Every Planet We Reach Is Dead: Part 1

Joan Lewis sweated despite the cold. Suspended in the Bulb, she didn’t even notice: her focus was elsewhere. A dozen displays surrounded her and others moved into her vision when needed. A stream of information bounced off her retina, a data feed that was half visual and half fed into her mind. The onboard computer, Junko, worked diligently to keep her completely up-to-date while maintaining the life support systems of Salvation. Drugs surged through Joan’s veins with the purpose of overclocking her body as they heightened her reaction times and thought processes. Her hands rushed around like erratic moons, and her facial expressions did the rest. Her feet were locked on the pilot’s platform which rotated and twisted her body to suit her needs. Joan slipped into the connection with Junko, the outside completely forgotten as she reached perfect symbiosis.

Behind her the captain observed. When he needed to, he stepped in to bring up information. His eyes darted back to Joan and a smirk broke out as he watched her mad dance. He acknowledged that her work was far better than his ever was. His body suit was warm, but he has his face free to feel the cold of the Bulb. He could see the void of space just beyond the screens and the frenetic Joan. Endless vacuum. Vega crept into the peripheral burning its blue-white brightness. Sputtering and spurting its gases, waves of radiation washed off Vega in random bursts, as had happened for millennia. At its core it rumbled. Rigel wondered if it would be enough to sustain them.

The time came. Rigel noticed Joan’s movements became longer and more attuned. He imagined the scene outside the ship from far away: two specks closing in like mating bugs, one a luminescent dominator, the other a silent receiver. The ship they were docking with was ancient and its batteries long dormant. A single ring surrounded its engine, immobile before the life-giving connection. The incoming arrival was long and slender, two rings at either end, one contracted and waiting. To the ignorant it would look like the two ships were about to collide, but Rigel knew better. They would elegantly become one if Joan had anything to do with it.

Rigel has watched Joan do this a hundred times in the sims, but it was always impressive, more so now that it was for real. He could make out the other ship, The Indomitable, as they came perpendicular to it. They have come knocking to discover what conquered the unconquerable.

‘How does the airlock look?’ Rigel said to Joan. She didn’t look up, instead shooting off a data byte. He brought up the info.

The Indomitable was intact, no holes or damage. The only noticeable exception was the airlock. Signs of expulsion were evident and pipes drifted lazily out of the opening like an anemone. There were scars where heavy objects would have struck as they were jettisoned. Was it from error or on purpose? Rigel couldn’t see anything that told him one way or the other. If the hulk had been ripped open it was going to make boarding difficult.

‘I can still make it; the lock gates are compatible with ours. I’m going in.’

Rigel threw down the scans.

Joan’s movements sped up and red lights flashed as she went too far one way, then too far the other. On the hull spurts of gas popped seemingly at random. The warning lights ceased and there was a moment of silence.

‘Bingo,’ Joan said right before she made contact.

In the weightlessness of the Bulb it wasn’t an issue but the ship shuddered around them. In the next moment the ship became rigid again, only this time with an additional appendage. They had become one vessel.

‘Easy,’ said Joan. ‘Now comes the really fun part.’

She disengaged from the various wires and inputs and pushed off towards Rigel. She glided towards him, her eyes locked on his and intent on only one thing. Rigel caught her as she came close.

‘We’ve got an hour before the rest of the crew wake up,’ Joan said, a mischievous smile plastered on her face. ‘I’m all worked up.’

Rigel grinned. She grabbed his hand and pushed off back down towards the tunnel and the bunks. He loved it when she took control.

***

The crew woke up, slowly. While Joan came down off the amphetamine and hormonal cocktail, she watched her fellow passengers on a screen in the lower corner of her retina. The crews’ bodies shook as they were reanimated, blood pumping back through empty veins and stirring organs. The worst part was the full-body paraesthesia that accompanied the rejuvenation. Thankfully it only took a few hours before the body was back to full capacity.

Joan stretched, bones cracking for the first time in decades. Rigel lay in bed, his eyes glazed over as he flicked through pre-boarding checks.

‘Come, play a game with me,’ she said. He came back to reality. ‘We’ve got a little time.’

She sat down at the table and brought up a game of chess. The pieces materialised and she chose white. Rigel sauntered over, his skin suit crawling over him. The ship was still cold from the eons.

‘I’ll probably be rusty, even if you give my AI a handicap,’ he said, coughing and easing himself into the seat.

‘It’s not about winning, my dear,’ Joan said, even though a competitive glint was etched into her eyes. They began rapidly before slowing into a rhythm.

‘Do you know how chess first spread?’ Rigel asked his lover. When she rolled her eyes he continued. ‘It spread out of India, then over the centuries it was found in more and more countries. One of the oldest games every invented.’

‘Fascinating story, though I think you should pay more attention to your moves than your anecdotes.’

‘I was just thinking that now we have the chance to take chess to the stars some 2,000 years from its origins.’

‘If there are other species out there, do you think they invented chess independently?’

‘Let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised.’

They turned back to the game at hand and Rigel’s brow became more and more furrowed.

