Excerpts Nisi Shawl Read an Excerpt From Nisi Shawl’s Kinning By Nisi Shawl | Published on January 22‚ 2024 icon-comment 0 Share New Share Twitter Facebook Pinterest RSS Feed More From Alternate History See All Posts Excerpts Excerpt Read an Excerpt From Someone You Can Build a Nest In By John Wiswell January 17‚ 2024 Comment 0 Excerpts Excerpt Read an Excerpt From Sun of Blood and Ruin By Mariely Lares January 11‚ 2024 Comment 0 Excerpts Excerpt Read an Excerpt From The Longest Autumn By Amy Avery January 16‚ 2024 Comment 0 Excerpts Excerpt Read an Excerpt From Where the Dark Stands Still By A.B. Poranek January 18‚ 2024 Comment 0 icon-left-caret Caret See All Posts We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Kinning‚ the sequel to Nisi Shawl’s alternate history debut Everfair‚ out from Tor Books on January 23. Tink and his sister Bee-Lung are traveling the world via aircanoe‚ spreading the spores of a mysterious empathy-generating fungus. Through these spores‚ they seek to build bonds between people and help spread revolutionary sentiments of socialism and equality—the very ideals that led to Everfair’s founding.Meanwhile‚ Everfair’s Princess Mwadi and Prince Ilunga return home from a sojourn in Egypt to vie for their country’s rule following the abdication of their father King Mwenda. But their mother‚ Queen Josina‚ manipulates them both from behind the scenes‚ while also pitting Europe’s influenza-weakened political powers against one another as these countries fight to regain control of their rebellious colonies.Will Everfair continue to serve as a symbol of hope‚ freedom‚ and equality to anticolonial movements around the world‚ or will it fall to forces inside and out? CHAPTER ZERO June 1916Kisangani‚ Everfair Princess Mwadi knelt in the jasmine’s warm shade. Both Sifa and Lembe slept. That had never before happened‚ but the eyelids of both her mother’s women stayed shut when Mwadi whispered their names. And Lembe snored‚ though lightly. And Sifa smacked her lips‚ which she would never have done in Mwadi’s presence while awake. Daring discovery‚ the princess stood‚ still lapped in the vines’ deep green shadows. Her brother Ilunga lay within the palace walls‚ recuperating from the new illness under the care of Yoka‚ one of their father’s most trusted and discreet counselors‚ and visited frequently by King Mwenda himself; her mother‚ Queen Josina‚ had established rooftop gardens to house the hives of her holy bees upon her return from her diplomatic mission to Angola‚ and there she was to be found most days. Though ostensibly the queen dwelt here in the palace courtyard with the other royal wives and daughters‚ Mwadi had quickly learnt how to amuse herself without expectation of her mother’s praise or censure. And also how to seek out and enjoy her mother’s company without being shooed away from the secrets Queen Josina liked to gather. How‚ as Miss Rima Bailey would have put it‚ to sneak around. The trick was to become something else. No longer content as a velvet-faced‚ sturdy-armed thirteen-year-old girl‚ Princess Mwadi concentrated on her resemblance to the sighing rain‚ then slipped free of the pavilion’s overhanging roof to join the rain’s fall. Languorous in the midday’s moist heat‚ ranks thinned by the ravaging new illness‚ the palace guard proved no impediment to Mwadi’s departure. And Kisangani’s thoroughfares led her where she wanted to go so easily—the dwindling waters between built-up roads coming no higher than her knees‚ so that she might wade unmolested the whole way. Buy the Book Kinning Nisi Shawl Buy Book icon-close Kinning Nisi Shawl Buy this book from: AmazonBarnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget The city had grown since her father first established his court here‚ back before she or Prince Ilunga had been born. And it had grown even more in the two years since she acted the role of Bo-La alongside Miss Rima in Sir Matty’s play. The atolo tree planted near the shelter of the king’s ancestors stood surrounded now by many similar shelters sharing the tree’s protection. So broad its branches‚ by itself the tree darkened almost all the sacred precinct’s ground. So high its crown‚ the misting rain wreathed around its leaves like dagga smoke. So snaking its roots‚ she had to stoop to the soil and feel her way among them with her hands. So fat and slick the trunk‚ she didn’t even try to climb it‚ merely clasped it to her‚ breathing in its clean‚ wild scent. She had reached her goal! She threw back her head in joy and saw it—the king’s original ceremonial shongo‚ yes! The green of its copper was duller and bluer‚ the curves of its blades were fuller and longer‚ than the intervening foliage. So high above her head… impossible to touch it. It had stayed lodged in the gleaming brown bark higher than the ceiling of the palace pavilion for more than forty seasons—ever since her father hurled it there and decreed that whoever drew it free would rule after him. Warning stories told of the injuries borne by pretenders to Everfair’s throne in their pursuit of this prize: multiple bones broken in sudden‚ inexplicable falls; crippling wounds gouged in their flesh by the beaks of invisible crows. But from the overheard conversations of her mother’s rivals‚ the princess knew for certain that once she released the shongo from its resting place she could call herself her father’s heir‚ as these women’s sons had attempted to do. As her stupid brother Ilunga had tried to do as well. She had to retrieve it for herself‚ successfully—but how? Arching her back‚ she continued gazing upward. A limb emerged from the tree’s main body to the shongo’s right‚ and just a little lower. Thinning gradually‚ gracefully‚ the long limb drooped near its end—Mwadi whirled to check—low enough! Or nearly so; she picked her way to where it waved almost‚ almost within her grasp. A glance around: no one was present. As she had planned. Offerings would be made later‚ at the time of the evening meal. Nobody had been here when she arrived‚ and nobody had arrived since. With practiced swiftness she unwound her headwrap—a wider strap than babies wore‚ as Mwadi was soon to be a woman. A couple of tosses and it went over the limb. First she dragged the limb down. When the wood no longer bowed to her weight she paused to make sure again she was alone‚ then jumped! Still hanging by the loop of her headwrap she swung her legs high and locked ankles around the lowered limb. Of course it held her. Creeping along its underside like a caterpillar—bunch‚ stretch‚ bunch‚ stretch—she moved toward the tree’s center. Once there it was a struggle‚ but she got herself upright and facing in. No dizziness or loss of grip or balance. No plunge from this hard-won height. No flock of ghosts. Now. Bracing herself by tightening her thighs she leaned left‚ took the wooden haft of the king’s shongo in both hands‚ and tugged. It came free slowly‚ like a well-watered cassava plant. Triumph! Everfair was hers! Entranced by her happy prospects she sighed and stroked the glowing‚ newly naked blade‚ largest of the shongo’s three. Burial in the atolo tree’s flesh had kept it shining bright. As bright as the future reign of Queen Mwadi. Now to tell King Mwenda‚ so he could make the succession official. And to share the news of her good fortune with her mother‚ his favorite. And to gloat openly‚ in his face‚ upon her victory over Ilunga. No‚ she would be kinder to him than that. Appoint him minister of something. He was her brother‚ after all‚ by both father and mother. Surely that mattered. According to Queen Josina‚ every relationship entered into mattered. Each was of the utmost importance. Slowly‚ thoughtfully‚ Mwadi came down off of the atolo limb and untied her headwrap. She wound it around and around the shongo’s shaft‚ pulling it tight‚ then laid it loosely over the sharp-forged cutting edges. Her mother shared wisdom like it was chocolate‚ always possessed of a personal supply from which she doled out small bits‚ seemingly on a whim. Mwadi had learned as a child to savor her mother’s pronouncements‚ to chew them over and extract their constantly changing‚ ever-refreshing truths. As the princess left the grove surrounding the atolo for the ramp leading down to the partially flooded thoroughfare‚ she frowned at the ground on which she walked. She was going to reign over this land—over this earth‚ over the very soil clinging to her bared feet. Was that a relationship? Even now‚ at this point‚ before she actually ascended to Everfair’s throne? Or perhaps not even then. Perhaps only relationships with living entities should be counted? The trees‚ then? A low branch brushed the top of her head as she stepped onto the ramp’s gravel‚ as if in a tender farewell. The peak of the day had passed‚ and Mwadi met a few others on her way home to the palace. Other subjects: young people running errands for their elders‚ whites ignoring the inconvenience of doing business during the heat’s height. Were the Europeans whom King Mwenda had demanded fealty from also in important relationships with her? Or only those she knew personally‚ such as Sir Matty? No one stirring about recognized her without her attendants‚ and Mwadi reached the palace steps quickly and easily. Sifa still slumbered in the courtyard; Lembe woke‚ but fell in immediately with the princess’s pretense of being on her way to the bottom of the staircase that climbed from courtyard to rooftop. For Lembe to do otherwise would have been to alert Queen Josina to her inadequacy. It would have been to admit that she’d neglected to do her job. Instead‚ when the queen came out onto the roof through the door of the interior stairway‚ her serving woman was diligently oiling the carved wooden stand of one of her holy hives. Mwadi watched the queen walk slowly between the tubs containing her budding flowers and fragrant blooms. Reaching the sheltered platform where the princess reclined‚ Queen Josina paused to observe her woman at work. “How is my brother?” Mwadi asked dutifully. She sat up and reached beneath her couch to retrieve the cloth-swaddled shongo and began to unwrap it. Her mother stepped onto the platform and sank to the cushions beside her. “Well enough. The disease is coming to accept his superiority.” She swung her head one way‚ then the other‚ checking for any who overheard them. None of the other wives were visible; though supposedly it belonged to all‚ this garden was known as Queen Josina’s private retreat. “All signs indicate Mwenda will take my advice on the succession. So eventually‚ Ilunga will rule over all the rest of our land just as he’ll rule very soon over the organism causing this illness.” No he would not. “Naturally‚ a position of such distinction brings with it a high measure of risk. We must guard him carefully…” Josina’s long‚ proud eyes rested lightly on the bundle occupying Mwadi’s lap. “What are you about to show me?” Not waiting for Mwadi’s answer‚ the queen twitched aside the last of the veiling headwrap. “Ah. Is this—this is the knife your father threw!” “Yes. I pulled it from the atolo tree. That means I—not Ilunga— am my father’s heir.” Her mother smiled with closed lips. “You are his heir when he says so.” “He will! He has to! Mother‚ you can help me to persuade him of my rights!” Mwadi took the shongo by its handle and tried to lift it from her lap. Josina’s hands barred hers from rising. “Are you sure you should do this?” She drew back‚ staring. “Of course I am!” “Are you sure this is how to get what you want?” All certainty drained from Mwadi’s head. Why would her mother object to her becoming queen? Why would she favor buffalo-headed Ilunga? “Do you even know what that is? What it is that you want?” “Everything! I want everything!” A wider smile now. “Yes. You are truly my child.” And now her mother’s long‚ strong fingers curled over Mwadi’s own‚ reinforcing her grip on the shongo. “We will have it. Everything you want. Trust me.” Mwadi had always