The Long List Anthology
Volume 6
More Stories from the Hugo Award Nomination List
Edited by David Steffen
THE LONG LIST ANTHOLOGY VOLUME 6: More Stories from the Hugo Award Nomination List
edited by David Steffen
www.diabolicalplots.com
Copyright © 2020 David Steffen
Stories copyright © 2019 by the authors
All rights reserved.
Published by Diabolical Plots, L.L.C.
“Worldcon,” “World Science Fiction Society,” “WSFS,” “World Science Fiction Society,” “Hugo Award,” the Hugo Award Logo, and the distinctive design of the Hugo Award trophy rocket are service marks of the World Science Fiction Society, an unincorporated literary society.
Cover art by Jorge Jacinto © 2020
Cover layout by Pat R. Steiner
Layout: Polgarus Studio
To a better world
Table of Contents
Permissions
Foreword
Give the Family My Love • A.T. Greenblatt
Beyond the El • John Chu
Articulated Restraint • Mary Robinette Kowal
I (28M) created a deepfake girlfriend and now my parents think we're getting married • Fonda Lee
A Bird, a Song, a Revolution • Brooke Bolander
The Dead, In Their Uncontrollable Power • Karen Osborne
Fisher-Bird • T. Kingfisher
How the Trick is Done • A.C. Wise
Lest We Forget • Elizabeth Bear
Shucked • Sam J. Miller
Circus Girl, the Hunter, and Mirror Boy • JY Neon Yang
Deriving Life • Elizabeth Bear
His Footsteps, Through Darkness and Light • Mimi Mondal
Seonag and the Seawolves • M. Evan MacGriogair
Dave's Head • Suzanne Palmer
Nice Things • Ellen Klages
A Strange Uncertain Light • G.V. Anderson
Blood, Bone, Seed, Spark • Aimee Ogden
Erase, Erase, Erase • Elizabeth Bear
Glass Cannon • Yoon Ha Lee
Acknowledgments
About the Editor
More From Diabolical Plots Publishing
Permissions
All stories © their respective authors, and reprinted with permission of the author.
“Give the Family My Love” by A.T. Greenblatt. First published in Clarkesworld, Issue 149.
“Beyond the El” by John Chu. First published on Tor.com, January 16, 2019.
“Articulated Restraint” by Mary Robinette Kowal. First published on Tor.com, February 6, 2019.
“I (28M) created a deepfake girlfriend and now my parents think we're getting married” by Fonda Lee. First published in MIT Technology Review, December 27, 2019.
“A Bird, a Song, a Revolution” by Brooke Bolander. First published in Lightspeed Magazine, Issue 112.
“The Dead, In Their Uncontrollable Power” by Karen Osborne. First published in Uncanny Magazine, Issue Twenty-Seven.
“Fisher-Bird” by T. Kingfisher. First published in The Mythic Dream, published by Saga Press, edited by Dominik Parisien and Navah Wolfe. Reprinted with permission of both the author and Saga Press.
“How the Trick Is Done” by A.C. Wise. First published in Uncanny Magazine, Issue Twenty-Nine.
“Lest We Forget” by Elizabeth Bear. First published in Uncanny Magazine, Issue Twenty-Eight.
“Shucked” by Sam J. Miller. First published in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, November/December 2019.
“Circus Girl, the Hunter, and Mirror Boy” by JY Neon Yang. First published on Tor.com, January 30, 2019.
“Deriving Life” by Elizabeth Bear. First published on Tor.com, January 31, 2019.
“His Footsteps, Through Darkness and Light” by Mimi Mondal. First published on Tor.com, January 23, 2019.
“Seonag and the Seawolves” by M. Evan MacGriogair. First published on Tor.com, August 21, 2019.
“Dave's Head” by Suzanne Palmer. First published in Clarkesworld, Issue 156.
“Nice Things” by Ellen Klages. Copyright © 2019 Ellen Klages. First published in Uncanny Magazine, Issue Twenty-Eight.
“A Strange Uncertain Light” by G.V. Anderson. First published in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, July/August 2019.
“Blood, Bone, Seed, Spark” by Aimee Ogden. First published in Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Issue #271.
“Erase, Erase, Erase” by Elizabeth Bear. First published in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, September/October 2019.
“Glass Cannon” by Yoon Ha Lee. First published in Hexarchate Stories, published by Solaris. Reprinted with permission of both the author and Solaris.
Foreword
Here we are in the sixth volume of the Long List Anthology: More Stories From the Hugo Award Nomination List!
This year's cover art is an original artwork by Jorge Jacinto, who did a great job designing art with elements of both science fiction and fantasy.
This year we have a new member of the Diabolical Plots team: Ziv Wities has taken the role of assistant editor. For the purposes of this anthology he has helped with a variety of tasks for the project: researching artist portfolios, organizing Kickstarter rewards, proofreading, and gathering story information.
