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A Truth Beyond Full – an interview with author Rosie Oliver

Rosie and I were in the same BSFA writing group, so it was with delight to hear that the book she had been writing back then has now been published by the much-acclaimed publisher Elsewhen Press. Elsewhen Press – delivering outstanding new talents in speculative fiction. Of course, I immediately grabbed the opportunity for this interview. She is certainly an author watch out for. Incidentally, I absolutely love this book, which is based on Uranus's moon 'Miranda'.

 

About Rosie Oliver:

Rosie has been in love with science fiction ever since she discovered a whole bookcase of yellow-covered Gollancz science fiction books in Chesterfield (UK) library. She was very disappointed when she read the last of those novels. Her only option then was to write science fiction herself, which is what she did after gaining two Masters degrees in mathematics - and a career in aeronautical turned systems engineering. To help her along the way, she gained an MA in Creative Writing from Bath Spa University, where her course novel was shortlisted for the Janklow and Nesbit prize as the most promising novel on the course.

 

Hi Rosie, I have a couple of questions that I’m sure will interest our readers. The first is on the interesting premise of a miner who’s injured deciding to become a priest. What led you to that?

The Priesthood has quite a few purposes on Miranda. One of them, like a lot of religions , is to help people in trouble. Priest Kylone, as he became, came into contact with the Priesthood because he believed he caused the mining accident that killed his fiancée and needed their help to recover. They, in particular, Priest Patricianna, helped him get over most of his guilt and the grief of the horrific event. 

Even though he has substantially recovered he cannot face going back down the mines to his old job. In fact, Chynoweth Corporation who run the mines also run most of the support services, such as farming. The further he can get away from them, the happier he feels. Finding somewhere to work off Miranda is also difficult because most places - even the nearby inhabited Uranian moons like Oberon and Titania - have a noticeably higher gravity, which would make working conditions unbearable for Kylone. The Priesthood is one of the very few Mirandan societal organisations that are truly independent on Miranda. In one sense it’s an obvious choice. 

 

What are these priests’ beliefs?

A lot of successful religions improve survivability and living standards. The Priesthood has made it their main aim for people in this unique environment, and there are many ways this can be achieved.

For instance, they believe in speaking the truth, no matter what the personal cost is. This trait has developed out of the need for survival of the society where they learned that speaking the truth gets things done more quickly and correctly, which is particularly useful in emergencies. But the Priesthood also understand the varying degrees of truth that range from a purely personal view to a cosmic global fact; which, shall we say, makes life interesting for their deep thinkers.

Another instance is the Priesthood understand that people on occasion have the need to escape the horrors of their reality. That is why they built the Chapel away from the living and work places, and in particular made it look very different from them. It is a place of sanctuary for those that need it. 

These kinds of things are instinctive to Miranda’s population, which is why they are never explained in A Truth Beyond Full. I hope I have shown some of these facets in action.

 

If one of these priests were to describe you the author, what would he or she say?

Rosie is of typical Earth physique for living in the developed world at the start of the third millennium AD. She is quite capable of solving problems by deep logical analysis or intuitive lateral thinking. However, she finds the latter far more interesting, which is why she enjoys answering the ‘what if?’ questions of science fiction. As for getting on with other people, she sometimes finds them puzzling and inexplicable, a common curse of fairly intelligent people.

 

What is the tangible reward for the miners?

Like those of any miners in the Solar System – money, to be able to import goods to live on: food, medication, engineering goods, housing materials, energy, fuel, and so on. Given that Mirandans are stuck in low gravity, there aren’t many places they can go to get away from the moon, so they have to make the best of it they can. 

 

Are all the miners religious, given the importance of this priesthood?

To give you a quote from towards the end of chapter 3, ‘about a tenth of the 150,000 (Mirandan) population are non-fervents’ - fervents being those who believe in the truth the Priesthood are disseminating. Given that the Priesthood are improving the odds of survival on Miranda, this seems a reasonable percentage. There will always be some who feel they cannot follow a religion for whatever reason in any society. To pretend otherwise would be foolish. 

The Priesthood religion is based on Miranda for its inhabitants, because it is focussed on dealing with the odd Mirandan environment. Let me give you an example. The temperature on that moon is right for liquid oxygen and silane. Given also that Miranda suffers from gravitational tides which can warm up parts of its icy structure, both these can escape as gas. If these meet you can get spontaneous combustion - yes, real fire! This is similar to the mechanism on Earth where oxygen combines with escaped methane, which can cause spontaneous combustion. 


Blurb:

Miranda, an ice and rock moon of Uranus, has been a thriving mining colony. But recently there has been a rise in fatal accidents. Kylone has an ability to extrapolate patterns behind a rock face to determine where and how to dig. When his

fiancée died in another accident, he blamed himself and his ability. A wreck and no longer able to mine, he became a priest with limited duties in the locally developed Priesthood. Assigned to officiate at a hero miner’s funeral, the widow asks Kylone to investigate the spate of accidents and, along with some help from an unexpected source, he starts to suspect that they may have a more sinister cause, a suspicion which puts his own life in danger.

 

Excerpt:

Light footsteps follow him into the alleyway. “Well, I’ll be damned,” a woman says from behind. “I never expected to see you back here.”

He needs a moment to identify the voice: it has become raspier and deeper since he had heard it ten years ago. Their last meeting flashes through his mind: she tells him Selma was one of the lucky ones to die instantaneously; this gives him no comfort; some crew members must have died slowly, crushed by the weight of the avalanche and in pain. He prays they are all now at peace and for his inner calm to return. He puts on his priestly smile and turns. “Likewise, Meriel.”

