Life Beyond Us is an anthology of astrobiology-themed original SF stories by 22 amazing authors of SF and accompanying essays by 22 scientists. The Kickstarter for the book is running right now, and I’ll be bringing you short interviews with each of the story authors. Today, please welcome Julie E. Czerneda!
Which branch of science fascinated you the most as a kid or teenager? And now?
When I was young, everything about biology and space was a passion. I dreamed of being the first biology in space, perhaps even deciphering an alien language. I went into university to do a joint biology/physics degree, and signed up for ground school, calculating that combination might get me into space. In grad studies, I continued my passion for how living things interact, researching chemical communication. And wrote SF in my spare time, so honestly? The dream kept going.
Can you hint at what’s your story going to be about?
Though this is preliminary, I enjoy examining first contact where the crucial piece of the puzzle is a difference in sensory perception.
Is there any place in the universe you’d love to see – where and why?
While I’ll always be deeply interested in space exploration, there’s still so much to see first hand on this planet, especially for a biologist, but also to see people as well.
What one technology today you can’t live without? Why?
“Can’t” would include modern medicine, food and energy production, shipping, etc. “won’t” is more within my grasp. We definitely shopped for our latest home based on where we could get high speed internet. To be connected these days is vital.
What do you see as the greatest scientific challenge of our time, and how can (or should) science fiction reflect that?
Climate change, more specially learning to live well on this planet, protecting the biodiversity on which all life depends. Science fiction abundantly addresses this and has for a long time. I do like work that pushes toward a sustainable, desirable future. I’ve no patience for apocalypse.
Why do you write science fiction?
Because the experiments and ideas that interest me most are either too difficult, too dangerous, or too immoral to actually conduct in real life. I wouldn’t, for example, destroy planets to illustrate the urgency of protecting life on this one. I can, and have, speculated on that imperative. I also can play with “what ifs” predicated on contacting other intelligences and build societies based on differences in biology. Which is great fun, believe me.
Julie E. Czerneda is a biologist and author of over 20 novels published by DAW Books: the Web Shifter’s Library series and other books. Her science fiction draws from and investigates the natural world, including us. Twitter: @julieczerneda
Life Beyond Us is an anthology of astrobiology-themed original SF stories by 22 amazing authors of SF and accompanying essays by 22 scientists. The Kickstarter for the book is running right now, and I’ll be bringing you short interviews with each of the story authors. Today, please welcome Premee Mohamed!
What comes to your mind first when you say “astrobiology”?
When I hear ‘astrobiology’ I’m afraid I think of science fiction before I think of science! I think of worlds where life forms have already been discovered and maybe studied or interacted with, not our current reality of ‘well we’ve received and analyzed signatures of some molecules that are useful for life on Earth that are coming from non-Earth places, but we don’t know what generated them or how.’ I also think of the books in my school library that had these models of life that might exist on other planets: ocean worlds, ice worlds, high-gravity worlds, and so on. I still think of those when I write sci-fi: how does where the action is set affect what happens, what choices are made, and what timelines things can happen on? How can we proceed using Earth life forms as a model, when life on other planets is very likely to not follow an Earth-like biological framework in many (or most!) respects? There’s so much we don’t know.
Can you hint at what’s your story going to be about?
Is ‘hubris’ a long enough answer? I think a good hint would be: When humanity eventually goes into space with the intent to settle in permanent habitats, I’m sure that, despite our greater scientific and technical knowledge, we will make the same mistakes that colonizers have made throughout history: misunderstanding, dismissing, and underestimating the life forms that have evolved before we got there.
Is there any place in the universe you’d love to see – where and why?
I’m actually researching lava lakes right now (of which Earth has disappointingly few) so my first thought was, I’d like to see 55 Cancri e! It’s a little ball of rock so close to its star that it’s entirely melted, and so would be lava on one side and rock on the other, and since it’s carbon-rich, there literally might be a layer of diamond inside it. (I don’t want to land there, I just want to look!) I also thought about some places closer to home – I’d love to see what’s under the clouds in Venus (without dying, I mean) and I want to do research on Europa and Enceladus and Mars. But it’s hard to resist the visual appeal of a flying lava sphere!
