrect the consciousness of a 21st century man (a doctor,
ironically), who can marshal all his primitive, flesh-and-blood
instincts to lead a suitably aggressive war.
Bear's "Judgment Engine" is about as ambitious as science fiction can
get, showing readers a civilization 12 billion years in the future. And he
succeeds as few other science fiction writers could. The results are
fascinating, eerie, but otherwise emotionally flat. It's hard to root
for characters such as an eight-legged "soma" made up of seven
"tributaries" temporarily disengaged from their "social=mind."
That's the problem with writing credibly about the distant future. Many
writers of "hard" science fiction assume that humanity as it's now known
will be obsolete within a few centuries, if not decades. In his
introduction, Benford bluntly describes humans as "rickety assemblies of
water in tiny compartment cells, hung on a lattice of moving calcium
rods." Technology could allow us to fast-forward evolution and become,
or be replaced by, entities with enhanced intelligence and made-to-order
bodies. The great explorers of the galaxy probably won't look much like
William Shatner, but most readers have a hard time relating to an
intelligent plasma cloud or a galactic-scale brain.
Recognizing this, the authors in Far Futures contrive to
introduce human or human-like characters into their stories. Except for
very short stories, that's probably the only way to write engaging
far-future fiction.
At least for now.
