The Quantum Magician is the debut sci-fi novel from Derek Künsken. It’s a book nominally about a heist and a con, moving
some impossibly precious things from one place to another without interacting
with the intervening authorities. But it’s also a story about humanity and
transhumanism; about the way people are willing to change themselves or others
to adapt to an environment, and about the costs that are born out of that
decision. It’s about old friendships and new alliances – the trust you can put
into those who have never betrayed you, and in those who have hurt you before. It’s
a human story – well, mostly. One about people, the way they interact with each
other, what they’re willing to do, and what (or who) they’re willing to
compromise to reach their goals. But there’s also a sweeping array of space
battles, and a sprawling universe out there to explore between warhead
splashes.
Belisarius is the centre of the story – part of a
new species of human, one able to make astounding leaps of intellectual analysis
by stepping away from their individuality. Belisarius is charming, thoughtful,
and clearly off the map of standard humanity. He struggles with his own
identity, with the sense of being himself. At the same time, he’s willing to
disperse his consciousness for focus, to obviate the self for the sake of more
mundane goals. There are some allusions to engineered individuals being focused
on the broader concepts of the universe, unwilling to engage with the minutiae,
with individuals who work within a cash economy and are willing to discourage
disagreement through superior firepower. Belisarius isn’t one of these – he
ties up to reality, and seems largely willing to accept its existence, despite
his priorities being elsewhere. Some od that is just a desire to keep his mind
engaged, to escape the cosmic unutterables of the universe and get down and
dirty with the human. Bel is an intriguing creature, one struggling against a
genetically engrained purpose. They are at once an endorsement of the
individuality of consciousness, and a triumph, or warning, of the results of
engineering.
Belisarius, delightful as they are, complex as
they are, struggling, human as they are, is not the only individual on the
page. There are some truly startling post-Sapiens individuals. These include an
individual from the deep pressure divers – built to populate a liquid pressure
environment far higher than normal, and survive, never comfortable, but unable
to return to the world outside – and the Puppets. The puppets are a masterpiece.
A populace created to experience awe under pheremonal cues, a subservient
species of man, They overthrew their masters, not in revulsion to their genetic
goals, but in their service – protecting their living deities by restricting
access, by refusing to obey damaging commands, by taking the personal gods thy
were given and breaking them on the wheel. The Puppets are breathtaking, a
species of man which works within constrains but expands, horrifyingly and
understandably, beyond them.
There are other characters of course. Belisarius
is smart, funny, and can talk people into anything, but that’s the con. He needs people. Puppets.
Doctors. Monsters. Lunatics. Each makes the heart sing and hurt in equal
measure. The individual in a tank, living for speed outside their pressure
boundary, fighting and killing and willing to accept a creed of death before
acquiescence shares a table with an ex-Marine whose enthusiasm for explosives
may be a smidge out of hand. If t hey’re not as much there as Belisarius, still
they carry the full freight of humanity on their shoulders, odd as it may be in
some cases. This is a story about a con, to be sure, and it has the highly
tense emotional weight to prove it, the payoff which rewards you for turning
pages. But it’s a story about people, as well, about the larger unions – how a
client state struggles against colonialism, how it tries to overthrow its
masters – and about the individual, about the self-realisation of our actors.
Admittedly that realisation if often backed by
explosives.
If you’re not here for the imaginatively and
evocatively realised universe, or the compellingly flawed characters that make
up Belisarius’ flawed team of con artists and criminals, you might be here for
the plot, and the wonder. It’s out there, in a larger universe, one of
unexplained, ancient alien artefacts, manipulated by segments of humanity close
enough to be recognisable, and odd enough to be alien. There’s immediate
politics, too, backed by the kind of gunboat diplomacy that gets your attention.
Then there are worlds teeming with the broken, the accepted the outcast, the
strange and wonderful – and the text gives you environs which bring them to
life. It’s a universe tied together by jump points, at least in part sustained
by unutterably ancient and unknowable external actors. It’s an intriguing
world, one which clearly has several further layers out of view, behind the
transhuman cast, the foul-mouthed marines and frantic interstellar battles.
The atmosphere is one of a heist, that thin wire
of tension drawing you from page to page, waiting for each other shoe to drop,
each cunning stratagem to either unfurl or unravel. It’s handled with a stately
precision, revealed to the reader like clockwork, giving us enough room to
guess what’s coming, to hope and wonder and despair – and then to be blindsided
by the result. Con games and heists are always hard to write – one like this, which
comes out pitch perfect, wrapped in a nuanced and striking sci-fi narrative is,
to say the least, a rarity.
In some ways this is a story about a con game –
with segments of meticulous planning, with character analysis, with motivation
a primary factor. In other ways it’s a space opera – with carefully analysed
science, with high stakes and high yield munitions. In other ways it’s a
character study of the ways man can rebuild man, and they way they can react.
In all those ways, this is a book you want to read.
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