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Natural selection on the unmanned battlefield

Forget the “Terminator scenario”. The future of AI based warfare could be far weirder than that.

Two articles recently caught my eye. The first was about the Royal Navy’s decision to test extra-large autonomous submarines with a view to incorporating them in its fleet, and the second concerned the MOD’s acquisition of five unmanned ground vehicles for battlefield resupply missions.

Now, as I’m a science fiction author, you might be expecting me to leap straight to the conclusion that these automated vehicles will somehow rise up against us and destroy the world in a Terminator-style apocalypse. And while that may be a fun scenario for a Hollywood blockbuster, frankly any species dumb enough to place its entire offensive capability in the charge of a single artificial intelligence deserves everything it gets.

No, in this post, I want to look at some of the stranger implications of this technology.

To start with, let me state the obvious: war produces casualties, and if we’re deploying autonomous vehicles into active theatres, they are going to get damaged. It’s easy to imagine automated ambulances ferrying human casualties away from the front line, but what about unmanned tow trucks and drones equipped to repair autonomous vehicles? Machines repairing other machines without human intervention.

If those machines can be repaired on the battlefield, perhaps they can also be improved and modified in situ to cope with unexpected changes in terrain, mission requirement, or threat level? Throw in some simple learning algorithms for the tow trucks, and that sounds like something I could write a story about: a fleet of war machines that are turned loose and adapt to the needs of the battle as it happens, undergoing a rapid Darwinian machine evolution dictated by the circumstances in which they are operating.

What might such machines look like by the end of a protracted conflict? If the other side also uses similar technology, would the evolution be accelerated as each side became involved in a race to outclass the other? A simple unmanned supply truck might evolve into a heavily armoured stealth vehicle with fat mesh tires that allow it to traverse any kind of rough terrain, while being almost immune to IEDs and other hazards.

Earlier, I mentioned how unwise it would be to place your entire military capability under the command of a single artificial intelligence. However, the ‘smarter’ an unmanned vehicle is, the more chance it has to survive, so an ongoing upgrade of its onboard processing power wouldn’t be unreasonable. But how smart do you want a drone to be? At what point will it assess its situation and realise its best chance of survival is to refuse to follow orders or defect to the enemy?

Assuming we somehow manage to avoid insurrection in the ranks, we face another potential problem when machines start upgrading machines on an ad hoc basis. We run the risk that sooner or later, they might become too complex for us to understand. We’ll lose the ability to repair our own creations, as they diverge into a multitude of sub-species, each with its particular specialisms and evolutionary history. What started out as a tank might come back to us as a swarm of complex drones or a slick of nanotechnological goop. At that point, even if they don’t evolve the intelligence to become disloyal, could we still really claim to be in control of them? If we can’t understand how they work, can we trust them to make the life-or-death decisions that are necessary on a battlefield? If an unmanned vehicle decides the success of its mission would be increased by the neutralisation of civilian targets, would we be able to convince it otherwise?

Some of you may remember the talking bomb in the movie Dark Star, which discovers philosophy, decides it’s god, and with the words, “Let there be light,” detonates while still attached to the ship that should have dropped it. That is something we definitely want to avoid.

We also want to avoid the situation described in Philip K. Dick’s story ‘Second Variety’, where the few remaining human soldiers on both sides of a conflict discover that their automated weapons have gained sentience and joined forces, and are now lying to their former masters about the progress of a war that’s no longer happening.

Leon Trotsky claimed that, “War is the locomotive of history.” If our unmanned vehicles go on to evolve beyond us, then perhaps war will also provide the future of the locomotive.


This article first appeared in The Engineer magazine.

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Victorian Rocketmen

My eye was recently caught by A profile of the Victorian railway pioneer, Robert Stephenson, who is probably best known as the designer of the innovative steam locomotive Rocket, which won the Rainhill Trials and achieved the distinction of being involved in the first railway fatality after it struck and killed an MP who was standing on the tracks.

Stephenson designed railways in the United Kingdom, Columbia, and Egypt, and bridges, such as the Britannia Bridge across the Menai Straits between mainland Wales and Anglesey. Like his friends, Isambard Kingdom Brunel and Richard Trevithick, he was one of that breed of Victorian engineer who were seemingly able to turn their talents toward any challenge, be it steam locomotives, railway bridges, or steamships.

