One of the things I find interesting about "hard" science fiction -- by way of introducing Peter Watts's Hugo-nominated novel Blindsight, the best example of the type that I have read in years -- is that it is probably the most legitimate heir to the original remit of story, a remit that has existed since humans first gained sufficient consciousness and intelligence both to create stories and to need to create stories. Looking at the earliest stories we have record of, we can always see several purposes at work: stories existed to inform; to entertain; and, from the start, stories have existed at the level of myth to theorize, to suggest and test possibilities about the unknown elements of the world that we see and experience. What are those odd looking animals, where did they come from; where did we come from; what are those flashes of light in the darkness?

I imagine that within any given movement, though, there comes a time when some sufficiently large number of people -- a majority in fact or at least in voice -- decides that they've carried things as far as they want to, that any further change, any further speculating, is as likely to impact them for the worse as for the better. And we can see this in modern Western fiction, as the new game of literature is "the human condition" -- showing what we know rather than grappling with what we don't know. There is the pressure to see literature according to a single aesthetic, to judge it based solely on how well it captures our humanist understanding of a fixed present. It's no surprise that such a static, unchanging view of the world would be anathema to a writer like Peter Watts, an evolution-minded marine biologist by training. Watts understands that life is not static, that we are part of a world, part of a universe, that is constantly evolving. At a high level, Watts is interested in how this evolution, our evolution, may play out; he is as interested in what we don't yet know about ourselves as what we do. It's easy to see why this type of speculative fiction has become gauche in many circles: we like to think we know everything.

That state of human self-satisfaction nicely sums up where Blindsight begins. It is 2082, and Earth is shaken out of its contemplation of the Fermi paradox by the sudden arrival of tens of thousands of alien probes. These "Fireflies" quickly appear in Earth orbit, take a snapshot of our world -- our technologies, communications and activities -- broadcast that captured data out into space, and then burn up in our atmosphere. Watts's description of the event is characteristic of the book as a whole: densely filled with detailed jargon, yet sleek and sharp because of that very precision of language; fast-paced and poetic.

 

In typical SF fashion, a swiftly-united Earth responds by assembling a small team of specialists to follow the probes' signal to its destination. There the team encounters the alien, the Other. Described thus, the surface-level plot of Blindsight is self-consciously pedestrian, a first contact/"big dumb object" melange that evokes such novels as Sagan's Contact, Clarke's Rendezvous with Rama, Niven's Ringworld, and Lem's Solaris -- with a mix of the horrors found in films like 2001 and Alien. What becomes clear as the novel progresses, however, is that Watts is attempting a very dextrous piece of narrative sleight of hand, where the conventional SF setup gradually bleeds into the thesis and thought-experiment that is at the heart -- or rather, the mind -- of Blindsight. At issue is consciousness, viewed from an unsentimental, relentlessly biological perspective.

The composition of the team sent by Earth is one of our first clues as to what Watts is up to (if the book's title wasn't enough). Each character represents a different mix of, or perspective on, the interplay between consciousness and intelligence.

Siri Keeton is our narrator, and as presented he seems eminently qualified to be so. Childhood brain surgery to cure his epilepsy took with it Siri's ability to feel empathy; to compensate, he has developed a refined sense of information topology, the ability to model interior characteristics based solely on exterior appearances, surfaces. Siri's task is to observe and report back to Earth as the mission progresses, using his skills to translate the complexities of the alien into language and concepts that a general audience can understand.

Susan James is the group's linguist, four separate people (consciousnesses) residing in a single brain, timesharing a single intelligence to work out linguistic problems from four different angles. Amanda Bates is the military arm of the expedition, a woman whose single consciousness is a gatekeeper to the multiple intelligent battle drones she commands. Isaac Szpindel is the medical officer, a man who has expanded his conscious sensory perception outside of himself, into his medical tools and equipment. The Captain of the ship is a sophisticated artificial intelligence -- an intelligence without apparent sentience -- who communicates mainly with the mission leader, Jukka Sarasti. And Sarasti is a vampire.

Yes, I did just write "vampire," in a review of a book I have labeled "hard science fiction." This may admittedly stretch the definition a bit, and acceptance of this aspect may indeed be a litmus test for how well a reader will appreciate the book. Watts does present a thorough, biologically-grounded explanation for how vampires might have come to exist in 2082, down to a sensory glitch, an inability to parse intersecting horizontal and vertical lines, that explains their legendary aversion to crucifixes. What is most important though is what vampires symbolize within the book. A recurring theme in science fiction has always been -- since Frankenstein -- the idea of human augmentation, the use of technology to bolster human strength and/or intelligence; SF often investigates what happens when these augmented individuals turn on their normal human "masters." What Blindsight does so daringly (following in the footsteps of books like Paul McAuley's Fairyland and Gene Wolfe's essay "How Science Will Conquer the World for Fantasy" from Castle of Days) is co-opt a symbol of the fantastic, of horror, for these science fictional purposes. Vampires are not just faster, stronger, smarter; they think differently than humans, see the world differently. One of the excellences of Watts's book is the selection of vampires as the perfect symbol of our fears of the augmented human, the post-human: a human-like species whose superior level of fitness causes them to see normal humans as prey.

 

This is all rather alien, and we haven't even gotten to the aliens yet. Suffice to say that Watts's big dumb object turns out to be a big smart object; when communication with it is achieved it names itself Rorschach, a name that in the context of the story has several meanings, not least of which is a sign that humanity will be judged based on what they project onto it. The judgment itself is a foregone conclusion: Siri reveals very early in his narration that he is returning from the encounter alone. "Point of view matters," muses Siri: "I see that now, blind, talking to myself, trapped in a coffin falling past the edge of the solar system. I see it for the first time since some beaten bloody friend on a childhood battlefield convinced me to throw my own point of view away." It's how and why this outcome occurred, how Siri came to his realization, that are the core story, and argument, of the book.

