I am delighted to announce that Mila Burton has joined the editorial committee of Ibn Qirtaiba as its new Editor, and Matthew Freeman as an editorial assistant, to formally commence from next issue. Readers may remember Mila from her excellent story Anti-Up, which was the winner of the Zine Guild 1999 award for best fantasy story. I am personally very grateful to Mila and Matthew for allowing Ibn Qirtaiba the opportunity to regain its position as one of the Web's pre-eminant regular SF zines.
I will remain as Executive Editor, and hope to focus my efforts on redevelopinq the magazine's technical framework to maximise the flexibility available to the editors for the presentation of the magazine's content. Our current format has remained essentially unchanged since 1995, and Web technology has certainly moved on from then, and I would like to be able to leverage some of those advances.
One of the other changes that I am considering is an expansion of IQ's format to overcome the space limitations which have militated against the publication of longer submissions, and have again limited the contents of this issue to three items. The first of these is a review of the recent re-release of Ian Fleming's James Bond novel Doctor No in paperback. Following that is the conclusion of our current serialised story ...do I not bleed? by Mike Billington, and poetry from new contributor Christopher Hivner. The artworks that accompanies this issue are examples from the portfolio of independent artist Kenn Brown, whose gallery and full sized pictures you can visit by clicking the smaller images.
I have greatly enjoyed and benefitted from the time I have spent as Ibn Qirtaiba's editor during the last decade, and I am excited about the potential for it to grow from strength to strenqth durinq the next.
Just in time for the release of Die Another Day, Penguin has
re-issued a selection of Ian Fleming's original James Bond novels
in paperback. First to hit the shelves are Casino Royale, Doctor No
and Goldfinger, each resplendent in kitch 60s-style livery.
Most people would probably not immediately associate Bond with science fiction, although the spy's fan base is comprised of a high proportion of SF afficionados. But think of Moonraker and its ray-gun battles, the rocket back-packs of Thunderball or the Transformer-style car/submarine of The Spy Who Loved Me. To tell the truth, Bond tales have always come from the same place as the escapist science fiction of the pulp magazines.
The story of Doctor No is a comparatively down to earth one, in a preposterous sort of way. It begins as Bond is placed on assignment in Jamaica to investigate the disappearance of the local MI5 representative and his secretary, who had been looking into the goings on at a neighbouring private guano island, Crab Key. M expects it to be an easy assignment, allowing Bond to recuperate from his last adventure. However as soon as he arrives, Bond finds himself the subject of unexpected interest, with all signs pointing back to Crab Key and its reclusive overlord, Doctor No. Bond travels to the island with a Cayman Islander friend from a previous adventure, where they encounter a beautiful shell collector by the unlikely name of Honeychile Rider (yes, we all remember that scene from the movie). The trio soon arouse the interest of Doctor No and find themselves variously feted and fighting for their lives.
Although the first Bond movie, this is actually the sixth novel, and the second set in Jamaica, where of course Fleming had his home. Consequently the novel paints a richly intricate, if romanticised, picture of its West Indian setting at the twilight of its colonial days.
The island's politics are not the only element of the novel that dates it. Having been penned in 1958, it is often quaintly (or disturbingly) politically incorrect:
"The Jamaican is a kindly, lazy man with the virtues and vices of a child. He lives on a very rich island but he doesn't get rich from it. He doesn't know how to and he's too lazy. ... It's the Portugese Jews who make the most. They came here with the British and they've stayed. But they're snobs and they spend too much of their fortunes on building fine houses and giving dances."
One of the quintessintially British traits that has been lost in recent Bond movies is the interposition between action scenes of long sequences lingering over Bond's glorious sets and locations, often achieving an almost surreal effect. The novel of Doctor No is alike in that only about a quarter of it comprises suspense or action, with as long spent on the protagonists' reception in luxury by the Doctor as is spent on their subsequent adventures and escape.