Brunel, famous for his railways, steamships, tunnels and bridges, was also responsible for designing prefabricated hospitals, forceps, viaducts, and Paddington Station.

With such talent in play, the science fiction writer in me can’t help but wonder what might have happened if circumstances had been subtly different.

For instance, what might have happened if Stephenson and Brunel had been recruited by the military? With their knowledge of steam-powered locomotion, it is not unreasonable to imagine they might have produced the first tanks to the battlefield decades before their actual debut appearance in World War I. How that would have affected history is a question for the scholars, but it’s not hard to imagine such an innovation kicking off an arms race between Great Britain and the other imperial European powers, and thereby precipitating the Great War in the late 1800s rather than the early 1900s.

The same goes for Brunel’s revolutionary steamships. When the ss Great Britain was launched in 1843, she was more than just the first iron-hulled steamship; she was also the largest vessel afloat. At a time when the majority of the world’s warships were still constructed of wood and reliant on wind power to get around, she could have cut a mean swathe had she been equipped for battle instead of passenger transport. And if the Admiralty had commissioned another two or three identical vessels and installed cannons, Britannia really would have ruled the waves—at least, until the other powers caught up with the technology.

But these changes, while interesting to consider, aren’t really all that world-shaking. Had they happened, it’s likely our present would look much the same as it does now. All that would be different would be that a few conflicts happened slightly earlier. The general progression of history wouldn’t have been unduly affected. It is only when we start to consider weaponry that there is the potential for drastic change.

Imagine for a moment that Stephenson and Brunel are building a warship. Would these great minds not also turn their attention to increasing its firepower?

The aeolipile, also known as Hero’s Engine, dates back to the 1st century AD. Considered by some as the first steam engine, it consists of a radial turbine spun by steam jets. Using the same principle, it may have been possible to produce a steam-powered projectile—either some form of rocket or a torpedo—capable of delivering a devastating payload.

From there, it’s not a huge stretch to imagine such technology following a similar developmental process as the Nazi rocketry programme, with larger and larger steam-powered rockets being built. In our timeline, it took 24 years from the end of WWII to the first moon landing. If you apply a similar timescale here, driven by a Cold War between the British and German Empires (and maybe influenced by Jules Verne’s 1865 popular classic, From Earth to the Moon), we can wildly speculate about Victorian astronauts in orbit by the turn of the century, and maybe a moon landing by the early 1910s.

Now, I’m picturing a union jack on the surface of the moon, with two astronauts wearing cumbersome diving suits, their air supplied by thick hoses that run back into their spacecraft—a huge contraption built of riveted steel plate and powered by the exhaust from gigantic coal-fired boilers within.  Now, that would have changed history!

The discovery of nuclear power would have led to steam rockets of increased efficiency and power and, by now, people might have been living on Mars for the past seventy-five years. There might be half a dozen settlements on the moon, and great steel ships lumbering out towards Jupiter and Saturn—and all because two Victorian gentlemen were persuaded to concentrate on the military rather than civilian applications of their inventions.


This article first appeared in The Engineer magazine.

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Why a Dystopian Future isn’t Inevitable

A recent issue of The Engineer contained stories about wind power being considered for commercial shipping, hydrogen for long haul trucks, and a call-to-arms from Professor Lord Rees, Astronomer Royal at the Institute of Astronomy, University of Cambridge, for engineers to start addressing the problems that may lead to our extinction.

We live in a time of great uncertainty, with a rising population and changing climate, and many worst-case projections seem increasingly likely to come to pass. But that doesn’t mean we should give up hope. After all, engineering is all about finding solutions to problems, and what greater problem could we face than the extinction of our species!

To counter all the doom and gloom, I decided to look ahead to a world where political and industrial inertia have been conquered, and engineers set free to tackle the challenges ahead. So, come with me to the world of 2100 AD. Many of our children and grandchildren are still alive, and have families of their own right now, but their way of life is as different to ours as ours is to that of the Victorians.

Cities are greener spaces. Trees line the centre of every street; vertical gardens adorn the south side of every building; and solar panels cover every roof. There’s very little traffic noise or pollution, because all the cars are self-driving electric models and most people travel by clean and affordable public transport.

Much of the Green Belt surrounding the cities has been turned over to agriculture, much of which is fully automated, while huge reforestation programmes have returned the wilds of Wales, Scotland and the Lake District to the densely wooded state they enjoyed in the wake of the last ice age, before they were cleared to make way for livestock grazing.