If you don't follow the Hugo Awards, I suggest that you do—anyone can nominate and vote if you pay for a Supporting Membership to that year's WorldCon. One of the perks of the Supporting Membership is that you get the Hugo Packet, downloadable copies of many of the works on the final ballot. After the Hugo Award ceremony, they also publish a longer list of nominated works, which is the basis of this anthology.
I sincerely hope you enjoy these stories as much as I have!
—David Steffen, November 2020—
Give the Family My Love
By A.T. Greenblatt
I’m beginning to regret my life choices, Saul. Also, hello from the edge of the galaxy.
Also, surprise! I know this isn’t what you had in mind when you said “Keep in touch, Hazel” but this planet doesn’t exactly invoke the muse of letter writing. The muse of extremely long voice messages however . . .
So. Want to know what this world’s like? Rocky, empty, and bleak in all directions, except one. The sky’s so stormy and green it looks like I’m trudging through the bottom of an algae-infested pond. I’ve got this 85-million-dollar suit between me and the outside, but I swear, I’m suffocating on the atmosphere. Also, I’m 900 meters away from where I need to be with no vehicle to get me there except my own two legs.
So here I am. Walking.
Sorry to do this to you, Saul, but if I don’t talk to someone—well, freak out at someone—I’m not going to make it to the Library. And like hell I’m going to send a message like this back to the boys on the program. You, at least, won’t think less of me for this. You know that emotional meltdowns are part of my process.
850 meters. I should have listened to you, Saul.
And yes, I know how cliché that sounds. I’ve been to enough dinner parties and heard enough dinner party stories, especially once people learned that I’m possibly the last astronaut ever. At least now I have an excellent excuse for turning down invitations. “I’d love to come, but I’m currently thirty-two and a half lightyears away from Earth. Give your family my love.”
Of course, they won’t get the message until six months too late.
Wow, that’s depressing. See, this is why I told the people in R&D not to give me too many facts and figures, but they’re nerds, you know? They can’t help themselves. Despite best intentions, it sort of spills out of them some
times.
And it’s not like I can forget.
750 meters.
The good news is I can actually see the Library. So if I died here 742 meters from the entrance, I can expire knowing I was the first human to set eyes on this massive infrastructure of information in person.
Oh god. I might actually die out here, Saul. Not that the thought hasn’t crossed my mind before, but the possibility becomes a lot more tangible when you’re walking across an inhospitable alien landscape.
Also, my fancy astronaut suit is making some worrying noises. I don’t think it’s supposed to sound like it’s wheezing.
675 meters. God, Saul, I really hope this mission is worth it.
Have I told about the Library, yet? No, I haven’t, have I? And I’ve only been talking about this, for what, years now? Well, you should know, it’s not what I expected. Which is stupid because alien structures are supposed to be alien and not castles or temples, like with steeples and everything. Shut up, Saul. (I know you’re laughing, or will be laughing at this six months from now.) I don’t regret reading all those fantasy sagas when we were kids. Only that I didn’t get to read more.
But you want to know what the Library looks like. Well, I’ve climbed mountains that feel like anthills next to this building. It sort of looks like a mountain too. An ugly misshapen mountain, full of weird windows and jutting walls. It’s shiny and smooth from some angles and gritty and dull from others. It gives me the shivers.
Which is not really surprising. This is an alien world with alien architecture full of all that alien and not so alien knowledge just waiting to be learned. More information than the starry-eyed Homo sapiens ever dreamed there was possible to know.
500 meters.
Saul, I’m getting concerned about my suit. My left arm isn’t bending at the elbow anymore. Not that I need my left arm to keep walking, but it’s a bit disquieting, in a panic-inducing sort of way. God, this was so much easier when all I had to do was rely on the Librarians’ technology to get me here. Now, I have to rely on humanity’s own questionable designs to get me this last kilometer. But that’s the Librarians’ rules for getting in. “You have to get your representative to our entrance safely through a most unforgiving landscape.” Turns out that outside of my very expensive outfit there’s an absurdly high atmospheric pressure, corrosive gases, wild temperature fluctuations between shady and light patches, et cetera, et cetera. Also, the ground is just rocky enough to surprise you.
I don’t want to think about what’ll happen if I trip. Can’t think about it. I wasn’t a physics major before, and this is not the time to start.
350 meters.
I mean, I knew the dangers signing up. I knew this was going to be the hardest part of the trip. (I mean, how could it not be? The Librarians figured out how to travel lightyears in a matter of months. And that’s just for starters.) But I was the best candidate for the job and I had to do something, Saul. I know you think otherwise, but I haven’t given up on humanity. This isn’t running away.
I wish I could run right now because now there seems to be a layer of fine dust coating the inside of my suit. Oh my god.
250 meters.
Shut up, Saul. I can hear you telling me in that big brother voice of yours: “It’s okay if you freak out, Hazel, just not right now” like you did when we were kids. And you’re right, I can’t freak out, because the worst thing that could happen right now, aside from dying, is having an asthma attack from the dust. Okay, okay, okay. I just need to keep calm, keep focused, keep moving.
175 meters.
There’s definitely something wrong with my suit. The coating of dust in my suit has gone from “minimal” to “dense” and I have no idea which piece of equipment I’m breathing in.
