Asimov's SF, Oct/Nov 2005

by Dell Magazine Authors

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  Dell Magazines

  www.dellmagazines.com

  Copyright ©2005 Dell Magazines

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  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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  CONTENTS

  Editorial: Behind the Scenes

  Reflections: Serials

  Bank Run by Tom Purdom

  Memory Work by L. Timmel Duchamp

  Out of the Box by Steve Martinez

  Pericles the Tyrant by Lois Tilton

  Back to Moab by Phillip C. Jennings

  Dark Flowers, Inverse Moon by Jay Lake

  Nightmare by M. Bennardo

  The God Engine by Ted Kosmatka

  Overlay by Jack Skillingstead

  Betting on Eureka by Geoffrey A. Landis

  Cruel Sistah by Nisi Shawl

  Verse

  Thought Experiments: Adventures in Gnarly Computation

  On Books: The New Weird

  The SF Conventional Calendar

  In Our Next Issue

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  Asimov's Science Fiction

  October/November 2005

  Vol. 29 No. 10 & 11

  Dell Magazines

  New York

  Edition Copyright © 2005

  by Dell Magazines,

  a division of Crosstown Publications

  Asimov's Science Fiction® is a

  registered trademark.

  All rights reserved worldwide.

  All stories in Asimov's are fiction.

  Any similarities are coincidental.

  Asimov's Science Ficton ISSN 1065-2698

  published monthly except for

  April/May and October/November double issues.

  Gardner Dozois: Consulting Editor

  Sheila Williams: Executive Editor

  Brian Bieniowski: Assistant Editor

  Victoria Green: Senior Art Director

  Shirley Chan Levi: Asst Art Director

  Abigail Browning: Sub-Rights & Mktg

  Scott Lais: Contracts & Permissions

  Peter Kanter: Publisher & President

  Bruce Sherbow: VP of Sales & Mktg

  Julia McEvoy: Print Advertising Sales

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  Editorial: Behind the Scenes

  Many people worked hard to create the current issue of Asimov's, and every issue of the magazine that has ever been published. Some of the names of these people appear on our masthead. Others are completely unsung. The job of buying the stories and writing editorials puts me at the forefront, but the magazine wouldn't exist, or wouldn't be the quality publication that it is, without people you are probably not familiar with.

  Most of you know that I exist, some of you are aware of Brian Bieniowski, the magazine's talented associate editor, and, of course, you suspect the existence of the authors whose bylines accompany the stories. Brian and I are the only people who work on the magazine full time. We haven't used outside typesetters for years, so the two of us are completely responsible for the eventual electronic version of the magazine that will be sent to our printers, but we have a lot of help along the way.

  I was reminded of the anonymity of many of these people recently when I received an email from Michael R. Wilson, a retired associate professor. I'll reproduce some of his comments below:

  Hello, folks—

  The quality of proofreading in Asimov's is generally above the current average for magazines (books? Don't get me started on books!), but somebody slipped over a homophone on p. 176 of the April/ May issue. The word “reigns” is misused in paragraph 3, line 4.

  Who's the lucky soul that gets to do final vetting of text ... or is that left to the writers, and the high text quality of Asimov's just reflects a remarkable punctilio peculiar to most SF authors?

  Describing the process of editing, copyediting, proofreading, and the further vetting of proofs would take an entire editorial of its own. There is one individual, though, who, far more than me, Brian, or any of our authors, is responsible for the low error ratio in Asimov's. She is my long-time freelance professional proofreader and secret weapon, Margaret O'Connell. Margaret has been proofing the magazine for about twenty years. It was a love of SF that brought her to us. She would be a subscriber if she weren't paid to read Asimov's. Margaret has a Ph.D. in comparative literature, specializing in English and Spanish Renaissance Drama, from Princeton University. In addition to a deep understanding of the English language, she brings a wide breadth of general knowledge to her job. And what she doesn't know, she's sure to look up. She also loves comic books, and is the one proofreader who has made sure that the correct spelling and punctuation for Spider-Man has never slipped by us (although it almost invariably arrives here incorrectly). She has saved us from countless embarrassing mistakes. I always said that Margaret knew everything, and then about twelve or thirteen years ago the New Yorker hired her as one of their full-time night proofreaders. Surely, proof that I was right.

