Love and Rockets.

Martin H. Greenberg.

SFR-NOT JUST SCIENCE FICTION RESEARCH ANYMORE.

Lois McMaster Bujold.

Romance and science fiction as literary genres have both traditionally been hard to define. One senior pract.i.tioner of the SF form finally and famously defaulted to, "Science fiction is what I mean when I point to it." Romance, the older term, has pa.s.sed through multiple meanings over the centuries, many of which still linger in formal academic discourse. But if one stands in a bookstore today and points to each, one will definitely find oneself pointing in two different directions, at two different populations of books and browsers. Yet in science, it's a truism that boundary conditions are always the most interesting, and that also tends to be true of literature. And the two sets of readers turn out to not be nearly as immiscible as had formerly been thought.

I have a science-fictional definition for romance stories: they are tales of the promulgation of human evolution through s.e.xual selection. Since a recent theory among the evolutionary biologists is that human intelligence is itself a result of s.e.xual selection, this isn't as much of a joke as it might appear. But many romance stories stop short of the reproduction part. So what's really going on, here?

The romances I've read, as const.i.tuted in the modern genre sense, actually seem to be stories of the power negotiation in a s.e.xual relationship, in which the woman's agenda wins. The details of the agenda vary with the tastes of the writers and readers, but almost invariably a permanent pair-bond results with a hero capable of holding up his side. (In the case of same-s.e.x romances, a permanent bond also results, and the "holding up his or her side" likewise persists.) The story is over when the deal has been proposed, tested-the "tested" part is where the plot goes-and sealed.

Many tales that feature s.e.xual relationships are nonetheless not romances. Romeo and Juliet, most famously, is not a romance, but a didactic tragedy; n.o.body wins in that one, although the survivors are invited to learn a lesson. So love 'em and leave 'em tales or other tragic romances that nonetheless end in sterility and death (with or without lessons) fall outside the modern category. Romance, like tragedy, is defined by its ending.

A lot of people have the notion that all contests must be zero-sum games; if one wins, the other must lose. A satisfactory romance is the very opposite of a zero-sum game; unless both win, both lose. I sometimes wonder if the root of the more vociferous discomfort and negative response to romance by these readers is in the mistaken notion that if the woman has won, the man must have lost.

An extremely interesting counter-fantasy to ones in which the woman wins are the men's action-adventure tales, of which the most quintessential example is probably the James Bond series. His women notably don't win anything, but lose spectacularly. A romance with Mr. Bond is very much a zero-sum game, and marriage to him will result in the woman slumped over the dashboard of her car in the Swiss Alps with a line of bullet holes st.i.tched across her back. James doesn't exactly win either-his life remains sterile-but also free of the dread domestication and adult responsibility, a lethal Peter Pan who never grows up or old. It's a perfectly reasonable vicarious reader-fantasy, and one which I've enjoyed myself in the past, but despite the inclusion of s.e.x, it could never be cla.s.sified as a romance.

(Comparison of K-selected and r-selected reproductive strategies versus women's romance and men's adventure, I leave as an exercise for the reader.) Science fiction (and most fantasy) also have an added task on their literary plate: world-building. The world is very nearly another protagonist; by the end of the tale, readers rightly expect to have met it, explored it, and learned what makes it tick, just as they expect to have come to know the hero or heroine. The SF reader also expects to learn what is different about the world compared to our own-including especially new technologies, and their impact in the characters' lives, not to mention the plot. The novelties introduced should make a difference.

This leads to one of the most interesting tensions between romance and F&SF. Since s.e.x was first invented in the primordial ooze, leading to the explosion of evolution, it has been deeply conserved, from the cellular level right up through the organism and its society, in the case of creatures complex enough to have societies, which most definitely includes humans. It wouldn't be so durable if it weren't so defended, despite all the change it fosters. There are deep reasons why romance tends to be a conservative genre, not in a political sense, but in terms of resisting destruction.

