If you missed last year's SCIFI.CON, you missed possibly the best science fiction convention and the best on-line event of 1996, wrapped up into three unmissable days. My strongest memory is that of being torn between concurrent interviews with Arthur C Clarke (who almost lost his temper with attendees who mis-spelt his name!), and Howard Gordon, executive producer of The X Files (who tantalised us with hints of the upcoming season, without spoiling us with details). If anything, there was too much to see and do: interviews, news, art, chat, shopping, debate... sleep and sustenance took second place!
Well, it's back again, and so is Ibn
Qirtaiba, with our second exclusive SCIFI.CON edition. Our
first SCIFI.CON edition, oddly enough, was released precisely one
year ago (it looked more or less like what you see to your left)
and comprised an anthology of bits and pieces from previous
issues; a "best-of", if you like. This year we take a
different tack, with entirely new content for you to enjoy.
We begin this issue with an engaging short story entitled Without Paradise by previous contributor Tony Chandler. Ted Witham, a member of the SF SIG (don't ask, just keep on reading) chips in next with a thought-provoking look at the science fiction and theology of Greg Bear. Fred Noweck is Ibn Qirtaiba's regular book reviewer, but unlike your usual magazine hack, his choices of books span SF's earliest to its latest releases. W Gregory Stewart is a regular contributor of poetry to IQ. This issue we reprint his Day Omega, a poem dedicated to Frederik Pohl which originally appeared in Asimov's Science Fiction.
Finally this month's featured artist is James Theopistos, a gifted young illustrator who aspires to a high degree of realism in the artworks he creates on his computer. By clicking on any of his images in this issue, you will be taken to a gallery containing the growing catalogue of his science fiction and fantasy artworks.
For those whose introduction to Ibn Qirtaiba comes with this issue, you can be assured that the agreeable mixture of articles to be found herein is also typical of the preceding 28. Be sure to check them out, and while you're there, consider contributing your own opinions, reviews, fiction or artwork.
Unlike many magazines on the Web, we don't want to sell you anything, we don't even have any advertising banners to coax your clicking-fingers (SCIFI.CON editions excepted!), we are simply here to offer fans the best free science fiction reading on the Web, and you help to make it all possible. Give yourself a pat on the back, then sit back down and enjoy reading Ibn Qirtaiba issue 19, our small contribution to SCIFI.CON 2.
Short story: Without
Paradise by Tony Chandler
At first there was darkness. A void.
In an instant it changed.
He was standing in a valley, on either side of him a tree covered ridge rose to meet the bright blue sky. Directly above a few white puffy clouds floated, trailing dark shadows that slid across the curving hills as the fresh breeze pushed them along. A riotous, colorful array of wildflowers carpeted this pastoral scene between the giant emerald shoulders.
Cedric felt the wind caress his face as he breathed deeply his new surroundings. Honeysuckle was blooming unseen nearby as a sweet aroma filled his nostrils.
It was so beautiful, so peaceful. Like the Garden of Eden.
Looking up one end of the vale, he began walking to a small stand of hardwoods. Singing came to his ears. Happy trills and chirps filled the air as dozens of birds began to fly around him. Cedric reached out his right hand, forefinger extended.
A multi-colored tiny bird lighted on his finger perch, cocking its feathered head to one side for a better look. Green, almost iridescent feathers seemed to glisten off its back. He recognized it as a finch native to Australia. A little out of place here. But then, so was everything.
Cedric whistled briefly, trying to imitate the sounds around him. His newfound friend answered sweetly.
Looking up, he realized that birds were now flying all around him, circling, as their merry songs filled the air. Little chickadees, red cardinals, finches of gold and finches of bright green. His heart filled with an appreciative joy.
Cedric slowly spread his arms apart as the little finch wobbled and tried to balance on the now moving perch. With a quick flapping of wings he was gone.
Closing his eyes in silent concentration, Cedric rose effortlessly into the breeze.
Willing it.
As the magical weightlessness filled his senses, he opened his eyes and leaned forward. The grass moved quickly under him as he glided low, just off of the ground. Up ahead, the trees were rapidly approaching. Pulling his head back, he rose quickly, just missing the topmost branches as a squirrel chattered in excitement somewhere unseen inside the mass of green leaves. A flock of birds followed him in a long undulating and ever flowing line, whistling their own comments on the joy of flight.
It was such a wonderful feeling, flying once again. The wind rushed into his face, blowing his hair rapidly as he wiggled his fingers against the force of the air, much as a child would do with his arms out the car window as it zoomed along.
