Anthology of Speculative Fiction, Volume Two

by Short Story Anthology

“Can I bring my robot?” Leo says.

  “I’ve already put your robot in the car,” Will says. “And your dinosaur T-shirt and your basketball.”

  “Are you Wolverine?” Leo says.

  “That’s right,” Wolverine says. “I’m Wolverine. Let’s get out of here.”

  Leo says, “Can I see your claws?”

  “Not now,” Wolverine says.

  “I have to go to the bathroom before we go,” Leo says.

  “Okay,” Wolverine says. “That’s a great idea. I’m proud of you for telling me that.”

  Some things that you could try with zombies, but which won’t work:

  Panic.

  Don’t panic. Remain calm.

  Call the police.

  Take them out to dinner. Get them drunk.

  Ask them to come back later.

  Ignore them.

  Take them home.

  Tell them jokes. Play board games with them.

  Tell them you love them.

  Rescue them.

  Wolverine and Leo have a backpack. They put a box of Cheerios and some bananas and Leo and Carly’s parents’ gun and a Game Boy and some batteries and a Ziploc bag full of twenty-dollar bills from the closet in the master bedroom in the backpack. There’s a late-night horror movie on TV, but no one is there to watch it. The girl in the dress on the lawn is gone. If there’s someone in the pool, they’re keeping quiet.

  Wolverine and Leo get in Wolverine’s car and drive away.

  Carly is dreaming that she’s the President of the United States of America. She’s living in the White House—it turns out that the White House is built out of ice. It’s more like the Whitish Greenish Bluish House. Everybody wears big fur coats and when President Carly gives presidential addresses, she can see her breath. All her words hanging there. She’s hanging out with rock stars and Nobel Prize winners. It’s a wonderful dream. Carly’s going to save the world. Everyone loves her, even her parents. Her parents are so proud of her. When she wakes up, the first thing she sees—before she sees all the other things that are missing besides the oil painting of the woods that nobody lives in, nobody painted, and nobody stole—is the empty space on the wall in the bedroom above her parents’ bed.

  [End]

  MARY ROBINETTE KOWAL

  Mary Robinette Kowal (born February 8, 1969 in Raleigh, N.C., as Mary Robinette Harrison) is an American author and puppeteer. She also served as art director for Shimmer Magazine and in 2010 was named art director for Weird Tales. She served as secretary of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America for two years, and was elected to the position of SFWA vice-president in 2010. In 2008, her second year of eligibility, she won the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer.

  Kowal has worked as a professional puppeteer since 1989. She has performed for the Center for Puppetry Arts, Jim Henson Productions, and her own production company, Other Hand Productions. She also worked in Iceland on the children's television show LazyTown for two seasons. She was recently accepted as a participant in a Sesame Puppetry Workshop.

  Kowal's work as an author includes "For Solo Cello, op. 12," (originally published in Cosmos Magazine and reprinted in Science Fiction: The Best of the Year, 2008 Edition,) which made the preliminary ballot for the 2007 Nebula Awards. Her fiction has also appeared in Talebones Magazine, Strange Horizons, and Apex Digest, among other venues. Her debut novel Shades of Milk and Honey was nominated for the 2010 Nebula Award for Best Novel. Two of her short fiction works have been nominated for the Hugo Award for Best Short Story: "Evil Robot Monkey" in 2009 and "For Want of a Nail," which won the award in 2011

  For Want of A Nail, by Mary Robinette Kowal

  Hugo for Best Short Story 2011

  With one hand, Rava adjusted the VR interface glasses where they bit into the bridge of her nose, while she kept her other hand buried in Cordelia’s innards. There was scant room to get the f lexible shaft of a mono-lens and her hand through the access hatch in the AI’s chassis. From the next compartment, drums and laughter bled through the plastic walls of the ship, indicating her sister’s conception party was still in full swing.

  With only a single camera attached, the interface glasses didn’t give Rava depth perception as she struggled to replug the transmitter cable. The chassis had not been designed to need repair. At all. It had been designed to last hundreds of years without an upgrade.

  If Rava couldn’t get the cable plugged in and working, Cordelia wouldn’t be able to download backups of herself to her long-term memory. She couldn’t store more than a week at a time in active memory. It would be the same as a slow death sentence.

