As the end of the year approaches, Futures is pleased to welcome back John Gilbey with his timely tale, Solstice. John needs no introduction, as he has been a regular contributor to Futures for many years (you can get to his other Futures stories from the links at the end of this post). If you would like to catch up with the rest of his work, then you can try tracking him down at the University of Rural England — or maybe just follow him on Twitter. Here, he reveals the seasonal inspiration behind his latest tale — as ever, it pays to read the story first.

Writing Solstice

Like most folk who have spent much of their careers sauntering around the foothills of academia, I have been to a lot of parties. Some have been good, some bad, some indifferent and some extraordinarily memorable.

Across all these categories, however, some things seem to be universal constants:

• Nobody really understands what the strange protein at the centre of the vol-au-vent actually is.

• Humanity has sent spacecraft beyond the heliosphere but can’t find a way of juggling plate, glass and cutlery.

• There are some folk you ONLY meet at parties, as if they have no other existence …

This last one got me wondering. What if the academic party is only a protrusion into our reality of a hugely complex multi-dimensional intersection? What if you could compare notes and exchange information across the gauzy membrane of space-time that should logically separate the zillion streams of existence? How would you curate such a portal, what would be the constraints on its activity and how would it operate?

I suspect a few of us have stayed at parties longer than we should have, and drunk too deeply of the senior-managements’ munificence. If so, you may recall experiencing the worrying quasi-rotation of the room, the inevitable disorientation and the improbability of walking in a respectable straight line to the exit — assuming you can even find your way out of the room. Add some potentially quantum effects to the mix and you get some idea of how extraordinary our hero found his exposure to the uniquely pan-dimensional architecture of the Council Chamber at the University of Rural England.

I have suggested in the story that the Chamber is a natural phenomenon pressed into the use of humanity – perhaps initially by the adherents of ancient shamanic rituals who chanced upon some of its traits (think standing stones and landscape alignments) — but who knows? Perhaps a distantly benevolent civilization has made it available to us as part of a coaching exercise? Or maybe it only exists because it exists?

Perhaps on another occasion I might try to establish who the elderly gentleman is — and I certainly haven’t excluded the possibility that he is an older incarnation of the narrator. This would probably involve building a narrative structure that would equal the complexity of the portal itself, so could potentially take some serious planning.

Time, as they say, will tell. In the meantime, try to make sure you always leave an academic party by the same door you entered it through — unless you actively want your life to become suddenly, wildly more confusing. Thinking about it, this might explain so much about my career …

Happy Solstice!

Read more of John’s Futures stories

It never rains in VR | Finding a happy medium | Safety critical | Big Dave’s last stand | Meeting with Max | Permanent position | Commitment | Final protocol | Unfinished business | Corrective action | The last laboratory | Killing time | Intervention | Visiting Bob | Communicant | Review of the year 2062 | Deep impressions | Infraction | Citadel | Geode | Breakthrough

This week, Futures is pleased to offer some advice to early adopters courtesy of Steven Fischer and his incredibly useful story A beginner’s guide to space travel and seafood. Regular readers will know that Steven has previously introduced us to The First Fragmented Church of Entropy as well as guided us through the syntax of Query, Queue, Repeat. When not writing, Steven is a medical resident in the Pacific Northwest. You can find out more about his works of fiction by visiting his website or following him on Twitter. Here, Steven reveals the origins of his latest tale — as ever, it pays to read the story first.

Writing A beginner’s guide to space travel and seafood

I’ve always been a late adopter. I didn’t buy my first smartphone until 2014. My watch can’t do anything other than tell time. My friends make fun of me because I’m barely midway through my twenties, but I own less tech than my father-in-law. Part of that is because I’m a cheapskate (I prefer the word ‘thrifty’, but let’s not kid ourselves), the other part is because I’m playing the game.

There’s a fundamental strategic question to adopting new technology in a world of ever-quickening progress: if I wait a little longer something even better will be available.

That’s not a big deterrent for most people when it comes to a gadget like a phone or a smartwatch, because those pieces of technology take almost no time to implement. But when we’re talking more durable goods (like spaceships or self-driving cars) it can be a huge incentive.

On the one hand everyone wants the newest and best, but if the newest and best isn’t very new or very good by the time you get it home and learn to actually use it, why not wait a little longer and buy the next edition?

The obvious answer is that if everyone thought that way, then no one would adopt new technology at all. Eventually you just have to jump in and go for it, recognizing you’re always going to be behind the ball. That said, there is an unmistakable benefit to not being the first penguin into the sea. So, to all the early adopters out there, thanks for being more courageous than me, and for working out all the bugs by the time new products fall into my *ahem*, ‘thrifty’, hands.