After a moment or two, the girl squeezed herself out, groaning as she did so. Once she was upright, Kla could see her clearly. A plump young woman with badly rumpled clothing and fur. She looked miserable and angry.
Kla gestured, and the girl followed her outside.
“Now,” Kla said to the girl and the soldiers. “What is this about?”
The girl looked sullen. The soldiers looked more unhappy than before. No one spoke.
“Very well,” Kla said. “We will all go to see my grandmother. If the girl has a jacket, get it.”
The spotted soldier did.
“Put it on and pull the hood up,” Kla said to the girl. “I don’t want people to know you are alive, until Grandmother has made a decision.”
The girl obeyed, and they all went down the mountain, Serit last, holding the harpoon gun ready.
Once again her grandmother sat by an old-fashioned brazier, though it was difficult to see the glow of the coals this time. The room was full of sunlight, coming in through east-facing windows. The red floor tiles shone, and it was easy to see the paintings on the walls: flowers and flying bugs.
Doda pushed the girl in front of the old woman, then pulled back her hood.
“Well,” the old lady said. “You’ve had all of us worried, Nam.” Then she glanced around at everyone. “Pull up chairs. I will hurt my neck, if I look up at you.”
The men brought chairs from the walls and arranged them in front of the old woman.
“Sit!” Kla’s grandmother said. “You found Nam at the weather station. That much is evident. But why was she there? Why was the boat left floating empty? And why was her computer erased?”
“I think the soldier with spots might tell us,” Kla answered. “He seems to be the most reasonable of the three.”
The man clasped his hands tightly together. “I know I am dead. May I tell this the way it happened?”
“Yes,” said the grandmother. “But try to be brief. And tell me your name.”
“I am Sharim Wirn.”
“Go on.”
“My lover always took walks. I did more of the work than he did, but willingly, out of love. Recently, he has taken longer walks, and I began to notice food was disappearing. I do the accounting. I knew how much food we bought and how much we usually ate.” The man paused, glancing briefly at his comrade. “I thought he might have a new lover. But where had he found the man? And why would he feed him? It made no sense. So I followed Perin. He went to a cave in the mountains. I went inside after him, expecting to find Perin with another man. Instead, I found him with the girl, sitting by a little fire and sharing food. Not eating with her, that would be indecent, but giving her food from our supplies.
“I asked what this was about. At first he refused to speak. At last, he told me the story. He had met the girl during his walks. They both liked the mountains, and they were both solitary. The girl had no one to love, apparently, and Perin had only me. I was not enough.” The soldier’s voice was bitter. “They began by talking and ended by having sex.”
The two fishers drew breath in sharply. Kla’s grandmother hissed. Kla was too shocked to make a noise. Men and women had mated in the past, before artificial insemination, but only after their families had agreed to a breeding contract, and only to make children. Of course there had been perverts. But they were not common, and she had never expected to meet any. She certainly had not expected to have one in her family.
“Go on,” the grandmother said, sounding angry.
“The girl became pregnant and came to Perin, insisting on his help,” the spotted soldier went on. “He knew he would be told to kill himself, if this story became known. So he hid the girl, until I found them. I insisted on bringing her to our building. The cave was cold and damp. She would become sick. I was not willing to be responsible for the death of a woman, even one as foolish and selfish as this girl.”
He lifted his head, glancing briefly at the old lady. “I know that I should have told my senior officers, but I loved Perin. I knew he would die for what he did, and it would be my fault for telling. I could not bear the idea of him dying.”
“How could you love him after he had sex with a woman?” Serit asked.
The man looked down at his clasped hands. “I don’t know. But it became obvious to me, after spending time with her, that the girl has the stronger will. I believe she seduced him; and then she entangled him with her plan.”
This did not seem likely. Nam was only eighteen, two years away from adulthood.
Kla looked at the girl and saw her grim, determined, angry face.
“What plan?” asked the grandmother.
“She emptied her computer, so no one would know where she had been and what she photographed; and then she left evidence of her death—the boat, floating in the fjord, empty. Then she went to Perin and insisted on his help. He had no choice. If she told her family—you—what had happened, he would die. Or if not that—his family has influence—he would get a really bad assignment.
“She could not stay here in this town, because her family would discover what she’d done. And she could not travel while pregnant. A woman alone in that condition would arouse too much interest and concern. People would stop her and offer help or ask about her family. Where were they? Why was she alone?”
“You say that you love this man Perin, but now you tell this terrible story,” Kla’s grandmother said.
“There is no good ending,” the spotted soldier replied. “If the girl gave birth, she would do it alone, with no one to help except Perin and me. Hah! That was frightening! If the child lived, what would happen to it? Children don’t appear out of nowhere. They are the result of breeding contracts. They have families. No mother with a child is ever alone.”
“This is true,” Kla’s grandmother said.
“It became apparent to me that the child would die, even if it was healthy. How else could Perin and the girl hide what they had done?” He paused and took a deep breath. “The girl said she would travel to the capital after the child was born. There are people there who live in the shadows and make a living in irregular ways. She planned to become one of those. She never spoke of the child.