  The square head of the cable slipped out of Rava’s fingers. Again. “Dammit!” She slammed her heel against the ship’s floor in frustration.

  “If you can’t do it, let someone else try.” Her older brother, Ludoviko, had insisted on following her out of the party as if he could help.

  “You know, this would go a lot faster if you weren’t breathing down my neck.”

  “You know, you wouldn’t be doing this at all if you hadn’t dropped her.”

  Rava resisted the urge to pull the mono-lens out of the jack in her glasses and glare at him. He might have gotten better marks in school, but she was the AI’s wrangler. “Why don’t you go back to the party and see if you can learn something about fertility?” She lifted the cable head and tried one more time.

  “Why, you little—” Rage choked his voice, more than she had expected from a random slam. She made a guess that his appeal to the repro-council didn’t go well.

  Cordelia’s voice cut in, stopping what he was going to say. “It’s not Rava’s fault. I did ask her to pick me up.”

  “Yeah.” Rava focused on the cable, trying to get it aligned.

  “Right.” Ludoviko snorted. “And then you dropped yourself.”

  Cordelia sighed and Rava could almost imagine breath tickling her skin. “If you’re going to blame anyone, blame Branson Conchord for running into her.”

  Rava didn’t bother answering. They’d been having the same conversation for the last hour and Cordelia should know darn well what Ludoviko’s answer would be.

  Like programming, he said, “It was irresponsible. She should have said no. The room was full of intoxicated, rowdy people and you are too valuable an asset.”

  Rava rested her head against the smooth wood side of the AI’s chassis and closed her eyes, ignoring her brother and the f lat picture in her goggles. Her fingers rolled the slick plastic head of the cable, building a picture in her mind of the white square and the f lat gold cord stretching from it. She slid the cable forward until it jarred against the socket. Rotating the head, Rava focused all her attention on the tiny clues of friction vibrating up her arm. This was a simple, comprehensible problem.

  She didn’t want to think about what would happen if she couldn’t repair the damage.

  Being unable to download her old memories meant Cordelia would have to delete herself bit by bit to keep functioning. All because Rava had asked if she wanted to dance. At least Ludoviko hadn’t heard that part of the accident. Rava rotated the head a fraction more and felt that sweet moment of alignment. As she pushed the head forward, the pins slid into their sockets, as if they were taunting her with the ease of the connection. The head thunked into place. “Oh, yes. That’s good.”

  She opened her eyes to the gorgeous vision of the cable plugged into its socket.

  Cordelia spoke, her voice tentative. “It’s plugged in?”

  For another moment, Rava focused on the cable before her brain caught what Cordelia had asked. She yanked the mono-lens out of the jack and the lenses went transparent. “You can’t tell?”

  The oblong box of Cordelia’s chassis had been modified into a faux Victorian-era oak lapdesk, which sat on the fold-down plastic table in Rava’s compartment. Twin brass cameras—not period correct—stood at the back and swiveled to face Rava.

  Above the desk, a life-size hologram of Cordel
ia’s torso hovered. Her current aspect was a plump middle-aged Victorian woman. She chewed her lip, which was her coded body language for uncertainty. “It’s not showing in my systems.”

  “Goddamit, Rava. Let me look at it.” Ludoviko, handsome, smug Ludoviko reached for the camera cable ready to plug it into his own VR glasses.

  Rava brushed his hand away. “Your arm won’t fit.” The hum of the ship’s ventilation told Rava the life support systems were functioning, but the air seemed thick and rank. Ignoring her brother, she turned to the AI. “Does your long-term memory need a reboot?”

  “It shouldn’t.” Cordelia’s image peered down as if she could see inside herself.

  “Are you sure it’s plugged in?”

  Rava reattached the camera’s cable to her VR glasses and waited for the f lat view to overlay her vision. The cable rested in its socket with no visible gap. She reached out and jiggled it.

  “Oh!” Cordelia’s breath caught in a sob. “It was there for a moment. I couldn’t grab anything, but I saw it.”

