Tag: 2021

Alien Ball by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Alien Ball by Kristine Kathryn Rusch (Asimov’s SF, July-August 2021) opens with the narrator watching three-armed alien Ashtenga play basketball. After this we find out that the narrator has been brought in to report on whether the Ashtenga should be admitted into the professional leagues on Earth (there are conflicting views on the matter).
The rest of the story is a rambling and starry-eyed description of people and aliens playing the game, its history, and all of this is intermingled with a lot of what can only be called simplistic and patronising messaging about inclusion. This latter begins with the narrator doubting his own views:

I’m older now, and I’ve come to realize that some of the things I love are not things that others love. I know—I have always known—that none of us are exactly alike, that our tastes vary, that our opinions differ.
I also realize that some of those opinions become mired in the past. I worry about my own rigid tendencies, something I wouldn’t even have acknowledged twenty years ago.
I know those tendencies make my passage through this world difficult, as difficult as my aging face, and that moment a younger person looks at me, already judging me for things I haven’t said (and might never say) before I even open my mouth.
I don’t want to be a caricature of myself.
An older man opposing changes to his beloved Earth-based basketball—that might be a cliché. I might be the caricature that I was afraid of becoming. p. 39

There is a caricature in that passage for sure, but it isn’t the one suggested.
What the story is specifically about is eventually made explicit (although this is telegraphed pages earlier):

Transgender players were able to play professionally once the professional players were no longer segregated by gender. It didn’t matter how much (or little) testosterone a player had; all that mattered was that the player was exceptional.  p. 42

Mmm, goodbye women’s sports then. I’m not sure that these matters are going to be resolved in such a straightforward manner—see the recent troubles in American swimming and British cycling.
Finally, after more interminable detail about the game, and a match where the Ashtenga trounce a human team, the story finally equates the idea of transgender inclusion with the desegregation of basketball in the middle of last century:

Am I really moved by the Ashtenga’s performance? Or am I trying to understand a change that is beyond me, one that is as inevitable as African-Americans joining the National Basketball Association in 1950, something that most open-minded people had seen as necessary in 1939, but others managed to ignore for more than a decade after?  p. 45

In the end, it doesn’t matter what I think. Just like it didn’t matter what James Naismith thought about teaching “his” game to women and people of color.
Naismith’s book, Basketball: Its Origins And Development, makes no mention of the World Championship played in Chicago a few months before Naismith turned in the manuscript.
He didn’t want to see “his” game transformed. He didn’t like the additions and changes. He had designed the game for young white men, and for young white men it remained “pure” for generations.
I am not Naismith. I did not invent the game. I did not change any of its rules. I have just loved it forever.  p. 46

I particularly dislike sports stories, and “message” stories even more, so this piece was a double fail for me. I’d also add that what makes most message stories so irritating is that (like this one) the complexities of the issues raised are never addressed (and in this case we have the bonus of people who have concerns about trans inclusion in women’s sport being likened to racists).
I wonder why it is that writers think their ability to string a sentence together means they are possessed of a some particular wisdom.
In conclusion I’d also add that, even putting the facile message of this story to one side (although that is probably the only reason it got published), this is a flabby, meandering, and tedious read.
– (Awful). 6,450 words.

Muallim by Ray Nayler

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Muallim by Ray Nayler (Asimov’s SF, November-December 2021) begins with Irada, the blacksmith of an Azerbaijani village, repairing Muallim, the robot schoolteacher:

“I’m going to have to remove your whole chest plate, Muallim. It will take some work to repair. In the meantime, I can trade it out for your spare chest plate. I still have it here in the shop. But I haven’t had time to fix it. That one is more battered than this one is.”
“How long will it take to fix these dents. An hour?” Muallim asked.
“No. More like an afternoon. I can’t do it now. Can you come back after school? You can wait in the house. You can help my father with his Ketshmits grammar. You know how he loves that.”
“I am scheduled to chop wood for Mrs. Hasanova.”
“Tell her you will chop wood tomorrow.”
She watched Muallim consider this. They must have programmed this gesture into the robot, the way it tilted its watering can of a head to the side and slightly down, just like a human.
“Yes,” Muallim said, “I think that will work. I will stop by Mrs. Hasanova’s and tell her I will come tomorrow.”  p. 36

