Asimov's SF, September 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  * * * *

  One heavy afternoon, when the clouds steadily darken and I can no longer see enough to make out words, a huge bolt of lightning shrieks through the sky—crack! For a long moment my head vibrates. Then silence, followed by a shout: “Fire!"

  I haul myself to my knees and grasp the bottom of the window. The lightning hit one of the trees in the Grove. As I watch, numb, the fire leaps on the ceaseless wind to a second tree.

  People scream and run, throwing buckets of muddy water from the spring. I can see that it will do no good—too much dry timber, too much wind. A third tree catches, a fourth, and then the grass too is on fire. Smoke and ash rise into the sky.

  I sink back onto my cot. I planted one of those trees, nursed it as I'd once nursed Bill. But there is nothing I can do. Nothing.

  By the light of the terrible flames I pick up Jane Eyre and, desperately, I read.

  And then Hope bursts in, smeared with ash, sweat and tears on her face.

  “Hope—no! Don't!"

  “Give it to me!"

  “No!"

  We struggle, but she is stronger. Hope yanks Jane Eyre out of my hands and hurls it to the floor. She drops on top of it and crawls under my cot. Frantically I try to press down the sagging ropes so that she can't get past them, but I don't weigh enough. Hope backs out with the other books in their plastic bubble. She scrambles to her feet.

  “We did this! You and me! Our sin made God burn the trees!"

  “No! Hope—"

  “Yes! We did this, just like the people before the Crash!"

  We will never forget.

  I reach for her, for the books, for everything I've lost or am about to lose. But Hope is already gone. From my window I see her silhouetted against the flames, running toward the grass. The village beats the grass with water-soaked cloths. I let go of the sill and fall back onto the cot before I can see Hope throw the books onto the fire.

  Gloria beats Hope again, harder and longer this time. She and Bill might have put me out of the house, except that I have no place to go. So they settle for keeping me away from Hope, so that I cannot lead her further into sin.

  Bill speaks to me only once about what happened. Bringing me my meal—meager, so meager—he averts his eyes from my face and says haltingly, “Mama ... I..."

  “Don't,” I say.

  “I have to ... you ... Gloria...” All at once he finds words. “A little bit of sin is just as bad as a big sin. That's what you taught me. What all those people thought before the Crash—that their cars and machines and books each only destroyed a little air so it didn't matter. And look what happened! The Crash was—"

  “Do you really think you're telling me something I don't know? Telling me?"

  Bill turns away. But as he closes the door behind him, he mumbles over his shoulder, “A little bit of sin is as bad as a big sin."

  I sit in my room, alone.

  Bill is not right. Nor is Gloria, who told him what to say. Nor is Hope, who is, after all, a child, with a child's uncompromising, black-and-white faith. They are all wrong, but I can't find the arguments to tell them so. I'm too ignorant. The arguments must exist, they must—but I can't find them. And my family wouldn't listen anyway.

  Listen, Anna, that's a—

  A nightingale.

  The whole memory flashes like lightning in my head: my father, bending over me in a walled garden, laughing, trying to distract me from some childish fall. Here, Anna, put ice on that bruise. Listen, that's a nightingale! A cube of frozen water pulled with strong fingers from his amber drink. Flowers everywhere, flowers of scarcely believable colors, crimson and gold and blue and emerald. And a burst of glorious unseen music, high and sweet. A bird, maybe one from Birds of India and Asia.

  But I don't know, can't remember, what a nightingale looks like. And now I never will.

  Copyright (c) 2007 Nancy Kress

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  THE GOOD SHIP LOLLYPOP

  by R. Garcia y Robertson

  Danger and slavery await a teenage girl if she can't outwit the Boogie man who haunts...

  Boogie Man

  Shirlee first saw the Boogie man when she was seven. Mom was out cold, so Shirlee disabled the apartment alarm, then unlocked the kitchen disposal port. Mom's apartment had been a rec-room on a dorm deck, and the disposal easily accommodated a skillful child.

  Crawling through the tubes, Shirlee emerged in what had been a cafeteria, when the Monrovia was a colony ship in deep space. Kids called it the Hall of Tables. Bare, chairless tables dominated the empty space, all bolted to one wall, because spin gravity had turned the ancient mess deck into a bulkhead.