  So much of the AI’s experience was translated for laypeople like Rava’s family that it seemed almost surreal to have to convert back to machine terms. “You have a short?”

  “Yes. That seems likely.”

  Rava sat with her hand on the cable for a moment longer, weighing possibilities.

  Ludoviko said, “It might be the transmitter.”

  Cordelia shook her head. “No, because it did register for that moment. I believe the socket is cracked. Replacing that should be simple.”

  Rava barked a laugh. “Simple does not include an understanding of how snug your innards are.” The thought of trying to fit a voltmeter into the narrow opening filled her with dread. “Want to place bets on how long before we hear from Uncle Georgo wondering why you’re down?”

  Cordelia sniffed. “I’m not down. I’m simply sequestered.”

  Pulling her hand out, Rava massaged blood back into it. “So . . . the hundred credit question is . . . do you have a new socket in storage?” She unplugged the camera and leaned back to study Cordelia.

  The AI’s face was rendered pale. “I . . . I don’t remember.”

  Rava held very still. She had known what not having the long-term memory would mean to Cordelia, but she hadn’t thought about what it meant for her family.

  Cordelia was their family’s continuity, their historical connection to their past. Some families made documentaries. Some kept journals. Her family had chosen to record and manage their voyage on the generation ship with Cordelia.Worse, she supervised all their records. Births, deaths, marriages, school marks . . . all of it was managed through the AI, who could be with every family member at all times through their VR glasses.

  “Oh, that’s brilliant.” Ludoviko smacked the wall with the flat of his hand, bowing the plastic with the impact.

  Rava focused on the hard metal floor to hide the dismay on her face. “Well, look. Uncle Georgo said multiple times that our grands packed duplicates of everything, so there’s got to be a spare. Right?”

  “Yes?” The uncertainty in Cordelia’s voice hurt to hear. Ever since Rava was a child, Cordelia had known everything.

  “So let’s ping him to see if he’s got a copy of the inventory. Okay?” She adjusted her VR glasses and tried to project reassurance with her smile.

  Cordelia shook her head, visibly distressed. “I can’t transmit.”

  “Right . . .” Rava bit her lip, realizing she had no idea what her uncle’s contact was. “Crap. Ludoviko, do you have his contact info?”

  He turned and leaned against the wall, shaking his head. “No, Cordelia always connects us.”

  “I’m sorry.” The droop of the AI’s eyes drew a portrait of genuine unhappiness.

  He waved his hand. “Just print it and I’ll dial manually.”

  Rava rolled her eyes, glad to see him make such a basic mistake. “Ludoviko, if she can’t transmit to us, she can’t transmit to a printer either.” She triggered the VR keyboard and lifted her hands to tap on the keyboard that seemed to float in front of her. “Tell me and I’ll dial it.”

  Ludoviko sneered. “How old school.”

  “Bite me.” Rava tapped out the sequence on the virtual keyboard as Cordelia gave her the routing number.

  Before she toggled the call, Cordelia said, “Oh! Hardwiring! I’m sorry, I should have thought of that sooner.” Cordelia’s shoulders relaxed and she put a hand to her chest in a perfect mimicry of a Victorian woman avoiding a swoon. “You could hardwire me to the main ship system and then I can use that to reach my memory.”

  “Would that work?” Rava withdrew her hand from the trigger. She couldn’t remember ever seeing a computer with external cables to anything.

  “It should.” Cordelia looked down the back of her chassis, like a woman trying to see the closure on her gown.

  Rava toggled the keyboard off and walked around to the back of the AI’s chassis.

  Beneath two shiny brass dials were four dark oblongs. She’d forgotten that they even existed. “At least these are easy to access.” She buried her hand in her hair, staring at the ports. “Any idea where the heck I’m supposed to get a cable?”

  “With her other spare parts.” Ludoviko didn’t say “stupid,” but she could hear it.

  “And those would be . . . where?” Rava crouched to examine the ports. They appeared to take a different socket from the cable inside the A.I. “ ’Cause I’m thinking our family hasn’t accessed that pod since before launch. You want to make a guess about which of our pods has her spare parts, or were you suggesting we spend the credits to have all of them brought up from the hold?”

  “You can spend the credits.You dropped her.”

