Lightspeed Magazine - October 2016

by John Joseph Adams [Ed. ]

  Her gut clenched; no weapons, not that Gwen could see, but the ugly rage on their faces was clear enough, and frightening enough. What had she ever done to them? Or her sweet, innocent son? At thirteen, Jon was still a child—still a decade and a half from full majority. He couldn’t have done anything to offend them, but now wasn’t the time to argue with a rabid crowd, no matter what her stupid, stubborn brain wanted. Mama-instincts kicked in; she grabbed Jon’s hand and without even speaking, they were moving, in sync, the few short steps to the surf. And then they were in, first running into the shallow waves, then, when the water grew deep enough, diving in, taking refuge in those cool depths. With the first faceful of cold water, she could feel her breathing begin to slow, mammalian diving reflex kicking in.

  Old-stock humans could swim too, of course, so she urged Jon deeper, with silent gestures. They couldn’t go as deep as an Erisian might, of course, but much further than the unmodded. She took them down, into the cold and darkness, a deeper world than she usually ventured into. Nictitating membranes slid down, protecting her eyes, though there was little to see here. Peaceful, a cold, quiet expanse. Even with the thick, insulating layer of blubber under her skin, Gwen began to feel chilled. They stayed down until her lungs, finally, began to burn. Their systems were far from base human—better oxygen-carrying capacity in the blood, altered urinary system to help with the bends. Better, much better, but not nearly efficient enough; living entirely underwater was still only a dream. Jon could stay down longer, with his young, powerful body, but safer if he came with her. At least for long enough to surface, grab a breath, assess the situation.

  The sun was setting, and the water around them was deserted. The beach as well. It was late; they’d been down longer than she’d realized. Gwen had a sudden panicked thought—Rose was due back at dinnertime with the other children. What if they’d come back already? What if the mob had caught them? Terror lent power to her strokes, and she raced back, outpacing even Jon’s strong shoulders. Their nets lay scattered on the sand, shredded. But she couldn’t look at that now—she was staggering through the sand, her legs trembling beneath her. Great, shaky strides until she was almost at the door—but there, there was Rose. Walking down the shore path, Ciara on her shoulders and Matthew beside her. Safe. Gwen fell to her knees in the sand. She seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

  • • • •

  They hadn’t decided to leave right away. A few destroyed nets—those weren’t enough to convince them to abandon the home they’d built together, their community, all the conveniences of modern life. At first, Gwen couldn’t imagine a life without the net, that stream of news and education and entertainment that was the birthright of every colonist—they’d worked so hard to ensure that every child born on Eris had access. To walk away from that felt like walking away from their shared history, their humanity. Felt far more of a break than a few simple genetic modifications.

  But when Stephen and Sarah came home to find their beloved pet siball dead in the road, his tail chopped off and his throat sliced open—that was when Rose started making calls in earnest. She had always been the communicator in the marriage, the one who talked to strangers, who made friends easily. Gwen was slow to warm, slow to trust. So she focused on getting things in order, trading what she could for settling supplies. The basics that they would need to survive—tents and bedding, tools, portable computers, seeds. There was only so long you could live on fish before humans would start to get sick. And they were still human, no matter what those people thought.

  The shark came to their living room, sat at the broad dining table that Gwen had shaped herself out of long planks of native wood. He spoke with a strange accent—didn’t sound like he was from around here. But he had the information they needed, and a plan.

  “The problem,” he explained, “is that they’re pacifists. That’s why some people get turned away.”

  “We’re pacifists, too,” Rose said. “So we’ll be all right then?”

  “Nah. When you say pacifist, you mean you like things peaceful. But that’s nothing like what an Erisian means. They have no natural predators, you know, and they don’t fight each other. Just didn’t evolve that way. They eat their algae, swim and sing, have long, philosophical debates with each other. It’s a nice life. They don’t understand about violence. How sometimes, it’s the only choice a human has left.”

  Gwen said, mindful of the children listening from the other room, “There are always other choices.”

  He laughed shortly. “You think so. Bet you’ve never had to make those choices.”