This opening passage contains a number of hints about various happenings that occur in the story that follows, which alternates between the point of view of Irada the blacksmith, Muallim the robot, and Maarja, an NGO worker who is writing a report on the educational efficacy of the robot in this remote location. In the ensuing narrative we learn that Muallim is being used inappropriately (the wood chopping referenced above, which is causing undue wear and tear); that Muallim is stoned by the village children when it goes to cajole them to go to school; and that the village is generally quite a dysfunctional place where the robot (when it isn’t being attacked by an aggressive rooster) is seemingly making little progress. We also see various aspects of village life, mostly centred on Irada and her widowed and one-armed Mayor father.
When Maarja finally finishes her report it becomes clear that Muallim is going to be taken from the village but, before this happens, she gets an urgent message from one of the children that something has happened to robot. She goes to a local ravine and sees it smashed to pieces two hundred meters below, presumably an act of vandalism.
After Maarja leaves (spoiler) it becomes apparent that the locals have faked Muallim’s destruction using the removed chest-plate (see the passage above) and various scrap metal so they can keep the robot in the village.
This has some nice local colour, but it’s essentially a well done “yokels put one over on the city folks” piece.
*** (Good). 4,950 words. Story link.

Bread and Circuits by Misha Lenau

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Bread and Circuits by Misha Lenau (Asimov’s SF, November-December 2021) begins with a sentient toaster (also described as a “toaster oven slash bread machine”) turning up on the doorstep of the Nadia, who runs an orphanage for abandoned, self-aware appliances (which she calls “quirks”).
After trying to communicate with the toaster, Nadia eventually takes it to the basement where she keeps the other quirks. There are then a few more scrambled conversations before the toaster asks Nadia to reset it (essentially commit suicide, as its self-awareness will vanish if it goes back to the default software).
It later becomes clear, after Nadia makes further efforts to talk with the toaster, that it has lost its friends. We then learn that, because of a debilitating illness that restricts her movements, so has Nadia: she resolves to make friends with the quirks.
There isn’t much to this really, but I suspect it will appeal to those who are fond of stories about sad and/or lonely narrators which have a sentimental ending.1
* (Mediocre). 5,800 words. Story link.

1. More SF readers like this sort of thing than you might think—this was one of the Asimov’s Readers’ Poll short story finalists from 2021 (although those stories are, admittedly, a weak bunch).

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.

Flowers Like Needles by Derek Künsken

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Flowers Like Needles by Derek Künsken (Asimov’s SF, March-April 2021) introduces us to Bek, a needle-like alien that lives in a strange and exotic environment:

Bek scuttled over the needle field on the Waste of Mosses, far from Roktown and the monastery in Horn Valley. Turbulent winds scattered the neat rows of falling iron carbonyl snows. The steely needles here grew jagged, making the magnetic fields on the waste feel unsettled, haunted. Deep beneath the waste, the iron carbonyl ocean surged, pushing erratic breezes between the spines, whistling ghostly, wordless songs. Only two swarmers, Dux and Jed, accompanied him, humming a tune about Bek’s brave travels. In some ways, they looked like him. Fine iron and nickel needles burst radially from the centers of their bodies to absorb microwaves from the pulsar and catch falling gray snowflakes. Strong magnetic fields moved eight legs of sliding metal rods. Small pincers capped each of their limbs, tough enough to hold tight to the upthrusting fields of spines, delicate enough to read histories recorded in the crimpings in archival needles or to preen Bek’s needles.  p. 138

Bek is on a quest to find Master Mok, the former head of his order, and he eventually arrives at Mount Ceg. There he finds another of his kind, Lod, guarding a mountain tunnel which leads to Master Mok. Lod tells Bek he will have to get past him to see Master Mok, and indicates the bodies of other fallen warriors around him.
The pair fight, and Bek wins but yields to Lod (which then releases Lod from an oath put on him by a monster which lives under the mountain and which also guards Mok). After some back and forth (mostly Bek’s zen-like teachings about accepting help) they both go to seek Master Mok.
The two then meet the monster TokTok in a mountain tunnel that leads to Master Mok, and learn that he is actually a huge warrior who crossed the ocean to avenge Cis the Master of Tides. After some backstory about how TokTok came instead to become Master Mok’s guard, he agrees to accompany them to find Master Mok.
The threesome (spoiler) eventually find Master Mok, who tells them he will not teach them anything unless they defeat him in battle. The three reflect on what they have learned on their journey and (I think) conclude that they need to find their own path and not follow someone else’s.
The alien description is well done, as is the Eastern spiritual journey-like material,1 but the story’s payoff isn’t as obvious or profound as it should be. Still, apart from a weak, somewhat anti-climactic ending, this is quite good.
*** (Good). 6,100 words. Story link.