Bond's eye caught a swirl of movement in the dark glass. He walked across the room. A silvery spray of small fish with a bigger fish in pursuit fled across the dark blue. They disappeared, so to speak, off the edge of the screen. What was this? An aquarium? Bond looked upwards. A yard below the ceiling, small waves were lapping at the glass. Above the waves was a strip of greyer blue-black, dotted with sparks of light. The outlines of Orion were the clue. This was the sea itself and the night sky.
All the Bond trademarks are to be found here; guns, girls, glamour and a maniacal villain hatching an evil masterplan from his fantastic secret lair. In many ways Bond is a genre all its own, and as anachronistic as it may be, it continues to be great fun.
Doctor No and each of the other re-issued novels is a brief read, and worth revisiting for those who want a reminder of the roots of the Bond canon following the flash and dazzle of his latest big screen escapade.
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The PIO and his advisors left the courtroom hurriedly. The editor and the lawyers from Corporate exited as well. The court attendant walked over to Clark 72047 as he sat alone at his table.
"I must be with the judge. Will you be all right here alone?" the attendant asked.
"Yes," Clark 72047 said. "I cannot be otherwise."
The attendant nodded and left.
Thirty minutes later the
attendant hurried through the courtroom and out the door. Less
than 10 minutes later the plaintiff, his advisors, the editor
and the lawyers from Corporate returned and hastily took their
seats. Once the attendant was certain that everyone who needed
to be present was, he ducked into the judge's chambers. He
emerged a few seconds later and said in a clear strong voice:
"Rise!"
Everyone stood as the judge entered the courtroom and sat behind her desk.
"Be seated," she said.
Everyone sat.
"This is a most difficult case," the Diskeli said by way of preamble.
"On the one hand the defendant is guilty of no crime. By everyone's admission he did nothing against the law. He simply asked a question and reported accurately what was said to him. The plaintiff wishes him held responsible for emotional distress and for the civil unrest that resulted from that fact," the judge said.
"On the other hand we do have civil unrest, widespread distrust of public order forces and a spreading distrust of government in general. The plaintiff blames this on the defendant who responds, in kind, that he is not at fault essentially because he has been pre-programmed to perform in a certain way," the Diskeli said.
"Because the movement to replace flesh-and-blood reporters with androids originated on Earth it is to that planet's precedents that I have looked for guidance," the judge said.
She turned sad eyes toward Clark 72047.
"I am afraid, sir," she said, "that Earth's history is full of examples in which jurists subjectively ruled that what they considered to be the public good was more important than a strict adherence to the law. In some cases those jurists limited the rights of plaintiffs to collect damages for the mistakes of doctors and manufacturers. In other cases those jurists actually ordered the execution of human beings for their beliefs because there was a public outcry against them."
She paused and looked down at her notes before looking up at Clark 72047.
"Based on those historical precedents it is the judgment of this court in this case, therefore, that you be taken permanently off-line. It is the further judgment of this court that the plaintiff be required to pay the United Planets News Service for the full cost of a replacement android. The court finds his argument for emotional distress unworthy. He, in fact, answered the question that was posed to him. The fault is his, therefore, and not the android's," the judge said.
She looked at Clark 72047.
"If you were a flesh-and-blood creature my ruling would have been different," she said. "As you are not, however, and in accordance with the ample precedents from Earth's history, I feel that it is in the best interests of society at large that you be taken off-line. The public must believe that there was a programming error that caused you to malfunction even though there is no evidence to support that. It is my belief that civil order will return only when the public accepts that as the explanation. I know there is only cold comfort in this for you but I believe that taking you off-line will ultimately serve the greater good. I wish it were not so."
Clark 72047 looked back at her.
"I understand," he said.
"Your honor," the public prosecutor said. "How, I mean, well, er, how is the android to be taken off-line? Is there a procedure?"
"There is not," the judge said. "I am ordering that Clark 72047 be taken to the TeeGro Works where he was assembled and there be disassembled. That is all that I know to order in this case."
"Your honor," the public prosecutor said.
"Yes?" the
Diskeli asked.
