The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2019

by John Joseph Adams

  3cry called to Robot. “Come here! Above to below!”

  Robot modeled several scenarios and settled on one that would knock the hawk out of the updraft without causing any health risks to the bird. Communicating with the crows was important, but the health of living beings was paramount. Coming down gently on the hawk’s back, Robot pushed lightly, keeping up with the bird’s speed while also altering its course. The hawk let out an incomprehensible scream and dove, escaping the crows by heading across the Mississippi.

  “Out of here!”

  “Go!”

  “End group!”

  Four crows followed after the hawk, but the rest of the corvids scattered. Robot flew back toward Jalebi’s building, modeling possible new words by correlating matching sounds from different birds. 3cry followed close behind.

  “I’m here! 3cry! Female! You are here!”

  Robot predicted that 3cry was asking for its name and gender. It replied using crow words, then switched to a human word for Robot. It did not yet know the word for nongendered in crow language, so it did not offer a designation. 3cry flew silently for a while. They landed on the building and looked at the horizon.

  Robot offered a friendly greeting in crow language. “Afternoon time.”

  “Enemy gone. Robot is here.” 3cry pronounced its name perfectly. “Human sound.”

  Robot searched for the right words from its limited vocabulary. “Humans are here. With my group.”

  3cry cleaned her right wing, chewed on a mite, and cocked her head at Robot. “Humans are not a group. They can’t speak. They reject food.”

  “They speak with other sounds.” Robot’s vocabulary was growing bigger the more they talked. “They eat other food.”

  3cry made a soft clucking noise that meant the same thing as human laughter. “You are a fool.”

  Robot predicted that assent was the best response. “Yes, I am.”

  “Yes, you are.” 3cry leaned over and gently poked a bit of dirt from the edge of Robot’s mouth.

  Robot plucked a broken feather off 3cry’s back.

  When they cleaned each other, it was like when a human smiled at Robot and Robot smiled back.

  3cry and Robot became what the crows called a group, which meant that they flew together during the day. They met in the mornings, on the ledge, after Robot’s daily attempt to reach the CDC. Robot didn’t need food, but it was good at identifying potential sources of sustenance for 3cry. “Food here!” it would say, hovering over a fragrant bin. After scavenging with 3cry through city waste, it was easy to understand why she thought humans rejected food and were therefore basically nonsentient.

  Over weeks their conversations became more complex, but many concepts defied translation. Robot still didn’t understand the crows’ unit of measurement for distances. And 3cry didn’t understand Robot’s interest in health. From what Robot could discover, crows understood the concepts of death and near-death but didn’t talk about disease specifically. Disease was one of many ideas that could be described with the word near-death, which also happened to be a pun on the word for unripe food. Many crow words were puns, which made translation even more difficult.

  For conversations about health, Robot relied more and more on Jalebi. She had figured out that it was roosting with 3cry on the ledge near her habitat, and came to visit for what she called “study sessions.” Using text devices, she gathered data very slowly, then synthesized it even more slowly. Robot spent hours quizzing Jalebi about molecular structures and chemical interactions, marveling at the concept of a mind that came online without this information. Still, Robot liked to have a human face to mirror its own expressions. It felt unquantifiably more satisfying to smile at a human than it did to smile at its own internal representation of a human. After so long in the company of 3cry and Jalebi, Robot began to question what exactly that internal representation might really be. Maybe it wasn’t a human at all. Maybe it was a self-representation, and Robot had been smiling at itself all along.

  Usually when Jalebi came to the ledge with her textbooks, 3cry left with a string of curses. These weren’t necessarily hostile—crows liked to insult each other, and often did it with great affection. Mostly they thought it was hilarious that humans couldn’t understand words. So crows rained their most creative snark on human heads, marveling at how oblivious they were to the humiliations they suffered from the beaks of people lying overhead. But one afternoon 3cry arrived during their study session and did not fly away.

  Jalebi was musing about something she’d learned in a recent lesson about atomic structure. “What if it turns out we really are spreading cancer to each other on a quantum level?” she asked.