trusted her mother. The question had always been whether her mother trusted her in return. Some secrets‚ the queen kept saying‚ it was impossible to share. “Can you tell me how we will win?” “You know that I am an initiate in the mysteries of the Yoruba‚ a priest of the orisha Oshun‚ yes? She who is the owner of wealth and learning?” “I do.” “She who invented the form of divination I practice. She who holds high her golden light to show me which path of the many I can see that I should take. Which leads most surely to my desires.” Queen Josina’s exploration of foreign cultures was well-known— but had adoption of foreigners’ beliefs undermined her faith in her daughter’s abilities? Or did it somehow‚ by some devious means‚ support it? “Your desires?” “We are in harmony. I have learned the best melodies to play‚ the best places in which to move our feet.” The queen stroked the back of Mwadi’s clenched hand. “You must relax. As I said‚ trust me.” She beckoned‚ and Lembe abandoned her task to approach the platform. “Accompany Princess Mwadi to Prince Ilunga’s chambers‚” the queen instructed her serving woman. She leaned forward‚ speaking softly into her daughter’s ear‚ again stroking her hand. “You’ll give this to him for safekeeping.” “To Ilunga? No! Never!” She lowered her voice‚ too‚ but fierceness filled it‚ hardened it the way blows and heat harden iron. “I! I will be this country’s rightful ruler!” She jerked her hand‚ trying to free herself—and the shongo—from Josina’s grip. She couldn’t. “What if I agree with you on that point?” The queen was whispering‚ was close‚ her cheek touching Mwadi’s. The sweet scent of her hair oil threatened to wipe out all other smells‚ all sights and sounds and— Mwadi stood. She swayed only a little‚ only a moment. She kept her hold on the shongo. So did her mother‚ which Mwadi found steadying. “Then you do? You agree and acknowledge—” “Listen to me! Can’t you tell? Stop your insolence and obey me!” The queen stood too. “I know what I’m doing! I know this reality! I am ready to enter it—though if Oshun had not prepared me for your stubbornness I would have you poisoned!” Quickly Josina wrested the shongo away from Mwadi’s surprised grasp. But only to hold it before her‚ between them. “You will present this to your brother. You will explain to him that you found it at the atolo’s foot‚ in a bowl filled with black sand such as we use for metal casting. You’ll make sure others hear your story‚ and that they repeat it. “Do these things and anything else I instruct you to do. The throne and the land will be yours.” June 1916 to June 1920Kisangani‚ Everfair‚ to Cairo‚ Egypt Should he lie? Prince Ilunga shifted his weight from one aching elbow to the other and gazed away from his sister’s gift. Then back. Resplendent on a fur-covered cushion it lay‚ his father’s first ceremonial shongo‚ a three-lobed promise of sovereignty. He who pulled it from the trunk of the atolo tree was to be named King Mwenda’s successor. Should Ilunga claim the feat of retrieving it as his own? With the shongo in his possession‚ his claim would have real weight. It would ease the pricking soreness lingering from that earlier attempt‚ that ugly failure seen by all. But what of those who’d seen Mwadi bring the shongo to him here? The guards outside his door? Or the flat-chested woman seated by his bed‚ the one his mother had assigned to attend to Ilunga as his illness receded? Not to mention anyone his sister might have met on her way to his rooms. Not to mention his sister herself‚ gone now. Gone to report to someone? To his mother? There was no hope of untangling the threads of Queen Josina’s intricate plots. He must just believe she always put his interests first‚ as she swore she did. “Why does my sister want it‚ anyway?” he grumbled. The flat-chested woman spoke‚ startled. “She doesn’t! She gave it to you!” He ignored her words. But her presence was not unwelcome; though you couldn’t call her attractive‚ at least she was a woman. He was young and needed practice. “Here. Use some of that salve on me. My limbs—” Clacking beads interrupted him as his mother swept through his bedchamber’s door. “Queen!” The woman—he ought to learn her name—dropped to the floor. “Your son’s health improves by the hour. I was going to you with my news as soon as those bringing the evening meal arrived.” “No need for that.” Josina touched the woman’s shoulder and she got up. “I see his progress.” An arched brow and the delicate flare of the queen’s nostrils indicated her approval. “He’ll be able to join his father tomorrow when he holds court.” “Is that when we’ll receive the Portuguese envoys? Are they on—” A sharp glance from his mother stopped the prince’s questions mid-spate. “The secret envoys spent last night in Mbuji-Mayi‚ and they rest there again today to observe a feast of their religion.” She paused and he had time to absorb the full strength of her emphasis on “secret.” “Rosine‚ go fetch the prince’s evening meal yourself.” The poorly endowed woman left. No great loss. The coaching in diplomacy Queen Josina gave him once she was gone more than compensated for missing a chance to flex his love muscles. During the formal reception held for the Portuguese the next day‚ and in all his dealings with subjects and foreigners afterward‚ he did his best to remember her teachings. Regularly she received visits from foreigners—often from those who had initiated her in her religious mysteries. When these visitors departed she would spend long night hours treading intricate dance patterns to music audible only to her ears. Some whispered that his mother was mad. If so‚ it was a cunning madness. “Do not reveal the extent of your intelligence to those who assume you lack it‚” she counseled him‚ again and again. “Play the fool in public and in private act the sage‚ and you’ll both surprise your enemies and please your friends.” He watched as she accepted without protest the Portuguese ambassadors’ reluctant refusal to speak to the other European governments on Everfair’s behalf. Later‚ in the markets following his country’s surrender to the English‚ Ilunga learned how invisible activity—spying‚ magic spells‚ nested schemes—bore visible fruit. Despite the attacks on their sovereignty instigated by Thornhill and other British agents‚ his mother cultivated Everfair’s ties to certain of England’s factions. Because‚ she said‚ “Our enemies are made of more than one kind of cloth.” As the seasons passed‚ Queen Josina encouraged Ilunga to dig his own information channels and direct their flow. She expected him to use these to help her keep up with schisms developing between those who planned a return to Europe’s fast-vanishing superiority. The so-called War to End War resulted in a litter of smaller conflicts‚ most fought with words and smiles‚ in hidden rooms‚ on metaphoric battlefields. Judged a harmless playboy‚ Prince Ilunga was easily able to observe the Europeans and their surrogates as they jockeyed for knowledge and position. He journeyed from city to city‚ avowedly in pursuit of pleasure: west to Lagos‚ south to Maputo‚ east to Mogadishu‚ north to Cairo. Where‚ at the age of thirty-five seasons—eighteen-and-one-half years—he found his first real friend. Deveril Scranforth grinned when Ilunga introduced himself as the future ruler of Everfair‚ and leaned back to balance his wooden chair on two spindly legs. “Ha! One day you’ll outrank me‚ then. But for now—” Without looking he stretched wide both arms and hooked each around the waist of a deep-chested beauty. “—for now‚ I’ll be teaching you a thing or two‚ what? And you’ll be grateful for that—and show it!” Smoke from their host’s hookah drifted between them on its way to the night-curtained windows. Attending this soiree was part of the standard plan Ilunga’s mother had devised for gathering intelligence: woo the offspring of embassy personnel and allow himself to be drawn into their social groups. Attendance was part of the standard plan‚ making this a completely unremarkable evening‚ but ever afterward Ilunga remembered it as the beginning of a new phase in his dedication to savoring the world’s glories. Heightened awareness of his surroundings‚ helped on by the judicious consumption of cocktails‚ filled him with the sense of his surroundings’ divinity: the satin sheen of the throw pillows scattered about him on his divan‚ the jewels winking in a passing guest’s cuff links‚ the sweet residue of honeyed melon coating his lips‚ the tinkling chime of the golden chains adorning the wrists and ankles of the laughing woman who leapt up from Scranforth’s lap and snuggled cozily onto his own— despite his weak protests. “Not a virgin‚ are you?” As if Ilunga were still a boy! “No!” “Good. Nothin wrong with it if you were‚ but I’d want to start you out a bit slower.” The white crooked his finger and two more beauties congealed out of the crowd to stand beside him. “Which of em d’you want? All three of em? Like to keep one for m’self.” To go from the glittering heat of the party to the dark fragrance of the house’s fountain-fed garden took only a few steps. Only a moment. And then the prince was enveloped in flesh. Above‚ below‚ on either side‚ perfumed skin slid and slipped against his clothing. Then against his nakedness. Touch receded‚ returned‚ receded‚ returned‚ new waves rippling over old ones like the music of the fountain waters rising and falling somewhere nearby… like the fickle breezes laden with the party’s distant murmurings‚ or the thickening breaths of the women wrapping him in pleasure. Then Scranforth’s voice came crashing through their panting sighs: “What d’ye say? Good play? Best hoors in Maadi—in all Cairo! Agreed?” The soft lips kissing Ilunga’s eyelids went away. He opened his eyes and his mouth‚ about to bellow furiously at the European’s interruption—but the soft lips came back‚ to graze his jaw and cling moistly to the ridges and valleys of his throat—and his delight at this found its reflection in the pale‚ half-shaven face hanging over him. The prince realized he wasn’t actually angry. Delight mirrored was delight doubled. Bliss upon bliss proved this new truth. To receive a caress and cry out at its shivery progress—from spine to buttocks to tight and tingling testicles— was to share and deepen its effects. Was this increase in his arousal a sign that Ilunga wanted sexual congress with the white man? He tried asking his mother. Sometimes he believed she knew him better than he knew himself. But the coded messages he sent her went unanswered. All the queen responded with were instructions: stay in Cairo‚ enroll in Victoria College‚ rent a home there that his sister Mwadi could run for him. His father wouldn’t blame him for a trait only Europeans and missionaries abhorred. Would he? Probably not. Although Ilunga’s usefulness as King Mwenda’s heir would perhaps be compromised… No. That sort of thinking belonged in the head of Queen Josina. Who‚ if she said nothing of her son’s predilection‚ must not consider it to be a problem. And for him it wasn’t. Adventures with Devil—so Ilunga came to call his new friend‚ adopting the pet name employed by his fellow students—filled most of the prince’s nights‚ and quite a few of his days as well. The white man knew the town’s best brothels. Even more conveniently‚ he introduced “Loongee” to several women willing to entertain them for no money—though not exactly for free‚ as Ilunga quickly learned. His first such encounter was with a buxom‚ cheerful matron whose nephew controlled the stock certificates of the Great Sun River Collector Company. She was easily satisfied. In addition to plowing the slick delta between her thighs—Devil stationed titillatingly nearby‚ ostensibly to watch out for the woman’s husband—he only had to purchase fifty shares of the company‚ at a surprisingly moderate price. But soon the prince learned how to fend off these requests. This meant that sometimes‚ to his regret‚ he also had to fend off the proposals