Tag: Analog

A Thing of Beauty by Norman Spinrad

Posted on by Paul Fraser

A Thing of Beauty by Norman Spinrad (Analog, January 1973) opens with a very wealthy Japanese businessman called Mr Ito arriving in the office of Mr Harris, an American antiquities dealer in a near future USA. We find out in their subsequent conversation, after Mr Ito has gifted Harris a priceless and antique Grateful Dead poster, that Mr Ito is looking to purchase a “major American artefact” for his Kyoto estate (this is to impress his culturally superior and snobbish in-laws). Harris’s eyes light up (“This was the dream of a lifetime! A sucker with a bottomless bank account placing himself trustingly in my tender hands!”), and they are soon in a jumper touring New York.
The first exhibit that Harris shows Mr Ito confirms earlier hints about this future America’s decline:

I took her down to three hundred and brought her in toward the Statue of Liberty at a slow drift, losing altitude imperceptibly as we crept up on the Headless Lady, so that by the time we were just off shore, we were right down on the deck. It was a nice touch to make the goods look more impressive—manipulating the perspectives so that the huge, green, headless statue, with its patina of firebomb soot, seemed to rise up out of the bay like a ruined colossus as we floated toward it.
Mr. Ito betrayed no sign of emotion. He stared straight ahead out the bubble without so much as a word or a flicker of gesture.
“As you are no doubt aware, this is the famous Statue of Liberty,” I said. “Like most such artifacts, it is available to any buyer who will display it with proper dignity. Of course, I would have no trouble convincing the Bureau of National Antiquities that your intentions are exemplary in this regard.”

We learn that insurrectionists are responsible for the damage before Mr Ito declines to purchase it (“The symbolism of this broken statue is quite saddening, representing as it does a decline from your nation’s past greatness.”) Mr Ito concludes that it would be an insult for him to display it at his home.
We see more of this ravaged future America as they fly over a large area razed by bombing en route to their second stop. On reaching their destination (the Yankees stadium, Mr Ito is a keen baseball fan) they go inside:

[I took] the jumper out of its circling pattern and floating it gently up over the lip of the old ballpark, putting it on hover at roof-level over what had once been short center field. Very slowly, I brought the jumper down toward the tangle of tall grass, shrubbery, and occasional stunted trees that covered what had once been the playing field.
It was like descending into some immense, ruined, roofless cathedral. As we dropped, the cavernous triple-decked grandstands—rotten wooden seats rich with moss and fungi, great overhanging rafters concealing flocks of chattering birds in their deep glowering shadows—rose to encircle the jumper in a weird, lost grandeur.
By the time we touched down, Ito seemed to be floating in his seat with rapture. “So beautiful!” he sighed. “Such a sense of history and venerability. Ah, Mr. Harris, what noble deeds were done in this Yankee Stadium in bygone days! May we set foot on this historic playing field?”
“Of course, Mr. Ito.” It was beautiful. I didn’t have to say a word; he was doing a better job of selling the moldy, useless heap of junk to himself than I ever could.

Mr Ito leads Mr Harris on a two hour guided tour of the stadium but, at the end of their time, and much to Harris’s concealed frustration, Ito again declines, this time because his in-laws regard baseball as an imported American barbarity. The pair’s final stop, the now-disused UN building, then goes badly wrong for Harris when a visibly angry Mr Ito tells him bluntly what he thinks of the UN (“I remind you that the United Nations was born as an alliance of the nations which humiliated Japan in a most unfortunate war, etc.”). Mr Ito demands to be taken back to the office but, as Harris is contemplating the loss of a multi-million yen sale on the way back, Mr Ito excitedly sees a dilapidated Brooklyn Bridge below them. With the thought of the old joke about con-men in mind Harris can’t resist asking Mr Ito, “You want to buy the Brooklyn Bridge?” When Mr Ito answers in the affirmative, Harris replies, with completely sincerity, “I can think of no one more worthy of that honor than your esteemed self, Mr. Ito”.

