Analog SFF, March 2008 Read online

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  Cover art by George Krauter

  Cover design by Victoria Green

  CONTENTS

  Reader's Department: EDITORIAL: WHICH STITCH IN TIME? by Stanley Schmidt

  Novella: THE SPACETIME POOL by Catherine Asaro

  Science Fact: Project Boreas: A Base at the Martian North Pole by Stephen Baxter

  Novelette: NOT EVEN THE PAST by Robert R. Chase

  Short Story: The Bookseller of Bastet by John G. Hemry

  Reader's Department: THE ALTERNATE VIEW: THERE'S A HOLE IN THE BOTTOM OF THE UNIVERSE! by John G. Cramer

  Reader's Department: IN TIMES TO COME

  Short Story: KNOT YOUR GRANDFATHER'S KNOT by Howard V. Hendrix

  Short Story: HELEN'S LAST WILL by James C. Glass

  Serial: MARSBOUND: PART II OF III by Joe Haldeman

  Reader's Department: THE REFERENCE LIBRARY by Tom Easton

  Reader's Department: BRASS TACKS

  Reader's Department: UPCOMING EVENTS by Anthony Lewis

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  Stanley Schmidt Editor

  Trevor Quachri Managing Editor

  Reader's Department: EDITORIAL: WHICH STITCH IN TIME? by Stanley Schmidt

  We all know the old saying, “A stitch in time saves nine.” It's an allusion using a comparison that used to be much more familiar than it is now: a small repair on a fabric that's starting to fray may prevent the need for a much larger one later, if you wait for the damage to get worse.

  The cloth, of course, is only an example. The same principle applies to any system that you're trying to keep in good shape. An airplane, for example—or an ecosystem.

  But which stitch do you make first, if a system is starting to develop problems in several places and you only have enough time or enough hands to work on one of them now? In the case of the cloth, the question is usually simple. You pick the spot that already has the most damage, or where the fabric is intrinsically weakest or subject to the most stress.

  How about a more complicated case—like an ecosystem?

  Invasive species are not a new problem (we ourselves are one of the most dramatic examples, dating back a long way), but they have recently become a much bigger, more widespread, and often more serious problem than in most earlier times. One of the most familiar older examples is the introduction of rabbits into Australia, where they became such a prolific pest that in 1907 a 2000-mile fence was built in Western Australia to try to keep the rabbits out of agricultural areas. We have plenty of examples of our own, both animal and vegetable, right here in the U.S. The rats that plague American cities, and at least three of their commonest birds (house sparrows, starlings, and rock pigeons), are European stowaways that came along with human immigrants and freight. Here they found congenial niches, prospered, and multiplied at the expense of native species. Kudzu vine blankets hillsides, buildings, and utility structures through much of the Southeast. Purple loosestrife, a pretty but insidious flowering plant, is crowding out native species while contributing little that native animals can use, throughout the Northeast (and spreading rapidly west). Zebra mussels threaten many aquatic ecosystems.

  The introduction of non-native species into places where they don't belong is now proceeding explosively, thanks to greatly increased international travel and trade. You may think you're importing bananas, but quite likely you're also unwittingly importing an assortment of insects, rodents, spiders, snakes, and the like along with them. In some places this won't matter. No tropical snake, for instance, can last long on its own in Minnesota.

  Florida is another matter. Its climate is close enough to tropical that many alien species can and do thrive there. So many Caribbean species of Anolis lizards have become established that finding an individual of the one indigenous species now comes almost as a surprise. “Walking catfish” are sometimes hit by cars while crossing roads. Probably the most spectacular example of an invasive species that has become established in Florida is the Burmese python, an Asian snake that was the subject of a feature article in the July 24, 2007 New York Times.

  The pythons have long enjoyed some popularity as pets, when they're cute, docile babies. The trouble is that they grow up, and most pet owners realize they've taken on more than they can handle long before the snakes reach the twenty-foot length and 200-pound weight that they can easily achieve. Not knowing what else to do with them, owners drop them off along country roads—and in subtropical Florida, they thrive and continue to grow toward those impressive dimensions on a diet of native mammals, birds, and occasionally other reptiles. They'll eat just about any vertebrate they can catch and swallow; and since they grow so large and are built to swallow prey much larger than most people would think they could, that includes a lot. According to Skip Snow, a biologist working in Everglades National Park and quoted in that Times article, creatures whose remains have been found in feral pythons there range from mice and rats to egrets, bobcats, deer, and alligators.