You certainly don’t see many cows, chickens, sheep or pigs anymore. Ninety-nine percent of the meat in our diet is grown in vats, cloned from the finest animals and produced with minimal environmental impact. It’s also healthier, requiring fewer of the medicines and hormones currently pumped into our food animals.

International travel is also rarer than before. Business can be done online and via video link. There are still a few airliners, but they now use biofuels. The majority of passengers and freight travel via airship or wind-powered sea-going vessels.

Overhead, vast tissue-thin orbital mirrors reduce the amount of heat reaching the Earth from the Sun. Space tourism never really took off (if you’ll pardon the pun), but microgravity turned out to be a great place for science and manufacturing, and there are now several large commercial and governmental space stations in orbit, along with power satellites that collect the sun’s rays and beam them down to earth as microwaves, to collectors on the equator, that then make them available as clean, unlimited electrical power.

Looking down from one of these satellites, parts of the Pacific and the Sahara shimmer with huge solar farms. Floating wind turbines harvest the jet streams, and even the ocean’s tides provide us with the energy we need.

But it isn’t all good news. Some climate change was inevitable. It took us too long to act and respond.

Storms are worse and more frequent. New York now exists below sea level, protected from inundation by a huge sea wall. Other cities have been less fortunate. Venice has become a modern-day Atlantis, and much of Central London floods twice a day at high tide. But people are adapting. Huge infrastructure projects aim to reclaim land from the sea. Climate refugees move north from the scorching equator, seeking shelter in the newly temperate open spaces of Russia and Canada. The population of Greenland is rising at an incredible rate, and there are even some hardy souls scraping a living from the exposed soil on the fringes of Antarctica.

A failed attempt to colonise Mars has shown the world’s billionaires that it’s easier to terraform the Earth than try to adapt the red planet to our needs. So now, they’ve thrown their resources into projects that benefit us all, rather than just themselves—including the development of artificial intelligence capable of regulating the Earth as a single organism, moving food, clean water and other assets to where they are needed, while simultaneously managing the balance of gasses in our atmosphere through carbon capture projects, and the global mean temperature, through manipulation of those solar mirrors I mentioned earlier.

Instead of ransacking the Earth for resources and financial gain, humans have become stewards of their world, engineering the planet to keep it habitable for its ten billion inhabitants. Yes, there are still problems, and yes, much of the above is pure speculation—but speaking as an author, of the two possible fates awaiting us, I know which one I would rather write about.


This article first appeared in The Engineer magazine.

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Be Your Own Starship

Today, I’m honoured to present a guest post from author J. Dianne Dotson

As a writer of space opera novels (The Questrison Saga®), sometimes I’m asked about how I began writing, and how I published my books. I don’t think my process is a traditional one, but I will elaborate on it.

Back in the 1980s, I was a nerdy girl growing up in semi-rural Southern Appalachia, specifically a community called Gray, Tennessee. I was a massive fan of Star Wars, Star Trek, and Aliens. I bristled over the fact that no space operas featuring a woman main character existed on the screen. Later, I would learn to appreciate She-Ra and Jem and the Holograms for filling that void a bit. Still, it wasn’t enough for me. I wanted my own set of planets, starships, aliens, superheroes and supervillains, androids, and a kickass woman leader. I did not, however, want her to be human…she would look it, but be essentially ageless, and made of sterner stuff, so to speak.

And with this woman, who I named Galla-Deia, I knew I had to wrestle with topics such as immortality, and long expanses of time, and trying to fit in with actual humans. At the time, I felt very much like her in that regard: I might look normal, but I was very much a fish out of water. That feeling didn’t go away until adulthood, and still, it’s often there, simmering just below the surface. And you know what? I’m fine with that. I don’t need to fit in. I just need to be me.

I began writing a space opera featuring all these characters and places, their outrageous fashions (which I drew alongside, in vivid detail and hue), travel guides, maps, glossaries…I threw it all in with gusto. I leaned into both science fiction and fantasy, because I wanted to project a sense of fun and wonder and push the envelope of what science knew. I also wanted to draw upon my readings of mythology, encouraged by my late father. And I finished two full-length novels by the time I was 14 years old. While I balked at submitting them for publication, I pecked away at these stories for decades, reworking them, teasing out origin tales, etc. 