  She counted doors in the floor, until she came to Jill's, then thumbed the lock. Folks inside laughed to see her descend the ladder.

  “For Elviz’ sake, who's this?"

  “Look, a curly blond Munchkin."

  “Jill, your friend's here."

  “Which friend?"

  “Shirlee."

  Lomax leaped on her, licking her ear.

  Jill was eight, and lived in what had been a bosun's suite with her extended family, and a huge warm wolf-dog named Lomax. After a long fun play lasting past lights-out, Jill and Lomax walked her back to the disposal.

  As Shirlee left, Jill's mother gave her a pair of little blue pep pills. “These are for Mom. So don't swallow them."

  “Of course.” Adults had such weird notions.

  She gave Jill's mother a good-bye hug, keeping a careful hold on the pills.

  Lights had dimmed down to nighttime levels, but Shirlee could still see. At the entrance to the Hall of Tables, Lomax growled.

  Jill stuck her head into the hall. “Nothing there."

  Shirlee looked for herself, seeing only the bare hall.

  “He smells something,” Jill decided.

  Something bad, though neither said so. Whispering a prayer to Saint Michael, Shirlee slowly entered the hall, holding Jill's hand, with Lomax in the lead.

  Past the rows of sideways tables was the serving area, and disposal, opening into the wall instead of the floor. Everything seemed normal, just titled on its side.

  Saying good-bye, Shirlee crawled into the tube, headed home. Before she got to the first turn, she heard Lomax bark.

  Glancing back, she saw a black shadow fall over the open door. Shirlee froze in fear. Barely able to see the Boogie man, she could tell he was big, scary, and clearly a man, not a chimp or SuperCat. She begged Saint Michael to make it go away.

  Luckily the Boogie man was far too big and frightening to fit in the disposal tube. After looking at her long and hard, he went on, headed the way Jill had gone.

  Shirlee scrambled back to her apartment, emerging in the kitchen. Mom was still flat out on the float-a-bed.

  Putting the pills on the bed table, Shirlee punched into the Net, calling for Jill. She found her at home, asking, “R U OK?"

  “SURE Y?"

  “I SAW THE BOOGIE MAN."

  “U DID?"

  “SWEAR 2 GLADYZ. N THE HALL OF TABLES."

  “2 SCARY."

  “U BET."

  Mom got up, pushing aside damp hair, then looked groggily about. Her face was pale, and her skin sagged. Seeing the pills, Mom rolled bloodshot eyes. “You have got to stop sneaking off to Jill's on your own."

  Shirlee nodded dutifully, and got out a carton of water. Mom popped a pill, broke the seal on the water carton, and drank. Then she plugged herself into the Net, and went back to work.

  For once Mom was right. Shirlee never went visiting again without calling first. Jill would let Lomax out, and the huge furry, Dire wolf-dog cross would meet Shirlee in the Hall of Tables. Adults all claimed the Boogie man did not exist. But Shirlee was not fooled, nor was Lomax.

  Shirlee did not see the Boogie man again until she was a teenager, but he was still out there.

  Two years later, Jill's cousin Didi disappeared while picking strawberries. Net searches turne
d up nothing but the broken ID band that had been around her ankle. Alongside two spilled baskets of strawberries.

  By then, Shirlee and Jill were big enough for field work. Shirlee enjoyed spending days above ground, in the habitat's broad agricultural strip, bathed in bright mirror-enhanced sunlight, eating cherries and berries whenever she liked.

  But when the mirrors tilted toward night, throwing shadows over the fields, she remembered Didi, glancing nervously over her shoulder.

  “Scared of the dark?” asked Jill.

  Shirlee shuddered. “You did not see him."

  “You did not lose a cousin,” Jill reminded her.

  When it got too dark to work, Jill whistled up Lomax, and the wolf-dog saw them home.

  Shirlee celebrated turning thirteen by inviting Jill, Carol, and Tina to a private party in an empty dorm room. Slipping off their ID anklets, and blanking the security cams, they split up one of Mom's Z-pills.

  Saying a prayer to Elviz, who had been an official narcotics agent, they solemnly swallowed their little bits of Z.