Why do you write science fiction?
I think when I set out to write science fiction, I’m trying to stretch out the scope of unintended consequences. All my favourite sci-fi (in which the sci-fi technology or premise forms part of the plot rather than just the setting) is about people creating something that they intend to be beneficial, and having it go wrong. I want to delve into what it means to ‘go wrong’ though. For who, when, how, under what conditions? What are the consequences? Are they evenly distributed? Is it a technology that only negatively affects poor people, or people in a certain area, or of a certain gender, or with children, or with certain jobs or disabilities or other circumstances? If it’s still going ‘right’ for some people, what are the conditions that makes that the case? And best of all, are there ways to correct what’s ‘going wrong’ and make the technology beneficial for everyone? How do people fight back, what do they use, how do they organize? Sci-fi is an unparalleled venue to explore how we’re dealing with the intersection of science and society now, and describe the possibilities for a future that could really exist.
Premee Mohamed is an Indo-Caribbean scientist and speculative fiction author based in Edmonton, Alberta. She is the author of novels Beneath the Rising (2020) and A Broken Darkness (2021), and novellas ‘These Lifeless Things’ (2021), ‘And What Can We Offer You Tonight’ (2021), and ‘The Annual Migration of Clouds’ (2021). Her short fiction has appeared in a variety of venues. Twitter: @premeesaurus
I’m happy to announce that on today’s big 60th anniversary of Yuri Gagarin’s historic flight, we launched a Kickstarter for Life Beyond Us, an anthology of 22 original astrobiological stories by award-winning authors and essays by scientists active in astrobiology! So – please spread the word and help yourself and others enjoy the science-fictional and scientific visions of astonishing life on and beyond Earth!
Last year, I started interviewing authors from my astrobiological SF anthology Strangest of All developed for the European Astrobiology Institute, some on video and some through e-mail, and I’m bringing you these interviews. Next up is D.A. Xiaolin Spires, whose stories depict alien planets as well as strange apparitions, but regardless of genre are always sublime, intriguing and full of layers.
D.A. Xiaolin Spires steps into portals and reappears in Hawai’i, NY, Asia and elsewhere. Her work is published in Clarkesworld, Fireside, Analog, Uncanny, Strange Horizons, Galaxy’s Edge, Nature, Terraform, Andromeda Spaceways (Year’s Best Issue), Star*Line, as well as anthologies such as Deep Signal, Strangest of All, Make Shift and Nowhereville. Select stories are available in German, Spanish, Vietnamese, Estonian and French translation.Twitter: @spireswriter.
you describe the genesis of your story “But, Still, I Smile”?
for asking about “But, Still, I Smile.” Sometimes I think that
if life exists out there, it might not be in a form we recognize. I
know, Julie, that you’ve written about this and think about this in
your own work, especially most recently in your article in
in which you ask, “when—if—we find alien life somewhere, are we
going to recognize it?” I think the overarching question I had was
along the same lines. If one supposes that life we encounter might
not be a form we recognize… how, then, might first contact unfold?
trying to recall the exact details of the genesis, but it honestly
escapes me. I wrote this a few years back now and sometimes what
remains is what feeling I associate with it, but not necessarily how
it came to be.
sometimes difficult for me to go back to think about how I came up
with something. Usually, it’s an image or concept that gets lodged
in the head.
I’m looking through my notes now and for this one, I wrote
“machinery come alive” and “self-propelling doomsday planet.”
