Showing posts with label sequels. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sequels. Show all posts

Thursday, February 20, 2020

William Gibson's AGENCY

Please, tell me I'm not the only person who's already imagining a white-haired Tilda Swinton as Ainsley Lowbeer if The Peripheral and/or Agency ever gets adapted for the screen. Even if it's a century hence and it's a digitally recreated Swinton loping around with an omni-use "tipstaff" protecting continua from hobbyists.*


I didn't realize until my second reading of this book's predecessor, The Peripheral, that Lowbeer was going to be the Hubertus Bigend of this trilogy. Partly this was because so many of the other characters were so interesting that Lowbeer kind of faded into the background a lot (a "problem" Agency doesn't have, but we'll get to that) but mostly because she didn't feel that much like a character yet, more a figurant -- kind of like Hubertus Bigend!

I speculate that William Gibson maybe noticed this and, with this new book, chose to dial back the other characters to let the spotlight shine on Lowbeer, which is laudable, because Lowbeer is cool as shit, but, ah, I'm not quite sure it worked. Because Lowbeer is still mostly a peripheral (heh) character, acting as a sort of dispatcher if not a commander, while most of the action is performed by really boring people.

Ostensibly, the protagonist of Agency is Verity, a young woman in the middle of an exciting if precarious career as a sort of "app whisperer" in 2017.** She's just been hired to test an exciting new product that lives in a Google Glass-ish set-up but is startingly un-app-like to the point of pretty much laughing itself to death at the mere thought of being administered a Turing test. That's right, William Gibson has finally made an Artificial Intelligence into an actual character! But one so awesomely powerful and resourceful and such a quick study that our Verity basically becomes a Lemmiwinks.*** Which could still be cool, only pretty soon the cool AI (named Eunice because the actual name is an acronym I can't remember but corresponds to EUNISS) is absent, and Verity is just left to enact Eunice's plan to Save the World only no one ever, you know, tells Verity the plan (an, to be honest, I still don't understand how all this to-ing and fro-ing Saved the World), so she's just ferried around on motorcycles by surly coffee shop waiters or in funky helicopter-type things owned by her Tech Billionaire ex-boyfriend or, in one ridiculous scene, actually disguised as a dummy and hauled up many stories in a sling, and at this point I just decided Gibson was trolling us with this title. I mean, Lowbeer works for an Agency in the future and there are a few agents of an Agency or two sort of lurking around in Verity's present, but also there is a fully autonomous AI (the world's first!) exercising bucketloads of Agency but, like Lowbeer, only at a remove and meanwhile our heroine has so little Agency she has to hang there in the sling and not move while she is ratcheted up to the penthouse suite via the building's exterior.

Oh, and kind of the least interesting character from The Peripheral shows up and does some stuff, which, whatever, but also the most interesting character from The Peripheral shows up and let's talk about Coner for a moment. Spoilers for The Peripheral, obvs. but it says Ware Spoilers right in this blog description text.

Coner is from the "stub" explored in the first book, which is basically a near-future West Virginia in which 3D-printing has become commonplace but also so advanced that it can be used to manufacture drugs, so think of the Opioid Crisis dialed up to 11 and in this world, in addition to the rather delightful heroine of The Peripheral there is Coner. Coner is a veteran of an unspecified war but we can just assume, really, that it's still in the Persian Gulf area only now there are "haptic recon" units, i.e. soldiers with implanted technology that allows them to, e.g., operate drones a continent away in a very intimate fashion. Except, you know, it was still imperfect tech, so most veterans like Coner are a bio-mechanical mess even with the implants out, and also still have PTSD. But then there's Coner, who also managed to get himself actually blown up, and lost all but one of his limbs and a good bit of his torso and now depends on very advanced nearly-full-body prosthetics to live a very limited existence in his backwater timeline. He gets a taste of other possibilities in The Peripheral, in which the quantum computer that allows contact with The Past from Lowbeer's world doesn't just allow conversation but a limited degree of action via the control of, in Coner's world, dopey telepresence drones that are basically an iPad stuck to a Segway, and in Lowbeer's the full experience of running a vat-grown nearly-human body as though it were your own. In The Peripheral Coner gets to spend some time in a top-of-the-line martial arts training body, and since he was originally a military powerhouse even without his implants, well, just imagine. There's a great line in Gibson's first novel, Neuromancer, in which a "console cowboy" who's been neurologically maimed and can no longer access cyberspace falls "into the prison of his own flesh." Now imagine if that flesh consists of, like, one messed up arm, your chest and your head. That's Coner, after.

But Lowbeer is a benevolent goddess, as well as one that needs mortals to do her bidding, so she has made sure that Coner still gets opportunities to be in better bodies via the mysterious quantum computer.**** As long as he does her bidding once in a while; here he is dispatched to Verity's world, but of course her world doesn't even really have very good iPads on Segways yet, so he's controlling, e.g. hobby drones and various smart devices, while still being very much the Coner that I grew to love in the first book. He gets some fantastic scenes and pulls off some exciting stunts and, really, his bits are the best in this book. I would absolutely read a book from his point of view, telling his actual story. Hint to the universe.