‘Ah, you’ve got a response to every move I make,’ said Rigel. ‘Never mind two steps ahead, you’re at least five. One tiny error and it just cascades into defeat from there. For such a mirrored game it becomes asymmetrical so quickly.’

‘No different to any other game, or really anything at all. Think about it. There’s an equal and opposite reaction for everything. Nature adores its arms races. You only have to be ready to step up to the challenge.’

Rigel grunted in amusement.

‘I just need to think outside the box. Beat you with randomness.’

‘I’m plenty used to randomness.’

The AIs they were using threw out endless moves per turn, a thousand calculations a second. Junko watched from a distance, mostly disapproving of all moves chosen by both Rigel and Joan.

‘Have you ever played vanilla chess?’

Joan looked up. ‘No, I haven’t actually. No point.’

‘I have. It’s remarkable the patterns a computer chooses over a human. For one, humans prefer repetition, familiarity. But it’s all a simulation. It’s the same principle as docking this ship, just a tad more complicated in the types of calculations that an AI or Junko throws up. That right, Junk?’

The lights dim in response.

‘Such a quiet machine. Sometimes I wonder what Junk thinks about in the downtime.’

‘What downtime? Me, I wonder if the AI can distinguish between a game and real life, or if both have equal weighting.’

‘Either way, they offer us the best possible result. We just have the courage to take it. Check.’

‘Such the inspiration, Rigel. But we’re all pieces in the larger game. Us in particular. Moved to the farthest reaches of known space on some vague hope that there’ll be something at the end of it for us.’

‘Sometimes I don’t mind being manipulated. We’ve got the chance to change the future after all.’ He gave a half-hearted chuckle.

‘You know as well as I do that the only reason we’re here is that it’s better than home. And that it gives the only people worth a shit a slight chance of a better life.’

‘Hey, I think you’re worth a shit. That’s why I brought you with me.’

‘Don’t kid yourself, I came because you’re useless without me.’

He laughed at that.

‘Checkmate,’ Joan said, leaning back with a satisfied smirk.

‘Well, fuck me.’

‘Is that request?’

‘What?’

‘To fuck you,’ she said as she launched herself at him again,

***

The bright, fluorescent light of Junko’s airlock painted everyone in unnatural shades. Lin Pei stepped onto her suit printer before the others and froze. Her lungs were still pumping back to life, her joints ached, and the cold was taking a long time to her body. After decades in suspended animation, wrapped tighter than a newborn baby, she was about to be covered up again. She had barely had time to breathe before being sent out on mission.

The printer coil surrounded Lin from the boots up, producing a warm synthetic material that slowly covered her skin. She didn’t flinch. It was a similar consistency to body paint, but provided a vitality-giving inner layer for their spacesuits. The machine finished with Lin first and she stepped back to receive the exosuit. Junko was soft in her touch as she slottd and clipped the suit around Lin’s limbs and torso. It was over in thirty seconds. Lin reached into the collar, retrieved the earpiece and slipped it in.

‘You’re live, Lin,’ Joan said into her microphone. She had been watching this all through her various screens. As the others suited up, Joan read all their vitals the nanotech of the inner layer of their suits was feeding her. She checked them off one by one. Cams, audio, heartbeats – they were all available to her instantaneously, placed on to her heads-up display by Junko.

We ready to do this?

Rigel’s voice cut in. He was part of the forward team. It was him, Lin and the twins, Hotham and Jay. Like a good leader he walked between them and checked their suits. He straightened up and faced the other three.

–Alright crew, this it. It’s been a long time coming but, heck, it just feels like we woke up from a particularly good sleep. No worries. I hope you’ve all gone over our training procedures. We’re entering a hulk, no atmosphere, so we take it easy until we can boot her.

As Rigel spoke, Joan flicked cameras to the Major, who had retreated to her station immediately after waking. Joan brought the screen closer. More machine than person, the Major was connected to her personal hub, lost in her own objectives. Behind her the massive 3D printer constructed a series of mechanical golems, its materialisers working back and forth in rapid, measured strikes. Joan already tried to dig into the Major’s past and reasons for being here, but it was dead zone after dead zone as she trawled through the feed. The woman was untouchable, a complete ghost. As she mused on this, a voice called into her ear.

–Joan?

She switched her camera feed back to the airlock.

‘Yes, captain?’

–Nodding off up there? I need you alert. I know you’re good but you’re not do-it-in-your-sleep good.

Someone laughed.

‘Even if I were out cold, I’d still do a better job than you, sir.’

He looked directly at the cam and flashed a thumbs up.

–Right, are we ready to do this? Hotham, Jay, take point. I’ll follow and Lin, you’re last. Joan, hit it when you’re ready.

The boarding party moved into formation, sleek suits ready for their first run, bulky equipment in strength-enhanced arms. Joan hit the airlock release.

***

Lin watched her compatriots disappear into the yawning dark ahead of her, the separation of life and death. She stepped in behind them automatically, not wanting to but because she had to. That was what she was paid to do. She’d signed the contract to go boldly where no person had been before. Or at least to discover why those that had gone before never came.

