In today’s SF market it can sometimes be difficult to determine what is science fiction and what is fantasy. On the one hand you have practitioners like Gregory Benford writing “hard” SF, and on the other you have authors such as Larry Niven writing what many fans would consider as far from SF as Harry Potter. There is a call from many that SF make an attempt to stick to the facts—to incorporate real science as much as possible and to stay within the realm of plausibility, while at the same time stretching the bounds of the imagination.

The $25,000 Question
A burning question in the minds of many is: Does the exponential growth in scientific knowledge that has been a hallmark of the post-WWII era help or hinder SF? My answer is that it helps. The human imagination is amazing, and we can dream up some of the wildest things. But what lies out there in the deep darkness of the universe is even wilder—and immensely more interesting. When you combine these new discoveries with the human imagination, the results are incredible. Give me science-based SF over fantasy any day.

Destination: 2080 AD
Considering how quickly our knowledge of space is growing, it would seem only logical that nearly a century from now real science would be a defacto and inseparable part of SF. But as Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy so often pointed out to Spock, humans are not logical.

To give us an idea of what we might expect at the end of the 21st century, British author Ian Watson put together a brief tale about a science fiction convention—complete with Hugo Awards—that takes place in the village of New Boston in the year 2080. The story, appropriately titled “The World Science Fiction Convention of 2080,” finds SF fans and writers—all 400 of them—and the world’s two SF magazine editors gathering to share stories and to just enjoy each other’s company.

“All 400?! Don’t you mean all 4,000 or 40,000?” No, you heard me right: all 400. Watson’s tale finds the world in shambles following a collapse of civilization. Earth has reverted back to an early 19th-century level of technology where communication is difficult, travel dangerous, daily life filled with toil, and scientific research non-existent. Despite these conditions, SF lives on—a symbol of mankind’s inherent need to dream—and is cherished by a handful of practitioners and followers, who surprisingly celebrate the collapse of civilization and the end of space exploration.

How Deep Is Your Love?
Before we get to this celebration, let me ask you something that the Bee-Gees asked long ago: How deep is your love? What I really mean is: How much do you love SF? What lengths would you go to get to a convention? What would you give for a prized first edition of a book or a highly sought after magazine? My guess is that you love SF, but you wouldn’t be attending the 2080 Worldcon in New Boston. As our narrator notes at the beginning of the story:

“We know another three people who didn’t make it, and the opening Ceremony includes a brief ‘In Memorium’ tribute to each of them, followed by one minute’s silence for all.”

I told you it was a dangerous world. These 400 fans and writers had to be brave to make it to Worldcon, and not all arrived alive. What kinds of obstacles did they face? Well, for starters those in attendance take a moment:

“For Kurt Rossini, a master of heroic fantasy—slain by an Indian arrow on his way from far California. For Suzie McIntosh, whose amusing woodcuts (sent down by trade caravan from Moose Jaw last summer season) adorn the program booklet—killed by a wolf pack outside Winnipeg. And for our worst loss, Charmian Jones, acclaimed Queen of Titan in the masquerade at the last Worldcon three years ago in Tampa, whose miniature is worn close to many a fan’s heart from the Yukon to Florida Bay—murdered by Moslem pirates during a kidnap raid in Charleston while she was passing through.”

And you thought flying coach was bad. You’d have to be incredibly devoted to the genre to travel in a world like that just to meet up with other SF fans. (Or else make the journey in full Klingon garb and makeup. That should keep the pirates and Indians away.)

Other obstacles that those traveling to the 2080 Worldcon faced included: Badlands, mercenaries, outlaw bands, pietist communities, army induction centers, and plague zones.

In a world like this it’s hard to believe SF could exist. In our own reality it isn’t until the end of the 19th century that the genre really begins taking form. You would expect any SF that exists under these conditions—in the absence of scientific research and technological advancement—to be more along the lines of fantasy. Well, you’d indeed be right; and what’s more, that’s the way the fans and writers of 2080 like it.

Some Things Do Not Pass
Jerry Meltzer, Guest of Honor at the 2080 Worldcon and recipient of that year’s Hugo (which is awarded every three years, and is a carved beachwood rocketship) for his novel Whither, Starman? says:

“‘Some things do not pass. Some things increase in truth and beauty. Science Fiction is one of these. I say this because Science Fiction is a fiction: it is a making, a forging of the legends of our tribe, and the best legends of all humanity. Now that research and probing have ceased’—he grinned dismissively—’we can indeed freshly and freely invent our science and our worlds. SF was always being spoilt, having her hands tied and the whip cracked over her head by scientific facts.’”