of erotic exercise they accompanied. Enough of those remained to keep him happily occupied‚ though. And despite a couple of petty disagreements‚ and one serious quarrel involving a firearm‚ he made sure to include Devil in any activities of that sort. Ilunga dedicated an entire suite of his Maadi villa to sexual pursuits. He arranged a door communicating with the room where Devil often stayed. Once or twice he invited others to visit‚ hoping to experience the same intensified gratification in their presence. As far as Prince Ilunga could tell‚ his experiments failed. He felt no comparable increase in sensation when he shouted his satisfaction in the hearing of his sister’s European protégés‚ the Schreibers; no wider or even equivalent overflowing of deliciousness when he hosted other college friends for similar nights of sexual indulgence. Nonetheless‚ his efforts made a difference. How? Chiefly through his memory. Ilunga knew he was reaching for connection to others. He was aware that he cherished the touch of the women who attracted him‚ and that he yearned to share it. He realized how he longed to drench the strangers of the world in these women’s musk‚ to be soused in their sweat‚ to drown in it while drowning his white companions with him. Memories of these desires dug their grooves deep into his mind. Incompletion kept them fresh and sharply edged. Memories‚ like all stories‚ want to tell themselves. Asleep‚ Prince Ilunga dreamed that his fantasies came true. Awake‚ he forgot the specifics of how that occurred. But the happiness his dreams left behind haunted him. Awake‚ the prince pretended stupidity‚ as Queen Josina had advised him to do. He acted as though ignorant of Devil’s plan to use him to access Everfair’s mineral wealth—and of some points in that plan he really was ignorant‚ because ignorance was easier than action. Ilunga always preferred to avoid unnecessary effort. In fact‚ it was Devil’s drives rather than the prince’s own unsteady ambitions that moved most things forward—especially things concerning the succession. Much of what the European wanted to do depended on Ilunga inheriting the throne. So in between their college’s lectures on the histories of dead empires and their evening assignations with willing women‚ Devil did his royal friend’s tedious yet necessary political work. Who‚ then‚ do you suppose gathered and treasured together Prince Ilunga’s unrequited attempts at blurring the boundaries dividing him from the rest of creation? Who do you think? CHAPTER ONE December 1920Tourane‚ Vietnam‚ Aboard Xu Mu Dragons. Best to follow them. Bee-Lung looked up at her brother. His long‚ appropriately handsome face became clear as the winch cranked her higher‚ toward the aircanoe’s open hold. His expression was calm. Those born in Dragon years expected to lead others even more than they enjoyed doing so. He really was the perfect node. The decision to share her specially bred new strain of May Fourth’s Spirit Medicine with him was proving wise. Nodding acknowledgment to the Bharatese man on the crank‚ Bee-Lung hitched her robe tight against her hips and thighs and hopped over the cargo basket’s low rim. Normally she wore trousers‚ but her appearance at the French administrative palace had merited the wearing of this concoction of peach-colored silk trimmed in crimson cord. It seemed to have done the trick; she would have to store it properly till the next stop on their trip. But first to tell Tink. He was already walking toward the hold’s narrow door out‚ sure she’d be behind him. She smiled at his back and ran forward. He paused at the threshold and turned‚ one foot still raised to step through. “Success?” he asked. The beginning of a furrow indented his brow. “Of a sort.” Without moving her head‚ Bee-Lung indicated the Bharatese man with her eyes. He had joined them too recently to be trusted‚ his inoculation only taking place today. “Come.” Out the door‚ along the corridor‚ to their shared cabin in Xu Mu’s gilded prow. “Now.” He closed the thick cotton curtains and pushed a sack of dried mushrooms out of his path to the glassed window. Porthole. “They’ve stopped short of giving consent for the cable’s inoculation‚ but they won’t stand in our way. As long as no one can implicate them.” “The French wish to seem ignorant of what we’re doing in their colony?” Tink’s voice had the sheen of sarcasm. “So I interpret our interaction.” A crate of clay Spirit Medicine containers on the floor—deck—rattled as the aircanoe rocked in a momentary gust. “Naturally we must prepare to leave as soon as the spores are distributed. But my recruits will tend the threads they produce to expansion and fruiting‚ and will make sure the resulting conduits connect with the ones we started for our May Fourth friends.” Ducking under a small hammock filled with empty paper envelopes—she would use them to organize future botanical samples—Bee-Lung made her way to the cabin’s second and larger porthole. It was shaded. She pushed the white pleats to the round frame’s bottom and looked out over the city the French called Tourane. Xu Mu faced away from the mouth of the Han River and away from the telegraph cable’s landing station on the shores of the East Sea. The red roofs under which Bee-Lung had lately intrigued lay almost directly below. The French invaders’ mooring facilities were barely adequate—a rope was all that held the aircanoe to their mast. Low clouds gathered and parted and gathered again‚ veiling the inland mountains in pale obscurity. “At least it’s warm‚” her brother remarked. “If the rain keeps off we’ll have no trouble tonight.” “No need for you to go yourself‚ then.” “But I want to.” Of course he did. “No need‚” Bee-Lung repeated. Uselessly. Not just Dragon‚ Metal Dragon. “Would you rather I sent you?” This was a jest on Tink’s part; it had been determined earlier the differing roles she and her brother would assume on this voyage. “No.” She pulled the shade back up and frowned. “They’ve already seen me.” “Ha! They’ll never see me! I’m not getting caught!” He went to crouch over the jars of Spirit Medicine. “They accepted the tea we brought them without noticing?” “Even so.” The threads of Spirit Medicine that they had secreted in bundles of fragrant tea leaves were so thin as to escape detection. Stored in the palace pantries‚ these would be available to May Fourth’s new kitchen agents for later inoculations. Of which there would assuredly be many. “Enthusiasm for our venture will greet—” A scratching at the bulkhead interrupted her. The Bharatese man shoved the door’s curtains aside and came in holding a tray. “Raghu!” Yes‚ that was his name. Of course Tink knew it. “Are you ready?” “And eager!” Light from the glowing sponges in his tray of bowls winked off of Raghu’s sudden grin. Like that‚ it was evening; the day had been dark enough that the change had slipped past her without fanfare. Bee-Lung took a sponge lamp and hung it from its hook on the cabin’s ceiling. One of her favorite discoveries; the radiance of the powder impregnating it was fired by water. So gentle its shine. So sad‚ like a setting moon. There was no reason for sadness. Tink would be fine. Her trepidation over the deployment of a gang numbering unlucky four was mere superstition. The May Fourth Movement’s very name repudiated such backward notions. She took a second lamp to hang. “You should sleep‚” Tink told her. She tugged fretfully at the tight cuffs of the silk robe’s sleeves‚ which had crept up to pinch the fat of her upper arms. “I should get out of this abominably restricting dress.” “And then sleep.” While changing to her accustomed clothes‚ she imparted the intelligence obtained by the kitchen agent regarding approaches to the cable’s terminal station. Then‚ because it was her policy to obey her brother‚ even when he didn’t realize he’d given an order‚ Bee-Lung did manage to sleep—for several hours. She woke well before sunrise to dimness and silence. The water fueling the sponges would have partially evaporated by now‚ so the cabin’s dimness was to be anticipated. But not its silence. The lamps’ low glimmering showed that the hammock beside her own hung limp. Empty. Tourane‚ Vietnam‚ Aboard Xu Mu to the Governor’s Palace Seated with three of his chosen kin in the cargo basket‚ headed down to his first ground sortie in service of May Fourth‚ Tink felt a happiness he hadn’t known in years. If there was no conventional beauty left in the world for him since Lily’s death‚ he could at least be of some practical usefulness. The Chen twins seemed filled with the same high hopes for the mission he himself held‚ giggling as they hunched protectively over the braided coils of spore-laden root sheaths. Before the basket’s descent plunged them into the starless night’s darkness‚ Tink could see that Raghu’s expression looked less sanguine. Then there was only his scent to go by: the Bharatese man’s sweat‚ bitter with nervousness; his noxious inner winds released to be dispelled by gradually rising offshore breezes‚ which carried the sweeter smell of dying kelp. At last came the muddy odor of the freshly trodden road to their target‚ as promised by Bee-Lung’s intelligence. Climbing from the staging platform down to the ground along the bamboo stairway at the palace’s back‚ they encountered only one guard. Before he could raise others‚ Chen Min-Jun grabbed him by the throat. His scream softened to a grunt. “Come with us‚” the girl suggested‚ her strong hands twisting left and right‚ then loosening. “Or decide to stay‚” said her sister. “In which case we’ll be forced to kill you.” No surprise that the guard became at least a temporary recruit. Between the homes of colonialist collaborators clustering near the palace’s walls they walked—quickly‚ quietly‚ avoiding the treacherous‚ gravel-strewn entranceways of the more elegant establishments. Then these were left behind. Removing their lone lightsponge from his shirt‚ Tink lowered it to soak in a puddle and activate. He squeezed out the excess water and returned it to its former home‚ his body and clothes serving as its shade. They should not rely on their eyes alone. It would be best to frame their perceptions in the fashions nourished by the Spirit Medicine while on this mission. Soon the tingling air of the woods encroached more closely‚ and soon after that it enveloped them. Tink wanted to rest here‚ to lie among the enchantingly damp fallen leaves as if he‚ too‚ had come to the exact right place. But the road. The mission. The spores. The target. At last they’d reached it. Fragrant‚ new-turned earth‚ steaming with life‚ sat wetly mounded over the trench in which the cable traveled from its landing station in the bay to the terminal house on the forest’s far side. Here they would insert the latest of their spore batches‚ whose emerging threads would reach along that cable’s length to find the previous‚ the next‚ the next… He waited for Raghu‚ who lagged behind the twins and their captive. “Tools?” From a sling over his left shoulder the man removed a pair of collapsed shovels. Unfolding the one handed to him‚ Tink sank it into the soil. He directed the Bharatese to start digging a few paces farther from the road. The actions he performed were pleasurable: sinking in the shovel’s blade‚ lifting out the muck of knowledge‚ heaping it up next to one serenely expectant hole after another. He couldn’t delve too deeply; the holes’ round sides wanted to melt and sag. But once in place and active‚ the spores would sense their goal and reach down for it with quick-growing tendrils. When he and the Bharatese had excavated a dozen of these miniature gullets‚ they switched duties with the twins‚ tending the prisoner and watching for intruders while Min-Jun and Jie-Jun unspooled the precious root sheaths into the waiting orifices. This far from shore there would be no steel wire wrappings—only rubber and gutta percha layers to protect the buried cable’s copper core‚ materials that would help as much