Robots vs. Fairies

by Dominik Parisien

  “You are the absolute best.” Okeke nodded toward the lake. “I’ll be over there.”

  “Take your time.” Chances were, even when she got this working, Diplomat Foenicul would insist that she stay on the planet. Jela activated the controls and, for thoroughness, started a new calibration sequence. Who was she kidding? Even working for the devil, it was hard not to do her personal best. As her matriarch had always said, “Done right, or done over.”

  A breeze brushed her cheek, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation. She had an oscillating fan in her cabin, to try to mimic the randomness of natural air, but it wasn’t the same. This carried scents of loam and cinnamon and a salty tang of seaweed. As much as Jela loved engineering and space, she had hired onto the ship because of the planets she got to visit. If she’d known that the captain was taking this diplomatic gig, she’d have . . . what? Quit? And found another job doing what, exactly? It wasn’t as if the captain of any other ship would have been able to turn the job down safely.

  Okeke screamed.

  Jela’s eyes snapped open, her hand reaching for her blaster. At the shore, a giant squid monster thing had emerged, dripping, from the water and held Okeke in one tentacle.

  Sal shouted something in her native language and fired her blaster at the thing. From within the monster’s mass of tentacles, a toothed beak emerged. The entire thing pulled itself closer to Sal, balancing impossibly on the dozens of writhing arms.

  Across the lake, the mosaic wall became alive with activity as hundreds of citizens rushed to the top with spears and guns and braced themselves. Holy crap. This had not been in any of their pre-mission briefings.

  Why the hell hadn’t Foenicul told them about giant squid when the citizens clearly knew about them?

  Jela grabbed the interface visor from the console and shoved her arms into the control mitts. No way was that thing getting any of her team. She toggled the system to full power and then—

  Then she was looking out the eyes of the giant robot. The system translated the patterns of her brain and muscular intentions into movement. She stood, rising fifteen meters above the ground. She’d give a lot for a weapons system on this, but a Diplomatic Personal Surrogate didn’t come equipped with such things.

  But a club would work. She strode forward, ground trembling beneath her feet, and snatched up the case containing the satellite booster.

  The squid-thing paused in its advance on Sal and turned its beak toward Jela. Or, rather, toward the giant robot. It seemed to have forgotten that it still held Okeke in one tentacle. She had one hand free and was slamming a rock against the tentacle.

  Jela rammed the squid-thing with the case. It tumbled back, seemingly stunned. She needed it to drop Okeke. There was no telling what was vulnerable on this thing, but mouths tended to have a lot of nerves in them. Charging forward, Jela thrust the case at its beak.

  It reeled, tentacles flailing. Okeke’s head whipped back and forth with the movement. With the case pulled back for another swing, Jela hesitated. She had to get Okeke out of the thing’s grasp before it hurt her, but each tentacle seemed to have a mind of its own.

  Fine then. She’d threaten the tentacle that held Okeke. And, after all, it wasn’t like this was Jela’s actual body. Although the diplomat would have her head if the giant robot were permanently disabled. With the case still raised, she ran the giant robot directly into the squid-thing and brought the case down in the center of the mass of tentacles. Six of them wrapped around the case, anchoring it. She let go and used both hands to grab the tentacle holding Okeke. Toggling the power to full, she pulled her hands apart.

  The squid-thing thrashed, trying to shake her loose, but she just bore down harder and tried to tear the tentacle off.

  Finally it let go of Okeke, who dropped to the ground and rolled clear. The rest of the tentacles wrapped around the giant robot and pinned it. She tried to pull it free, but each time she got loose from one tentacle, another wrapped around her. Crap.

  She wasn’t going to get free of them, so she had to figure out a way to stun them all at once. The junction where they all connected and where the beak was . . . there had to be a brain in there. In theory. With nothing else to try, Jela pitched the giant robot over, so that its mass fell toward the squid-thing. They both tumbled to the ground with the squid on the bottom.