Science fiction (its co-genre fantasy is arguable, here) is all about change. So to my way of thinking, the ideal SF-romance crossover story would not be to drop the same-old-pattern down in front of a futuristic backdrop that might as well be plywood for all the difference it makes, but to actually explore what striking changes new technologies or other aspects of the world could make to the entire s.e.xual negotiation. What new patterns of relationships might result? Who wins what, and how? It shouldn't be so hard; we've seen it in our own world, worked examples with the impact of birth control and other technologies that have partially liberated women, and with them, men, from the patterns of the past.

(Babies have their own implacable impact, of course; the whole point of the pair-bonding thing in the first place is to create a place for babies to thrive, in the interest of winning the genetic lottery by becoming grand-parents. But that's usually past the end of the tale.) The two genres-and here science fiction and fantasy count as one, romance as the other-also tend to have different focal planes. For any plot to stay central, nothing else in the book can be allowed to be more important. So romance books tend to carefully control the scope of any attending plot, so as not to overshadow its central concern, that of building a relationship between the key couple, one that will stand the test of time and be, in whatever sense, fruitful. This also explains some SF's addiction to various end-of-the-world plots, for surely nothing could be more important than that, which conveniently allow the book to dismiss all other possible concerns-social, personal, or other.

In fact, if romances are fantasies of love, and mysteries are fantasies of justice, I would now describe much SF as fantasies of political agency. All three genres also may embody themes of personal psychological empowerment, of course, though often very different in the details, as contrasted by the way the heroines "win" in romances, the way detectives "win" in mysteries, and the way, say, young male characters "win" in adventure tales. But certainly in the majority of F&SF books, to give the characters significance in the readers' eyes means to give them political actions, with "military" read here as a sub-set of political. So the two genres-Romance and SF-would also seem to be arm-wrestling about the relative importance of the personal and the political.

The two genres may also be doing different psychological work for their readers. With its young-adult-lit roots, SF runs heavily to coming-of-age tales, where the princ.i.p.al work at hand is separation from the family and growth to empowerment. The former is often handily accomplished by burning down the village or blowing up the planet and ma.s.sacring everyone in sight in Chapter One, which, at a certain stage of one's life, is not so much a nightmare as a dream come true. Most all readers, if not young, have at least been young, and so can relate to the pattern. Romances may also start with burning down the village, if the heroine is young enough not to have already accomplished that separation, but they just as often start with the heroine already alone. The end-game of those tales is one of integration and the recreation of family, rather than empowerment as such. (The themes of later adulthood generally run to neither empowerment nor integration, but redemption.) Add to that a decided streak of prudishness among some SF readers, and the amazement is that any writer can get the two genres to lie down and play nicely with each other at all. Trying to fit all these tasks into a short story length is a bravura exercise indeed.