  Gwen would have to admit that she hadn’t, if pressed, so she kept silent instead. Her life had been uneventful for its forty-seven years. Aside from the last few months, she had never had a fist raised to her in anger—well, not unless you count her big brother, who had taken a swing at her a few times when they were kids. Luke was gone now, had taken the retro-genes and gone back to stock human, spending every penny he had to afford it, and then some, indenturing himself to a starship crew in order to pay the last doctor bills. He’d never been happy in the ocean, and the brightest smile she’d ever seen on his face was when he stepped onto that ship. A different path. Not the one for her, or for Rose. Even if they would choose it for themselves, they couldn’t bargain away their children’s futures. And to leave the sea … the very thought broke her heart.

  “They’ll read your mind, and they’ll find whatever dark secrets you’ve kept hidden, whatever violent urges. They don’t like what the humans are doing to each other; they don’t want any of that on their islands, in their waters. And no one knows exactly what’s going to set them off, so safer to think of only peaceful things.”

  “But how can anyone do that?” Like not thinking of pink elephants.

  “I’ll teach you—I’ll teach all of you. For the right price.”

  Gwen didn’t like the shark, didn’t want to spend another minute in his company, didn’t want him near her children. But she met Rose’s soft brown eyes, and saw in them the same steely conviction she felt herself. They were both convinced. They’d give him what he asked, and try not to count the cost.

  • • • •

  The line shifted, and now there was only one family ahead of them. The sand was wet beneath Gwen’s feet, and occasionally, a little wavelet would run up and touch her toes. The boys were being so good—Rose was fussing around them, straightening their tunics, as if that mattered, and aside from a few eyerolls, they were tolerating her nervous movements. Gwen couldn’t believe how Matthew had shot up in the last few months—at fifteen, he was taller than both his mothers, strong enough to catch enough fish to feed the whole family by himself, if need be. Thank god this hadn’t come on them when the boys were small, or even five years earlier. Trying to settle a new land with a ten-year-old, eight-year-old, and nursing infant—impossible. Now, Gwen had some confidence in her family. Together, the five of them could build a good life for themselves, if this madness lasted. And if not, as she fervently hoped, maybe in a year or two, they could go home again. Although home would never be the same.

  She’d told the shark that she was a pacifist, and she supposed she still was, in some weak sense. But two days before their number came up in the Erisian lottery, their chance to beg for a place on the islands, Gwen had come home to find devastation. They hadn’t come into the house, whomever they were, but her garden was destroyed. Trees hacked down, shrubs as well, chopped into chaotic bits. Perennials dug up, vegetables stomped into mush, tender annuals shredded underfoot. They’d gorged themselves on her berry bushes, and one of them must have had a taste for fruit, since the trees had been picked bare. That was perhaps the most chilling part—it wasn’t just some mad mob, but someone who still had sense in their head, enough to pick fruit and carry it away. That someone had come and joined in tearing her garden to pieces.

  And still, they’d been lucky. They hadn’t been home when the mob came. The Andersons, across the shore road
, hadn’t survived. Rose had told the boys that night, though Gwen had hesitated. But Rose had insisted. “They have to know. They have to understand how important it is, that they do as they’re told.” And there they stood, her boys, Jon and Matthew shoulder to shoulder, waiting quietly, humming their tune. Meditating on something calm, peaceful, as she should be, instead of reliving that moment when she first saw her garden, the ruin of all those hours of patient labor. In that moment, she could have picked up her machete and taken a swing at any intruder. To defend her own—surely, that was justified, was understandable.

  But who knew what alien sea creatures understood? It was terrifying, thinking that so much depended on someone, some thing, she didn’t really understand. For a moment, she felt the sharp shock of thinking like a human firster, of being terrified of the strange, the other. Safer, surely, to be surrounded by your own.