The last part of the story, which takes place four months later (spoiler), sees the tables turned on Harris when Mr Ito sends him a video of the relocated bridge:

Before me was a heavily wooded mountain which rose into twin peaks of austere, dark-gray rock. A tall waterfall plunged gracefully down the long gorge between the two pinnacles to a shallow lake at the foot of the mountain, where it smashed onto a table of flat rock, generating perpetual billows of soft mist which turned the landscape into something straight out of a Chinese painting. Spanning the gorge between the two peaks like a spiderweb directly over the great falls, its stone towers anchored to islands of rock on the very lip of the precipice, was the Brooklyn Bridge, its ponderous bulk rendered slim and graceful by the massive scale of the landscape. The stone had been cleaned and glistened with moisture, the cables and roadbed were overgrown with lush green ivy. The holo had been taken just as the sun was setting between the towers of the bridge, outlining it in rich orange fire, turning the rising mists coppery, and sparkling in brilliant sheets off the falling water.
It was very beautiful.

Mr Ito has also sent what Harris thinks is a single gold-painted brick from the bridge—but he soon realises that it isn’t a gold-painted brick but a solid gold one. Harris is left wondering if Mr Ito is trying to tell him something.
This story’s culture clash interactions, cynical observation, and interesting setting makes for an entertaining tale, and the ending makes it more than that. The one weakness the piece has developed with age is its idea of an ascendant Japan—nowadays Mr Ito would probably have to be replaced with a Chinese character. Who knows what the situation will be in another fifty years.
**** (Very Good). 6,150 words. Story link.

Retention by Alec Nevala-Lee

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Retention by Alec Nevala-Lee (Analog, July-August 2020)1 is in the form of a customer service call where the caller is continually fobbed off when he tries to cancel his contract:

Thank you, Perry. How can I help you today?
I want to disconnect my security system and close my account, please.
I see. Just so we’re on the same page, you’re saying that you have some issues with your current service, and you want to explore your options?
That’s not what I’m saying. I’ve decided to disconnect my security system and close my account.
I understand. We know that your needs can change and that you want your services to reflect this. But we appreciate your business, and we hate to lose you. To help you figure out your options, I’d like to ask you a few questions. Okay?
I’m not sure why you need to ask me anything. I just want to cancel.
It helps me put together a package that meets your budget and your needs.
The price isn’t the problem.
You see, it helps me to know that. What do you value the most in your current package?
Again, I don’t see why you need to ask this.
Well, my job is to have a conversation with you about your service.
With all due respect, I don’t think your job involves having a conversation with me at all. I’d just like to cancel my account, please. Is that something you can do? Yes or no?

It soon becomes apparent that (a) the answer is “no” and (b) that he is talking (spoiler) to an AI. Then we discover that the caller isn’t human either, but an algorithm that reflects his dead owner’s tastes and needs. The story ends with the two still going round in circles hundreds of years later.
This has an amusing beginning, and becomes pleasingly and quirkily existential later.
***+ (Good to Very Good). 2,750 words.

1. Nevala-Lee notes on his blog that there are three versions of the story available (two are audio recordings).

By Any Other Name by Spider Robinson

Posted on by Paul Fraser

By Any Other Name by Spider Robinson (Analog, November 1976)1 is a post-collapse story—this time humanity’s fall is caused by the intentional release of a virus that hugely enhances human sense of smell and causes what is known as the Hypersomic Plague:

Within forty-eight hours [of the release of the virus] every man, woman and child left alive on earth possessed a sense of smell approximately a hundred times more efficient than that of any wolf that ever howled.
During those forty-eight hours, a little less than a fifth of the planet’s population perished, by whatever means they could devise, and every city in the world spilled its remaining life into the surrounding countryside. The ancient smell-suppressing system of the human brain collapsed under unbearable demand, overloaded and burned out in an instant.
The great complex behemoth called Modern Civilization ground to a halt in a little less than two days.  pp. 29-30

This change to the human sensorium also enables the afflicted survivors to detect an invisible, gaseous race of beings called “Muskies” who, once they discover that humans can sense them, go on the attack:

It is difficult for us to imagine today how it was possible for the human race to know of the Muskies for so long without ever believing in them. Countless humans reported contact with Muskies—who at various times were called “ghosts,” “poltergeists,” “leprechauns,” “fairies,” “gremlins,” and a host of other misleading labels—and not one of these thousands of witnesses was believed by humanity at large. Some of us saw our cats stare, transfixed, at nothing at all, and wondered—but did not believe—what they saw. In its arrogance the race assumed that the peculiar perversion of entropy called “life” was the exclusive property of solids and liquids.
Even today we know very little about the Muskies, save that they are gaseous in nature and perceptible only by smell. The interested reader may wish to examine Dr. Michael Gowan’s groundbreaking attempt at a psychological analysis of these entirely alien creatures. Riders of the Wind (Fresh Start Press, 1986).  pp. 31-32

If these two gimmicks sound like they stretch credulity to breaking point, they come close, and it is a testament to Robinson’s storytelling skills that he manages to hold the story together. I’m getting ahead of myself, however.
The tale opens with (unusually for the time) a black narrator called Isham Stone accidentally shooting a cat as he enters a post-apocalyptic New York (he is on edge, has an infected arm, and acts before thinking). Stone has travelled to the city to kill a man called Wendell Carlson, who Stone’s father has identified as the man responsible for the virus (Stone’s father worked with Carlson before the Plague).
When Stone reaches Central Park he stops for a rest, and is disturbed by an old leopard. He presumes the animal is a zoo escapee so he gives it something to eat, and then collapses with exhaustion. He smokes a joint, and thinks about his self-defence training and the mission that lies ahead of him.
After a little more post-collapse travelogue Stone eventually arrives at Columbia University, Carlson’s reported abode. He waits outside for Carlson to appear and, when he does, takes a shot—he misses, and is then attacked by six Muskies. Stone manages to kill five of them with his “hot-shot” shells and grenades before he loses consciousness.
The story then cuts, after another of the data-dump chapters (these post-plague accounts of the collapse of civilization and the advent of the Muskies alternate with Stone’s account of his journey), to Stone arriving back at Fresh Start to tell his father that he has killed Carlson.
The final section of the story then flashbacks to what actually happened after Stone woke up. This begins (spoiler) with Stone seeing that his arm has been partially amputated before Carlson arrives with food and drink and the news that he has been unconscious for a week. Then, as Stone begins his long recovery, he is informed of two significant pieces of information: (a) Carlson has learned to communicate with the Muskies; and (b) Stone’s father (Carlson’s laboratory assistant before the plague) was the one who was responsible for releasing the virus.
The final scene sees Stone back in Fresh Start, booby-trapping his father’s toilet with bleach (which produces chlorine gas when mixed with an appropriate substance). Stone knows his father has had his adenoids removed and that he will not, unlike the rest of the residents of Fresh Start, be able to smell the gas.
As I said above, these plot elements (and the data-dump chapters) do not suggest a promising piece but, while the story isn’t worthy of a Hugo Award,2 it is an engaging read because of Robinson’s informal narrative style—the narrator effectively chats to the reader—and its passages of effective description:

This old cat seemed friendly enough, though, now that I noticed. He looked patriarchal and wise, and he looked awful hungry if it came to that. I made a gambler’s decision for no reason that I can name. Slipping off my rucksack slowly and deliberately. I got out a few foodtabs, took four steps toward the leopard and sat on my heels, holding out the tablets.
Instinct, memory or intuition, the big cat recognized my intent and loped my way without haste. Somehow the closer he got the less scared I got, until he was nuzzling my hand with a maw that could have amputated it. I know the foodtabs didn’t smell like anything, let alone food, but he understood in some empathic way what I was offering—or perhaps he felt the symbolic irony of two ancient antagonists, black man and leopard, meeting in New York City to share food. He ate them all, without nipping my fingers. His tongue was startlingly rough and rasping, but I didn’t flinch, or need to. When he was done he made a noise that was a cross between a cough and a snore and butted my leg with his head.  p. 35

*** (Good). 23,850 words. Story link.

1. This story forms the first six chapters (about a quarter of the length) of the novel Telempath (1976).

2. I suspect that Robinson’s Hugo was more a popularity award given variously for his convention presence, opinionated book review columns in Galaxy (I think the first one was subtitled Spider Versus the Hax of Sol III), and possibly his “Callahan’s Crosstime Saloon” story series. Robinson’s ISFDB page.