Later he goes on to add:

“‘We really own the stars now. We really do. Never would have done, the other way. Dead suns, dead worlds the lot of them, I shouldn’t be surprised—dead universe. Now Sirius is ours. Canopus is. The dense suns of the hub are all ours. All.’”

Say What?
This, my friends, is not science fiction. The whole point of SF isn’t to reveal or imagine what variety of little green men lie beyond the next nebula, or to dream up an imaginary world circling one of the dense suns of the hub where purple slime creatures cast magic spells on travelers as they pass through. The purpose of SF—what indeed makes it SF and not fantasy—is to examine ourselves; to step away and look in on our own world with the eyes of an outsider. Real science helps us do this in a believable way. If it’s not believable, it can’t teach us anything about ourselves. We become no more real than the Babel fish or Jar Jar Binks. Science fiction does indeed build itself upon “the best legends of all humanity,” but it does not forge them.

If Watson is being sarcastic, the story could be taken as being in favor of science as part of SF; but certainly it comes off as being against it (not Watson himself, but the story). Perhaps it is in reality more an exploration of the feelings harbored by many writers that scientific facts do indeed tie their hands. For them, a world free from such constraints could once again be filled with the amazing wonders that were the hallmark of SF in the early 20th century.

A fear may exist that, as our scientific exploration continues, we will find that what Meltzer said is true: Nothing out there but “dead suns, dead worlds….dead universe.” Without a doubt this will not come to pass. The universe is so enormous that we can never hope to explore more than a fraction of it. Still, that fraction will itself be enormous and surely many living, breathing worlds await us. But even if we find none, they are out there somewhere. As great as our imaginations are, we can never dream up anything that can compare to what actually lies waiting amidst the stars.

A Final World
“The World Science Convention of 2080″ is an excellent story. The style is captivating—as if you are actually talking to someone who has just attended the event—and everything seems so real, so plausible: except for an SF community that whole-heartedly rejects the notion that science is an important part of science fiction.

The story was nominated for a British Science Fiction Award in 1981 and was a runner-up. (The award went to Thomas M. Disch’s “The Brave Little Toaster”). It is a very short story that I highly recommend. This story, along with most of the other short stories we are currently discussing here at Science Fiction and Society, can be found in James Gunn’s The Road to Science Fiction, Vol. 4.: From Here to Forever.

But back to the real question at hand: Would we be better off without science?

To say that Star Trek had a difficult birth would be an understatement. Gene Roddenberry’s vision was too far ahead of its time to be accepted by the TV executives of the late 1960s. A multiracial group working together in harmony? Get real.

But fortunately Gene wasn’t one to give up easily, and by combining his message about human nature with one of the most popular genres of the time—the Western—he was able to sell the idea of a “wagontrain to the stars” to NBC. But that was only one small battle won in a much larger war.

Under constant threat of cancellation, the original Star Trek series—known as TOS to Trekkers—never really took off during its first run. After three seasons and 79 episodes, the ax finally fell on the head of intelligent television.

Enter syndication. In reruns, Star Trek finally began to soar. And the rest is history. These days, there is virtually no person in the United States who doesn’t know the phrase “Beam me up Scotty” (though Kirk never spoke those words on the TV series), or “warp speed.” And, as Jeff Greenwald discovers through the research and writing of his book Future Perfect: How Star Trek Conquered Planet Earth, this phenomenon is not limited to the U.S. People worldwide have been taken in by the positive message about humanity that Star Trek conveys.

When many people watch Star Trek, all they see are spaceships and uncannily similar aliens with strategically-positioned bumps on their heads. These people often dismiss Trek as something for children to enjoy. Surely this would not grab the attention of scientists, philosophers, politicians, and teachers all around the world. So what is it about Star Trek that has helped it to become so ingrained in our global culture?

Underneath the superficial is an extremely intelligent concept that speaks to what most of us want to believe—that mankind is inherently good and that we can overcome our problems and enter into a prosperous future. It is something that is difficult to make yourself believe given the current state of our affairs. The portrayal of the Federation’s 24th century is both positive and, thanks to the attention paid to keeping scientific theories and technology fairly accurate, believable. Star Trek is a great teacher.

So with this belief that Star Trek means something, Greenwald begins his globetrotting to speak to real people. His journeys take him to a Kensington Star Trek pub to talk to the British, to the Jet Propulsion Laboratory to find out how Star Trek has influenced the real-life design of spacecraft, and to the forests of Germany for a Klingon Qet’lop.

In Budapest he finds out what the message of Star Trek means to Hungarians just stepping out of the shadows of the old Soviet empire. In Trieste, Italy, a windy port city on the Adriatic Sea, Greenwald mingles with Italians at a Star Trek convention hosted by the national fan club.