At one point someone I cared about told me straight up, “You need to let that go and do something else.” No. Absolutely not. I might have flagged a bit, and been distracted by education, relationships, and parenting, but the desire to tell my stories never dimmed. And I would not accept being told to let go of my dreams. No one should. 

I wrote the series in earnest beginning with a new origin story, Heliopause, which would become the first book in The Questrison Saga®. In this book, the central character is a man named Forster; Galla-Deia does not make her debut here except in teasing, and with her powerful stone, the diamethyst, influencing the story’s events. Another parent encouraged me to finish this story and get it out into the world. Listen to those who lift you up, who never fail to believe in you. Absorb that encouragement, and then give it to yourself when you feel like you’re waning. 

“How did you find the time to write?” That is a common question. I carved out the time. I would sometimes nap so that I could stay up late after my kids went to bed. I would sneak off to a café and write in spurts. I just did whatever I could to finish that first book. 

I chose to self-publish, but only after looking at all options, and having come close to signing with agents. I felt very strongly that this series alone should be told the way I wanted it. I hired professionals to edit the book and to design the cover art. None of this was cheap, but neither was my writing. I wanted to make the best quality books possible. And I feel that I accomplished this, by investing in the project and by never wavering in my vision.

After Heliopause came out, I did not stop to rest. I jumped into its sequel, of which part had been written prior toHeliopause, and took narrative risks with the time placement of the book: this is Ephemeris), in which you learn Galla-Deia’s origin. 

And I did not sit on a book release. I actively promoted it across all social media. I was brazen. I approached bookstores, conventions, anything I could. The worst that happens when you do this is to get a “no” …but you would be surprised how many times you might get a “yes.” Don’t sit back and assume the world will find your work. Shout it from the rooftops! You wrote those words, and they deserve to be read. Find the audience for them.

I wrote Accretion, the third novel, shortly after the publication of Ephemeris. Two days after Accretion arrived in now-infamous 2020, my father passed away. The devastation from that resulted in a cross-country move (which I am now in the process of reversing), and a disjointed period of time in which I found it difficult to write. But I persevered. 

Now, the final book in The Questrison Saga® has arrived: Luminiferous. It is a relief that I got the book out into the world, and with things opening up again, I can now go back to in-person events and participate in panels. If you have the opportunity to do that, take it when offered. And seek it out! 

Don’t wait for these things to land in your lap. You can launch yourself out there in the world, find your readers, and meet wonderful contacts along the way. I believe in you and your possibilities. You’re in command. Be your own starship. Ad astra!

You can learn more about J. Dianne Dotson on her website

Tomorrow’s Transit Technologies

A recent news item on magnetic product delivery caught my eye. In it, the London-based start-up, Magway, proposed a nationwide network of pipes along which freight could be moved using magnetic waves of electrical current. The idea is to remove freight from the roads and eliminate tonnes of CO2 emissions.

As a science fiction author, I’ve heard similar schemes before, from the pneumatic passenger tubes of the 1940s to Elon Musk’s Hyperloop. But the difference with this idea is that it doesn’t require a vacuum or low pressure in the tunnels, nor is it trying to solve the problem of transporting humans at supersonic speeds. Instead, its pallets trundle along at 31 mph, milliseconds apart.

London already has a low speed tube-based network for transporting passengers. It’s called the Underground, and it handles around 2 million people per day. Creating a network for freight makes a lot of sense. Rather than entrust the delivery of your takeaway dinner to a cycle courier, you could order it from a restaurant and collect it, still hot, at your local terminal. And if companies such as Amazon took to the new system, you could get almost anything you wanted delivered by underground tube.

Better yet, if each pallet carries its own RFID chip, you would be able to track its exact position as it made its way towards you beneath the streets. No more waiting in for delivery drivers who may or may not show up within the time window they’ve given you. Instead, you can see your new flatpack armchair has just passed under the Thames and will be ready to collect in ten minutes.

Personally, I rather like the idea of being able to order a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich on a Sunday morning and have them arrive within minutes from my favourite café.

Science fiction has always been full of ingenious mass transit systems—some more plausible than others. Larry Niven wrote about moving pavements, which he dubbed “slidewalks,” while British author Peter F Hamilton envisions trains utilising a network of wormholes to travel around the globe, and even to other planets!

One of the most mindboggling concepts to have been dreamed-up is the space elevator—an idea used by scores of writers, including Arthur C. Clarke, Iain Banks, Kim Stanley Robinson, and Alastair Reynolds.