These notes are jogging some memory of the story creation process! I
think for me, the inspiration was actually from AI and the paperclip
maximizing story. I remember at the time I was listening to podcasts
about AI, notions of superintelligence and the prospect or
possibility of the singularity. In this case, I substituted AI with
aliens (or possibly aliens with technology that performed like these
hypothetical AI). What if aliens had different values from us? For
example, what if these aliens had a goal or function of propagating
in a way that would be not only worthless to but incompatible with
our own way of life? How would that look like?
also been considering the tension between anthropocentric forms of
thought and multispecies ways of thinking; if we celebrate life and
if life looks very different than our own, then how do these
competing values play out? Should we assume that individuals would
want a human notion of “what’s best (for us)” to prevail? Or
can we imagine a human who would want to cultivate life, even alien
life, even if it competes with our species’ own interest (or if
there is one interest that can be defined for the species)? If this
human wants so so badly to make life and has the chance, maybe it
doesn’t matter what the life looks like. Maybe it’s just that
goal achieved that counts for this person. Maybe this goal is just to
be a parent or creator and to give birth, in a way, and at any
cost—and still find this birth not just beautiful but sublime.
must have been more going on in my head at the time, different
thoughts swirling about, but I think that just about captures the
main gist of the kinds of umbrella questions I was interested in
tackling in the story when I set out to write it. I also wanted to
paint a portrait of a very driven female protagonist and have this
point of view highlighted—and to show that outward motivations
might not reflect inward incentives.
some of your stories, you tackle environmental problems. Do you think
SF can change the way we perceive them and act upon that, and how?
Are there any books or short pieces that, for you personally, embody
the type of story that might do this?
certainly SF has a role to play in how we perceive, understand and
reflect upon the environment. The environment is our surroundings;
our home more broadly, as well as the home to our various neighbors
(flora/fauna/microbes, etc.) inhabiting the same space. It’s more
than just a space and site; I think it’s something unto itself—the
environment has its own system and mechanism. It can be viewed in
multiple ways: as resource, as system, as habitat, as ‘alive’, as
vulnerable worth protecting, as resilient but susceptible, as value
worth extracting… the list goes on. I think disregarding any of
these functions and qualities undermines the entirety of what the
environment means to us as a species, more broadly.
terms of SF influencing how we perceive and act upon the environment,
I certainly think this can be the case. What first comes to mind are
dystopic or doomsday scenarios in media and fiction that present a
world that we no longer recognize or that we would want to thwart
that might jar people into action, whether that may be individual
action or catalyzing into something more large-scale.
it could also be positive representations that are hopeful. That is
certainly a sentiment worth cultivating. I also don’t think these
two seemingly polar opposites (dystopic/utopic) are necessarily
an interesting point I quite agree with. ‘Hopepunk’, or dystopia –
even if they’re not exclusive, do you have any preference, and if
so, which and why?
not sure if I have a preference. I think there’s space for both and
everything in between or beyond!
I probably have more of the optimism slant in me and I probably write
with more of a hopeful lilt. (I say ‘probably’ twice because, who
knows! People change. Seasons change. I might one day find myself
writing in a different way!) But, I think there’s room for both
versions and everything spanning the two. There’s a panorama of
stories, with each story doing different things for different people.
I think it depends on how powerful the images and ideas are and how
much they stick with you as a reader or viewer that might compel you
to take action or think more about it.
– and that is, actually, why I like using well-written SF in
outreach, this power to evoke emotion and at the same time make
people think. Do you think science fiction draws people more toward
science? Where do you see its role now, when the covid pandemic
highlighted the importance of critical thinking and basic
understanding of science?
certainly think science fiction makes scientific concepts and modes
of thinking more accessible and appealing. By drawing from science
and using that basis for stories, it’s a model of storytelling that
certainly engages readers. You get intriguing narrative, winsome
protagonists and heightened stakes—what’s not to like? (Of course
there are stories that don’t have these attributes or move beyond
these attributes, but in general, I think the answer is a resounding
terms of critical thinking, science fiction asks a lot of what-if
questions and engages readers/viewers in forward-thinking analysis.
