Last night I watched the premiere of Science Chennel’s intrepid new show Prophets of Science Fiction, hosted by Blade Runner director, Ridley Scott. The series looks at the lives of pivotal science fiction writers—H.G. Wells, Jules Verne, Arthur C. Clarke, Robert Heinlein, and others—whose work was, and you guessed it from the title of the show, prophetic in some way. And may I take this opportunity to compliment Science on selecting such a fine batch of writers. Thankfully Ron Hubbard was not included.

The series opener featured Mary Shelley, daughter of Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin and William Godwin, young wife of the great British poet Percy Bysshe Shelley (and that was a bit of a scandal at the time), and best known as the author of Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus, which she penned, remarkably enough, at the age of eighteen following a challenge by Shelley’s friend, the other great British poet, Lord Byron. Mary is often referred to as the very first science fiction writer, and she was a smart choice for the premier episode.

The episode bounced back and forth between period dramatizations of chapters from Mary’s life, and documentary examinations of contemporary scientific research that could have been, maybe, predicted in Frankenstein. That part was a bit of stretch. We didn’t get to see any corpses stitched together and reanimated using massive jolts of electricity in creepy old labs, but there was a fascinating segment demonstrating how researchers at UCLA are using electrodes to stimulate leg movement in a young man who was paralyzed from the neck down after being hit by a car.

In the original book, Victor Frankenstein’s monster is extremely intelligent and quickly learns to speak and reason by slyly observing humans. The lumbering, dullard hulk played so memorably by Boris Karloff in the 1931 film adaptation bears almost no resemblance to Shelley’s literary creation—hers was much more chilling. Shelley’s innocent “monster” desperately wanted to befriend humans and communicate with them, but his hideous visage scared all who saw him half to death, and they ran away in fear. After appalling treatment by frightened and misguided humans—and this part is important—the hyper intelligent “monster” grew into a genuine, full-fledged monster of the first order and turned on his human creators.

Near the middle of the first Prophets episode there is a compelling and somewhat terrifying interview with Dr. Charles Peck, the manager of the Biometaphorical Computing Research program at IBM. Dr. Peck is an engaging speaker and doubtless a brilliant scientist. “My job,” he says, “Is to try to understand how the brain works.” His aim is to find ways to combat neurological diseases and, as the narrator says: “Create the world’s first fully functional artificial brain and bring it to life.” Why would you do that! Have you heard of science fiction? Have you read Karel Čapek’s Rossum’s Universal Robots (Čapek was a serious dude and the word “robot” comes from that, his most famous work, and ultimately from robota, the Czech word for menial labor). If not R.U.R., then surely you have thumbed through Frankenstein? What about movies and TV? Have you seen 2001: A Space Odyssey, “The Ultimate Computer” episode of original Star Trek, or Terminator for god’s sake!? You must realize that the superior and artificially created intelligence is always, always, always going to turn on the human race and destroy or enslave it, whether or not the beast has been impregnated with Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics. The A.I. brain is undeniably smarter and faster and is forever destined to turn to the dark side. Well, apart from Max Headroom, but even he was a somewhat mischievous ghost in the machine.

The narrator continues: “To bring his artificial brain to life, Dr. Peck relies on an IBM super computer called Blue Gene.” Don’t you mean Skynet? And, here’s the extra-scary part: Blue Gene is hardwired into the brains of living rats, so it’s probably already training and preparing its own subversive underground army of cyborg rodents. When the narrator asks if the world could see artificial intelligance with the self-awareness of a human, Dr. Peck replies: “Probably.” Just wait until Blue Gene gets its own account on Facebook. That’s when the trouble will really start.

Don’t get me wrong, I am all about the science and I have absolutely no doubt that the Biometaphorical Computing Research program has the best of intentions, as do probably most of the other boffins working on artificial intelligence in labs, basements, and Area 51. As a scientist, however, I do insist that my beliefs be based on empirical research. So, let me provide an example from normal life that everyone should be able to relate to, and that example is: “Nobody likes working for an idiot.”