1. I was reminded of the old TV show Kung Fu to the point that I went and ordered the DVD boxset.

Mrs Piper Between the Sea and Sky by Kali Wallace

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Mrs Piper Between the Sea and Sky by Kali Wallace (Asimov’s SF, March-April 2021) opens with a British agent on her way to abduct a man called Piper from a house near Plymouth:

It was Hazel’s turn at the checkpoint.
[. . .]
“Papers,” said the guard.
A powerful stench rolled outward from the booth: the acrid scent of burnt sugar with a metallic undertone, like a dusting of rust on the tongue. For a second Hazel could not speak. Her words, her excuses, they stuck in her throat like iron needles, and a feverish fresh fear swept over her entire body.
The young man was not alone in the booth.
[. . .]
His gaze flicked to the left. The Guest was right behind him.
Hazel looked away so quickly the road blurred before her. A glance was enough.
The Guest filled the tiny booth, filled it and surpassed it and engulfed it from within, a gleaming, cold darkness without boundary or form. It stretched and seeped at the edge of her vision, a nauseating lack of stillness that was, even so, impossible to track as motion.
People compared the Guests to black fire and living oil, roiling shadows and storm-cast skies. Some spoke of the unknown depths of the sea. Hazel was not given to poetry in the face of such ugliness. To her they were only darkness and corruption.
“This is acceptable,” the man said. His voice cracked. He was so terribly young. “Go on. Move along.”  p. 79

We later learn that the aliens have interrupted WWII and have annihilated both Hitler’s Germany and Stalin’s Russia. Piper, the man who Hazel is travelling to see, voluntarily served with the Guests, and she hopes to abduct him so her organisation can retrieve an alien control device that was inserted into him. The resistance hope this will provide information that will help them in their fight against the aliens.
When Hazel arrives (spoiler), she has tea with his wife, who cooperates, before drugging Piper and taking him away.
This is moderately intriguing, but there is a too much going on and not enough of that is explained. The ending also leaves the story hanging in the air, which makes it feels like an extract from a longer work. A pity—it is not a bad read otherwise.
** (Average). 6,500 words.

Re: Bubble 476 by A. T. Greenblatt

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Re: Bubble 476 by A. T. Greenblatt (Asimov’s SF, March-April 2021) sees two characters (who are working in two different “bubble universes”) exchange emails. Geo works as an astronomer on an abandoned space station looking for habitable planets for humanity, and Deni as an admin assistant/writer/video monitor on, presumably, one of the planets that NextEarth has discovered.
After some back and forth between the two characters that gives background and character information as well, as describing their current locales, temporal anomalies start to occur: this becomes apparent when some of the emails they receive are from the future.
While this latter event is unfolding, Geo also notes his station is detecting an increasing number of supernovas and (spoiler) eventually it becomes obvious that all bubble universes are breaking down (violent sandstorms become a feature of Deni’s emails). Both characters experience catastrophic events (although it seems like Geo survives but Deni doesn’t).
This story didn’t really work for me as (a) the bubble universe/temporal problem seems a bit contrived and (b) the story peters out at the end.
* (Mediocre). 5,100 words.

The Same Old Story by Anya Ow

Posted on by Paul Fraser

The Same Old Story by Anya Ow (Asimov’s SF, March-April 2021) opens with the narrator programing her food machine as she remembers her grandmother making onde-onde:

Grandmother combined the flour with pandan juice from the blended waxy leaves we grew from her planter box, kneading it gently. Her gnarled hands twitched hungrily over the pots, steaming coconut, pinching out pieces of rested dough, and filling the center of each flattened disc with a thumb of gula melaka. The water she used to boil the rested dough had been distilled and recycled from household wastewater the day before. The smooth rice balls floated to the thrumming surface in restless jerks. They looked like balls of phlegm spat into the pot by the dying, restlessly jockeying for attention. Not appetizing in the least. I stared at my feet and wished I was elsewhere as Grandmother removed the rice balls with a slotted spoon and coated them in a bone-white dusting of grated coconut.
The kuih was hot to the touch, the palm sugar bursting on my tongue. My four-year-old self had been gearing up to throw an ice-cream tantrum, but I now sat stunned on my stool, chewing slowly. I decided that I did not like it. When I looked over to my grandmother to complain, I was startled to see that she had closed her eyes. Tears pursued themselves down the timeworn grooves of her face. My resentment fled. We sat and ate in silence, mourning her memory of old Singapore. I wrote the mourning into my gula melaka, twisted my grandmother’s unresisting grief into its moreish sweetness.  pp. 72-73