Her headlamps came on automatically as she crossed into the lifeless hulk. The light captured her crewmates before she turned to look around. It looked like the evil twin of Salvation, a leviathan with the life crushed out of it. They crossed into the living area.

It was a similar space to their own rec space, but smaller. The tech was older, less sophisticated. They could only dock because all ships were made retroactive. Lin veered slightly, head going light. She shook it off quickly, forcing a release of hormones to focus. Rigel’s voice suddenly came over the comms.

Looks like everything is mostly intact. Joan, are you receiving vid? Anything loose will have gone to the suck, but I don’t think the control panels are damaged. Hotham, can you get her started?

Lin took it all on board and wandered through the ship. It was like being under water, like training all those years ago. Wires waved at her as she moved slowly through, her grav boots operating in time with her movements.

OK Jay, close down the hatch. Joan, we’ve done a sweep and there doesn’t appear to be any hull breaches. We’re closing the doors and going to boot her.

Lin snapped out of her reveries and looked around. She found herself in the cryo-chamber. No doubt these versions were wildly out of date, and the discomfort Lin had felt when she first woke up would be nothing compared to what it was like in the past. A dull thrum started beneath the static and her breathing. Vibrations started to travel up her leg with each step. She walked past each chamber, the glass exteriors covered in ice that hadn’t melted in centuries. It had frozen instantaneously as soon as the hull breach occurred. Lin came to the last one just as the lights turned on and she wiped her gloved hand across the ice.

Something moved. Lin blinked, looked again. The chamber hummed and jived, lighting up along the sides. And inside. Something moved again. Lin’s eyes went wide but she took a quick step back as the door of the chamber in front of her burst open, whatever gases were trapped inside escaping and freezing in mid-air.

A body fell out, or more precisely rolled out, performing somersaults on exit. Lin stared at the man who writhed in front of her. Suspended in mid-air, his body wriggled in a ball. Lin’s fingers twitched at her side. She almost took another step back, almost ran. Instead she rushed at the man as fast as her grav boots allowed, oxygenator in hand.

–GET IN HERE

She screamed into her vox. Her body took over from her mind. She reached for the man and tried to pull his limbs apart so she could wrestle the oxygenator on to his face. The power might have turned on but the air was going to take a little while, if there even was air left in the throttled ship. Lights flickered and the scene in front of Lin was like a nightmare. She forced her suited arm between the man’s limbs and finally managed to get the device over his mouth. As she did, his eyes shot open.

***

‘Just to be clear: you have no memory of what happened?’

Rigel stood across from the man they rescued from The Indomitable. Thanks to the onboard data files they determined that he was one Ari Walcot. He sat on a stripped-down bed. The medbay glowed with cleanliness. Walcot’s eyes focused on the floor and his hands mashed together, fingers weaving in and out of each other. He didn’t answer and Rigel ground his teeth.

Rigel had been quite reserved and let the new arrival recuperate, but it had been hours since they rescued him from the hulk, which was still attached precariously to the Salvation. The engineers were going back and forth as they checked the systems and data. That part of their mission was working as it should. There was damage and nothing obviously wrong. The main problem Rigel had was the living corpse back from the dead.

‘Let me explain this to you, again. We – and I mean humanity – lost contact with you, The Indomitable, not long after your first arrival in the system. It’s been a long time.’ He stops himself momentarily. That was an understatement. ‘I would appreciate if you told me what you can remember.’

Walcot looked up, straight into Rigel’s eyes.

‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing, except who I am, and even that’s vague. I’ve the barest memories of before I even signed up. I…’ He choked. It was either emotions or his vocal muscles that caught him.

Rigel grunted. He had been a kid when The Indomitable went quiet. It was the last outpost. Humanity had waited centuries, generations, waiting for The Indomitable to reach the Vega system. They’d learned about every expedition at school, though not so much detail as knowing about each member of each crew. The Vega expedition had been the last one not yet established when Rigel came of age.

The excitement was huge. He remembered the day at school, an address from the President and everything. But it was all for nothing in the end. It took years for the communications to come back to Earth, and they started off positive. But the government censored the last desperate may day calls. The only thing people could think about was the fact that while they had celebrated the arrival of the crew, that same crew had already been dead for years.

A door slid open with a hiss and Lin walked in. Her eyes traced over charts as the patient’s results rolled past her retinas.

‘He appears healthy, though over-exposed to the cryosleep, obviously. No long term effects. But the memory loss can happen, quite often actually. Especially in the case of trauma.’

Rigel nodded and his fingers squeezed his lips as he thought.

‘I imagine losing all the rest of your crew would be quite traumatic. Can you bring up his ship records?’

Lin’s eyes twitched.

‘Here you are. As you know, his name is Ari Walcot. He was brought along to document the settlement of the Vega system.

‘You’re a journalist?’ said Rigel.

Walcot smiled uneasily and rubbed the back of his head. ‘If you say so.’

‘Great, so now not only do I have an extra body on my hands, but he’s useless too.’ Rigel threw rows his hands up in the air and kicked the nearest bed.