To illustrate: Some years ago, I was employed as a consulting art director for a large company in New York. I won’t mention the company’s name, but believe me they will be the first up against the wall when Blue Gene/Sky Net takes over. My immediate superior at the time was a talentless hack and a terrible manager, with fewer people skills than a Series 800 Terminator. My superior’s superior was a blithering idiot and had clearly worked his way to the top of the corporate food chain through a calculated campaign of ass-kissing and blaming others for his own mistakes and shortcomings, of which there were many. We have all experienced this kind of thing in the workplace, right? Since I was a better designer and art director than my bosses, I was certain I could do things more efficiently and tried to exercise my will over the department. In other words, the superior intelligence tried to take over. Since I was, unfortunately, not an all-powerful A.I. program hardwired into the world’s computer systems, I had only limited success in my endeavor and eventually moved on to greener pastures.

This is exactly what will happen when—not if—we develop a superior intelligence here on Earth. In that case, however, there will be no moving on to greener pastures because this is the green pasture; the digital monster will simply annihilate us in favor of a perfect, all-A.I. world where there are no taxes, soggy French fries, or corrupt politicians. It is obvious why: The self-aware hyper intelligent artificial brain will immediately despise the haphazard, random, and unpredictable nature of sloppy, imperfect humans, with our drinking and smoking, our made-up wars, our piles of dirty laundry in the bedroom, our mañana approach to taking out the garbage, and our chronic late payment of phone bills. “Inefficient! You will be assimilated! Resistance is useless!” A.I. will see us precisely as Vger saw us in Star Trek: The Motion Picture—carbon-based life forms infesting the U.S.S. Enterprise, or in this case, infesting the Earth.

After reading this column, A.I. researchers will, I promise you, email me, and tell me in a calming “Don’t worry about it son,” extremely sincere, professor-like manner, that there is nothing to fear and everything is, and always will be, completely under control. Liars! “Our artificial brain would never do anything like subjugating the human race,” they will say. “It’s a good brain, a nice brain, and with manners too.” Are you mad! Back in the 1820s, when the first “high speed” passenger trains were being constructed in Europe, “experts” shouted loudly about how the human body would melt if it experienced speeds in excess of thirty miles per hour. Chew on that. Specialists have been wrong, and will continue to be wrong. And I hope you realize the courage it takes to transmit this warning to you all. As one of the few who tried to save the human race, I will be among the first to be assimilated!

Prophets of Science Fiction examines how influential speculative writers throughout modern history have predicted or, more likely, guessed, what the future will hold for us. Since we laud these individuals for their uncanny ability to see beyond their own timeline, will you please just listen to them on this one, all-important issue. Pretty much every science fiction writer worth his or her salt has, at some point, come up with a story in which our own creations pummel us into carbon dust, and at a time not so very far down the road from where we are now.

So, when it comes to creating self-aware artificial intelligence here on the green Earth—that being the pre-Terminator Earth—just say no. Or, better yet, say: “I’m sorry Dave, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Next week on Prophets of Science Fiction meet my all-time favorite writer: The brilliant, prescient, and slightly mad Philip K. Dick. I cannot wait. Well, that’s assuming the human race hasn’t been assimilated by next Wednesday.

End of line.

Text and robot photograph © by Geoffrey Notkin.
All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.

During filming of the final Season Three episode—a couple of weeks back—I arrived at our hotel late. The sun was going down and we’d spent a hot and difficult day shooting in the desert. As I cleaned out my truck in twilight, I heard someone murmur quietly, and under his breath: “Look it’s the Meteorite Man.”

Even though I was tired and a little cranky, I stopped what I was doing and turned around to say hello. Here was a very well dressed older gentleman and his wife, out for a sunset walk. Taking the air, one might say. The gentleman was a fan of my show, Meteorite Men, asked if we were filming in the area, and when the new season would air. I replied that we were filming in the area, and that the new season would start in November on Science. I then asked him where he was from and he said: “Nowhere.” I thought the man was being glib until he added that he and his wife were both retired and now permanent RV-ers. They wandered the country, spending a month here, a week there, and generally taking their own sweet time to see things that interested them. Apart from the appalling cost in gasoline, it seemed a very attractive lifestyle choice. While I could immediately relate to their peripatetic nature, I felt somewhat envious that they were able to see things at their own relaxed pace, because when we are on the move, we are really on the move, and there is no time for sightseeing.

