Asimov's SF, June 2010
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Asimov's SF, June 2010
by Dell Magazine Authors
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Science Fiction
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Dell Magazines
www.dellmagazines.com
Copyright ©2010 by Dell Magazines
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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Cover art by Michael Carroll
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CONTENTS
Department: EDITORIAL: DO ANDROIDS DREAM OF ELECTRIC ZHU ZHU PETS? by Sheila Williams
Department: REFLECTIONS: SATAN, GET THEE HENCE! by Robert Silverberg
Department: ON THE NET: THE PRICE OF FREE (Part Two) by James Patrick Kelly
Novelette: THE EMPEROR OF MARS by Allen M. Steele
Short Story: PETOPIA by Benjamin Crowell
Short Story: MONKEY DO by Kit Reed
Poetry: HUMAN POTENTIAL by Geoffrey A. Landis
Short Story: THE PEACOCK CLOAK by Chris Beckett
Poetry: CRUSHED by Susan Abel Sullivan
Short Story: VOYAGE TO THE MOON by Peter Friend
Poetry: OF LYCANTHROPY AND LILACS by Sandra Lindow
Short Story: DREADNOUGHT NEPTUNE by Anna Tambour
Department: NEXT ISSUE
Novella: EARTH III by Stephen Baxter
Department: ON BOOKS: THIRD WORLD WORLDS by Norman Spinrad
Department: SF CONVENTIONAL CALENDAR by Erwin S. Strauss
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Asimov's Science Fiction. ISSN 1065-2698. Vol. 34 No. 6 (Whole Number 413), June 2010. GST #R123293128. Published monthly except for two combined double issues in April/May and October/November by Dell Magazines, a division of Crosstown Publications. One year subscription $43.90 in the United States and U.S. possessions. In all other countries $53.90 (GST included in Canada), payable in advance in U.S. funds. Address for subscription and all other correspondence about them, 6 Prowitt Street, Norwalk, CT 06855. Allow 6 to 8 weeks for change of address. Address for all editorial matters: Asimov's Science Fiction, 475 Park Avenue South, New York, N.Y. 10016. Asimov's Science Fiction is the registered trademark of Dell Magazines, a division of Crosstown Publications. (c) 2008 by Dell Magazines, a division of Crosstown Publications, 6 Prowitt Street, Norwalk, CT 06855. All rights reserved, printed in the U.S.A. Protection secured under the Universal and Pan American Copyright Conventions. Reproduction or use of editorial or pictorial content in any manner without express permission is prohibited. All submissions must include a self-addressed, stamped envelope; the publisher assumes no responsibility for unsolicited manuscripts. Periodical postage paid at Norwalk, CT and additional mailing offices. Canadian postage paid at Montreal, Quebec, Canada Post International Publications Mail, Product Sales Agreement No. 40012460. POSTMASTER, send change of address to Asimov's Science Fiction, 6 Prowitt Street, Norwalk, CT 06855. In Canada return to Quebecor St. Jean, 800 Blvd. Industrial, St. Jean, Quebec J3B 8G4.
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ASIMOV'S SCIENCE FICTION
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Department: EDITORIAL: DO ANDROIDS DREAM OF ELECTRIC ZHU ZHU PETS?
by Sheila Williams
As someone who buys quite a few stories and rejects a whole lot more, I've been accused of practically every bias imaginable. Most of these accusations are mutually contradictory and they often tell me more about what's irking the letter writer or the blogger than they do about what's actually appearing on the pages of Asimov's. The strangest claim of all, though, came from a man who edgily maintained I had a preference for stories with cats.
Well, I know it's ill advised to respond to critics, but I really spluttered over that one. I will confess that I grew up in a household surrounded by pets. It seemed that we always had two dogs, two cats, two turtles, and at least two rodents of some sort. I loved most of those pets, but, since we were fairly typical children, we left all the cleaning and feeding and trips to the vet to our mother. She did all the work even if, ostensibly, the turtles belonged to my sister Judi, the mice and gerbils were my sister Tory's, one dog belonged to my sister Lynn, and the other had been a gift to me on my fourteenth birthday. While my mother swore she'd draw the line at playing nursemaid to an old animal, she cared for all those pets tirelessly. In the end, my old dog outlived her by several years.
I did not find myself in a situation where I could care for an animal until long after I'd left home. When we purchased our co-op, my husband and I made sure that the building allowed dogs, but I didn't really think about a pet until my first child began begging for a cat. Her father could not deny his three-year-old much of anything, so, on Christmas Eve, Santa rescued a cat from certain annihilation at the Center for Animal Control. Alas, though the cat turned out to be an expert mouser it was not child friendly. Without small animals to hunt, it took to stalking our daughter. Darting like a flying squirrel, it would swoop out of nowhere to pounce on her tiny feet. When she began to carry a pillow in front of her for protection, we realized something had to change. Eventually, the cat moved into the home of a childless friend of ours and has lived there happily ever after.
