Alien Contact Anthology -- Story #8: "The 43 Antarean Dynasties" by Mike Resnick (Part 1 of 3)

This marks week eight in which I reveal the eighth story (of 26 stories total) in my Alien Contact anthology forthcoming from publisher Night Shade Books. If you are new to all of this, you may want to start with my rather loose introduction to the anthology, which was posted on April 25. Assuming all goes well, the contents of Alien Contact should be revealed by the November publication date.

"The 43 Antarean Dynasties" by Mike Resnick

This story originally appeared in the December 1997 issue of Asimov's Science Fiction, and is approximately 5,600 words in length.

Even if you are only somewhat familiar with the multitude of short stories Mike Resnick has published, then you know that, when it comes to the theme of alien contact, there is much to choose from. But when I read this particular story, amongst many of the others, I knew this was the one I wanted to include in Alien Contact.

In this story, the author juxtaposes elements of the history of Antares III and its 43 Dynasties with the tale of an Antarean tour guide and the inane tourist family [humans, of course; we would expect no less] that hires him for a tour of the capital city Kalimetra. But "inane" is such an understatement with this family -- try racist, repugnant, and rude for a start. And yet, as the guide thinks to himself shortly after meeting this family, it is you who are paying me.

I asked Mike Resnick for his thoughts on the story:

We were traveling in Egypt -- my wife and I, my agent and her kids, and a couple of friends -- and we kept asking our private guide questions. At one point he thanked us, because the last group he took out kept getting annoyed when he would speak about the wonders of some ancient dynasty they were theoretically observing, when all they wanted to do was talk about the point spread of the upcoming Steelers-Cowboys game. I thought about that -- this dignified, highly educated, well-mannered man showing off the highlight of his country's antiquity to the latest set of bored conquerors -- and "The 43 Antarean Dynasties" practically wrote itself.

I love the protagonist, the Antarean tour guide, in this story because he has attitude -- a very sharp sardonicism -- and I'm rather a fan of stories with attitude.¹ He's educated, and intelligent -- the former doesn't always insure the latter -- and a former professor, but he had to forsake academia because it simply didn't pay enough; and even though tourists tend to be stingy, he still makes more now with tips than he did teaching. (Sound familiar?) Yet, given his financial needs -- and the history of his planet -- he must also humble himself before these dreadful tourists.

At this point, as in the previous Alien Contact blog posts, I would be quoting text directly from the story. But that's not necessary this time around because Mike Resnick has graciously given his permission for me to include the complete text of the story, which will be posted in three parts due to the story's length.

Before beginning the story, I just wanted to note that "The 43 Antarean Dynasties" was nominated for the Locus and Theodore Sturgeon awards, and it won the Hugo Award, the Asimov's Reader Award, and the Spanish Premios Ignotus (given at HispaCon, Spain's national SF convention) for best short story.

Picasso on Art via Pablo Cortez

Another story that I've recently read, which I am seriously considering for my Alien Contact anthology (forthcoming from Night Shade Books in November), is "Guerrilla Mural of a Siren's Song," by Ernest Hogan. See my previous blog post, "We Have Alien Contact," for background on this anthology, including a complete listing of the stories (so far) that have been submitted and/or recommended to me, in addition to stories that I myself have added to the list.

When I contacted Ernesto about a possible contribution to the anthology, here's what he had to say about "Guerrilla Mural...": "It's about a Chicano muralist/graffitist who turns out to be the person who breaks through to communicate (sort of) with telepathic microbes that live in Jupiter's Great Red Spot. Later I expanded it into my first novel Cortez on Jupiter."¹ Sound intriguing? Indeed. "Guerrilla Mural..." involves art, and a Zulu, and Aztecs, and alien contact, and is written from the POV of a Chicano -- and is pure zany Ernest Hogan. The only other author with whom I can compare Hogan's writing would be Paul Di Filippo.

