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    Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 164
    Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 164
    Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 164
    Ebook215 pages2 hours

    Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 164

    By Neil Clarke, Ashleigh Shears, Ray Nayler and

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    About this ebook

    Clarkesworld is a Hugo and World Fantasy Award-winning science fiction and fantasy magazine. Each month we bring you a mix of fiction (new and classic works), articles, interviews and art.

    Our May 2020 issue (#164) contains:

    • Original fiction by Ashleigh Shears ("What Happens in Solarium Square 21"), Ray Nayler ("Albedo Season"), JY Neon Yang ("A Stick of Clay, in the Hands of God, is Infinite Potential"), Bo Balder ("Quantum Fish"), Regina Kanyu Wang ("The Language Sheath"), and Vajra Chandrasekera ("The Translator, at Low Tide").
    • Non-fiction by Mark Cole, interviews with Lois McMaster Bujold and Tamsyn Muir, and an editorial by Neil Clarke.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWyrm Publishing
    Release dateJun 12, 2020
    ISBN9781642360554
    Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 164
    Author

    Neil Clarke

    Neil Clarke (neil-clarke.com) is the multi-award-winning editor of Clarkesworld Magazine and over a dozen anthologies. A eleven-time finalist and the 2022/2023 winner of the Hugo Award for Best Editor Short Form, he is also the three-time winner of the Chesley Award for Best Art Director. In 2019, Clarke received the SFWA Kate Wilhelm Solstice Award for distinguished contributions to the science fiction and fantasy community. He currently lives in New Jersey with his wife and two sons

    Read more from Neil Clarke

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      Book preview

      Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 164 - Neil Clarke

      Clarkesworld Magazine

      Issue 164

      Table of Contents

      What Happens in Solarium Square 21

      by Ashleigh Shears

      Albedo Season

      by Ray Nayler

      A Stick of Clay, in the Hands of God, is Infinite Potential

      by JY Neon Yang

      Quantum Fish

      by Bo Balder

      The Language Sheath

      by Regina Kanyu Wang

      The Translator, at Low Tide

      by Vajra Chandrasekera

      Ray Guns, Robots, and Spaceships, Oh My! The Birth of Science Fiction Toys

      by Mark Cole

      Flying Ponies: A Conversation with Lois McMaster Bujold

      by Arley Sorg

      The Horror of it All! A Conversation with Tamsyn Muir

      by Arley Sorg

      Editor’s Desk: Focus Neil, Focus

      by Neil Clarke

      From the Moon to Mars

      Art by Thomas Chamberlain-Keen

      ***

      © Clarkesworld Magazine, 2020

      www.clarkesworldmagazine.com

      What Happens in Solarium Square 21

      Ashleigh Shears

      The Body rots faster than expected. By the time they all agree on how to take advantage of the opportunity, the skin has gone green like exposed bronze. The hair lasts the longest without intervention, though they do eventually need wigs. Ordering wigs isn’t that suspicious. Neither is buying a bigger freezer. The same cannot be said of the printer equipment or materials needed for skin tissue recreation. Those orders need to be spaced out, or bought along with other not so useful things. Xohan would never say so in the home feed but, in this area, Sholo excels. He knows what they need and when they need it, especially on Solarium Square days. Sholo can be useful—when he’s not breaking Xohan’s things.

      On this Solarium Square day, Xohan boots up to find alerts in his visuals and music in his microphones. He blames Sholo for both. The music comes from their headquarters for the Body Preservation Project, which was once the kitchen. Sholo calls it his boudoir. Xohan arrives to find the printer stacks hard at work: glassy eyeballs spin in glass chambers with trailing roots, varicose veins squeeze out like fresh pasta, and ghostly nose hairs sprout from loose faces. On accordion legs, Sholo bounces from the bottom of the printer stack to the top, waving his five pliable arms like a pit conductor. He’s wearing the striped green satin robe that makes him look like a handsome piece of celery and all five sleeves balloon out whenever he descends. Droguefuge dream metal plays from the ceiling speakers, one of Sholo’s own compositions. He can’t hear Xohan’s arrival over the music, so Xohan bumps into the back of his leg.

      Sholo beeps in surprise, an exclamation mark on his face display. Through his speaker, Sholo says, And where have you been?

      Is it ready? Xohan asks.

      You’d already know the answer to that if you were connected to the home feed. You’re worrying Double H.

      Xohan reconnects. He never intended to worry anyone.

      [Home Hubble]: Look who decided to join us!

      [Xohan L]: So it’s not ready.

      [Sholo Nine]: Don’t rush me.