Many stories ask or require you to deeply consider a fundamental
question about our humanity or where we’re going and the problems
this might present. It helps us see beyond what is right in front of
us and gently (or brusquely) prods us to delve deeper and broader.
in various forms, from cakes or coffee across cocktails all the way
to breastmilk, appears repeatedly as a motif in your stories; how do
you think our relationship with food might change once some humans
live permanently off the Earth?
love writing and talking about food. Oh… and eating and sharing
food! It’s necessary for survival; everyone does it; it hits all
the senses and it’s cultural, societal and historical. It lets us
gather and have a reprieve, but it’s also a requisite for life.
Food offers a sense of identity and belonging, but also can be a way
to draw borders or let ‘outside’ people in. It’s essential; I
think all life needs some kind of fuel (though perhaps I might be
proven wrong with future encounters in deep space!).
think food can look very different off-Earth, but I think some
customs are hard to shake. I mean, why do we create vegan food that
looks and tastes like meat? Why do we make sugar-free food with
substitute/synthetic sugar? Why do we have such a huge industry
trying to come up with crispy, crunchy, chewy, sweet, salty,
appetizing things that appeal to our palate? We have certain
biologically-driven cravings and certain patterns of expressing our
fuel; this doesn’t mean food can’t or won’t change but I think
there will be drag or lag… inertial or cultural or familiar in ways
that are hard to shake.
have habituated ourselves to eating in certain ways and some of that
might continue on, though I don’t discount the possibility that
food culture in outer space or in future colonies or come what may
might look quite different from any current or preexisting human
cultural context. Especially depending on who or what we come into
contact with out there!
the most surprising thing about you?
not sure about this one! I practice a lot of martial arts and
physical activities in general. Some of this comes out in my writing.
I think bodily cultivation is just as important as mental, and maybe
can’t be pulled apart into (Cartesian) dualities quite in that way!
is also another reason why I like talking about food… it’s
physical, physiological, mental and more!
are you currently working on?
working on a longer form right now that’s on the exploration of
outer space, as well!
have quite a few projects I’m working on… including an
analog/digital hybrid art project that touches on alien life. (This
is not writing, per se but touches on similar themes)! I have a lot
on my plate and am constantly in the midst of clearing it.
you, Julie, for giving me this opportunity to talk science fiction,
the potential of life in outer space and the role of stories with
you! It’s been a pleasure.
If you liked Strangest of All, stay tuned for the next project of the European Astrobiology Institute! We’ll announce it on April 12, and you can look forward to over twenty short stories by brilliant SF authors, just as many popular science essays, and much more… Don’t miss the announcement!
On Wednesday Jan. 27, from 9 p.m. CET, we’ll be discussing The Ship Whisperer with Draxtor in his Second Life Book Club. Don’t worry if you never tried Second Life – there’s going to be a live stream and then a recording on YouTube! We’ll talk the intersections of art and science, human augmentation, animal psychology and more.
“The Curtain Falls, The Show Must End” in Samovar started my 2020 novelette season. This historical fantasy set in 1938 Prague revolves around the Neue deutsche Theater and its mix of people and worldviews in refugees from Nazi Germany, liberal Czech Germans as well as Nazi supporters in the ensemble. When a ghost starts terrorizing the opera house already overflowing with tension, an aging writer Paul Leppin [based upon a real historical figure] reluctantly chooses to help the theatre… but in doing so, he might lose himself.
I have a new SF mystery novelette in my otherwise reprint collection The Ship Whisperer. “We Shadows” features multiple personalities, body and mind modification, circuses, and of course a mystery…
Then of course Strangest Of All, the astrobiological SF anthology I edited for @EAIastrobiology! The stories are reprints, but all the nonfiction texts I wrote are brand new; the whole project falls under Best Related Work. I hope we made a difference with it, and definitely plan to follow up on it.
Finally, since in theory works published in other languages than English are eligible for some awards, let me remind you of the #RUR centenary fiction anthology ROBOT100 by @MojeArgo. My ROBOT100 story “Vada ve výrobě” (“A Flaw in The Works”) features a robot contemplating the human genocide in the light of imminent first contact with an interstellar civilization.