A voice chirped up in his ear.

–Captain. You’re needed in the Bulb. Now.

What is it Joan?’

–I think I know what happened here.

***

Vega bulged at the equator. Parallel to the equator the light was a duller blue-white than at the poles. Junko’s many eyes focused on this point. An object had appeared in Vega’s orbit.

Joan stared down the barrel of an optic station. She flipped between spectrums and checked the object in each. It appeared to her as a small black smudge. A freckle against the mighty sun.

‘It’s a ship?’

‘It’s something technological. It’s far too small for a planet, and the orbit is wrong anyway.’ Joan pulled away from the optics and looked straight at Rigel.

‘So you’re saying, potentially, that The Indomitable ran into aliens – again, potentially – and we’ve come 25 light years to meet the same fate?’

‘Maybe. Maybe not. I can’t get any energy readings from it. It appears dormant.’

‘Have you checked any comms from Earth or the other expedition systems?

‘It’s still transferring, it’s a lot of data for Junko to analyse on top of immediate duties.’

‘Yeah, I know that, I just want to make sure if this is going to be a first contact situation, or if we’ve already been beaten to it. In the mean time, rack up some probes to send out for investigation. Keep quiet, no radio, reduce our radiation, and don’t tell any–’

–Captain. I assume you’ve spotted the anomaly.

The Major. Her voice crackled through the all-purpose frequency, the robotic shifts of her mechanized voice box magnified through the vox.

‘Indeed we have. We’re coming up with a plan of action now. It appears quiet for now.’

–I’m already putting together a drone team for reconnaissance. I suggest you work through the data banks of The Indomitable more efficiently.

With a click the Major signed off. Rigel’s jaw clenched.

‘Ok so now we have a clue as to why the Major was signed up for this mission. Joan, I want you to keep working on data from The Indomitable and to keep scanning the system for clues. Get those probes out quickly. I’m going back to talk to our guest.’

***

One, two, three probes launched by Junko, pacifist torpedoes hunting for knowledge. They crossed the gap between sentient ship and anomaly quickly, dodging debris and maintaining formation. They relayed imagery back to Junko, who fed it on to the crew.

As they already knew, the anomaly was massive. A large sphere maybe the size of a small moon. Its skin was layered with crevices and mountains. Spires reached up off its surface, ugly spikes and deformities. There were valleys and bunkers as well, indented facades across the whole thing. The drones split up.

They zoomed across the horizons and the scanners slowly brought the anomaly into a 3D rendition in Junko’s database. In the background Vega burned and its flames lapped at edges of the system. The haziness diffused the light to a romantic glow. But there was no light from the anomaly. It orbited in silence.

You Must Be By The Book

When it comes to pop culture fame, the fans are fickle. Especially in the modern age where SJW-ism can lead to turns of fate that would be unrealistic in any novel. Amy Schumer, Lena Dunham and more have all been thrown under the bus the moment they speak out of turn. The revolution eats its children, because if it didn’t how would it progress?

Let’s take a recent example: Veronica Roth. This young author shot to fame with her Divergent series and the accompanying movies. This is the type of meteoric rise we saw for other series like Twilight and The Hunger Games. And who is the main audience of YA? Young females, 15-30, and therefore almost definitely woke as fuck.

Back to Roth. Her latest book, Carve the Mark, recently came out, and sales are definitely not on the level of Divergent. Compare to Harry Potter and the Cursed Child (a goddamn theatre script) which brought fans back in droves to make it one of the bestsellers, worldwide, of the year. Now as to why Carve the Mark has certainly performed below expectations (Divergent was one of those phenomena books, selling hundreds of thousands across the globe) is difficult to pinpoint: previous sales were based on the movie, not releasing the book for Christmas, any number of seasonal reasons. But if you look through the Goodreads page, we discover another narrative.

The fans are not impressed with Ms Roth. Here is a smattering of comments.

But now instead of telling you why this book is racist, as there are better voices, I will direct you to Justina Ireland who has spoken out about this book –
http://justinaireland.com/dammit-this…

What I want to address is the ableism. Recently Veronica Roth did an interview with NPR where they discussed how the current gifts in CtM were inspired by chronic pain. The interviewer says that chronic pain can be a gift, to which Roth agrees and goes on to say that part of the book is Cyra figuring out why her and others are worthy of pain.

This to me was so upsetting. I have lived with chronic pain now for 7 years. It is something that has taken over my life and caused a lot of harm. Some days it is so bad I can barely sit up, let alone get out of bed. And to see someone equate it with a gift or say people are worthy of it makes me feel sick. Whether or not Roth has chronic pain herself, I am not one to say she is lying, that does not take away the harm. It is not a magical shield to be pulled out when you’ve hurt people.

*I want to note that this book has problematic issues within it that I didn’t pick up on while first reading it. Learn more about these issues here:http://justinaireland.com/dammit-this…

I’m sorry that I didn’t recognize these issues. I’m listening and learning and will strive to do better in the future.

