Asimov's SF, December 2009

by Dell Magazine Authors

  That shot struck home, just about—but there was no hint of a blush on Kay's slightly tightened features. “Well, yes,” he admitted. “If it had only been about the money ... but why didn't you make billions? Twenty-five years ago, when you gave me the tip about hemp, I thought it was because you were too cautious, too risk-averse ... well, I have to admit to being wrong about that. So why aren't you super-rich? Why didn't you back your winner, financially as well as in the chamber?”

  “It wasn't about the money, Kay, it never was.”

  “Just a matter of wining the war, then? I never realized that you were so intensely competitive. Sibling rivalry is a terrible thing—and we were practically siblings, weren't we? Only one barely functional set of parents between the two of us ... not that Miklos and Selma ever ... did they?”

  “I don't think so,” Gerda said. “Mind you, there's time yet—they're both retired from the chamber now, so they must be desperate for something to fill in time.”

  “Perhaps we should have invited them along—maybe fixed them up?” Kay said, obviously not meaning it. The fact that he now felt able to say something that he blatantly didn't mean seemed to Gerda to be progress. He couldn't meet her stare, though, even though an unbiased observer glancing at their table would have taken him for the stronger and younger of the two. They no longer looked uncannily alike, or even remotely similar.

  “Perhaps we should have invited your ex-wife,” Gerda countered, “or your son, at least.”

  “I haven't even let on that we're meeting,” Kay confessed. “Lothar would consider it to be consorting with the enemy, cherishing the blade that stabbed me in the back.”

  “And Magda too?” Gerda queried.

  “Oh no—she never considered you an enemy or a threat. She always understood our friendship ... at least until you started your great crusade. Like you, she always took the trouble to point out that I had made billions out of neo-cycads, even if I hadn't fully understood what the cost of the profits would be. She was delighted to take her share—if she were here, she'd be gladly proposing toasts in your honor.”

  “For her,” Gerda said, casually, “it was only a matter of love, not war. She must have had a markedly different notion of what was fair—even if her blonde hair was only cosmetic.”

  “It's red now,” Kay told her. “Hot colors are back in fashion, thanks to you. Mind you, silver doesn't look too bad on you—although you might want to think of having some skin-work done.” Kay's own face and forehead, needless to say, had not a wrinkle in sight.

  “I'm young at heart,” Gerda assured him. “Just like the New New New New World. We are up to four now, aren't we?”

  “Alas, yes,” he said—and then paused, apparently for reflection. Eventually, he went on: “You know, setting all joking and resentment aside, I believe that you and I really might have made a difference, as individuals. If you had only sided with me instead of reacting against me, it really might have been the salvation of the Gaian cause instead of its damnation. If only I had been able to keep you with me, instead of somehow contriving, unknowingly and unwillingly, to turn you against me....”

  Gerda didn't bother to point out that his manner of framing the argument was outrageously egocentric. Instead, she said: “No, Kay, we couldn't have made that sort of difference. We couldn't have made much more of a difference even if you'd sided with me instead of relentlessly following the herd. Gaia was always gong to lose the war, no matter how many successful defensive actions her myrmidons completed. The neo-cycads were always bound to carry the day. The Heavy Metal brigade, the Siberian Oligarchs, and the Asian Developers were always bound to end up in bed together, running the show. The only difference I made, and the only difference I was ever capable of making, was to warm things up a little, and hurry them along.”

  “You must have felt rather lonely doing it,” Kay observed, retreating into pensive reflection. “It's still different for a woman, isn't it? Your mother managed to have it all, though, at least until that stupid accident. Maybe you felt that no one could ever quite live up to the memory of your father.”

  “He was dead before I learned to talk,” Gerda said. “I never knew him.”

  “My mother's still alive, but I've hardly ever exchanged two words with her. To me, she's just a sequence of pictures—but that didn't stop me marrying Magda.”