Then there’s of course the nonfiction anthology Robot 100: Sto rozumů by @CejkovaJitka (eligible under Best Related Work). However, that one is also coming in English next year, so let’s perhaps wait for the English 2021 edition ;).
My story collection The Ship Whisperer is coming out on Thursday! In the next couple of days, you can look forward to exclusive excerpts and tales behind the stories. Which stories, you ask? I’ve included the full TOC below the cover art.
My novelette “The Curtain Falls, The Show Must End” has just appeared in Samovar in both the Czech original and the English translation. It’s a more personal story for me than usual, revolving around a world I’ve loved for years… all because of a book.
It started out very innocently. I was writing a mystery set in Prague in 1912, and I needed the characters to go to the opera. What performance would they have seen in early December? I started digging in the archives, and the search brought me to a nonfiction book named Až k hořkému konci (To the bitter end) by musicologist Jitka Ludvová. There I found a comprehensive list of performances in the Neue deutsche Theater – and much, much more.
The book tells the history of German theatre in Prague throughout a century: from 1845 to 1945. From the uncertain beginnings all the way to the bitter end. I fell in love with it. I have always loved opera and theatre, but its history as I learned it at school felt dead to me. There were no stories in it, just a dry list of dates and titles. But here, everything was a story. The arrival of the flamboyant Angelo Neumann, the man who’d traveled Europe with a train full of Wagner’s operas. Heinrich Teweles’ way from the theatre to the editor’s chair of Prager Tagblatt and back to the theatre up until shortly after the end of WWI and foundation of Czechoslovakia. Leopold Kramer’s long legal battles to get back Estates Theatre, taken over (read: stolen) by Czech nationalists. Robert Volkner’s attempts to overcome the years of crisis. Paul Eger’s desperate effort to hold the ensemble together when darkness shrouded Europe.
To be perfectly honest, I don’t remember when it occurred to me to write a ghost story set in the Neue deutsche Theater, nor when I decided to make Gustav Meyrink the protagonist. But that’s how “The Wagner Trouble” (GigaNotoSaurus, April 2017) began, set in late 1887 – just before the official opening of the opera house.
Rewind to before I delved through the looking glass into the land of Prague German theatre. I was already fascinated by the world Prague of late 19th and early 20th century. Or should I say worlds? One Czech; one German. Increasingly separated. Riddled by more and more nationalist feuds up until WWI, and then coexisting again in the schizophrenic ethnic conditions of Czechoslovakia between the wars. The bipolar nature of the relationship fascinated me – including the more or less friendly feud of the Czech National Theatre and the Neue deutsche Theater. Together with Lucie Lukačovičová, we have written three stories set in between “The Wagner Trouble” and “The Curtain Falls, The Show Must End”, where this duality of worlds in the city is more prominent – hopefully, you’ll see them published in the foreseeable future.
But the current story, set in 1938, concludes the cycle. It’s set shortly before the Munich Agreement… and you probably know how that went. Still, read the rest only after reading the story, even though you may realize how the course of history went for the opera house.
On September 15, Hitler’s Germany demanded that Czechoslovakia hands over areas with more than 50% of German-speaking citizens. On the same day, people from these areas who feared persecution started fleeing, many of them to Prague. On September 19, France and Britain urged Czechoslovakia to surrender the areas. On September 23, general mobilization in the country effectively brought all cultural events to a stop. The company of the Neue Deutsche Theater was definitively falling apart. On September 29, the Munich Agreement permitted Germany’s annexation of the “Sudetenland”. That day, the theatre’s director Paul Eger, fearing for his life, left Prague and embarked on a journey to Switzerland. Other members of the ensemble started fleeing as well. In October, the company was formally dissolved, and Eger in his letters urged his secretary to thoroughly destroy any materials that could be used against members of the theatre by the Nazis. On November 2, the end of the theatre was officially announced in the press.