I don’t feel comfortable supporting this book anymore despite initially enjoying the story. I’m leaving my rating blank & adding this disclaimer after all of the controversy so people can be informed to make their own decision:

My original understanding was that both cultures viewed each other as “savages” and that the Shotet were far more powerful and advanced, but it’s extremely possible that I misunderstood the worldbuilding — you can see in my original review that I was suuuuuper confused. (The worldbuilding was unclear to begin with and then the ARCs had a giant “uncorrected proof” printed diagonally across each page that made it very challenging for me to read/focus on). So I won’t be going back to read this and think it’s sufficient to throw the warning out there that the way race and chronic pain are handled here have upset a lot of people. And I do apologize if my support of this book made you feel disregarded in any way.

Personally, this was the first word of harmful representation of POC that I had heard & as it was brought to light after I had posted my reviews, I was not aware of these issues when I originally read the book. If you would like to read my apology on not recognizing/addressing these issues in my own reviews, you can find that here: https://twitter.com/emmmabooks/status…

There are SO MANY MORE sources on information regarding the problematic content of Carve The Mark that are so easy to find, but I wanted to provide you with a few that helped spark this important discussion. Do with this information what you will, but I am just asking that you take the voices of those who may have been harmed by the racism & ableism expressed in this novel into consideration before making you decisions about reading/purchasing this book. It’s crucial that we listen to the marginalized voices in our community if we hope to make a change, and I hope that you all take the time to educate yourselves on an issue that has massive effects on the publishing world and our beloved book community.

I am removing my rating from this book because of the harmful nature of the book. At first I felt compelled to keep it intact because I was paid to review it, but at this time, I don’t feel comfortable rating the book highly when it has hurt and offended so many of my followers and readers in general. I’m sorry to anyone who saw my previous rating and was shocked or disappointed in me for giving it support.

1/18/17 Update
It was brought to my attention that this previous update may have been construed that I was paid to rate the book highly. This is untrue. The way that I rated the book originally (4 stars) was not because I was paid. I would have rated the book 1 star even if I was being paid (or, ideally, I would have canceled or backed out of the sponsorship completely), but at the time that I was reading it, I didn’t recognize any of the problematic aspects and therefore somewhat enjoyed it enough to give it a 3.5-4 star rating. I debated removing my rating after all of the criticisms of CtM broke out, but I was paid to post a review, not necessarily a positive one, and I had thought that removing my rating would be discontinuous with the video I had made for CtM, which was also paid. Long story short, if I were to delete any of the reviews or posts about CtM that I made, I would be breaking a contract, and I had lumped the rating I gave the book into that group of un-deleteable content, lest there be consequences. Now, however, I feel it’s best to remove the rating because my original review is still available for reading and viewing and I don’t want to give false promotion to a book that makes me uncomfortable and that has hurt so many people.
I definitely didn’t rate it highly because I was being paid, and I didn’t remove the rating sooner because I was weary that I would be breaking a contract. Now, however, being transparent with my audience takes more of a priority and I will keep the book unrated unless the publisher raises concerns about it.

**A NOTE- It was brought to my attention via twitter (link:https://twitter.com/justinaireland/st…) that this book plays into some potentially harmful tropes regarding race and portrayals of antagonism. I deeply regret that I did not pick up on this when I first read the book, but I wanted to edit my review in order to alert my viewers that POC in this book may be portrayed in a toxic light. Please proceed with wariness if you intend to read this, and bear in mind the consequences that Roth’s writing may have on marginalized people. Additionally bear in mind that supporting an author who writes about problematic themes potentially takes away money and readership from authors who write #ownvoices books, so you may considering reading one of these instead if you have now become skeptical about this book:
Muslim authors: https://twitter.com/AvidReaderBlog/st…
Diverse/#ownvoices reads: https://twitter.com/novelparadise/sta…
Diverse recommendations: https://twitter.com/chasingfaes/statu…
LGBTQIA+ books: https://twitter.com/Bookishwithtea/st…
Diverse books: https://twitter.com/thebookvoyagers/s…

I could go on. But these people really do labour whatever point they are trying to make. Honestly, the amount of times these reviews say something like, ‘I didn’t notice it at first, but then I totally saw it when some Marginalised Sufferer pointed it out, so I am so like sorry,’ makes me sick. Maybe if you didn’t see it, it a) wasn’t there, or b) doesn’t matter. The hand wringing that goes into appeasing uppity minorities really is overdone.

For a breakdown of the issues at stake, see here:

The bottom line is that books like Carve the Mark and TheContinent both utilize AND reinforce cultural white supremacy. It’s only because of cultural white supremacy that readers are able to code these cultures as evil. And because readers code brown-skinned people as evil in a literary context the cognitive paths for them to code brown-skinned people as evil in a real are reinforced.

There’s more to be said about the way the plot elements reinforce the initial worldbuilding truths in both books (Cyra of Carve the Mark is the perfect example of a talented tenth Negro or an educated savage, the person who manages to rise above their genetics and culture) but I think there’s already enough here for readers and writers to chew on. We should all be critical readers and writers who consider the implications of our worldbuilding more fully, by reading more broadly and understanding the impact of the story frames we use.