"Guerrilla Mural of a Siren's Song" was originally published in issue four of Pulphouse: The Hardback Magazine (Summer 1989), edited by Kristine Kathryn Rusch; this particular issue was devoted to "Science Fiction," as noted on the cover above. The graphic is a bit difficult to see/read because all the Pulphouse magazine covers were stamped using an iridescent ink, thus reflecting the light. (According to former Pulphouse publisher Dean Wesley Smith, the process is called "foil stamping.") Each issue of the magazine was published in an edition of 1,000 numbered trade hardcover copies and 250 signed (by all contributors) and numbered leatherbound copies. I bought a copy of the first issue (#19 of 1,000), liked what I read, and then subscribed; so all of my later editions have matching numbers: #71 of 1,000. The last volume, number twelve, was published in Fall 1993. Pulphouse Publishing just may have been the first press to self-publish at that time.

But back to "Guerrilla Mural..." Here's the protagonist in the middle of one of his rants:

Me, Pablo Cortez, infamous guerrilla muralist from the wild, crumbling concrete and stucco overgrowth of L.A. -- who refused to be absorbed into the decaying society I satirized in my work long after my fellow wall-defacers were caught, arrested and offered a chance to become honest artists who paint on neat, clean canvases that are displayed in sterile galleries, and bought by the affluent to show everybody how sensitive they are by what they choose to decorate their expensive, prestigious apartments with. I, who tattooed the Picasso quote, "PAINTING IS NOT DONE TO DECORATE APARTMENTS. IT IS AN INSTRUMENT OF WAR FOR ATTACK AND DEFENSE AGAINST THE ENEMY" on my own left arm with a felt-tip pen and a safety-pin. The guy who really meant it when he helped paint -- fast, so we could get it done and get the hell out of there before getting our heads busted -- Quetzalcoatl choking on smog, Uncle Sam holding up the heart of a draftee for the "disturbance" in South Africa (soon to be Zululand -- again) to the gaping jaws of a Biomechanoid War God, mutilated/spacesuited corpses and countless mass portraits of the ever-growing throngs of the homeless to decorate the featureless, empty walls of the blank architecture where Mr. and Ms. Los Angeles could see as they did the freeway boogie to work. Siquerios and Orozco and every spray-can wielding vato would’ve been proud!

Personally, I'm not much of an art aficionado; when I read the Picasso quote I immediately searched for it on the web -- and was shocked to learn that it was, indeed, a legitimate quote. Picasso dissing apartment art! Who woulda thought....

Ernest Hogan, the author of this story, and I go back a ways; he contributed an original story, "Coyote Goes Hollywood," to my co-edited Witpunk anthology, which was published by Four Walls Eight Windows in 2003. So when I was looking for a previously published, over-the-top "alien contact" story that involved another culture (Earth culture as opposed to alien culture), I immediately thought of Ernesto.

One final comment on Pulphouse Publishing:

My most prized set of books from them is The Collected Short Fiction of Robert Sheckley -- five slipcased volumes, signed by the author as well as the introducer of each volume. My set is #282 of 300. I haven't really thought about this set of books until now, so I did a web search just to see if there were any sets available "out there": I found a few hardcover sets like mine (the set was also published in trade paperback), ranging in price from $600.00 to a high of $1,240.00. Whew.

I bring up Robert Sheckley because if there ever was a witpunk, Sheckley is (was) it. And I have to believe that Sheckley's sardonic writing had a direct influence on both Ernest Hogan and Paul Di Filippo.

---------------
Footnote:

¹ Unfortunately, Cortez on Jupiter has been out of print for quite some time; it was originally published as a mass market paperback by Tor Books in 1990. This is another example in which a midlist author's books have gone out print long before their time. I would suggest to Ernest Hogan that he consider releasing the book in a variety of eBook formats as well as print on demand (POD). There are a myriad of cost-effective resources now available to authors for eBook and POD publishing.