  “No,” Gerda agreed. “It didn't.” And it was then, oddly enough, rather than at any of the more weighty or awkward moments in the conversation, that Gerda suddenly realized that her love for Kay had cooled somewhat while she had thrown her heart and soul into her cause, and that its once-fiery passion had been transformed by time and tide into something mellower and more even-tempered. It was still most definitely there, and still unfulfilled, but it no longer felt like a dagger of glass rudely jammed into her beating heart. By the same token, she no longer hated Gaia the Snow Queen quite as much as she had before. Their conflict had, after all, merely been a difference of opinion.

  “It says something for us, I suppose,” Kay observed, glumly, as he raised his wine-glass in a vaguely celebratory gesture, “that we can still be friends, in spite of everything. The fact that, no matter who's won and who's lost, and no matter what becomes of the world now it's all turned upside-down, we can still hold on to something of what we had when we were six years old says something good and precious not just about us but about the world. I can still think of you as my twin sister, my inevitable counterpart.”

  “The world was upside-down before, my love,” Gerda told him, softly. “From now on, it'll be able to right itself, slowly but surely. The deadly CC is no longer deadly—or, as they say here in dear old England, all's now well at the beloved Cricket Club.”

  “The trouble with you, darling,” Kay replied, with a contrived sigh that was as insincere as it was insulting, “is that you never could take anything seriously.”

  Copyright © 2009 Brian Stableford

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Department: ON BOOKS

  by Peter Heck

  * * * *

  NATION

  By Terry Pratchett

  HarperCollins, $16.99 (hc)

  ISBN: 978-0-06-143301-6

  Terry Pratchett pretty much single-handedly turned comic fantasy into a hot subgenre more than two decades ago, and while some of the other stars of that era have faded, Pratchett has sustained his eminence. The long and remarkably varied “Discworld” series is of course his signature contribution, but his occasional ventures into other materials—for example, Good Omens, in collaboration with Neil Gaiman, or the Johnny Maxwell trilogy for young readers—have shown that he's not a one-trick pony.

  Pratchett's latest, begins in disaster. In England, a deadly epidemic is killing off much of the population. And in the Pacific, a huge tsunami rolls across a series of islands, orphaning Mau, a young boy who has been sent by his tribe to a neighboring island to earn his manhood. The great wave also strands an English ship on his home island—its only living occupant is Daphne, a young English woman, about his age. Almost immediately, they begin to misunderstand one another.

  Each is of course a creature of the cultures they were raised in. Mau has a head full of the taboos of traditional Polynesian tribal life; Daphne, meanwhile, chafes against the conventions of upper-class Victorian society. At an early age, she was taken by her father to meetings of the Royal Society, where she gained a fair knowledge of science, including Mr. Darwin's theories. But after the death of her mother, and her father's posting to Asia to handle one of the Empire's interests, she has been under the thumb of her very conservative grandmother, who has done her best to reverse the father's efforts to educate Daphne. Called at last to join her father in Asia, she was en route when the tsunami struck.

  Nonetheless, as the only two living people on the island, they are forced to make common cause for mutual survival. Both start off with broken illusions; Mau's society has been totally shattered, and the Eu
ropean technology Daphne has taken for granted has failed her—symbolized by the misfire of the pistol that she tries to protect herself from Mau with.

  At the same time, each has expectations of the other, aligned along gender and racial distinctions. Mau expects a woman to make beer, for example—an art Daphne has no knowledge of. (She eventually learns.) She, on the other hand, has expectations that the world will be rational and predictable, and the discovery that native “superstitions” actually work goes against her whole upbringing.

  The relationship becomes more complex as other survivors of the tsunami begin to find their way to the island. First is an older man—who tries to enforce the values of the society that the wave has washed away. Eventually, the imperatives of survival overrule the demands of tradition, and from the two young people's divergent backgrounds a patchwork society emerges. The island culture is the strongest element—the environment remains what it was before the tsunami, with native plants and animals still in place, and share Mau's cultural traditions—but Daphne's blithe ignorance of the restraints means that certain previous assumptions, in particular those about sex roles, can be abandoned without significant consequences.