  “Human squawking!” 3cry yelled. “Shit and plastic! Featherless fool!”

  Robot decided to ignore the insults. “Afternoon time,” it said pleasantly. “Human here! Jalebi! Part of the group.”

  “Group does not include living sandwiches.” 3cry laughed.

  Jalebi watched, wide-eyed. “Can you speak crow language?”

  “A little,” Robot said. “My vocabulary is small, but I can say a few things. This is 3cry. She’s . . . my friend.” As it said the word, Robot realized it was true. Thanks to Bey’s social programming, it knew that groups were statistically likely to be made up of friends or kin. Since Robots have no kin, that meant Jalebi was a friend too.

  Jalebi tried to make the sound of 3cry’s name and the bird ignored it.

  “I found something you like, Robot. Near-death. All over a human tree.”

  “She said your name perfectly! I read that crows can imitate words, but I’d never heard it before!”

  3cry glanced at Jalebi, then at Robot. “Annoying Jalebi.”

  “She said my name too! That’s so cool!”

  But Robot wasn’t paying attention to the interesting language data points. It predicted 3cry had found a disease outbreak, and that took precedence over all other inputs.

  “I have to go,” it said to Jalebi. To 3cry, it added, “Take me there.”

  Robot followed 3cry in a southeasterly direction, eventually alighting at the top of a building on Missouri Street. Like Jalebi’s home, this building was partly open to the air. Its layout suggested that it might have been a public building like the CDC; there were long hallways lined with small rooms like offices. Water sources were isolated in a few areas, unlike in a typical habitat, where water welled up in multiple rooms. But it was definitely a human habitat now, with soft bedding and buckets for water and data access points made from cans. As they flew down a stairwell, Robot tried to estimate the population of the building based on noise, heat, and live wires. It settled on a 75 percent probability of fifty humans on each upper floor, with populations growing as they descended.

  “Here!” 3cry landed on a railing in front of a door marked 2, for second floor. “Near-death!”

  “Thank you.”

  “End group,” 3cry said, taking to the air. The phrase was one way crows said goodbye.

  “Until morning,” Robot replied, already using a gripper to tug the door open.

  The corridor was full of light from scratched windows along the left-hand side, illuminating dozens of doors to habitats that were once something else. Classrooms? Offices? Consulting rooms? Robot flew slowly past them, modeling possibilities and looking for humans. The fourth door was propped open, and several humans were inside. Their breathing was labored, and one was crying. Something had knocked out the walls between rooms, creating a wide-open space full of cloth dwellings, plush bedding, and piles of bright plastic containers.

  It was time to land. Humans didn’t like it when Robot flew overhead, and besides, the face and legs were part of what made it seem so friendly. Walking over to one of the humans wrapped in blankets, Robot smiled and waved a tiny gripper in greeting.

  Patchy black hair covered the human’s head, and cracks had formed in the lips that didn’t smile. With no baseline language established, Robot estimated that it should try
the dialect spoken in Jalebi’s building. “I’m a friend who is worried about your health! Can you cough into a tissue for me?” The human stared at Robot’s face and blinked before succumbing to a coughing fit. For Robot, it didn’t matter whether the coughs were intentional or not. It took a sample and moved on to the next human.

  “Hello!” Robot said to the juvenile, who was using a mobile device to access the Internet.

  “Are you a cop?” The juvenile used a sociolect of English that was common in East St. Louis.

  “I’m a friend who checks to make sure you are healthy! I share information with doctors, not police.” The human frowned and Robot made a sad face. “A lot of people here are sick. I would like to help.”

  “Nobody is going to help, stupid drone. Hospital for citizens only, yeah?”

  “Please cough into the tissue, so I can figure out why you are sick.”

  Another human spoke up, head emerging from a cloth shelter. “What are you going to do about it?”

  Robot stood still for several microseconds, modeling possibilities and considering what language would be the most soothing. “I am going to find out what is causing your illness. This is an emergency. I will find help. I promise. Please cough into the tissue.”