Having him as the POV character instead of Verity would instantly have made Agency a better read, at any rate. Not that, and I feel I must stress this because I feel like I'm bitching a lot, not that Agency isn't a pretty good read. It has lots of interesting ideas and poses lots of interesting questions and contains both Ainsley Lowbeer and Coner, plus a bit of Eunice, so, you know, it's fine. I was never in danger of DNF-ing it. BUT, I didn't risk sleep deprivation and un-done chores to devour it, either. It's not Gibson's best work, is all. But it's still more than worth the reading, and I'm still in for a sequel or two, but please, Mr. Gibson, some more Lowbeer? Please?

*If you're new to this series, and it seems many are opting to go ahead and plunge into Agency without having first read The Peripheral, in Ainsley Lowbeer's far-future post-apocalyptic time, someone has stumbled across a mysterious quantum computer that can connect to digital communications technology in the past, but every time contact is established it creates a new timeline, because Lowbeer's timeline is not one in which contact was ever made. Certain people in Lowbeer's world are so rich and bored that they connect to and interfere with the past for fun. These newly-created timelines are formally referred to as "continua", informally as "stubs" (as in Wikipedia perhaps?), and the people who fart around with them are the "hobbyists" I referred to above. Most just act like tourists but there are a special few who treat the past as their personal Let's Game It Out and deliberately try to ruin everything for everybody.

**Not our 2017, though. See, a continua hobbyist, one who makes Josh from Let's Game It Out look like a merciful angel/fairy godmother who can't coddle his NPCs enough, manipulated events so that in 2016 Secretary Clinton, and not Game Show Host Trump, won the presidential election, only, get this, it was part of a strategy to lead to armagedddon, meaning somehow the outcome I think the lion's share of Gibson's fan base and Gibson himself would have preferred is painted as the Darkest Timeline, an intriguing idea that did not get nearly enough exploration here.

***A South Park joke, referring to a character who has little or no, umm, agency, but is simply bossed around and sent on fetch quests by others. A fetch quest is... why am I explaining all this shit anyway? This is the internet. You can look it up. I've been spending entirely too much time with octogenarians who believe stuff on Facebook (and yes, 80+ year olds use Facebook. It's 2020. Hi, I'm Kate, and this is 2020, and honestly, this is the first time I've made that joke. I get a turn, too, right?).

****Which, I'm trusting there's a third volume of this Lowbeer series in the works, and I hope we get some answers about this tech. Nobody in Lowbeer's world knows where it is or who originally found it, let alone who developed it or how it works. An undercurrent I could have just imagined faintly suggests that maybe Lowbeer's native continuum isn't the "original" and is just as much of a stub as the ones its hobbyists play with, but I'm hoping it's not quantum McGuffin turtles all the way down, you guys.

Saturday, May 12, 2012

FGC #14 - Spudis' Woes



My name is Paul Spiegel, but call me Spudis. Everyone here does.


Well, saying “everyone” is kind of a stretch, since there’s only one other person here, but run with me on this. Actually, no, don’t run, leap with me, because hey, we’re on the freaking moon!


Tycho – that’s my buddy Tyler Powe for you historians who will no doubt be poring over my immortal words for generations to come – thinks it’s dumb of me to sit here and record this, but sometimes it just seemed like his imagination got knocked clean out of him when we crash-landed here. Either that or he thinks I’m shirking.


Maybe he thinks I’m shirking.


This city isn’t working according to its original design, you have to understand. The architects and engineers who dreamed this up had it in their heads to create a whiz-bang sci-fi city with all the robot butlers and automagic everything we lazy apes could ever want at hand, then programmed a rocketful of drones to come up here and have it all built and ready before the first wave of highly trained and motivated settlers arrived. I’m sure it would have been cool.


Insert your own joke about making God laugh here, if you believe in God. Or Murphy’s Law. Or mice and men. Anyway, the construction phase went fine, and everything here really is pretty shiny and nifty, only those settlers never came. The Luna Project got scrapped. Not cost effective. Bigger problems to tackle. Irreligious. Everyone had a reason not to do it.


But so the settlers are both highly trained (the best training MIT’s Open CourseWare and the Edupunks had to offer) and motivated, but so far there’s just me and Tycho, and as for the robots? Well.


It’s a long story, and we’ve set it down elsewhere, but, well, our first scrambled transmission back to Nicola’s gang said it all, really: “We made it, but we had to fry the robots. Sorry!!”


So Tycho and I have been pretty busy, finding ways to get things done without those robots, or any of the computer systems that kept stuff going while Cives Tranquilitatis (we really don’t dig on that name, but it’s everywhere. We usually just call it Tranq) awaited its inhabitants. But really, it’s not turning out to be as hard as Tycho likes to say it is; there are mechanical backups for pretty much everything; the hardware just needed some TLC and re-routed power from the bigass solar array out in the mare. I mean, enough water was cracked out of the rocks to keep 5000 people in drinking water and toilet flushing, plants growing – oh my god plants growing – to provide oxygen and fresh veggies, though some of the veggies look pretty strange… as long as we have that, we have a good chance at making it, or at least holding it together until the next gang comes.


