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Fiction: “Saying the Names” by Maggie Clark, “Gossamer” by Stephen Baxter, “Spider the Artist” by Nnedi Okorafor, and “Woman Leaves Room” by Robert Reed.
Nonfiction: “You Never Get a Seventh Chance to Make a First Impression: An Awkward History of Our Space Transmissions” by Genevieve Valentine, “Feature Interview: Walter Jon Williams” by Chris Moriarty, “Retro Robots on the Battlefield” by Daniel H. Wilson, and “Immortal Jellyfish and Transhuman You” by Ekaterina Sedia.
Cover art by Donato Giancola
Welcome to issue ten of Lightspeed! On tap this month… Fiction: “Saying the Names” by Maggie Clark, “Gossamer” by Stephen Baxter, “Spider the Artist” by Nnedi Okorafor, and “Woman Leaves Room” by Robert Reed. Nonfiction: “You Never Get a Seventh Chance to Make a First Impression: An Awkward History of Our Space Transmissions” by Genevieve Valentine, “Feature Interview: Walter Jon Williams” by Chris Moriarty, “Retro Robots on the Battlefield” by Daniel H. Wilson, and “Immortal Jellyfish and Transhuman You” by Ekaterina Sedia.
Just the thought of my journey’s purpose already has me pining for home: of all the ways I’ve imagined meeting my father, as defense council in his murder trial does not rank high on the list.
I envisioned a species that had no evolutionary imperative towards competitive behaviors, and as such thrived on constant, snail’s-pace communication routines that similarly kept all members of any given community bonded at all times.
Ever since humanity has been able to launch projectiles into space, a major priority has been to communicate with any alien life forms that might come across this space detritus and wonder who shot a space probe right into their upper atmosphere.
“Highrises” was created as an illustration to accompany a Ray Bradbury article regarding the future of Space Exploration and appeared in a seemingly uncanny place for science fiction in 2000, Playboy Magazine.
Lvov looked up from her data desk, startled. Beyond the flitter’s translucent hull, the wormhole was flooded with sheets of blue-white light which raced towards and past the flitter, giving Lvov the impression of huge, uncontrolled speed.
Exploring our cosmic context is a major purpose of SF, I’d say. But in fiction you do need to find an intimate human story to tell!
Science fiction certainly encourages the asking of the big questions: Who are we, what makes us human, what is our purpose, what is our destiny.
There was a stream where I had been fetching water. A flow station was built nearby and now the stream was rank and filthy, with an oily film that reflected rainbows. Cassava and yam farms yielded less and less each year. The air left your skin dirty and smelled like something preparing to die.
The current situation in Nigeria is highly volatile. There are militants in the delta region who are kidnapping and sometimes killing oil workers, they are blowing up pipelines and assassinating officials. This kind of situation cannot last long. Change is inevitable.
Battlefield robots are armed, intelligent, and poised to change the face of modern warfare. At least, that’s what the pundits have been repeating for the last decade.
She wears a smile. I like her smile, nervous and maybe a little scared, sweet and somewhat lonely. She wears jeans and a sheer green blouse and comfortable sandals and rings on two fingers and a glass patch across one eye.
Memory is suspect, but I did suffer the image of a woman leaving a room and then not returning for a great long while. I think I was watching TV. Maybe something on the screen triggered the image.
Ah, immortality: the ever-elusive dream of both utopians and transhumanists. To us, death is a necessary evil, but to many organisms, plants and fungi that form clonal colonies, it’s but a technicality.
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