“All the time, while this was happening, my love for Perin was wearing away. How could he be so stupid? It was obvious to me that the girl had the stronger will. He was acting the way he did out of weakness and fear of discovery. I would have told your family or my senior officers, except by this time I had gotten myself entangled. I was at fault. I would be told to kill myself, once this was known.”
“True,” said Kla’s grandmother. She looked at Nam. “Well, child, why did you do this?”
“I love him,” Nam said stubbornly, though Kla was not sure the girl meant it. How could love endure this mess?
“How can you?” the old lady asked. “He is male.”
“I cannot change what I feel.”
“Certainly you can.”
“No,” the girl replied.
“Tell them all to kill themselves,” Serit put in. “They are disgusting.”
The old woman looked at Kla. “You have studied human crimes. What is your advice?”
“Two suicides close together would cause talk,” Kla replied. “Though we might say it was some kind of lovers’ quarrel. But why would both commit suicide? No one was stopping their love. It would be a mystery. There would be talk and wondering and possibly an investigation by military. We don’t want that.
“As for the girl, everyone thinks she is dead. But we would have to hide her body, if she killed herself. Otherwise, people would wonder where she had been before her death. And she is pregnant. That’s another problem. If Sharim Wirn is right, the girl planned to kill the child or let it die. We have no reason to believe the child is defective. I am not comfortable doing what the mother planned to do.”
“Yes.” The grandmother leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “Be quiet, all of you. I need to think.”
They
sat, as sunlight moved across the floor and out of the room. Kla needed to pee and would have liked a cup of tea or halin. But she kept still.
At last, the grandmother opened her eyes. “The important thing to keep this story secret. One solution would be for all three of you to die. But as Kla says, that might cause talk and wondering; and there is the problem of the child. So—” She gestured at the two soldiers. “You will volunteer for service in space, far out in the war zone, where you will not meet women. My family has relatives who are important in the military. They will make sure you get the assignments you desire.
“As for you, Nam, you will stay in this house until your child is born. You have a cousin who is pregnant now. We will say that she had twins. I am not comfortable with this, since I will be deceiving the lineage that provided semen for your cousin. But we do what we have to do; and I hope you are ashamed at the lies you are forcing your relatives to tell.”
Kla looked at the girl. She did not show any evidence of shame.
“After the child is born—” the grandmother said. “I will give you two choices. Either you can stay here and study art on the world information net, or you can leave and go into the shadows. If you stay here, we will watch you for further signs of misbehavior. We cannot trust you, Nam. You have initiative, a strong will, no self-control and no sense of family obligation. This is a dangerous combination.”
“I will go,” Nam said.
The grandmother exhaled. “If you want to live in the shadows in the capital, fine! But don’t tell anyone your family name.”
“I won’t,” the girl said. “I despise all of you and this town.”
“Why?” asked Kla, surprised.
“Look at you,” the girl said. “In your silly cape, pretending to be a human.”
“What harm does it do?” Kla asked.
“And you,” the girl stared at Kla’s grandmother. “Pretending that none of this happened, because you are afraid of gossip.”
“Gossip can cause great harm,” the old lady said.
“The world is changing,” Nam said. “There are aliens in the sky! But your lives remain the same, full of fear and pretense.”
“There are no aliens in the sky,” Kla’s grandmother said firmly. “The humans remain a long distance from our home system.” She paused for a moment. “I hope your child has your gift for art, without your difficult personality. This has been an unpleasant conversation. I’m tired now. I want to take a nap. Everyone go.”
“You stay in the house,” Serit said to Nam. “We don’t want anyone outside the family to know you are alive.”
The girl made the gesture of assent, though she looked sullen.
Kla left the house with the soldiers. “Thank you,” the spotted soldier said before they parted. “You said that our suicides would cause talk. For this reason, Perin and I will remain alive.”
“Behave better in the future,” Kla said.
The man showed his teeth in a brief smile. “We will have no chance to behave badly in a war zone.” He glanced around at the mountains. “I will miss this country. But space may be safer.”
The two men took off, walking rapidly. They kept well apart, as people do who have quarreled.
Kla went back to her apartment. It was late afternoon by now, and the sun was behind the mountains, though the light still touched the high peaks, streaked with a little snow. The fjord was still and gray.
Doctor Mel was in the main room, drinking tea. Kla sat down and told the story. Even though Mel belonged to another lineage, she was a doctor and knew how to keep secrets.
At the end, Mel said, “You have solved your mystery.”
“It’s an ugly story,” Kla said. “I wish I still believed the girl had drowned.”
“That is wrong,” Mel said firmly. “Her life may be hard, but she still has a future. The dead have nothing.” She refilled her cup and poured tea for Kla. “Most likely, she will give up her unnatural interest in men. If she does not—well, there are people in the shadows who know about contraceptives.”
“There are?” Kla asked.