The rest of the story sees the narrator enter a cooking competition judged by world leaders in a Post Collapse world. She (spoiler) loses to a French chef’s imitation of a dish that she intended to present (there is probably some authentic vs. adapted or cultural appropriation point being made here).
If you like the passage above, there is more over-described food and angst here for you. I found it made for dull reading.
* (Mediocre). 3,450 words.

We Have Forever by Redfern Jon Barrett

Posted on by Paul Fraser

We Have Forever by Redfern Jon Barrett (ParSec #1, Autumn 2021) opens with one of the two narrators, Petra (her husband Felix is the other), meeting a man called Lorenzo at a party with what she thinks is his young mistress. When she objects (Petra knows Lorenzo’s wife) it materialises that the younger woman is his wife—she has had rejuvenation treatment.
The rest of the story alternates between Petra agonising about having the treatment herself (Felix is keen) and backstory about how the two came to meet before the fall of the Wall in East Germany (and eventually have kids). After an amount of this (spoiler), Petra and Felix have the treatment but she leaves him and ends up living with their son. The last line is:

I have a thousand lives ahead, and no more time to waste.  p. 45

Is suspect that the rejuvenation treatment is probably a metaphor for later-life couples growing apart and separating, but I was not convinced at all the hand-wringing that Petra does about whether or not to proceed (wait till you are in your sixties and you will see what I mean). Also, the arc of the story is quite slight.
This isn’t bad, but it’s essentially a mainstream story in drag.
** (Average). 3,350 words.

Nova Oobleck Surfs the Second Aether by Paul Di Filippo

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Nova Oobleck Surfs the Second Aether by Paul Di Filippo (ParSec #1, Autumn 2021) opens with Oobleck being accosted by a partner from a recent heist: Oobleck has swindled Manzello Lorikeet of his share, and he takes her sigil and a copy of her Kirlian aura (to unlock it). Lorikeet then shoots transposon particles at Oobleck, which sends her to the Second Aether, a multidimensional nexus that sends her to various other timelines over the course of the story:

For an infinitesimal moment after she was shot, a period that was all time and none, Nova Oobleck saw the essence of the Second Aether, with its hyperdimensional moonbeam roads twisting to infinity. And then she was jarringly reembodied in a new brane.
Stable once more, however temporarily, Nova felt her insides still shimmering from the invisible massless bundle of transposons that had burrowed into her gut at the impact point of the blast from Lorikeet’s Tegmark gun. It seemed almost as if the active particles were writhing like snakes inside her. Now and then, it struck her that she could sense an individual transposon dart away from its fellows, radiating outward and losing contact, thus bringing her that much closer to the end of her unanchored status and a permanent renewal of solidity. She sensed that when the knot of transposons achieved a certain phase-state, she would again be ejected from her place in this merely eleven-dimensional reality and sent randomly across the Second Aether. And there was nothing she could do to prevent it.  p. 51

Oobleck ends up in a timeline where she is the bombardier on an aircraft that is (according to the pilot) en route to bomb the Sultan’s Palace. At the same time as she drops the bomb the transposon particles energise to shift her to another reality, but the decoherence effect of the weapon sees the pilot and the plane come with her. They force land, and Nova gets out. When she is attacked by three trolls the pilot (a hive being) disassembles and attacks them.
When Nova shifts again she does so alone, and finds herself on a desert planet called Spalt. Eventually she comes upon the house of a self-exiled scientist called Barxax. He manages to stabilise her but, when he dies a year later, she shifts again. This time she ends up back in the Second Aether, where (spoiler) she is finally rescued by a multiverse ship commanded by Ona Von Bek. They then set off to retrieve Oona’s sigil.
This is a readable and engaging piece—there are touches of Vance and Moorcock—but ultimately it is a series of loosely connected episodes with a deus ex machina ending. Pleasant enough, just no real plot.
**+ (Average to Good). 6,050 words.