Nonetheless, the writers in this volume are attempting just that. Let's all be very quiet, here, and see if we are lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the peculiar and unique mating dance of these disparate species . . .SECOND SHIFT.Brenda Cooper.Kami closed her eyes and replayed Lance's tender whisper. "I love you."Three words filled her. She listened again and again, memorizing the rise and fall of his voice. Glancing at the clock, she stripped the bud off her ear and pocketed it, afraid the temptation to hear him yet another time would take the tiniest bit of glow from the night.Being this happy was as new as a dawn, as fresh as becoming an adult three years ago. Maybe it was even as good as being born in the first place. Her bones smiled.Stupid. She knew it was stupid, knew Lance was a lifetime away from her and that every time she came on shift to be his company, his rocket companion, he was further away.The HR girl who hired her had told her not to do this.She liked the rebellion in it. It was only a small rebellion anyway, since her contract was good as long as Lance approved of her and the job existed.Besides, she hadn't done it. Not really. Love happened, right? The long nights sitting alone and talking, or even listening to the silence of his sleeping breath had surprised her into love, delighted her in a way she hadn't expected.Right on time, Sulieyan opened the door and started her morning routine. She plugged in an electric pot to heat water and opened the cupboard for tea. "Do you want a cup?"Kami shook her head, hoping she didn't look as giddy as she felt."No? Anything I need to know? Was the night sweet?"She always asked that way, but this morning Kami felt her cheeks grow hot. "Sure. He's asleep now."Sulieyan smiled at the unnecessary observation. The monitors on the walls relentlessly reported whether Lance slept or woke, exercised, ate, or worked.Kami picked up her empty lunchbag and gave the older woman a brief hug. "Gotta go."An hour after she got home, she pulled on her running clothes and practically danced down the metal steps outside of her apartment complex. She jogged through the bright tunnel under the maglev tracks and emerged in the park, her feet springy with her mantra for the morning "Lance Parker loves me. Lance Parker loves me. Lance Parker loves me."When she couldn't take another step, she sat on the little beach by the koi pond, running sand through her fingers and making a tiny house as if she and Lance would ever live in it. The tragedy and impossibility of it all sang in her, as if she were the star in a Sat.u.r.day night film.There were other pilots-men and women-doing solo trips to the moon and back. That's how the need for rocket companions came up in the first place. All the things about the flight and safety were handled by AI's, but computers weren't companions.None of the other solos had been famous test pilots and race-jet drivers first, and none of them was set to go as far. The prize was the rocks themselves; towing them back to the station being built above the earth could make a lot of money-if it could be done on a shoestring.The next night, Kami told Lance she loved him back. It was the first time she'd said the words. To seal them, she told him about the park and the koi pond and the little bite of fall in the air as she ran, about the one time a single gold leaf fell in front of her."Tell me what the air smelled like?" he asked.His must be stale and metallic. "It smelled like water and sunshine and insects and the sand along the water. It smelled like the maglev when it sang by, and once of a wet dog that I almost tripped over." Because she couldn't think of anything else, she said, "It smelled like the promise of talking to you again."She hadn't thought a smile was something you could hear."What are you doing today?""The air system filters need to be cleaned and changed. Fifty sit-ups and twenty pull-ups and a long trip round the world on the elliptical. And I'm working on a secret.""A secret?"His secret was a poem written to her. He sent it back with his day's records. Kami blushed when she realized the techs must have seen it. She posted it on the wall in her kitchen so she could read it every morning.All the next year, she noticed smells and sounds in as many ways as she could, speaking descriptions into her wrist-recorder. The sun warm as a sleeping dog, the tiny perfection of the yellow in the center of a magenta azalea, the paper flutter of dogwood snow against her cheek. It became a game to come to Lance every night and give him a new description at the beginning of every shift.Kami read about Lance with morning coffee after she left him to Sulieyan when they changed shifts. Tidbits. Things he said back to scientists and journalists and rock stars who wanted to know what it was like to be the first man heading to an asteroid.She had meant this for a short job, a dalliance with the romance of rockets.By her twenty-fifth year-her third with him-it grew harder to find Lance in the news. But not impossible. She followed others who followed him from around the world, little audible alarms that burred against her wrist to remind her he was real and alive. She followed his conversations and the conversations others had about him. The fact that the he was not entirely a forgotten hero touched her in each nerve.She slept and ran and did laundry and surfed the nets, and came in late every day that she spent the night before with Lance. What work to be with your beloved? She read him stories and he wrote her poems. She told him of beads of water on lacy spring-green leaves the size of her smallest fingernail and the brilliance of sun-struck snow on far mountains.Noticing the world for him became