as hinder the growth of the spores’ tendrils. The Chens poured mud back into the holes. It overflowed them. Was this spot too wet for the fungus to flourish? Tink felt how long it would be till dawn. “Onward‚” he decided. The covered trench went straighter than the road‚ but in the same general direction. As they came nearer to the telegraph’s terminal station‚ the waters soaking the black earth drained somewhat away. Though still flat to his useless eyes‚ the land slowly rose‚ so that in good time an orchard of mangos surrounded them on both sides. Excellent. This was a sort of terrain Tink was very familiar with. The digging this time was not much more work‚ though they made the pits deeper. Another twelve. That ought to be enough. Again he and Raghu traded with the sisters. But the prisoner had been flirting with the girls‚ and he sulked‚ unhappy at the change. “What’s your name?” Tink asked. If he could‚ he would learn from the guard himself how best to persuade him to their side permanently. “Zhou Yong-Lei.” Honest pile of rocks. Well‚ one could gain purchase there‚ if one were stubborn. “And of what do you dream‚ Master Zhou?” “I—” “Terrorists! Seize them!” Shouted orders and blinding white beams shattered the orchard’s dark calm. Off of the road poured a clotted flood of frightened-smelling men. BANG! BANG-BANG-BANG! Rifle fire from two different points flew mere handsbreadths from Tink’s face. He fell to embrace the earth‚ catching at Zhou’s clothes to drag him down too and save him. Another explosion and the sudden salt of spilling blood told Tink that he had failed. Sadness. The guard died‚ life leaking soundlessly out of his wounds and into the orchard’s accepting roots. Tink surrendered to the men—they were all men—who had shot him. No chance now to win Zhou over to the right side. Hustled toward the road and back the way they’d come‚ Tink wasted precious time in regret. Only as they left the countryside behind did he begin to return to full function. Coals smoldering in iron baskets flanked the wide stairway leading to the palace’s grand entrance. By their smoky light he saw that the Chen twins still accompanied him‚ though Min-Jun had a dark swelling on her right cheek. Twisting as far as his captor’s grip allowed‚ he made out Raghu’s slumping form at the group’s rear‚ supported between two soldiers. They didn’t climb the stairs. A pair of soldiers at the bottom challenged them in French. Tink had learned a little French from Lisette and the Poet. Only a little‚ and long ago‚ and this version was differently accented. His sister had made a study of the language for diplomatic purposes. Not he. The tones of the challenger’s and the respondent’s voices told him more than the shapes of their words. The challenging man seemed satisfied with the other’s answer‚ but rather than lead them up to the governor’s receiving rooms he took them to a shadowed servants’ entrance near the building’s southwest corner. With a last deep breath of the night air in which Xu Mu flew‚ so near‚ so unreachable‚ he followed his captor’s insistence within. It wasn’t all bad. The lights were far apart‚ but steady and shielded with glass. His vision was restored to utility. They walked to the end of a corridor and turned left. A door on their right would have delivered them to the bamboo scaffolding and stairs up to the roof platform and the aircanoe’s mooring post. But that door was shut‚ and they turned away from it‚ into the palace’s heart. Or if not into its heart‚ if hearts must lodge higher in metaphorical bodies‚ then into its rectum. A small chamber‚ poured concrete for walls‚ no windows‚ square flagstones paving the sloping floor save for a wide‚ shallow hole at its center. Old odors of stale sweat and cold embers and roast—pork? monkey?—fought with the odors they carried with them: the knowing mud and the new blood and the trace scents of gunpowder‚ steel‚ the fat greasing the soldiers’ boots and the laundry soap lingering in their uniforms. The soldier who had hauled Tink into the room flung him across it. He fell on his side. The flagstones soothed him‚ cool against his exposed skin where his short trousers were torn. The Chens landed beside him‚ then Raghu beside Jie-Jun‚ grunting and trying to stand again at once. “Attawndayzeesee.” Wait here. No doubt a joke; the soldiers were all laughing as they left‚ laughing even louder as they locked the door’s rattling lock. No electricity. No light. Tink turned the sponge around inside his shirt so that it shed the brightness fed by his perspiration out onto their surroundings. “They didn’t chain us!” observed Jie-Jun. “Why should they need to?” Raghu asked glumly. “We’ll never escape.” True‚ perhaps. By the smell of things the door out was guarded. The room’s walls stood as stout as such walls could stand; given time they would crumble‚ but for now—the floor? Tink half-rolled‚ half-crawled to the bared earth at the room’s focus. It actually stank—even before he had taken the Spirit Medicine‚ Tink would have noticed its reek of charred wood. His heightened sensitivity to chemicals revealed nastier details: a spatter of urine‚ and small but insistent clots of vomit. And the sweat was reminiscent of grief and fear. These things combined with the faint hints of old roasted meat to tell him why they’d been brought here‚ what they’d been left here for. Torture. He buried his fingers in the sullied soil. As always‚ it lived. But sourly‚ blindly‚ in solitude. To make contact with even a rudimentary core such as they had started growing on the palace grounds would take too long—weeks‚ during which time he’d be unmoving and apparently unconscious. And preferably unobserved. Unlikely. The ceiling? Tink got to his feet and pulled the sponge from his shirt. He raised it high so its soft brightness showed him that yes‚ as he’d sensed‚ there was wood above his head. But wood long dead‚ infused with some decay-retardant poison‚ so that there was no communing with it‚ no way to use it to tell his sister of his whereabouts. The Chens came to kneel beside him‚ eyeing him expectantly. They knew him for a node. “We must simply wait for Bee-Lung to find us‚” he informed them. Eventually she would catch his scent. “She’s bound to come soon.” Tourane‚ Vietnam‚ Aboard Xu Mu to the Palais du Gouverneur Of course both of the cargo baskets were in use right when Bee-Lung needed them. Xu Mu’s loaders had filled them the prior evening‚ doing the heaviest of their labor before the warmth of the day. She hurried to put on the stupid peach silk robe again‚ but by the time she arrived in the hold the industrious workers had already lowered one basket to the platform; the other dangled in midair. Obviously it had gone too far down to be recalled. Breathing as calmly as she could manage‚ Bee-Lung composed herself to stand out of the way‚ a distance from the open hatch. The winch operators unwound the cable with what seemed to her unnecessary deliberateness. Surely the second basket’s journey wouldn’t take too long—the landing platform was no farther away from the gondola’s hold than the bottom of the aircanoe’s envelope was from its top. Yes‚ the gifts of porcelain it contained were delicate‚ but very carefully wrapped. She had delayed sending them down till now to make certain of that. This was her fault. The full basket reached the roof’s level without incident‚ was hooked and hauled into place‚ and at long last the winch line was attached to the emptied basket. Up it came and in she got. “You won’t go alone?” That had in fact been Bee-Lung’s intention. But the question came from Kwangmi—the only woman Tink had voluntarily sought out since his love’s death‚ and the core member who—though she was deemed unnecessary to the sowing mission—would have made them five rather than unlucky four. Bee-Lung ought to overcome her disdain. “Not if you’ll join me.” She climbed into the basket first‚ then held out her hand to help the Korean‚ who despite her name was dark-complexioned. “Shining Beauty” indeed. Trust her brother to find the unorthodox attractive. “Hurry! Quickly!” Ignoring the lurch and sway of the cargo basket’s initial drop‚ Bee-Lung pleaded up through the hatch for the workers to lower them fast‚ faster! Not till they reached the platform did she realize she still held Kwangmi’s hand. Bee-Lung loosened her clenched fingers. A rag-clad loader offered his dirt-smeared arm. She pretended she needed it‚ clung to it‚ and with a false show of age tottered stubbornly away from the bamboo stairway running down the palace’s back‚ dragging the loader and his arm alongside. Kwangmi‚ smart if not conventionally good-looking‚ followed her example. Yesterday’s intelligence— how long it seemed since she’d received the skinny little kitchen maid’s report—said there was a door to the attics on the inner slope of the east wing’s roof. Yes. A short hop onto the regrettably slick tiles—an inadvertent slide halted by Kwangmi’s swift snatch at the peach dress’s collar—a gap in the door’s shutters—she was in. A round window covered in brown paper provided some light‚ but it was in the western wall and not exactly bright. Bee-Lung let the air currents tell her where she was‚ what surrounded her. Mostly empty space. A pile of trunks filled the corner to her immediate left. A velvety cluster of bats hung from the peaked roof’s rafters‚ the white of their feces a stark circle on the attic’s dark floor. Which way down? The bats would not know. Kwangmi entered behind her. “Bar the shutters‚” said Bee-Lung. The sounds of Kwangmi’s searching ended in satisfied mutterings and the knocking of wood on hollow wood. “It’s done‚” she pronounced‚ padding forward on rubber soles. “No one will follow us in. Can you smell where he is?” “Vaguely.” Bee-Lung shook her head. “He’s below us. Quite a distance—” Maybe she should have presented herself formally instead of entering this way. Who knew how many floors lay between her and Tink? Was it too late? Perhaps not. After all‚ only the no-doubt lowly loaders had seen them arrive. Perhaps Kwangmi could be directed to render occult aid if Bee-Lung could find her way to a regular receiving room. There she’d do her best to distract the colonial officials with a petition for their help in solving the mystery of Tink’s disappearance—a mystery Bee-Lung suspected the French themselves of causing. Wherever the exit to the rest of the palace was‚ it would not reveal itself to her if she simply stood in one spot. “Come‚ Kwangmi‚” she commanded‚ walking past. Together they moved through the door in the wall dividing them from the attics’ main area. The new room was wider‚ and higher ceilinged. And emptier. And still so much dust! She saw no nearby windows‚ but there ought to be vents— “CHUHH!” No! Bee-Lung whirled‚ but before she could silence her‚ Kwangmi let out two more loud sneezes: “CHUH! SHH-CHUH!” Then she had her hand over the woman’s disgustingly wet nose and mouth. The sneezing fit stopped. They stood in a ringing quiet. Faint murmurs from the bats in the previous room ruffled its surface. Bee-Lung plunged deep underneath the noiselessness‚ sinking into the slumbering lumber of the building‚ swimming with the pollens floating—floating down? Down! The wood confirmed it‚ and also what she now remembered of the sneezes’ echoes. Removing her hand momentarily from Kwangmi’s face to wipe it on the silk robe‚ which was good at least for this much‚ Bee-Lung brought it back up to pinch the woman’s nostrils shut‚ then drew nose and head low enough that her lips touched Kwangmi’s naked ears. “Follow me to the storey below. But stay hidden. From there go where you detect his scent.” Softly as she could‚ Bee-Lung crept ahead and to the left. These stairs must connect with the set running from kitchen to servants’ quarters. She began her descent‚ then paused. Now she recalled seeing a narrow door in the cramped back passage’s plastering‚ too high to reach without a stepladder. Would she hurt herself? Kwangmi would be fine. And so would Bee-Lung; she’d have to be. Pulling free a few pins‚ she disarranged her hair. She rubbed her eyes red and lamented that the steps on which she stood seemed to have been swept clean. But doubtless the robe’s hem had g