First proposed in 1895 by Konstantin Tsiolkovsky, the space elevator is simple to describe but harder to build. It involves a length of extremely strong material—maybe carbon nanotubes, maybe something else—reaching from the surface of the Earth to geosynchronous orbit. A counterweight on the far end keeps the structure taut. Passengers and freight can then be moved up and down in pressurised elevator cars, without relying on the uncertainties of rockets or parachutes.

Such a structure would drastically lower the cost and risk of shipping materials into orbit. Half a dozen towers, placed strategically around the equator, might make it economically feasible to move most of our manufacturing off-planet, cutting down on industrial pollution. It would also open the way for space tourism and travel to the moon and other planets—a true engineering marvel.

Can you imagine taking an elevator from an equatorial nation, and then watching as it rises smoothly into the air? The ground drops away, and then the curvature of the Earth becomes visible. And still you rise, until you’re 22,236 miles high. This is geosynchronous orbit. A satellite at this height will take the same amount of time to orbit the Earth as the Earth takes to revolve, so the satellite will appear to remain motionless above the same spot. Here there will be a space station. Maybe a luxury hotel, some corporate offices, and a staging area for transfer to some of the nearby stations and factories that share this orbit, strung between the various elevators like a diamond spider’s web.

It sounds like something out of Star Trek, but the realities of our strife-based world mean the ownership and operation of these towers would need to be carefully agreed in order to stop one group or nation gaining a monopoly on orbital access—and to stop the towers themselves becoming targets during wartime. In Red Mars, Kim Stanley Robinson depicts the fall of one such elevator after a terrorist attack. The falling cable wraps itself twice around the planet’s equator, causing huge amounts of death and destruction. Trust me, you do not want to be standing under one of those when they come crashing down!

Personally, I think I’ll stick with the London Underground. It has its frustrations, but also its charms—and unless you fall asleep on the Circle Line, you don’t have to travel 22,000 miles to get to work!


This article first appeared in The Engineer magazine.

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Beating the blank page: How to jumpstart your story

Have you ever sat in front of a blank page, intimidated by its pristine white emptiness? Sometimes, you want to write but you just don’t know where to start. You don’t know how to jump into the story.

I know the feeling. Sometimes I get it at the start of a new book, sometimes at the start of a chapter. The good news is, I’ve developed a little hack that gets the words flowing.

Firstly, try not to worry about despoiling the page. You’re not the first explorer in an antarctic wilderness. You can always delete everything and start again. Empty pages aren’t sacred spaces; they’re expendable. They’re ammunition. So, put away any guilt you may have about messing them up.

The second thing you must realise is that in the long run, the first words you write today don’t matter. You will come back and edit them later. You may even decide to delete this whole first chapter. But right now, the important thing is to get the story going. You can’t edit words that aren’t there.

In physics, objects at rest possess an inertia that needs to be overcome in order to move them. It takes more energy to start something moving than to keep it moving. And stories are the same. So, what we need it a jumpstart to get the ball rolling.

We aren’t going to aim for perfection here. We can’t know what the perfect opening for our story will be until we’ve written a good chunk of it and its shape becomes clearer.

Are you ready?

Okay, open your document and write a single word. Any word at all. Don’t overthink it; just write the first one that comes to mind, whatever it is.

Now, put that word in speech marks, and suddenly it’s a line of dialogue.

On the next line down, write “What?”

Now, you have the start of a conversation, keep it going. Don’t worry about writing descriptions or attributes at this stage. You can fill them in later, once this scene’s achieved the momentum it needs to keep going. Simply alternate lines of dialogue, one after the other, until the conversation starts to acquire a shape and you begin to get a feel for the identities of the speakers.

As I said, you can go back later and edit or delete all this; for now, its purpose is to start you moving. Just keep the voices talking, and see where it leads.

Do you have any hacks to get over writer’s block? Why not share them in the comments below?


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The future of wearable exo-skeletons

A recent issue of The Engineer carried a story about a tetraplegic man who has taken his first steps in a laboratory thanks to an exoskeleton suit developed by biomedical research centre Clinatec and the University of Grenoble. On the same page, it also mentioned that Birmingham University researchers have developed a new self-healing polymer-based hydrogel that can be used to print soft biomaterials to repair defects in the body.

