Robots vs. Fairies

by Dominik Parisien

  Once the shock had passed, I looked closer. Sarah’s hands were raw, blistered. So were the púca’s. The redcap’s hat was almost dry, as if he hadn’t refreshed it in weeks. He had been, I remembered now, the first to go missing. The flower Faes’ blossoms were wilted at the edges and their lips dry and chapped.

  The gancanagh smiled as he led his kidnapped band into the next verse. There was no recognition on Sarah’s face. None. All of the Fae had the same expression: absolute, focused concentration. If Trent had used his voice to tell them that this was what he loved, what he wanted, they’d play until he told them to stop.

  They’d play forever.

  “I told you I’d have a full band. They haven’t been together that long, but I think they’ve got real potential. All of them just love what they’re doing,” he said.

  “Care to join us? I think you’d be the perfect addition.” He started to sing then, something about desire for the spotlight, the perfect girl, a whole room in love. I felt it then—not a compulsion, not fully. But that edge of wanting, just beneath the skin. The beginning of the thought that here, up onstage, this was where I belonged. Where I had always wanted to be.

  “Come on, everybody, give it up for our new guest vocalist!” Trent called out.

  A tray of glasses shattered as the bartender dropped them so she could clap. The bouncers started screaming and stomping their feet. The coat-check guy climbed up on the counter and cheered. All the staff who had been going about their business a second ago were going wild to convince me to get onstage.

  I looked again at Sarah’s hands, at the other Fae—stolen, hurt, exhausted. At Trent, and his smile—that smarmy, self-satisfied smile, as if all of life were his for the taking. With this band, it was. Somehow, he was stronger with them, using them to boost his own magic. In that moment, I wanted him dead.

  “Come on now, sing with us. All we need is you and we’ll sound perfect.”

  That itch of wanting to be there, on that stage, was stronger now, more compelling.

  “Yeah, okay. Sure.” I stepped up and grabbed the mic.

  “Remember, I want a love song.”

  “Oh, I’ve got one for you.”

  There are all sorts of songs about love. There are the songs that make you feel that champagne fizz of first attraction, songs that ride on the drum and bass beat of lust. Violin strings of longing and the mournful piano of endings and regret.

  And then there are songs about love that kills. Murder ballads and choruses of women haunting hills in long black veils. And over the púca’s pop beat and the sweet harmonies of the flower Fae, that was what I sang.

  What I wailed.

  The cold and fog curled up through my throat like ghosts, and the blood iced in my veins. This time, this time I knew the power would work. My voice echoed in that dingy club as if it were an opera house. This was what it was to sing as a banshee.

  I sang of love that consumes. That murders and unmakes. I sang an unraveling, aiming my voice at the very heart of him.

  When I started, the gancanagh was singing too, trying to harmonize, but his voice grew weaker, hesitant, flat. One by one, the enchantments broke from the other Fae in his band, and their music went silent. Until the only sounds in the room were his voice and mine.

  And then mine was the only one. I met his eyes, and I took a bow.

  “What did you do?” he asked. Still not dead. His magic, however, was. I’d felt it on the stage, and heard it when he spoke. His voice was normal. No power to woo, or lure, or take away choices.

  I helped Sarah out from behind the drums, down off the stage. She was shaking as she walked, but she turned and glared at him and whispered the worst curse I’d ever heard her say. Trent was in for an extended plague of ripping seams, unzipping zippers, and oversalted, undercooked food. Brownies can be ruthless.

  “I did just what you wanted,” I said. “I sang you a love song.”

  TEAM FAIRY

  * * *

  BY KAT HOWARD

  Team Fairy. Of course I’m on Team Fairy. As if there was ever any doubt. I mean, can you imagine a robot singing a murder ballad? Well, perhaps you can, but that raises the question of whether you should, and let me assure you, if you want to have any pleasure at all in the listening, better to imagine a fairy. Even if her song will stop your heart. I’ve been fascinated with banshees since I first knew what they were, and to me, fairies are fun precisely because they are powerful. A woman whose power is in her voice, learning to use it? Oh yes. I’ll write that.