Our younger daughter has been begging for a dog for several years now. She's always loved them, and she formed an especially deep attachment to Connie Willis's bulldog Smudge when we visited Connie and her family a couple of years ago. I sympathize with my daughter, but I'm not currently prepared to assume the role of family gamekeeper. Besides, she doesn't help her case by planning out the outfits she's going to dress her dog up in.
Sometimes, I think the solution is to look to the artificial pets predi
cted so presciently by Philip K. Dick. I try to tell my seven-year-old that if a Tekno Dog was good enough for your sister, a Zhu Zhu Pet will have to satisfy you. Electronic pets may not be perfect—the Neo Pets and the Littlest Pet Shop Online tend to crash my computer, while the Tamagotchi and the Neo Pets are nearly as much work as the real thing. They may not even save me from my mother's fate—I finally banned the Neo Pets when I realized that I was going online once a day to keep my older daughter's neglected virtual pets “alive.” Still, there is something endearing about a chittering, beeping hamster that doesn't require any sawdust. I won't even object if my little one decides to dress it up in haute couture. Yet, even I will admit that a person tends to find more emotional comfort petting a kitten than they do petting a Furby.
There are a lot of famous science fiction editors who co-exist with pets. Stanley Schmidt, the editor of Analog, usually has a pet snake; Ellen Datlow, the well-known anthologist and former fiction editor of Omni and Sci Fiction, has always owned a couple of lovely kitties; my predecessor, Gardner Dozois, and his wife Susan Casper are also partial to felines. One of their cats was even named for the title character in the classic story, “The Ballad of Lost C'Mell.” None of these editors’ feelings for their pets seems to have clouded their judgement when it comes to buying great stories.
And my reluctance to commit to a living animal doesn't mean I don't enjoy stories about the real thing. I've read a lot of fine cat stories by authors like Cordwainer Smith, Fritz Leiber, Jack Skillingstead, and Andre Norton. From Connie Willis and Clifford Simak to Nancy Kress, Kathleen Ann Goonan, and Robert Reed have come lots of great stories that feature dogs. At Asimov's, we've run a fair amount of stories about monkeys and birds, too. I've loved so many of these stories. I can remember the first time I read “Desertion” and “All Cats Are Gray.” I nearly cried over “The Last of the Winnebagos,” and I was utterly charmed by “Space-Time for Springers” and “26 Monkeys, Also the Abyss.” Putting a cat or a dog or even a mouse into a story isn't going to seal the deal on a sale to the magazine, but sending in a story that affects me as deeply as “Flowers for Algernon” certainly will.
Even if we don't keep pets, animals are a part of our lives. It's no surprise that they find their way into science fiction stories. I have a bias for good stories, and some of those stories will include cats. On the other hand, I haven't yet decided whether to break down and finally get that puppy or to tell my poor kids that Cordwainer Smith's underpeople will undoubtedly be uplifted sooner than they'll convince Santa to bring them their next living creature.
Copyright © 2010 Sheila Williams
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Department: REFLECTIONS: SATAN, GET THEE HENCE!
by Robert Silverberg
A few years ago a small town in Florida declared itself a Satan-free zone, and the idea has stuck in my mind ever since. It's a fascinating notion: dealing with the evils of the world by legislative fiat. Out here in California, it's quite a standard thing for city councils and other minor municipal bodies to issue resonant decrees calling for an end to this or that troublesome contemporary activity—whether it be planetary warming, gum-chewing in school, noisy car stereos played in quiet neighborhoods, or the sale of irradiated lettuce in grocery stores, some community around here has gone on record staunchly decrying it. But decrying is one thing and an outright ban by law is something else again. I think we ought to give more thought to the practice.
The town in Florida is about seventy-five miles north of Tampa, a placid sort of place on the banks of the beautiful Withlacoochee River where some sixteen hundred pleasant and mostly law-abiding people enjoy the mild Gulf Coast climate and a general freedom from the spiritual angst that afflicts harried city-dwellers. But even in this amiable little burg the dark hand of Lucifer was making itself known. Though the Prince of Darkness had not yet manifested himself visibly, signs of his presence were becoming apparent: an uptick in crime, some arrests for child abuse and spousal abuse, and an ugly tendency on the part of the younger citizens to dress in black clothing and paint their faces a ghastly white, not just for Halloween but as a regular fashion. There were tales of increasing drug usage, too, and casual blasphemy in everyday speech. Concerned citizens felt that the town was turning into a pit of iniquity.