Straight up he flew, and then stopped suddenly in mid-air, frozen with arms wide apart. Laughing, he pitched forward with a sudden momentum as if he were riding some invisible runaway roller coaster. The ground rose rapidly. He bent his body backwards and flew up into a great arc. Twisting and diving, over and around, his acrobatics spoke of many hours in this thrilling pastime. Up and around, faster and faster, he laced the sky with his laughter and shouts of joy.
Finally, out of breath, his heart pounding from the exertion of the exciting maneuvers, he flew steadily toward a nearby cloud. The wide azure sky stretched far, far off in every direction. It felt as though he were floating in the middle of everything, the ground below a distant patchwork carpet.
His attention was suddenly drawn to the distant line of the horizon. Something was growing. Something huge.
Across the wide expanse a change hastened toward him. The sheer magnitude of it froze him.
And then it hit him; the sky was changing colors. Something quite unexpected. A chill of excitement ran up his back.
As he hung in mid-air, he waited.
The size of it awed him. The entire sky was changing color, in
just a matter of seconds. Inexorably it rushed by him. Not even a
whisper of a breeze hearkened its passing. But in its passing, a
pristine purple now covered all where the sky had once been blue.
Even the clouds were a lighter shade of this all encompassing
color. Below, the green of the trees and grass seemed to shimmer
with a purple glazing.
It felt... different.
Cedric liked it. Closing his eyes, he concentrated, and then whispered a command. He opened his eyes again.
The entire sky now became a multitude of colors, more stunning than the greatest rainbow ever known. The deep colors spread apart and melted together with the colors of their neighbors. Shades of blues, yellows, greens, reds, mauves...the sky was every color. The sky was a rainbow.
Laughing, Cedric flew faster and faster, rolling over onto his back as he gazed at this new creation. The wind whipped his hair as he effortlessly flew. Time again passed, how much he did not know. It didn't matter here.
Well...
His body began to fall from the sky, but with a quick shake of his head he ejected the illicit thought. Closing his eyes, he let that wonderful feeling flow throughout his very being. Again he was floating on the wind.
Opening his eyes, he looked longingly towards the west.
Light flashed.
Sunlight glistened brightly from the far off rolling of ocean waves, its blue green color now seemingly a part of the sky as they melted together. His heart beat with a new excitement as he turned.
The landscape rolled quickly underneath. Even his feathered friends could not keep up with the speed he willed as he headed for the waters.
The trees underneath gave way to sandy dunes, and then to the sea. He stopped his forward momentum far out over the waters and lowered himself until he was just above the never-ending waves. He breathed deeply the salty smell and felt the cleanness of the foaming spray as it splashed and glistened upon his skin. And then he lowered into the warm embrace of the waters.
He heard them almost immediately.
It was a different chattering. Almost instantly he was surrounded by the rollicking gray forms of dolphins. Diving, he looked out through the clear pristine waters. Dozens and dozens of the playful creatures swam and frolicked within sight. One suddenly appeared from below, his soft snout nuzzling Cedric's cheek.
And then Cedric felt his body move upward as some huge unseen force lifted him above the waters. He rolled backwards once he was above the waves and slid off of the slick rubbery surface that had unexpectedly appeared.
There were whales here!
He watched the huge back disappear back into the waves, the huge fluked tail disappearing last. He looked around for the whale's brethren. More backs appeared above the waves as the geysers from their released breath sprayed into the air. Rolling onto his back, Cedric floated on the rising and falling bosom of the ocean's waves. His ears were just below the surface of the water. To them came a haunting symphony/chorus as the whales began to sing. Long, eerie sounds rose from the depths around him. But as he listened, a soothing feeling came over him. His body relaxed as he became one in this watery place.
But there was one thing else he wanted to do, before it was too late. Righting himself, he gazed around at the now seemingly empty ocean around him. He whispered a command and his wish was fulfilled.
A lone whale swam slowly alongside him. Climbing onto the wide curve of its back, he found the strap in the usual place. Straddling the huge leviathan, he kicked for speed.
As the huge back of the whale started to slide under the bright green waters, Cedric held tightly to the strap and took a deep breath. The waters pulled at him, trying to unsaddle him. He felt the mighty power under him as the whale plowed through the water. Each movement spoke...
And then the darkness returned.
Cedric clenched his eyes shut, trying to block out the inevitable.
"OK, pal. Time's up."