  SOUND AND FURY

  by Mary Robinette Kowal

  The hum of the ship engines sent a vibration up through the soles of Jela Dedearian’s feet. It was always more pronounced near the engine room. By god, she was exhausted. All she wanted was to curl up with her cat and a good novel, but this shift was never going to end.

  She rubbed her face with both hands and leaned against the wall of the shuttle bay for a moment. “All right, Okeke. Let’s check the restraints.”

  Okeke nodded, her locs bobbing around her cheeks. “Checking giant robot now.”

  “Diplomatic Personal Surrogate.”

  Okeke snorted. “Yeah. That’s totally what I meant.”

  “Obviously.” The captain would have their asses if she caught them talking shit about the mission, but goddamn it. . . . Even if Jela had agreed with the Consortium of Worlds’ expansion policy, Diplomat Foenicul made it damned hard to be respectful.

  “Hey . . . Chief. I got this.” Okeke straightened from the restraint strap she was testing. “You can go on to bed.”

  “Oh, believe me. I have zero doubts about you. It’s just that, bless her heart, Diplomat Foenicul has expressed that she will be more comfortable if the chief engineer is involved.” She widened her eyes and adopted a too-innocent expression. “Because clearly, I’m the only one on the whole ship who knows how to tie down a giant robot.”

  “She’s not even in here.”

  “But she will be.” Jela massaged the nagging ache in her forehead. “Believe me, the moment y’all deploy to the surface I have a date with my bed and my cat.”

  “How’s Sadie doing?”

  “Deeply annoyed.” All of the straps were fine. There was no point in her checking them, except that Guadalupe Foenicul insisted on having “the best,” which meant that Jela had been working double shifts in order to do the work she actually needed to do, in addition to the busywork that the diplomat required. And for what? So they could bring another planet into the fold? “How about you? Adika okay with you going to the planet?”

  “As long as I bring him back a souvenir, he’ll forgive anything. And by souvenir, I mean a rock. That child . . . his rock collection is going to be the envy of geologists across the galaxy.”

  “Maybe he can negotiate mining rights for—”

  The doors to the cargo bay opened and Diplomat Foenicul fluttered in, followed by her assistant and Captain Afaeaki. Her gossamer wings kept her at eye level with the captain, even if her feet were a good meter away from the ground. The captain had her lips so firmly set that it suggested she was less than happy. At least Jela wasn’t the only member of the senior staff who was being asked to do work below her pay grade. It was just one mission. Jela just had to keep reminding herself of that. It was only one mission and if she weren’t doing it, someone else would be feeding the insatiable maw of the Consortium.

  “Ah! Chief Engineer Dedearian. Are we ready?”

  First of all, this was an hour before departure was scheduled. Second . . . We? As if Jela was going anywhere near the surface. “Yes, sir. You’ll be in good hands with Lieutenant Okeke.”

  “Excellent.” She steepled her fingers together, as if she were about to begin a sermon. “This is a bold new era for sentient rapport in the cosmos. I hope that . . .”

  Jela smiled and nodded, completely tuning out Foenicul’s speech. It would have been nice to have been wrong about that one, but Foenicul was sadly predictable. Didn’t matter
. What mattered was that the Consortium of Worlds needed to establish a base on this planet, ostensibly for “mining rights,” but really because they needed a foothold in the system. And as much as Foenicul got on Jela’s nerves, she had an impressive track record for successful negotiations. Even if this one did involve a giant robot, because “the natives have an unconscious bias related to stature.”

  As soon as the robot was off her ship, Jela could go collapse and Sadie would sit on her back and make biscuits into the sore muscles under her shoulder blades, and then she would do her damnedest never to go near a diplomatic mission again. Please god, let the launch go smoothly.

  * * *

  Jela walked down the corridor to her cabin with one hand trailing along the wall. Not because she was so tired that she might fall over, but because she was almost that tired. Her comm unit pinged.

  The aggressively cheery tone sent an ice pick in through her ear to land just behind her eyes. She stopped in the middle of the hall and squeezed her eyes shut. The stupid giant robot was off her ship, and she just wanted to go to sleep.