News Jurassic Park Welcome to Even More Jurassic Park: New Jurassic World Movie in the Works at Universal The latest from the Jurassic-verse project is being written by the same scribe who penned the very first films in the ’90s. By Vanessa Armstrong | Published on January 22‚ 2024 icon-comment 0 Share New Share Twitter Facebook Pinterest RSS Feed More From David Koepp See All Posts News Academy Awards Here Are the Genre Films That Scored 2024 Oscar Nominations By Vanessa Armstrong January 23‚ 2024 News sci-fi tv Traveling to Outer Space Will Mess Up Your Mind‚ According to Constellation Trailer By Vanessa Armstrong January 22‚ 2024 News Fountain of Youth Film Picks Up Natalie Portman‚ John Krasinski and Eiza González By Vanessa Armstrong January 19‚ 2024 Featured Essays Star Wars Rebooting Star Wars Is a Great Idea‚ Actually By Charlie Jane Anders January 23‚ 2024 Comment 3 icon-left-caret Caret See All Posts More dinosaurs are coming our way‚ whether we want them to or not!  A new Jurassic World movie is in the works‚ though this time the writer of the original film and its direct sequel is coming back to pen the script. The Hollywood Reporter broke the news that a new Jurassic World feature was in the works‚ with a script written by David Keopp‚ who wrote 1993’s Jurassic Park as well as 1997’s Jurassic Park: The Lost World.  The story will reportedly launch a “new Jurassic era” at Universal Pictures‚ which suggests that neither the stars from the recent films—Chris Pratt and Bryce Dallas Howard—as well as the OG cast members—Sam Neill‚ Laura Dern‚ and Jeff Goldblum—will be making any appearances. Steven Spielberg is still involved as a producer via Amblin Entertainment‚ as is Frank Marshall‚ who produced the recent Jurassic World trilogy. Marshall‚ in fact‚ warned us that more dinos were coming our way. “I think that Dominion‘s going to wrap up this trilogy‚ but we’re not resting on our laurels‚” Marshall said in a January 2022 interview. “We’re going to sit down‚ and we’re going to see what the future is. We have that wonderful series‚ Camp Cretaceous‚ on Netflix. We obviously want to make quality‚ good movies with great storytelling‚ great writers and directors‚ but we’re definitely looking to do more in the Jurassic world.” As Marshall predicted‚ no laurels‚ it seems‚ were sat on. There’s no director on board yet‚ much less a cast‚ though apparently the script is far enough along that folks over at Universal think a 2025 release date may happen. Whenever the movie comes out‚ it’s clear that dinosaurs will continue to rule the world for a while‚ at least if Universal has anything to say about it. [end-mark] The post Welcome to Even More Jurassic Park: New <;i>;Jurassic World<;/i>; Movie in the Works at Universal appeared first on Reactor.

News sci-fi tv Traveling to Outer Space Will Mess Up Your Mind‚ According to Constellation Trailer Watch Noomi Rapace as an astronaut who returns from space only to find her life significantly altered from the one she left behind. By Vanessa Armstrong | Published on January 22‚ 2024 icon-comment 0 Share New Share Twitter Facebook Pinterest RSS Feed Pause Play There’s a sci-fi “conspiracy-based psychological thriller” coming to Apple TV+‚ and the trailer for the limited series strongly suggests that space travel will completely and utterly f*** you up. The limited series stars Noomi Rapace (Prometheus‚ The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo) and Jonathan Banks (Breaking Bad‚ Better Call Saul)‚ and centers around an astronaut named Jo who comes home and finds key aspects of her life have changed. She now‚ for example‚ has a piano even though she didn’t have one before and has not trained to play one. More chillingly‚ her daughter doesn’t seem to be the daughter she left‚ suggesting that Jo launched off one version of Earth and crash-landed in an alternate reality. Here’s the official synopsis: Constellation stars Rapace as Jo—an astronaut who returns to Earth after a disaster in space—only to discover that key pieces of her life seem to be missing. The action-packed space adventure is an exploration of the dark edges of human psychology‚ and one woman’s desperate quest to expose the truth about the hidden history of space travel and recover all that she has lost. In addition to Rapace and Banks‚ Constellation stars James D’Arcy (Agent Carter‚ Oppenheimer)‚ Julian Looman (Emily in Paris)‚ William Catlett (A Thousand and One)‚ Barbara Sukowa (Voyager)‚ and Rosie and Davina Coleman as Alice. The series was created and written by Peter Harness (Wallander‚ The War of the Worlds) and has episodes directed by Michelle MacLaren (Shining Girls‚ Breaking Bad)‚ Oliver Hirschbiegel (Downfall)‚ and Joseph Cedar (Footnote). Constellation will premiere on Apple TV+ on February 21‚ 2024 with the first three episodes‚ followed by one episode weekly‚ every Wednesday through March 27‚ 2024. [end-mark] The post Traveling to Outer Space Will Mess Up Your Mind‚ According to <;i>;Constellation<;/i>; Trailer appeared first on Reactor.

News Reactor Welcome to Reactor! Here’s Where Everything Went and How to Use It Welcome to Costco. I love you. By Chris Lough | Published on January 23‚ 2024 icon-comment 0 Share New Share Twitter Facebook Pinterest RSS Feed Reactor lives! If you’re reading this‚ it means the redesigned and renamed Reactor magazine site (formerly Tor.com) is now live and ready to face the hideous light of judgment for you to use and read. Things have shifted during travel–mostly on purpose–so we’ve assembled a quick guide on how to relocate your favorite writers‚ columns‚ and topics. Note: These directions are for the desktop version of the website‚ but the icons displayed are the same on the mobile version. If you just want to report a bug or error‚ you can use this form. Creating And Updating Your Account &; Favorites Where do I login or sign up? Select the circle icon at the top right of the homepage (pictured here). Your username and password are the same as they were on Tor.com. You can also login at the new comment field within any article that has comments open. How do I favorite/bookmark a writer I like‚ an article‚ a column‚ etc.? If something can be bookmarked and saved to your user account‚ it will have a white flag-shaped icon (pictured above). Just click that and it should fill in. If a bookmark symbol is already filled in‚ that means you already bookmarked it! Where do I see all my bookmarks? They’re within your user account page. Click the circle icon on the top right of the homepage or‚ if you’re already logged in‚ you can click the bookmark flag on the top right of the homepage to go directly to them. All my favorites from Tor.com are gone! These proved harder to liberate from Tor.com than we expected‚ but they should be back into everyone’s user accounts by February. Commenting on Reactor No time to read the article‚ I must comment! Jump straight to comments by clicking the word bubble icon at the top of an article (pictured here) or by the article’s published date on the homepage. How do I comment? This one is pretty straightforward. You can input your name and email and go through the CAPTCHA or login to your Reactor account to add a new comment. OH MY GOD I CAN REPLY TO OTHER COMMENTS NOW Yes! We took a bold step into the year 2009 and changed our comments from a single thread to nested. (For newer users‚ if you see old comments that start with @# that is how we used to have to reply to other commenters.) How do I flag an inappropriate comment? Apologies for putting you on blast like this‚ noblehunter. For the record‚ this was not an inappropriate comment. Just select the flag icon in the comment itself. You can also give a comment a thumbs up if you really love it. And if you really want to confuse us‚ you can do both. I made a comment but it’s not appearing. Some articles will hold comments until the moderator team can approve them. Tends to happen a lot on the weekends so we can go touch grass. Alternately‚ you may have run up against our Moderation Policy. I made a comment on this older article but now it’s gone! Comments on Tor.com from October 2023 to January 2024 are proving trickier to import into Reactor. They’ll get here eventually‚ but it may take a few days. Where To Find Everything Where is my favorite reread/rewatch/series? They’re called “Columns” now and you can get to them through main navigation or through the “Latest Columns” carousel at the top of the homepage. Right now‚ only currently active and recently completed Columns appear in the “Columns” page. We’ll be adding more of our completed Columns (rereads/rewatches/themes/etc.) over the course of February. They’re not gone. We just need a bit more time to make them navigable on the new site. Where is my favorite short story‚ poem‚ book excerpt/piece of fiction? Under the “Fiction” menu in main navigation.  Where is my favorite author/writer? If you see their byline anywhere on the site‚ click their name and you’ll be taken to their profile‚ which contains everything they’ve ever written on Reactor (formerly Tor.com). Alternately‚ you can manually find them by typing out “www.reactormag.com/author/firstname-lastname”. You can also search for them alphabetically in the “Authors” link in the footer of the site. Where is my favorite topic/interest/subject to read about? It might be in the “Interests” menu in the main navigation! If not‚ you can click on the tag when you see it in an article or manually type “www.reactormag.com/tag/space-horse-stories” or whatever it is you’re into. No judgments. Keep it clean. Where is just ONE PAGE where everything is listed in ONE PLACE in the order it was published‚ like you used to do? Just click “Latest” in the main navigation. Or go to the “All Articles” section at the bottom of the homepage. What is “Books”‚ or “Movies &; TV”‚ or “Featured Essays”? It means the articles in those sections are about books‚ movies &; TV‚ or are feature essays/thinkpieces that the writer worked really hard on and which no longer get pushed off the site after only a day! New sections will appear and disappear as time goes by‚ depending on how weird we’re feeling that day. Where’d the RSS feed go? It will return soon and we will let you know! We love it‚ too. Where did your social media accounts go? Here!  Random Stuff Uh‚ what happened here? Didn’t you used to be Tor.com? “You’ve redecorated. I don’t like it.” Screencap: BBC. We did! It’s the same people and same fiction and articles‚ but a new site and a new name. We answer most of everyone’s questions about it here. Why does your website ask if I’m 13-15 years-old? It’s an off-putting thing we have been mandated to do by our parent company in order to comply with recent updates to the California Consumer Privacy Act. We’re very sorry about it. Please just click it away and it shouldn’t appear again. I have an idea for an article. Head over to our Submissions Guidelines. Reactor is a paying outlet and accepts unsolicited article pitches. Is the Tordotcom Publishing book imprint and/or Tor Books changing its name? No! I FOUND A BUG. Report it through this form. [end-mark] More From Reactor See All Posts News Reactor Tor.com To Become Reactor‚ Debut New Site‚ On January 23rd By Tor.com January 9‚ 2024 Comment 0 News Reactor Answering Your Questions About Tor.com’s Change to Reactor By Tor.com January 11‚ 2024 Comment 3 Blog internships Apply For the Tor Books Fall 2020 Virtual Internship Program By Tor.com July 23‚ 2020 Featured Essays Best of 2019 Some of the Best Articles on Tor.com in 2019 By Tor.com December 2‚ 2019 Comment 5 icon-left-caret Caret See All Posts The post Welcome to Reactor! Here’s Where Everything Went and How to Use It appeared first on Reactor.

