The Secret Lair

Ah, the future. I remember it well: spaceships and rayguns, hovercars and one-piece silver jumpsuits. And robots. Robots that mow your space grass and bring you the space paper while you relax in your space lounge with a nice space bourbon on the rocks. Robots that cook and clean and do all of the shopping and other errands that humanity finds so dreadfully tiresome. Robots that could turn their death rays and crushing titanium-alloy pincers upon their masters at the drop of a circuit, eliminating the entire human race in a years-long mechanical uprising.

Fortunately, Isaac Asimov had the good sense to anticipate the rise of the machines (well before the idea was a glimmer in James Cameron’s bearded eye) and take steps to prevent it. Three steps; or, more accurately, Three Laws:

A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

A robot must obey any orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

A robot must protect its existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

Thanks to Asimov’s foresight, human beings are safe from intelligent machines wholly capable of squashing us like four-limbed, Abercrombie and Fitch-wearing insects. The Three Laws ensure that robots will remain subservient and, if one subscribes to a particularly broad definition of what constitutes “harm” to a human being, that our space bourbon will never be watered down.

Alas, though Asimov ensured that humanity would never be threatened by robots, no number of cleverly-constructed logical conditions could possibily save us from ourselves. Ultimately, we need not fear that our mechanical constructs will bring about our destruction, for humans have an uncanny knack for destroying ourselves and we will, one day, bring about our own extinction. And what will the robots, designed to serve and protect human beings, do when human beings are no more? That’s the major premise of Charles Stross’ Saturn’s Children.¹

Freya Nakamichi-47 is a humanoid (or, as Asimov would have said, humaniform) robot² who lives in a universe completely devoid of human beings. This is particularly troublesome for Freya, who is hardwired to not only serve humans, but to love them (and love them, if you know what I mean). What’s a sexbot to do when her “True Love” died out a year before she was brought on-line?

Unfortunately for Freya, not all robots in Stross’ futureverse are created equal. As an arbeiter (or worker), Freya is of a lower class than the aristos, robots who were created so humans wouldn’t have to deal with the tedious business of telling the arbeiters what to do. In other words, aristos are robots who boss around other robots; and in the absence of human beings at the reins, the aristos have established a caste society in which arbeiters are treated as second-class citizens at best and slaves at worst.

Even more unfortunately for Freya, she manages to earn the wrath of a particularly nasty aristo on on Venus and finds herself in an awkward position: if she stays on Venus, she’ll almost certainly be killed, but the cost of leaving the planet is well beyond her limited means. To make matters worse, one of Freya’s sisters sends her a message urging her to come to Mars.³ Nearly broke and desperate to leave Venus, Freya accepts a job on (and free passage to) Mars, and so begins her intrastellar journey.

Aside: I’m taking some artistic license with the word “intrastellar” as (1) it doesn’t seem to be a proper word just now and (2) if were a proper word, the strict definition would likely be “within a star”. In Stross’ future, there is no faster-than-light travel, and though Freya spends the better part of a decade aboard one space vessel or another, she does not travel outside of the solar system. As such, I am using ”intrastellar” to mean “within a star system”. There are several ways in which you can express your righteous indignation at my mistreatment (or perhaps downright abuse) of the English language, the most immediate and simplest of which is to leave a comment on this blog entry. I do not recommend rioting.

Space travel, Freya insists, is shit. Stross uses Freya’s intrasteller travels to emphasize just how ill-suited human beings are (or were) for interplanetary exploration, especially when FTL travel is not an option. Our bodies simply are not designed to withstand the various forces involved in moving mass from one planet to another, even within the confines of a single star system. Nor are we long-lived enough to make the trip worthwhile; Freya spends months and even years at a stretch aboard space ships, sometimes free to move about as one might on an ocean-going cruise ship, sometimes crammed into what amounts to little more than a shipping container.⁴

Humans may not have been cut out for colonizing the solar system and the stars beyond, but that didn’t stop them from sending their faithful robots out with that very intent, and so there are cities on Mars and Venus, on Jupiter and Eris and even tiny Pluto—cities occupied and maintained entirely by robots of various form factors who continue on with their chores though their creators died decades ago without taking more than a few baby steps toward the stars. The more of these extraterrestrial cities Freya visits, the more she learns just what the robots have been up to in the absence of their masters, and the answer isn’t what you might expect.

Saturn’s Children is a fun romp (in every sense of the word) around the solar system, but Stross explores more than just a handful of planets (and dwarf planets); he also delves into questions of identity, creation, and evolution. His robots flip some notions we take for granted upside-down and show that the nature of mythology is entirely subject to perspective. Recommended.

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1. Known in these parts as “the one with the cleavage on the cover”. [↩]
2. In Stross’ universe, the term “robot” is actually derogatory. [↩]
3. Freya’s sisters are all gynoids who—like Freya herself—are essentially copies of the same original. Several of Freya’s sisters have died, and she carries a box containing their “soul chips”, which she can use to access their memories and experiences. [↩]
4. Despite having no humans upon which to exercise her considerable carnal talents, Freya manages to make with the busy-getting on a shockingly regular basis. Machines, humaniform and otherwise, are ever eager for a good bonk, and Stross does not shy away from explorations into Freya’s primary function. Sex, as it happens, is an excellent way to pass the time on those long, interplanetary trips—or even just the jaunt from planetside into orbit. [↩]

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Tags: Charles Stross, Isaac Asimov, Robots, Saturn's Children, The Future

This entry was posted on Thursday, March 11th, 2010 at 8:45 am and is filed under Books, Featured Articles. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.