Interspersed with Siri's story of the encounter with the alien Rorschach are flashback sequences where Siri shares some of his past -- which gives Watts a chance to flesh out several other perspectives in his argument. Siri's own mental state is explained through the story of the "beaten bloody friend on a childhood battlefield": it's the first of several echoes of Card's Ender's Game, although Watts proceeds to render that book rather, well, juvenile. Siri's mother, meanwhile, is a self-obsessed aesthete. She has largely forsaken biological life, instead choosing to live in a virtual realm whose chronobiological shapes and sounds trick her brain into thinking that her body's needs are being met. His father occupies the opposite side of the spectrum, being more other-focused, empathetic. Finally, Siri's ex-girlfriend, Chelsea, represents a modern psychological point of view, the idea that natural impulses can be overcome through therapy; she is "a woman whose professional machinery edited thought itself." It is in their relationship especially that we see the conflict within Siri, what his consciousness wants for himself versus what his intelligence has learned about others:

 

Blindsight is a challenging book in many ways. As a scientific argument it is difficult and unpalatable, a bitter pill to swallow; as a piece of writing it is dense with philosophical allusion and scientific detail, requiring the reader to either be familiar with the associated language, or confident enough to plow forward trusting Watts to explain the important bits of terminology (as he nearly always does). Not least of the challenges, though, is deciphering Siri. His surgery has rendered him rather impersonal and unlikable, and he is not always aware of how conflicted his own perspective is. Indeed, Siri is not always aware, period. As the book progresses we realize more and more that Siri is as unreliable as any of Gene Wolfe's famous narrators; not intentionally so, but unavoidably so, because he is human and thus necessarily has a narrow focus, a susceptibility to misdirection. Such is the argument that Watts is making and his skill in making it, however, that by the end of the book, when the narrative collapses and we, like Siri, are left experiencing effects without knowing causes, this can only feel right and necessary. It is after all the narrative limitation we all live with. And while aspects of the story are, from the beginning, rather grim and uncertain, balanced with these aspects is the change that we come to see has occurred in Siri, a sense that he has regained at least part of what he had lost as a child.

It is appropriate on several levels that the ship in Blindsight that the crew travels on is named Theseus, that the novel is a clash between Theseus and Rorschach. Out of the fiery collision between the mythic quest to explore and investigate the mysteries of the natural world, and the modern focus on human behavior in our world, Peter Watts has created something troubling but exhilarating: a sense that we're not yet done, that there is more yet to discover about being human. Hard science fiction at its best, as Watts makes clear, may well have a role in any such discovery. What hard SF does is allow us to ask questions, interrogate and assimilate theories about being human, both via rational examination of data and irrationally, as story, turning the intuitive part of our brain loose on ideas. As Blindsight suggests, that intuitive part may not only be smarter than we think, it may be smarter than we can think.

-- Matt Denault

"The Skinner" is part of Neal Asher’s “Polity” universe. However, while it exists in the same future history as many of Asher’s other works, it is quite separated from most of them in time and location. Thus, while some knowledge of Asher’s previous work in this setting will add some context, it is not at all necessary to understand or enjoy the book.

The book is set in the far future on the human-occupied world of Spatterjay, just beyond the authority of the star-spanning A.I.-ruled human Polity- there is a Polity outpost on the planet, but outside its confines the local humans, known as “Hoopers,” rule. The planet is noteworthy for being the source of a virus, borne by most of the local humans and transmitted by the bite of a common local organism, that can transform a human being, making him immortal and gradually, over time, stronger and more resilient- someone who has the virus for several centuries is virtually unkillable by normal means.

The book begins when three visitors meet on their way to Spatterjay. The main character of the story is Sable Keech, a reanimated corpse kept alive and moving for the past 700 years by Polity technology and his relentless drive to hunt down the legendary “Spatter” Jay Hoop, a war criminal who collaborated with humanity’s enemies in the ancient Prador War. Along the way he is joined by Erlin, who contracted the virus on her last visit to Spatterjay and has returned in search of an old friend among the Hoopers, and Janer, agent of an insect hive mind on a mission unknown even to him. Each of their goals requires to them to venture beyond the safety of the Polity and into the savage expanse beyond. The resulting story takes Keech and company across the watery surface of Spatterjay, battling for their lives against human assassins, the deadly political machinations of the alien Prador, a psychotic war criminal, the planet’s relentlessly hostile ecosystem, and- perhaps most disturbingly- whatever Jay Hoop has become.

I found "The Skinner" to be a highly enjoyable read. The central story of Keech’s pursuit of justice- and the deadly plots of those who committed the ancient crimes he seeks to punish- is exciting and involving. The grim and violent nature of the story and setting allows Asher’s talent for intense, visceral action to come to the fore, and he does an admirable job of bringing to life conflict with humans, aliens, and nature. Spatterjay is a fascinating environment, full of intriguing creatures, and the brief glimpses given of Polity and Prador society are enough to intrigue the reader and spark the imagination without distracting from the main story.

My only major criticism lies in the area of characterization; in particular, I wish the character of Sable Keech had been explored more thoroughly. The idea of a man so driven that he is willing to spend 700 years in pursuit of justice even after being reduced to what is essentially a walking corpse is an intriguing one, and I would have liked to have known more about him. However, the book does have some great secondary characters. I was especially fond of Sniper, a bad-tempered Polity war drone gone freelance.

Though the story is for the most part action-adventure oriented (verging on military science fiction in parts), the book is also an interesting exercise in combining far-future science fiction with elements of horror. This aspect of the book may appeal to fans of Alastair Reynolds, though Asher’s style and mood is more grisly and less gothic than Reynolds’. Asher lets the darker parts of his imagination run loose here, and the story is full of disturbing concepts and images- the relentlessly vicious native life of Spatterjay, aliens who use remote-controlled human bodies with their brains removed as servants, the bizarre transformations wrought by the Spatterjay virus in hosts who “go native,” and the quasi-undead Sable Keech himself. At times, the horrific elements combine nicely with the more traditional science fictional element of speculation on future societies- for instance, Asher’s depiction of a horrendously brutal prizefight between two Hoopers provides a disturbingly plausible idea of how a society of nearly unkillable people might come to view violence.