  How big a problem is it? Well, at first glance you might think it's not all that bad. “Only” about 350 have been found in the park since 2002; and snakes typically eat, on average, only one meal every week or so. However, they also reproduce in large numbers—dozens at a time, for this species, and they are known to be doing so in the Everglades. Furthermore, biologists probably only find a small fraction of the number present, and there are still an estimated several thousand pets in the state, many of which will sooner or later find themselves joining their kin in the wild.

  Snow understandably considers it a serious and rapidly growing problem—and it's only one of many. But eradicating an invasive species is an extremely difficult, expensive proposition. Nobody tries to stamp out every invader, because that would be practically impossible—and many will take care of themselves anyway. Only a fraction of the invaders that escape into new environments thrive there, so why waste scarce money and resources on problems that will solve themselves?

  People only get concerned enough to try to do something when they notice that a species has already established itself and is spreading and reproducing fast enough to be a threat—but by then it's usually too late to have much hope of stopping it. As David M. Lodge, director of the Center for Aquatic Conservation at the University of Notre Dame, puts it, “When it comes to importing live organisms, our policies are entirely reactive."

  And when I read that, I thought, “Why? Why can't we instead try to make a reasonable guess at which stitch in time is likely to save nine?"

  Or, in ecological terms, do we really have no idea which introduced species are most likely to get loose and run amok? If we have, or could get, such an idea, maybe we could save money in the long run by concentrating relatively small amounts of money on controlling the most potentially dangerous species before they become well established, instead of pouring fortunes into losing battles after that has happened.

  Our problem now is that we know from experience that a certain fraction of all introduced species will spread enough to become a serious problem, but we don't know which fraction. We know it's significantly less than unity, which is a point in our favor. But to use that knowledge, we need to be able to predict with a reasonable degree of confidence
how well a particular species will do when introduced into a particular new environment. With a good enough understanding of biochemistry, ethology, and ecology, we ought to be able to do that.

  I realize that's a tall order, especially the part involving ethology (animal behavior). In first approximation, understanding the workings of an established ecosystem is largely a matter of biochemistry and energetics. But what actually happens if you throw an organism into an environment it wasn't evolved for is hard to predict. Even if you think you have a good evolutionary explanation for its behavior in its native environment, it's hard to know how it will behave in a place where conditions are different—for example, lacking the food sources it's programmed for, but offering new ones that it may or may not learn to recognize as such. Some animals, such as coyotes, are very adaptable and learn to thrive in a wide range of new environments. Others, like giant pandas, are entirely dependent on a single very small group of food species.

  But even though the challenge is large, it's important enough that it might be worthwhile to focus more effort (and funding) specifically in the direction of “predictive ecology."

  We often hear people speak of “hard” and “soft” sciences, defined according to how systematically and accurately they can use theories based on old observations to predict the results of new ones. Physics and chemistry are the classic “hard” sciences, their practitioners routinely making quite precise and accurate predictions of such things as the flight path of a rocket or the yield and energy requirements of a reaction. Sociology, economics, and psychology are often thought of as “soft” because their practitioners can seldom make precise predictions that prove accurate under test. (Though in their defense, they're dealing with extremely complex systems. They're working on it).

  Biology lies somewhere between. At the molecular and cellular level, it has made impressive strides and in many cases it really can make quantitative and meaningful predictions. At the whole-organism level it gets more difficult and the results shakier. At the level of ecosystems—large numbers of plants and animals interacting—it gets much harder and less predictive.

  But, difficult as it is, that's precisely one of the areas in which we most need an improved predictive ability.

  Copyright (c) 2007 by Stanley Schmidt

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  Peter Kanter: Publisher

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  Analog Science Fiction and Fact (Astounding), Vol. CXXVIII, No. 3, March 2008. ISSN 1059-2113, USPS 488-910, GST# 123054108. Published monthly except for combined January/February and July/August double issues by Dell Magazines, a division of Crosstown Publications. One-year subscription for $43.90 in the U.S.A. and possessions, in all other countries, $53.90 (GST included in Canada) payable in advance in U.S. funds. First copy of new subscription will be mailed within eight weeks of receipt of order. When reporting change of address allow 6 to 8 weeks and give new address as well as the old address as it appears on the last label. Periodical postage paid at Norwalk, CT and additional mailing offices. Canadian postage paid at Montreal, Quebec. Canada Post International Publications Mail. (c) 2006 by Dell Magazines, a division of Crosstown Publications, all rights reserved. Dell is a trademark registered in the U.S. Patent Office. Protection secured under the Universal Copyright Convention. Reproduction or use of editorial or pictorial content in any manner without express permission is prohibited. All stories in this magazine are fiction. No actual persons are designated by name or character. Any similarity is coincidental. All submissions must be accompanied by stamped self-addressed envelope, the publisher assumes no responsibility for unsolicited manuscripts or artwork.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Novella: THE SPACETIME POOL by Catherine Asaro

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  Illustration by George Krauter

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  History is a deep and complicated puzzle—especially when it involved more dimensions that time.