  Margaret doesn't read the material that comes in toward the end of the magazine's production—the stories’ introductory blurbs, the table of contents, the next issue page, and my editorials. Any mistakes you find there are solely my responsibility. Errors can creep into stories at later stages of production, too, and every once in a while even Homer nods. Still, although you may catch a slip-up here and there, we, and our authors, are thankful for the thousands of errors Margaret has kept us from committing.

  Margaret isn't the only person laboring behind the scenes on an issue of Asimov's.

  I'd like to mention a couple of other people who have worked for years on these magazines. One of them is the formidable Carole Dixon. Carole is our senior production manager. She won't let me tell you how long she's worked on Asimov's, but I can tell you that she was well established when I arrived here about twenty-four years ago. Over the years, Carole has taught me an enormous amount about producing a magazine. She oversaw the transition from traditional to desktop publishing. She keeps us all on our toes. I don't miss deadlines because it would be costly and unprofessional, it's true, but also because I don't want to have to explain myself to Carole.

  Carole is one of eleven children. She immigrated to the US from Trinidad and Tobago, and she has raised three accomplished children of her own while tending to all the Dell magazines.

  While the computer revolution has transformed every publishing department from art to accounting over the last twenty years, no department has been affected more than production. Carole has swept through every change like Alexander wielding his sword through the Gordian knot, and she's carried us right along with her.

  Another long-time contributor to Asimov's is Victoria Green, our senior art director. Vicki joined Dell about fifteen years ago. She was primarily responsible for designing puzzle magazine covers until about seven years ago, when she took on the task of designing the science fiction and mystery magazine covers, too. Vicki is
the mother of a ten-year-old son, Will, and she studied at the School of Visual Arts in New York City. She tells me that she “enjoys meeting and working with the wonderful SF illustrators, and finding new people and new options through the Internet.” She works closely with the artists who create the original artwork for some of our stories, she helps us find reprints for other covers, and she procures all the art.

  Space doesn't permit me to bring up everyone associated with producing this magazine. I hope, though, that this editorial has managed to give you a glimpse of some of the people, and some of the work, involved with the creation of every issue. In honor of the upcoming Halloween holiday, I've put together an issue that includes a few slightly spooky tales. If the ghosts and banshees in these stories of hauntings, murder, and betrayal cause you a little seasonal unrest, take comfort from the knowledge that this issue was lovingly fashioned for your eerie pleasure by a dedicated team of real people.

  —Sheila Williams

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Reflections: Serials

  A couple of days ago—I'm writing this in the last weeks of 2004—I received the January/ February 2005 issue of our sister magazine Analog, in which Jack Williamson's new novel, The Stonehenge Gate, began its three-part serialization. That issue reminded me of two things: that Jack Williamson has held a central position in science fiction longer than I've been alive, and that the serialization of novels once held a central position in science fiction also, but that is very definitely not the case any more.

  Williamson first. He was born in 1908, his first story was published in 1928, and in 1934 he established himself as a star of the first magnitude in our firmament with his imperishable novel, The Legion of Space. (Serialized in Astounding Stories, as Analog was known then, in six parts.) Here he is, seventy-one years after the publication of Legion, with yet another serial in that magazine. Its first installment appears in Analog's seventy-fifth anniversary issue. Williamson's career as a science fiction writer is thirteen months older than Analog itself, and he is still writing top-flight material. The mind reels at the thought.

  But the serialization of novels in our field stopped mattering a long time ago, and that's a cause for some wonderment also.

