AUTHOR’S NOTE

Where do you get your ideas?That’s the question that terrifies most writers—science fiction writers especially. The truth is, there often is no one moment of inspiration, no precise moment when the core idea of a story suddenly comes to light. For me, at least, it is often an evolutionary process, an accumulation of ideas that slowly come together. I’ll read this article, and have that conversation, and see that place, and meet that person, getting a little bit of a notion from each—then reworking those bits, over and over again, into the story idea. By the time the story is worked out, the initial jumping-off points are often too murky to identify and have little or no relation to the story they inspired.

Not so withThe Chronicles of Solace . I knowexactly where I was when I got the core idea, and all else flowed from that moment. I was in an open boat off the coast of Maine, heading back to the mainland and a visit in New York with a certain young lady.

It was a perfect summer day. The sky was blue, the cold slate-grey water calm, the winds gentle, the air sweet, the world full of life. As our boat passed by a patch of seaweed, I saw a seal poke his head out of the water. He floated there, obviously content, happy, and comfortable with life as it was, plainly admiring the day, just as I was.

In that moment, I found myself marveling at how well adapted that seal was to his perfect world. There were such deep interactions needed to make it all work; between the seal and the sea and the climate and the food supply and a thousand other things, from the pull of the tides to the salinity of the water. I thought of the millions, billions, of years of evolution required before the Earth and life could fully adapt to each other, before that seal could poke his head out of the water and blink contentedly at the seascape.

What if life and Earth hadnot had all that time to adapt to each other? What if, because things had beendone in a hurry on a terraformed world, that world woulddie in a hurry? I saw vast potential for a story in that idea. Three books later, you may judge for yourself if I have managed to make good use of that potential.

In between having the idea, working out its implications, writing it, and seeing it published, a good deal else has gone on. I wrote something like five or six other books. I married that certain young lady, some years later. We have just celebrated our ninth anniversary. Our son is now four and a half years old. It just goes to show—these things take time.

I might add that we’ve moved around a bit: I wroteThe Depths of Time largely in Brazil,The Ocean of Years largely in Maryland, andThe Shores of Tomorrow largely in Germany—and none of the books all in one place. I have lost track of the times that someone, on learning that I am a writer married to a diplomat, has brightly informed me that the great thing about my job is that I can do it anywhere. Though I suppose I’ve proved that’s true, I’ve also proved it’s not easy. It’s my sincere hope that I manage to write my next book without a transoceanic house move during the process. It’s not likely, but a fellow can dream.

 

Before I close, there is one more, much more melancholy observation that I must make. This volume is dedicated to the memory of Dr. Charles Sheffield. He wrote wonderful science fiction books and stories, and was one of the kindest, smartest, busiest men I ever knew. He was also the man with the greatest sense of fun, and greatestcapacity for fun, whom I have ever known.

I was always a bit hesitant to intrude on his time because I knew he would make time for me, more than I deserved, and more than he could afford. It’s worth noting that Anton Koffield is named half for him, and half for another scientist-writer friend of mine, Yoji Kondo. (Kondo-Sheffield, Koffield.)

Charles died in November 2002. Now, needless to say, I wish I had been just a bit greedier about taking what chances I had to spend time with him. I miss him terribly.

 

I would like to thank my wife, Eleanore Fox, and my son, Matthew, for putting up with me in the heavy-duty writing phase of this project. I’d like to offer my further thanks to Eleanore for undertaking the grim task of cutting away a great deal of needless verbiage from the first draft of this story. She made this book a lot better. Thanks, as always, to my parents, Tom and Scottie Allen, for everything and then some. Thanks to Sara and Bob Schwager, for their enthused, careful, and improving copyediting, on this and the previous volumes. Finally, thanks to my editor, Juliet Ulman, for managing me with a great deal of diplomacy during the long process of getting the book done.

And that brings this story, at last, to a close.

I guess it’s time for me to go get that next idea.

Roger MacBride Allen
Leipzig, Germany
June 2003