Category: Greg Egan

Light Up the Clouds by Greg Egan

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Light Up the Clouds by Greg Egan (Asimov’s SF, March-April 2021) begins with Anna landing a glider on a forest floating in the atmosphere of a gas giant. After she disembarks she has a discussion with Tirell (the story’s main character), Selik, and Rada about her observations above the clouds, which includes a comment that “the Cousins might be back”. When Selik doubts Anna’s observations, Rada suggests that she take a fresh pair of eyes with her on her next flight—and so Tirell is recruited as her apprentice.
When Anna subsequently takes Tirell up on his first flight the thermals in the atmosphere soon take them above the cloud tops. There we see that Maldo, Anna and Tirell’s floating forest home is not the only exotic feature of this world, but so is the solar system they are part of: Tirell sees the small, bright Far Sun is just about to drop below the horizon, and that the massive, dull Near Sun is so close to them that it is siphoning gas from their planet, causing the Near Sun to heat up. Then, in the distance, at an equilibrium point between the planet and the two suns, are not three but now six bright points of light—the “Cousins”.
The middle part of the story develops this intriguing setup—we learn something of the history of this people from the frequent mentions of their Recitations, a verbal history that suggests that much earlier human settlers split into two groups to settle their solar system—and, when nineteen lights (now described as propelled asteroids) are later sighted, the decision is made to attempt to contact the Cousins. Unfortunately, the explanation of the construction of the catapult system later used to launch an unmanned glider to the equilibrium point is (a) overlong and (b) unclear,1 which means that the middle of the story comes close to grinding to a halt at points (although, that said, in among all this there is an undeveloped but intriguing scene where Tirell fertilises Delia’s eggs, a sign of how long this offshoot of humanity has been on its own, and how differently evolved it has become).
When there is no contact after the launch of the unmanned glider (and a subsequent observation flight sees even more asteroids at the equilibrium point and an increase in the gas loss) it becomes clear that the cousins are responsible for the siphoning (which is now causing the death of parts of Maldo). The group decide to launch a manned flight.
The final part of the story (spoiler) sees the problems of breathing (a canopy) and re-entry (a parachute) addressed before Tirell sets off in a glider to the equilibrium point. When he gets there one of the humans there deigns to talk to him but basically tells Tirell to get lost—the Cousins won’t stop the gas bleed as they need the Near Sun to heat up so they can settle two other planets in the solar system (we learn there are billions of them and only ten thousand of Tirell’s people). Tirell returns to Maldo to tell them the news, and then says he need to hear the full Recitation so they can prepare for their future.
This has a fairly good start and a decent enough ending but, as I’ve already mentioned, the middle is a drag, and I also didn’t buy that the Cousins would be so offhand—if they have the technology to bleed a planet and fire up a sun they could surely help or cope with ten thousand indigents/refugees. I don’t think this entirely works, but it is a pleasant enough tale and may appeal to readers of traditional science fiction (it doesn’t hurt that it has echoes of Brian W. Aldiss’s Hothouse and Bob Shaw’s The Ragged Astronauts).
**+ (Average to Good). 19,500 words. Story link.

1. This was a recent group read in my Facebook group, and several others struggled to visualise the catapult/launch mechanism.

You and Whose Army? by Greg Egan

Posted on by Paul Fraser

You and Whose Army? by Greg Egan (Clarkesworld, October 2020) gets off to a fairly leisurely start with Rufus meeting a woman who knows Linus, his brother: it materialises that Rufus and Linus share memories, and that he has disappeared. We also learn, later on in the story, that there are four brothers (the others are Caius and Silus), and that they were originally part of a cult that biologically modified them as a part of an attempted hive-mind project that was later shut down by the authorities (we find most of this out when Rufus consults a PI called Leong about his brother’s disappearance):

Leong paused expectantly, giving him a chance to explain what he meant, but when he remained silent she tried prompting him. “You live in Adelaide, right? So do you meet up in person regularly?”
“Not in person.” Rufus clenched his fists and inhaled slowly. “We have neural links. All four of us. We share each other’s memories. They took us off the boat when we were eight.”
Leong was clearly thrown for a moment, but she retained a professional demeanor. Rufus guessed she was in her early forties, so mid-twenties when the story broke. Unless she’d been living in a cult of her own, she’d know exactly what he was talking about.
“You were born on the Physalia?”
“That’s right.” Rufus had to give her full marks for not only recalling the name, but pronouncing it correctly.
“And you and Linus are quadruplets?”
“Yes. The others are overseas, studying.” No idiotic blather confusing them with “clones.” Rufus’s experience had set the bar low, but he felt entitled to a small celebration at every sensible word that came out of her mouth.
“Forgive me if I’m not clear on exactly how this works,” Leong said. “When you say you share each other’s memories . . . ?”
“We wake up recalling what the other three did,” Rufus replied. “When we sleep, as well as consolidating our own experience into long-term memory, we receive enough data to do the same with the others’. We remember being them, as well as ourselves.

