Essential to the operation of the Addison Engine, or Difference Engine as it known on the continent, is the metal coronium. It was first discovered spectroscopically from the spectrum of the sun’s corona, observed in the eclipse of August 7, 1869. Later, spectroscopic traces of coronium were found in volcanic gases, and in 1883 significant quantities of coronium(II) oxide and native coronium metal were found near Wiluna, Western Australia. While coronium was not radioactive, it was observed very early on that it interfered with electromagnetic fields at radio and typical alternating power frequencies.

Coronium, atomic number 137, occupied an unusual isolated position among the non-radioactive elements. It had a specific density close to 20, and terrestrial deposits were of exceedingly high purity, >99.99% ³³¹Cn

The Le Maitre Effect was discovered in 1896. After irradiation with X-Rays, ³³¹Cn was apparently transformed into a metastable excited state with a half-life of a few weeks. When subjected to any sudden input of energy- say a jolt of electric current, or being dropped on the floor- it would just disappear, leaving no trace behind. The high cost of coronium prevented Auguste Le Maitre from continuing his researches, but the effect was investigated by a number of other scientists around the world.

Addison’s First Effect (also known as the Ginsburg Effect) was discovered a few years later by Hector Addison (b.1850), then based at Harvard. This was the ability of metastable ³³¹Cn in amounts above a critical mass to disappear more matter than itself. This was strongly dependent on the proportion of metastable ³³¹Cn on the sample, and increased rapidly as masses rose above the critical mass.

The true potential of coronium was revealed in 1904, with Addison’s Second and Third Effects. When two identical lattices of coronium were placed at separate spots in the laboratory, a smaller piece of activated coronium placed in the proximity of one could ‘borrow’ its mass to achieve critical mass (the Second Effect) and, more impressively, would- most of the time- instantaneously be transported to the other lattice on discharge (the Third Effect). Experiments into these effects continued at a great pace, since they did not involve the permanent disappearance of the coronium used. (Albert Einstein would explain all of these effects with his theory of General Relativity in 1915.)

In 1907, Addison’s lab assistant Charles Hargreaves travelled 20 metres from one room to another in a prototype Difference Engine: the two grids together contained 10% of the world’s processed coronium, and the tons of equipment needed to activate the driving mass were located outside the Engine, on the floor of the building.

Where was all the disappearing coronium going to? Addison’s team built a house-sized device to find out, with all the widgets and enough power to make a Le Maitre jump back from ‘wherever’ it was sent to using the largest grid yet constructed. On July 18th 1908, Hargreaves was put in a deep-sea-diver’s suit at the controls, and became the first man to see the surface of another world, in a five minute jaunt to a cold, lifeless planet with breathable atmosphere and earthlike gravity. Prof Addison called it ‘Helen’. Several more extensive journeys were made to Helen, assembling a fine collection of alien minerals, and observations of the stars gave no clue as to the location of the planet. The results of Addison’s researches were made public in December, and soon a number of well-founded groups around the world were working on similar systems.

The first inkling that it might be possible to ‘steer’ the Addison engine came in 1909, when minor modifications to the Pittsburg source grid were made. This resulted in the loss of Helen- the planet has never been found again- and the recentering of the difference field on a high-gravity world with alien single-celled life and an unpleasant atmosphere, which was named Tobias. It became apparent that the topology of the field generated by the collapse of the metastable ³³¹Cn governed the destination of the jump; this field topology was determined both by the shape of the metastable ³³¹Cn core and the shape of the grid it interacted with, and Addison and his brilliant assistant Nicholas Brackspear began to focus on mapping and reproducibly modifying the shape of the difference field. In the course of these researches, several early craft and several lab assistants disappeared without a trace.

In the meantime, successful ‘one destination’ engines were built in Austria, Belgium, Britain, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, the Netherlands, Sweden, and Russia in 1910-1912, and permanent posts were established on the worlds of New Albion, Gilead, Eugenie (nee Thierry), Cornucopia, Amandelmeer and Neupreussen.

The ‘steering problem’ was solved by Erika Zweig at the University of Marburg in 1913, who developed an algorithm for predicting stable configurations of the difference field. She continued to work on shaping the difference field using the interaction of magnetic fields with coronium, while the American group spearheaded by Breakspear followed a path of using multiple cores on a deformable scaffold: both of these gave workable multi-destination difference engines by the end of 1914.

The first grid-independent difference engine, capable of making multiple jumps in succession to different locations, was the USS Asterion, commissioned in November 1915, which under Cdr. Jonathan Oakes in 1916-1917 discovered and claimed almost 100 worlds for the United States, before vanishing.