  The tension holding her released just enough that Jela was able to wiggle an arm free. She was perfectly safe, but she had to get the giant robot loose because the mission required— What the hell was she doing?

  She knew what would happen if the Consortium got a foothold here. First it would be mining rights. Then it would be logging rights. And then water. And then labor . . . until nothing was left but the shell of a planet. Everyone who lived here would be clamoring to get a job with the Consortium, because that’s where the money was. The Consortium would strip their culture away until they were a shadow people.

  It was one thing to think about that in the abstract, on the ship, and another to see the world and its mosaic-graced city.

  On the ship, anything they did ran the risk of being blamed on her crew, but here? A giant squid had nothing to do with them. Even if she was blamed for using the robot without authorization, that fault wouldn’t hit anyone else.

  She let the giant robot go limp, and the squid-thing wrapped its tentacles around the arms. The thing’s horny beak slammed into the exoskeleton, seeking a way into the nerve center. Electronics would do just as well, and if she bent the head, just so . . . some of those connections would be exposed.

  The haptic sensors on the console suddenly froze. Jela tried to turn her head, but the view in her eyepiece stayed resolutely the same. Tentacles writhed around her.

  She pushed clear of the goggles and staggered backward as her view returned to her own body.

  A hundred meters away, Okeke and Sal had opened fire on the squid-thing. It abandoned the giant robot, which tumbled to the ground like a giant broken doll, and turned toward her crewmates.

  Jela ran for the shuttle, drawing her own weapon. “Fall back! Fall back!”

  Okeke and Sal didn’t waste any time. They sprinted for the shuttle as Jela did her best to cover their retreat. In a frantic jumble, they scrambled through the hatch. Sal threw herself into the pilot chair and didn’t wait for them to buckle in before beginning the power-up sequence.

  A meaty slap sounded against the outside of the shuttle.

  “Damn it.” Maybe Jela should have tried to kill the thing. She just thought it would play with the robot longer. “Can you hit it with the thrusters?”

  The shuttle engine roared into life and the acceleration made Jela stumble. Okeke had fallen to her knees, blood dripping from vicious perfect circles where her uniform had torn on her arms and torso. Crawling to get to her, Jela eased her assistant onto her back. “Hold on. We’ll get you patched up. Just hold on.”

  * * *

  The shuttle door opened and the captain was waiting in the shuttle bay, with Diplomat Foenicul. And a full security detail. Jela stopped in the door so suddenly that Sal ran into her back. What the heck?

  “We need a medic.” She pointed toward the inside of the shuttle. “I have a crew member down.”

  Captain Afaeaki stepped forward, opening her mouth to speak. Before she could finish drawing breath, Diplomat Foenicul swooped forward, fluttering her wings to rise above the small group. “Chief Engineer Dedearian, your actions have jeopardized the Consortium’s interests in unforgivable ways.”

  “You mean that goddamn squid-thing did.” If she was going down, she would speak her mind. Finally. “And why the hell wasn’t that thing in our briefings?”

  The diplomat dipped a little in the air, a line appearing between her delicate brows. “It is not your place to question.”

  “And I never have. Not until one of my crewmates was almost killed.” She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. We need a medic and we need one stat.”

  The captain turned
to the medical team standing by behind security. “Doctor. Go.”

  The diplomat fluttered higher. “I must insist that they are all arrested.”

  “I . . . I what?” No. No, that had not been the plan. If there was one. “I was the only one who used the gi—the Personal Diplomatic Surrogate.”

  “Yes, but when your shuttle took off, it engulfed the creature in flames. Though not intentional, it still had the effect of making the natives believe that we had defeated their god.”

  “Their god? So you knew about the giant squid-thing before we went down? That—that’s why you wouldn’t go down to the surface. That’s why we had a giant fucking robot!” After seeing the sucker wounds on Okeke’s arms and torso, Jela was almost vibrating with anger. If it weren’t her own ship, she’d spit on the floor. “You put them in direct danger, because you inadequately briefed us for the mission.”