Mel grinned briefly. “You know more about crime in the ancient human city of London than you know about bad behavior here. Of course there are hwarhath who behave in ways we do not find acceptable; and of course these folk learn to deal with the consequences of their behavior. Doctors know this, though we rarely talk about it.”
“In the stories I have translated, the solution to the puzzle is satisfying. The ending seems neat and finished, though—of course—I don’t understand everything. Humans are alien, after all. I can translate their words, but not their minds. This ending does not satisfy,” Kla said.
“How could it? Most likely the young men will be fine, once they are in a military unit with officers to watch them; and most likely the child will be fine, born in your grandmother’s house and raised by members of your family. But the girl is an unsolved problem. Maybe she will decide to stay here and study photography. Her work is full of possibility.”
“I don’t believe she’ll stay. She is angry, though I don’t know why. Maybe it is shame. She said our lives are full of fear and pretense.”
“We live with rules and obligations,” Doctor Mel said. “Most of us fear what will happen if we break the rules; and we may—as in this case—pretend that a rule has not been broken, rather than deal with the idea of broken rules. Is this wrong? I don’t think so. I would not like to live in chaos, without the net of kinship that holds us all, and without front-and-back relations. The girl may want more honesty. However, most of us want a comfortable life.”
Mel paused, obviously thinking. “The girl is right about one thing. Our universe is changing in ways that people could not have imagined a century ago. Look at your job, translating human literature. It did not exist in the past. Now, through your work, we learn about Holmes Sherlock and the shadows of London, also that irritating woman who lived in her own shadow.”
“Bovary Emma. That translation will never be released. It is too disturbing.”
Mel smiled briefly. “See how we protect ourselves!”
“Rightly!”
Mel gave Kla a look of affectionate amusement, then continued her line of thought, like a sul following a scent. “There have always been people who feel constrained by our rules. Most stay in their families and are unhappy. Others leave, going into the shadows. Some are criminals. Others are outcasts or eccentrics. Doctors know about them, because we must watch everyone—even people who are difficult—for signs of illness. Public health requires that we treat everyone, even those we don’t approve of.
“Is it possible to be happy in shadows? I think so. Holmes Sherlock was happy, though he lived outside a family and made his own rules, and so was Watson John, who was odd enough to enjoy living with Holmes Sherlock. The irritating woman—remind me of her name.”
“Bovary Emma.”
Doctor Mel tilted her head in thanks. “Was unhappy, but she does not sound—from your description—like a person able to live a difficult life. Or even an ordinary life.”
“These are humans, and they are imaginary!”
“We can still learn from them. We can always learn from other people.”
“Are you saying the girl might be happy, even among outcasts?” Kla asked.
“Happier than in her—your—family. I will give you a name. Please give it to Nam before she leaves home. It’s a doctor in the capital city, a good woman who treats people in the shadows and collects art. She can help Nam get settled. If she likes Nam’s work, she can find a dealer-in-art. A good photographer should not be wasted.”
Kla looked at Mel with speculation. This woman she loved, who lived in a small town and treated the injuries of fishers, knew more about people than she did, although she had lived in the capital city and had been translating human novels for years. People were more difficult to understand than she had believed, even the people she loved. But Mel was right. A good photographer should not be wa
sted. Maybe this situation would work out. Best of all, the disturbing girl would be gone from Kla’s life.
Doctor Mel got up and limped to the room’s window. After a moment, Kla joined her. The street lamps were on, and lights shone on the fishing boats anchored by the docks. High up on the mountain, a gleam showed that the soldiers were home.
ELECTRICA
Sean McMullen
Sean McMullen is an Australian SF and fantasy author living in Melbourne, although he is published mostly in the United States and Europe. He has had seventeen books and eighty stories published, has won fifteen awards, and had his first short movie, Hard Cases, produced in 2012. His writing is darkly humorous, fast-paced, and often steampunk in theme. He has just compiled two collections for his first venture into e-books, Colours of the Soul and Ghosts of Engines Past. He works with extremely large computers in his day job, has a Ph.D. in medieval fantasy literature, and is a karate instructor at the Melbourne University Karate Club.
“Electrica” was published in F&SF, which had a strong year in 2012, contributing four stories to this book. McMullen says, “There is more to the Regency period than Jane Austen, the Napoleonic Wars, and Frankenstein—it is also the forgotten birthplace of steampunk. Not only were the dead being brought back to life in literature, in 1803, Professor Giovani Aldini conducted a real experiment in London using electrical stimulation to revive the body of a fresh corpse. The corpse did not revive, but more successful were the period’s semaphore towers, batteries, electrostatic generators, steam trains, military balloons, electric lights, and punched card programming.” The secret war of Napoleonic codebreaking and communication may not seem like the stuff of romance, heroism, duels, infidelity, and science fiction, but all of that features strongly in “Electrica.”
MAJOR GEORGE SCOVILLE:
Dear George,
I trust that this message finds you well, and that the fortunes of war continue to favour you. As you have doubtless heard, good fortune has certainly not been with me on my most recent mission.
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