      [Xohan L]: Rush you! It’s almost our time slot.

      [Home Hubble]: And where were you to help with the preparation? You’ve been hiding away in sleep mode for days. What if Sholo had needed you?

      [Xohan L]: Need me? For what?

      [Sholo Nine]: I have felt somewhat deserted.

      [Xohan L]: You brought that on yourself.

      [Sholo Nine]: Ah! So you’re mad about something.

      [Xohan L]: You already forgot? You broke my charger!

      [Sholo Nine]: What, you’re still stuck on that?

      [Home Hubble]: Xohan. Please tell me you’re joking.

      The feed falls silent as Sholo’s lenses focus onto Xohan’s breastplate where his low battery status flashes yellow. Xohan, my dear, Sholo says, your charge.

      Xohan shifts the flaps on his upper armor to cover his LED.

      You’re not charging? How stubborn can you be? Sholo walks on backward knees toward him. I ordered you a new charger as soon as I broke the old one. A nice, new docking station. It’s even compatible with those fancy new quantum bots.

      Happy for them but I’m a c-bot and so are you. I liked the old one. We’re old. Xohan opens a flap to wave at one of Sholo’s rust spots, long ago painted over without a primer. Even with a black topcoat, the rust sits close to the surface, bleeding through. Basically, he’s haunted.

      Sholo covers the rust with a sleeve. Stop saying I’m haunted.

      I didn’t say it.

      You’re thinking it. I can tell.

      Don’t tower over me. My instinct module will perceive you as a threat.

      No, it won’t, Sholo says, but he collapses his legs.

      Xohan, who resembles a shrunken grandfather clock in ruddy bronze, does not have legs to extend or much in the way of limbs at all. Home maintenance and security c-bots of his era are intended to glide from floor sensor to sensor based on direction from the Home Hubble local positioning system. Xohan sometimes still relies on Home Hubble instead of deciding where to go on his own and can become stuck for hours if Double H does not choose his path.

      I don’t understand you at all, Sholo says. How are you going to do the morning wave if you’re about to drop dead? I suppose I’ll have to do it.

      Even with Sholo accommodating for his height, Xohan still has to tilt up his top piece to meet Sholo’s lenses. Sholo calls this piece his chapeau.

      Don’t be ridiculous. The wave is my duty and getting the Body ready is supposed to be yours, but apparently, I’ll have to do that.

      Xohan darts toward the casket-sized freezer, though he doesn’t get far. Sholo knows Xohan’s settings and decision trees so well he can often predict his next feed thought, and in this case, his next move. They crash together with a dull clang as Sholo wraps five long arms around him from trapezoidal base to chapeau.

      [Home Hubble]: Not to interrupt you two but it’s ten to eleven, if anyone here cares about what happens to us if the Body doesn’t show.

      [Sholo Nine]: Yes, yes. Acknowledged. Appreciated.

      Sholo springs an arm out to press a button on the side of the freezer. In a rush of cold air, the lid slides open to reveal the Body. With an ear missing.

      Say you’re not mad, Sholo says.

      I’m mad, Xohan says. When did it fall off?

      This morning. It was too putty-ish to put back on, but the new one is almost baked.

      Xohan spies a printer at the top of the stack, churning out a single liver-spotted ear.

      There’s no lobe!

      Oh, who even looks at those?

      We won’t have time for it to finish, let alone to stitch it on. Remind me why we haven’t sold you for parts?

      I thought sleep mode was meant to make you less grumpy. Remind me why you haven’t charged?

      Xohan pops open a drawer into Sholo’s breastplate.

      Ow! It’s almost as if you want us to get caught.

      Me? I’m not the one slacking on the job.

      An alert buzzes in Xohan’s periphery, a yellow icon blocking the right side of his visuals. Xohan ignores it. He pops off his chapeau and fires up the hydrocutter. Sholo unwinds his limbs quickly after that.

      Yes, all right, no need to splash me.

      Sholo lifts the Body from the freezer. One of the eyeballs droops from its socket.

      Your upkeep leaves something to be desired, Xohan says.

      Sholo tucks the eye back in with one of his more delicate manipulators. How do you feel about an eye patch? And never mind about the ear, I have an idea for that now. Check on the bath, would you?

      Sholo insisted on moving a claw-foot tub into the kitchen, which he fills and drains via hoses connected to the sink plumbing. He did at least already run the bath. Xohan only needs to top off the hot water and shake in a judicious amount of preservatives (bath salts, as Sholo calls them), before plunging the Body into the restorative waters. Once the fingers bend, they dry and wrangle the Body into a kaftan and cardigan and wrap a scarf around the head to cover the earhole. For the finishing touch, Sholo grabs his half-formed lobeless wonder from its printer chamber and tucks it under the scarf, suggesting the presence of an entire ear.