His trek into Asia brings him first to Sri Lanka and to the home of legendary SF writer Arthur C. Clarke. This portrait of Clarke is, as Spock would say, “fascinating.”

The next stop in Asia is right here in the place I call home—Japan. While it isn’t immediately obvious to the foreigner living here, Star Trek is huge in Japan. Evidence of this is the 24-hour Star Trek marathons that sometimes run on the SuperChannel. In Greenwald’s book you’ll find out what the Japanese think about Data and more.

The last of Greenwald’s “away missions” finds him being granted an audience with the Dalai Lama in Dharamsala to answer the question, “Do aliens have Buddha nature?”

Interspersed throughout the book are interviews with the stars, writers, and producers of Star Trek as well as an on-the-scene take on the making of Star Trek: First Contact that really puts you up-close and personal with the stars you love.

Through its four TV incarnations—Star Trek, The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, and Voyager—plus nine motion pictures, Gene’s vision has flourished for more than 33 years. If you are a fan or just someone who is curious about the reason that the voyages of the 24th century have touched so many, you won’t want to miss this great book. Playful, interesting, and extremely well-written, it is a fitting tribute to the human spirit and to the late Gene Roddenberry—the Great Bird of the Galaxy.

At first glance, science fiction and religion may seem strange bedfellows. This impression is in fact so prevalent that books such as Kathy Tyers’s Firebird are now residing under the monicker “Christian Science Fiction,” as if one must go out of one’s way to fit SF under the spiritual umbrella. But is it true that science fiction and religion don’t mix?

I once heard someone say that there just don’t seem to be many SF books that embrace the Christian perspective. In reality, this isn’t so. Religion—Christianity as well as Islam, Buddhism, and others—plays an important role in SF, and has for a very long time. Matters of spirituality are an important part of the societies in which we live, and thus are important sources of inspiration for SF writers. Nevertheless, the “new” subgenre of Christian SF is here.

And given what I’ve seen so far, it should be here to stay. If you don’t count the Left Behind series (which is really just straight fiction—perhaps even to be considered a thriller), Firebird is my first experience with a book from this new subgenre. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but I figured that if Kathy Tyers—a known SF writer—was behind it then there must be something to it. This particular Tyers novel is actually not new. It was originally published in 1987 by Bantam Spectra, but has been rewritten for Christian publisher Bethany House. I haven’t personally read the original, but I have learned from those who have that the changes are fairly extensive, playing up the spiritual aspects and bringing a more mature voice to the text.

Whatever Tyers did she was successful, because Firebird is an excellent book—one of the best I’ve read in quite some time. While the spiritual side may have received more focus in this edition, it is still subtly handled and the reader never gets the impression that they are being force fed some sort of religious message. In fact, Tyers points out in her Author’s Notes that “The Firebird series isn’t a spiritual allegory, but only an extended—slow-motion—parable of conversion.” She also describes her purpose in writing the story:

“Most fiction, including most science fiction and fantasy, begins by asking, ‘What if…?’ In creating a spiritual struggle for Lady Firebird, I asked one of those questions: ‘What if God had created a universe without Earth, and a chosen people with a vastly different history?’”

On to the Story
So what is Firebird really about? It’s the story of a young woman born to a royal family in which she has no hope of ascending to the throne. In fact, she has no hope of living at all as her culture and religion require that any superfluous heirs be killed once the crown prince or princess secures the line of succession.

Despite this terminal restriction placed on a bright young woman, Lady Firebird still follows the state religion without question. Internally she has her doubts about the existence of the gods—called “the Powers”—but outwardly she is a loyal follower and supporter.

It is this internal struggle that sets the story in motion. When Firebird comes in contact with a messiah figure from her enemy’s military, she finds the whole world as she knows it crumbling around her. She reluctantly begins to question the Powers that she has followed her whole life and to realize that there is a greater force at work in the cosmos:

“There had to be something beyond physical life, if only the echoes of death fading into eternity. She couldn’t expect help or mercy from the Powers. Her only hope must lie in something greater, much greater than even the Powers claimed to be. Something capable of forgiveness.” (Chapter 22, p. 266)

She asks questions that I think many of us have asked when confronted with issues of life, death, and faith. I think that faith is something many of us have a hard time coming to grips with. Netaian religion doesn’t require faith, only obedience.

Sounds heavy, doesn’t it? Really it’s not. The fact that Brennen Caldwell is a messiah figure comes into focus gradually—and in fact never really makes it. Is he the messiah or not? We never really know, and it is hinted that his future child may be. But it doesn’t matter because the real foundation that the story is built upon is the difference between the arrogant, materialistic nature of Netaia, Firebird’s homeworld, and the generous, fair society of the Federacy. It is a battle between good and evil (here we have that clear-cut distinction again) that shows the righteous coming down on the heathen. Weaving its way through this battle between ideologies is a very personal quest for salvation.