Despite the dark and horrific tone of the story, the book is not unrelentingly grim or despairing. There is a good bit of dark humor in the book, especially from Sniper. Further, while Asher fills his story with ghastly events and some truly vile people, there are nonetheless lights peaking through the gloom, moments of hope and human decency. The result is rather touching at some points, something that caught me by surprise.

With "The Skinner", Neal Asher brings together elements of space opera and horror to great effect. If you enjoy intense action-oriented science fiction or are interested in something with a different take on the horrific, then I would strongly recommend this book.

Gods and Pawns by Kage Baker is a collection of seven short stories (five previously published) based on other novels of hers about the “Company” which further explore several of its characters; namely Lewis, Mendoza, and Porfirio.


The basic premise: in the future, man has discovered how to travel back in time, but the past cannot be changed, and man cannot travel into to the future. The “all-powerful-cabal-of-scientists-and-investors-who-possess-the-secret-of-time-travel” is referred to as The Company, which, in turn, is headed by someone known only as Dr. Zeus. The Company goes into the past to rescue babes fated to die an early death in order to make them literally immortal, and to employ them in their efforts to save artwork throughout history that would otherwise be lost to man.

Even mere mortals can identify with sentiments such as these. But Lewis’ boredom will soon end in this first story To the Land Beyond the Sunset. It tells of his and Mendoza’s discovery of a family that considers itself immortal gods “somewhere in South America…1650 AD“. It’s ironic that the true immortals in this case must present themselves as mere servants to these people (as is always the case, the immortals are careful not to reveal their true selves or introduce any anachronisms into the society in which they are currently living.) This family of gods has a peculiar way of maintaining their perceived unending lives.


My favorite, The Catch, gave more information as to how the Company makes its selections and how its operations work. It describes the first attempt to create an immortal from a ten year old boy named Bobby taken from the 1950’s.




A sad story that gives the reader glimpses into the Company’s objectives and intents. It raises questions regarding its business practices; how ethics and compassion are handled along with profit and loss.


The Angel in the Darkness is a mystery story that focuses on the descendants of the immortal Porfirio Aguilar and includes characters introduced in The Catch. In addition to solving the mystery of who is threatening Porfirio’s family, Baker observes how Porfirio deals with the emotional aspects of an unending existence.


Other stories, like Standing in the Light and Welcome to Olympus, Mr. Hearst, are something akin to alternative histories as the immortals encounter the likes of 15th century Dutch painter Jan Vermeer, 16th century Hellfire Club founder Sir Francis Dashwood, and the relatively more contemporary William Randolph Hearst. Baker skillfully weaves known facts with imaginative conjectures as to the motivations of these men and the Company’s efforts to save their works or, in some cases, to deem the authenticity of their works.


The stories in Gods and Pawns flow easily and the characters quickly become distinct personalities. Although I have not read any of Kage Baker’s Company novels, I had no problem getting acclimated and enjoying the stories. No doubt, established fans of the Company books will enjoy this collection revolving around familiar faces, but I think those new to the Company will appreciate the universal themes of love and sacrifice as well as greed and sacrifice presented in this framework of time travel and immortality.

Punktown, crime-ridden metropolis on the colony world, Oasis, is home to the scum of countless alien races. Stalking its mean streets is Jeremy Stake, the private detective with chameleon-like abilities he does not want and cannot control. There’s his wealthy client, Fukuda, whose company makes synthetic life forms as playthings for the rich. Then there’s Fukuda’s beautiful teenage daughter, whose priceless one-of-a-kind living doll has been stolen. And there is the doll itself, growing in size, intelligence, and resentment.


The destinies of all these individuals will converge, and collide, in Punktown.


MY biggest complaint about Deadstock is that I just couldn’t shake the feeling that Thomas was talking down to me as a reader. I don’t need an author to hold my hand all the time. In this book there are multiple instances where Thomas uses the same exact group of words and sentences to describe people, places and events. This isn’t done as a haunting refrain or as a link between what would otherwise be disparate or opposing images. This isn’t done to produce a mirroring effect or for humor. I'm not going to catalogue all of these occurrences but it does happen enough times for it to warrant attention. Here is one example.


There are a group of characters that are cloned soldiers whose main identifying feature is their blue skin.

Then just a few pages later we find the following passage.




Perhaps it’s just a case of me being too critical but I think that things like this should have been caught in the editorial process.


I question Thomas' decision to skirt the moral issues that are presented throughout. I do so because Stake, who is clearly presented as a PI protagonist, should be possessed of a personal moral code born from his personal code of honor. He is cognizant enough to notice the moral issues and even mention them, but then quickly drops the matter because, well, there isn’t really a good reason that the matters are dropped but they are.


As a thriller or again a PI tale the success of the story is at least partially contingent on the successes of the reveals. But, unfortunately, there wasn't a single plot twist or plot point that I didn't telegraph early on. The twists that are associated with Stakes client are especially maddening because they wallow in dramatic devices that only the worst soap operas use. **Spoiler** There are dead twins, dead wives, the daughter is the clone of the dead wife, the brother alive is really the one thought dead, vice-versa. The more it twists the more cartoonish it gets. **Spoiler end**


I've said before and it bears repeating that I'm a firm believer that the mystery/SFF mix is a tough one to pull off. If an author is going to write a book that is very clearly a mix of two genres then it has to pull double duty in clearly being identifiable as both. While there is a lot of imagination of display in Deadstock it does ultimately fail in its ability to present a credible PI tale.