No Stranger to Native Shores by Matt McHugh

Posted on by Paul Fraser

No Stranger to Native Shores by Matt McHugh (Analog, November/December 2021)1 begins with Minister Geddek asking Nurse Betta if the young child she has in her charge is well before telling her that a ship similar to the one used by the child’s people is approaching (it isn’t obvious that Geddek and Betta are aliens at this point—and that their charge is a human child—but we soon find out). After this brief exchange the story switches to the approaching human ship, Bellerophon, and we are introduced to another of the main characters, a Senator Susan Tristam Cowley of the Allied Human Territories. She and the crew discuss the information they have gathered about the alien society on the planet ahead, and we also learn about an earlier expedition—which included Cowley’s sister and her husband—whose ship, Outreach, disappeared (although it left its “frame” in orbit).
The rest of the story is a cat-and-mouse piece that sees the humans land, meet the aliens, and try to discover what happened to Outreach. Meanwhile, the Minister tells the child, Topper, that they arrived on the planet when Outreach crashlanded there—but does not tell them that the aliens summoned an electrical storm to destroy the ship and subsequently built a research building around the wreckage.
Eventually, Cowley and her crew discover (a) that her sister was pregnant and had a child, (b) that the aliens destroyed the ship, and (c) that the aliens have the child captive. The Bellerophon sends in an armed team in to recover the child, and Geddek’s city simultaneously comes under attack from another alien nation. Betta takes Hopper and makes a run for it (the alien loves its human charge and is is determined not to give up the child) but Geddek intercepts the pair and tells them about the circumstances behind the destruction of the Outreach, his subsequent subterfuge to keep Topper safe, and that giving the child to the humans is the only way he can prevent further bloodshed.
The climax of the story sees Cowley meet Topper—her sister’s daughter—in an emotional scene. Geddek then explains the complex political situation on the planet to Cowley (Topper translates the alien’s clicking and popping speech), and how certain factions want to profit off the wreckage of a second ship. It becomes clear that Geddek is on Cowley’s side, and she arranges for the Outreach’s orbital frame to land and serve as a decoy to draw off the attacking forces. While Geddek passes the position of the frame to the attacking forces, Betta and Topper leave with Crowley on the Bellerophon. Meanwhile, a human couple stay on the planet to work with Geddek. (I may have missed out one or two points in this synopsis as the plot has a lot of moving parts and it’s been a couple of weeks since I read it—but most of it is there).
All things considered this is a pretty good traditional science fiction yarn, but the ending is overplotted, and this sees the story jump through a lot of unlikely hoops—the crash deception plan, the overly neat alien/human exchanges, etc.
A First Contact piece that is almost there.
**+ (Average to Good). 9,150 words. Story link.

1. This placed third in the novelette category of the 2022 Analog Readers’ Poll Awards.

A Shot in the Dark by Deborah L. Davitt

Posted on by Paul Fraser

A Shot in the Dark by Deborah L. Davitt (Analog, January-February 2021)1 has as its protagonist Dominic Vadas, a solo prospector who works on Titania (a moon of Uranus), humanity’s farthest away outpost. The only company this committed loner has is an AI called Enara, who interrupts his work to tell him that there is an incoming message from their bosses, the UN Space Control Agency—they ask Vadas to fuel up his ship and intercept an exo-solar object that has entered the solar system. There is then further disruption to Vadas’s routine as he prepares to depart, when he gets a message from a woman claiming to be his daughter. After the ship gets underway Vadas sends a reply that describes his short relationship with the woman’s mother and how it ended. Vadas later learns that he is not only a father, but a grandfather too.
The rest of the story sees Vadas receive further messages from both the woman and UNSCA as he approaches the exo-solar object. As Vadas gets closer to the object it soon becomes apparent that it is (spoiler) a spaceship of alien construction and, after some cautionary hand wringing from UNSCA, he goes EVA to explore. Then, after an external and internal examination of the object, Vadas takes samples back to the ship and comes to the conclusion about what the alien object is:

Back on the Resolution, he examined his finds in the airless vacuum of the cargo bay, using a microscope. UNSCA had yet to call in to scold him, for which he was grateful. They might not, once he sent them his current results. “Bacteria,” he finally assessed.
“Some of them might still be viable,” Enara noted. “Some have formed endospores. Control will likely assess this as a weapon of biological warfare between long-gone civilizations.”
Dominic thought about it as he stripped out of his EVA suit. Thought about his daughter, whom he’d never met. The grandson he hadn’t known he had. A shot through the dark of time, a chance connection of genetic material spanning worlds. Like all life, really. “Panspermia,” he said out loud, sitting down by the controls. “That’s what this is. Not a weapon. I’d be willing to bet that whoever they were, they sent these out by the thousands. Hoping that someday, they’d land on a planet with decent temperatures and at least the start of an atmosphere. And when they did, they’d eject their payload and start life on that planet. And that life would adapt to its surroundings, and adapt its surroundings to it. Slowly. Very slowly.”  p .51

After this intuition the object comes to life, deploys solar sails, and starts heading towards Uranus for a gravity assist that will slingshot it further into our solar system. UNSCA greets this news with alarm and wants him to boost the craft out of the system, but Vadas sends a broadcast stating that humanity should pause and give the object a chance before treating it as hostile—i.e. be open to possibility. Then he asks his daughter for photos of his grandson.
This is a solid piece that successfully combines an interesting character study, a relationship dilemma, and an interesting SF story.
*** (Good). 8,000 words. Story link.

1. Winner of the novelette category in the 2022 Analog Readers’ (Analytical Laboratory) Poll.

Sample Return by C. Stuart Hardwick

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Sample Return by C. Stuart Hardwick (Analog, July-August 2021)1 opens with the protagonist Katy and her fellow crewmember, Xavier, in the process of launching an impactor probe towards Jupiter. Although this part of the operation is successful, the Proteus, the craft designed to collect the samples the impactor probe will cause to be ejected from the Jovian atmosphere, has a launch malfunction. Katy (whose mother has just died) quickly suits up and goes EVA to free the craft, even though they are in a high radiation zone.
Initially Katy just tries to dislodge the explosive bolts holding the Proteus to their ship, Jovian Queen, but her actions soon become wilder:

She jerked her safety line, setting the brake on her take-up reel so her line went slack. He hauled on his tether to reel her in, but as she drifted within reach of the webbing, she swept the shears forward and cut it, then jiggled her line to reset the brake and feed her slack back down into the take-up reel still attached to Proteus.
“Katy, no!”
Xav grabbed for her, but the line popped taught, and she spun and sailed down toward the hub.
“Dammit, Katy! Get back up here before you get yourself killed!”
He was probably right. She was probably committing suicide, but if she had to die to save the mission, then she had to. That was a calculation she’d made long ago, before they’d ever left Earth, long before that . . .
And goddammit anyway! If the mission failed now she’d be written off as hysterical, but if Xavier were down here, they’d already be writing his heroism up for the feeds back home. After all, they’d say, what was one life—any life—compared to iron or steam or stone tools or fire? The world’s monuments were filled with the names of men who’d died for less. Who’d left families and fortunes and nations behind. Who every one shared the same dying wish: that it all hadn’t been in vain.
But Katy wasn’t dead just yet. It would be dicey now, but if she could free those pins quickly enough—before the Queen started her burn—she might still be able to make it. Maybe.  p. 130

Katy doesn’t make it back, of course, and departs with Proteus for a Jovian fly-by. The rest of the story (spoiler) sees her spend the next few days debugging faults on the probe while her suit AI fills her full of anti-radiation meds. Then the impactor probe hits and the capture pods start deploying from Proteus to capture the samples. Katy manages to jump into one of pods, and hopes that she will survive until the Jovian Queen returns to pick them up. However, Katy is ultimately rescued by a skiff the ship’s crew have built to rescue her, and it turns out, although she is ill, that she has been sufficiently shielded from radiation by the chunk of the metallic hydrogen blown out of the Jovian atmosphere. Katy has a final sentimental vision of her mother.
This is a fast paced adventure with plenty of rivets, reckless action, and miracle escapes—it may appeal to some, but I thought it rather far-fetched. I’d also hate to be on a spaceship with someone like Katy, who would likely not only kill herself, but take others with her.
** (Average). 8,150 words. Story link.

