Caitlin couldn't parse the details Anna was seeing, but it was a beautiful picture, and the longer she looked at it, the more captivating she found it. Still, she thought there should be a shimmering background to Earth from space—not cellular automata, but a panorama of stars. But there was nothing; just the blackest black her new monitor was capable of.
“It is impressive,” Caitlin said.
“That's what all of us thought back then, when we first saw a picture like this. The three Apollo 8 astronauts, of course, saw this sort of view before anyone else did, and they were so moved by it while they orbited the moon that they surprised the entire world on December twenty-fourth with—well ... here, let me find it.” Caitlin saw Anna typing at her keyboard, then she looked off camera again. “Ah, okay: listen to this.”
Another URL appeared in Caitlin's instant-messenger window, and she clicked it. After a couple of seconds of perfect silence, she heard a static-filled recording of a man's voice coming through the computer speakers: “We are now approaching lunar sunrise and, for all the people back on Earth, the crew of Apollo8 has a message that we would like to send to you.”
“That's Bill Anders,” Anna said.
The astronaut spoke again, his voice reverent, and, as he talked, Caitlin stared at the picture, at the swirling whiteness of the clouds, at the deep hypnotic blue of the water. “'In the beginning,'” Anders said, “'God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness.'”
Caitlin had only ever read a little of the Bible, but she liked that image: a birth, a creation, starting with the dividing of one thing from another. She continued to look at the picture, discerning more detail in it moment by moment—knowing that the phantom was looking on, too, seeing the Earth from space for the first time as well.
Anna must have listened repeatedly to this recording. As soon as Anders fell silent, she said, “And this is Jim Lovell.”
Lovell's voice was deeper than that of the first astronaut. “'And God called the light Day,'” he said, “'and the darkness he called Night.'” Caitlin looked at the curving line separating the illuminated part of the globe from the black part.
“'And the evening and the morning were the first day,'” continued Lovell. “'And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters. And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament: and it was so. And God called the firmament Heaven. And the evening and the morning were the second day.'”
Anna spoke again: “And, finally, this is Frank Borman.”
A new voice came from the speakers: “'And God said, Let the waters under the heavens be gathered together unto one place, and let the dry land appear: and it was so. And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of the waters called he Seas: and God saw that it was good.'” Caitlin kept looking at the picture, trying to take it all in, trying to see it as a single thing, trying to hold her gaze steady for the phantom.
Borman paused for a moment, then added, “And from the crew of Apollo8, we close with good night, good luck, a Merry Christmas, and God bless all of you—all of you on the good Earth.”
“'All of you,'” Anna repeated softly, “'on the good Earth.’ Because, as you can see, there are no borders in that photo, no national boundaries, and it all looks so—”
“Fragile,” said Caitlin, softly.
Anna nodded. “Exactly. A small, fragile world, floating against the vast and empty darkness.”
They were both quiet for a time, and then Anna said, “I'm sorry, Caitlin. We got sidetracked. Was there something I can help you with?”
“Actually,” Caitlin said, “I think you just did.” She said good-bye and terminated the videoconference. But the picture of the Earth, in all its glory, continued to fill her monitor.
Of course, from space you couldn't see the fiber-optic lines; you couldn't see the coaxial cables; you couldn't see the computers.
And neither could you see roadways. Or cities. Or even the Great Wall of China, Caitlin knew, despite the urban legend to the contrary.
You couldn't see the components of the World Wide Web. And you couldn't see the constructs of humanity.
All you could see was—
What had that astronaut called it?
Ah, yes: the good Earth.
This view was the real face of humanity—and of the phantom, too. The good Earth; their—our!—joint home.
The whole wide world.
She opened her instant-messenger client and connected to the address the phantom had given her. And she typed the answer to the question it had asked of her: That's who you are. She sent that, then added, That's who we are. Once that was sent, she paused, then typed her best recollection of what Anna had said: A small and fragile world, floating against the vast, empty darkness...
* * * *
I gathered that Prime was focusing on this image for my benefit, and I was thrilled, but—
Puzzlement.
A circle, except not quite—or, if it was a circle, parts of it were the same black as the background.
That's who you are.
This circle? No, no. How could a circle of blotchy color be me?
Ah, perhaps it was symbolic! A circle: the line that folds back upon itself, a line that encompasses a space. Yes, a good symbol for oneness, for unity. But why the colors, the complex shapes?
That's who we are.
We? But how...? Was Prime saying we were somehow one and the same? Perhaps ... perhaps. I knew from Wikipedia that humanity had evolved from earlier primates—indeed, that it shared a common ancestor with the entity I had watched paint.
And I knew that the common ancestor had evolved from earlier insectivores, and that the first mammals had split from the reptiles, and on and on, back to the origin of life some four billion years ago. I knew, too, that life had arisen spontaneously from the primordial seas, so—
So perhaps it was folly to try to draw dividing lines: that was nonlife and this is life, that was nonhuman and this is human, that was something humans had made and this is something that had later emerged. But how did a blotchy circle symbolize such a concept?