One of the highlights of the book, though not without its own problems, is Thomas' success at updating the haunted house/ghost story. Two gangs find themselves trapped in an abandoned apartment building. They have to form a unified front against a group of faceless automatons that are programmed to defend the integrity of the building. These parts of the book are done well for the most part.


--Brian Lindenmuth

Fact: I like robots. Whether they are broken, sadistic, stupid, massive iron giants, or just downright sexy, I am constantly fascinated by humanoid machines. Yes, they fall on metal knees to robotic clichés: either they want to be real with a soul thingy or they are angry and revolt against their makers. Fine, that's fine. I can read through a couple versions of these stories again and again so long as everything else is fresh enough to keep me awake. Our gadget-enthused society (pretty soon cell phones will be able to microwave meals, tazer small dogs, and rewire bank accounts; I promise you, give it five more years and you’ll see) makes it quite easy to foretell a world where robots and humans co-exist.

With all this said, it’d be a no-brainer that I’d enjoy Robotika by Alex Sheikman and Joel Jason O’Chua, a story of discarded cyborgs, genetically-enhanced samurais, and biological experiments in a future far removed from the one we know today. Unfortunately, I didn’t fall as hard for it as I’d have liked.

It’s the future (though the year is unknown), and humans are constantly upgrading their latest stream of robots, tossing the old and outdated wayside. These discarded bots slink away to the edges of the universe where they begin their own existence, forgotten and ultimately uncared for. The Queen’s chief scientist has created a “biological machine” that could finally properly unite cyborgs and humans. Silly science guy, biological machines are for kids. He’s assassinated (rather abruptly) and his creation is stolen away. The Queen puts mute-face Niko to the task of returning the invention, and fast, as she has a meeting soon with some bigwigs and is unable to cancel. Queens, think everything rotates around them. Out Niko goes to steal back what was wrongfully stolen, make some new friends, and never say a goddamn word. Genetically-enhanced soulless ronin sellswords—what are they good for? Absolutely nothing.

Honestly, I learned more about Robotika from its Amazon page than from actually reading the hardcover book. Er, graphic novel. Graphic book? I don't really know what it is. Both the writing and art are so unconnected that it was hard to follow what was happening, why it was happening, and whether or not I was supposed to care. The writing is sparse and so stock that I just wanted to stab every character in the mouth whenever they spoke. Actually, of the three main "heroes"—Niko, Cherokee Geisha, and Bronski—one never says a word, the other talks in an unreadable manner, and the last uses such brainless phrases like "Take a chill pill!" The plot is very ho-hum and not the clearest thing to follow. I believe the two stories within Robotika are only the beginning, but even then I had no idea why anyone was doing what they were doing.

Let's take a moment to address the biggest problem for me with Robotika. That'd be Cherokee Geisha and her speech problem. To show that she's not speaking the same language of everyone else, Sheikman and O'Chua has her words written down, and I mean downwards as such:

T
H
I
S
!

Imagine reading like that for any number of pages. Enjoying yourself yet?

Sheikman’s art, along with O'Chua’s coloring, was a hit or miss with me. Some pages are clearly more detailed than others, and when it comes to futuristic landscapes or smoking deserts, the artwork is spot on. Buildings rise up into the clouds, flying mobiles zooming around them, or vast wastelands stretch out to the horizon, coupled by a pitch-perfect sky. But then a lot of the panels are merely talking heads with no backgrounds at all. Half the time the characters are barely colored in. There are a couple of "cover" shots that are impressive, but other than that I wished they had a more narrative feel to them. Seeing how one panel went to the next became a chore, especially when the action picked up. There are two bonus comics at the end, both drawn differently than the main work, and they are fairly enjoyable. They give some background information and offer complete stories where the others are part of a much larger epic.

Unfortunately, I can't recommend Robotika, especially at the price tag of $19.95. It's a story and world we've seen before (cough The Matrix cough), and there's little reasoning to care about those parading about in this adventure. Sheikman and O'Chua do have some interesting ideas here and there, but not enough to make their silent samurai and renegade robots stand tall above the competition.

To sum up Justina Robson's ultra-edgy, explosively musicpunk Keeping it Real with only keywords would look something like this: elves, rock shows, drugs, machines, demons, faeries, sex, Games, assassinations, magic, AI, conspiracies, a whole lot of andalune, and lastly, with capital fs, Futuristic Fun. And there's more to be listed. Being a novel of so many aspects, Robson crafts an adventure that is filled with legend, lore, love, and laughs with a steady hand. It both makes light of itself and takes things very seriously. To call the work anything but a ball of sheer originality would be an insult to pointy-eared elves everywhere.

But let's start with the Quantum Bomb of 2015, the catastrophe that changed everything for everyone. Of it, Robson claims:

The explosion had followed an unknown quantum catastrophe inside the machine. However, it was not the kind of explosion that blew matter to smithereens and laid waste to worlds. Its actions took place in the near-infinitely tiny spaces between one raw energy flicker and the next.

This explosion opens up five other realities previously unknown to Earth folk (Earth is no called Earth though, as it is now referred to as Otopia). Of these new ethereal regions, the most important is Alfheim, home to the elves. Now, these elves hate Otopian lifestyles and the constant comparisons to their film counterparts in such flicks as Lord of the Rings. They also hate any of their own that rebel. Enter Zal, the singing elf leader of the rock/Mode-X band The No Shows. Lila Black has been assigned to guard the rockstar while he's on tour as assassins are popping up left and right. But is there more to Zal than just a rebellious nature?

At first I found Agent Lila Black to be a bit familiar, almost strikingly to another Pyr title's robotic heroine: Cassandra Kresnov from Joel Shepherd's Crossover. But after mulling this over I began to see the differences. Where Cassandra is more of a robot with a yearning to be human, Lila's machinery is only from an unfortunate encounter with an elf on a battlefield. Becoming more of a machine was the only process that could save her life and she took it without a second thought. The part I always find interesting is that while these two heroines both seem to be perfectly built for each and every situation, they are not. Though they have access to indefinite information and enhanced weaponry, they are not perfect. They can still be human and err, making them much more believable and not just some gun-toting super-hottie.

