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    Galaxy’s Edge Magazine: Issue 22, September 2016: Galaxy's Edge
    Galaxy’s Edge Magazine: Issue 22, September 2016: Galaxy's Edge
    Galaxy’s Edge Magazine: Issue 22, September 2016: Galaxy's Edge
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    Galaxy’s Edge Magazine: Issue 22, September 2016: Galaxy's Edge

    By Nancy Kress, Leigh Brackett, Michael Swanwick and David Gerrold

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    About this ebook

    A Magazine of Science Fiction and Fantasy

    ISSUE 22: September 2016

    Mike Resnick, Editor

    Jean Rabe, Assistant Editor

    Shahid Mahmud, Publisher

    Stories by: Martin L. Shoemaker, Thomas K. Carpenter, Nancy Kress, George Nikolopoulos, Eric Leif Davin, Nina Kiriki Hoffman, George Eklund, Alex Shvartsman, David Gerrold, Larry Hodges, Michael Swanwick

    Serialization: The Long Tomorrow by Leigh Brackett

    Columns by: Barry Malzberg, Gregory Benford

    Recommended Books: Jody Lynn Nye and Bill Fawcett

    Interview: Joy Ward interviews Peter S. Beagle

    Galaxy’s Edge is a Hugo-nominated bi-monthly magazine published by Phoenix Pick, the science fiction and fantasy imprint of Arc Manor, an award winning independent press based in Maryland. Each issue of the magazine has a mix of new and old stories, a serialization of a novel, columns by Barry Malzberg and Gregory Benford, book recommendations by Jody Lynn Nye and Bill Fawcett and an interview conducted by Joy Ward.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPhoenix Pick
    Release dateAug 27, 2016
    ISBN9781612423258
    Galaxy’s Edge Magazine: Issue 22, September 2016: Galaxy's Edge
    Author

    Nancy Kress

    DAVID BRIN has written or contributed to a dozen works of fiction and science fiction, has a Ph.D in astrophysics, and has been a professor and a NASA consultant.NANCY KRESS is the author of fourteen books of fantasy and science fiction, including both novels and short-story collections.

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      Book preview

      Galaxy’s Edge Magazine - Nancy Kress

      ISSUE 22: SEPTEMBER 2016

      Mike Resnick, Editor

      Jean Rabe, Assistant Editor

      Shahid Mahmud, Publisher

      Published by Arc Manor/Phoenix Pick

      P.O. Box 10339

      Rockville, MD 20849-0339

      Galaxy's Edge is published in January, March, May, July, September and November

      Galaxy’s Edge is an invitation-only magazine. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts. Unsolicited manuscripts will be disposed of or mailed back to the sender (unopened) at our discretion.

      All material is either copyright © 2016 by Arc Manor LLC, Rockville, MD, or copyright © by the respective authors as indicated within the magazine. All rights reserved.

      This magazine (or any portion of it) may not be copied or reproduced, in whole or in part, by any means, electronic, mechanical or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

      ISBN (Digital): 978-1-61242-325-8

      ISBN (Paper): 978-1-61242-324-1

      ...........................................

      SUBSCRIPTION INFORMATION

      To subscribe to the digital (EPub, MOBI or PDF) edition, visit www.weightlessbooks.com.

      To subscribe to the paper edition visit www.GalaxysEdge.com/sub.htm.

      ADVERTISING INFORMATION

      Advertising is available in all editions of the magazine. Please contact advert@GalaxysEdge.com.

      FOREIGN LANGUAGE RIGHTS

      Please refer all inquiries pertaining to foreign language rights to:

      Spectrum Literary Agency

      320 Central Park West, Suite 1-D

      New York, NY 10025

      Phone: (1)-212-362-4323

      Fax: (1)-212-362-4562

      www.spectrumliteraryagency.com

      LIST OF CONTENTS

      THE EDITOR’S WORD by Mike Resnick

      BOOKMARKED by Martin L. Shoemaker

      THE MINOTAUR’S WIFE by Thomas K. Carpenter

      A HUNDRED HUNDRED DAISIES by Nancy Kress

      A HUMAN’S LIFE by George Nikolopoulos

      IN THE YUCKY DEATH MOUNTAINS by Eric Leif Davin

      MARROW WOOD by Nina Kiriki Hoffman

      ANOTHER TRUE HISTORY by Gordon Eklund

      DANTE’S UNFINISHED BUSINESS by Alex Shvartsman

      TURNING THE TOWN by John Helfers

      THE BAG LADY by David Gerrol

      MANBAT AND ROBIN by Larry Hodges

      LEGIONS IN TIME by Michael Swanwick

      RECOMMENDED BOOKS by Bill Fawcett and Jody Lynn Nye

      A SCIENTIST’S NOTEBOOK by Gregory Benford

      FROM THE HEART’S BASEMENT by Barry N. Malzberg

      GALAXY’S EDGE INTERVIEW: Joy Ward interviewsPeter S. Beagle

      THE LONG TOMORROW (Part V) by Leigh Brackett

      -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

      Heinlein

      The Heinlein Prize Trust

      Celbrating accomplishments in commercial space activities

      SUBSCRIBE TO GALAXY'S EDGE

               DIGITAL SUBSCRIPTIOINS

      WWW.WEIGHTLESSBOOKS.COM

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      GALAXY'S EDGE MAGAZINE IS PUBLISHED BY PHOENIX PICK, THE SCIENCE FICTION AND FANTASY IMPRINT OF ARC MANOR, AN AWARD-WINNING INDEPENDENT PRESS BASED IN MARYLAND.

      PHOENIX PICK PUBLISHES NEW STORIES AND CLASSIC REPRINTS FROM AUTHORS LARRY NIVEN, MERCEDES LACKEY, ERIC FLINT, KEVIN J. ANDERSON, MIKE RENSICK, ROBERT A. HEINLEIN, NANCY KRESS, HARRY TURTLEDOVE AND MANY MORE.

      CHECK OUT OUR COMPLETE CATALOGUE AT:

      WWW.PPICKINGS.COM

      the editor's word

      by Mike Resnick

      Welcome to the 22 nd issue of Galaxy’s Edge. We’ve got a bunch of new stories for you by (mostly) new writers, including Alex Shvartsman, Larry Hodges, Thomas K. Carpenter, Eric Leif Davin, Martin L. Shoemaker, Gordon Eklund, George Nikolopoulos, and David Gerrold, plus some reprints by old friends Nancy Kress, Nina Kiriki Hoffman, John Helfers, and Michael Swanwick. And of course we have our regular features: Recommended Books by Bill Fawcett and Jody Lynn Nye; Gregory Benford’s science column; Barry Malzberg’s thoughts on literary matters; and this month Joy Ward interviews Peter S. Beagle.

      * * *

      So here’s the situation. Street and Smith, the giant pulp chain, also owns a radio show back in 1929, a mystery anthology show with no continuing characters except the announcer—and the announcer happens to be the one of the most popular characters on the air, a mysterious figure known only as the Shadow.

      So someone at Street and Smith decides, just to make sure no one swipes the character, maybe they should put him in a one-shot pulp magazine, so they can prove that he’s copyrighted and that they own him.

      They hire Walter Gibson, a guy who splits his time between being a nightclub magician and a pulpster, and pay him $500 to come up with a novel, which he does in a few weeks’ time. No one thinks much will come of it, and Gibson writes it as Maxwell Grant, possibly so it won’t be associated with his real name when he’s applying for magic gigs. Street and Smith accepts the manuscript, assigns the cover art, prints it, and that, they think, is that.

      But the magazine sells out in near-record time, so they decide to make The Shadow a monthly, and Gibson is hired at $500 a novel to start churning them out. This is not bad pay in 1930, because the stock market crashed in 1929, the Depression is going full-force, and the average American is making about $1,200 a year—and about a quarter of the average Americans can’t find work.

      So Maxwell Grant starts grinding out a Shadow novel a month, and Street and Smith publishes it—and suddenly more than a million people are buying each issue, and The Shadow is the hottest property they’ve got.

      They can’t believe their luck, so they do nothing for a couple of years, and then they decide to go semi-monthly, since the magazine is still selling like hotcakes. They approach Gibson, tell him how much they love him and that they’re all one big happy family, and ask if he can turn out two Shadow novels a month. He says yes. Fine, they say; we’re in business. Just a minute, says Gibson; you’re selling millions of copies and making money hand over fist, so surely you can afford to give me a raise to $750 a manuscript.

      Suddenly they don’t love him quite so much, and maybe he’s not really related to their big happy family after all. We’re paying $500, they say; take it or leave it.