1. This was the runner up in the novelette section of the Analog Readers’ Poll for 2021 stories.

Shoot your Shot by Rich Larson

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Shoot your Shot by Rich Larson (Analog, September-October 2022) gets off to an entertaining start with its description of the story’s coke-head narrator in a club bathroom:

It’s been a while since I done coke—too expensive out East—but before Dante left the club he gave me his last two grams and the rolled-up fiver he was using, I think as an apology for bailing. I forgot just how fucking good it feels.
“Yo,” I say, pulling myself up to the sinks to make a new friend. “How’s your night going?”
My sink neighbor glances over, gives a bleary grin. “Yo,” he says. “Yo, not bad.”
“Heard you pissin’ while I was in the stall,” I say. “Terrific stream. Gotta say it. Real powerful-sounding.”
The guy looks confused for a second, then raises his soapy hand for a tentative fist bump. “Thanks, bro.”
I bump it, then start checking my nostril hairs for snowcaps. Clean.  p. 61

Subsequently, the sink neighbour talks about how he was just talking to “the most beautiful girl”, a “dark-haired chick with the silver jacket”. He says he is going to ask for her number, and the narrator assures him that he will succeed . . . before promptly going out and picking up the woman himself.
After some conversation in the club she suggests they go outside, and they eventually end up in an alleyway. They kiss, and then, when the narrator suggests they do some coke, he notices that (spoiler) her words aren’t matching her actions, that she is talking from a hole in her throat, and that her mouth is peeling back to show something like broken razors. The narrator can’t flee as the kiss has numbed his face and body.
This reads like a short character sketch lifted from the writer’s notes and given a random horror ending.
* (Mediocre). 1,500 words.

Heart of Stone by Tom Jolly

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Heart of Stone by Tom Jolly (Analog, May-June 2021)1 opens with what turns out to be a group of sentient asteroids (who call themselves “Stones”) seeing a flash of light in the rock field they inhabit. After discussing the matter between themselves (they think a younger member of their species may have mixed a hazardous “hotfire” that caused it to explode), one of their number, Five Rings, goes to investigate. During this, something wet hits it:

I sent harvesters out for the fluids and found that much of the internal material was organic. It was surprisingly warm, warmer than our own internal fluids. There was both water and organics, mixed together, much like our own minds and cells. Some of the outer covering was organic, too, but didn’t taste the same; it looked like it had been made, like some object we might excrete on our own stony surface. It was flexible. Had this Thing been alive? Regardless, the resources were too valuable to waste. As we spent water to propel ourselves on occasion, we needed to replenish it when we could, and the Thing was an excellent resource. I wondered if there were more Things available. It would save me from having to chase after every wayward comet that fell our way, putting a rock into its path and hoping some of the scattered ice shards would come my way, so that I might gather and store them for the future.
I broadcast my findings to the others, and the ones with close vectors propelled themselves in my direction, keeping a sharp eye out for more Things.  p. 28

After this the narrator changes to Heart of Stone, who tells the rest of them2 that he has detected another Thing, and is setting off to intercept it (although some of the others advise against this course of action). When he approaches the Thing (spoiler) it waves at him, and it becomes apparent (to those readers who didn’t suspect previously) that the Things are human astronauts. This second astronaut tries to communicate with Heart of Stone before trying to make it to a wrecked spaceship nearby:

I reabsorbed some of the warmgas, knowing that I wouldn’t need to escape an attack from the Thing, and ignited the rest, following the Thing to its rendezvous with the new bit of scrap.
Would this be another living thing?
No Sense Of Humor was nearby, and said to me, “That Thing is going to miss its target. If you wish to help it, you must get in front of it.”
“I have little fuel to spare,” I said. This was a common lie, since few Stones would allow themselves to get so low that they could not maneuver. That would mean a slow death, perhaps even consuming the core’s water to chase after more volatiles. It was a subtle request for help, whether actually needed or not.
“I can toss some ice to you when I am nearer. If you garner some benefit here, I expect some sharing,” said No Sense Of Humor.
It was a good response. I sparked some more warmgas and accelerated beyond the Thing’s position as it flew toward the scrap, and used simple steam to position myself in front of it. More volatiles than I would normally use in two cycles, but it seemed so important. I really was hurting for propellants. It was so rare that we ever needed to move anywhere quickly, and so expensive.
We flew past the debris together, the Thing coming down on my Stone, and then I accelerated slowly back toward the debris. The Thing seemed content to ride on my surface, though it kept pointing the shiny nob of its outer surface at me. I did not know what that might mean, but the Thing did not seem frightened.  p. 29

The astronaut eventually gets to the damaged ship—but only after fighting off alien scavengers that attack it and Heart of Stone (we learn that Stones are created by groups of scavengers occupying empty asteroids and becoming a single sentient creature). When the astronaut is finished examining the wrecked ship, he or she goes and lands on No Sense of Humour, who has just arrived at the scene. Subsequently, there are further attempts at communication during which the human gives No Sense of Humour a torch. Then the human dies—either from their injuries or damage to the suit (the scavengers caused a couple of leaks during the attack).
The penultimate chapter sees the Stones detect an even bigger ship (it appears the one that exploded was a scoutship) and, after another debate, they decide to contact it. Finally, the last chapter is related by Diamond Eye 16 cycles after this First Contact, and describes the events that have occurred subsequently (as well as giving us an insight into the novel formation of this solar system).
This is an original, inventive, and enjoyable piece.
***+ (Good to Very Good). 5,600 words. Story link.

1. This story was the winner of the Analytical Laboratory Poll for 2021 in the short story category. There is more information about the poll finalists here.

2. I was tempted to call this group of stones “the pile”.

The Trashpusher of Planet 4 by Brenda Kalt

Posted on by Paul Fraser

The Trashpusher of Planet 4 by Brenda Kalt (Analog, March-April 2021)1 has an opening that tells you pretty much everything you need to know about the story that will follow:

In the center of the ship, near the AI, a dozen candidates for methane drainer scurried out of the examination room.
“Watch it, trash!” a young chemical engineer snapped as he bumped another student.
“I’m sorry.” Awi Trashpusher Nonumber had a blind spot behind him. Though an adult, only four of the six eyes on his pale, skinny, cylindrical body had developed. The engineer castes had twelve eyes in two rings around their upper tips.
Awi had taken the exam in his usual state of hunger, and his tip now curled forward. Wrapping one tentacle around a waterpipe, he enfolded the pipe greedily. By the time he was temporarily full of water and upright again, the corridor was almost empty.
“Awi! How’d it go?” Roob Mechanical Engineer 3886, barely old enough to be a candidate, had scandalized his classmates by befriending Awi. Roob’s body was the clear yellow of the engineer castes, with more intense color along his feeding strip.  pp. 32-33

I would have probably stopped reading there if I was an editor as, at that point, I would know that (a) the story has an amateurish and juvenile tone, (b) it sounds clichéd and (c) that the tale would show Awi overcoming the disadvantages of his caste after some difficulties.
I wasn’t far wrong. After this encounter Awi goes home and broods about his lot until the ship AI (it materialises that he is on board an alien generation ship) gives him a job cleaning the scout ship Beautiful Light. The AI then tells Awi to take Beautiful Light on a reconnaissance mission. Awi takes the ship out—experiencing zero gee for the first time and learning how to use centripetal force to feed himself from the pipe—before orbiting a nearby planet that looks habitable. Then, when Awi returns, he meets Roob disembarking from another ship and they go to see the AI together. The AI subsequently instructs Awi to lead Roob’s ship, Firm Resolve, to the planet so they can dump nitrogen there to prove that the planet is terraformable.
After their experiment proves successful, the terraforming begins—although not without some pushback from the higher castes—and, during this episode, a new worldformer caste is created. Roob is given a place in it, but Awi is refused.
The story finishes (spoiler) with the AI more or less forcing the aliens to settle on the partially terraformed planet (it wants to go off and explore), and Awi taking his scoutship to investigate the “moonlets” that keep coming from planet 3 (Earth, obviously, so the planet they are terraforming is Mars).
I suppose that this is a competently enough told YA story where, ultimately, Awi doesn’t change the system but does escape it. I have to wonder what it is doing in Analog, though—I wouldn’t say that about all kinds of YA stories, but this type of story seems far too unsophisticated for a modern audience.
** (Average). 5,700 words. Story link.