Robson's pacing in the book is perfectly set, and there's a point towards the end of the book when everything happening is so heavy and tension-filled that I was reminded of how everything was only a few chapters back. Back then Zal was singing songs and Lila was making sure that only fans on the guest list were allowed to the special parties. Back then it was all business-related, with faeries giggling during band practice and Lila scouting out recording studios.

When I was a youngling, I read a lot of light fantasy and science fiction: Piers Anthony's Xanth series, Terry Pratchett's Discworld series, anything by Robert Aspirin, and even The Otherworld by Mercedes Lackey, Holly Lisle, and Mark Shepard. Where that book failed to impress on its mixture of the fantastical and the surreal, Keeping It Real shined. But please note that I'm not calling this work light at all. Though it has elves and demon groupies, it does have an underlying gritty feel to it. Unfortunately, it is another book in another series and so I must sit and wait for the next one. Until then, I encourage everyone to check out The No Shows' website, which is a nice tie-in into the novel.

Gene Wolfe is perhaps best known for his masterpiece The Book of the New Sun, but his extensive body of work includes many other books worthy of note, including The Fifth Head of Cerberus.

The Fifth Head of Cerberus consists of three interwoven stories set in the far future on the twin planets of Saint Anne and Saint Croix, colonized by French armies from our distant Earth, but now gradually reverting to independence from their former overlords.

The title story The Fifth Head of Cerberus is narrated by the son of an eccentric genius who discovers his bizarre heritage.

The second story, simply entitled "A Story," by John V. Marsch takes place in what seems to be a time before the colonization of the planets and follows the journey of a young man and his search for answers in the harsh landscape.

The final story V.R.T. is told as a mix of narratives: snippets of transcribed tapes and journals by a mysterious prisoner (who plays a part in the first story), and brief interludes following the military officer ordered to review the tapes and journals).

The central mystery connecting all three stories is the nature of the original inhabitants of St. Anne and St. Croix, known collectively as "abos" (aborigines), said to have possessed shape-changing abilities. Each of the stories explores this in various ways, with all threads combining into one intricate web. In typical Wolfe fashion, The Fifth Head of Cerberus leaves the reader with many questions and few answers. The hound has many heads, some false and some real.

I enjoyed the book as a whole and would consider it a more accessible read than Book of the New Sun, but Wolfe is and always will be an acquired taste, in my opinion. There's no questioning his abilities with prose and characterizations, not to mention his inimitable narrative style, but his work is definitely among the most challenging I've ever read.

Chance Fortune takes place in a world that has a prevalent super-hero population. The goal for those with powers is to be accepted into the Burlington Academy for the Superhuman. Josh Blevins has one goal in life, to be a superhero. But there is a problem; he has absolutely no powers to speak of. But his luck changes when a retired superhero, Captain Fearless, moves into his neighborhood. After Josh discovers his true identity, Captain Fearless agrees to train Joshua and teach him everything that he knows. When Josh’s application to the Academy is rejected Captain Fearless interjects and pulls some strings creating a false identity for Josh, Chance Fortune, whose power is unnaturally good luck. When Chance gets accepted into the academy Josh is off to new adventures.

Berryhill has an obvious love for all things comic book and pulp related and it shows on nearly every page of Chance Fortune. The obvious glee that is readily apparent on every page become infectious as the story kicks into gear. There are numerous references to comic books, super heroes, movies, books, comic book creators, silver age super heroes and pulp heroes, I swear there was even a reference to the movies Stripes and The Outsiders but I cant prove that. As engaging as the central story is, picking up on the myriad of references becomes its own game. Now, if the book were only homage then it would be a flat reading experience, but Berryhill has a firm grasp on the pulp type story that he is paying homage to that his story stands on its own.

One of my favorite moments happens when he first arrives at the Academy Josh and the other new students are introduced to the presiding council of seven super heroes (most if not all of whom should be recognized). As each super hero is introduced it is reminiscent of a professional wrestling event with each one receiving their own theme music and dramatic entrances. The scene is indicative of the fun tone of the book; I couldn’t help but smile when reading this and could easily imagine Berryhill doing the same while writing it.

Upon arrival Chance is grouped together with other students. They become a team and will train together and work their way through battles that are scored on school wide inter class rankings. The other members of Chances team are Psy-Chick, Shocker, Gothika, Space Cadet, Iron Maiden, and Private Justice and together they are known as The Outlaws. As they coalesce as a team and rise in the ranks the action culminates in a tournament with an older class of students that have proven themselves to be devious, underhanded and the arch nemesis' of The Outlaws.

We discover that there is an enforced hierarchy at the school that extends from the highest levels to the lowest. The students are divided into a rigid caste system: there are demigods (those with the highest level of powers), mortals (those with one specific power) and adventurers (those with minor unique attributes at best). All of this serves to divide the populace of the school and sets up the necessary battle lines of the "haves" and "have not’s" that most stories set in a high school type environment seem to have.

The battles, which serve as real world tests and lessons in a controlled environment, are some of the highlights of the book. At times this is reminiscent of the battle school in Enders Game and fans of that book should check this one out as well. These battle lessons are not glossed over. They are conveyed in tight action packed prose that lasts for multiple chapters. The details that are given puts one right in the middle of all that is happening on the battle field. Berryhill never loses track of any of the participants and keeps everything moving swiftly until their conclusion.

Appropriately for its pulp fiction aspirations it ends on a cliff-hanger. The worse part is that we have to wait for the other books to come out. This book is a lot of fun and a light-hearted read. I look forward to seeing what the further adventures of Chance Fortune & The Outlaws bring us.