Don’t panic, Hazel.
Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic.
Can’t panic. I’m picturing the R&D nerds when I tell them about this. They’re going to completely melt down when they hear that their precious design didn’t hold up as well as planned. Good, retaliation hyperventilating. Because that’s what happens when your best candidate for the job is an asthmatic anthropologist.
100 meters.
Okay, I’m almost there. I can see the door. This faulty, pathetic excuse for a space suit only has to last me a few more minutes. I just need to keep walking. Soon I’ll be safely inside and reunited with my beautiful, beautiful inhaler.
75 meters.
Well. Hopefully, they let me in.
So . . . here’s the thing Saul. The Librarians never actually gave us a guarantee that they would admit me. They said it was up to the Librarians who live in the Library. (Apparently, they are a different sect from the explorer Librarians that I met and traveled with and well, the two sects don’t always agree.) But the explorer faction gave me a ride here, so that’s got to count for something, right?
Thing is, this stupid suit was supposed to withstand a walk to the Library and back to the ship if I needed it. Looks like my safety net isn’t catching much now.
25 meters.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this before I left, but I’m not sorry either. The knowledge that I can potentially gain here is worth the risk. It’s worth every cent of that 85 million and if I’m going to die on the steps, well that sucks. But okay, at least we tried.
10 meters.
I’m not sorry, Saul. Just scared.
Hopefully the Librarians let me in, but if you don’t get another transmission from me, you know what happened. Give the rest of the family my love.
Okay. Here we go.
• • • •
Have you ever been in love, Saul?
Yes, I know you love Huang. I’ve seen the way you look at her and she looks at you. But remember the moment when you looked at her like that for the first time and you thought, “Holy crap. This is it. I’ve finally found it.”
Yeah. The Library, Saul, is magnificent.
And . . . difficult to describe. It’s sort of like the outside of the Library. It changes depending on what angle you look at it from.
When I left the decontamination chamber (at least, I think that’s what it was?), I stepped into the main room and everything was dimly lit and quiet. The Library’s Librarians—which I later learned preferred to be called the Archivists because they are not the Librarians who travel the universe—were milling around the massive room. They looked similar to the explorer Librarians we met on Earth; tall, lanky, humanoid-like bodies. But they all had long, shimmering whiskers that the explorer Librarians didn’t (couldn’t?) grow out. Their whiskers went all the way down to their splayed, ten fingered feet.
The room was surprisingly empty except for these installations in the middle of the room that could either have been art or furniture. So you know, sort of like university libraries back home.
I was just starting to breathe easier, my inhaler finally kicking in after that walk from hell, when the light changed and suddenly I was standing next to this fern/skyscraper thing that smelled weirdly like hops and was a violent shade of purple. It became ridiculously humid and the room was filled with what I can only assume were plants. Even the Librarians—I mean, Archivists—changed. Now, they had four legs and two arms and were covered in this lush white hair.
I reached out and touched one of the ferns next to me and it was like touching a prickly soap bubble, which was not what I was expecting. But then again, I wasn’t expecting it to reach out and tap me back on the forehead either.
I think I swore. I’m not sure because everything changed again. Suddenly, I was shivering and standing on something like a frozen ocean that’s trapped an aurora in the floe. The air was nosebleed dry and smelled like rust and I could see pale things moving underneath the ice. The Archivists themselves had become round and translucent, floating a meter in the air.
And the room kept changing. It was terrifying . . . and completely amazing, Saul.
So there I was, gaping like an idiot, simultaneously too afrai
d to move and too busy trying to take all of it in. In my slack-jawed stupidity, it took me far too long to notice that two things didn’t change. First, the Archivists always kept their rubbery fluidity and their whiskers. And those little lights never moved.
Crap, I’m not describing this well. I forgot to mention the lights. There were thousands of them, like miniature stars, scattered seemingly at random around the room, drifting, hanging out in midair. I think they were what made everything change, because when an Archivist would go up and touch one with their long whiskers, bam! new setting.
So get this: When I finally mustered up a little courage and asked a passing Archivist what those lights were, they said: “Every known solar system worth learning about.”
I would say I’ve died and gone to a better place, but I’ve used up my quota of terrible clichés just getting here.
Wait, that’s not true. I still have one awful one left.
I stood in that room for a while, longer than I should have, but the truth is I was trying to work up the nerve to introduce myself to the head Archivist. But I never did because eventually they came up and greeted me. It was one of the most nerve-wracking conversations I’ve ever had. Between the steroids from my inhaler and pure, uncut anxiety, my hands were like a nine on the Richter scale.
You see, Saul, the Archivists are not to be messed with. Like seriously. Do not contradict them, raise your voice, be anything less than painfully respectful. They may look squishy, but they can dismantle you down to your atoms, capture you in a memory tablet, and put your unbelieving ass on a shelf where they keep all of the boring information that no one ever checks out. And they’ll keep you sentient too.
The Long List Anthology Volume 6 Page 1