I have now returned to doing all of the old things I used to do so far as paying attention to the world is concerned, which is terrible, for as it says in the rules of the Discalced Carmelites, news of the wars and treaties of earthly princes is spiritual poison. I shall not reanimate Dr Clam. But lately I have taken to frequenting the websites in foreign parts that I was once used to frequent, where there is much discussion about health care reforms in the Old Country. I am on record as an enthusiastic proponent of universal health care as part of the core business of government, which puts me well outside what is usually considered the ‘right’ in the Old Country. Yet, here I am considered a fire-breathing reactionary in most matters. Is my theory of government merely incoherent and lacking in self-consistency? Or is there a logic to it, not yet clear even to me? I shall have a go at making some assertions that may or may not hang together logically.

1. The business of the state is to defend us, collectively, against external enemies that are too powerful for us to defend ourselves against, individually.

2. Historically the defensive function of the state has always been employed against all four of the horsemen of the Apocalypse, in so far as it was within its power. Consider the story of Joseph and Pharaoh; consider the etymology of the word ‘quarantine’.

3. I think it is fair, if by good fortune or hard work I have more money than my fellow citizen who is on the dole in Arnhem Land, if I can eat out at better restaurants, go on more holidays, order more books from Fishpond, and have a better video card. But, something in me rebels at the suggestion that it is in any way fair that I live longer or be healthier than him.

4. Arthur Koestler has said something which I cannot find on the web exactly, but can be paraphrased: ‘The value of an individual to the state is zero; the value of an individual to himself is infinite.’ A market for a good on which everyone places an infinite value will be the most distorted market imaginable. There is no other good for which I have a stronger natural desire to spend more than my fair share of the national GDP than on ensuring my own survival and the survival of my family. Like other strong natural desires, this one is antisocial unless bridled.

5. The natural tendency of individuals to place an infinite price on their own lives means that a free market for health should be expected to consume an ever-increasing percentage of GDP. This percentage of GDP will be overwhelmingly directed towards those who are able to pay more, so health care will be distributed on the basis of who has the greatest capacity to pay. In times of famine, the governments of responsible nations place restrictions on the free sale of food and introduce some sort of rationing in order that the poorest are not crushed by the market. As far as the market for health care goes, it is always a famine year. Thus it is always necessary for the state or charitable organisations to provide health care for the poorest.

6. It should not be illegal to obtain more or better health care for oneself than society is willing to extend to its poorest members, any more than it should be illegal to climb Ayers Rock. But it is not laudable. It is immoral to obtain more or better health care for oneself than society is willing to extend to its poorest members, just as it is immoral to climb Ayers Rock against the stated preference of its traditional owners.

7. I think those who oppose socialised health care in the Old Country are not so cruel as to think that financial capacity is a proper basis for allocating health care, nor so blind as to imagine that this is not the case. Rather, they do not trust their government. This is all the arguments against the Iraq War boiled down to. It might seem logical to oppose both, on the grounds that the government is a bunch of untrustworthy weasels. Yet, the small number of self-consistent liberatarians who did so must concede that as we must have some form of government, surely it would be better to work towards making that government trustworthy? If our government is animated by principles that we agree with, and displays reasonable competence, than we should trust it with our armies and hospitals; if our government does not share our values and is incompetent, then it will employ both in ways that are pernicious.

I have begun to read 'Green Mars', as Marco was keen for me to throughout the whole of my former incarnation, and I cannot find it just at the moment... I set it down in one of these rooms, but which one? At least, I hope I did not leave it on the bonnet of the car before driving off this morning.



Kim Stanley Robinson rejects the view that there can be such a thing as 'right-wing utopian science fiction':

"I don't think there are opposing utopian schools in sf, as your question suggests, because I don't think there's any such thing possible as a "right-wing utopia." Right-wing politics by definition tries to prevent or reverse change; for it the current feudal regime is already "utopia" so there is no need to think utopia as a project. You have to distort the word "utopia" out of all recognition to make it fit any right-wing book; as for instance, "the world would be great if it were run by a junta and had biological communists to fight forever, so Starship Troopers is a right-wing utopian novel." True maybe, but useless. It has to be acknowledged that the expansion of legal rights to more and more people (women, ethnic minorities, children, the disabled, alternative lifestyles)--that is to say, social progress in history, the utopian track of history--has been a left-wing project and a left-wing accomplishment." [http://www.infinityplus.co.uk/nonfiction/intksr.htm]

This is an odd statement which tells me a lot about the narrow vision of KSR.

To a free marketeer, this 'current feudal regime' is not utopia - the market is born free, but everywhere is in chains, groaning under heavy burdens that prevent it from being the mighty Archangel for eliminating poverty that it can be.

To someone who believe that people should be free to act as they like, speak as they like, and think as they like, this 'current feudal regime' is not utopia - every day there is a new stupid law, and the debate on another topic is declared over.

To a social conservative, this 'current feudal regime' is not utopia - we live beneath the smoke of Auschwitz, in the sprawling new suburbs of the Cities of the Plain. The world is going to Hell in a handbasket.



It is tempting to write not a right-wing utopia, but a sprawling novel of competing right-wing utopian visions wrassling across a vast canvas of space and time.