-Brian Lindenmuth

In the future that Justina Robson has envisioned in her novel Natural History, technology has moved far beyond the mere invention of artificial intelligence. Genetic engineers have created the Forged: a melding of human and machine that is both sentient and sensate. Again, we’re not talking mere cyborgs here. Some are flying spacecraft with sphincters that open to allow human passengers to enter their bodies; some are larger than football fields and are capable of terra-forming an entire planet. Their designs are based on the principle that Form follows Function, and so each Forged human has a distinct job to perform that is either too dangerous or too tedious for Unevolved humans.

I had a hard time getting my head around the concept of the Forged, but even the Forged themselves were at times in awe of each other. A passage wherein Tatresi, a Forged freight carrier of sorts, describes the Forged known as Gaiaforms:

Despite their origin and often bewildering appearances, the Forged are still considered humans, and as such, many of them have feelings of resentment and anger at being what amounts to slaves to the Old Monkeys (that would be us regular humans.) They want to live their own lives, not just exist for the singular purpose of the function for which they were created, and have even formed a political party to push for this emancipation.

While on a routine scouting mission, the Forged space voyager Isol has made two very important discoveries: (1) an earth-like planet that could support them and (2) something else. Something referred to only as “Stuff”. This Stuff has all of the answers. This Stuff can do anything. Isol sees this Stuff as their means to an independent life on this newly discovered planet. But, of course, there is a price to pay for using this Stuff. And if you think that you would be willing to pay any price to have all of your desires fulfilled, this book will make you think again.

In this rather compact novel, Robson asks some big questions. Her direct and unembellished prose is highlighted by moments of wit and insight. The final chapters brought about an inevitable ending; ironic and strangely sad. There is a certain feeling of detachment that pervades the book, but I found it to be a provocative read nonetheless.

Advent Children is an animated fantasy action movie set two years after the game Final Fantasy VII (FFVII). It may be very confusing for those who aren't familiar with the game series and particularly with FFVII, but I highly recommend it nonetheless.

Fortunately, if you're watching the DVD you get some helpful bonus features, particularly a featurette which explains the plot of the game - in fact, it's made of game footage. Even so, the movie requires some attention. Don't worry, a lot of the best anime is much less comprehensible.

'Basically', people in the city of Midgar are being afflicted by a plague called Geostigma, which turns out to be the body's immune system attacking cells from Jenova, an extraterrestrial viral lifeform.

A group of three supervillains are trying to find the remains of Jenova, who they touchingly refer to as their mother. As heartwarming as their concern is, their plans will bring about the apocalypse.

The hero of the game, Cloud, is now a delivery boy, but must again save the world, with the help of some old friends. In fact, during the major fight scene against a host of game monsters, a whole gang of his friends appear out of nowhere. As far as I can tell, the only reason for this is to satisfy fans of the FFVII.

Apart from nostalgia for Final Fantasy veterans, the biggest drawcard for this movie is how cool it is. In a shared creation like Final Fantasy, that has been worked on by some supremely creative individuals, you'd expect the movie to be good.

But the makers pulled out all the stops and delivered a coolness factor of 11/10. Seriously, the stunning settings, characters, creatures, action are all incredible, and even if you're baffled by the plot, you'll find plenty to take your breath away.

In the 'making of' feature included on disc 2, the animators describe how they took a step away from realism in their depiction of characters and action - after all, what then would be the point of producing an animated film? So we have incredible, over the top fight scenes and stylised characters.

It's worth mentioning the concept of Bishōnen, Japanese for 'beautiful youth'. It's common in anime to depict male characters in ways that would be considered effete, or androgynous to Westerners, who prefer beefcake in their heroic fantasy. Guys, if you have a strong reaction against male beauty (or for it!), you might want to think about where that's coming from, psychologically.

I should also mention that the movie is pretty funny. There's some physical humour, Final Fantasy in-jokes, and comic dialogue, especially between Reno and Rude the Shinra henchmen. Probably the funniest moment is when when we hear supervillain Loz's ring tone, which is the victory fanfare played after battles in the game.

Director Tetsuya Nomura was the character designer for the FFVII game, but had been involved with the franchise, and SquareSoft since 1992. FFVII remains the most popular edition of the game series, and one of the best selling games of all time.

Is it science fiction, is it fantasy, does it matter? The Final Fantasy universe has been developed over two decades in a wide range of media, and depicts a world where a natural magical life force has been used to create high science. Maybe it's a reverse of Arthur C. Clarke's famous line: any sufficiently advanced magic is indistinguishable from technology. Hehe.

Advent Children reminds us that CGI, and animation, aren't just for children, and hopefully throws down the gauntlet to Western film makers.

A must see for Final Fantasy and anime fans (add it to your collection!), a strong recommend for anyone else. I loved it.

Steve Wilson

Brian Herbert, the son of Dune mastermind Frank Herbert, has co-authored with Kevin J. Anderson numerous novels (The Road to Dune, House Atreides, House Harkonnen, House Corrino, among others) in the world his father so magically created. With the Timeweb Chronicles, Herbert begins a new science-fiction series that he can call his own even though some aspects resemble his previous work almost to the word.

Noah Watanabe, a galactic ecologist, lives in a world where mankind has colonized dozens of cities on a slew of planets while also maintaining contacts with robotic and sentient beings. He is leading a group of eco-Guardians whose sole purpose is to save the environment of abused orbs. Unfortunately, Noah's twin sister, Francella, has a plan in the works to come to power which involves killing both her brother and father. And during all this, the alien race known as the Mutati are scheming to destroy all humankind with a sort of mysterious yet deadly weapon.

Some of the problems seen in the Dune novels by Herbert can be found in Timeweb. A fairly straightforward plot rich with its counts of prophecies and evildoers, Herbert seems to have too much going on which then causes for a lack of good characterization. Noah, Timeweb's main hero, is the strongest character, but his sister is so unlikable that I found her actions to be strictly typical and almost inane. The bad people are portrayed as bad people, with little room to allow for any thoughts other than world domination. The Mutati race is interesting, but far from unique. But the action scenes are done well, and are probably enough for readers to enjoy the book as whole. Whether it involves humans versus humans or aliens versus aliens, Herbert is able to do a good job of creating movie-like scenes that are powerfully engaging.

