World Running Down

by Al Hess

Love is Love

Did you you know that every Angry Robot book has an Easter egg hidden on the copyright page? I love the one they chose for World Running Down. <3

“You can’t stand out here in the sun for hours and dig a four-foot-deep hole for some woman who would have lodged an arrow right through your eyeball without a second’s hesitation. There are too many people in the world to worry about. And salt pirates should be particularly low on that list.” Valentine picked up the shovel and jammed it into the ground, then hefted the dirt behind him. His concern didn’t work that way.

Right away, I wanted to establish the kind of person Valentine is - someone who will stop what he's doing to literally dig you a grave if you need it. Even if you're an enemy. And even if he didn't have anything to do with your death.

“Don’t make fun of Dog Teats. Only bar that sells the mead I like.” It was also the biggest queer community this side of Las Vegas. He knew everyone there; a couch, food, and friends were always available. Unfortunately, the road there was near non-existent, and Ace argued they could pick up work in places more easily accessible.

One of the points in my structural edit letter was "Where are all the gays at?" Though I'd established queer-friendly aspects of Salt Lake City, like non-binary characters, all-gender bathrooms, and access to gender affirming healthcare, there wasn't enough of that coming through onto the page. I had to find a way to make the wasteland MOAR GAY without compromising Valentine's goal of wanting to live in Salt Lake. Dog Teats would be the perfect place for Valentine to settle if not for his ache for top surgery and desire to restart his T. As an aside, I'm still amused that I have a traditionally published book out with a town called Dog Teats.

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his slim billfold and removed a magazine page from within. The edges were creased, and the fold lines had become soft and fuzzy with age. He opened it and smoothed it over his knee, shielding it from the wind. The heaviness in his heart grew as he stared at the spread. A model stood casually, his gaze on something in the distance, like the fact that he had the world’s squarest jaw and a thousand-dollar outfit weren’t worth his time to consider.

When I was a teen, before I had any vocabulary or understanding of what my gender dysphoria was, I was fixated on the idea of shaving my head. I'd seen a commercial on MTV with a woman with a shaved head, and it felt like a public display of permission. If someone else could do that, why not me? But my mother had other ideas and refused to let me shave my head. So I started collecting magazine pages. Models with shaved heads, with undercuts, people who looked androgynous or gender non-conforming. I kept those magazine pages for a long time, but it would be another 20 years and a revisit to that habit of collecting androgynous pictures (this time on Pinterest) until I finally started to realize what it meant about me.

Osric drew in a labored breath. “I’m– I’m not supposed to be in this body.” Valentine tugged Osric’s shirt closed. “Me neither, hon.”

I'm pretty sure these lines landed me my agent. After signing with them, they emphasized how much these two lines establish Valentine and Osric's personalities and their dynamic. For Osric, every breath is a foreign act, a reminder that his current state inside an android body is unnatural and not where he wants to be. And Valentine's first response is to close Osric's shirt to hide his android components from onlookers before mentioning anything about his own struggles. Constantly putting others before himself.

Valentine turned to Osric. “Is there a reason you took off your pants?” “They’re scratchy.”

In his disembodied Steward form, Osric is thoughtful, good-natured, artistic... and believes he's incredibly boring. He's not boring, but his android body lends him a fun layer of quirkiness as he learns to adjust to a physical form. Some things he gets used to. Clothes, not so much.

People perceived Valentine as a woman, like the people in Salt Lake perceived Osric as an android.

A few reviewers have complained that my comparisons between Valentine and Osric's body dysphoria and using android bodies as a lens into the transgender experience is far too heavy-handed. Deciding how blatant to be about something is a difficult balance because there will always be some readers who need things spelled out and other who like more subtlety. I'm autistic, and in my everyday life I struggle with subtext and people beating around the bush or requiring me to infer things. I'm always terrified of misinterpreting something. So in my writing, I tend to lean more toward clear understanding (unless I'm purposely going for subterfuge.)

But the therapist had been understanding and written him a prescription. He’d barely been able to read the rest of the letter while batting away tears of joy.

I don't experience extreme emotion very often, whether that's joy, anger, etc. But getting my prescription to start testosterone was the biggest emotional high I can recall having in many years, I daresay even better than the news of my book deal.

The scales could have tipped to terminate all of us and go back to human and non-sentient AI industry, but instead, they begged the Stewards for help. In exchange, humans gave them the power to govern themselves and make choices at their own discretion. They must run major plans and decisions through a city Concord, which is made up of both humans and Stewards, but the rules are still murky, and things slip through.

There are so many stories out there where A.I. become sentient and try to take over or exterminate the human race. And while I enjoy things like The Matrix and The Terminator, I wanted one where they empathize with each other and learn to work together. There are problems along the way, of course, but nothing they can't talk through and hug out. (Can you hug a giant eyeball?) Maybe I'm too optimistic, but I don't see that as an unlikely future. The working together part, not the hugging giant eyeballs part... though I'm not opposed.

The suit couldn’t give him a sharper jawline or take away the softness of his eyes. It didn’t change anything that was underneath. But he’d been emulsified and poured into a man-shaped mold. He was staring into a mirror, and Valentine was finally staring back.

I think there's an inherent worry in a lot of people that they aren't queer enough. That they aren't trans enough. I get these feelings from time to time and have even had the ridiculous notion that I'm not trans enough to have written this book of trans ache and trans joy. But so many readers have told me how strongly they identify with Valentine, that they've never felt so seen in a book before. Well, reader, you make me feel seen too, and there's comfort in knowing none of us are alone in these feelings and our journeys.

Valentine stepped close to Osric. “What’s this Steward’s name?” “Cordelia. She probably isn’t using the eyes at all, but just in case, don’t look at her if you can help it; she struggles with eye contact.” There were humans who struggled with that too, and Valentine imagined how hard it would be for a Steward with massive eyes to avoid people’s gazes. He quickly pulled his own away. “Do other humans here know that?” Osric smiled. “You’re concerned for her? The ones who use the subway regularly know.”

Cordelia has very little page time, but I've seen people wonder if she is written as neurodiverse because of the eye contact issue. And yes, that was my intention.