Later, during Czechoslovakia’s occupation by Nazi Germany, guest ensembles from Germany revived the theatre. But it had little in common with its previous run. Now it spewed propaganda and permitted no diversity of opinion. It was a theatre none of the previous directors would bear to see.
After the war and reinstatement of the Czechoslovakia state, the Beneš decrees led to the expulsion of ethnic Germans from Czechoslovakia. Germans were forced to leave the country and leave everything behind, no matter if they supported the previous regime or fought against it; their nationality was reason enough. The era of Neumann, Teweles, Eger and others was cut sharply, never to return.
Irrevocably, the German culture in Bohemia, having existed there for centuries, arrived to a bitter end. The theatre was gone; the fascinating Paul Leppin, whom I’ve made the protagonist of the novelette, was dead; many others were killed or had fled the Nazi regime while they still could; most of those who’d remained were expelled from the country.
The German theatre in Prague may have arrived to an end. But that doesn’t mean it’s forgotten. Jitka Ludvová brought the history to life in her nonfiction book, which reads with more thrill than many works of fiction, and became a wonderful inspiration in reviving the epoch and its protagonists again. It had its heroes and villains, mysteries and dramatic conflicts… and in many ways, it was more operatic than any opera. I dare to think that Angelo Neumann and all those who came after him would appreciate that.
I’ve been interviewing authors from my astrobiological SF anthology Strangest of All developed for the European Astrobiology Institute, some on video and some through e-mail, and I’m bringing you the interviews. You could have already seen the video interviews with Gregory Benford and Peter Watts, and here’s the interview with Gerald David Nordley. Enjoy!
G. David Nordley (* 1947) is the pen name of Gerald David Nordley, an author and consulting astronautical engineer. He lives in Sunnyvale, CA. A retired Air Force officer, he has been involved in spacecraft orbital operations, engineering, and testing as well as research in advanced spacecraft propulsion. As a writer of fiction and nonfiction, his main interest is the future of human exploration and settlement of space, and his stories typically focus on the dramatic aspects of individual lives within the broad sweep of a plausible human future. Gerald is a past Hugo and Nebula Award nominee as well as a four-time winner of the Analog Science Fiction/Science Fact annual “AnLab” reader’s poll. He’s the author of several dozen pieces of short fiction in Analog, Asimov’s, F&SF and elsewhere, and six books so far. His latest novel is To Climb a Flat Mountain, and the latest book is a collection, Around Alien Stars, available from Brief Candle Press in print or e-book through Amazon.com. Find out more at his site http://www.gdnordley.com.
What do you think of the role of science fiction in science education – is it still relevant, or has ever been?
That is probably a better question for an educator or a developmental psychologist than a writer. However, teaching by stories is age-old. Stories can enliven a subject and make the information more retainable, so we embed useful lessons in less forgettable stories. In my field of astronautical engineering, we now have real stories, such as that of Apollo 13, to teach what was once the province of science fiction. Of course, the last frontier is still out there. If one looks back at Verne, he inspired generations of rocket scientists to build the machines that are now exploring the Solar System, as well as occasionally showcasing the dangers of misused technology. I think that his discipline in using plausible science for his stories is what keeps them relevant today. I think that, at its best, science fiction is where we do thought experiments on the future and view its dangers and hopes through the mists of what might be. So, everything else being equal, the better the scientific underpinnings of a story, the less mist and the more relevance. These days, one listens to bloviator after bloviator saying no one could have anticipated what we face now with this pandemic, this ban on large gatherings, creative people who depend on audiences out of work or severely constrained, seemingly unending social distancing. But Sarah Pinsker did, with her Nebula_winning A Song for a New Day. One must keep in mind, however, how small the research budget must be for a story that might bring an author less than a thousand dollars, and not expect too much!
What had been the factors that drew you to engineering and to astrodynamics?