Well, a pretty good chance. Cuz, well, I know I sound pretty sanguine but we did have a bit of an adventure the other day. Could have potentially ruined the Park*, too.


It happened like this. Tycho and I were busy trying to hack through some overgrowth that had closed off a huge swath of the main spiral**. Better Boy tomatoes do very well in one-sixth gee. Very well. Anyway, we were doing our jungle thing, hacking away with machetes, when all of a sudden, Tycho started screaming bloody murder.


It took me a minute or two to get to him – I was pretty tangled up after climbing to try to get to the biggest fruit we’d found yet, bigger than my head, that thing. I’m sure you’re used to those by now, future Lunans, but at the time we just couldn’t get over those – but I finally made it to him and at first, well, at first I thought he’d just had a close encounter with a tomato, if you know what I mean. He had a bright red streak along his temple, and a lot of pulp on his ear.


Except it turned out the pulp was his ear. And it wasn’t tomato juice on his face at all.


He said something sharp and heavy had screamed down from above and ripped his head open. Something hot. Really hot.


I started dabbing at his face with a clean rag but he slapped me away and yelled at me to find what hit him. I’d been getting really good at not arguing over little stuff, so I just clammed up and did.


It wasn’t too hard to find the missile; it was smoking. A rock a little bigger than my fist was lying there red hot on the regolith.


“Holy balls, you got hit by a meteorite!” I remember screaming.


“A meteorite is a rock that falls to Earth, dummy,” he said.


“Yeah, and… Oh!” I said, or something like that. Look, I’m really, really smart, but Tycho was the language nerd of the pair of us.


“OK, a metoroon, then. Holy balls, you got hit by a meteoroon!”


“Meteoroon? Really?”


“Well, I don’t know what you’d call it.”


“Neither do I. But that sounds stupid.”


I could have glossed over this stuff, future Lunans, but you deserve to know what we were really like. And by this point, we hadn’t had anyone but each other to talk to for months.


Oh, and we weren’t a couple, okay? Let me just set that straight right there. Heh.


Anyway, so there we were, standing there with our teeth in our mouths, staring at this freaking rock from outer space that had just… come down on us… and we… were under a dome…


We both looked up at the dome high above us and said a very bad word at the same time, because sure enough, one of the big plexiglass panels that kept the air in and the cosmic rays and crap out was pretty well smashed. It wasn’t a huge hole or anything, but the danger was still pretty obvious.


Pruning Tomatosaurus rex was going to have to wait a spell.


Now, Tycho used to kind of make fun of me for my Batman obsession when we were little, but after this he never mocked me again, because one of the first things I ever designed for our DIY colonization mission was, you got it, utility belts***.  And yes, they had grappling guns, because, grappling guns.


I was already speeding toward the damaged panel when Tycho pointed out that I didn’t have anything to fix it with. Hey, we’re a team, all right? One’s a thinker and a planner and one is a doer. Otherwise, we’da never made it out here, amIrite?


I figured as long as I was up there, I’d assess the damage. There was a pretty good hole in the glass and, sure enough, air was rushing out at a good clip. There would still be plenty of air under this big ol’ dome for a long time to come, but if we didn’t do something about it, well, I wouldn’t be writing this now, and you wouldn’t be reading it, future Lunans.


Gotta give Tycho credit. He made sure we brought lots and lots and lots of JB Weld. Oh, that stuff is amazing. So while I messed around trying to rewind my grappler (after a really fun trip down. Whee!), he grabbed a piece out of an unassembled greenhouse kit, broke it into a manageable size with a hammer, and threw together an emergency patch kit. We’ve since made up a whole bunch of these and are never without them! Anyway, he bounded over – I gotta tell ya, that never gets old! – with it and this time I let him do the honors. And don’t let him tell you otherwise, if he ever does tell anyone about this, he whooped and hollered just as much as I did on the way up.


So anyway, that’s why the dome above Tomatosaurus rex**** looks like a sloppy kluge job. Maybe someday it’ll get fixed up proper but right now, we’ve got other things to do. Like building dynamos to charge up our stuff, because I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend another six months without being able to get my Rebo and Zooty on.


*Spudis is referring to Tranquility Park in the center of Cives Tranquilitatis, which was housed in its own separate unpressurized dome within the city’s larger dome for many decades to preserve the Eagle, Neil Armstrong’s historic footprint and other historical artifacts, up until just a few months ago, when an incident very like that which Spudis describes in this story finally occurred. – ed.


**The spiral of which Spudis speaks is, of course, Armstrong Circle. – ed.


***The design for these is virtually identical to those all citizens of Tranq wear to this very day – ed.


****The same location as the vertical farm of the same name today, where Armstrong Circle and Cernan Spoke intersect. – ed.

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This week's Form and Genre challenge is a 1500 word short story written in the first person. I've had requests for sequels to pretty much all of my entries in this challenge to date, but as my personal favorite of these (for reasons that will become spectacularly clear in time) is "Settler's Woes", so yes, this is a sequel to that wacky little tale.