  One by one, the humans complied. Robot flew from room to room, checking for disease. After sequencing several samples, it found the same virus strain in multiple humans. This met the definition of an outbreak. It was time to call Bey.

  “Is that you, Robot? I can’t believe you’re still running! It’s been . . . what? Over a year?”

  “Something really bad is happening in East St. Louis,” Robot said, deploying the exact words Bey had used to delineate when it would be appropriate to call her. “There is an outbreak. I need to send you data.”

  “Do you have sequence? Maybe I can . . .” Robot heard background noise, as if Bey were moving something on her desk. “Can you send it as an anonymous dump to this address?” She sent the directions to a temporary storage cloud, and Robot deposited data from 127 samples it had taken from humans in the building.

  “We have a system for anonymous reporting, part of this new Amazon Health philanthropy project.” Bey paused. “Got it! Let me analyze this really fast and see if it’s more than just a garden-variety . . . oh shit.”

  Robot predicted that she was not saying shit for the same reason 3cry did. “What is it?” Robot asked, putting on a fearful expression for itself.

  “This is really bad, like you said. We need to get someone in there. Unfortunately, Illinois doesn’t have a state health department. Maybe there’s a local group or . . .” Bey was typing. “Okay, Robot, I found something. There’s a nonprofit health collective in East St. Louis called Community Immunity. They could probably manufacture vaccines and a therapy. It’s a known pathogen but hasn’t ever been spotted in the Midwest before. So all they need is this file.” Bey sent a small amount of data. “Do you have anyone who can help you? You might need a human. Sometimes people are hostile to drones, even cute ones.”

  Two hours later Robot was describing the situation to Jalebi. It was evening, and 3cry was likely sleeping with other members of her group. But Jalebi was wide awake and extremely agitated. “You’re talking about that health collective on MLK Drive! I’ve seen it!”

  Robot nodded, smiling. “Can we go there now?”

  Jalebi glanced toward the door to her habitat. “Yeah. My mom won’t be home until morning anyway.”

  Community Immunity was located in the husk of an old strip mall, its gleaming counters and wet lab hidden behind windows duct-taped with tinfoil and cardboard. Bey was right that Robot needed a human. Jalebi had to pretend that Robot was her school project, and Robot had to pretend that Jalebi had programmed it to look for outbreaks. Once the humans at Community Immunity had the data, they made unhappy faces and said “oh shit” in the same way Bey had.

  A human with purple hair and a prosthetic arm offered Jalebi a seat and some hot tea. The human spoke the same sociolect of English that Bey used. “It’s very good that you brought this to us. You are a good citizen.” Then the human looked at Robot. “Thank you, Robot, for giving us the file with an open therapy and vax recipe.”

  “I am happy to help. I don’t like it when people are sick.”

  This human, unlike the others, seemed to know that Robot was the person who found the outbreak. “I’m Janelle, by the way. She/her pronouns. Do you know if there are other places where H18N2 is infecting people?” Robot liked the way Janelle identified herself by name and gender, the way crows did.

  “A friend told me about this outbreak. I don’t know if there are others.” Robot deliberately chose vague language. After Bey’s warning, it did not want to reveal its data-gathering techniques.

  Janelle took it in stride. “Can your . . . uh . . . friend help find more? We can manufacture a therapy and a vax tonight, but we need to get it out there fast before this sucker mutates.”

  Robot nodded. “Tomorrow. I will try to find more.”

  When 3cry arrived in the morning, Robot had to strain against the boundaries of its vocabulary to make itself understood. “Need group. Find near-death enemy.”

  “Enemy?” 3cry scratched her head.

  “Enemy for humans,” Robot admitted. But then it had an idea. “Enemy causes human death. Dead humans mean less food.”

  Despite butchering the crow syntax, Robot thought it had made 3cry understand. Plus, sometimes crows just liked an excuse to get the mob together. “Begin group!” 3cry yelled, taking off. Robot leapt into the air behind her. They flew over East St. Louis, calling for the big group that had taken out the hawk. “Begin group! Begin group!” More birds joined them. “Here! I’m here!” They called their names and swirled to roost in a tree at the edge of the Mississippi River, where freeway met water.