1. This story was the runner-up in the short story category of the Analytical Laboratory poll for 2021. If this is really the second best short story from Analog that year no wonder so few of its works feature in the Hugo or Nebula Award final ballots (not that they are currently anything to write home about).

My Hypothetical Friend by Harry Turtledove

Posted on by Paul Fraser

My Hypothetical Friend by Harry Turtledove (Analog, January-February 2021)1 opens with Dave Markarian, CEO of Interstellar Master Traders, arriving at work to anxiously prepare for a visit by a representative of the alien Brot. During the three page wodge of exposition that follows, we learn that the Brot have the economic (and military) whip hand over humanity, and use us as an economic subject race (I guess you could view this as an extreme version of China’s relationship with many developing countries).
The middle act of the story sees Old Salty (the name given to the Brot representative by Dave) arrive in a gossamer bubble that is beyond human science or comprehension. When Dave welcomes Old Salty, the alien almost immediately tells him that this will be his last visit as he is returning to his home planet. Then they set off on a tour of the premises so Old Salty can inspect the devices that are being built there (the devices have “Made on Earth” on the base, and the workers manufacturing them have no idea of what they are, or how they work). During the visit Dave walks on eggshells—even though he is friendly with the alien, or as friendly as you can be with aliens who have, in the past, levelled a city for unfathomable reasons.
Before Old Salty leaves Dave invites the alien to have a farewell drink with him (“the Brot could handle methyl alcohol, ethyl alcohol, and isopropyl alcohol”) and, during this get together, Dave presents Old Salty with a going-away present, a set of plastic “California Raisins” toys that were originally given away with fast food meals in the 1980s:

“I see,” Old Salty said, which gave not the slightest clue about what he/she/it thought.
He/she/it picked up one of the Raisins: Beebop, the drummer. His/her/its eyestalks swung toward Beebop for a close inspection, and tentacles felt of the small plastic figure. “On the bottom of one foot I the inscription ‘Made in China’ find.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Dave nodded. “I know that, these days, China’s right up with the United States or maybe even ahead of us. That wasn’t true then, though. China was just starting to turn into a big industrial power. Peasants would come off the farms and move to the big cities to work in factories.”
“We this phenomenon on other worlds also have observed,” the Brot said.
Dave Markarian nodded again. “Yeah, I figured you would have. Some of those peasants would have made their livings painting eyes or gloves or shoes or whatever on the California Raisins, over and over again. Same with the detailwork on all of these other little plastic toys. They wouldn’t have known why the figures were supposed to look the way they did. They wouldn’t have seen the advertising campaigns or games or films the toys were based on—they lived in a faraway country that used a different language. I sometimes wonder what they thought while they painted every toy the same way while they went through their shifts day after day.”  p. 38

After more small talk, Yoda—sorry, Old Salty—leaves in his gossamer bubble.
The final act of the story (spoiler) sees Old Salty back on his home planet, and we see him visit his sister and her children. Old Salty gives each of the children one of the devices made by Dave’s company, and we learn that they are cheap junk toys for kids. Old Salty reflects that the master/peasant relationship between the Brot and humanity is similar to the one between American consumers and Chinese workers in the 1980s. The alien hopes that humanity will develop spaceflight and find races that can work for them, but doubts that will be the case.
This is a plodding, expository, and clunky story with a very old-fashioned feel and a dispiriting vision of interstellar commerce. I also note that the repeated “he/she/its” pronouns used for the alien are irritating—what is wrong with “they” and “its”?
* (Mediocre). 7,050 words. Story link.

1. This story was fourth in the Analytical Laboratory Poll for 2021 stories. There is more information about the poll finalists here.