Key here is the inability to face up to reality. I could perhaps criticise the writers for being lazy in transposing real world facts to a fantasy world (but then, why couldn’t it be the case) but this clawing for facts about White Supremacy are unjustified. White Supremacy does not code anything. If an author lazily uses facts to build their world, so be it, but to read racism into it denies reality. People and groups of people are seen in relation to others. Stereotypes exist for a reason. Getting on your high horse won’t change a thing.

But all this could have been avoided if only the publishers had hired keen readers to pick up on all examples of racism, sexism and ableism!

“Sensitivity reader” is a person who, for a small fee, will provide feedback about the book based on self-ascribed areas of expertise like “dealing with terminal illness,” “racial dynamics in Muslim communities” or “transgender issues”, according to The Chicago Tribune.

 

That Chicago Tribune article sums it up:

Sensitivity readers have emerged in a climate – fueled in part by social media – in which writers are under increased scrutiny for their portrayals of people from marginalized groups, especially when the author is not a part of that group.

This potential for offense has some writers scared. Young-adult author Susan Dennard recently hired a fan to review her portrayal of a transgender character in her “Truthwitch” series.

More great quotes:

“Books for me are supposed to be vehicles for pleasure, they’re supposed to be escapist and fun,” she says. They’re not supposed to be a place where readers “encounter harmful versions” and stereotypes of people like them.

Still, some sensitivity readers feel they are in part contributing to the problem. Clayton said she’s unsettled by the idea that she’s being paid for her expertise, but also is helping white authors write black characters for books from which they reap profit and praise.

Cue the ‘rehhhhhhing’.

As we’ve seen though, diversity and equality is getting its mendacious claws into everything. Just the other day I was told of a UK publisher who had to undergo diversity training, and were told not to use ‘African covers’ for their books written by African authors. Referring to one particular example, the book did not sell well without the African cover. Those bloody racist consumers!

Entertainment, specifically the book industry, is besieged on all sides by the forces of diversity, equality and Otherness. As the English speaking world becomes increasingly less white (and the biggest book market in the world is the English language market) we will see greater and more powerful forces arrayed against literature. Do not publish White Men. Do not even think of reading White Men, you heathen. Only publish books with minorities that are written by minorities. Only publish books about white culture written by POCs! Publishers, a tiny industry as it is, is having to hire more than just White Women. This is spreading out the power. Just when Amazon is atomising the industry, Others want to atomise it further. Publishing is dead, cannibalised by Amazon with the remains picked at by opportunistic and selfish SJWs. It may not be visible, but just give it a few years.

reality
Reality isn’t comfortable, darling.
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Current Year!
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Marginalising version of ‘Current Year’
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Because of Blasian babies? Da fuck?

Every Planet We Reach is Dead #2

The airlock of Junko is bright, fluorescent light painting everyone in unnatural shades. Joan watches as Lin Pei steps onto her suit printer before the others and freeze stiff. The woman’s lungs are still pumping back to life, her joints ache, the cold slowly seeping out. And now she’s getting wrapped up again.

The printer coil surrounds her, starting from her boots. Warm synthetic material covers her from bottom to top. She doesn’t flinch. It’s like body paint, a vitality giving inner layer for their spacesuits. She is finished first and steps back to receive the exosuit. Junko is soft in her touch, clamping, slotting and clipping the suit around Lin’s limbs and torso. It’s over in thirty seconds. Lin reaches into the collar and retrieves the earpiece.

‘And you’re live, Lin.’

Joan’s voice reach Lin, then the others as they each suit up, reading all the vitals the nanotech of the inner layer is feeding her, checking them off like a good pilot. Cams, audio, heartbeats – they’re all available to her instantaneously, thrown up by Junk.

We ready to do this?

Rigel turns to prep the boarding team: Lina and the twins, Hotham and Jay.

Alright crew, we have arrived. It’s been a long time coming, but we’ve gone over our training procedures. We’re entering an atmosphere-less hulk so we take it easy until we can boot her.

Joan’s mind wanders. She flicks cameras to the Major, who has retreated to her station. Joan brings the screen closer. More machine than person, the Major is connected to her personal hub at the other end of the ship, lost in her own objectives. Behind her the massive 3D printer is constructing something. Joan has already tried to dig into the Major’s past and reasons for being here, but it’s virtual block after digital deadzone. She’s untouchable.

The next camera goes to Unaipon, the scholar, also busy doing whatever it is he does. He seems to flit from one stations to the next, never happy with whatever he is working on for longer than a few minutes. Or he’s working on each simultaneously.
It feels like yesterday since she saw these people last. Of course in reality it has been about 250 years. Joan grips her holds, white knuckles. The abyss of the time period baulks her at the best of times. A voice yells in her ear.

Joan.

She switches back to the airlock.

‘Yes captain?’

I need you awake, pilot, I know you’re good but you’re not do-it-in-your-sleep good.

Someone laughs.

‘Even if I were out cold, I’d still do a better job than you, sir.’

She sees him look directly at the cam and give a smile.