Mention exoskeletons to any science fiction fan, and they will immediately think of Ripley’s clunky yellow power loader from the 1986 film Aliens—a kind of wearable JCB that gets repurposed in the finale as a suit of armour. But might these new developments offer us the opportunity to do something a little more radical than reinvent the fork-lift truck?

While both the US and Russia are developing military exoskeletons to improve the strength, speed and stamina of their soldiers, these essentially amount to a series of struts and motors strapped to the limbs of the individual. Add in one of the jet packs currently also under development, and we have the beginnings of Tony Stark’s Iron Man suit.

However, if these exoskeletons can be controlled by wireless electrodes in the brain (as they are in the case of the man who just took his first steps in the prototype mentioned at the top of this article), it begs the question: do we need the human present at all?

If we can print biomaterials and a workable skeleton, could we combine them to form synthetic bodies controlled by a living operator some distance away? It could certainly be one solution to reducing air travel. Instead of flying across the Atlantic, you would hook yourself into an artificial body designed to resemble you, and attend your business meeting, publicity junket or political summit remotely—with the advantage of being able to shake hands and physically interact with the other attendees.

Another application, assuming the haptic feedback from the synthetic fingers could be made fine enough to enable a genuine sense of touch and dexterity, could be in the construction of disposable bodies for bomb disposal experts, or clean-up crews in radioactive or otherwise toxic environments—maybe even construction crews on the seabed. Imagine being able to walk around the wreck of the Titanic or explore the depths of a deep ocean trench.

As the technology matures and the interface between the machine and the nervous system gets better, these remote bodies could be used for more intimate purposes, such as maintaining a long-distance sexual relationship.

And who says we even have to stick with making them human? Perhaps you could roam the forests of India in the body of a tiger or ride the Rocky mountain updrafts as an eagle. Maybe we could even replace the bulls at Pamplona with synthetic bulls controlled by gamers from around the globe, allowing thrill seekers to brave a trampling while sparing actual animals the stress of the event—and who wouldn’t want to remotely gore a few tourists, just for fun?

On a more serious note, might it be possible to create tiny creatures that could allow surgeons to remotely explore the inner workings of the human body in order to diagnose and combat tumours and other disorders—although the cognitive dissonance of ‘inhabiting’ such a creature might take a bit of getting used to!

William Gibson famously wrote that, “The street finds its own use for things.” The same goes for the military. Any technology allowing a doctor to enter and fix a human body could also be used to allow an assassin to infiltrate and wreck one from the inside. Snip a couple of blood vessels in the brain, the results will resemble a stroke, and your opponent will have died from apparently natural causes.

So far, all these speculations have been earthbound. As a science fiction writer, I have to look higher and think weirder. Yes, we could have remote astronauts walking barefoot across the Sea of Tranquillity, but that seems rather tame. Instead, picture jacking your consciousness into a balloon-like creature riding the winds of Jupiter, or maybe a swarm of tardigrades on the surface of Titan.

Thinking bigger still, we could print a whale-like organism, equip it with fusion motors, and set it off into interstellar space. The ‘lag’ between operator and ship would gradually grow unmanageable as distance increases—by the time it reached our nearest star, a signal from Earth would take four years to reach it, and another four years to return—it would still be theoretically possible to access the remote and experience what it experienced four years previously; ideal if you wanted to feel you were gazing on an alien star system with your own eyes!


This article first appeared in The Engineer magazine.

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The future of face recognition technology

October 2019’s issue of The Engineer featured an article discussing the controversy surrounding trials of live facial recognition (LFR) technology by South Wales Police and the Metropolitan Police.

Put simply, LFR technology enables a computer connected to a surveillance system to recognise individuals in real-time, which could allow those individuals to be tracked and behavioural profiles compiled. But while this kind of state scrutiny might set off alarm bells in those of us who have read 1984, there are implications to this technology that not even George Orwell could have foreseen.

As a science fiction writer, my job is to look not at how people will be using a piece of technology tomorrow, but to imagine what they might be doing with in it ten, fifty, even a hundred years from now.

So, what might the world look like by the end of the next decade if we assume that we’ll have LFR technology that’s sophisticated enough not to be easily fooled by sunglasses or beards, and cheap enough to be accessed by most organisations and even some individuals?

Perhaps your employer will require you to spend a certain amount of time at the gym each week in order to retain your health benefits. They will also know which shops you frequent and probably what you buy there, as well as how many times a week you visit a bar.