  Eventually, there are external threats to be dealt with—cannibals from a distant island, predatory English sailors who see Daphne as their ticket to wealth if they can return her home. The solutions to these challenges turn out to lie in the powers of the traditional gods of Mau's people—which, despite Daphne's initial skepticism and Mau's feeling of abandonment by his gods, are still potent.

  Pratchett's humor is of course a significant ingredient in anything he writes. The comic elements are somewhat underplayed here, with a dry satire of the Victorian worldview. The other main target of Pratchett's wit is the equally limited tribal worldview—though, as the plot shows, there is plenty of valid knowledge outside the European compass. Still, the conclusion, in which everything is put right and all end up in their proper places in the world, is essentially the happy ending one expects of comedy.

  Highly recommended, especially if for some reason you haven't picked up on Pratchett yet. Be aware, though, that Nation, while full of the author's wit and humor, is essentially a more serious book than “Discworld” fans might expect of Sir Terry.

  * * * *

  THE GRAVEYARD BOOK

  By Neil Gaiman

  HarperCollins, $17.99

  ISBN: 978-0-06-053092-1

  Gaiman has made his mark almost everywhere from comics to Hollywood, with sufficient regularity to have caught the attention of mainstream media that usually ignore SF. His latest, which won a Newbery award as best young adult book of 2008, is a good sample of how he can take very traditional fantasy material and throw it into new perspective.

  Gaiman begins with his protagonist as a toddler, escaping almost by pure luck from a murderer who wipes out his family. Crawling into the nearby graveyard, he is adopted by the ghosts—and since the novel is set in England, there's a large and varied set of them. They name him Nobody Owens (after his adoptive ghostly parents)—Bod for short.

  The ghosts can only protect Bod as long as he is within the graveyard fence, so there he grows up. He is fed by Silas—who appears to be a vampire, and therefore is able to visit the nearby town, where he buys food for Bod. He also brings back books from which the boy begins to gain an education—albeit a very irregular one. With an extended family from every era of British history—including one old Roman, who is convinced things went rapidly downhill once the Empire fell—Bod gets a very skewed view of what human society must be.

  Gaiman puts Bod and his ghostly guardians through a series of adventures reminiscent at times of Lovecraft, though with a lighter touch, and with the fondness for pop culture that is one of the trademarks of his work. Ghouls, night-gaunts, and the ghost of a seventeenth century witch are among the characters Bod encounters. Some are very dangerous, and at first Bod needs all the help his dead and undead friends can give him. Eventually, he learns more of the strange world he moves through, and becomes more capable of handling himself.

  But the most serious threat—the one that lingers at the fringes of the story—is the man who murdered Bod's family. His name is Jack, and he wants to finish the job. He knows he can't penetrate the guards around the graveyard, but he hopes to lure Bod out to where he can have a chance at him.

  And, as if by fate, the one thing that might make Bod lower his guard happens. Scarlett, a girl he met years before when she played in the graveyard, returns to town. To Bod, the renewed relationship is both an invitation to begin to take a part in the world of the living and a risk of exposure—though he is not really aware just how much danger he is in. At the same time, his friendship with Scarlett fuels an increasing desire eventually to depart from the world of the dead, despite its macabre appeal (which many young readers are likely to find attractive).

  This book, according to the author's afterword, took him twenty years to finish to his satisfaction. As that might suggest, the resonance and emotional depth of the finished product is something special, even from such an accomplished author.

  * * * *

  THE LONG LOOK

  By Richard Parks

  Five Star, $25.95 (hc)

  ISBN: 978-1-59414-704-3

  The first novel by Parks, a frequent contributor to this magazine, is a witty tale of wizardry in a quasi-medieval world, with characters decidedly on the gray side. As the story opens, Tymon the Black, reputedly the most evil of all wizards, and his dwarf servant Seb are on the move—in a cold, soaking rain, which the absent-minded Tymon has just noticed. They have just finished a sparse meal, the last of their food, when Tymon goes into a sort of trance. It is the Long Look: a visionary state in which the wizard learns what he is to do next.