  Behind the diplomat’s back, the captain suddenly broke into a huge grin like she’d just won a hand of poker. “Oh dear. Regulations require me to report irregular briefings to the Consortium representatives.”

  “What?” Diplomat Foenicul spun in the air, but by the time she’d completed the turn, Captain Afaeaki had again resumed a solemn glare.

  The captain spread her hands as if she were helpless. “I wish I did not have to, but the trip will come under such scrutiny with the arrest of my officer. You understand, of course.”

  For long moments, Diplomat Foenicul hovered in the air, the only sound the hiss of air circulators. She snapped her wings, once and then twice. “Punishment must occur. This cannot go unremarked.”

  “Of course.” Captain Afaeaki bowed her head. “Security, confine Chief Engineer Dedearian to quarters.”

  And this was why Jela loved her captain. Confined to quarters? If she’d been really angry, it would have been the brig. But this? This wasn’t a punishment. It was a reward.

  Jela strode down the ramp and was kind of glad that she reeked of sweat. Diplomat Foenicul fluttered back, wrinkling her nose, and gave Jela ample space to approach the captain. “Permission to see to my wounded teammate, before reporting to my quarters.”

  “Granted.”

  She left Diplomat Foenicul fluttering in the middle of the shuttle bay and went back into the shuttle. The doctor had Okeke propped up against the side of the shuttle and was talking on her comm. She looked up when Jela came in, Sal close on her heels.

  “She’ll be fine. Gonna have a heck of a scar, if she wants to keep it, but she’ll be fine.” The doctor kept her hand on Okeke’s wrist, measuring her pulse. “Got a team coming to take her to sick bay.”

  Jela settled onto the floor next to the junior engineer. “Sorry about this.”

  “No worries.” Okeke tried to smile, but pain made it into more of a grimace. “My son’s going to be upset that I didn’t bring a rock back.”

  “He’ll be happy you’re alive. Trust me. Besides, you fought it off with a rock. That’s got to be good enough, right?”

  “It’s nothing compared to a giant robot.”

  Jela snorted. A rock. A giant robot. Maybe it didn’t matter how you fought a giant squid, just so long as you fought.

  TEAM ROBOT

  * * *

  BY MARY ROBINETTE KOWAL

  Robots are awesome. Why? Because we’re tool-using creatures, and a robot is the ultimate tool. It can be crafted to do a specific job, and do it with precision. My dad used to work for a textile company, which could take your measurements via light, shoot them into a computer, and then have robots cut out a custom-tailored garment for you in minutes. For me, that epitomizes why robots are cool, because we can design them to do anything.

  THE BOOKCASE EXPEDITION

  by Jeffrey Ford

  I started seeing them during the winter when I was at death’s door and whacked out on meds. At first I thought they were baby praying mantises that had somehow invaded the house to escape the ice and snow, but they were far smaller than that. Minuscule, really. I was surprised I could see them at all. I could, though, and at times with great clarity, as if through invisible binoculars. Occasionally, I heard their distant cries.

  I’m talking about fairies, tiny beings in the forms of men, women, and children. I spotted them, thin as a pin and half as tall, creeping about; running from the cats or carrying back to their homes in the walls sacks full of crumbs gathered from our breakfast plates. Mostly I saw them at night, as I had to sit upright in the corner of the living room couch to sleep in order not to suffocate. While the wind howled outside, the light coming in from the kitchen illuminated a small party of them ascending and descending the dunes and craters of the moonscape that was my blanket. One night they planted a flag—a tattered postage stamp fastened to a cat’s whisker—into my knee as if I was undiscovered country.

  The first time I saw one, it was battling—have you ever seen one of those spiders that looks like it’s made of wood? Well, the fairy had a thistle spike and was parrying the picket legs of that arachnid, bravely lunging for its soft underbelly. I took it all in stride, though. I didn’t get excited. I certainly didn’t go and tell Lynn, who would think it nonsense. Let the fairies do their thing, I thought. I had way bigger problems to deal with, like trying to breathe.