While it's important to see Herbert branching off into his own world with his own characters, a little more care and attention to originality should have been in order. As this is the first book in the series, there's hope that the next two will be a bit more complex. I won't hold my breath, but I don’t mind waiting to find out.

Revisiting the first season of this seminal British sci-fi sitcom after almost twenty years, I found it to have aged well. Sure, the effects and sets are cheap and cheesy, but I found the stories to be as entertaining and funny as I remembered.

The opening and closing credits are as powerful as ever. The first shot you see is of a space-suited man painting a wall red, which pans out to show that he's painting the hull of a colossal space ship, the Red Dwarf.

The composer of the score does an great job with the majestic music adding to your sense of the utter insignificance of the human in the face of the colossal architecture of the ship. The closing credits feature a catchy and irreverent pop tune (with a hint of despair to it) about how cold and lonely it is in space, and how preferable it would be to lie on a beach in the sun.

Red Dwarf is about ordinary people. They're not driven to explore space and better the human race. For them, it's just a job, and not a very good one. The characters are the lowest of the low, lower than redshirts, barely even antiheroes. They're not smart, or brave, and they scrape through their adventures by luck. Red Dwarf was a real tonic for the sanctimonious Star Trek: the Next Generation.

The Red Dwarf is a mining vessel, five miles long, of the Jupiter Mining Corporation. All the ship's crew have been killed in an accident, except for one man and his non-human companions. They're lost in space, three million years in the future, and even if they do get back to Earth there'll be nothing left of their lives.

The main characters are:

Dave Lister: a slobby, obnoxious, but amiable third technician who was just working on the ship until he could save enough for his plan of moving to Fiji with console operator Kristine Kochanski. When the ship's crew were killed, he'd been enclosed in a stasis chamber as punishment for concealing a cat on the ship.

Arnold J. Rimmer: second technician and Lister's superior. He's officious, universally disliked, an ambitious failure, and the complete opposite of Lister. So the comedic implications of their being roommates are obvious.

Rimmer was killed along with the rest of the crew during the accident (which he caused), and has been reanimated as a hologram to keep Lister company. Out of the entire crew, he was the one Lister had spoken with the most (despite most of their conversation being insults).

The Cat: vain and self-absorbed with an enormous wardrobe of garish zoot suits. He's the evolved descendant of Lister's cat, and the last of his kind (the others abandoned the ship after a religious dispute).

Holly: the ship's senile computer, allegedly with an I.Q. of 6000. Played in a wonderful deadpan by Norman Lovett as a disembodied head on a screen.

Despite being only six episodes, the first series quickly became a hit in the UK:

1.1 The End: this episode sets the scene: we meet Lister and Rimmer at their demeaning jobs repairing vending machines. Lister is put in stasis and reanimated three million years later to find an empty ship ...

1.2 Future Echoes: the ship reaches light speed and the crew start to see 'echoes' of future events. Rimmer sees Lister being killed in an explosion, and Lister tries to prevent this destiny from occurring.

1.3 Balance of Power: Lister wants to activate the holographic recording of his secret love, Kristine Kochanski. To do this, he'd have to deactivate Rimmer, who refuses. Lister decides to take an exam so he'll outrank Rimmer and be able to order his cooperation.

1.4 Waiting For God: Lister discovers that the cat race had erroneously deified him. He's horrified at the thought that holy wars were fought in his name. Meanwhile, Rimmer is analysing what he believes is a craft built by aliens who can give him a new body.

1.5 Confidence and Paranoia: a mutated virus infects Lister and causes his hallucinations to become real. Personifications of the confident and paranoid aspects of his personality appear.

1.6 Me²: a second hologram of Rimmer is activated, and the two move in together. Rimmer 1 discovers that maybe hell isn't other people after all ...

Red Dwarf is a landmark in the history of science fiction shows and is definitely worth your attention. Sticklers be warned: it pays little attention to continuity, and even less to scientific accuracy. It's a lot of fun though.

This is a highly original fantasy from Australian author Richard Harland. It's a young adult novel that tells of a war between the forces of Heaven and earth.

The book begins with the People. They're a tribe of the primitive folk called Residuals. Ostensibly, they're allies of the brutal Humen, but they're really just fodder for the Humen war machine. Every year a Selector comes and recruits a suitable candidate for military service and they're never seen again.

Because the Selectors take only the best and brightest, the tribe has experienced a dumbing down over the generations, and are now very conservative and stolid.

But Ferren is different from the other members of the tribe. While they huddle together in fear under a blanket during the nightly battles, he peeks from the edge at the shape of wings through the clouds, stabs of red light striking the sky from below, and the globular vehicles of the Celestial hosts.

One night he sees a crash-landing globe. It contains the angel Miriael (Fourteenth Angel of Observance). Normally, a crashed angel would expire from contact with the material world, but she survives and becomes physical when Ferren finds her and feeds her.

Ferren's innocent secret meetings with the priggish angel come to a disastrous end when they are discovered by the chief's daughter, Zonda. Zonda likes Ferren, but betrays him, forcing him to flee. When the Selectors come she tells them of Miriael.

Ferren, thinking Miriael has been captured, heads along the Humen overbridge highway to find their Camp and rescue her. But Miriael has instead been imprisoned by the People ...

Miriael and Zonda are probably the most interesting characters, as each grows over the course of the book. Miriael comes to delight in her new physicality and gains empathy for the Residuals, and Zonda matures from being a crude and spiteful girl.

The book is set a thousand years in the future, and Harland outlines the future history in a timeline at the start of the book. He's created a scenario that encompasses heaven and earth and really captures your imagination.

