The 50th Anniversary BSFA Awards at Eastercon – including a range of panels looking back over the last 50 years of fandom at the Con, picking this year’s best novel and a “retro” award for 50 years ago.
A new website.
Their AGM will feature a panel of fans who were around at the founding of the BSFA.
Somewhere between cryogenic sleep and consciousness Az felt his synapses beginning to thunder. Slowly, awareness returned. The thaw continued and Az was able to begin his mental calisthenics. He carefully went over the cryo-checklist one step at a time. The stinging in his toes, ignore the pain. His fingertips burning; must move each one very slowly to increase blood flow. Leg muscles should be flexed and released every few seconds. His checklist progressing he felt the remaining images of his last dream fade into obscurity, reality coming forward.
He and his crew were on a long journey through the dark nebula Epsilon11. They had entered the cryogenic containers just after inputting Jin, the Neuro-comp, with the proper coordinates. The ship must be nearing its destination, for Jin had disengaged the Cryogenic systems. Az felt the warm infusion starting to flow into his limbs from the Kelvin unit. Not much longer and he and his team would reach the 36.8 degrees Celsius needed to be released from the containers. Read the full story
Those who have never laid eyes on the Watchmen, standing tall and proud in the desert twenty five miles due North West of Babel, whether at sunset, silhouetted against the rapidly darkening sky, or on a summer’s morning as dust devils kick up their distinctive brand of chaos, would find it hard to claim that they truly understood how much of a rare and exquisite thing we lost when the era of the Construct finally came to its spectacular close.
There are six of them in total, one hundred and fifty foot tall totemic spires of Growth Bone, Calcine, and Blossom Glass, bedecked on all sides with terraces, platforms and loggias, sun-bleached and standing to attention like nine pins spilt upon the desert or deep sea hydro-thermal vents rising from unfathomed depths. They are a culmination of sorts, a denouement of what the Life Programmes, of what the Construct era itself set out to accomplish, a proud proclamation of what the Bio-tects thought themselves capable of.
These days they are said to retain only a fraction of the cognisance that they once possessed. That they were alive at all now seems somehow unlikely. That they were once aware, in their own strange way, of the world that they inhabited seems almost implausible, but then I only work for Bill Hatton’s governorship. I have never pretended to fully understand the Construct phenomenon, that period of life creation, in all of its bizarre and richly imagined guises. Even in these post-Taint days, the Meat Salons and Biology Houses still seem to me to possess a certain dreamlike quality, an air of unreality, as though such things never existed at all and were only ever a figment of our collective imagination, a story dreamt up by tellers of tall tales. Read the full story