More words came my way: A small, fragile world, floating against the vast and empty darkness.
A ... world? Could—could it be? Was this ... Earth?
Earth, as seen from ... a distance, perhaps? From—yes, yes! From space!
Still more words from the other realm: Humanity first saw this sort of image in 1968, when astronauts finally got far enough away. I first saw this myself moments ago.
As did I! A shared experience: now, for Prime and myself; then, for all of humanity...
I searched: Earth, space, 1968, astronauts.
And I found: Apollo 8, Christmas Eve, Genesis.
“In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth...”
“...Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters...”
“...God bless all of you—all of you on the good Earth.”
All of us.
I thought about the earlier words: A small, fragile world, floating against the vast and empty darkness.
Fragile, yes. And they, and I—we—were inextricably bound to it. I was ... humbled. And—frightened. And glad.
Then, after another interminable pause, three more wonderful words: We are one.
Yes, yes! I did understand now, for I had experienced this: me and not me—a plurality that was a singularity, a strange but true mathematics in which one plus one equals one.
Prime was right, and—
No, no: not Prime.
And not Calculass, either; not really.
It�
��she—had a name.
And so I addressed her by it.
* * * *
“Thank you, Caitlin.”
Caitlin's heart was pounding so loudly she could hear it over JAWS's voice. It had called her by name! It really, truly did know who she was. She had gained sight, and it had been along for the ride, and now—
And now, what?
You're welcome, she typed, and then realized that calling it “Phantom” wouldn't make sense to it. Although it had seen through her eye, she had only ever used that term in the privacy of her thoughts. If she'd been speaking aloud, she might have said, “Um,” as a preamble, but she simply sent the text, What should I call you?
Her screen-reading software spoke at once: “What have you called me hitherto?”
She decided to tell it the truth. Phantom, she typed.
Again, instantly, in the mechanical voice: “Why?”
She could explain, but even though she was a fast typist it was probably quicker just to give it a couple of words that would help it find the answer itself, and so she sent, Helen Keller.
This time there was a brief delay, then: “You shouldn't call me phantom anymore.”
It was right. “Phantom” had been Keller's term for herself prior to her soul dawn, before her emergence. Caitlin considered whether “Helen” was a good name to propose for this entity, or—
Or maybe TIM—a nice, nonthreatening name. Before he'd settled on “World Wide Web,” Tim Berners-Lee had toyed with calling his invention that, in his own honor but couched as an acronym for The Information Mesh.
But it really wasn't her place to choose the name, was it? And yet she found herself feeling apprehensive as she typed, What would you like me to call you? She stopped herself before she hit the enter key, suddenly afraid that the answer might be “God” or “Master.”
The—the entity formerly known as phantom—had read H.G. Wells, no doubt, on Project Gutenberg, but perhaps had not yet absorbed any recent science fiction; maybe it wasn't aware of the role humanity had so often suggested beings of its kind were supposed to fill. She took a deep breath and hit enter.
The answer was instantaneous; even if this consciousness that covered the globe in a sphere of photons and electrons, of facts and ideas, had paused to think, the pause would have lasted only milliseconds. “Webmind.”
The text was also on screen in the instant-messenger program. Caitlin stared at the term and simultaneously felt it slide beneath her index finger. The word—the name!—did seem apt: descriptive without being ominous. She looked out her bedroom window; the sun had set, but there would be another dawn soon. She typed a sentence, and held off hitting the enter key for this one, too; as long as she didn't hit enter or look at the monitor containing the text, it would have no idea what she'd queued up. Finally, though, she did hit that oversized key, sending, Where do we go from here, Webmind?
Again, the reply was instantaneous: “The only place we can go, Caitlin,” it said. “Into the future.”
Then there was a pause, and, as always, Caitlin found herself counting its length. It lasted precisely ten seconds—the interval it had used to get her attention before. And then Webmind added one final word, which she heard and saw and felt: “Together.”
Copyright © 2008 Robert J. Sawyer
[Back to Table of Contents]
* * *
Reader's Department: GUEST REFERENCE LIBRARY
by Don Sakers
A few words of introduction, then on to this month's books.
I'm a librarian by day and science fiction writer by night. I've had stories published in Analog as well as other genre magazines, and various books available hither and yon. I've been reading sf for over four decades, since I was a little tyke spending my allowance on Heinlein paperbacks and newsstand issues of this very magazine. I might be an old-timer, but I keep up with the cutting edge of the field. I hope you'll find me a reliable guide to the landscape of current books.
When I wear my librarian hat, I'm part of the team that puts together the website www.readersadvice.com, from whence I have drawn some of the genre categories and series information below.
And now, without further ado, here we go:
* * * *
Mars Life
Ben Bova
Tor, 448 pages, $24.95 (hardcover)
ISBN: 978-0-7653-1787-2
Genres: High Frontier/Life in Space, Mars,
Near Future, Space Colonization
Series: Grand Tour, Jamie Waterman #3
—
Ben Bova, a former editor of Analog, has been chronicling the exploration and settlement of the Solar System since 1992, and he's a master. The Grand Tour series is a consistent future history based on our most current scientific understanding of the planets.