A team of scientists in the 21st century discover a way to reanimate the dead, which drags souls back from the afterlife. Using information gleaned from the reanimated, Earth launches a team of 'psychonauts' who profane the fields of heaven.

They are expelled and Heaven closed itself to new souls from earth, fearing spies. This causes the dead to rise, which throws human civilisation into chaos.

When the situation recovers, human emissaries secretly affix a kind of hook to the underside of heaven, which is dragged down into the material and temporal plane.

Hundreds of thousands of mortal tourists fly up to experience the delights of the newly visible heaven, causing huge sections to collapse onto earth, incinerating Europe and Asia. The Supreme Trinity withdraws into the highest sphere of heaven in grief, sealing itself off.

Heaven is reorganised with a War Council taking charge of its defence. On earth the sinister Doctors come to rule, creating the new, soulless race of Humen. The ensuing war lasts for centuries.

Harland's book is written in a series of ultra-short chapters, or vignettes, with just a handful of pages each. It's written simply, but vividly. I strongly recommend it! It reminds me somehow of Terry Gilliam's fantastic movies ...

The book isn't religious (or anti-religious, like Philip Pullman's work), but has a humanist message, and moments of insight into human nature. The Residuals have to find a place for themselves, and a sense of self-worth, in the middle-ground between the sacred and the profane.

Man Plus is one of the best hard science fiction novels of the seventies. It deals with the (you guessed it) Man Plus Project, the goal of which is to make a human capable of living in the Martian environment. The means of doing this is technological (a similar book written today would be about genetics).

After the death of the initial transformee, astronaut Roger Torraway becomes the program's guinea pig. The book is about his experience of becoming a cyborg, and the effect on the people he knows and the scientists of the project.

Pohl writes with a distinctive blend of hard science fiction and psychologically complex characters (see his Gateway for another vivid example). His characters are all well thought out and very human (even, or especially, the cyborg).

You really feel for Torraway, becoming a monster for the sake of visiting Mars. He's taken further and further away from the human norm. It's great to see him finally get to a world where he's at home ...

The poor guy is also being cuckolded by one of the researchers guiding his transformation. Worse: his surgery leaves him literally (as well as metaphorically) emasculated.

The future that Pohl predicted in 1976 remains plausible to a large degree: the United States and China (expanded to "New People's Asia") are the major blocs, each racing to gain a foothold on Mars. I didn't mind the Cold War theme: Pohl doesn't play up the political philosophies of NPA too much.

Actually, the race that sustains the book's tension isn't particularly with Asia, but with a sort of Doomsday Clock: Earth is plagued by resource problems and the most advanced computer projections suggest that a nuclear war is inevitable. Factoring in a Mars mission might hold the key to lessening tension on Earth.

So the transformation of Torraway is set against increasing trouble on a global scale.

Man Plus differs from other books about the colonisation of Mars in that its focus is on the human side of the mission. Rather than being about terraforming Mars, this book is about "areoforming" man. The novel does an excellent job of portraying the interaction of the members of the scientific team, and the political and pragmatic realities they work under.

Apart from the Man Plus Project, Pohl doesn't put too much detail into his Mars expedition, so it remains plausible enough to me today. It's probably wise for science fiction authors not too add too much detail: more chance of mistakes or bad predictions. Despite his hard science outlook, Pohl expresses a yearning for the romantic Mars of Edgar Rice Burroughs through the character of the priest and areologist Don Kayman.

The book's climax, when the expedition finally reaches Mars, is as good as any twist you'll find. Actually, the book could have been written entirely without the sting in the tail, but it would have been a lot less thrilling for it.

I'd recommend this book to anyone who likes hard science fiction, and wants something a lot shorter than Kim Stanley Robinson's Mars trilogy. Pohl's description of the various tricks played with cyborg Torraway's computer-mediated perceptions should also delight those with an interest in virtual reality.

Does your robot disobey you? Make repetitive stabbing motions? Does it have glowing red eyes?

If so, then it and its fellow machines could be on the path to outright rebellion against you, and the human race. Activate your escape plan: head for the country, don't forget your supplies and your copy of How To Survive A Robot Uprising, by Daniel H. Wilson.

The first thing you notice about the book is its stylish design (by illustrator Richard Horne). That, combined with the intriguing title, makes it very pickupable.

I knew that I just had to buy it from reading the table of contents, an extensive list of chapters with names like:

• How to survive a car chase with an unmanned ground vehicle
• How to escape from a smart house
• How to fool a thermal imaging target tracker
• How to treat a laser wound
• How to establish a hidden base in robot territory

What makes this book so great is that the author, Daniel H. Wilson, has a PhD in robotics, and has consulted extensively with other experts in writing the guide.

If you wanted to find someone who knows more about robot attacks, you'd have to speak to Doctor Who. Or an actual robot (and after reading this book, I'm wary of getting too close to one).

The author presents a wealth of information in a series of bite-sized chapters, and he makes it a delight with his references to popular culture and a hilarious sense of humour reminiscent of Douglas Adams.

I'd recommend HTSARU for anyone who wants to know about the current state of robotics, as well as predicted developments. The device of linking descriptions of robot abilities to discussions of how to thwart them works particularly well.

The overarching defensive message of the book is that robots have a clear advantage in some areas, like reaction speed, and chess playing, but that humans can make use of their adaptability and native cunning to win through.

Reading this book would help any prospective resistance fighter to pick their battles wisely and to use their strengths and robot weaknesses.

Science fiction authors will find this an especially useful volume if they want to add realism to their depictions of robots (even in non-hostile circumstances).

Wilson's intentions aren't to spread uncritical robophobia. He reminds us at the end that most roboticists are working to make our lives better - except for the evil roboticists, who are sowing the seeds of apocalypse.

Hmm ...

Get your hands on a copy of How To Survive a Robot Attack. It's an excellent addition to your collection of popular science books, and is also available as an audio book.