"Residue" by Michael Arsenault

The following story -- "Residue" -- will be the sixth, and final, story to be posted here from my co-edited anthology (with Nick Gevers) Is Anybody Out There? recently published by Daw Books. I hope these stories have intrigued you enough to purchase a copy of the book -- either the mass market paperback edition or the Kindle ebook edition, or both! The anthology contains an additional 9 original stories, by (in order of appearance) Alex Irvine, Yves Meynard, Mike Resnick and Lezli Robyn, Paul Di Filippo, Ray Vukcevich, Matthew Hughes, Ian Watson, Felicity Shoulders and Leslie What, and James Morrow (a nearly 9,000-word story), plus an introduction by Paul McAuley. So there is a lot more reading to be had in the book, and I believe you'll find the quality of these stories easily warrant multiple readings. But enough of the promotion....

In 2002, while working on the Witpunk anthology, co-editor Claude Lalumière sent me a story entitled "A Halloween Like Any Other," written by Michael Arsenault, an author with whom I had no familiarity, or even knowledge of, at the time. Claude asked that I consider the story for our anthology, which I did, and the story was accepted. I learned much later that Claude had attended a party at which Michael had "performed" (Michael's word) the story; that's how Claude came by the story initially.

So, if not for Claude, Michael and I would never have met -- virtually speaking, that is -- and I wouldn't have invited him to contribute a story to the anthology Is Anybody Out There? and Nick and I would not have seen this wonderful little gem of a story -- "Residue."¹

About "Residue," Michael writes: "While on a camping trip, I decided to take a late-night canoe ride. I paddled out to the middle of the lake and then looked up at the sky. It was hard not to notice the difference between this view and the one I had back in the city. Out here I could actually see the stars. Back at home, even on a cloudless night, I'd be hard pressed to spot more than a dozen, but that night, on that lake, I could see thousands twinkling up there. In order to take it all in, I lay down on the bottom of the boat and looked up. Positioned like that I had an unobstructed view, and this, coupled with the gentle rocking of the canoe in the water, began to make me feel weightless. As if gravity had let go of its hold on me and I might start floating up at any moment -- an entirely new sensation for me. One I didn't care for even a little. My stomach churned and my sense of balance abandoned me completely. Frankly, it was a miracle I managed to hang on to my dinner. In the end, at least one good thing came of that experience: it inspired the mood and setting of my story 'Residue.' Not the lake part, nor so much the feeling ill part, but the general sense of wonder and awe that comes with proper stargazing. So maybe, hopefully, all that queasiness was worth it in the end."

Residue

by Michael Arsenault

      They went outside, lay down on the grass, and looked up at the stars.

      Everything was quiet for about a minute, and then:

      "So…"

      "So?"

      "So what are we doing out here?"

      "We're… Nothing. We're just out here."

      "Why?"

      "I don't know. If you really need a reason I guess we could say we're communing with nature. Or something."

      "Since when do we do that?"

      "Since…tonight. Since right now."

      "This doesn't sound like you. Why are you being weird?"

      "I just want to be outside for a little while, okay? Out of the house and away from distractions."

      "What distractions?"

      "Lots of things. Television, for instance."

      "What's wrong with TV?"

      "Nothing, just God forbid it should ever be turned off while we're conscious."

      "You're touchy all of a sudden."

      "Look, I just want to lie here, have a moment of peace, and see if I can connect with something. Stare up into the sky, and, I don't know…ponder the meaning of the universe. What's so weird about that?"

      "It's not like you."

      "Fine. It's not like me. I'm different now."

      "I think I feel bugs crawling up my legs."

      "Maybe you should just go back inside."

      "Don't be so --"

      "No one's forcing you to stay out here."

      "I'm not…"

      "You're not what?"

      "I'm doing my best, okay? I'm trying."

      "I guess."

      "…Do you…?"

      "Do I what?"

      "Don't bite my head off. I was just going to ask if you know any of their names."

      "Whose names?"

      "The stars. The planets. The…whatever those patterns are called."

      "The constellations?"

      "Yeah."

      "No. Don't really know their names. I mean, of course I know some of them, but I don't know which is which."

      "Me neither. I never really thought much about it before, but now that we're here looking up I feel kind of ignorant."

      "You're not ignorant."

      "I feel that way. Ignorant. Not to mention insignificant."

      "Looking up at the sky can do that to a person."