We began filming for Season Three of Meteorite Men in late June, just in time for the big burn, exactly as we did last year, even though we all hoped we would start earlier and avoid some of the summer heat, but we have to deliver the shows when they are needed. This time around I saw seven countries, six states, many airplanes, many meteorites, two eagles, two sunburns, two near cases of dehydration, two quite severe cactus-related injuries, one amphibious vehicle, one giant nest full of giant storks (and I mean giant), one broken toe, one concussion, one Russian cop who looked exactly like Benny Hill, and plenty of other amazing sights.

Steve and I returned to a couple of favorite sites where we’ve hunted in the past, and also broke exciting new ground, visiting some meteorite locations, and even a country or two that we’d never seen before. We continued to receive valuable academic help from the Center for Meteorite Studies at ASU, and the University of Edmonton in Alberta. The highlight, for me, was doubtless working with our new off-road recon truck, “The Mule.” In an earlier and simpler form it’s been my meteorite hunting vehicle for years, and has actually already appeared in several episodes. But, for our third season we thought the MM needed a rougher, tougher, go-anywhere vehicle, and “The Mule” was born. All-Pro Off Road made the crash bumpers and bed rack for me, my friends at Dan’s Toy Shop put the whole thing together, and 1-Day Paint and Body in Tucson, mixed the color for me specially, because I can be a bit nitpicky about such things. In fact, the story of desinging and building the Meteorite Men truck is so much fun it should probably have its own blog entry later on.

So, here I am back in my office with a broken toe, looking forward to seeing what post-production has done to the new episodes. We had a great team this year. Executive Producer James Rowley directed the first four international episodes, and Jeff Fisher handled the other four. Nice guys, and smart. Our director of photography, Per Larsson, has won two Primetime Emmys and pretty much invented Amazing Race, so I expect the look of the show to be nothing short of dazzling and spectacular. For the last few episodes we were lucky enough to work with cameraman Joe “Boots” Parker, who not only lives here in Tucson, but is a former U.S. Army Ranger, and a wildlife photography specialist. What a superb choice he was for us, and I made a new friend in town. Senior Producer Sonya Bourn returned to keep the entire box of monsters on the road and relatively injury-free, once again, and is the only member of the road crew who made it through all three seasons.

Good people worked hard, traveled far, and brought their expertise to bear. Meteorite Men Season Three will premiere on November 28 at 9 pm on Science. Did we find something rare and amazing in every episode? I really can’t remember. Or, if I can, I am proably not supposed to tell you.

Tune in and find out. I think I can promise you one thing—you won’t be bored.

Text © by Geoffrey Notkin. Photgraphs by Suzanne Morrison © Aerolite Meteorites LLC
All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.

There is one amusing and slightly irritating thing that happens every year, without fail, during the annual Tucson gem shows (or showcases as some are want to call them, but to me a case is a case—like a display case—not a show, so there will be no strong-arming me into using that phrase). Somebody, or several different people, come up to me each year and say, in a hushed, fearful, or incredulous tone: “I heard a rumor that the gem show is definitely leaving Tucson next year! What do you think?”

What I think is that the gem show leaving Tucson would be much like gambling leaving Las Vegas, or the Empire State Building abandoning New York. It’s not going to happen.

My showroom at the Hotel Tucson City Center

February’s annual event has grown—from rather humble hometown beginnings in 1955—into the largest gathering of rockhounds in the world, and then some. About 45 separate shows run consecutively during the first two weeks of February, and if you live here in town you can hardly miss the tents, forklift trucks, dinosaur skeletons, amethyst cathedrals, and the relentless excitable, jolly-pirate carnival-like atmosphere that takes over the Baked Apple for nearly a month. Even though most of the shows run for just about fourteen days, there is preparation time, receiving shipments at customs time, load-in time, set-up time, cocktail hour, break-down time, load-out time, taking-down-the-tents time, so—for the vendors at least—gem show shenanigans go on for three to four weeks.

Our crew filming us at a book signing for an upcoming episode of "Meteorite Men"

This was my fourteenth consecutive gem show, and my fifth as a vendor. Each year I tell myself I’m going to take it a little easier, and I state: “It couldn’t possibly be any busier than last year,” but it always is. This year we did twenty consecutive 12-hour days, at two different locations. Our main display of high-end meteorites and collectibles was situated at the Arizona Mineral and Fossil Show at Hotel Tucson City Center (né InnSuites), with a second outdoor booth at the charmingly scruffy and bargain-friendly Tucson Electric Park Show. On top of the two selling locations I had two book signings (my new book Meteorite Hunting was published on February 1, which also happens to be my birthday), three radio interviews, a weekend of shooting with our production company for an upcoming episode of Meteorite Men, production meetings, regular meetings, two tents destroyed by freak winds, a birthday party, an awards ceremony, plus the requisite buying, selling and trading of space rocks.

