ConZealand 2020

Here are some moments in time from the remote WorldCon, which I have the pleasure of attending.


When exactly 888 people were watching the Hugos livestream, during the final award winner’s speech for the Astounding Award for Best New Writer.


Upon waking from a snooze after joining the Seattle 2025 zoom room for the final hour of a party session. I wore many metallic eye-shaped tattoos by chance of having them, as I happen to have also done at WorldCon 75 in Helsinki. It’s an easy extraterrestrial look. That is a chin-eye.


The Arianespace sattelite launch from French Guiana was scrubbed today, but we did get to hold a launch watching party. This was a point during countdown while we still thought the launch was underway, at 2:22pm PST.


This is an url to a story you can read by Regina Kanyu Wang. I enjoy many elements of her style, and was able to attend both a Kaffeeklatsch, and a reading.


And I’ll just leave you with this.

33.1 \ 215

“First, we want to show you this thing we worked on together. Before we talk about anything else important. Because none of it will make sense unless you see this.” Vanessa Udar had been appointed elder (teenager) spokesperson of the kids group on this walk with all guardians present. They were gathered at the mouth of a Vedani-style bent opening which obscured the chamber beyond without requiring a barrier. “We had some help, and our idea works really well now. So, here we go.” Like many of the kids, Bassel took his mother Mirya’s hand and the group went forward through the wide, right-angled curved hall to obtain a platform view of a gigantic hold.

They were received by a bunch of the familiar young Vedani at the edge of the view. A population of personnel was scattered beyond that, and around the project. Literally standing multiple stories high in the center was a mechanical humanoid form with powerful limbs, topped by an empty dome. It gleamed, and the place smelled of new manufacture. Mirya’s default-level response to one of her son’s creations tumbled out of her haltingly. “Wow, you… made this?”

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People discovered that the only way to get a treasure back was to tell its true story. The many who loitered around the mysterious towers of missing items were the ones who would listen. These were the kind of stories people didn’t tell, in fear of being disbelieved – but when told truthfully, the item would come free. It was a spun-glass structure of the lost and found, each item a treasure greatly desired back in possession. The truth would typically be stranger than any fabrication trying to pass as truth.

Anyone who earned their item back was then able to see the beings atop the towers. They could be seen changing guard, or affixing a new item to the collection. Everyone would come around to it soon enough. Though having just been rewarded for truth-telling, people at first remained quietly observant of this revelation. It was a lot to sink in.

How did this all add up? People couldn’t deny their own possessions, not such as these; not the strange phenomena they went through to get their things back, or the stories they learned from each other. There were reverberations of radical honesty that stemmed from the retrieval clause in effect. Each tower was outside security zones, so everyone had already broken a rule to find it; they could break the guidelines of acceptable assumption. It was possible for a growing many to see those beautiful, strange, ethereal, dangerous ones on planets throughout the Imperium, including Alisandre.

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Mirya brought the chair from their room into the common area, setting it near another guardian who’d done the same. They sat off to one side, watching over the transformation of Blanket Fort Central. They nodded and smiled to each other before returning their attention to the group. It was an idyllic moment in a very strange time, so none of the adults could entirely relax, though the children created a spell of levity.

Most of these kids got along really well, like – right, like they already knew each other. The details of that no doubt contained a saga that could hardly even be retold. This was just the next part, which actually included them.

“My name’s Daniel,” said the nearby guardian, offering a handshake. They exchanged some pleasantries of acquaintance before their attention drifted back again. Bassel actually was very good at puzzles, which Mirya was simply accustomed to as a characteristic. He understood the pieces needed to make the blanket shapes they were trying to achieve. Chrysanthe was a high-energy runner, dashing back and forth across the room to get those pieces into place.

Mirya broke their mild reverie with a question. “Daniel, are you also a survivor of the affliction? I am, in case you’re wondering.”

“I am also, yes. So, I know why they feel so certain about whatever it is they’ve been doing with the Vedani youngsters.”

“Then you must also be familiar with the feeling of honesty – what we learned in recovery, and their interaction with us so far. I’ve known the difference before. When someone was lying to me for a very long time, and the lies finally ended, I began to remember what it was like to have conversations that weren’t filled with them. It feels just like that. Nearly our whole lives, we’ve been lied to about this, and the Vedani aren’t lying. Don’t you think so?”

Daniel considered, and nodded a just a little. “I haven’t entirely shared your same experience, but I know part of what you’re saying. An inner awakening, like I can see and breathe when I hear the truth. Though we experienced that literally, I don’t think it’s a trick of programming. They don’t speak like people who are just triggering loyalty. They’re like coworkers on a project. Maybe it’s even something about their entire mindset. All of us had to trust them at least this far.”

“It’s… pretty far!” said Mirya, looking around at their current space station home and laughing at the incredulity of the situation.

“It actually is,” Daniel said, laughing with her. The children were laughing about something else. This felt like the most fun she’d had since getting better. “Yet,” he continued, “this may be the most important thing I’ve ever done. Along the lines of supporting the ingenuity of my child, but also as something I’m able to do at a pivotal point in time. Giving permission for the possibility of a better world, and letting the people of tomorrow lead the way.”

“Isn’t parenting a trip?” Mirya laughed some more, this time because she knew how he felt.

6,766 Years

It’s been this long since people saw the comet dubbed NEOWISE, in the sky tonight, and it will be that long until it reappears – sometime around year 8746, assuming we don’t reset the numbers again for any reason. I just viewed it tonight in the sky with the naked eye, and through binoculars. A magnificence of dramatic elegance!

It’s wonderful to me that we can frame our lives within the perspective of astronomical timespans such as these. During the previous appearance was when most of the stories we know about ourselves began. What begins today that will last another 7,000 years? Consider our breath, of the same ancient oxygen. The Pan-Galactic Imperium is barely more than 1,000 years old at the time of Bones of Starlight. Please, forgive me for interrupting our story to observe this particular turning.

As with my first appearance in the sci-fi genre periodicals in Locus issue #666, I’m going to take the repeating-6 interpretation that links to creative awakening and opening to our higher dimensions of being. Oh yes, I’m all about that. I’ll hoist that torch as though my arm won’t fall for 6,766 years.