Right, are we ready to do this? Hotham, Jay, take point. I’ll follow and Lin, you’re last. Joan, hit it when you’re ready.

The boarding party gets into formation, sleek suits ready for their first run, bulky equipment in strength-enhanced arms. Joan hits the release.

***

Lin watches her compatriots disappear into the yawning dark ahead of her, the separation of life and death. She steps in behind them automatically, not wanting to but it’s why she’s here. To go where almost no one has been before. Or at least to discover why those that did go before went quiet.

Her headlamps come on automatically as she crosses into the lifeless hulk. The light captures her crewmates before she turns to look around. The space seems like the evil twin of Junko, a leviathan with the life crushed out of it. They all cross into what had been the living area.

The whole ship is similar, but smaller. The tech is older, less sophisticated. They can only dock because all ships have been made retroactive. Quite the foresight, Lin thinks. Then she thinks what inventions and foresights have been made in the intervening years. She veers slightly, head going light. She shakes it off quickly, forcing a release of hormones to focus. Rigel’s voice suddenly comes over the comms, crisp.

Looks like everything is mostly intact. Joan, are you receiving vid? Good. Anything loose will have gone to suck, but I don’t think the control panels are damaged. Hotham, can you get her started?

Lin takes it all on board and keeps wandering through the ship. It’s like being under water, like being in training all those years ago. Seawood-esque wires wave at her as she moves slowly through, her grav boots operating in time with her movements.

OK Jay, close down the hatch. Joan, we’ve done a sweep and there doesn’t appear to be any hull breaches. We’re closing the doors and going to boot her.

Lin snaps out of her dreaming. Looks around. She’s in the cryo-chamber.

***

In a pit of snakes, squirming and wriggling, Walcot drags himself up. The snakes fall away, their bodies leaving his in relief. Not tied back by gravity, he shoots towards the sky. A horrific face appears, all teeth and pale skin, and Walcot feels a sudden terror in his stomach he hasn’t felt in a very long time. The thing opens its mouth and…

Gas jets into his face. He tries to scream but a tube is shoved down his throat. He gags, hands floundering to get a grip on the tube. He pulls it out, vomiting up whatever liquid lingered is his esophagus. The gas is still jetting into his face. He tries to push past it but is met by glass. Something wells up inside him.

Walcot screams. He screams and it feels like he is forcing his insides out his mouth. He feels his mind leave him, leaving only a screaming husk. But only for a moment.

The glass disappears as if magically dispersed. Something lets his feet go. Walcot falls face first, still screaming. But he doesn’t hit anything. Instead he just floats out. He stops, shocked. Then he tries to breath again.

A rancid and metallic taste assaults him, but no air.

ohfucktheresnoatmosphereFUCK

He squeezes his eyes shut, convulses, and wishes he was back in the pit of snakes.

***

Lin stares at the man writhing in front of her. He’s suspended in midair, his body wriggling in a ball. Her fingers twitch at her side. She almost takes a step back. Instead she rushes at the man as fast as her grav boots allow, oxygenator in hand. She screams into her vox.

GET IN HERE, TO ME!

Lin’s body takes over from her mind, like she’s left herself. Reaching for the man, she tries to pull his limbs apart so she can wrestle the oxygenator on to his face. The power might be back on but the air is going to take a little while, if there even is air left. Lights flicker like a nightmare. Forcing her suited arm between the man’s limbs, Lin finally manages to get the rebreather over his mouth. She switches her vox to external, hoping there’s enough reclaimed atmosphere by now to carry her voice.

‘BREATHE.’

Part 3

Every Planet We Reach is Dead #1

Somewhere, distant. Two specks close-in like mating bugs, one a luminescent dominatrix, the other a silent receiver. Their rings are immobile, frozen before the life-giving connection. The receiver is clearly older, its batteries long dormant. A single ring surrounds the engine, a giant, bulbous antiquity. The incoming arrival is long and slender, two rings at either end, one contracted and waiting. New and old will unite.

In the distance spins Vega, sputtering and spurting its gases, waves of radiation washing the vicinity in random bursts. So it has been for millennia. It has not seen life for a long time, but then, what does it care? There is no old or new, just forever and perhaps an end. At its core it rumbles.

***

Suspended in the Bulb, Joan Lewis sweats despite the cold. She doesn’t notice. A dozen displays surround her, move into her vision when needed. A stream of information bounces within her retina, half visual and half fed into her mind. The ship’s computer, Junko, works diligently to keep her completely up-to-date. Drugs surge through Joan’s veins, heightening her reaction times and thought processes, overclocking her body. Her hands rush around like erratic moons, and her facial expressions do the rest. Her feet are locked in on the pilot’s platform as the embodiment of Junko rotates and twists to suit her needs. Joan is suspended in symbiosis with the ship.

Behind her is the captain, observing, but also stepping in to bring up information when needed. His eyes dart back to Joan and a smirk breaks out as he watches her, watches her dance. Her work is better than his ever was. His body suit is warm, but he has his face free to feel the cold of the Bulb. Past the screens and the frenetic Joan is space. Endless space. Just creeping into the peripheral is Vega burning its blue-white brightness. The eagle has landed, Rigel thinks.

