Tag: short story

Sober Noises of Morning in a Marginal Land by Brian W. Aldiss

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Sober Noises of Morning in a Marginal Land by Brian W. Aldiss (SF: Authors’ Choice 3, 1971) opens with the narrator, who has been brutally interrogated, being taken back to his room. After he recovers a little he manages to escape through a trapdoor in the roof—only to be recaptured some time later by three horsemen.
As this story unfolds we discover that (a) this is set in a 38th Century Kazakhstan (although his surroundings are little different from today’s); (b) there is One State ruling the Earth; (c) the narrator has actually booked into this prison for a one month course of suffering (apparently he has “a tendency towards guilt”); and (d) that mankind is in the process of developing a shared consciousness:

“The State recognises that human consciousness is changing. That a quantal step is being taken by the human animal. That we are coming into a period when more and more individuals—finally the whole race—will . . . evolve into a being with a greater capacity for consciousness.”
The word eluded me. Then I got it out in a whisper. “Supermen?”
“It’s not a term I would use. We know there are different levels of awareness. Not just the conscious. The below-conscious as well, with more than one level. They are merging into a new integrated consciousness.”
“. . . And the State wants individuals with such awareness to be on its side. . . . “
“It wants to be on their side.”

There is further discussion about this concept, and also the divisions that separate individuals from one another—but it’s all rather gnomic. The point of the story remained unclear.
** (Average). 6,600 words. Story link.

Of Death Deserved We Will Not Die by Bennett North

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Of Death Deserved We Will Not Die by Bennett North (Lightspeed #162, November 2023) has a narrator who helps his mother make bread outside a city that has closed its gates. Various other snippets of information are presented as the narrator wanders the area gathering supplies—he practises climbing the city walls, there has been a plague and many have been locked outside the city, the narrator’s mother is paid for her bread with “broken chairs and baby clothes and sacks of bones”, etc. (I got the vague feeling the bones were what they ground down to make the bread).
This very short piece never coheres into anything more than a dream fragment.
* (Mediocre). 700 words. Story link (available 23rd November).

A Review: The Reunion of the Survivors of Sigrún 7 by Lars Ahn

Posted on by Paul Fraser

A Review: The Reunion of the Survivors of Sigrún 7 by Lars Ahn (Lightspeed #162, November 2023) takes the form of a review of a documentary about a Mars mission that went wrong. We subsequently learn that Riveria, the maker of the film, locked the four remaining survivors in a room and interviewed them about the mission and the circumstances surrounding the commander’s death:

Mission commander Ruben Corto had died in a tragic accident and his remains had been left in space, per his wishes. That was all the surviving members were willing to say, and nothing else could be drawn out of them. Speculations ran wild, not helped by Dieter Hamilton’s suicide a few months after the return. Was Corto’s death really an accident? Had there been a mutiny onboard? Was Corto to blame for the ship going off course? Did the crew eat him when they ran out of supplies? (Riviera shoots that rumor down by documenting that Sigrún 7 had plenty of food in storage.)

The central mystery is never explained so, interestingly oblique approach aside, the story is ultimately slight and unsatisfying.
** (Average). 1,450 words. Story link (available 16th November).

Dr Seattle Opens His Heart by Winston Turnage

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Dr Seattle Opens His Heart by Winston Turnage (Lightspeed #162, November 2023) is a short, two page fragment about a cruel and arbitrary superhero called Dr Seattle. We learn about the thousand faces people see when they look at him, his damaged body, and how he deals ruthlessly with a terrorist incident at an internet company building (“Detonate it”).
A notion, not a story.
* (Mediocre). 650 words. Story link (available 23rd November).

Confession #443 (Comments open) by Dominica Phetteplace

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Confession #443 (Comments open) by Dominica Phetteplace (Lightspeed #162, November 2023) begins with the narrator describing how he and his friends are being haunted by internet images of a Professor Mangleman. It materialises that the group startled the Professor on a hiking trail the day before, whereupon he fell into a canyon and subsequently died—they did nothing to help him for fear of being blamed by the police.
The narrator later learns more about the Professor:

His death was ruled an accident. He liked to go hiking wearing complicated earbuds that messed with his vestibular system. He had fallen down trails before. Apparently, his colleagues had been begging him to stop hiking on skinny trails with his weird earbuds. He had multiple concussions from past falls.
The earbuds were his own invention. They connected directly to his brain via an implanted neural interface. He was mapping his own connectome with the goal of merging it with an AI.

Eventually (spoiler), one of the group can’t bear the constant images anymore and goes to the cops—who already know that the narrator and his friends have violated the Good Samaritan law:

I asked my Lawyerbot why they didn’t just arrest us as soon as they knew. Why did they instead sic each of us with a haunting algorithm? Seems mean. Well, you weren’t rated as flight risks, she said. But really, it’s cheaper this way. The haunting algorithm follows you around the internet confronting you with your crime until one of you confesses and narcs on the others. It cuts down on prosecution costs.

We eventually discover that the account we are reading is the narrator’s court statement (“rated by a sentiment algorithm for both remorse and honesty”).
This is an entertaining and quirky piece that crams quite a lot into its short length.
*** (Good). 1,300 words. Story link (available 23rd November).

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.”