  “Will you two please stop fighting?” Cordelia laughed breathlessly. “I’m trying to pretend that experiencing memory loss is good for me. It builds character.”

  “Well, look.Wait.” Rava raised her hand. “Uncle Georgo’ll have the inventory.”

  “Oh, there’s no need to bother him and fret about fetching the pods from storage. You can go to Pajo’s Consignment Shoppe.” Cordelia brightened. “Someone else on the ship must have a cable.”

  Rava nodded, relief lifting her mood a little. “Yeah. I’ll bet that’s true. So I just have to ask Uncle Georgo what kind of cable you take.”

  “Why don’t you take me to Pajo’s shop?” Cordelia cocked her head. “Then you can match the cable to my ports without bothering Georgo.”

  “That’s—”

  Ludoviko shook his head before she could finish her sentence. “You’ll do anything to avoid telling Uncle Georgo, won’t you?”

  He wasn’t far wrong.When Uncle Georgo had resigned as Cordelia’s wrangler and accepted a seat on the family council, it had taken everyone by surprise. He was brilliant with the AI and they had all expected him to keep that post until his body succumbed to old age. At twenty-six, Rava had been far younger than anyone expected when she’d succeeded to the role of Cordelia’s wrangler. The last thing she wanted was for the family to say it had been a mistake.

  Gritting her teeth, Rava toggled the keyboard and called Uncle Georgo. His extension rang longer than she was used to. When he finally toggled in, appearing in her VR glasses as though he were in the room with them, his eyes were red and puffy, as if he’d been crying. “Hello?” His voice trembled.

  “Uncle Georgo?” Rava leaned forward, dread needling along her spine. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t . . . I don’t . . .” Behind his VR glasses, his eyes darted to the left as if searching for someone. He wet his lips. “Do you know where Cordelia is?”

  Rava winced. So much for easing into the subject. “Yeah, about that. So, it’s like this. She’s fine, but needs to swap out a part.”

  His forehead wrinkled, brows almost meeting in confusion. “Part?”

  “Her transmitter.We think.” If she rushed past the problem then maybe he’d think she had everything under control. “Anyway, s
o the reason I’m calling is to see if you know the type of cable she needs for an external hardwire.”

  He muttered under his breath, tugging on his ear. “But what about Cordelia? You know where she is?”

  “In my room.” She turned her head so that Cordelia’s chassis would come into frame. “See? Honest, it’s a matter of swapping out the socket.”

  “In your room? Why is she with you? Why do you have Cordelia?” His voice rose, cracking on the AI’s name. She and her uncle had disagreed on Cordelia’s maintenance before, but this was all out of proportion to what was happening. Mostly. “She should be with me.”

  Rava swayed as if her uncle had struck her. He’d resigned from his post as the AI’s wrangler and of all their relatives, Rava had been the one Cordelia had chosen to take over. If the AI didn’t blame Rava for dropping her, then Uncle Georgo had no room to. “Hey. I’m her wrangler now and I’m capable of dealing with this. I just need the cable.”

  “Where is she? I want to see her.”

  Rava had to f ight the urge to yank her glasses off. Clenching her f ists so hard her fingers ached, Rava said, “I told you, she’s in my room.”

  “Your room . . . But I don’t understand. Who are you?”

  Rava froze, breath stopped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Her uncle’s eyes widened and then he scowled. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

  Reaching forward, he wiped off the connection and his image vanished.

  Rava sat on the f loor, breath coming in gasps. Her hands shook. Nothing about that conversation had made any sense. Her uncle had often been temperamental, but he’d also been eminently rational. This had been like talking to one of her nieces. Rava passed a hand over her face, sweating.

  Ludoviko smirked. “Mad at you, huh?”

  Ignoring her brother, Rava stabbed the redial and then listened to her uncle’s handy ring.With each tone, another weird aspect struck her. Uncle Georgo crying. Ring. Uncle Georgo seeking Cordelia in his glasses. Ring. Uncle Georgo asking her who she was.

  She must have misunderstood that. And yet, there had been no recognition in his gaze, no sense that he’d been playing with her. The phone dropped into voicemail and Rava slapped it off.