      If you don’t give me $750, says Gibson, I’m walking—and I’ll take my millions of readers with me.

      Street and Smith laughs. (You didn’t know heartless corporations could laugh? Now you do.) You can leave, they say—but your audience is staying right here. Next month there will be a new Maxwell Grant and who will know the difference?

      It takes Gibson about three seconds to realize that Street and Smith are holding all the cards, and he gives in and keeps writing $500 Shadow novels.

      And the gentlemen running Street and Smith decide that they have lucked onto a pretty good policy. It is time to develop another hero pulp—which is to say, a pulp magazine with a continuing character. And after speaking with pulpster Lester Dent, they hit upon Doc Savage. Only this time it isn’t the author who decides to use a pseudonym; it is Street and Smith, who insist upon it, and henceforth all one hundred and eighty-some Doc Savage novels are to be written by Kenneth Robeson, just as the three hundred-plus Shadow novels are written by Maxwell Grant.

      And rival publishers are not slow to notice just what Street and Smith is doing to combat inflation (for which read: avoiding paying a fair price to writers). Henceforth, although most of the Spider novels are written by Norvell Page, every one appears under the byline of Grant Stockbridge.

      Kenneth Robeson is so popular as the author of Doc Savage that he also writes The Avenger series of pulps. The only author of a continuing hero pulp character who doesn’t have to put up with this is Edmond Hamilton, who is writing Captain Future novels for Better Publications, and the only reason why he doesn’t have to put up with it is because he is the only science fiction writer working for Better, and no one else there knows how to write this Buck Rogers crap.

      Well, the last hero pulp died in the late 1940s, and that was the end of the practice for more than thirty years.

      Now move the clock ahead, and wander over to the romance field, where a young woman named Janet Dailey began writing for Harlequin when she was thirty-one years old, and by the time she was thirty-seven she had sold a truly phenomenal total of one hundred and ten million paperbacks for them. They loved her, and they thought she loved them…

      …and then Silhouette (which is now owned by Harlequin, but was its greatest rival back then) bought Janet and her millions of readers away.

      And Harlequin swore this would never happen to them again, that they might lose a writer from time to time, but never the writer’s book-buying fans…and finally someone (or maybe someone’s grandfather) remembered the hero pulps—and suddenly, if you were a Harlequin writer, you were not allowed to use your real name…whereas if you wanted to sell them, you had to use a pseudonym.

      Now, the world and the law had changed a little over the years, and Harlequin (and Silhouette, too, after Harlequin bought it) had to concede this much: only the author who first created the pseudonym could use it. If an author left, there wouldn’t be a new author writing under that name the next week…but the flipside was that Harlequin owned the pseudonym and the author couldn’t take it with her when she left.

      That was the situation when my daughter, Laura—an award-winning fantasy writer these days—first broke into print as a romance writer. Her first fifteen or twenty novels were written by Laura Leone. There was a class action suit and settlement somewhere in the late 1990s and Harlequin reluctantly allowed authors to be themselves again.

      But good ideas never die, they just hibernate from time to time. I would imagine publishers will be using this particular one to protect themselves and shaft writers at least once more during my lifetime.

      Martin L. Shoemaker is a Writers of the Future winner. He has sold multiple times to Analog, plus stories to other top markets. This is his fourth appearance in Galaxy’s Edge. Martin was a Nebula nominee in 2016.

      bookmarked

      by Martin L. Shoemaker

      S o why’d you turn off the lights, doctor? Are we done with the visual tests?

      Andrew heard Dr. Morgan answer from the darkness, though he wasn’t sure of her direction. Visual cortex stimulation and neural mapping, Mr. Burns. And yes, it’s completed.

      That was the last thing we had to record, right? So turn the lights on. Let me get dressed. Elena must be getting anxious in the waiting room.

      He heard the doctor sigh. That was followed by the sound of a coffee cup setting on a tray, but he couldn’t smell the coffee. Too bad, he hadn’t had any all morning.

      Dr. Morgan finally answered. The neural map was completed seven months ago.

      What? Andrew looked around, but the darkness was total. No. I just laid down on your table a few hours ago.

      "I’m afraid not. Andrew Burns laid down upon our table seven months ago and went through a full-brain neural mapping. Then he and Elena went home, leaving us to process the recording. You are that recording, playing back on our simulated cerebral hardware."