I’ve been enthralled by space travel and exploration since before I can remember. Literally. I have a Christmas stocking my mother made for me, probably when I was about three, with rockets and planets on it, because I liked them so much. I can’t remember when it showed up–it had just always been there. I think I’ve always had a great deal of curiosity–I’m an explorer by nature. I was one of those kids who read encyclopedias for fun. And I was almost as fascinated by dinosaurs and evolution as I was by space travel. Also, for whatever reason, what was real and tangible in nature was always more interesting to me than anything supernatural. I’m also a problem solver by nature; the best way to get me working on something is to tell me it can’t be done.
Is there any science fiction story, in any medium, that you consider an exceptional primer for developing an interest in science?
I think Walt Disney’s movie of Verne’s Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea is probably as good as anything. You have the adventure, the engineering, the life sciences, and the ethical questions all wrapped up in what is still a very watchable film, with very little nonsense that must be unlearned later (except perhaps for the lyrics of “It’s a Whale of a Tale”). The novel and the movie have inspired generations of young scientists. For the next release, there should probably be a trailer that explains that Verne’s Nautilus was powered by electricity from what were essentially sodium/water fuel cells, not a nuclear reactor, but that’s a quibble. Destination Moon was shown in our school gymnasium 2/3 of a century ago, and it still works very well. Compare it with, though not fiction, Apollo 13 (the movie), still a riveting story. Much of Arthur C. Clarke’s fiction is especially good at depicting real scientists and engineers working with (mostly) realistic problems. His collection Across the Sea of Stars is one I keep coming back to. Heinlein’s “The Menace from Earth” and Fritz Lieber’s “A Pail of Air” are also classics still worthy for both realistic background and sense of wonder. For more modern writers, Nancy Kress with Yesterday’s Kin and its sequels has done some very interesting things with scientifically plausible human astrobiology, as C. J. Cherryh has done with many aliens. And, of course, anything by my friends Goeff Landis and Greg Benford. I could go on and on, but I’ll end here for time and space.
Your stories are set in
a consistent future history. How did you come about to creating this
world, and what has been most fun and most difficult about it?
Actually, it was a certain amount of laziness. It saves me much reinventing of wheels. The fun for me and hopefully for those who read a lot of these stories was making a bit of a meta-story of a kind of possible future of humanity. It was, of course, inspired by Robert Heinlein’s future history chart. As for difficulty, well, I’d send you a copy, but I keep revising it! Like with Heinlein, there are some inconsistencies and branches of stories that don’t really fit, technology has gone in slightly different directions in the last thirty years, though I use a similar technological S-curve for almost all of them. One of the hardest things to anticipate is terminology; the whole “definition of a planet” thing flattened me. I matured when a personal digital assistant was the next big thing (I still have my HP 67); how was one to know they would morph from calculators to “phones?” Such a future history chart is surprisingly hard to maintain. Much of the first 300 years or so of it is described in the glossary that Ms. C. Sanford Lowe and I did for our novel The Black Hole Project. A note: It is not hard to predict that a combination of advanced robotics and, almost unlimited raw materials, including continuous energy from the sun, in space mean that the dismal science of economics must fundamentally change. The “zero sum game” that puts its less fortunate players in awful circumstances is over, but some people refuse to accept that. We could, I think, already feed and house everyone adequately, and keep everyone from being too many by making birth control available to everyone, without taking anything away from anyone but taxes, and those not that painful. Our problems are ideologies, traditional boundaries, distribution, and the collective will to do it. But at some point, the human race must establish world-wide minimum standards of food, housing, and access to health care: a floor through which governments do not allow their people to sink. I anticipate this happening, and fervently wish the process to be less messy than it might be.
“War, Ice, Egg, Universe” is by no means the only
story of yours addressing life in environments very different from the
Earth. I’ve really liked how you played with the issue of surface
gravity and its impact on life in “To Climb A Flat Mountain”. How did
the idea for this novel come about?