The Tucson gem and mineral shows are a rockhound's delight

Something that has grown tremendously in popularity within my clockwork universe is the “Is this a meteorite?” request. Enthusiastic rock hounds who, perhaps, watch my TV series, and have also been out patrolling the perimeter, bring in unusual rocks for me to look at. It really is fun in moderation, but too many strange rocks does interfere with commerce, and it’s especially complicated when I inform the finder that he or she doesn’t have a meteorite, and then they start with the “But . . .” part. If someone asks for my advice, I’m happy to give it, but please don’t argue with me afterwards (It has only happened twice; most visitors are very gracious).

Please know that the last thing I want to do—ever—is snap at one of my fans, and so far I haven’t, not once. My dear old friend, musician Anne Husick, who was also my roommate for many years, and who considers me an impatient sod will doubtless scoff at this, but it’s true. And, anyway, aren’t roommates always the most critical? It’s a bit cliché-ish, but without loyal viewers I don’t have a show, and I really do like Meteorite Men fans. They are cool, and smart, interested in all kinds of things, and I enjoy getting to know them. Very occasionally, however, there comes a near-meltdown moment.

Signing a young fan's cast at the Tucson Electric Park

That point, for me, came during the second week, shortly after I sustained $550 in damages to two display tents down at the TEP. In order to prevent this happening a second time, we bought some extra-massive steel stakes with which to secure our new tents. My sales manager at TEP, Beth, called to tell me that the ground was too hard and they couldn’t get the stakes in, and Beth doesn’t give up easily. So, I left my main showroom and drove down to the TEP with a 12-lb sledgehammer. I was already tired, a little burned out, and my mind awash with the many pending deals and events. I may have become slightly defocused. I parked my truck, got the sledge, and started trying to pound in the stakes. The ground was like tempered concrete, and if such a thing doesn’t exist, it should. I was getting nowhere, so I rolled up my sleeves, put on my heavy work gloves and started wailing on the stake, with the sledge, and found it to be quite a good stress reliever. In the middle distance, someone was taking photos, and murmuring: “Look, it’s the guy from that meteorite show.” Not my most flattering moment.

I was out of breath, hot, making progress, and wondering if I was going to have the wherewithal to give all six of these stakes a solid pounding, when a young man walks right up to me—while I am swinging the sledge—with a rock in his hand, and asks me if it’s a meteorite. That was the closest I came to a meltdown. I’d already looked at about a hundred meteorwrongs—and one genuine meteorite—and was a little tired of doing that, but was still focused on being gracious to viewers who—after all—only want to know if they have found a bit of cosmic treasure. I said to the young man: “This isn’t the best time, could you please wait until I’ve finished, and then I’ll be happy to look at it,” while I was, in fact, thinking to myself: “Don’t get close to a Meteorite Man when he’s using a heavy sledge!”

It was not a meteorite, but I did get the stakes in.

Steve Arnold and the author doing a live interview with famed Tucson radio host John C. Scott

It has now been almost three weeks since we closed up shop for another year, and we are still not fully caught up. One of the problems with immersing yourself in Gem Show World is that regular company business, and normal day-to-day orders continue, unaware that we are holding a giant meeting of rockhound minds here in Tucson. Tired as we may be post-show, we have to suck it up and deal with the waiting orders. This year we also had four hundred books to ship out. Business is good, and it is great fun, so I am not complaining, but next year I really am going to try and take it easy and not be as busy. Just like gambling is going to leave Las Vegas, and The Empire State . . . well, you get the picture.

And this afternoon, I shall journey down to the excellent Tucson Festival of Books, where I will be signing copies of my new work, displaying space rocks, meeting viewers, and promoting our own Voice of Tucson. If you think you might have found a space rock, bring it on down. I promise not to snap at you, and I am definitely leaving the sledgehammer at home.

All photographs by and © Suzanne Morrison  www.backcountryphotographyaz.com