"Your honor, the PIO is a public servant and cannot afford to pay for a replacement android. One android would cost him at least 10 years' salary," the public prosecutor said. "Can this order be modified?"
The judge looked at the plaintiff and his advisors.
"No," the Diskeli said coldly. "It cannot. Tell the PIO that he should have thought about that before he filed this complaint and then sought damages for emotional distress."
She was halfway to the door of her chambers when she paused and turned back to face the plaintiff and his advisors.
"Clark 72047 is blameless in this matter and yet he will suffer the android equivalent of an execution for the public good," the judge said to the PIO. "Were I you I would not bother trying to appeal this order. Mortgage your personal residence if you must. Take on extra work. Turn to prostitution for all I care. You have brought this upon your own head."
With that she walked into her chambers and slammed the door.
The attendant walked over to the defendant's table with a pair of manacles in his hands.
"Those will not be necessary," Clark 72047 said. "My programming is not such that I will try to escape. I will go with you quietly."
The attendant nodded and together they walked out of the courtroom and into an elevator.
When they reached the Justice Hall's street level the attendant looked outside and shook his head. There was a mob milling about in the street. Many carried signs saying "Free Woodstein the Truth Machine."
They were chanting "Free Woodstein the Truth Machine" over and over.
"How the hell did they know about this trial?" the attendant asked.
"I do not know," the android said.
"Well, you're a celebrity," the attendant said. "Somehow word always seems to spread more quickly when someone famous is brought here."
The android said nothing.
"Not much we can do except wait for the technicians from TeeGro to show up," the attendant said. He looked out at the mob. It seemed to be swelling.
"It's possible," the attendant said thoughtfully, "that the judge was wrong. Taking you off-line might do more harm than good, at least as far as the public order force and government are concerned. What do you think?"
Clark 72047 looked at the attendant then.
"I cannot say," the android said. "My programming does not permit me to make such judgments. In matters such as these I can be nothing but objective. Speculation is not built into my programming and thus I cannot speculate about the effect of the outcome of this trial on the public order force and the government."
The attendant looked back at the android standing placidly next to him.
"You cannot or you will not?" he asked.
"I cannot," the android said.
"Ever?" the attendant asked.
"Never," the android replied.
Outside the Justice Hall the mob's chanting was suddenly replaced with shouts and screams. A platoon of public order force personnel wearing body armor broke into the ranks of the crowd and began swinging neural batons. Stunned demonstrators immediately crumpled in the street.
A wild melee broke out as some demonstrators, anticipating this response from the public order force, fought back with stolen neural batons and other weapons.
The attendant moved away from the glass doors.
The android remained
standing close by the doors, however. His head swiveled from side
to side as he observed protesters and public order force
personnel battling one another.
There was a loud noise and the glass door shattered as a thrown object missed its target and went through it. The object, something metallic with sharp edges, slammed into the android's forehead.
Clark 72047 swayed slightly and then collapsed.
The attendant ran forward, kneeling beside him.
You, you're injured," the attendant said.
"Yes," Clark 72047 said.
A dark green fluid was running from his forehead and into his eyes.
The attendant grabbed a bandanna from his pocket and dabbed at the android's head. He tried to slow the loss of fluid but could not.
"You're bleeding badly," he said.
He suddenly realized what he had said.
"I mean, well, you're leaking," he said.
The fluid continued to drain rapidly from the android's head.
Clark 72047 was rapidly going off-line and knew it. With an effort he turned his head to look directly into the attendant's eyes a second before his physical control program deactivated. His vision program shut down then and the light in his eyes died. His speech programs were almost completely shut down. The only voice he had left was his most sympathetic one.
"You were right the first time," Clark 72047 said. "I am bleeding."
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I swam under the influence
of the pulsar
and my strokes were fluid and grace.
I rode the waves of sound and light,
past the breakers
out of gravity's grasping well.
It was the day I left home,
the bounds of my Earth,
to search the heavens for everything.
I didn't have to cry out.
Nebula, galaxy, quasar, brown dwarf,
they sought me as well.