Featured Essays Star Wars Rebooting Star Wars Is a Great Idea‚ Actually By Charlie Jane Anders | Published on January 23‚ 2024 icon-comment 3 Share New Share Twitter Facebook Pinterest RSS Feed More From Luke Skywalker See All Posts News Academy Awards Here Are the Genre Films That Scored 2024 Oscar Nominations By Vanessa Armstrong January 23‚ 2024 News Jurassic Park Welcome to Even More Jurassic Park: New Jurassic World Movie in the Works at Universal By Vanessa Armstrong January 22‚ 2024 News star wars: the bad batch The Bad Batch Face Off Against an Infamous Foe in Season 3 Trailer By Vanessa Armstrong January 22‚ 2024 News Fountain of Youth Film Picks Up Natalie Portman‚ John Krasinski and Eiza González By Vanessa Armstrong January 19‚ 2024 icon-left-caret Caret See All Posts Matthew Vaughn has a new movie coming out (Argylle) and interviewers are almost certain to ask him more about his thoughts on Star Wars—which means you’ll be seeing a lot more headlines about Vaughn’s blasphemous views. For those who missed it‚ Vaughn said a while ago that he would love to direct a Star Wars movie‚ but only if he could retell the story of the Skywalker family. To Vaughn’s mind‚ the story of Luke and his dad is the story of Star Wars‚ and it deserves to be rebooted‚ the same way Batman and Spider-Man already have been. He’s right‚ of course. I know there’s a lot of reflexive skepticism around the idea of reboots‚ and I have contributed to that in the past myself. Some reboots do feel like cynical cash grabs‚ or attempts to rehash for the umpteenth time a story that has already been told perfectly well. That said‚ nobody would want Batman to be stuck forever in the Tim Burton-Joel Schumacher continuity‚ with every Batman film required to call back to Arnold Schwarzenegger’s performance as Mr. Freeze. I’m actually quite pleased that we got the Nolan trilogy and The Batman. How do you know if a reboot is necessary? There are probably a bunch of factors. Like‚ how long has it been since this story was last told? Are there aspects of the earlier telling that now feel dated or even problematic? Did the original version brush over key parts of the story that a newer telling could explore in greater depth? Most importantly‚ perhaps‚ is there a potential that a new refreshed continuity can prove fertile and give rise to an exciting new set of stories? All of these factors weigh heavily in favor of rebooting Star Wars—with the exception of the length of time since the last installment. We have definitely not been starved for Star Wars content of late‚ especially on television. That said‚ there hasn’t been a Star Wars film since 2019. Still‚ on balance‚ the saga of Anakin and Luke is crying out for a fresh retelling. It’s nearly fifty years since Mark Hamill first appeared as Luke Skywalker‚ and filmmaking has‚ to put it mildly‚ changed a lot since then. The prequels and the original trilogy are full of important events which George Lucas brushed over or simply ignored. Some of this was because Lucas just didn’t care about it—but a lot of the backstory became hopelessly tangled after the retcon in The Empire Strikes Back that Darth Vader is Luke’s father. I would actually love to see a series of movies that took these characters’ emotional journeys more seriously. From Anakin’s harsh childhood to his introduction to the Jedi to his romance with Padmé and his fall from grace‚ there’s so much rich material that the prequels were unable to explore in much depth. Anakin Skywalker ought to be an Aristotelian (or Shakespearean?) tragic figure: a noble man who is brought down by a tragic flaw. (You certainly glimpse some of this in the Clone Wars animated series.) And then you get the original trilogy‚ where a lot of those inconsistencies pop up. Why doesn’t Darth Vader ever notice a kid named Luke Skywalker living with his relatives on his old family farm? Why doesn’t he notice that Senator Organa has a daughter who seems uncommonly strong in the Force? I’ve written about this before‚ but I would love a version of the Original Trilogy that focuses more heavily on the central question about Luke Skywalker: Will he go bad‚ the same way his father did? This is a theme that comes up from time to time in those three films‚ but it deserves a much deeper examination. Most of all though‚ I would really welcome a new film series that took the female characters of the saga‚ especially Padmé and Leia‚ more seriously. Why does Padmé like Anakin anyway? Isn’t it kinda weird that she knew him as a little kid first? In general‚ she deserves a stronger character arc (the kind of stuff the Clone Wars animated show dipped into)‚ and of course a much better death. And meanwhile‚ to my mind‚ Leia is as much a protagonist of the original trilogy as Luke—but her feelings are often swept under the rug‚ including when her family and friends are murdered by the Death Star. The Empire Strikes Back drops some tantalizing hints that Leia has the potential to be as powerful a Jedi as Luke‚ but nothing much ever comes of it‚ apart from a few cool moments in The Last Jedi. Even as a child‚ I remember being disappointed at Leia’s lack of mastery of the Force in Return of the Jedi. Also‚ a rebooted original trilogy could do so much more with Lando Calrissian!  And what if even a hint of the political sophistication we see in Andor could find its way into a retelling of the prequels and original trilogy? Exploring how a democratic society can fall prey to fascism—and the ways that people continue to resist fascism until it is finally banished—is one of the coolest ideas George Lucas ever had. But I believe it could be explored with more depth‚ both of ideology and of feeling‚ in a rebooted version. The original Star Wars was not just a product of its own time—it was a crucible of nostalgia. George Lucas was looking back on the movie serials of his youth‚ as well as World War II movies‚ Westerns‚ and Samurai films‚ and borrowing liberally from them. I love the original Star Wars‚ but many of its shortcomings come simply from its strong connection to 1940s and 1950s culture‚ and all of the assumptions that went with it. As always‚ it’s worth pointing out that any Star Wars reboot would not erase the original‚ which would still be there for anyone who wanted to watch it. Bear in mind that the original Star Wars has already been retold in other media‚ with some versions making an effort to explore the characters in greater depth. (There have been novelizations and comics adaptations‚ including a comic based on Lucas’ original unfilmed script.) Most notably‚ National Public Radio adapted the Original Trilogy for radio in the early ’80s‚ with A New Hope turning into thirteen half-hour episodes. (George Lucas sold the radio rights to Star Wars to his local NPR affiliate for $1.) These radio plays (which you can pretty easily find on YouTube) take a lot more time to explain the characters and their motivations‚ and provide some hint as to the places a new version might go. It takes a full hour to get to the start of A New Hope! So when journalists ask Matthew Vaughn to clarify his comments about wanting to reboot Star Wars‚ I hope he doesn’t shy away from what he said. I hope he doubles down‚ in fact. Rebooting Star Wars is not only a good idea‚ it is absolutely going to happen at some point. Disney has invested too much in this property to ignore such an obvious opportunity. That said‚ I do disagree with one aspect of Vaughn’s comments: I don’t think the Skywalker family is the only interesting part of Star Wars. I still wish that ancient‚ distant galaxy would spend more time exploring the stories of people who’ve never even heard of the Skywalkers—or even the Jedi. Star Wars would not be nearly as popular as they are today if people weren’t in love with this expansive‚ immersive setting—and I would love to see Star Wars take more risks and explore more far-flung corners of the galaxy. I’m ridiculously stoked to watch The Acolyte‚ the brand new Star Wars show from Leslye Headland‚ which apparently takes place long before the prequels. But if it’s a choice between recasting Luke Skywalker and seeing Mark Hamill’s face digitally de-aged or recreated using CG‚ I know which one I’d prefer. As long as Star Wars continues to tell stories that weave in and around the nine films of the Skywalker Saga‚ why not just retell the story itself?[end-mark] This article was originally published at Happy Dancing‚ Charlie Jane Anders’ newsletter‚ available on Buttondown. The post Rebooting <;i>;Star Wars<;/i>; Is a Great Idea‚ Actually appeared first on Reactor.