  Never having taken any Z, not even a quarter pill, Shirlee was astonished. Walls moved back, as the little room expanded and dissolved, letting in the cosmos. She felt the living strawberry fields above, and the sunlight shining off the habitat's silver mirrors.

  Finding the bare abandoned room far too confining, the girls blanked the corridor cams, then went giggling up to the surface, to run free through the fields, whooping and waving their hands.

  Shirlee whirled around among the young plants, lit by the silver shining mirrors. She felt free and in the open, like when she was little. Not watched, not IDed. Unconfined and unafraid. Light streamed down from Niger A, the system's yellow sun, warming her skin. All that separated her from the cosmos was a transparent radiation barrier, holding in a thin layer of air.

  For the first time since Didi disappeared, Shirlee stood in the strawberry fields, thrilling to the sunset. Fearlessly enjoying the moment, as the mirrors tilted in space, seeming to suck up the light. One by one, the stars came out around her.

  Some of the girls knew their names. Carol pointed to a yellowish star. “That's Betelgeuse."

  “And the big blue one is Rigel."

  “That red one is Antares."

  “No, it's Niger B."

  “How do you know?"

  “My dad is there.” When she was little, Shirlee thought her father was a Feelie star, because she only saw him on 3V. Now she knew better.

  “Can you see Earth?"

  “Don't be silly.” At this distance they might as well try to see Graceland. Nor could they see the great gas giant the habitat orbited, since it was upsun from them. Monrovia seemed to hang alone among the stars.

  “Time to go,” Carol declared. Jill agreed, and Shirlee felt suddenly chilled. Her quarter-Z was wearing off.

  Heading back toward the tunnels, her high faded. She no longer felt free and unafraid. Or unwatched.

  Tina felt it too, silently taking her hand. This was how Didi disappeared.

  Carol whispered, “We are being followed."

  “What do you mean?” Jill demanded.

  Carol shushed her. “Keep walking. Don't look."

  Tina squeezed her hand, and Shirlee squeezed back, at the same time glancing over her shoulder into the darkness. Ignoring Carol's warning.

  For the second time in her life, Shirlee saw the Boogie man, a black shape outlined in starlight, like a ninja in a night suit. He easily gained on them, growing larger.

  Shirlee shrieked and ran, dragging Tina after her. Jill swore aloud, then joined them, with Carol close behind.

  Jill got to the tunnel entrance first, and threw it open.

  Looking back, Shirlee saw no sign of the Boogie man. Not necessarily good. There were many entrances, so he could be somewhere below. Waiting.

  “What should we do?” hissed Jill.

  Carol kept her head, saying tersely, “We need to go down and get our IDs."

  “What if he's waiting down there?” Jill protested.

  “What if he's sneaking up on us here?” Carol shot back.

  Blanking the security cams and shedding their IDs no longer seemed so neat.

  Shirlee spoke slowly and firmly. “We must go down together."

  “What?"

  “Why?"

  “We cannot stay here. So we must go together,” Shirlee insisted, wishing to heaven they had brought Lomax. Whatever made her think that they had outgrown the wolf-dog?

  Saying a prayer to Saint Michael, they descended into the tunnels. Shirlee held tight to Tina, knowing that the dim night-lights were deceptive. They had blocked the cams, so no one could see them, except for the Boogie man.

  Jill went first, being the oldest, if not the most enthusiastic. Threading through the corridors, they approached the room where they left their IDs. Its door stood invitingly open.

  That scared Shirlee, since she had shut it. Or thought she had. “What should we do?"

  Jill hissed back, “Did you shut the door?"

  Shirlee nodded, “Think so."

  Tina shrugged. “Not me."

  “So what's that mean?” Jill hissed.

  “Who knows?"

  Jill sighed. “Stand back."

  Being oldest, Jill must go in. Privilege had its perils. Jill stepped warily inside.

  Shirlee held her breath, gripping Tina's hand even tighter.

  She heard a horrible scream from inside the room, followed by even scarier silence.

  No one leaped to save Jill. Shirlee ran, hauling Tina with her. Straight for home, to wake Mom and call the cops.

  She got no farther than the Hall of Tables. There she slowed, expecting trouble, her head set on SWIVEL.