Black and White; Good and Evil: Take 5
Now I’m not here to promote these clear-cut and overused distinctions, because I feel that in reality it is rarely possible to paint things in such stark contrast. But for Tyers’s point to come across, it is necessary to see the sharp difference between Netaia, with its rigid class-stratification, and the Federacy, with its freedom and equal-rights-to-all mentality.

Netaia is like a giant formal dinner in which all the guests strut around showing off their high-priced clothing while trying not to scrape their noses on the ceiling. To say that the Netaian aristocracy is stuck on itself would be an understatement. As an example, take Count Tel Tellai, a young man who is not even part of the ruling Angelo family, but only a member of one of the nine other noble families:

“Critically Tel examined a portrait of his ancestor, Count Merdon Tellai, which hung between gilded false pillars on the wall’s rich red backdrop. Several shadows seemed poorly placed, and the rendering of the nobleman’s diagonal blue sash was clumsy. The brushstrokes, too, seemed… hesitant. It hurt his dignity to see his family poorly represented.” (Chapter 5, p. 83)

His pride is hurt by the shadows in a painting. Of course this pales in comparison with Firebird’s sister, Princess Phoena, who is the diabolical madman (or should I say madwoman) of the novel. Her arrogance is so potent that it stares you down from within the page you are reading. She is a Saddam Hussein type bent on iron-fisted control over her family’s subjects and development of biological weapons. She aspires to be queen, though she is not next in line, and she makes a decent bad guy; but could have been done better.

To further understand Netaia, consider how the ruling families took advantage of a cosmic natural disaster to solidify their position and gain total control over the middle and lower classes:

“… during the isolated years of Six-alpha’s space storms, the Netaians’ loyalty to their gods had been sublimated into loyalty to the state. Perfect citizenship became its graceless religion. Conformity to the expected Charities and written Disciplines bought a soul’s way to paradise, the afterlife being the only truly ‘religious’ aspect that remained in their religion. If a Netaian didn’t make the minimum offerings, the financial base for their welfare system, or keep those laws correctly, a terrifying purgatory awaited.” (Chapter 12, pp. 142-143)

In short the Netaians are the lost children. Many, like Firebird, have their doubts about these Powers and Charities and Disciplines.

Now contrast this with the Federacy, a society made up of many planets including Thyria, which is home to a genetically altered race exiled from the lost world of Ehret. The Ehretan are known within the Federacy as “sentinels” and practice a religion that teaches the worship of a single god, the eternal singer. The Federacy itself represents goodness and fairness while the sentinels specifically—represented by the lead character General Brennen Caldwell—represent those who were lost but have identified the path to salvation and are awaiting the return of the messiah. “His [Caldwell’s] people lived as exile, torn from their home world, because their ancestors had lusted to rule.” (Chapter 10, p. 130) Like Adam and Eve, the Ehreten broke the rules and were cast out by their god. Now they work toward repentance and eternal salvation. Unlike the Netaians, they serve a greater purpose, not their own greed and lust.

Opening Your Heart
When Firebird finally takes that small step that many of us take at some point in our lives, she may appear on the surface to have made the decision that will change her life. Acceptance of Federation asylum is an allegory for acceptance of Jesus. Firebird reaches the bottom in trying to kill herself with poison, though it is done in the name of her religion. But when given a second chance she opens her eyes to a bigger reality and takes the first step down an uncertain but altogether more hopeful road:

“Early this morning Brennen had brought down a microcopy of her asylum document, mounted on a plastene card. She slid it into the breast pocket that had once held a white packet, a promise of safety replacing her promise of death.” (Chapter 8, p. 108)

But again, as anyone who has gone from being a “non-believer” to accepting God knows, opening your eyes is not the same as opening your heart. It takes time to overcome fear and take that leap of faith. Tyers illustrates this uncertainty well through Firebird’s mindset:

“So what kept her from accepting him? Was it Netaian tradition or cowardice? She didn’t fully understand him. That might take a lifetime. But she knew enough, loved enough, to embrace his mysteries—and his certainty—and to step out on this path, too. Again she heard, or remembered, a timeless harmony.” (Chapter 23, p. 286)

The Final Word (or the First?)
Lady Firebird goes through a lot in this book and the action drives quickly to the end. But the end is really only the beginning. Believing what you can’t see—what you can’t prove—takes strength. In a sense the journey never ends. You learn as you go along and your faith either grows stronger or falters. What the reality will be for Firebird we must wait and see in the sequels.

Rating: 9 out of 10