"Red Star, Winter Orbit"

The reason I am analyzing “Red Star, Winter Orbit” is because of the two Gibson short stories, this one is less clear to me, perversely enough. Also, I’ve been reading “Neuromancer” on the side, so the literary infusion from Bruce Sterling is a welcome one. I will provide a short summary—if only to clarify my thoughts—and then comment upon the nature of apocalypse as presented in cyber-punk and in the story. Also, I want to explain my choice of source beforehand, since I know it is not usually accepted as an academic source; simply, Wikipedia is the best possible source to explain cyberpunk. It’s essentially an autobiography of the dystopian, information-driven society cyber punk warns us about. And now the essay begins:

The protagonist of the story is Colonel Korolev, a Kazakhstani cosmonaut. He has been in the space station Kosmograd for twenty years, and will remain there for the rest of his life, an explosion having damaged his hip in a way that prevents his return to gravity. The crew finds out the station is to be decommissioned, essentially pronouncing the death of Korolev, the first man on Mars. This incites a strike and then a revolt against the resident KGB officer, Yefremov. In the end, Korolev is alone on the station, waiting for its orbit to decay and destroy them both, until some Americans come to squat there, setting the station back in orbit (Sterling 202-222).

Apocalypse is a frequent theme in cyber punk. More generally, dystopia is a frequent theme in cyber punk (Wikipedia), and an apocalypse certainly isn’t utopian. In “Red Star, Winter Orbit,” the apocalypse is not global, except insofar as Kosmograd is the Colonel’s world. This use of metaphor is certainly appropriate for early cyber-punk; it synthesizes the off-world big technology of cyber-punk’s sci-fi ancestry with the social dilapidation of the new Movement (Sterling x). Apocalypse in the story is, on a more literal level, characterized by the mutiny on Kosmograd, resulting in a crippled station and a very lonely Colonel. However, on a more subtle and uniquely cyber-punk level, apocalypse takes on a new name: obsolescence.

Many cyber-punk stories are set post-apocalypse, or, as is frequently the case in Gibson’s writing, post-apocalypse-that-never-was. “Red Star, Winter Orbit” is unique in that it describes the apocalypse, and it is slow, sad, and unrelenting. The fact that the Americans who arrive did not know Krolev was there is evidence that his crewmates never told his story. The Colonel, arguably the last man in the “world” of the station even before its abandonment, simply fades from existence, old, crippled, and alone, and no one even knew it. Seen in this light, the perennial American adolescence of manifest destiny seems cruel, at best.

An apocalypse is a world-ending event, by definition, but who is to say whose world it ends, or the manner in which it does so? Is it not more sinister, more melancholy, more definitively cyber-punk to allow people to be outdated, living in their own Museum of Triumph, enduring the Apocalypse of the Forsaken? Thus “Red Star, Winter Orbit” reminds us of two things. First, that we must never forget those that came before us. The technology may become outdated, but those who pioneered it do not. Second, that the human machine is one of adaptation. It will rebirth itself in the face of tragedy. Korolev, the old guard, the previous generation, the explorers, will, however unfairly, cease to be, being destroyed or forgotten. But the simple fact that cyber-punk is frequently post-apocalyptic is a sign of morbid hope: just because it’s the apocalypse doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world.