  Here was where she first saw the Boogie man, back when she was little. She stepped gingerly into the abandoned cafeteria.

  Gloved hands grabbed her from behind.

  She screamed in terror. Tina twisted free, and was gone.

  Before she could scream again, a man's hand covered her mouth. Shirlee could not speak, breathe, or move her arms.

  Someone said, “Knock her out!"

  What? Why? Something sharp hit her in the hip, and she collapsed into blackness.

  * * * *

  Shirlee woke up under arrest. Nice robo-nurses explained that she was in a locked ward, facing multiple criminal counts. “Your friends are also safely in custody."

  “What about the Boogie man?"

  None of the nurses knew what she meant, telling her to relax and take her tranqs. “You are in enough trouble already."

  Her newly appointed auto-lawyer agreed. Yesterday she would have gone to Children's Court, but now she would be tried as a teen. “Charges include electronic mischief, minor without ID, testing positive for Z, and evading arrest."

  “What about the Boogie man?"

  “Boogie man?"

  “He was chasing us."

  “That was a drug reaction."

  “Tell it to Didi."

  “Didi who?” asked the auto-lawyer.

  Talking sense to a program was pointless. What could a legal algorithm know about being high? Elviz personally tested every possible pill. Only the King really cared.

  Mom was horribly upset, though she did not know the half of it. “Where in heavens did you get the Z?"

  Shirlee rolled her eyes. What was she supposed to say, with her lawyer on-line? The program would probably turn Mom in. “The Boogie man left it for us."

  “What?"

  “To make us silly.” And stupid.

  “That's absurd."

  Her Boogie man defense got a stiff reprimand from the judge as well. Blocking the corridor cams set off an alarm. Cops came looking, and caught them. There were no other suspects.

  Nor did anyone believe this was Shirlee's first drugged frenzy, not even Mom.

  So she went to JuVee for the first time, on a ninety-day sentence. At least her friends were all there.

  These first three months
in JuVee were a flat out education. Instructional 3V was beamed straight into her cell, starting at seven AM. Shirlee was in class before she was out of bed. All the girls were older than her. Any curiosity she had about paid sex, hard drugs, illicit love, and kiddie porn were answered before she could ask. Popular girls faced all those charges.

  Happily, she gained some status from being convicted. Girls still presumed innocent, got it the worst.

  Not that they were treated too badly, aside from being force-fed organic food, and assaulted with pre-dawn instruction. They were not beaten, except by each other. And she felt totally safe from the Boogie man.

  She even got to see boys, in mixed drug counseling. Ex-addicts, petty thieves, and sex offenders happily felt her up when the counselors weren't looking. Shirlee got useful lessons in sleight of hand and camera angles.

  This ardent interest was flattering, but the boys she liked best were least likely to grab her.

  As her release date neared, she got bolder. On her final day of counseling, Shirlee brushed up against the boy she liked most, a repeat offender named Ivan. Terminally cute, he was older than her, with a sly smile, and warm, sure hands.

  Shirlee got her first real kiss, and the brief feel of a boy's fingers in her pants, before adults pried them apart. Too bad he was in until eighteen.

  As soon as she got out of JuVee, Shirlee made herself a peanut butter, banana, and bacon sandwich, fried in butter, to take away the awful taste of soy. She washed it down with a king-size vanilla shake.

  Mom looked worse than Shirlee remembered, tearfully enrolling them both in rehab. Shirlee went for Mom's sake, finding it totally boring, being broken of a habit she had barely acquired. Drug classes just made her miss the boy who'd so deftly molested her. He would not be free for three more years.

  Mom held out for a year and a half, dutifully keeping her daughter “clean.” Then she finally crumpled under the burden of sobriety, relapsing with a vengeance. Despite Shirlee's best efforts, her Mom died less than a year after relapsing.

  Devastated by her loss, Shirlee forgot to destroy Mom's stash. When she returned from the emergency room, she was promptly re-arrested.

  Dad was somewhere in the B-system, and she had no other family, so Shirlee expected to end up back in JuVee. But it seemed way harsh to add another conviction. For Priscilla's sake, she was only fifteen, and already a re-offender. All for a quarter tab of Z.