In this bi-weekly series reviewing classic science fiction and fantasy books‚ Alan Brown looks at the front lines and frontiers of the field; books about soldiers and spacers‚ scientists and engineers‚ explorers and adventurers. Stories full of what Shakespeare used to refer to as “alarums and excursions”: battles‚ chases‚ clashes‚ and the stuff of excitement. When reading obituaries after David Drake’s recent death‚ I noticed one of his books I hadn’t read before being mentioned by a number of people as one of his best. That novel is Redliners‚ and I decided to seek it out. I’m glad I did‚ because the book is indeed one of his best. And among Drake’s always gripping depictions of the horrors of war‚ it offers something that had not been present in his earlier works: a sense of hope and redemption. Like many science fiction and fantasy fans‚ I was saddened to hear about David Drake’s passing. I had read many of his books‚ although since his output included over 40 solo novels‚ and at least that many more collaborations and short story anthologies‚ I doubt there are many who can say they’ve read everything he wrote (near as I can tell‚ I’ve read about a third). But late in the 1980s and on into the 1990s‚ during Drake’s most prolific years‚ I was going to school in the evenings‚ busy with service as a reserve officer‚ and began reading less in general (and significantly less science fiction). So‚ I missed much of Drake’s later work. I’ve caught up on a few of those books since then‚ and after finding a treasure like Redliners‚ I expect I will be reading more in the future. About the Author David Drake (1945-2023) was an American writer of science fiction and fantasy whose career began in the 1970s and ended when he retired from writing due to health issues in 2021. You can see an obituary of Drake here‚ and also a column by James Davis Nicoll that discusses five seminal books from Drake’s career. He was known especially for tales‚ whether science fiction or fantasy‚ which gave the reader a stark and unflinching view of warfare. I’ve looked at David Drake’s work before in this column‚ reviewing The Forlorn Hope‚ an early military adventure novel; The Forge‚ his first collaboration with S.M. Stirling in the General series; Hammer’s Slammers‚ the first collection in a series that grew to about seven to ten books’ worth of short stories‚ novelettes‚ and novels; and “Contact!”‚ a short story included in the collection Body Armor: 2000 (because of Drake’s popularity‚ there weren’t many military science fiction collections from the end of the 20th century that didn’t include one of his stories). Those earlier columns also included biographical information‚ and references to his other work. Several of Drake’s books are available to download free of charge from the Baen Books Free Library. The Costs of Service Drake’s military books‚ especially the earliest ones‚ focused on the horrors of war‚ and were shaped by his service in America’s failed involvement in the long‚ brutal war to determine the post-colonial fate of Vietnam. Like many veterans of that war‚ Drake was traumatized by the experience‚ and he was often quoted as saying about his Hammer’s Slammers series‚ “The stories…were more important to me as self-therapy than they were as the start of a career.” The stories he wrote were brutal‚ and the fear and anger of the protagonists were palpable. But as his career progressed‚ you could see that Drake was coming to terms with his experience‚ and the tone of his stories began to moderate. I didn’t read Redliners when it first came out in 1996‚ but now that I have‚ I can see the book was a turning point not only in Drake’s career‚ but in his efforts to come to terms with his wartime experience. The book is still as blunt and violent as his earlier work‚ but there is an additional element in the book‚ a thematic strain of hope and reconciliation. Drake himself stated on his website: Redliners is possibly the best thing I’ve written. It’s certainly the most important thing‚ both to me personally and to the audience I particularly care about: the veterans‚ the people who’ve been there‚ wherever ‘there’ happened to be. Having said that‚ Redliners isn’t a book for everybody. It’s very tough even by my standards‚ and to understand the novel’s underlying optimism you have to have been some very bad places. Soldiers in Vietnam fought in miserable conditions‚ waging a conflict whose goals were ambiguous at best. And when they came home‚ they learned from sources like the Pentagon Papers that the war had been lost years before the fighting ended. I did not serve in Vietnam‚ but I served during the Vietnam era‚ and remember being spat at and called a “baby killer” a few times in public‚ simply because I wore a uniform. Those were not days when veterans were greeted with a “thank you for your service.” Returning soldiers were denied peace even after the conflict ended. In Redliners‚ Drake looks at that other side of war‚ and raises some interesting questions. What might happen if veterans were given a more noble task than killing the enemy‚ and offered gratitude instead of scorn? What might happen if the people they protected were able to see and appreciate their suffering? What might happen if their leaders treated them as people‚ and not just as resources to be expended on the battlefield? Redliners The book starts not on the battlefield‚ but with a first-person prologue from a man who calls himself John Smith‚ the Chief of Administration of the Unity‚ a government that leads all of humanity. He speaks about the ongoing war with a humanoid species that calls themselves the Kalendru. Like many senior civil servants‚ he has a computer grafted into his nervous system. His powers are dictatorial‚ and he describes himself as ruthless and merciless. He worries that he is nearing a time when he is losing his edge‚ and must retire. We then join an advance party for Operation Active Cloak‚ the “strikers” of Strike Force Company C41‚ leading an invasion of a Kalendru world‚ commanded by Major Arthur Farrell‚ and dropped into action in a captured enemy starship. Drake uses the action to introduce the members of that unit‚ which had been on the sharp end of many such actions (probably too many such actions). Drake also‚ without clogging the narrative with too much exposition‚ introduces us to the weapons used by the strikers and their enemies‚ including their ranges and capabilities‚ displaying his usual meticulous attention to detail. The action is brutal‚ and some of the strikers die soon after we meet them. Almost as soon as the unit lands‚ an enemy task force is detected inbound‚ and C41 is ordered to retreat to a retrieval craft (which may or may not arrive). In addition to the Major‚ two characters stood out for me; heavy weapons unit member Esther Meyer‚ and scout Caius Blohm. Meyer ends up one of the only survivors when her comrades are obliterated by an enemy missile. Blohm incinerates the occupants of an enemy barracks only to be horrified when he finds the building was full of non-combatants—women and children. The unit suffers grievous losses in their retreat‚ which would have been even worse had Meyer not taken out an enemy tank single-handed. We then get another interlude where Mr. Smith takes a personal interest in the fate of the troops involved in Active Cloak‚ explaining to his aide‚ Ms. Chung‚ how difficult it is to re-integrate combat troops back into society. We then cut to the garrison world of Stalleybrass where C41 veterans are refused entry into a military bar because they are in combat attire‚ and return with an armored car and weapons to shoot the place up and steal some beer‚ proving Mr. Smith’s point about returning troops. Mr. Smith and Ms. Chung then discuss how not just the individuals in C41‚ but the entire unit has been redlined—a designation which means they are no longer considered capable of serving reliably. But Smith has a plan for the unit‚ which does not involve standing them down. C41 then receives orders to deploy again‚ and they grimly comply‚ despite not having had time to recover from their last action. They improbably find themselves on Earth‚ not at a military starport‚ but at an Emigration Port. Their mission will be to accompany a colonization team to a new world‚ acting as their security element‚ and protecting them from hostile flora and fauna as they establish a base. The unit is in tatters‚ with only a couple of officers left‚ and only a couple of heavy weapons troops remaining. They meet the project manager‚ Jafar al-Ibrahimi‚ and his aide‚ Tamara Lundie. The colonists are involuntary‚ the occupants of a middle-class apartment complex‚ Chicago’s Horizon Towers‚ who have been ordered to leave their homes and travel to another world (the Unity‚ as Mr. Smith mused in the prologue‚ is indeed ruthless in doing what has been determined as being in the best interest of humanity as a whole). In a positive sign‚ members of the unit step in to protect the colonists as they are being abused by local police‚ and Farrell‚ unused to compliments‚ is stunned when al-Ibrahimi commends the strikers’ actions. But striking a more ominous note‚ Striker Blohm becomes twitchy upon seeing that so many of the colonists are children‚ just like those he accidentally murdered during Operation Active Cloak. And in an even more ominous development‚ during their outbound flight the strikers learn that the ecology of their destination is extremely dangerous; in fact‚ outright hostile. The team’s mission goes wrong as soon as they land. Instead of the magnetic landing grid their automated craft had been intended to land on‚ the ship has homed in on an iron-rich asteroid of the type used to guide enemy Kalendru warships into their destinations. They find enemy dead‚ killed by lethal plants. And the landing site is in a large circular lowland‚ surrounded by dense forests‚ and filled with the deadliest of the planet’s many threats. Their ship is severely damaged‚ and they must recover as much equipment as they can. They have an aircar‚ and attempt to scout the path between themselves and the intended landing site‚ but bacteria clogs the fans and it crashes. The team has two large earth-moving tractors that can tow the gear that the colonists and strikers need‚ but the colonists refuse to part with their personal belongings until it becomes inescapably clear that these must be left behind. The deaths begin before their journey is even underway‚ as both strikers and colonists succumb to the perils of the wilderness. Caius Blohm’s skills as a scout are invaluable‚ as he is one of the only strikers who can move through the wilderness without triggering deadly responses. He is equipped with a converter that can take local vegetation and turn it into edible food‚ but he refuses to surrender it as he might need it during his scouting expeditions. Instead‚ he is tasked‚ when in camp‚ to use the converter to feed others‚ and is assigned to a widowed woman who cares for children already orphaned. Blohm finds comfort in protecting the children‚ especially a little girl‚ Mirica. Esther Meyer‚ because of her armor and heavy weapons‚ is assigned to one of the bulldozers to fight off threats that cannot be flattened by its earthmoving blade. She in turn finds some peace in the arms of a colonist who has lost his wife. Jafar al-Ibrahimi and Tamara Lundie prove to be able leaders‚ deferring to the Major and his strikers on matters of security—but it also becomes obvious that they have computer enhancements‚ and are far from ordinary leaders for a typical colonization effort. As the party makes their way toward their intended landing site‚ the planet’s attacks grow fiercer. Soon they are facing primitive humanoids that‚ while individually not very capable‚ fight as if they are guided by one mind. They encounter more Kalendru survivors‚ and become convinced the only way to save themselves is to discover the secret of this horrifying lowland‚ an answer that can only be found at its center. Their only slim chance of salvation is to travel to the depths of hell itself. Final Thoughts Redliners is indeed one of Drake’s finest novels. While I found some of his earlier books a bit too grim‚ this one offers‚ along with a compelling depiction of the horrors of war‚ a sense that if veterans are treated humanely‚ and given tasks that are meaningful‚ even the most damaged among them can find at least some measure of peace. The ending is more compelling emotionally than logically (I still don’t see the sense in sending a random cross section of humanity to a hostile colony world)‚ but I found it very satisfying. And now that you’ve listened to my thoughts‚ I’d like to hear yours‚ whether you’ve read Redliners yourself‚ or just want to comment on your favorite military science fiction stories in general.[end-mark] The post Hope Amid Horrors: <;i>;Redliners<;/i>; by David Drake appeared first on Reactor.