  Most science fiction novels now are launched as hardcover books, or, sometimes, as paperback originals. Nary a one of 2004's Hugo-nominated novels began its life as a magazine serial. That was not the case in earlier times, when book publication of science fiction was extremely rare and nearly every SF novel of any significance was published first in one of the magazines.

  The tradition of serialization was firmly established in the early decades of the twentieth century by Argosy, an all-fiction magazine issued weekly at a time when there were no paperback books or television and movies had barely begun. Each issue had three, four, even five serial novels running concurrently—westerns, tales of jungle adventure, fantasy, science fiction. Many of the early classic novels of SF and fantasy appeared in its pages: those of Edgar Rice Burroughs, A. Merritt, Ray Cummings, Homer Eon Flint, George Allan England, and dozens of others.

  When the first all-science-fiction magazine, Amazing Stories, was founded in 1926, it, too, began to run serials. Since it came out monthly rather than weekly, it couldn't do as many at a time as Argosy did, or stretch them out in as many installments. But its first issue offered a pair of two-part novels, one by Jules Verne and one by G. Peyton Wertenbaker, and serials remained an important part of its makeup thereafter. One of its early great achievements was E.E. “Doc” Smith's The Skylark of Space, in three parts starting in August 1928. Jack Williamson made his debut as a serial-writer in the March 1930 issue, with a two-parter, The Green Girl. More novels by Doc Smith, John W. Campbell, Jr., John Russell Fearn, and other big figures of the period followed.

  Very few of those early serials are remembered today. But when John Campbell took over the editorship of Astounding in 1937 he focused on publishing novels, and over the next decade or so brought out dozens that are essential to any understanding of the science fiction of the twentieth century. Doc Smith was a big contributor of serialized novels (Gray Lensman, 1939, and Second-Stage Lensman, 1941-42), as were L. Ron Hubbard (Final Blackout, 1940), A.E. van Vogt (Slan, 1940, The Weapon Makers, 1943, and The World of Null-A, 1945), but the dominant writer of the time was Robert A. Heinlein, with If This Goes On—, 1940, followed by Sixth Column, 1941, Methuselah's Children, 1941, and Beyond This Horizon, 1942. Isaac Asimov came along with his first serial in 1945, The Mule, a Foundation story done in two parts, and added another segment of the Foundation series four years later with the three-part... And Now You Don't of 1949. Other important serial novels during the Campbellian golden age were provided by Fritz Leiber, the ubiquitous Jack Williamson, Henry Kuttner and C.L. Moore, and Hal Clement.

  The reason why all these novels came out in magazine form is simple: there was no other market for them. The publication of SF in books did not really get going until 1946, and the early publishers were financially shaky semi-pro outfits (Shasta Publishers, Gnome Press, Fantasy Press, etc.) that concentrated mainly on reprinting the magazine serials I've just been discussing. Only when Doubleday entered the science fiction field in 1949, and Ballantine Books a couple of years later, did the regular professional publication of SF in book form begin.

  Even then, most SF novels came out first in the magazines. In 1950, when the shiny new magazine Galaxy made its much-publicized arrival, it announced a policy of running three serials a year, and backed that up with an astonishing run of significant novels, all of which would find their way into book form not long afterward: first Clifford D. Simak's Time Quarry (reprinted as Time and Again), then Isaac Asimov's Tyrann (done in book form as The Stars, Like Dust), and Mars Child by C.M. Kornbluth and Judith Merril. The next couple of years saw Galaxy adding to its laurels with such memorable novels as Heinlein's The Puppet Masters, Frederik Pohl and C.M. Kornbluth's Gravy Planet (reprinted as The Space Merchants), Alfred Bester's two masterpieces, The Demolished Man and The Stars My Destination, and Asimov's The Caves of Steel.