Rigel notices Joan focus, stiffen up, and her movements become longer and attuned. The time has come. He’s watched her do this a hundred times in the sims, but it’s always impressive, more so now that it’s for real. He can make out the other ship now, the Indomitable, as they come perpendicular to it. Slotting it between the two rings of Junko. Junko has come knocking to discover what conquered the unconquerable.

‘How does the airlock look?’ Rigel says to Joan. She doesn’t look up, instead shooting off a data byte in his direction. He brings up the info.

The Indomitable is intact, no holes or damage. Except for the airlock. Signs of expulsion are evident, pipes drifting lazily out of the opening like an anemone. There are scars where heavy objects would have struck as they were jettisoned. An error or on purpose? Rigel can’t see anything that tells him one way or the other. If the hulk had been ripped open it’s going to make boarding difficult.

‘I can still make it, the lock gates aren’t incompatible with ours. I’m going in.’

Rigel throws down the scans.

Joan’s movements speed up, red lights flashing as she goes too far one way, then the other. On the hull spurts of gas pop at random, guiding them invisibly. Then a moment of silence, the warning lights cease.

‘Could be a bump,’ says Joan right before she makes contact.

In the gravity-less Bulb it isn’t an issue as the ship shudders around them. In another instant the ship is rigid again, with an additional appendage. In an instant they are one vessel, the Indomitable now a cancerous growth to be healed.

‘Easy,’ says Joan, ‘now comes the really fun part.’

She disengages from the various wires and inputs, pushes off towards Rigel. She glides towards him, her eyes locked on his and intent on only one thing. Rigel catches her as she comes close, and she latches on to him.

‘We’ve got an hour before the rest of the crew wake up,’ Joan says, a mischievous smile springing to her face. ‘And I’m all worked up.’

Rigel grins. She grabs his hand and pushes off back down towards the tunnel and the bunks. He loves it when she takes control.

***

Slowly but surely the crew awakens. Joan watches them in the corner of her eye, a distraction while she comes down off the cocktail of amphetamines and sex. Their bodies shake as they are reanimated, blood pumping back through empty veins and stirring organs. The worst part is the full-body pins-and-needles sensation, thinks Joan. Thankfully it only takes a few hours before the body is back to full capacity.

She stretches up, bones cracking for the first time in decades. Rigel lies in bed, his eyes glazed over as he flicks through pre-boarding checks.

‘Come, play a game with me,’ she says. He comes back to reality. ‘We’ve got a little time.’

She sits down at the table, bringing a game of chess up. The pieces materialise and she chooses white. Rigel saunters over, his skin suit crawling over him. The ship is still cold from the aeons.

‘I’ll probably be rusty, even if you give my AI a handicap,’ he says, coughing and easing himself into the seat.

‘It’s not about winning, dear,’ Joan says, even though a competitive glint is etched into her eyes. They begin, rapidly at first before slowing into a rhythm.

‘Ah, you’ve got a response to everything I throw out, says Rigel. ‘Never mind being two steps ahead, you’re at least five. For such a mirrored game it becomes asymmetrical so quickly.’

‘No different to anything else in nature or humanity. There’s an equal and opposite reaction for everything, you only have to be ready for it.’

Rigel grunts in amusement.

‘I just need to think outside the box then, beat you back with randomness.’

‘I’m plenty used to randomness, too.’

The AIs they were using would throw out multiple moves per turn, a thousand calculations a second. Junko watches from a distance, mostly disapproving of all moves chosen by both parties.

‘Have you ever played vanilla chess?’

Joan looks up. ‘No, I haven’t actually. No point.’

‘I have. It’s remarkable the patterns a computer chooses over a human. For one thing, humans like repetition, familiarity. But it’s all a simulation, no? It’s the same principle as docking this ship, just a tad more complicated in the types of calculations that Junko has to come up with. That right Junk?’

The lights dim in response.

‘Such a quiet thing. Sometimes I wonder what Junk thinks about in the downtime.’

‘What downtime? Me, I wonder if the AI can distinguish between a game and real life, or if both have equal weighting.’

‘Either way, they offer us the best possible result. We just have the courage to take it. Check.’

‘Such the inspiration, Rigel. But we’re all pieces in the larger game. Us in particular. Moved to the farthest reaches of known space on the back of some vague hope.’

‘Sometimes I don’t mind being manipulated. We’ve got the chance to change the future of humanity after all.’ He gives out a grim chuckle.

‘You know as well as I know the only reason we’re here is that it’s better than home. And that it gives the only people worth a shit a slight chance of a good time.’

‘Hey, I think you’re worth a shit. That’s why I brought you with me.’

‘Don’t kid yourself, I came because you’re useless without me.’

He laughs at that.

‘By the way, checkmate.’ Joan leans back, satisfied.

‘Well fuck me, that came from nowhere.’

‘Don’t mind if I do.’

‘Do what?’

‘Fuck you.’

Part Two