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  I

  Appalachia

  The hiker vanished.

  Janelle peered at the distant hill. She could have sworn a person had appeared there—and disappeared just as fast. Perhaps it was a trick of the wind. The rhododendron bushes on the hillside where she sat undulated in the breezes like a dark ocean frothed with purple flowers, and a hum of cicadas filled the air. The Great Smoky Mountains rose in the distance, green and gray against a late afternoon sky as blue as a cerulean glaze.

  She shifted her weight uneasily, wondering if she should have come out here alone. Her hair blew across her face in a swirl that reminded her of yellow corn in the fields back home. The breeze whispered against her arms and rippled the summer dress she had worn instead of sensible hiking clothes. Right now she probably resembled some forest creature more than a new college graduate. She smiled at the image that conjured up: Janelle the wild-woman stalking into math class, strewing leaves and equations. Then her disquiet returned, like a hawk gliding in the sky, circling a rabbit, ready to plunge.

  "Oh, stop,” she muttered, annoyed at herself. She pulled her hair out of her face. Birds wheeled above the figure on the next ridge—

  Someone was there. She strained to see better. A man was standing on that hill with his back to her. As she rose to her feet, he turned in her direction.

  Then he compressed into a line and vanished.

  Whoa. Janelle squinted at the hill. She must have mistaken whatever she had seen. She had no wish to share her solitude, but curiosity tugged at her. She hiked up the hill, headed back to the trail, uncertain whether to investigate the vanished fellow or return to her car. Although it would take thirty minutes to reach the parking lot, she should probably go back; the afternoon had cooled as it aged, and her flimsy dress couldn't stave off the chill. Seeking an escape from her hectic life, she had left her cell phone and purse in the car, taking nothing more than her keys.

  The leafy canopy of an old growth forest arched above her. Wood chips crackled under her feet, and a red squirrel skittered up the trunk of a basswood. Stretching out her arms, she turned in a circle, her eyes closed. Sweet blazes, she loved these mountains. Laughing, she opened her eyes. Life was good. She had finished her math degree at MIT just a few days ago, and it felt great.

  Like a shift in a sea current, her mood changed. She had no one to share her happiness. It had been two years since her father's assassination in Spain. Her mother and brother had unexpectedly joined him for lunch that day, and the explosion that destroyed his car had taken them as well, her entire family. Even now, the pain felt raw.

  Janelle inhaled deeply. She would survive this moment, as she had all the others, until the grief became bearable.

  "Janelle?” a voice asked.

  What the...? She whirled around.

  A man stood several paces away. He resembled the figure from the hill, though she hadn't seen him well enough to be sure this was the same person. She stepped back. He had only said her name, but given that they had never met, that was plenty to make her nervous.


  His presence did nothing to allay her unease. He was too tall, maybe six foot six, with a muscular physique that reminded her of her vulnerability. His clothing was strange. She had nothing against unconventional self-expression, but in some subtle way, this went beyond that. The blue of his shirt vibrated in the shadowed forest, as vivid as an ocean where sunlight slanted through the water. His black pants were tucked into black boots. Silver links set with abalone gleamed on his shirt cuffs and in the silver chain around his neck. Well-trimmed hair brushed his shoulders, glossy and black. It wasn't the length that surprised her, but the gray at the temples. Although obviously hale and fit, he seemed rather old to adopt such styles. Then again, just because she knew no one his age who made such fashion statements, that didn't mean it never happened.

  What compelled her the most, though, was his face. His high cheekbones and strong nose, and the dark brows arching above his gray eyes, made her think of a senator in the Roman Empire. He projected a sense of contained force.

  Then she saw what hung from his belt. Ah, hell. Dagger was too tame a word. The sheath for the knife stretched as long as her forearm.

  "I didn't mean to startle you.” His gravelly voice had an unfamiliar accent, harsh and throaty. “You are Janelle Aulair, aren't you?"

  She stood poised to run. “Why do you want to know?"

  "I was sent to look for you."

  With relief, she realized what must have happened. Ben, the grocer in town, had sent him to check on her. Ben always worried when she came up here alone. The last time he had sent his sister and brother-in-law, and they had startled her the same way.

  "Have we met?” she asked. “At Ben's?” She thought she would remember someone so striking, but maybe not.

  "Never,” he said. Then he added, “Destiny requires your presence,” as if that explained something.

  Destiny indeed. She should get back to her car. He hadn't threatened her, but if that changed, she could surely outrun someone his age. She stepped to the side—