2020 awards eligibility

‘Tis the season again… Below is a list of my award-eligible works published this year. Adapted from my Twitter thread.

Short stories

This year we start with “A Mountain to Climb” in @avatarsinc, edited by the wonderful @AnnVanderMeer. Telepresence (how timely this year!) and a space elevator heist.

Next up was “Goal Invariance Under Radical Self-Modification” in @AShvartsman‘s Future SF. Job loss to AI, AI therapy, self-modification of human and artificial intelligence.

Then came “Tones of Memories” in Coppice & Brake by @rachelabrune. Horror this time, not SF. Czech history, WWII, Nazism, Communism, music, ghosts, survival, fight for freedom.

Followed “Second Generation” in a special medical SF issue of Future SF, edited by @rmAmbrose. Mars settlement, Martian babies, medical mystery, AI, habitability. Called ‘medical mystery solved with typical human ingenuity and panache‘.


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, “Long Iapetan Night” came out in Asimov’s (Nov/Dec 2020 issue). It was described as ‘frozen terror … that will unsettle even the bravest of us‘, ‘nice mix of hard science fiction and horror‘, ‘vividly portrays both the beauty and the terror of space‘ and ‘a good story with a very good ending‘. It’s accompanied by my nonfiction post on Asimov’s blog.

Best Related Work

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.

Other projects

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 ;).

The Ship Whisperer

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.

Stories included in The Ship Whisperer:

  • Deep Down in The Cloud
  • All The Smells in The World
  • To See The Elephant
  • Étude for An Extraordinary Mind
  • Bodhisattva
  • Reset in Peace
  • Dreaming Up The Future
  • Martian Fever
  • Becoming
  • We Shadows*
  • The Symphony of Ice and Dust
  • Dancing An Elegy, His Own
  • From So Complex A Beginning
  • The Nightside
  • The Gift
  • The Ship Whisperer

* SF mystery novelette first appearing here

The Curtain Falls, The Show Must End

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.

Explorer by nature: ‘Strangest of All’ author interview with G. David Nordley

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.

What 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?

For 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.

AmazingCon final schedule

Amazing Stories’ virtual AmazingCon is growing ever closer. The registration closes on Thursday, so if you want to attend (which is free, with any donation to the organizers optional), don’t put it off for too long. I have two program items on Saturday, June 13:

  • SF in translation panel with Rachel Cordasco, Alex Shvartsman and Petrea Mitchell at at 3 p.m. EST (10 p.m. CEST)
  • reading (an excerpt from “Becoming”, one of the stories in my upcoming story collection The Ship Whisperer) at 4 p.m. EST (10 p.m. CEST)

I’ll be looking forward to any questions during the panel and after the reading! The full schedule with all the guest stars is available here.

AmazingCon did some guest star spotlights. This is one of them.

Strangest of All: a new astrobiological anthology

Science fiction can be a great way to teach science in a fun way… so we thought not only in the European Astrobiology Institute, and created an e-book anthology of reprint SF stories by world-renowned authors. Each of the stories has an astrobiologically relevant theme that’s discussed more in-depth in a nonfiction piece following the story. More about it here!


Merely a month ago, telepresence was an interesting thing, but not an immediate concern. Now, it’s on everyone’s mind, and coincidence had it that a new XPRIZE anthology focused on telepresence, AVATARS Inc., was launched yesterday. It’s pure accident that the anthology came out now (the date was set months ago), but there you have it.

My story, “A Mountain to Climb“, concerns telepresence of a single person in multiple robotic bodies, and a space elevator in the process of building.

Hopefully, when a pandemic occurs the next time (unfortunately a question of when rather than if; mitigation is a different question, and that will hopefully be much better), we’ll be prepared to control robotic avatars to teach, take care of the elderly, deliver food and medicine or do surgery.

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