Month: May 2023

Sensations and Sensibility by Parker Ragland

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Sensations and Sensibility by Parker Ragland (Clarkesworld #200, May-June 2023) opens with two droids entering a café called The Queen of Tarts, a period café from before the time of cybernetics and augmented reality. After they seat themselves, Mairead asks Cian what they should order—and the latter’s response about the cold reveals that Mairead, who was not aware of the low temperatures outside, has no sense of touch or sensation. Then, after they order a tomato tart from the human server, and discuss what “hot” feels like, we learn that Cian has no sense of smell.
The rest of the story mostly consists of the two droids’ conversations about these deficiencies, during which they attempt to mimic human behaviour (something seen when their tomato tart arrives):

“Do you want to cut it?” Mairead asked.
“Is that what we’re supposed to do?”
“It’s what the humans are doing.” Mairead nodded toward a couple sitting at a nearby table. On their plates, the two had neat wedges.
Cian shrugged and picked up their knife. They worked the blade through the pastry. Hot juices bubbled out of the gashes.
“Perfect,” Mairead said.
Cian carefully transferred the triangular slices onto plates using the flat of the blade. Then the droid swapped the knife for a spoon.
“I believe we’re supposed to use the other one, the one with the points.” Mairead picked up a fork and showed it to Cian. “That’s what those people over there are doing.”
Cian switched the items of cutlery.
“And don’t forget to put your napkin in your lap,” Mairead said.
Cian ignored Mairead’s second suggestion.
Mairead scraped off a bit of the tart and brought it close to their mouth. They acted out taking a bite by chomping on thin air. “Delicious.”
“Should I actually put a bit in my mouth?” Cian asked.
“What would happen if you accidentally swallowed?”
“I don’t know. I’m not even sure I can swallow.” Cian skewered the tart, tore a piece free from the slice, and then inspected the potential bite. “I could spit it out.”
“I don’t think that’s polite.

Their conversation subsequently devolves into a mild quarrel.
If there is a point to this inconsequential story, it eluded me.
* (Mediocre). 2,160 words. Story link.

LOL, Said the Scorpion by Rich Larson

Posted on by Paul Fraser

LOL, Said the Scorpion by Rich Larson (Clarkesworld #200, May-June 2023) opens with Maeve, one half of a couple, getting fitted for a “holiday suit”:

“Does it come in any other colors?” Maeve asks, eyeing herself in the smart glass.
“No,” the salesperson admits. “You look quite elegant in eggshell, though.”
She’s undecided. The holiday suit is a cooperative swarm of microorganisms, a pale paramecium shroud that coats her entire body, wetly glistening.
“Full-spectrum UV protection, internal temperature regulation, virus filtration, water desalination, emergency starch synthesis.” The salesperson has a comforting sort of murmur. “Ideal for any sort of live tourism. Where will you be off to?”
“Faro,” Maeve says, and saying the name conjures immaculate white buildings and deep blue waters onto the smart glass behind her, displaying the paradise she’s dreamed of for entire weeks now.

The rest of the story sees Maeve and Charlie on holiday, where we see Maeve’s suit filtering out a range of unpleasant stimuli, beginning with the aeroplane peanuts (allergen hazard) and the smell of a (unbeknown to them) dead gecko in the autocab’s undercarriage. (Charlie is less keen on the suits, “The whole point of live tourism is authenticity.”)
Later on Maeve’s suit edits a drunken tourist from her view, and the suit’s more advanced protection functions are revealed when the couple go on a boat trip for a personal dining experience—when the chef brushes past Maeve, the suit bites him. This latter occurrence (spoiler) foreshadows the climactic scene where Maeve becomes aware of a presence when she goes walking on the beach one night when she cannot sleep. She rolls down the hood of the suit to see what is there and becomes aware of the stench of Faro’s unfiltered air—and then sees that a man who shouted at the couple days earlier is in front of her. He speaks to her in Portugese1 and grabs hold of her, whereupon the suit bites off his fingers and leaves him with bleeding stumps.
When Maeve returns to her room, Charlie notes the attractive pink hue of her suit, a call back to colour discussion at the beginning of the story, and a comment that reinforces the horror of the recent event.
This is all executed well enough (there are a number of neat little touches), and it makes a point about the irony of travelling to new places but insulating yourself from that reality. However, it didn’t really engage me, probably due to the slightly dream-like logic and setting of the story (why would people be allowed to wear suits that are capable of wounding others? You might get away with that in some US states, but I doubt you would in Europe). Awful title.
** (Average). 2,670 words. Story link.

1. The man who accosts Maeve on the beach says three things, “Ajude-me.”; “Acho que sou o Homem Invisível”; “O do filme antigo. Ajude-me.” This Google translates to “Help me”; “I think I’m the Invisible Man”; “The one in the old movie. Help me.”