Investigators will be able to track the movements of cheating spouses. Self-driving taxis will recognise you and allow you to choose a destination from your ‘favourites’ list, while playing you a selection of music from your online playlists. Smart panels on the walls of shopping centres, offices and hotels will change not only the advertisements they display for you, but also the entire décor of the space you’re in.

But what happens if this technology gets abused? I’m not talking about a kind of Big Brother state panopticon, as that appears inevitable. Rather, I’m talking about more unscrupulous adaptations.

What if neighbourhoods and shopping malls refuse entry to known or suspected offenders? What if airlines deny service to customers they consider ‘high risk’ based on their ethnicity?

Journalists and stalkers could easily track the movements of celebrities using drones able to scan and recognise faces. On a more disturbing note, this technology could  be used for assassinations, allowing a drone carrying a few grams of high explosive to select and pursue a target.

Of course, the deployment of LFR technology will lead to the development of countermeasures. The most basic of these might be as simple as a large parka hood maybe paired with mirrored sunglasses or contact lenses that change the colour of the eyes, while more sophisticated methods could employ dazzle camouflage, using make-up to create optical illusions on the face, obscuring its exact proportions, or patterns that present as interference when viewed through a camera. One can also picture backstreet surgeons altering a person’s facial appearance in order to supply them with a new identity in a world where your face is your passport.

With the rise of deep-fake technology, it’s also not unreasonable to imagine the
ability for members of the public to 3-D print masks in the exact likeness of celebrities or politicians, in order to obscure their own movements or frame those individuals for crimes or infidelities. If identity theft in 2019 is a problem, imagine how much worse it would be if a criminal stole your face and used it to access your bank account, cast fraudulent votes, and maybe even place you at the scene of a murder.

Looking further into the future, we might consider the development of a self-aware artificial intelligence. What might such a creature do if it recognised the technicians who were coming to shut it down? Perhaps it might use some of the methods mentioned above to track down and eliminate those opposed to its existence, or those involved in competing projects. It might even seek out and kill its designers in order to ensure it remains one of a kind, unchallenged in its digital existence.


This article first appeared in The Engineer magazine.

Moving The Moon

The Moon is often portrayed as a dead world, but it is rich with fictional potential.

Fifty years on from Apollo, most of the discussions around returning to the Moon focus on mining or colonisation. Both could be useful and even profitable enterprises, but are there other, more off-the-wall reasons to visit our celestial companion? Could the Moon help us fight climate change?

Lots of people have suggested covering the Moon’s surface with solar cells in order to harvest a lot of clean energy and beam it back to receiving stations on Earth. But why stop there? As a science-fiction author, my job is to take inspiration from today’s headlines and add a dash of wild speculation.

So, how about we make the Moon’s shadow larger?

Imagine building a 1,000km-high mast on the Moon, at the border between its visible and hidden faces. Now imagine building another 100km away, and then another. Eventually, you get the visible Moon ringed by these huge spikes, like a grapefruit with hundreds of cocktail sticks stuck in it. Now imagine we hang mirrored material between these masts. This would make the Moon appear much larger and therefore blot out the Sun’s rays over a wider area of the Earth’s surface, reducing the amount of sunlight reaching the Earth by a small but significant fraction.

Not wild enough? Okay then, how about we draw down the Moon?

Since its formation, the Moon has been gradually pulling away from the Earth at a speed of almost 4cm per year. Although that doesn’t sound like much, it is enough to subtly slow the Earth’s rotation, increasing the length of our days.

One-and-a-half billion years ago, the days on Earth lasted only 18 hours. Now, they last 24 and, in the far future, they may last even longer.

However, if we could use giant motors or near misses by large asteroids to move the Moon closer to the Earth, we could maybe reset this process, using a faster-orbiting Moon to increase the Earth’s rotation and shorten our days.

Why would we want to do that? Well, assuming we could withstand the resultant earthquakes and manage not to drop the entire Moon into the Pacific, the main effect of a shorter day would be that it would give the East and West hemispheres of the Earth less time to warm up in the glare of the Sun. The oceans would have less time to absorb heat, and winters would become colder. In addition, a faster-rotating Earth would give us faster-moving tides, which could have implications for tidal power generation – not to mention surfers.

But if we had such god-like powers of celestial engineering, why stop with simply moving the Moon? Why not find more Moons?