  I was a teenage reader and aspiring writer in the early 1950s when all that was going on, and I remember indulging, when I was fifteen, in one of those fantasies that are permissible when you're fifteen and merely nutty at any later age: that a time would come when I too would have a serial in Astounding or Galaxy, and, indeed, that for a whole year Galaxy would publish nothing but Silverberg novels. By the time I was twenty-two I had actually fulfilled the first part of that wild fantasy, when Randall Garrett and I collaborated on The Dawning Light, a three-part novel that John Campbell serialized in early 1957. Many years later, to my amazement, I even brought off something close to the really absurd Galaxy dream: my novel Downward to the Earth ran in four parts beginning in November 1969, Tower of Glass ran in three, starting in May 1970, most of the stories making up my book The World Inside were published as individual novelets in the latter half of 1970, and A Time of Changes was serialized beginning in March 1971. (For good measure I threw in Dying Inside in the July and August 1972 issues.) It was a heady, breathless time for me, and somewhere in the midst of it I recalled my wild teenage dream of filling the pages of Galaxy with my novels, even as Heinlein had done in Astounding between 1940 and 1942, and found myself flabbergasted that it had come to pass.

  Poul Anderson had done a similar Heinleinesque stunt in Astounding earlier, with The Man Who Counts in the issues for February, March, and April, 1958, and then We Have Fed Our Sea in August and September, followed immediately in October and November with A Bicycle Built for Brew. Anderson also holds the distinction of being the author of one of the few unfinished serials in science fiction history: the first half of the novel that later would be known as Brain Wave appeared in the September 1953 issue of the short-lived Space Science Fiction under the title of The Escape, but Space expired with that issue and readers left dangling by Anderson's cliffhanger ending to the first part had to wait until the next year for
book publication of the complete text.

  Cliffhangers, of course, were an essential feature of serializations: each segment of the book had to end with the universe in peril, at the very minimum, and most novels of that era were constructed with that requirement in mind. If you read them carefully today, you can still see where the serial breaks came. (The most common serial format was the three-parter, which required two interior climaxes, though, as I've shown, novels in two or four parts weren't rare. As I said, Williamson's Legion of Space ran in six installments, though. Decades later, Frank Herbert's Dune was an epic eight-parter in Analog, although with an intermission, the first section running from December 1963 to February 1964, and the second in five installments beginning with the January 1965 issue.)

  The great boom in SF book publishing that began in the 1950s brought into being more important novels than the magazines of the day could handle as serials. Thus such major books as Arthur Clarke's Childhood's End, Theodore Sturgeon's More Than Human, and Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 all appeared first as original books, though excerpts from them were published as magazine novellas. The magazines continued to run serials regularly on through the 1960s and 1970s, but only a handful of each year's new novels now came out first in magazine form. The author of a science fiction novel no longer was faced with the choice between serial publication and no publication at all, and often it was more advantageous to go straight to a book publisher.

  Today, SF novels in hardcover and paperback pour forth upon us by the hundreds every year. Few can hold the spotlight for more than a moment or two before being jostled aside by the oncoming hordes. The old days when a novel like Slan or The Demolished Man would be serialized in one of the leading magazines, immediately read and discussed by everyone who cared about SF, and promoted instantly to classic status, are gone.

  Today's magazines concentrate on shorter fiction and leave the novels to the book publishers. Analog still runs a couple of serials a year, but hardly anyone else does. Asimov's has serialized just four novels in its entire history—one by William Gibson, two by Michael Swanwick, one by Robert Silverberg. “The amount of time between the serialization of and the actual appearance of the book on bookstore shelves had begun to shrink,” former editor Gardner Dozois told me recently, “so that sometimes only a month or two would go by between the end of the serial and the appearance of the book, and I began to think, why waste all that space, a huge chunk of at least three issues, to print something that everybody was going to be able to buy elsewhere a month later anyway?” If he were still editing now, said Dozois, he would consider serializing only those books that were “too weird or controversial to sell to the trade houses, so that the readers would be getting something they couldn't get somewhere else later down the line.” But such books seem to be few and far between, and many were too long for serialization.