  The line was moving—and here it was, their turn. Some had gone through quickly; others had taken a long time. Gwen took a deep breath, and focused her eyes past the Erisians in the bay, looking out, to the open water. There was her peace, there, where the rising moons cast a serene glow across the white-capped waves. That was what brought her back to herself—this ocean that she loved. If humans had never come to Eris, never taken that fateful step into the unknown, she couldn’t be here, falling in love with the waters all over again. There—that was something the cetaceans could read, and gladly. Gwen would give them her love for this planet, and surely, they would embrace her, as they’d embraced ancestors, crying “Welcome, welcome!”

  Rose was through, and the boys—one, then the other, stepping into the water in response to some silent signal. Gwen turned to collect Ciara, and that was when it happened. Another child, a younger child, grabbed at Ciara’s stuffed bear, the one thing she had insisted on packing, that she had clung to through the long day, into this fateful night. The child grabbed at the bear, and Ciara screamed, “No!” and slung an angry fist into the child’s arm, and then another, and another. The tensions of the day, of the past weeks and months, leading perhaps inevitably to this moment, when six years old was not nearly old enough to hold back in the face of such impossible provocation.

  Gwen grabbed Ciara up, pulling her away from the child whose father was doing exactly the same, sharing an appalled glance with that father before turning back to the grey shape bobbing in the waves. She’d avoided looking at it before, but now, she faced it squarely. Surely, it would understand. She was only young.

  But without words, the Erisian made its decision clear. Gwen had passed, but Ciara had failed. Oh gods. Nothing to be done about it—best to make the cut swift, in hopes of bleeding as little as possible. A quick, final look at Rose and the boys, pressing the memory of them into her mind and heart. Rose’s face was even greyer now, and she was hunched over, as if she’d been punched in the gut. She knew.

  Gwen was so proud of her wife in that moment, as Rose straightened, squaring her shoulders, gathering their sons to her, turning them away. Permission had been given, but could be revoked. She needed to get the boys out, quickly, get them moving past the judge and jury, out to the open sea. Perhaps some adolescent Erisians would help them. Perhaps they would be kind, as their parents, apparently, could not.

  “Mama, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Ciara never apologized, would dig her heels in, insisting that whatever had happened, someone else had started it. She was only defending herself. But now, the child seemed to have some sense of the magnitude of what had happened, because she was sobbing. Exhaustion, frustration—what an impossible day for six years old. Gwen couldn’t even be angry. She picked up the little girl in her arms and started walking back up the beach.

  “Shh … shh, little one. Be quiet, and I’ll tell you a story. About how there was a big battle, and some people ran away and hid, but others stayed and fought. I bet you’re the kind of person who would stay and fight, aren’t you? Yes, that’s what I thought.” She sent her love to Rose and Jon and Matthew, starting their long journey to the islands. Maybe they would meet again, someday soon. Maybe not.

  “So it was long ago and far away, when a mommy and her daughter lived in a little house by the sea …”

  © 2016 by Mary Anne Mohanraj.

  *

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Mary Anne Mohanraj is author of Bodies in Motion (HarperCollins), The Stars Change (Circlet Press) and twelve other titles. Bodies in Motion was a finalist for the Asian American Book Awards, a USA Today Notable Book, and has been translated into six languages. The Stars Change is a science fiction novella, and finalist for the Lambda, Rainbow, and Bisexual Book Awards. Previous titles include Aqua Erotica, Wet, Kathryn in the City, The Classics Professor, The Best of Strange Horizons, Without a Map, The Poet’s Journey, and A Taste of Serendib (a Sri Lankan cookbook). Mohanraj founded the Hugo-nominated magazine, Strange Horizons, and was Guest of Honor at WisCon 2010. She serves as Executive Director of the Speculative Literature Foundation (speclit.org), has taught at the Clarion SF/F workshop, and is Clinical Associate Professor of English at the University of Illinois at Chicago. www.maryannemohanraj.com

  *

  The Cavern of the Screaming Eyes

  Jeremiah Tolbert | 8739 words

  “Is that the collapsible, carbon fiber ten-foot pole from TrunchCo—” I slammed my locker door and spun the combo lock, but it was too late; the fanboy already seen my gear. I didn’t know what his interest was, but I didn’t want to encourage him. I said nothing.