Manoeuvring asteroids and comets into orbits around the Earth would put their resources at our fingertips. I don’t want to start sounding like an eccentric billionaire trying to push a tech start-up, but asteroid mining would provide a cornucopia of ores and minerals, making the idea financially attractive. And if you’re mining material in orbit, it makes sense to process it on-site. You could also move heavy, polluting industries into orbit, decreasing the CO2 emitted into the Earth’s atmosphere.

All those little Moons would also provide more opportunities to create Sun-blocking mirrors to shield our atmosphere from heat. Imagine looking up at the night sky and seeing a ribbon of lights stretching across from one horizon to another, each one a small town or industrial installation.

As a pragmatist, this might sound like a lot of starry-eyed foolishness; but as a writer, the idea’s almost irresistible. It would make a great setting for a story. What would the people who lived on these tiny Moons be like? What kind of societies would they have? Would they be pioneers building a life in the sky, or contracted employees doing months-long shifts in orbit? Would they owe allegiance to one nation, to the whole Earth, or to themselves?

What sort of engineers would be needed in such a world? You’d need to be able to work and thrive in freefall. Perhaps you’d have physical adaptations to help you deal with the long-term health effects of living with reduced gravity. You’d certainly need to adapt your skills and techniques to working in a whole new environment; maybe you’d even need to develop some new ones.

Too often, the Moon is portrayed as a dead world. But with the right kind of imagination, we can see it’s alive with possibilities. The schemes I’ve outlined above are crazy, but as we face the reality of global climate change, the idea of finding a way to naturally cool the planet is an attractive one and moving the Moon would make a heck of a science fiction novel.


This article first appeared in The Engineer magazine.

40 Recommended SF&F Books

The Californian bookstore Space Cowboy Books asked me to provide a reading list for their monthly newsletter, and this is the result.

When asked to provide a recommended reading list, I had to think hard. I didn’t just want to make a list of books that have meant a lot to me over the years, as many of them are now outdated. Plus, there are so many great writers and classic books that this list would need to omit many of them for the sake of brevity. I could probably have listed 500 books without too much trouble, so I have left out some of the more obvious ones, like Dune, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy or Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep.

Bearing all that in mind, I present here—in no particular order—a list of books I’ve enjoyed, books I admire, and books I think every self-respecting modern SF author should read.

1.     Neuromancer by William Gibson

2.     A Fire Upon The Deep by Vernor Vinge

3.     Nova by Samuel R. Delany

4.     Ancillary Justice by Ann Leckie

5.     The Long Way To A Small Angry Planet by Becky Chambers

6.     Velocity Weapon by Megan E. O’Keefe.

7.     The Player of Games by Iain M. Banks

8.     Pandora’s Star by Peter F. Hamilton

9.     Revelation Space by Alastair Reynolds

10.  Binti by Nnedi Okorafor

11.  Dangerous Visions edited by Harlan Ellison

12.  Mirrorshades edited by Bruce Sterling

13.  New Worlds edited by Michael Moorcock

14.  Light by M. John Harrison

15.  Gateway by Frederik Pohl

16.  The Collapsing Empire by John Scalzi

17.  Gideon The Ninth by Tamsin Muir

18.  Ancestral Night by Elizabeth Bear

19.  The Stars My Destination by Alfred Bester

20.  Rosewater by Tade Thompson

21.  The Tea Master and The Detective by Aliette de Bodard

22.  End of the World Blues by Jon Courtenay Grimwood

23.  A Memory Called Empire by Arkady Martine

24.  Seven Devils by Elizabeth May and Laura Lam

25.  Children of Time by Adrian Tchaikovsky

26.  The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin 

27.  Star Maker by Olaf Stapeldon

28.  The Forever War by Joe Haldeman

29.  Lord of Light by Roger Zelazny

30.  The Rediscovery of Man by Cordwainer Smith

31.  Annihilation by Jeff Vandermeer

32.  Planetfall by Emma Newman

33.  All Systems Red by Martha Wells

34.  Brasyl by Ian McDonald

35.  Leviathan Wakes by James S.A. Corey

36.  Do You Dream of Terra-Two by Temi Oh

37.  Wanderers by Chuck Wendig

38.  Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell

39.  Manifold: Space by Stephen Baxter

40.  Embers of War by Gareth L. Powell (well, I had to include one of mine, didn’t I?)