Cedric opened his eyes. The void was still there. He felt his hands begin to shake.
"Hey! I said your time's up. And I already checked your credit on the net, so I know you can't buy any more. So out!"
The large burly attendant stood back as the suited figure of Cedric rose. Slowly, sadly, Cedric removed the oversized goggles and unplugged their connectors from the rubbery covering of the helmet's suit. His eyes gazed unfocused upon reality.
Jim shook his head as he noted that and the trembling hands still encased inside the rubbery membranes of the VR suit. He looked down at the digital display and noted the player's name and elapsed time: over eight hours in this one session!
"Cedric? Is that your name, pal? Nod if you can understand me, OK?"
Cedric nodded.
Jim reached over to the suited shoulder.
"You think maybe I ought to call the resident shrink over here. We got a good one on duty right now and..."
"No!" Cedric shouted. And then he put his hand to his throat, gasping for breath as his entire body began to shake uncontrollably.
Jim took a couple of cautious steps away from the choking man. One never knew with these VR freaks, after all.
Cedric's green eyes finally began to focus onto the darkened interior of the large expansive room filled with hundred's of other people encased in the black rubbery suits that connected them to the nearby MPSC. They were each in their own world right now. And Cedric desperately wanted to return to his. He felt the fear begin to overpower him again.
"P..PIease...I can pay."
Jim again shook his head. "You've had too much already, kid. You know the warnings..."
The big man recoiled as Cedric grabbed his arm with more strength than his slight build indicated.
"I haven't had t...too much. These are good games anyway. No violence! No sex!" Cedric's voice became shrill. "You...ca...can't get too much of... Paradise!"
Jim's eyes hardened as he pried the kid off his arm.
"I'm gonna tell you one last time, kid. Get outa that suit now!" His voice suddenly grew low and serious. "Or I'll add your name to the expulsion list. Indefinitely!"
Cedric rose hesitantly, almost as if he were having to relearn how to walk again. Slowly he stumbled to the changing room, where several dozen people were already in various stages of dressing or undressing. But he wasn't aware of them, he didn't hear their laughter, their conversations. Cedric awkwardly removed the suit and left somberly.
Out in the fuzzy lights of the city, with only a half moon shining its pale light through the wet and ghostly mist that enveloped him, Cedric turned up his collar against the damp cold of the late winter night. He looked up at the bright neon lights framed by the mist.
Paradise Games, it read.
But even as he tried to turn and leave, he knew he couldn't.
Only a cold, empty apartment awaited him. And tomorrow his stifling, monotonous job. And then the routine of the weeks to come would turn into months. Months into years. On and on and on.
The rest of Cedric's lonely life in this cold and impersonal world stretched before him in a flash of neon prophecy. His shoulders sagged under an invisible weight.
He found the darkened alley after he had meandered a short while in the bitter cold. Like a blind man he stumbled and fell into the array of strewn debris and trash. He never felt the softly falling snowflakes as he closed his eyes, and dreamed of a better world
The news media reported his death in a tiny column in the back of the obituaries. Cause of death was attributed to exposure.
Only a few knew the real reason.
Cedric couldn't remain in this world. Not without Paradise.
Back to Contents 
Back to Index
Question: Think of a collection of books containing the following list of stories:
The answer could be the Bible. But the list as it is written is actually closer to a description of the work of hard sf writer, Greg Bear, than it is to the Bible.
I think there are two helpful categories to understand the work of Greg Bear: the first is through his animated exploration of theological ideas, and the second, is through the myth of the hero.
There was a time when theology was taboo in science fiction, editors steadfastly refusing to accept work which included metaphysical speculation. That has changed, but the theology that is presented in sf has tended to focus either on the person of Jesus (eg where did Jesus go when he ascended?) or on the institution of the Church itself - a fascinating but not necessarily edifying subject. Greg Bear is much more satisfying than that. He understands that theology - and good books - concerns the important issues of existence. It seems to my theologically-trained brain that his research is as exhaustive as is his research in biology and physics, the two "hard sciences" which pre-dominate in his books.
But it would not be true to say that Bear's books hold the reader because of their theology. Where Bear differs from many hard sf writers is in the believable complexity of his characters. Michael Perrin, for example, is drawn as a complex and sensitive teenage poet who discovers his power and maturity by discovering the real power of words.1
John Clute and Peter Nicholls contend that the "significance of GB's later 1980s novels lies in the fact that his human beings are more difficult to describe than his physics."2
Bear does what good novelists have done for hundreds of years: he creates interesting characters, places them in believable worlds, and sees what will happen when they are faced with change and conflict. Michael Perrin, for example, goes to visit the house of a friend who has died, and ends up in another world. The relationships between the humans and the others in this nearby invisible world matures him, and teaches him to deal with the toughness of life with honesty and courage.