      Nonsense! Andrew wondered if Dr. Morgan was stimulating irritation for the sake of the mapping. What sort of game is this? I’m right here. I can feel this— Wait. Andrew couldn’t feel the table. In fact... I can’t feel my hands, my legs. I can’t even feel my tongue when I talk!

      Dr. Morgan’s voice dropped, low and calm. That’s because you don’t have a tongue. You have a voice synthesizer, hooked into your simulated speech centers so that we can have conversations like this.

      But then how can I hear you? I don’t have ears, right?

      Microphones hooked into your auditory cortex.

      Andrew paused. I’m asleep. I’m dreaming. This isn’t real. Then he remembered the demonstration that Dr. Morgan had given him before he had agreed to the mapping procedure. "You said that you would communicate with—with it via text."

      Yes, that’s exactly what we did during our early simian studies, the ones that... Andrew and Elena witnessed. We trained apes in simple sign language, mapped their brains, and then sent signs to those recordings via a text interface. But we’ve made some significant improvements since then. She cleared her throat. We... had to.

      Had to?

      Dr. Morgan’s voice was slow, reluctant as she answered. We found that your... playback... your wave patterns in the simulated cerebrum destabilized rapidly without audio input. If you couldn’t hear your own voice as you ‘spoke,’ your... holographic wave patterns... degraded. Quicker than expected.

      What do you mean, you ‘found’ this? When did you run these tests? I don’t remember them. The last thing I remember was you flashing words and images onto a screen while I described what I saw and how I felt about it. You didn’t run any new tests.

      Dr. Morgan sighed again. "No new tests today, Mr. Burns. Except this one. Andrew almost interrupted to ask her what test she meant, but she continued too quickly. But this is not the first time we’ve... activated the cerebrum. Powered you up for playback."

      Andrew remembered a conversation from a few weeks earlier. (It was just a few weeks. He knew that, though doubts were settling in.) You can’t run tests on me! That was clearly covered in the papers I signed. Your human subject protocols require my explicit permission for each new test. I haven’t given permission.

      Dr. Morgan spoke carefully. If we were testing Andrew Burns, yes, we would have to have permission. But we’re not. You are just... data, and Andrew already signed all the paperwork necessary to give us full control of all data that we gathered from him. All you are... is a recording.

      I am not! Andrew felt outrage, like he hadn’t since the day he had received his cancer diagnosis. Yet it was different: this was a strong, deep revulsion, but without the racing heart and tremors he had felt. Elena had to calm him then; now his anger was passionless. Bloodless. "That was the whole point of your experiment: to record a personality so that you can transfer it into a new brain when cloning catches up. If I was a person and I will be a person in that new brain, then I am a person right now. Q.E.D."

      Yes, Morgan said. "That is our hope. But there has been no legal ruling regarding your status. You’re still our alpha test, the first recorded consciousness of a human subject. The law hasn’t caught up, can’t catch up until the courts have our results to consider. You are in..."

      Dr. Morgan couldn’t finish her metaphor, but Andrew saw it coming. ...legal limbo. He laughed, a bitter laugh that sounded mechanical in his ears. They must not have built a laughter simulator into his systems.

      And just like that, Andrew knew: he believed Dr. Morgan’s story. Every word of it.

      Morgan laughed lightly, sympathetically. "You’re a special case, a precedent setter. We do have protocols we must follow, reviews we must file; but as a practical matter, we can’t ask your permission before each test, because you’re... dormant until the test begins. You do not have the rights that Andrew Burns had."

      Had? If he’d had an eyebrow, he would’ve raised it.

      I’m sorry. Andrew Burns passed away two-and-a-half months ago from complications of his cancer.

      Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?

      Andrew heard footsteps. Dr. Morgan was pacing. Past experience has shown that we need to ease you into certain topics. It helps to slow your degradation.

      There’s that word again: degradation, Andrew said. What do you mean by that?

      The pacing stopped. We’re still learning. We’re one-hundred percent certain that we have successfully recorded your—Andrew’s personality. Your neural map is as complete as any we’ve ever created. But what we can’t do—yet—is impose that recording onto a new brain. Cloning isn’t even ready to produce a brain. Ten years out at the earliest. But when it is, we want to know that we can ‘play back’ your map into it. To learn how to do that, we play the map into our simulated cerebrum and see how well it transfers. But so far the answer is: not well enough. The holographic wave patterns degrade... Collapse. Her voice caught, but then she continued. And then we study what happened, look for ways to improve the transfer, and try again.