Book Recommendations A Vicious And Enthralling First Contact: Seth Dickinson’s Exordia By Charles Bonkowsky | Published on January 23‚ 2024 icon-comment 0 Share New Share Twitter Facebook Pinterest RSS Feed What would you do if you met an alien in Central Park? Anna Sinjari has a plan. Anna Sinjari knows exactly what she would do—and though it doesn’t quite work out the way she thinks it should‚ it gets the alien’s attention. Enter Ssrin‚ hydra-headed and beautiful‚ who finds Anna again after that first encounter‚ crawling wounded into her shower. Ssrin is clearly dangerous‚ with a dozen different types of venom contained throughout her heads and a taste for red meat. Not to mention‚ she’s on the run from something even deadlier than she is. But none of that matters to Anna—she and Ssrin are inexorably‚ narratively drawn together. Exordia has a fascinating‚ complex‚ metaphysical order at play—and it wastes little time establishing it. Ssrin tells Anna that she has a soul‚ an imprint of her mind in the realm of virtue and meaning that allows for bending and breaking pure physical determinism—that is‚ establishing free will. The soul was established by the dead creator gods so that the universe would not be overrun by swarms of solely self-replicating creatures…but they screwed it up in the process. A soul that breaks physics can be exploited so that the correct configuration of thoughts can warp the universe itself; and the rulers of the galaxy‚ the Exordia‚ have figured out how to enslave souls to drive machines or build weapons that mark their enemies’ souls for damnation. Buy the Book Exordia Seth Dickinson Buy Book icon-close Exordia Seth Dickinson Buy this book from: AmazonBarnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget Souls tell stories‚ and souls abide by the rules of the stories. There are seven great passions‚ bonds between souls‚ stories that are told over and over again—it is the last of them‚ serendure‚ similar souls drawn together whether they want to be or not‚ that has drawn Ssrin to Anna. “It’s very unlikely you’ll die right now‚” Ssrin tells Anna during a dangerous undertaking—not because Anna is specially protected or secretly resistant to alien technology‚ but because “it wouldn’t be narratively complete.” But the Exordia want everyone to abide by the rules of their story and their story alone‚ in which they are the rulers and the galaxy’s life are the ruled. Only they haven’t bothered to reach Earth yet‚ and so Ssrin is chasing something here——an old story‚ an artifact—that has a chance to break the Exordia’s iron grip. And then the artifact appears‚ and plunges the world into disaster as the Exordia show up looking for it. And the book becomes not just Anna and Ssrin’s story‚ but that of the soldiers and scientists and ordinary people caught up in its investigation on Earth‚ human stories and alien colliding. One of the very human stories at the center of Exordia is that of the Kurds‚ brought into focus as the alien artifact surfaces in the mountains of Kurdistan. That means the soldiers and their scientific divisions of the US‚ Russian‚ and Chinese military sent to understand it can’t be treated as the glorified saviors of humanity against alien invaders—because in Kurdistan‚ each country is already an invader or betrayer of the Kurds almost as foreign as the artifact itself. As Dickinson says‚ the book’s long road to publishing (from first draft in 2017 to publishing in 2024) was enough time to see the US abandon the Kurds in Syria again in 2019. Anna herself is a survivor of the Anfal genocide of the Kurds‚ grappling with the choices she was forced to make as she returns home. Where Dickinson succeeds—where he turns Exordia into a truly exhilarating‚ dizzying work—is that he can take these human stories‚ human choices on the personal and on the international scale‚ and set them against a deeply alien intelligence. What do we look like to eyes wholly unfamiliar with our heuristics‚ our shortcomings‚ our wants and our needs? What choices still matter‚ then‚ for ourselves or for our soul? On my first read‚ I was a little overwhelmed by the dense explanations of the soul and its manipulations barely two chapters in. Couldn’t Dickinson have eased us in? I wondered‚ couldn’t he have shown us bits and pieces of the whole rather than undercutting known cosmology in one fell swoop? But as I read further‚ I understood why Dickinson needed to lead up front with the spiritual intricacies. Once we as readers have those tools‚ our understanding of the soul become a lens that magnifies and unravels every character we follow: from Major Erik Wygaunt’s lockstep moral code‚ his personal unwavering righteousness; to Deputy National Security Advisor Clayton Hunt’s layered‚ for-the-greater-good schemes; to Professor Li Aixue’s focus on mathematical underpinnings that blinds her to the world around her. Sometimes‚ those traits benefit them; more often‚ especially as our cast run up against one other‚ they frustrate or confound the people around them. But we as readers are taught to read these traits at a deeper level‚ to understand the shape of Wygaunt’s and Hunt’s and Aixue’s souls and how they fit into the seven great passions Ssrin describes. Exordia is a book that grabs your attention and doesn’t let it go: Dickinson creates a world that feels twice as vivid as normal and does it without ever slowing down the frenetic pace of the plot. It can be a lot to handle—Exordia certainly isn’t light bedside reading—but it’s an incredible work and an enthralling way to kick off your 2024 reading. Exordia is published by TorDotCom Publishing. Read an excerpt. The post A Vicious And Enthralling First Contact: Seth Dickinson’s <;i>;Exordia<;/i>; appeared first on Reactor.

News Academy Awards Here Are the Genre Films That Scored 2024 Oscar Nominations By Vanessa Armstrong | Published on January 23‚ 2024 icon-comment 0 Share New Share Twitter Facebook Pinterest RSS Feed More From Academy Awards See All Posts News sci-fi tv Traveling to Outer Space Will Mess Up Your Mind‚ According to Constellation Trailer By Vanessa Armstrong January 22‚ 2024 News Jurassic Park Welcome to Even More Jurassic Park: New Jurassic World Movie in the Works at Universal By Vanessa Armstrong January 22‚ 2024 News Fountain of Youth Film Picks Up Natalie Portman‚ John Krasinski and Eiza González By Vanessa Armstrong January 19‚ 2024 Featured Essays Star Wars Rebooting Star Wars Is a Great Idea‚ Actually By Charlie Jane Anders January 23‚ 2024 Comment 3 icon-left-caret Caret See All Posts The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences announced the 2024 Oscar nominations this morning‚ and more than a few genre films received recognition across more than a few categories. Here is a rundown of who won what! Oppenheimer Is Oppenheimer‚ the Christopher Nolan film centered on the man who created the atomic bomb‚ genre? In our hearts it is‚ and it won the Oscar nomination game. It got thirteen nominations‚ count them all below! Best Picture Best Actor (Cillian Murphy) Best Supporting Actor (Robert Downey Jr.) Best Supporting Actress (Emily Blunt) Best Director (Christopher Nolan) Adapted Screenplay Original Score Costume Design Film Editing Sound Production Design Makeup and hairstyling Poor Things The latest Yorgos Lanthimos film‚ Poor Things‚ placed second in total Oscar nods‚ with eleven total. The movie‚ like all Lanthimos movies‚ is weird. It centers on Bella Baxter (Emma Stone‚ pictured above)‚ a woman created‚ Frankenstein-style‚ who goes on a journey of self-discovery in an off-kilter version of Europe. Here are the nods it racked up: Best Picture Best Actress (Emma Stone) Best Supporting Actor (Mark Ruffalo) Best Director (Yorgos Lanthimos) Adapted Screenplay Original Score Cinematography Costume Design Film Editing Makeup and Hairstyling Barbie Barbie got shafted this year‚ especially with Greta Gerwig and Margot Robbie getting snubbed. (The fact that “Ken” received a nomination‚ however‚ almost proves the thesis of the film‚ but I digress.) The movie did get some deserved nominations‚ however‚ and here they are: Best Picture Best Supporting Actor (Ryan Gosling) Best Supporting Actress (America Ferrera) Adapted Screenplay Original Song (“I’m Just Ken”) Original Song (“What Was I Made For?”) Costume Design Production Design Other genre films made appearances in other categories but didn’t garner as many nominations as the three above. Visual Effects The Creator and Mission: Impossible—Dead Reckoning Part One earned nod shere‚ as well as one for Sound. Other Visual Effects nominees were Godzilla Minus One‚ Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3‚ and Napoleon. Animated Feature Films The nominees were The Boy and the Heron‚ Elemental‚ Nimona‚ Robot Dreams‚ and Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse. I bet you a dollar The Boy and the Heron will win‚ with an outside chance for Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse. Other genre-specific nods include an Original Score nomination for Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny; an Animated Short Film nomination for Pachyderme‚ which is apparently about a mother who must find food for her son who craves human flesh; and Wes Anderson’s The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar. [end-mark] The post Here Are the Genre Films That Scored 2024 Oscar Nominations appeared first on Reactor.

Have you noticed when playing Palworld that you know nothing about the world? As soon as you drop in‚ you’re greeted by an NPC who gives the rundown of the Pals. But other than that‚ you’re just existing. There does seem to be a way to find out about the world in the game through journals. If you want to understand how the setting of Palworld plays out‚ we’ll show how to find and access castaway journals. Palworld: How to access castaway journals These journals like Pal Souls can be found littered throughout the map. To know you’re near one‚ look for a bluish light glowing on a statue. At night‚ they can be hard to miss because they shine bright. While not as important as other collectibles‚ it helps you understand the world better and fills in the gaps.  Related: How to find the Black Marketeer locations in Palworld Accessing and reading the castaway journals in Palworld is easy‚ but for some reason‚ the developers don’t label them cor...

Fighting Alpha Pals and Tower bosses is a huge part of Palworld. They’re a great source of XP for your team of Pals‚ and in the case of Alpha Pals‚ capturing them is a great way to get stronger. Bosses do respawn in Palworld‚ but it might take longer than you think. Palworld Tower Boss Respawn Timer Explained All Tower bosses and Alpha Pals respawn in Palworld after defeating them. In the case of Tower bosses like Zoe and Grizzbolt at the Rayne Syndicate Tower‚ there’s a timer that shows how long it takes before the battle becomes available again. The same goes for dungeons and caves that you can find throughout the Palpagos islands. When Do Alpha Pals Respawn in Palworld? Alpha Pals will also respawn if you defeat them‚ which is great news for players who accidentally knock out the boss Pals that they want to catch. Some of the strongest Pals in the game are Alpha Pals like Bushi and Mammorest‚ so catching them is a great way to build up your team ...