When he returns five years later,
he, not surprisingly, finds it difficult to settle back in to
"normal" life, and only finds his feet anew when the
collapse of the world above threatens the safety of this world.
Then he is revealed for what he really is: the hero who can save
the situation by clear vision and determination.
This second theme of heroism is also apparent in Greg Bear's novels. Ordinary people, like Michael Perrin, find themselves confronted with injustice, are trained in the art of fighting for justice by a mentor whose place in the scheme of things straddles the good and the bad, and finally triumph in the final showdown.
This pattern of heroism is present in much "popular" sf. Perth author Hal Colebatch gives an interesting account of the heroes in Lord of the Rings and Star Wars. Luke Skywalker in particular, is an ordinary teenager who, faced with the injustice of inequity in land distribution, learns the arcane arts of the "Force" from a mentor (Obi Wan) whose relationship to Darth Varder (the incarnation of evil) is never quite clear. Yet the fact that Obi Wan equips Luke enables him to conquer Darth Varder at the end. What is of major interest to Colebatch is the development of these heroes. They become noble, strong and virtuous through their exposure to a coherent belief system presented by a powerful mentor.3 He quotes an American commentator, Professor Thomas Howard, who despairs that his college students in the late 70s had no idea of classical heroism.
I have sometimes given a class the following list of words: majesty, magnanimity, valor, courtesy, grace, chastity, virginity, nobility, splendour, ceremony … they have never encountered them.4
I hasten to add that Colebatch works closely with the staidly conservative Australian Institute for Public Policy, and is quite open about his conservative politics. There may be a strong dose of nostalgia potion in his longing for good old-fashioned values. His point, however, about heroism is pertinent: science fiction and fantasy are ideal vehicles to convey attractive pictures of heroism and the coherent belief structures behind them.
Where I disagree with Hal Colebatch is when he insists that coherent belief structures are necessarily politically conservative. Greg Bear's novels bear witness to a more open and socially progressive notion of humanity than Colebatch's interpretation of Skywalker and Frodo.
For example, in Eternity,5 the Way is a singularity built out from the asteroid Thistledown to enable travel through time. It has been closed for fear of alien invasion. Lanier, the Engineer, and others need to retain huge dollops of knowledge to open and maintain the way, so Bear explores the idea of multiple personality to meet this need. His characters, particularly the engineers who maintain the Way, have downloaded into their brains the minds of other scientists. However, these downloaded brains bring with them the personality of the dead person. Much of the trilogy concerns the delicate balance required by the Engineer to make sound judgements when his, or his resident minds, are under stress. And when an alien mind enters the Engineer as well, he is inexorably drawn into a positive, rather than negative relationship with this new entity.
The point of all this complexity, of course, is to insist that human personality is open, and our knowledge of it is so incomplete that it would be unwise to close off the possibility of other forms of being human. Colebatch would be intrigued but alarmed, for his conservative views are likely to favour the integrity of the individual.
By contrast, Bear's heroes are more complex than Luke Skywalker. They illustrate the corporate heroism of humanity, and suggest an optimism about the future. Human beings will continue to struggle with major themes of existence, and technology will both be an ally and also simultaneously open up new ways of being human.
Theology indeed. But Greg Bear's books are good novels first.
1. Greg Bear was President of the American Science Fiction Association in the eighties and early nineties. His books include
2.John Clute and Peter Nicholls, Encyclopedia of Science Fiction, 1993 ed., s.v. "Greg Bear," 99-100.
3.Hal Colebatch, Return of the Heroes: The Lord of the Rings, Star Wars and Contemporary Culture (Perth, Western Australia: Australian Institute for Public Policy, 1990), 103 pages.
4.Colebatch, 1990, 52.
5.I think! One of the frustrating things about writing this article has been the difficulty of checking facts. The books are never on the library shelves, testimony to their popularity.
Back to Contents Back to Index
Greetings from Planet Earth! This month we greet all the people at the Sci-Fi Channel in addition to all the rest of the fans who read this on-line 'zine.