Forty-Eight Minutes at the Trainview Café by M. Bennardo

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Forty-Eight Minutes at the Trainview Café by M. Bennardo (Asimov’s SF, November-December 2022) is set in a future where humanity has uploaded itself to a virtual reality where people spend their time experiencing a variety of simulations:

Closing his eyes, Felix took a sip of the tea, held it in his mouth, and felt its warmth diffuse through his sinuses. It was an incredible detail, just like every other detail in the place. The feeling of physical presence, of reality, of existential weight. He could not deny that the Trainview Café was utterly unlike any other simulation program he had experienced in the decades since he had left his own human body behind. But all the same, Felix couldn’t see what all of these finely turned details added up to. What was the point, except to remind him of what he no longer was?
Slowly, Felix inverted the paper cup over the edge of the platform. Steam rose hissing as the remaining tea splattered onto the gravel below, staining it dark gray. He squashed the paper cup and threw it down onto the tracks, wondering how much longer he had to wait before he would be disconnected. He vaguely recalled that the program had charged him for forty-eight minutes. It was an unusual increment of time, but it had been the only one available. And it had been expensive, too: more expensive than twelve hours in most other high-end simulations. Yet, here he was, only twenty minutes in and already bored.  p. 118

Felix eventually becomes so bored that he goes down to the tracks and lies there, waiting for the next train to come—but, before this can happen, he is asked by a woman to move. She adds that his behaviour is spoiling the simulation for everyone else and, if he doesn’t do as he is told, she will disconnect him.
Felix gets back on to the platform and ends up having a conversation with the woman, Nancy, who tries to explain to him that the simulation is not event driven but is dedicated to detail. She then takes him to see goldfinches at a birdfeeder, explaining that the birds are rendered at close to cellular level, never repeating themselves or looping as would be the case in other simulations (“Practically speaking, at every level above the size of a cell, they are real birds”). Felix doesn’t get it, but the challenge of trying to understand what other visitors are getting from the simulation breaks through the ennui he has recently been experiencing (something highlighted when he revisits the Blue Glacier climbing simulation, an experience that was thrilling the first time he made the ascent but has now lost its attraction).
Felix subsequently makes another visit to the Train Station simulation, and once again upsets the people there by banging on the window and frightening the goldfinches away. Then, on his next trip, he arranges to meet Nancy, and they have a long back and forth conversation about the simulation and the philosophy behind it. Nancy suggests that, if he wants to spend more time there, he could become an admin. Felix declines. Then Nancy offers to show him one of the hacks that she and the other admins have been working on—the ability to get on an outbound train and stay there all night until they return to the train station the next day (this enables the users to permanently stay in the simulation, which would otherwise be a very expensive proposition due to the processing power required).
There are shortcomings to this hack, however, as Felix finds out when they both set off on the “Night Train” and he is told to close his eyes and keep them closed. When he does, Felix experiences the motion and sound of the train, but (spoiler) he is unable to just lie there and enjoy the limited experience and, when he eventually opens his eyes, Felix finds himself in an unsettling low-resolution world of lines and unfilled spaces, an image that reveals the “endless nightmare” that he and (I think) all uploaded humans are trapped in.
This is a slickly told story—Bennardo has a concise and transparent style—and the concept is pretty neat. That said, I don’t think the ending is as good as the rest of it, possibly because it doesn’t clearly make its point. (Is this his personal nightmare or one for humanity? Do people really desire thrills or normal life?) Not bad at all, though, and I’ll be interested to see more work from this writer.
*** (Good). 6,950 words. Story link.

The Station of the Twelfth by Chaz Brenchley

Posted on by Paul Fraser

The Station of the Twelfth by Chaz Brenchley (Tor.com, 8th September 2021) has a long opening passage that describes a monorail on Mars and the names of the different stations. One of them is called “The Station of the Twelfth”, and people wait on the platform during an Armistice Day service to explain to visitors how it got its name. This involves the description of a steampunkish alternate world where the British and Russian Empires were at war and, in particular, of a battle on one of the moons of Mars, Deimos, where a British Empire regiment made a valiant last stand:

The Twelfth Battalion of the Queen’s Own Martian Borderers, our very own regiment: they made their stand on Deimos, while the last transports flew the last divisions away from there and brought them home. The word we had, they gathered about their colors and stood fast. Not one made a run for safety; not one has been returned to us, alive or otherwise. They would have died to the last man sooner than surrender. That much we know. And this also we know, that the Russians had no way to return them, dead. The merlins would refuse to carry bodies in an aethership; the way we treat our dead appals them deeply. Their own they eat, as a rule, or let them lie where they fell. The Charter allowed us one graveyard, one, for all the province; that is close to full now, for all its size. We think, we hope they just don’t understand our crematoria, which have proliferated now perforce all through the colony.
When challenged about the Twelfth, the Russians will say only that the matter has been attended to, with great regret. Our best guess is that they built their own crematorium for the purpose, there on Deimos. What they did with the ashes, we cannot know.
So we made this, the Station of the Twelfth: here is their last posting, this cemetery to which they can never come. Its very emptiness speaks louder than tombstones ever could, however many. It embraces the city like a mourning band, for the Twelfth were local lads, the battalion raised and barracked here.

A good mood piece.
*** (Good). 2,850 words. Story link.

Jody After the War by Edward Bryant

Posted on by Paul Fraser

Jody After the War by Edward Bryant (Orbit #10, 1972) opens with the narrator and Jody walking on a mountainside trail until they get to a picnic site overlooking Denver (one of the cities that survived a nuclear war). During this we get some backstory about the conflict, learn how the couple met, and see them discuss her PTSD and unwillingness to have children because of what she saw at one of the target cities.
Eventually, after munching through more related angst and the picnic, the narrator tells her he knows what he is letting himself in for and that he still wants marry her and move to Seattle.
A short slice-of-life/relationship fragment. Early-ish Bryant; he would do better work than this.
* (Mediocre). 2,200 words. Story link.