  He continued: “I’ve got the one from a couple of years ago that folds up. It sucks. I wish I had the new one.”

  I stared at him over the rims of my glasses in my best glare. He didn’t flinch.

  The fanboy was a transfer student, new this year. I couldn’t remember his name—I wasn’t really in the habit of making friends lately. He ignored my signals and smiled, braces flashing in Braxis West High’s fluorescent lights. He wore a stocking cap embroidered with an Alpha Response logo that failed to contain his ample dreadlocks and a vintage Alpha Response t-shirt under a hooded sweater. That told me everything about him I cared to know. D-space fanboy, and definitely new to Braxis City. Nobody liked Alpha Response anymore. All the founding members were dead or retired, and the new crew didn’t have half the talent.

  I shrugged and walked towards the exit. He followed, continuing his one-sided conversation. “Rockin’. I didn’t know you crawled. You don’t sit with the others at lunch. They won’t let me sit with them yet, but I get a table nearby and listen to their conversations and it’s almost as good. Do you run solo?”

  I looked up and down the hall for some way to ditch him, but the school was deserted this late in the day. I’d fallen asleep in seventh period, probably because Mom’s crying had kept me up all night again. Thankfully, Mr. Grobson had my brother in AP Spelunking last year, so he didn’t make a deal about me sleeping through his lessons. His understanding didn’t go as far as grades, though. I was still getting a D+. I could have aced it, if I had bothered to do the work, but I had other things on my mind.

  The new kid reminded me of my brother, so you can understand why I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t really want to talk to anyone. But I couldn’t figure out a good way to get away without coming across as a complete asshole. Maybe honesty would work?

  “I’ve never been in d-space,” I said. “I don’t know why I bought that stuff.” I really didn’t know—I’d gone to the Ninth Street Bazaar to buy new clothes, but I’d found myself in Fischer & Sons Outfitting picking out a basic delving kit. Maybe it was because the girl working the counter had been cute.

  The new kid laughed, but not in a mean way. “Hey, I get it. I’m still trying to work up the nerve, too. I was really pumped when CCS transferred my dad to the city. It’s so boring where I’m from, hardly any dungeons at all, which I guess was why CCS had their computing research facility there, but anyway, I was thinking about losing my dungeonspace v-card with a level one a couple of blocks from he
re.” He paused. “Do you maybe want to come along? It’s rated nonlethal. I’ve got some mid-tier gear that should make it cake.”

  “What’s it called?” I asked, even though what I wanted to say was, leave me alone. I hadn’t been following the new dungeons for a while, so I wasn’t going to have heard of it anyway.

  “The latest Frobisher’s Guide identifies it as ‘Cavern of the Screaming Eye.’ I’m Domino, by the way. Well, that’s not my real name, but that’s my crawler handle. My real name is Jimmy.” He rolled his eyes, like “Jimmy” was the worst possible name ever. “What’s yours?”

  I pulled a total brain blank and stammered like a space-ruined drooler. All that time I’d spent when I was a kid dreaming up swank names, gone when it counted. “Rash,” my brother’s nom de dungeon, was all I could think of in that moment.

  “Rash,” I blurted, then felt my cheeks burn.

  Domino whistled. “You’ve got level ten balls to use that one.”

  “Forget it. Just call me Ivan.” Then I added, “But Rash was my brother.”

  “Rash was your brother?” I winced at the reverent tone in his voice. “No wonder you’ve never gone in d-space, huh? Don’t worry about it. You can think up a better handle later.”

  That was … surprisingly chill of Domino. As much as I wanted to him to get lost, disliking him was as hard as hating a puppy. I wasn’t sure I could manage it.

  “So you want to check this place with me?”

  “I …” Did I? My heart was beating faster just thinking about it, like I’d just tried to run a kilometer. Mom would literally kill me, like a total murder/suicide situation if she found out I was getting involved in d-space crawling. But what the hell … it wasn’t like a level one nonlethal was going to kill me, obviously.