This month, we are reviewing:
Canby's Legion takes place in the 28th century. After a brutal war with Russian-descended colonists, Imperial Earth (isn't it amazing the number of books lately that feature an Empire of Earth?) calls home all of the warriors who fought and won the war and cashiers them, throwing most on the public dole. Only officers get a stipend based on their former ranks. Also, since there are no jobs for the returning vets, a lot of them turn to crime to keep food on the table. Sure, you can go to the free soup kitchens, but that food has been so heavily drugged with tranquilizers that you don't care that only the people who sat out the war in safety have jobs.
Canby is a former helmsman and he has been using his stipend to keep his former crewmates out of trouble. Then the opportunity to buy some used starships at scrap metal prices is dropped into his lap.... Can Canby make a go of being an interstellar mercenary? Will the Powers-That-Be allow Canby and his men (and women) to make a living fighting clandestine battles? Can he survive betrayal at the highest levels of the government? Read this book and find out! I thoroughly enjoyed this one, but them I knew it would be good, coming from the author of Helmsman.
Conjurer Princess is the story of a teenage girl who, at her older sister's wedding, sees her new brother-in law slaughtered and her sister kidnapped. The Church does nothing and neither does the King. In desperation, she apprentices herself to a wizard to learn the magic that will be required to free her sister and destroy the kidnapper. She should have read the fine print on the contract....
This story is a fast read and the story is rather simplistic but I had fun reading it. There is an interesting plot twist that is the only thing saving this book from total mediocrity. I give this one two stars. Good for beginning fantasy readers.
Highlander: Element of Fire is based on the popular TV series Highlander. I've seen four books in this series and it's still going strong. The series may be ended but the story lives on.
In this episode, Duncan MacLeod must battle Kordas, an Immortal who thinks he is a god. He has good reason to think this, too, since he became Immortal thousands of years ago and didn't meet another Immortal outside his tribe until the 16th century, long after even the memory of his Pictish tribe died out. Naturally, Kordas has developed an intense hatred for the MacLeods, both Duncan and Conner, and has been trying his best to destroy them for several hundred years....
The highlander episodes are all quick reads and I enjoy all of them (so far). If you like the TV series and are having withdrawal symptoms due to the end of syndication, this is the ticket.
Bolo Brigade is based on the
AI controlled super-tanks developed by Keith Laumer. I was
surprised (delighted) to find that the Bolos didn't die with
their creator. They are still being written about by other
authors using Laumer's mold.
It has been several generations since the last war so the Bolos have been moth-balled on various frontier planets. You would think that the Concordiate would learn that when that happens there will inevitably come someone or something that will require the full might of the intelligent machines to combat. Instead, they are allowed to rust away in out of the way places. Still, in this instance, the Bolos have the opportunity to get back into fighting trim before being placed in harm's way.
The aliens, this time, are the Malach. Descended from pack-hunting dinosaurs, the Malach are able to run rings around the old Mark XVIIIs... they just haven't met Freddy and Ferd yet, two Mark XXIV Model FRD Bolos. The Bolos are powerful enough to do the job but their programming has been altered to be "Politically Correct" which is not a good way to go into battle....
Okay, that's it for this month. Keep sending in those emails to fred@sf.sig.au.mensa.org and we'll keep answering them in this column. As usual, letters of interest will be given our closest scrutiny (I think I have a scrutiny left over somewhere) to be able to answer your questions about Sci-Fi & Fantasy.
Back to Contents Back to Index
maybe your mitochondria
will be left them on that day
(but even this day these
are not yours, really,
hitching their ride from
past to future with now
just another onramp on the way, and you
just another stranger
who stopped to pick them up,
as far as you're going,
if that'll help),
but they will not think of you
as ancestor, any more
than you think of some barely formed
bit of organic twitch as ancestor,
or some tree-thing as ancestor,
eye-wide in the dark,
not like you think
of
Grampy Joe, who still
has an appendix, or had one, anyway,
and five fingers and five toes,
each hand or foot,
they will not, could not
think of you that way,
even charitably.
oh, they are beyond day million, they
are so far past that, past human
and
day billion and beyond,
you would not know them
for the fruit of the fruit
in their myriad forms
on worlds that do not even exist
in your time.
maybe
your mitochondria,
that you'd picked up at evolution's yard sale
and handed on - that essence
of ape and earlier that's been in the family
for years (and now the great-grandchildren
don't know what to do with it),
maybe that strange life will still be there
on
day Omega, hiding inside
and thinking the tiniest thoughts,
and smug, as the stars go out,
which is as far as you were going, anyway.