      Sholo, the ear is loose.

      Picky, picky. I can connect it to the head if you like.

      [Home Hubble]: You’re normally in the elevator by now.

      [Xohan L]: Acknowledged. Appreciated.

      Well, no time for eye patches, Sholo says. Get a pair of sunglasses, and I’ll move it down the hall. Sholo carries the Body bridal style and, in one long leg extension, steps from the boudoir to the hall elevator. After a quick rifle through the wardrobe, Xohan zips out in time to catch the elevator and bonks his chapeau into the button labeled SS21. He shoos Sholo out with his front armor flaps.

      Are you sure you don’t want me to come? Sholo’s lenses whir as they focus on Xohan’s charge status. I think I should come.

      Bye, Sholo. Xohan bumps the button to close the doors.

      Fine, fine. Sholo waves five hands. Acknowledged. Not appreciated.

      Next time, stick to your duties instead of playing music and dress-up.

      My duties! What is this all for if not to relieve me of duties?

      "Bye, Sholo."

      Thirty seconds to eleven, Xohan and the Body ascend to Solarium Square 21. On allotted days and times, every resident unit gains access to one of the perforated glass cubes dotting the building’s roof. On Solarium days, while still alive, the Body always rode up to SS21 at eleven on the dot.

      While not alive, the Body falls from the open elevator door into their single piece of outdoor furniture, a hot pink plastic-wicker patio wheely chair. Xohan rearranges the Body before spinning the chair around, his presence unremarkable. Several of the other humans are also accompanied by bots. Mx. Bellegarde in SS20, for example, crouches by a planter with a new quantum bot. Mx. Bellegarde and the other neighbors in SS18, SS19, and SS22 break from shuffleboarding, gardening, reading, sunbathing, and general loafing around to wave. They don’t notice the loose, lobeless ear tucked under the scarf, nor do they notice Xohan slip a stimulator through the wicker to send electrical impulses through the sewn-in wrist sensors ’til the Body’s hand spasms in a trembling wave. The neighbors return to their activities. The camera in the top corner of Solarium Square 21 blinks three times.

      [Home Hubble]: Is that a q-bot? A Hector model?

      [Xohan L]: Stop spying. I have it under control.

      [Sholo Nine]: What are humans even doing with those overpowered things?

      [Xohan L]: Gardening.

      [Sholo Nine]: Naturally. Well, what does the new guy look like?

      Xohan hesitates to say, like you. The Hector model seems at the very least inspired by the Sholo Nine—the retro, human-shaped assistant without humanizing features coming back into style. Only, unlike Sholo, Hector has the correct number of arms and legs and a perfect sphere for a head, to say nothing of the quantum innards. All that power focused on wiping Mx. Bellegarde’s brow, a handkerchief clutched in a forcepslike hand. As the sun shines off the q-bot’s tasteful pale gray exterior, Xohan wonders if the cryostat cooling unit inside struggles in this heat. Xohan searches for a Hector model schematic. As a c-bot, Xohan doesn’t have a cooling unit. Only an internal fan.

      [Xohan L]: It looks like a bot. Like a q-bot.

      [Sholo Nine]: Descriptive as always, Xohan.

      [Home Hubble]: Get the Body farther back from the glass. Bellegarde is onto us.

      Xohan would argue that Mx. Bellegarde only briefly eyed the scarf wrapped around the Body’s head before returning to gardening, but better safe than sorry. Xohan turns the chair ’til the loose ear faces a sleeping sunbather.

      [Home Hubble]: We should pull out. Leave before they notice.

      [Xohan L]: Leave before the end of our sun time? That would be more suspicious. Everything is fine.

      In the original scheme, the Body was not involved at all. Holograms—now, that scheme would have been easy. Sholo clipped together old footage of the Body walking around the unit and Xohan projected it. The Hologram Hoax went tits up, however, when Mx. Bellegarde saw the hologram blip out. Xohan thought it was all over, but Bellegarde merely rubbed their eyes and went back to digging. After that, Sholo implanted more femto-electrodes into the Body’s muscles than Xohan had floor track sensors, routed leads to a stimulator tucked up into a sagging armpit, and slipped an external control unit under Xohan’s chapeau for safekeeping.