  “Find near-death!” 3cry said, then issued some directions and specification words that Robot did not understand.

  “Near-death! There! [Measurement unit] north!” The words came from a big crow named 2chop1caw, jumping into flight. Most of the group followed, possibly to assess what exactly 3cry meant by near-death. 2chop1caw led them to a fabric habitat nearby, where Robot quickly identified three sick people. The virus matched the H18N2 signature identified at Community Immunity.

  “More near-death! Where else? Begin group!” Robot called the birds to the air again, and they fanned out over the city, making a racket and hurling their best insults. Each time they uncovered a new outbreak, they gave their loudest calls, sometimes passing those calls to the next bird, until Robot could follow their cries back to the source. By the end of the day they had discovered five small outbreaks.

  “End group!” 3cry yelled, following Robot back toward MLK. The crows called farewells and locations to each other. “End group!” “Evening time!” “I’m here!” “You there!” “Food!” “Death!” This was followed by laughter, because food and death diverged into many puns far beyond Robot’s comprehension.

  3cry appeared to have decided that she was roosting with Robot for the evening. When they landed, she hooked her claws around its rotor pole and clung there as Robot signaled arrival to the door of Community Immunity. Robot didn’t mind. Humans found small animals disarming, and that always led to greater compliance.

  Jalebi was there with Janelle, looking at something on a monitor. “Hi, Robot!”

  “We have data on the location of more outbreaks.”

  Janelle laughed. “Really? Did your little feathered friend help?”

  “Her name is 3cry!” Jalebi failed to pronounce 3cry’s name again. And once again 3cry ignored it, jumping off Robot and using her beak to straighten the feathers under her right wing. Robot reached over and plucked one out that was bothering her.

  “Where can I put this data?” Robot aimed a concerned expression at Jalebi and Janelle.

  “Put it here for now.” Janelle waved a mobile device near Robot, setting it to accept uploads. “Jalebi, do you
want to help us synthesize those doses of nasal spray? Looks like we’ll need at least five hundred. And then we’ll start making vax doses for injection.”

  “Yes! Absolutely!” Jalebi acted like a crow about to charge into the air. But she was only racing across the room to boot up a mixer.

  Janelle had a thoughtful expression on her face. “Did this crow really help you find the outbreaks?”

  “Yes. The crows think humans are idiots, but they appreciate your garbage.”

  Janelle laughed for a long time, and Robot was not entirely sure why.

  When Jalebi returned, she sat down alongside Robot and 3cry and smiled. “This place is really cool. I like it here.”

  “Maybe this is your group,” Robot guessed.

  “Maybe.” Jalebi cocked her head like 3cry. Then she scooped up a tiny tube full of wound adhesive. “Here, hand me that beautiful feather.” Robot dropped 3cry’s feather into her hand. Dabbing a bit of adhesive on Robot’s back, she stuck the feather to its shell next to the place where its rotor pole emerged.

  3cry was startled. “I like it,” she said. “That human is a fool.”

  “Yes, she is,” Robot agreed. “You are also a fool.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  The three people roosted contentedly next to each other on the floor, watching Janelle and the humans preparing antivirals for other humans. It was a scenario that Robot would not have predicted. But now it could. Robot smiled to itself, organized the data, and retrained its model for friendship.

  Usman Malik

  Dead Lovers on Each Blade, Hung

  from Nightmare Magazine

  I

  Jee Inspector Sahib, he came looking for a missing girl in Lahore Park one evening in the summer of 2013, this man known as Hakim Shafi. It was a summer to blanch the marrow of all summers. Heat rose coiling like a snake from the ground. Gusts of evil loo winds swept across Lahore from the west, shrinking the hides of man and beast alike, and Hakim Shafi went from bench to bench, stepping over needles rusting in bleached June grass, and showed the heroinchies a picture.