A local pastor was the first to take action. “We as Christians have got to take a stand for God,” he said, “and reclaim our town for God.” And so he had hollowed-out wooden posts installed at each of the town's four entrances, with the intention of inserting a prayer into them that would serve to keep the Dark One at bay. But the mayor felt that some more emphatic statement needed to be made, and on the very evening—Halloween—when malevolent spirits are thought to be most active, she drew up an official proclamation to be placed in each of the preacher's gateposts:
Be it known that from this day forward that Satan, ruler of darkness, giver of evil, destroyer of what is good and just, is not now, nor ever again will be, a part of this town . . . Satan is hereby declared powerless, no longer ruling over, nor influencing, our citizens.
In the past, Satan has caused division, animosity, hate, confusion, ungodly acts on our youth, and discord among our friends and loved ones. No longer!
The body of Jesus Christ, those citizens cleansed by the Blood of the Lamb, hereby join together to bind the forces of evil in the Holy Name of Jesus. We have taken our town back for the Kingdom of God. We are taking everything back that the devil ever stole from us. We will never again be deceived by satanic and demonic forces.
As blood-bought children of God we exercise our authority over the devil in Jesus's name. By that authority, and through His Blessed Name, we command all Satanic and demonic forces to cease their activities and depart. . . .
Strong stuff, especially the parts about the body of Jesus and the Blood of the Lamb (and the references to the Gospels that I omit here), but very nicely phrased, I think, except for one wobbly preposition, the bit about Satan's causing “ungodly acts on our youth.” And the measure, duly signed by the town clerk and stamped with the official seal, was widely applauded in town. “I think the law-abiding citizens have banded together and drawn some strength from what the mayor has done,” a police lieutenant said. But would it have much effect on demonic activities in town? The first results were not encouraging: not long after the proclamations were placed within the posts, some minion of darkness stole all four of them. New posts were constructed and installed. The youth of the town continued, however, to dress in vile Gothic garb. No measurable decrease in crime could be detected. And waggish miscreants began calling the mayor's office. “Carolyn?” they would say. “This is Satan. I know you want me, baby.”
Some political issues also cropped up. Doubtless few people in that rural area would openly stand forth and serve as advocates for Old Nick, but some, at least, were a bit troubled by the use of Jesus's name in a municipal proclamation. “One person's beliefs are fine, but not on the town letterhead,” a citizen commented. Another noted that in a part of the proclamation not quoted here the mayor declared she had not only been elected by the citizens but “appointed by God to this position of leadership.” To some, that appeared an overstatement, at the very minimum. A professor of political science at the University of Miami remarked that although the measure “would seem like something everyone would agree on, it also seems aggressive and threatening to others who don't specifically abide by that belief.” Another academic, an expert on constitutional law, thought the proclamation “would open up the town to accusations of a preference of religions.” The American Civil Liberties Union also began to wonder whether issues of separation of church and state might be involved, and threatened legal action.
The story spread across our land, and, since not all Americans believe that mayors are appointed by God or that the Holy Name of Jesus should be an instrument of municipal regulation, the little Floridian town became the butt of some unpleasant jokes. Hastil
y the town commission ruled that the mayor had acted alone and that the proclamation had no official standing, and the good people of that amiable little town were once again left to fend for themselves against the Devil's wiles.
I happen not to be a blood-bought child of God myself—I come from a different tribe—and so I don't think my own community (a pleasant little burg on the edge of San Francisco Bay, where, Lord knows, the Devil is at work 24/7, minimum) would benefit from such a proclamation. Nor am I very impressed by the neighboring city of Berkeley's decision to proclaim itself a nuclear-free zone, since, last time I was there, Berkeley was full of electrons and protons and a lot of other bad atomic stuff. But some of these proclamations do work. As a non-smoker, I approve of the stern anti-smoking laws that keep the air pure in the restaurants I frequent, even those in Paris and London. I like the idea that driving through red lights is illegal in most municipalities in my area. And how can I not cheer Alexander Kuzmin, the mayor of Megion in western Siberia, who forbade the making of excuses by civil employees? The good mayor has released a list of twenty-seven forbidden phrases, among them, “Somebody else has the documents,” “I think I was off sick at the time,” and “We're having lunch.” I don't know what the punishment for violating the rules would be—exile to Siberia wouldn't be of much use, after all—but I hope it's merciless.
If I had my druthers, I might be tempted to issue a proclamation of my own, declaring my house a tax-free zone. But that might lead the city fathers to reciprocate by making my street a police-free zone, too, and the federal goverment might want to make it a postal-delivery-free zone, and I see other drawbacks, too. So I go on paying taxes like everyone else, though taking little joy in the process. I doubt that declaring my city or, for that matter, my entire state to be a stupidity-free zone would work out very well either.