  On her wrist comm, the captain’s name showed clearly. No ignoring this one. She tapped the comm. “Dedearian here.”

  “Might I ask you to come to the bridge?” Captain Afaeaki sounded preternaturally calm. The only time she got that formal was when the shit had hit the fan, blown through it, and spattered on the wall.

  Jela reversed course, stalking back down the corridor to the lift. “On my way. Can you update me for what I’ll find?”

  “The controls for the Diplomatic Personal Surrogate are not connecting properly. Diplomat Foenicul thought that you might have some thoughts.”

  “Can you specify what ‘not connecting properly’ means?”

  “I am not an engineer, but I will endeavor to do so.”

  Jela winced. The captain was good and pissed now but probably had Diplomat Foenicul standing over her shoulder. “Thanks. I appreciate any information.”

  “The planet is demonstrating some unusual atmospheric disturbance. The current speculation is that it is interfering with the signal.”

  That was so not her department. Jela slapped the control on the elevator panel. “What did Conteh say about it?”

  “He made several attempts to rectify the situation before Diplomat Foenicul requested you.”

  “I’ll look at giving a signal boost and . . .” The captain would care less about that shit. “It’ll be fine. I’m on the lift. Be on the bridge in three. Dedearian out.”

  As the doors closed, she pressed the control for the bridge and then leaned against the wall. The hum and movement of the elevator made her light-headed. She closed her eyes, just for a moment.

  The hiss of the doors opening made her straighten. Jela tugged her uniform shirt down as she walked onto the bridge. Conteh, the communications officer, caught her gaze and rolled his eyes. He knew his stuff and had probably tried every frequency adjustment possible. Jela wouldn’t insult him by going through any of the things that would be in his arsenal.

  Captain Afaeaki’s posture might have been carved out of granite. Her jaw was set in an unforgiving line, and when she turned from Diplomat Foenicul, Jela paused to give a crisp salute. She was rewarded by a very slight lift of the captain’s eyebrow. Good. At least she knew how much horseshit this was.

  “Chief Engineer Dedearian. Thank you for your prompt appearance.”

  Full titles, was it? All right, then. Freaking diplomats. “Captain Afaeaki, I await your orders.”

  “If you could please assist the diplomat?” She gestured to Diplomat Foenicul, who had a console set up on the bridge. Jela had made the argument that the shuttle bay would be better for the console since it was closer to engineering and wouldn’t be in the captain’s way, but it was apparently not right for . . . reasons.

  “Certainly. Let’s see what we can do to boost the signal.”

  * * *

  After her third trip down to the engine room, which was exactly why she had suggested the shuttle bay as being a better location for the console, Jela had exhausted her repertoire of tricks. Except one. And she didn’t want to offer that, because she damn well knew who was going to get assigned to the duty. Besides, if the mission just happened to fail due to “unsual atmospheric disturbance,” that wouldn’t be on her. She straightened from beneath the console and wiped her hands off on a rag. “No luck. Any chance we can wait for the storm to pass?”

  Diplomat Foenicul sliced her hand through space to negate the possibility. “The Krowrehto leaders are expecting us, and they will have seen the shuttle land.”

  Letting out a sigh, Jela tucked the rag back into her tool kit. The Krowrehto leaders had been fed a pack of horseshit about how the Consortium would make their world better, when it would just strip their resources for the capital. Just like it had done to her own homeworld. “The only thing we haven’t tried is putting up a satellite antenna on the surface to boost the signal.”

  “Perfect!”

  “But . . .” Jela caught the captain’s gaze and waited until she had joined them. “But the more reliable course of action would be to send the control console to the surface.”

  “Alas. We cannot risk them seeing my petite nature. But you have given me hope.”

  Of course. Because that would let the “natives” see that the Consortium was lying to them from the very beginning. And that was not something that Jela could voice.

  Fluttering higher, Diplomat Foenicul turned her palms up in thanksgiving. “When can you depart?”

  “That depends on the captain’s needs. I am responsible for the entire ship, and this is a task that can easily be delegated to another technician, such as Okeke, who is already on the surface.”