The rest of this piece is, essentially, a missing person story. When Leong produces a picture of Linus leaving Sydney airport the brothers don’t have the money to fund a worldwide search, so they create a social media app that scans submitted photographs for evidence of their brother in the background. Eventually (spoiler), they track him down to a college in France where he has won a scholarship. Further investigation reveals that Linus is being sponsored by an aging billionaire called Guinard (who may have part-funded the Physalia project).
Caius flies to France to question Linus (the point of view moves through all the four brothers during the story), and discovers that Guinard is sharing his memories with Linus and grooming him to become his successor (this is portrayed as a form of immortality for Guinard).
Events then see the three brothers attempting to kidnap Linus when they can’t convince him to spend some time on his own, unconnected to either them or Guinard—so Linus can learn to be himself, neither in their shadow, as he complains, nor as a receptacle for Guinard.
The kidnapping attempt fails when it is stopped by Guinard’s security, and the story ends with Linus thinking to himself that he doesn’t intend to be a receptacle for Guinard, only his protégé, and that he cannot reveal this deception to his brothers until the billionaire dies.
This is pretty good in parts—there is commentary about personhood, and some dry humour—and it is generally interesting, but the ending doesn’t really convince, and a lot of the story is taken up with inter-brother relationship tensions. Although this is a solid story, it struck me as Egan on cruise-control.
*** (Good). 13,050 words. Story link.

Luminous by Greg Egan

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Luminous by Greg Egan (Asimov’s SF, September 1995) gets off to a pretty good start with the story’s narrator waking to find himself handcuffed, and with a woman slicing into his biceps to get a data storage device. He tells her it is a “necrotrap,” and that the data will be destroyed if it is removed from his body—so she pauses and gets on the phone to order medical equipment which will fool the device. During this, he manages to spray her with his poisoned blood and, after she starts vomiting uncontrollably, eventually agrees to free him to get the antidote. As he departs he tells her there isn’t one, but that she’ll recover in twelve hours or so.
The next part of the story is something of a gear change, a flashback to a conversation between the narrator and a female student called Allison during a philosophy of mathematics course years earlier. This introduces the story’s gimmick, which is, if I’m not oversimplifying (note to self, write up Egan’s stories more promptly), that arithmetic may have different rules in other parts of the universe and this will fundamentally affect the nature of reality there.
The story then skips forward to the present, and we find the narrator is in China to meet Allison, who has arranged for them to have time on a supercomputer called Luminous to investigate this alternative arithmetic. We also get more math theory, and learn that (a) the other arithmetic system can theoretically be extended into our reality and (b) that this can be used for commercial advantage (there is a company called Industrial Algebra who are pursuing the pair to obtain their discovery so they can use it for financial gain—IA were behind the earlier biohacking attempt on the narrator).
The main part of the story occurs after they meet a Chinese professor and are taken to his laboratory:

Luminous was, literally, a computer made of light. It came into existence when a vacuum chamber, a cube five meters wide, was filled with an elaborate standing wave created by three vast arrays of high-powered lasers. A coherent electron beam was fed into the chamber—and just as a finely machined grating built of solid matter could diffract a beam of light, a sufficiently ordered (and sufficiently intense) configuration of light could diffract a beam of matter.
The electrons were redirected from layer to layer of the light cube, recombining and interfering at each stage, every change in their phase and intensity performing an appropriate computation—and the whole system could be reconfigured, nanosecond by nanosecond, into complex new “hardware” optimized for the calculations at hand. The auxiliary supercomputers controlling the laser arrays could design, and then instantly build, the perfect machine of light to carry out each particular stage of any program.

They then use their allotted half-hour to get the computer to map the extent of the “far side” and then discuss whether to contain it (so it can never be extended into out reality) or destroy it. Time constraints mean they chose the latter but (spoiler) the alternative mathematical reality begins to fight back . . .
There are several pages of back and forth in the struggle that ensues between the Luminous program and the alternative math, but they can’t contain the latter and eventually a spike of its reality reaches the lab they are in:

It hit me with a jolt of clarity more intense than anything I’d felt since childhood. It was like reliving the moment when the whole concept of numbers had finally snapped into place—but with an adult’s understanding of everything it opened up, everything it implied. It was a lightning-bolt revelation—but there was no taint of mystical confusion: no opiate haze of euphoria, no pseudo-sexual rush. In the clean-lined logic of the simplest concepts, I saw and understood exactly how the world worked—
—except that it was all wrong, it was all false, it was all impossible.
Quicksand.
Assailed by vertigo, I swept my gaze around the room—counting frantically: Six work stations. Two people. Six chairs. I grouped the work stations: three sets of two, two sets of three. One and five, two and four; four and two, five and one.
I weaved a dozen cross-checks for consistency—for sanity . . . but everything added up. They hadn’t stolen the old arithmetic; they’d merely blasted the new one into my head, on top of it.
Whoever had resisted our assault with Luminous had reached down with the spike and rewritten our neural metamathematics—the arithmetic that underlay our own reasoning about arithmetic—enough to let us glimpse what we’d been trying to destroy.

After this the narrator and Allison stop their attack, and the spike retreats. Then Allison realises that they can execute a program that will stop anyone using this other reality but which will not affect it. All ends well.
This is all a bit of a mixed bag—the good parts are very good (the opening, the computer battle with the alt maths, etc.) but unfortunately is stitched together with pages of dry math lectures and wild hand-wavium.
*** (Good). 13,000 words.