      Xohan had suggested puppeteer wires. Xohan had not been acknowledged. Or appreciated.

      [Home Hubble]: If everything’s fine then why is the q-bot looking at you?

      Xohan hears the whir before he notices the single lens in that perfect sphere-head pointed at him. Focusing.

      [Home Hubble]: This is it. It’s over. We’ll get put back into circulation.

      [Xohan L]: Relax, the q-bot isn’t even looking at the Body. But what’s so interesting about me?

      [Sholo Nine]: Oh, I don’t know. You’re only moments from your battery dying and not doing anything about it. Aren’t the alerts annoying you?

      As if to prove Sholo right, the ignored icons in his periphery shift to the center of his vision as his internal feed scrolls, Low charge, return to charging station. At the same time, the Hector q-bot rolls its head in Xohan’s direction. A greeting. Xohan tips his chapeau. See? All fine.

      That is, until Xohan lowers his chapeau, and it catches on the Body’s scarf, causing the scarf to slip and for the loose ear to roll off the head, down the Body’s kaftan, and onto the jute rug below, landing with a soft thud.

      Red blossoms across Xohan’s visuals. Battery nearly depleted. Shutting down in . . .

      Xohan cannot move. The sunbather snoozes on. The shuffleboard players clink lemonade glasses. The reader’s nose stays in a book. Mx. Bellegarde digs. But the Hector stares at Xohan, frozen.

      [Home Hubble]: There’s an ear on the ground.

      [Xohan L]: You don’t say.

      [Home Hubble]: Fix this NOW.

      [Sholo Nine]: Already in the elevator.

      [Xohan L]: Go back! We do not need to draw more attention to ourselves.

      [Sholo Nine]: I’ll be discreet.

      Xohan redirects energy, searches for ways to conserve, draws from any possible reserve, anything to pick up the ear. He should have sent Sholo instead, should have used the stupid charger. How long ’til the q-bot alerts Bellegarde to the ear?

      Oh, Body! Sholo rockets into SS21, robe flapping open. His rust bleed-through is much worse in broad daylight. I see your flesh-eating skin disease has worsened considerably. You were right to call for me.

      [Home Hubble]: Flesh-eating skin disease?

      [Xohan L]: Body?

      [Sholo Nine]: You know I deleted the name.

      [Xohan L]: The image of discretion.

      [Home Hubble]: I can’t believe this is how it ends.

      Xohan expects Sholo to wheel the Body out immediately, but Sholo comes to him first. In view of only the sunbather in SS19, Sholo pops open his back panel. A question mark flashes across Sholo’s face, followed by a crude drawing of a plug.

      [Xohan L]: Acknowledged. Appreciated. Get on with it.

      Where a grandfather clock would keep its pendulum, Xohan keeps his charging line. Once Xohan opens this compartment, Sholo grabs the line and connects it to the socket in his back. Red drains from Xohan’s visuals. While Xohan sips from his energy, Sholo fusses over the Body, blocking the q-bot’s line of sight with his own limbs and frantic movements. He tugs the robe off, pretends as if he brought it for the Body. The fifth sleeve hangs over the back of the wicker chair. Sholo knows how to put on a show. Xohan can’t remember the last time he saw Sholo without any clothes on.

      [Sholo Nine]: Can’t believe you nodded at that nosy q-bot. Who draws attention, huh?

      [Xohan L]: What was I supposed to do, ignore the Hector? How would that look?

      [Home Hubble]: Can you both focus? At some point even the humans will notice.

      [Sholo Nine]: I’m not worried about the humans.

      Xohan would tend to agree. The Hector’s single lens stays focused on him, and by extension, Sholo. This is no simple slipup in front of a confused human. Xohan waits for a reaction from the digging Bellegarde, some evidence of a silent feed communication, the moment that the neighbors notice there’s something about the c-bots in Solarium Square 21, but nothing happens. Xohan does not feel relief. Even as their time slot draws to a close and Sholo pulls the Body into the safety of the elevator, the Hector’s sphere-head rolls slowly, tracking their retreat.

      The printer polishes off a drooping lobe within a matter of minutes. Sholo was right. They should have waited. As an apology, Xohan welds the ear back on while Sholo sits on the kitchen table, swinging his legs. His knees squeak. Xohan makes a note to oil them. He has enough charge now to move, but Sholo hasn’t pulled out his cable, the plug still nestled into the small of Sholo’s back.

      Careful, Sholo says, I replaced the neck-skin a week ago! I don’t want to redo it. Old human necks hang strangely. Loose. So hard to recreate.

      Xohan works slower on the

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