Her outline against the street’s blue light shows up her sagging shoulders and her closely cropped chestnut hair has turned grey. Shock at her rapid aging freezes him momentarily. That disaster must have taken more of a toll on her than he realised. 

“It’s good to see you again,” he continues. “Want to join me for a drink?” He remembers the advice the Archdeacon gave to him on the balcony. “The only thing I ask is that we don’t talk about the avalanche. Or my talent. I’m not up to it.”

She shakes her head. “You really should stop blaming yourself. Others don’t. I don’t. But, as you wish, that is all I will say on both matters.”

Kylone’s muscles relax and his smile morphs from the priestly to the genuine. “Thank you. Shall we?”

“Absolutely.”

The noise steps up as they pass through the door: laughter is staccato; chatter is clipped in short syllables; and glasses jangle. It is warm and smells of too much wine and beer. They stop to search for somewhere to sit.

A two-and-half-metre high central column with glowing shelves dominates the room. Every other shelf displays antique

liquor bottles from Earth guarded by glass. Others are crammed with modern liquor flasks of all shapes, sizes and colours. Evenly spaced spigots are fixed to a shoulder-high ledge.

A bar, comprising glittering counter and front, circles the column. A circular disk is both a roof to the bar and a platform used when required for entertainment and speakers. A metre high ring fence of the same material as the bar, except translucent, crowns the whole edifice. Two gangways exit on opposite sides of the platform, cross above the floor and cut into the Grand Circle, a large balcony sloping down from the wall. Above this is the Upper Circle, a smaller balcony sloping down at a greater angle from the room’s roof as it curves in over the column.

They stroll past staircases to either side that curl up to the back of the Grand Circle and step down onto the first of five tiers that go round the room. Each tier is filled with semi-circular tables and settees facing the bar. Many are occupied with people chatting, giggling or glumly looking into their drinks. Waiters beetle between the bar and the tables with the barkeeps working hard to pour the drinks, and cover their glasses with plasma sheets to stop spilling that is too easy in Miranda’s gravity.

The roominess without being inside a spacesuit is a rarity. Kylone wants to stretch, laugh and run. His ingrained discipline stops him. Instead, he luxuriates in this atmosphere of freedom.

“Whoever came up with the idea of using our Council chamber as a bar in the evenings was a genius,” Meriel shouts to make herself heard.

“Agreed.”

With the council being Miranda’s parliament where the constituencies comprise work groups, they needed the huge space for when they have full meetings. Any High Priest, mining crew captain, farm manager, data controller keeping vital supplies flowing, or service provider making a major difference to society – such as doctors, head teachers and coroners – can sit on the council. 

A waiter walks up to them. “Good evening patrons. A table for two?”

“Please,” Kylone replies. “As quiet a one as you can manage.”

“This way.” He leads them down the tiers, a third of the way round the bar past the first tier tables labelled as reserved for the launch toast and up to the third tier at the back of the room.

It becomes quieter as they sit down on the alcoved settee. They order their drinks via the table menu. 

“What’s brought you here?” Meriel asks.

“Questions. Too many of them. Like why are there so many launch toasts these days?” He glances back at the first tier’s

reserved tables. Alva stands beside the launch party tables talking with a strong-looking blond miner. Kylone is thankful she has not noticed him.

“Lots of us ask the same question,” Meriel says. “The ore seams aren’t as long, wide or load-bearing these days. We’re getting edgy about that lack of mining opportunities. That and…”

“And?”

“There’s a general feeling that things have changed down the mines.”

This supports Dirk’s analysis, but she may have more insights. “Oh?”

“Little things that change so slowly that only people my age notice them. We’ve noticed children aren’t saving up for their own place as quickly as my generation did. My youngest, Vince, is still at home. More are turning to the Priests for help. The congregations are gradually getting larger. At least you chose a good profession to go into. What else can I say? Life is just that bit tougher all round these days.”

The wrinkles on her face may not be from rapid aging, but continuous worry. 

“How’re you coping?”

“I get by as a scavie.”

He is shocked at her fall in status and income. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. There’s no responsibility and it’s easy work guiding the shovels to push the debris away.”

“Even so.”

“I still have an eye for useful scrapings. I pick up enough to sell for extra money to make me comfortable.”

The slight quake in her voice suggests otherwise, but he has to take her word as truth. “If you ever need help, you know where to find me.” 

She smiles. “You always were the thoughtful one. The Priesthood seems to suit you.”

“You stole my contract, Miner Cris,” comes a slurred shout from the floor below.

The room falls silent.

A miner stands up from the table in front of the accuser; the same one Alva sits at. “I can assure you, Miner Torvald,” Cris

replies, “I won the contract fair and square within the published rules.”

“By space and ice, you lie. You jumped the queue.”

“I did not. I was called in.”

Torvald turns to Alva. “Please excuse my interruption. Business, you understand.” He delivers a right hook towards the miner’s chest.

Cris blocks it, but not the upward left fist, which punches his lower chest to throw him past the Grand Circle towards the roof. He swings his arms to reach out to a gangway as he floats down rather than drops thanks to the weak gravity. 

 

There have been a couple of articles about the A Truth Beyond Full in the press. To view them, click on the links below: https://www.digitalcameraworld.com/news/nasa-photo-inspires-engineer-to-create-mining-colony-on-moon-of-uranus-just-38-years-and-16-billion-miles-later Image accreditation: zelario12, CC BY-SA 2.0

 

 

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