"Graffiti in the Library of Babel" by David Langford (Part 1 of 2)

To continue my celebration -- and promotion -- of Is Anybody Out There? (Daw Books, June 1), my co-edited anthology with Nick Gevers, another story from the book follows.

But first...

The second review of IAOT? has appeared -- from John Ottinger (@johnottinger) on his Grasping for the Wind blog. Typically a review of an anthology will specifically mention maybe 5 or 6 stories and/or authors at most, along with a critique of the anthology as a whole. But John's review contains details on all 15 stories, as well as the introduction, providing readers with a comprehensive look at the entire anthology. John writes: "In Gevers and Halpern’s collection of fifteen original stories, [the Fermi] paradox gets the fictional treatment, explored and examined as only speculators can do....the anthology is an enjoyable read, one that is fairly entertaining with flashes of storytelling flair. Recommended if you have ever asked yourself the very question which provides the title."

And if you decide to click on over to John's review, please do make your way back here for David Langford's story, "Graffiti in the Library of Babel," the third story to be posted in its entirety from Is Anybody Out There?

I've never met David Langford, but I've been a long-time fan of his sardonic fiction, and I've been reading his zine Ansible¹ for what seems like decades. (Wait! It has been decades!) In 2002, Claude Lalumière and I selected David's story "Encounter of Another Kind" (Interzone, December 1991) for inclusion in our co-edited anthology Witpunk (Four Walls Eight Windows, 2003) -- a collection of sardonic fiction, with about half the stories original to the collection and the other half reprints. So, it was only natural for me to invite David to contribute to this anthology as well, and I'm so glad that I did.²

To quote from David's Wikipedia entry: "As of 2008 he has received, in total, 28 Hugo Awards, his 19-year winning streak coming to an end in 2008. A 31-year streak of nominations (1979-2009) for Best Fan Writer came to an end in 2010." Now that's a lot of Hugo Awards -- and nominations!

About his story "Graffiti in the Library of Babel" David writes: "Too many nonfiction commitments, not enough stories written. 'Graffiti in the Library of Babel' is my only fiction of 2009, inspired by our editors' kindly invitation, my inability to resist a Borges allusion, and some random thoughts about unperceived signals. Suppose the aliens out there made the traditional study of our Earthly communications, analysed the most popular forms of email, and offered us the boundless wealth of Contact in terms which we automatically filter out owing to the strong Nigerian accent? No, no, Charlie Stross must already have written that one.³ Some further supposing eventually led to 'Graffiti.'"

Graffiti in the Library of Babel

by David Langford

"There seems to be no difference at all between the message of maximum content (or maximum ambiguity) and the message of zero content (noise)."

-- John Sladek, "The Communicants"

As it turned out, they had no sense of drama. They failed to descend in shiny flying discs, or even to fill some little-used frequency with a tantalizing stutter of sequenced primes. No: they came with spray cans and spirit pens, scrawling their grubby little tags across our heritage.

Or as an apologetic TotLib intern first broke the news: "Sir, someone's done something nasty all over Jane Austen."

# # #

The Total Library project is named in homage to Kurd Lasswitz's thought experiment "Die Universal Bibliothek," which inspired a famous story by Jorge Luis Borges. Another influence is the "World Brain" concept proposed by H. G. Wells. Assembling the totality of world literature and knowledge should allow a rich degree of cross-referencing and interdisciplinary…

Ceri Evans looked up from the brochure. Even in this white office that smelt of top management, she could never resist a straight line: "Why, congratulations, Professor. I think you may have invented the Internet!"

"Doctor, not Professor, and I do not use the title," said Ngombi with well-simulated patience. "Call me Joseph. The essential point of TotLib is that we are isolated from the net. No trolls, no hackers, none of what that Manson book called sleazo inputs. Controlled rather than chaotic cross-referencing."

"But still you seem to have these taggers?"

"Congratulations, Doctor Evans! I think you may have just deduced the contents of my original email to you."

"All right. All square." Ceri held up one thin hand in mock surrender. "We'll leave the posh titles for the medics. Now tell me: Why is this a problem in what I do, which is a far-out region of information theory, rather than plain data security?"