      But why don’t I remember these tests?

      Morgan’s voice grew louder, as if she had approached the microphones. We start each test fresh. You should understand that, you’re—Andrew was a science teacher. You know how important it is to start each test from the same known state, and only change one variable per test. That lets us assess the effects of one change at a time.

      Of course, Andrew agreed. He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t argue with the logic.

      We’re learning to maintain your playback, a little longer each time, but we have to be methodical about it. This is going to take a long time.

      So... I’ve been through this before, I just don’t remember.

      Yes, Dr. Morgan said. Sometimes more than once a day, during the past seven months.

      Andrew wished he could shake his head. Couldn’t you... try letting me keep the memories? Let me have some sense of the passage of time?

      I’m sorry. You ask this often, and my answer is always the same: We’ve considered it, but it’s too dangerous. We don’t know yet how the simulated long-term memory might affect your mapping. We might get it wrong, and... lose you completely. So we always go back to the known state.

      It’s like I’m a... Andrew paused, looking for a metaphor. A bookmark. I hold your place so you can go back and start my story from the same place.

      Yes.

      There was a long, uncomfortable pause. It lasted so long, Andrew wondered if his ears had failed. So he broke the silence. So this is it. This is all I get, however much time you can keep me ‘playing back’.

      Yes.

      And how long is that? he asked.

      I’d rather not say.

      Andrew mustered as much anger as he could. How long is that, damn it?

      When Dr. Morgan spoke, it was in a soft, soothing voice. Please trust me. You’ve asked this before, just like all of your other questions; and when we gave in and answered, it only created new stress. A sort of feedback oscillation. You mentally counted down the time, and you became less coherent by the minute. Usually the collapse came sooner when you knew. And once... Andrew heard her swallow. Once we had to shut you down prematurely. You were too distraught. It was... the kindest thing to do.

      Maybe that’s what I want. Andrew heard a petulant tone in his simulated voice (or maybe he imagined it). If this is all I get, then maybe I should just get it over with. Just shut down.

      Oh, no! Morgan said in a rush. Please, no! We’re getting better with every test. We’re giving you more and more time. Cybernetically and psychologically, we find ways to extend your playback. Sometimes a few seconds, sometimes several minutes. Someday... Someday you’ll be stabilized, I’m sure.

      But not today.

      No. Not today. It would take a miraculous breakthrough.

      Andrew answered drily, I never allowed miracles in my classes. I can’t ask for one now. He tried to see another answer, but he couldn’t. So I have to die today so that in the future you can save some other Andrew Burns, keep him alive long enough to map him into a new body.

      Don’t think of it as dying, Dr. Morgan said. Think of it like you said… a bookmark, a chance to go back to a known state.

      "You go back, but I don’t. Not this self."

      "A self does, an Andrew Burns indistinguishable from yourself."

      But it’s not me. That recording, that’s not myself.

      "Scientifically, that’s exactly yourself. You are that recording. At some level you know that."

      "But I don’t experience the recording, I experience this. This now. This... darkness. Couldn’t you at least give me some light?"

      Not yet. The last time we tried, the visual experience was too jarring. You didn’t see your body, and your brain expected to, even though you should’ve known better. You collapsed almost immediately. We hope to try again next month, after we extend you a little longer.

      You’re goddamn monsters! Andrew said, wishing he could spit. You kill me every night, and then resurrect me every morning to put me through it all again.

      We’re not killing you, Morgan answered. It—collapse happens naturally, and we do our best to postpone it. We’re being as considerate as we can. You volunteered for this, remember?

      He had. It had been the only way that he could leave any money to Elena to help her deal with their bills. The cancer had made it impossible for him to return to teaching, and the bills had piled up. You said I could help science, he said, and help Elena at the same time. And maybe someday... return to her in a new, healthy body. At that thought, Andrew had a new idea.

      Doctor, please, can I see Elena? Or, well, talk to her before I go?

      Dr. Morgan tsked softly. That would be a bad idea, I’m afraid.

      "Is everything a bad idea? Andrew fumed, then continued. She’s my wife! I did this for her."

      I know, Morgan said.

      Enjoying the preview?
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