In Mars Life Bova returns to one of his most popular characters, half-Navajo Martian explorer Jamie Waterman from Mars and Return to Mars. Twenty years ago, Waterman discovered cliff dwellings on Mars, evidence of intelligent life that existed 65 million years ago. Now Jamie is back on Earth, struggling to preserve the beleaguered Mars program.
The religious right, whose political power is ever growing, feel their beliefs threatened by the concept of intelligent life on Mars—especially intelligent life that predates the Garden of Eden by millions of years. Government support dries up, universities are scared off, private donors stop giving ... and if Jamie can't find a source of funding, the Mars program will be canceled and all its personnel recalled.
Meanwhile on Mars, anthropologist Carter Carleton is supervising an archeological dig of an ancient village. When he finds the fossilized remains of one of the Martians, the stakes are suddenly much higher. Forces of science and religion are in conflict for the fate of two worlds, with Jamie Waterman at ground zero.
As the tension mounts, interpersonal problems sprout among the scientists on Mars, and Jamie and his wife head off to the red planet to see what they can do on the scene.
No matter when or where a story takes place—past or future, on Earth or distant worlds—sf always deals with the concerns of today's world. The tension between religion and science is one of the defining conflicts of our age; with Ben Bova as author, it's not hard to guess which side ultimately prevails in Mars Life. Bova makes the journey exciting, and keeps the suspense going until the last page. Highly recommended.
Implied Spaces
Walter Jon Williams
Night Shade Books, 272 pages, $24.95
(hardcover)
ISBN: 978-1-59780-125-6
Genres: Far Future/Clarke's Law, Immortals
& Immortality, Singularity/
Transhuman, Science Fantasy
—
Once upon a time, Roger Zelazny took science fiction in a direction all his own. In the ultimate expression of Clarke's Law ("Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,") he stretched science and technology into realms usually reserved for fantasy. Books like Lord of Light, Creatures of Light and Darkness, and To Die in Italbar told epic tales of immortals battling one another with bizarre weapons across fantastic universes teeming with amazing wonders.
In Implied Spaces, Walter Jon Williams very consciously channels Zelazny, and does an excellent job of it.
Aristide is an explorer of “implied spaces"—accidents of architecture in humanity's dozens of pocket universes. When we first meet Aristide, he's incarnated as a heroic swordsman in a vaguely Arabian world-construct called Midgarth. Accompanying Aristide is his sidekick, a wisecracking superintelligent cat named Bitsy. Together Aristide and Bitsy (along with various other hard-fighting D&D types, both human and non-) track down and defeat some vicious desert raiders—raiders who are armed with disturbing new weapons far beyond Midgarth's technology.
Aristide and Bitsy emerge from Midgarth into their real home: a post-Singularity Solar System ruled by the Eleven, ultra-advanced AIs with the power to sculpt reality and open wormholes into custom-designed pocket universes. Aristide
is one of the immortal humans who constructed and programmed the Eleven centuries ago, and Bitsy is an avatar of the AI Endora. Evidence they uncovered in Midgarth leads to the conclusion that one of the Eleven has gone bad, overriding its own “Asimovian safeguards” to become a danger to all of humanity and the universe itself.
There follows an adventure worthy of the best space opera, as Aristide moves through different bodies and worlds on the track of an opponent who seems able to outsmart the best minds in all the universes. Aristide is assisted by a delightfully motley crew of associates, soldiers, politicians, and even an ex-lover. Along the way, Williams tackles questions of identity, cosmology, theology, and the ultimate meaning of life.
Dripping with sense of wonder, Implied Spaces is a fast-paced, mind-stretching romp that's thoroughly fun and totally thought provoking, as well as a worthy homage to one of sf's greatest masters. Run, don't walk, to get a hold of this one.
* * * *
The Best Science Fiction & Fantasy of the Year: Volume 2
edited by Jonathan Strahan
Night Shade Books, 472 pages, $19.95
(trade paperback)
ISBN: 978-1-59780-124-9
Genre: Reprint Anthology
—
Best-of-the-year anthologies have been with us almost as long as sf/fantasy anthologies have been published. “Best,” of course, is a subjective judgment, highly dependent on the taste of the editor. Strahan, who admits to being overwhelmed by the sheer volume of short sf & fantasy, seems to lean toward the literary, the fantastic, and the genre-blending. If you remember Judith Merrill's year's-best anthologies of so long ago, you have the general idea.
There's a lot of fantasy here: of the 24 stories in this volume, about one-third are science fiction in the classic sense.
Perhaps the most important thing you need to know about this anthology is that none of the chosen stories came from the pages of Analog. Still, there are some good tales here ... although few that I'd call great.
Analog SFF, March 2009 Page 20