Luke would not have said he was fond of sums. He would rather do many other things than sums, and usually goes out of his way to put off doing them. But once he is doing them, he always finds himself enjoying the way the numbers line themselves up neatly, first in his head and then on the slate, and likes nothing better than to run straight through and finish them all. If he is interrupted- for whatever reason- he resents the interruption, and finds it a struggle to pull himself away.

'Come here a moment, lad.'

Luke is doing his sums in a corner of the sitting room, and over near the fire his uncle is reading the newspaper and drinking something that smells like medicine. His uncle has set down his newspaper, and when Luke does not come at once, he calls him over again.

'Yes, uncle?'

It is only three in the afternoon, but at this time of the year three is well into the long grey twilight, and Luke and his uncle read or write by the light of an electric bulb.

'It's good for you you've got such a good head for sums, lad,' says Luke's uncle. 'Look here, see the sort of thing a man can do, if he has a good head for sums? Marvellous things. Science.'

Luke's uncle shows Luke a column of text that runs for half the length of the page and reads chunks of it alound, holding the page so that Luke can read ahead of him. The column is about an experiment done by a Dr Addison, in the United States of America, who has made a marvellous apparatus with science. Perhaps the writer of the article does not know exactly what Dr Addision has done. Perhaps Dr Addison himself does not, either. With his apparatus he has made a machine the size of a hatbox disappear at one end of his laboratory and- after a number of machines vanished forever, with a bang and a flash of blue light- reappear at the another. The article talks about electricity, about radioactivity, about the velocity of the aether, about the theories and equations of men with outlandish German names. There is a picture of Dr Addison, a hollow-eyed man of sixty or so with wild white sideburns.

'Interesting, isn't it?'

Luke has only just read to the end, where the writer of an article has made a muddled attempt at explaining the German theories. He finds his tongue. 'Yes, uncle.'

'This is the sort of discovery that can change the world, lad. Turn everything upside down. And its men who are good at sums that can do it.'

Luke stands next to his uncle's chair by the fire, no longer looking at the paper, not knowing what he is thinking, not moving. His uncle picks up his paper again, seems to forget Luke is there, moves on the the news of the South African troubles. The drapes are ajar, and outside Luke can see a narrow slice of the world- grey sky, the leafless grey branches of a tree, grey houses that block the view of the grey sea and the grey hills at the other side of the bay.

'What's the matter, lad?' asks his uncle, just a little impatient, putting down his paper again.

'Nothing, uncle,' says Luke, and returns to his sums in the corner.

. . .

In Luke's nightmare he is prisoner of a man with hollow eyes and wild white sideburns, who has put him in a kind of cage made out of girders. The spaces between the girders are big enough for Luke to climb out, but he does not think to do so. The place is a mad scientist's laboratory, with Van der Graaf generators and glass tubes full of boiling liquid, and the mad scientist rushes from place to place, explaining his theory in a stage American accent. Then he pulls down a large lever on the wall. There is a loud bang, blue fire seethes over the surface of the cage around Luke for an instant, and then there is nothing. Nothing at all.

This is Tua-Pua's nightmare. She is gathering capsicum in a field not far from the village when a man comes to tell her she is to go away. She looks around for his sister and cousins who were gathering with her, but she cannot see them anymore. She cannot see the man's face- it is in shadow, though the sun is high in sky, shining straight down on the rows of beans and capsicum.

She has to go away, to Tiri-Mari of Many Gates, as two girls and two boys from her village have to go away every year. Every year one girl and one boy come back.

Her hands tremble so that she drops her basket of capsicum. The man turns her back on her and walks towards the edge of forest, which is closer than it should be. Tua-Pua follows her, as though she was being pulled by cords, cord drawn by strong men.

The walls of Tiri-Mari reach as tall as a tree, and the men who watch the gates are taller than any men she has seen, their spears bristling with jaciru teeth, their chests and faces marked with tattoos she has never seen before. They do not look at her as she goes past. It is as if she cannot be seen, as if she is a ghost. The man with the shadowed face is not here: Tua-Pua knows he has gone on ahead, to make things ready for her.

None of the many people inside the walls look at Tua-Pua, and the unseen cords draw her on, on, to the hill that stands in the centre of Tiri-Mari- a hill made by men, for all this land is as flat as a sheet of water except where men have made it so. She wants to climb the hill, to look out from the pavilion atop it and see all Tiri-Mari spread out before her like a mat; but the unseen cords are drawing her toward a hole at the bottom of the hill, like the holes the water opposums dig in riverbanks, but big enough for the tall mean at the gates to walk down holding their spears straight by their sides. A piece of the trunk of a tree has been carved into the likeness of something like a man, and this stands above the hole. Something like a man, for it has feathers, and wings, and its eyes are filled with honey. It is an image of Jaru, who is a friendly god, but it is terrifying to Tua-Pua. The honey in its eyes shines brightly in the sunshine- it has taken no time at all to walk to Tiri-Mari- but as it trickles down its face, down its broad chest, it is turning black.

Tua-Pua always wakes up before the cords drag her into the hole; but each time she is drawn a little closer.