  “Oh, but Okeke was not able to resolve the problem, and with such delicate negotiations, I need only the best.” Diplomat Foenicul lowered her gaze. “No offense to Lieutenant Okeke, of course, but surely you see how much the Consortium of Worlds needs you.”

  Standing a little behind the diplomat, Captain Afaeaki rolled her eyes, and that was the only thing that kept Jela rooted to her spot. The captain understood how much the Consortium “needed” anyone. While they were technically an independent ship, turning down a Consortium job had a strange tendency to turn into a treason charge. “You have your orders, Chief Engineer Dedearian.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jela saluted and stalked off the bridge. She’d have to ask someone to feed Sadie while she was conducting the universe’s most pointless away mission.

  * * *

  Under normal circumstances, Jela would have flown herself down to the planet, but pulling an all-nighter after a week of double shifts left her less than confident in her ability to stay awake for two hours. Besides, with Sal flying, she could nap on the way down.

  Only the change in engine noise told Jela that they were on the ground. She opened her eyes and straightened in her chair. “Handled with your usual grace, I see.”

  At her side, Sal’s tentacles curled with delight. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Hope you brought a book.” Jela unbuckled her restraint and swung out of her seat. “This is gonna be dull.”

  She headed for the landing hatch and toggled it open. The outside air was a little cool and smelled of cinnamon and seaweed. Okeke was already crossing the clearing where they’d set down. Her own ship, and the giant robot, were waiting at the other side. The robot’s anodized teal shell made a startling contrast with the vivid red foliage that surrounded them. The low trees gave way to reedy grass and then to a broad lake.

  Jela lifted her arms overhead, in an attempt to wake up, and stared across the lake at the city on the other side. The buildings were set well back from the lake and surrounded by a beautiful mosaic wall. The undulating patterns of blues and greens put her in mind of Sal’s tentacles. There would be nothing unique here in another hundred years.

  “Hey, Chief.” Okeke had a smear of grease next to her nose. “Sorry you had to come down.�
��

  “Lady knows, it’s not your fault.” She headed over to the cargo hold to grab the transmission booster, with Okeke at her side. “I shoulda sent the transmitter with you in the first place.” She should have said there was nothing to be done and left it at that.

  “Well, clear skies and all that.”

  “Huh.” Jela stepped back from the shuttle as Okeke undid the hatch. The sky overhead was a crystalline blue, with nary a cloud. “Has it been clear like this all night?”

  “Random lightning, but no clouds.” Okeke grabbed one end of the case holding the booster. “You said it was solar activity?”

  “That’s what it looks like.” She lifted one end of the case while Okeke grabbed the other. “From the ship, the aurora borealis looked pretty stunning.”

  The hatch to the shuttle opened, and Sal stuck her head out. “Will I be in your way if I read on the steps?”

  “Knock yourself out.” Getting a chance to breathe air that hadn’t been recycled for decades was something no one would pass up. Heck, even Jela was feeling more alert, just from air and natural light.

  They carried the booster over to the other shuttle, not that it needed proximity to the giant robot to work, but once they got it working, she’d be leaving it with Okeke.

  Okeke snorted. “Too bad we couldn’t have the giant robot carry this for us.”

  “Well . . .” Jela set her end of the case down. “I mean . . . we need to test all the parameters of the ‘Diplomatic Personal Surrogate.’ ”

  “Yes, ma’am. Of course. Of course that’s what we need to do.” Okeke grinned and led the way over to the controls. She’d set them up outside the shuttle, hoping that they could act as a synced relay for the system aboard the ship. “Want to do the honors?”

  She’d rather let Okeke have the fun, but given Diplomat Foenicul’s insistence on using the “best” of everything, it was probably safer if Jela used the giant robot. If anything went wrong with it, she didn’t want Okeke to take the brunt of that. And that, really, was why she hadn’t tried to sabotage anything regarding the mission. It had the potential to get everyone in her department in trouble. “Yeah . . . Yeah, I guess I’d better. Why don’t you look for a rock for Adika while I do this?”