  His task this time, it turns out, is to kill a prince of one of the neighboring kingdoms. We are meet to several members of the royal families, including Ashesa, an adventurous young princess; the warlike prince Daras; and his studious younger brother Galan. Their parents, kings of neighboring lands, have decided to betroth Ashesa to Daras as a way to cement the alliance between their countries. Ashesa, something of a romantic, decides to run away. She falls into Tymon's hands, is imprisoned, and when Daras comes to rescue her, the wizard's trap closes and the prince is duly murdered.

  This leaves Galan as the heir apparent; and, still hopeful of sealing the alliance, the parents decide to marry Ashesa to him. This is actually a better match, since the two are closer in temperament. But when Galan's royal father dies, he decides that he cannot take the throne until he avenges his murdered brother, and so sets out to find and kill Tymon—who is moving on, uncertain what his next “assignment” will be; the Long Look appears to have abandoned him.

  Galan's hold on his throne is nowhere near as strong as he believes. An impoverished pretender to the throne, dreams of capturing his “stolen” inheritance; and opportunistic nobles in a nearby kingdom see the pretender's cause as their way to seize power of their own. At the same time, Ashesa is nursing a deadly secret that could turn Galan against her, and endanger both the betrothal and the long-hoped-for alliance of their countries.

  Parks plays entertainingly with the plot complexities, with the characters gradually learning life lessons as the world around them forces them to adjust to reality. Thus the idealistic Galan begins to learn something of statecraft. Meanwhile, Tymon and Seb squabble their way from one adventure to the next.

  The odd-couple chemistry of Seb and Tymon nicely complements the relationship of the royal lovers. Another entertaining character is Ashesa's confidante Margy, who is squarely in the long tradition of older, wisecracking women who set their young charges on the right path—an update of Juliet's nurse, if you will.

  The mythological underpinnings of the fantasy are exotic enough to keep the reader from guessing too easily what role the supernatural will play in the story. In short, the supernatural beings of this universe are as quirky as the human characters.

>   Those who enjoy the witty fantasy of Leiber, Vance, or John Brunner's Traveler in Black should find Parks very much to their taste. I did.

  * * * *

  PANDEMONIUM

  By Daryl Gregory

  Del Rey, $13.00 (tp)

  ISBN: 978-0-345-50116-5

  Gregory's first novel posits a world in many ways identical to our own—except that demonic possession is commonplace.

  Del Pierce is coming into Chicago, through O'Hare airport, when he sees a man taken over by one of the demons: The Painter, who uses his power to create pictures—in this case, a rural scene of unknown significance. We learn that there are a number of demons, each consistent in its actions. And, as one might suspect, society is still trying to figure out how to deal with them. Current treatments for possession are dangerous and ineffective—and even those “cured” are susceptible to relapses.

  Del has returned to his home town to attend a conference of demonologists—academic, medical and other experts who are seeking for explanations. At the same time, there is a counter-convention—made up of what might be called demon fans, many of whom imitate the garb and actions of the better-known demons. There's also a sort of counter-counter-convention of anti-demon protestors.

  Del has gotten a membership to the official convention, despite not having real credentials. He is interested in meeting a specialist who claims to have found a method to “treat” possession. But things go wrong. After a brief conversation, the specialist brushes him off, and Del goes to a con party where (in the company of Philip K. Dick!) he drinks too much and blacks out. When he wakes up, he realizes that he's gone wild during the night, trashing his room. There's worse news; the specialist has been murdered, and Del has left documents that can be traced back to him in the man's possession.

  With his brother Lew's help, Del takes off—headed at first for an upstate New York town where he hopes to contact Mother Mariette O'Connell, a priest in a splinter Catholic church who's had some success in exorcising demons. Del worries that he is about to suffer a relapse from an episode of possession he experienced as a child—and he is desperate to prevent a recurrence.