habit, like green tea steeped for exactly three minutes and like running in the park and chanting his name as her feet hit the ground one after the other. When the distance built in a tiny time delay, she used the seconds to contemplate her next words.Every morning, when she and Sulieyan shared cross-shift data over tea in the neglected break room, the older woman asked her about her plans for the day.Kami said she would run through the park and she would find something beautiful. Tea with Sulieyan made a zen transition in her day and gave her someone else to talk to besides Lance.On one of those mornings, Sulieyan said, "There is almost no rebellion in you anymore.""I am in love.""Are you?""Of course. I think of Lance all the time.""Can you be in love with someone you can't touch?""Aren't your parents in India and hasn't it been five years since you touched them?"Sulieyan nodded, and smiled, and sipped her tea. Kami couldn't really read her face so she decided Sulieyan agreed with her.When she took the job, Kami had been told that travel to the asteroid belt was a story of slow ships and far-away places.One September evening after she and Lance shared a meal together (using the valuable virt screen which he bargained for with free interviews when he could get them), he told her, "I never expected to get back. It's not like a government ship or anything, or the long arm of the taxpayer. They chose me because I was willing to sign papers that said no one would sue them, ever, if anything happened. The company may stay alive for the fifteen or twenty years it will take, they may not. They could get sold or go bankrupt or a key player could die and then where will all the publicity and money go? A faster ship could get built and pa.s.s me and come home before I even get to the belt.""Why did you go?" she whispered, although she would never have known him if he hadn't. He was famous and she was a shift-girl at a two-bit rocket company with no real fame except for Lance and this trip."I was lonely, so I didn't care if I came back."She held her breath."And now I'm not lonely any more, but I'm no more likely to get back."She had known he might never come back, but the knowing felt deeper after he said it to her. Running was harder, and sometimes she stopped and bent nearly in two and heaved air sour with longing to hold him.He almost never cried or seemed sad, except sometimes she heard those things in his smiling voice, pale as the whispers of wind against her cheek in the early morning on days she wanted to hold him so much she couldn't sleep through the afternoon heat. But some nights the loneliness piled up on him, so heavy she could see his shoulders struggle to bear it and his head bend under the weight. He would only talk about it a few times a year. Although she didn't ask him why, Kami thought it was for her, so she wouldn't feel his loneliness so hard that it drove her to stop coming to him every early evening with her dinner in a brown bag and a cup of hot chai clutched in her hand, and a bit of memory from her day on her tongue.Once, in spring, when Kami looked forward to the first ornamental cherry blossoms against a blue sky, she patted Sulieyan on the shoulder and wished her good luck with the sleepy day shift, and walked away from work. It had been a tender night and she ached with emptiness. It was not yet morning, even though spears of light from the solar collectors beamed power down onto the city, a sign of coming true-dawn.She liked this quiet time, the pad of her footsteps soft on the soft sidewalks, the first birds rustling and warming their throats, the cool nip that would fade early this time of year. Far away from her, Lance would be settling in to sleep through day shift, his way of choosing her.A dark shadow separated from a dark wall and came toward her.She clutched her backpack close."Kami," the voice said."Do I know you?"He shook his head. "No. But you could."He was getting close enough to reach for her. She took a few steps away, keeping some s.p.a.ce between them. She started to stretch her calves, getting ready to run if she had to, watching him closely.He stopped. "I didn't mean to startle you.""You did.""Not. I mean, I didn't mean it."She shook her head and let herself relax a little bit. "Who are you?""I want to interview you."She blinked stupidly at him. Her contract didn't let her do interviews, and Lance never talked about her to others. She and Lance were each other's secret. The company knew, of course. Techs that supported the connection. Sulieyan.She liked being invisible."I'm Hart. I'm also Sulieyan's grandson."Oh. "I'm probably too old for you."It felt like an awkward thing for her to have said, but he laughed. "No. She started young. Why else would she still be working at dead end jobs?"As if that was a bad thing. Kami said nothing."Grandma got pregnant when she was nineteen and had to drop out of vet school."She should know more about Sulieyan than her patience and her way of making tea and that she never missed a shift. But Kami could think about that later. "Why do you want to interview me?""Because my grandmother said it might teach us both something about love."Now he had startled her. Her voice shook. "We can have coffee together."In the too-bright light of Morning Blend, Hart looked far less threatening than he had as a dark silhouette in a place she expected silence from. He remained dark on dark, dark hair and dark slightly-almond eyes over dark skin. He had a broad smile, and he looked both totally earnest and as uncomfortable as she felt.After they'd ordered coffee and scones and sat down across from each other at a window table, he didn't seem to know how to begin."Who do you want to interview me for?" she asked.