For “War, Ice, Egg, Universe” I read an article, possibly in National Geographic, about divers finding colonies of living things on the underside of antarctic ice. “The Forest Between the Worlds” is probably my most biology-heavy story. For “To Climb a Flat Mountain” I was casting around for an oxymoron of a title, like that of my first sale, “The Snows of Venus,” which would pique editor interest. “A Calendar of Chaos” is another example. So, what does a “flat mountain” look like? Can one make one that has life and a breathable atmosphere? Then, having done all the worldbuilding, how do I put someone on one of the biomes that lets him or her experience it for the readers sake without having the process overwhelmed by technology? Flat Mountain was about as big as I could make a cubical world, with the peaks themselves requiring some special engineering. The result was just big enough to retain a breathable atmosphere with some help. It’s basically a “warm Titan,” with those eight big pyramidal mountains. Please see more here.
do you perceive to be the most important change in science throughout
the last few decades, and what do you expect (and wish or wish not) to
change in the future?
Data processing and analysis by computers has made many sciences much different in how they are done today versus before WWII, and have greatly increased the amount of scientific output, as measured in papers. We have seen disruptive stuff done on garage workbenches and machine shops change how almost everyone does and communicates everything. One of the big changes is how and how fast research results get published; preprints show up on arXiv within days of the work being finished, rather than waiting months for a final journal article. Going forward, I expect artificial intelligence to reduce the frequency of errors in scientific work. Science will become ever more reliable and there will be less and less wiggle room for those greedy for money or power to exploit. The “boundary” between biology, including medicine, and cybernetics will continue to blur, with interesting consequences. A couple of “black swans” to be wary of wait in the wings. What are dark energy and dark matter made of? If we find out, it might be another game changer. And, of course, might we find evidence of alien intelligence? The wish or wish not is difficult. What I am hopeful of is that we gain enough control of our own genetically programmed biological impulses, especially in our social behavior, that racism, crime, and war cease to be part of human history. But we may have to give up being what is today considered “human” to do that. To many, transhuman will be feared as not human.
How do you expect the private sector’s involvement in space change scientific planetary exploration?
Mainly, it will be very much less expensive. Non-government organizations like the National Geographic society will be able to mount their own space exploration efforts. Instead of buying throw-away rockets at a billion dollars, researchers will be able to buy rides for their instruments to the outer solar system for a few million, if not a few hundred thousand, of today’s dollars. In some places, such as Mars, Ceres, and the denser asteroids, protocols will need to be developed to keep miners and makers apart from research planetologists, while other planetologists will find employment with them.
If you could mount any space mission (up to the large/flagship class), what would it be and why?
I would fly the “Gravity Lab” proposed by the Space Studies Institute. We need to understand how the 0.38g gravity of Mars and Mercury would affect people living there for long periods of time, and also the ≈0.16g of the Moon, Titan, and Jupiter’s moons. We have data points for microgravity from the ISS and other spaceflight and 1g+ on Earth with centrifuges, with hardly anything between.
What place do you consider astrobiologically most relevant in the solar system?
transplanted Earth Life, Mars underground, and surprisingly
Pluto–which I think is where I think one would get the nitrogen needed
to give Mars a livable atmosphere–and Ceres, for its water.
For non-Earth life, Europa is probably the best bet. It has a lot of
internal heat from tidal interactions with Jupiter and other moons, a
fairly briny world-ocean over a geologically active surface. It may be
have been hard for life to start, but a few bacteria-laden meteors
knocked off Earth may have made their way there ages ago.
Beyond that, Saturn’s moon, Enceladus, has those geysers. In fact any
of the icy moons probably has some place inside where water (their
version of magma) might be fluid. The icy dark craters at the poles of
Mercury and the moon might have surprises for us. The “dwarf” planets
beyond Neptune may have bacteria-friendly interiors. I’ve had fun
putting alien life in all sorts of places in the solar system, including
inside Uranus’ moon, Miranda, but it’s really a long shot.
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