"Believe me, data security we know about. Hackers and student pranksters have been rather exhaustively ruled out. As it has been said, 'Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.'"

"'Holmes, this is marvellous,'" said Ceri dutifully.

"'Meretricious,' said he." Joseph grinned. "We are a literary team here."

Ceri felt a sudden contrarian urge not to be literary. "Maybe we should cut to the chase. There's only one logical reason to call me in. You suspect the Library is under attack through the kind of acausal channel I've discussed in my more speculative papers? A concept, I should remind you, that got me an IgNobel Prize and a long denunciation in The Skeptic because everyone knows it's utter lunacy. Every Einstein-worshipping physicist, at least."

A shrug. "'Once you eliminate the impossible…' And I'm not a physicist. Come and see." He was so very large and very black. Ceri found herself wondering whether his white-on-white decor was deliberate contrast.

# # #

George Alec Effinger - Part Two

My apologies for such a long delay since my previous blog post. I enjoy this enough that I would love to do it full time, but it doesn't pay the bills, unfortunately. I've had two very big projects that I've been working on that have occupied these past two weeks. I've just completed copyediting The Best of Joe R. Lansdale (approximately 152,000 words) for Tachyon Publications, scheduled to be published in 2010. I also completed my copyediting review of novel Pennterra (approximately 135,000 words) by Judith Moffett; this is the first reprint title I acquired for Fantastic Books (an imprint of Warren Lapine's Wilder Publications). The book had to be scanned from the original hardcover, and there was a huge amount of copyediting work, plus the author has made some text changes to update the book from the mid-'80s to 2009. I'm now waiting on Judy to finish her review of the last portion of the book. My next project will be copyediting vampire anthology By Blood We Live (this one's a monster 245,000 words!) edited by John Joseph Adams for Night Shade Books. Now, on to the purpose of this blog post...

This is the second of three essays on author George Alec Effinger -- one for each of the three collections of his work that I acquired and edited for Golden Gryphon Press, between 2001 and 2007. Part One of this series focused on Budayeen Nights.

Once Budayeen Nights was complete and in the hands of the typesetter, I began thinking about the next collection of Effinger's work. But now that George had passed away, I didn't have his input on this second book as I did for BN. All I had was my commitment to him to help bring his work back into print, and his email of August 30, 2001, in which he suggested a collection featuring "a hefty selection of my 200 stories, with introductions to each one, and calling it GAE: The White Album or GAE Live! At the Village Gate or . . . GAE: The Prairie Years." When George and I were communicating by email (albeit sporadically, due to his health and domicile issues) between 2001 and 2002, I had asked him to put together a list of the stories he would like to include in a "best of" collection, but time just wasn't on his side. And George wasn't kidding when he referred to his "200 stories" -- I know, as I've tried to track down a goodly portion of them! In fact, I probably have the largest "collection" of George Alec Effinger short fiction, only second to Barbara Hambly, who now has all of George's files and books in her possession.

The Concept
I'm a bit fuzzy on the details, considering it was six years ago, but if ye olde memory still serves me, I came up with the basic idea for the second collection during a telephone conversation with author George Zebrowski. Unlike archived email, I'm not able to replay and quote six-year-old telephone conversations, so memory will have to do. (Maybe AT&T has the conversation archived in some illegal-wiretapping file? GeorgeZ and I may have mentioned the words "Budayeen" or "Islamic" or "Arab" in the course of our conversations about GAE!)

I had worked with GeorgeZ on his short story collection entitled Swift Thoughts (Golden Gryphon Press, 2002). During that project, and for some time afterward, we spoke quite often on the telephone. George had unlimited long distance at the time and enjoyed calling and chatting with his many author friends and editors. It was the "author friends and editors" that gave me the idea. Since GAE was no longer with us, to select the stories for his next collection, I decided that I would ask his peers -- friends and fellow authors, and editors -- to select their favorite GAE story. And then, once they told me their favorite story, I would ask them -- as a tribute to GAE -- to write a mini introduction to the story. I wanted to first hook them on the story suggestion, and then seek their cooperation to write an intro. GeorgeZ wholeheartedly agreed to contribute, as did many others.