  I know what you’re thinking. They weren’t a figment of my imagination. For instance, I’d spotted a band of them running along the kitchen counter. They stopped near the edge, where a water glass stood. Together, they pushed against it and toppled it onto the floor. “Ya little bastards,” I yelled. They scattered faint atoms of laughter as they fled. The broken glass went everywhere, and I swept for twenty minutes only to find more. The next day, Lynn got a shard in her foot, and I had to burn the end of a needle and operate.

  I didn’t see them constantly. Sometimes a week would go by before I encountered one. They watched us and I was certain they knew what we were about in our thoughts and acts. I’d spotted them—one with a telescope aimed at my nose and the other sitting, making notes in a bound journal—on the darkened porch floor at night when we sat out wrapped in blankets and candlelight, drinking wine and dozing in the moon glow. I wondered, Why now, as I trundle toward old age, am I granted the “sight,” as my grandma Maisie might have called it?

  A few days ago I was in my office at the computer, trying to iron out my thinking on a story I’d been writing in which there’s a scene where a guy, for no reason I can recall, just disappears. There’d been nothing strange about this character previously to give any indication that he was simply going to vanish into thin air. I can’t remember what I’d had in mind or why at some point it had made sense to me.

  The winter illness had stunned my brain. Made me dim and forgetful. Metaphor, simile, were mere words, and I couldn’t any longer feel the excitement of their effects. A darkness pervaded my chest and head. I leaned back in my chair away from the computer and turned toward the bookcases. I was concentrating hard not to let the fear of failure in when a damn housefly the size of a grocery-store grape buzzed my left temple, and I slapped myself in the face. It came by again and I ducked, reaching for a magazine with which to do my killing.

  That was when a contingent of fairies emerged from the dark half-inch of space beneath the middle of the five bookcases that lined the right wall of my office. There was a swarm of them, like ants round a drip of ice cream on a summer sidewalk. At first I thought I wanted to get back to my story, but soon enough I told myself, You know what? Fuck that story. I folded my arms and watched. At first they appeared distant, but I didn’t fret. I was in no hurry. The clear, strong breath of spring had made of the winter a fleeting shadow. I saw out the window—sunlight, blue sky, and a lazy white cloud. The fairies gave three cheers, and I realized something momentous was afoot.

  Although I kept my eyes trained on their number, my concentration sharpened and blurred and sharpened again. When my thoughts were away, I have no idea what I was thinking, but when they weren’t, I was thinking that someday soon I was go
ing to go over to the preserve and walk the two-mile circular path through the golden prairie grass. I decided, in that brief span, that it would only be right to take Nellie the dog with me. All this, as I watched the little people, maybe fifty of them, twenty-five on either side, carry out from under the bookcase the ruler I’d been missing for the past year.

  They laid the ruler across a paperback copy of Angela Carter’s Burning Your Boats. It had fallen of its own volition from the bottom shelf three days earlier. Sometimes that happens: the books just take a dive. There was a thick anthology of Norse sagas pretty close to it that had been lying there for five months. I made a mental note to, someday soon, rescue the fallen. No time to contemplate it, though, because four fairies broke off from the crowd, climbed atop the Carter collection, and then took a position at the very end of the ruler, facing the bookcase. I leaned forward to get a better look.

  The masses moved like water flowing to where the tome of sagas lay. They swept around it, lifting it end over end, and standing it upright, upside down, so that the horns of the Viking helmet pictured on the cover pointed to the center of the earth. The next thing I knew, they were toppling the thick book. It came down with the weight of two dozen Norse sagas right onto the end of the ruler opposite from where the fairies stood. Of course, the four of them were shot into the air, arcing toward the bookcase. They flew, and each gripped in the right hand a rose bush thorn.

  I watched them hit the wall of books a shelf and a half up and dig the sharp points of their thorns into dust jackets and spines. One of them made a tear in the red cover of my hardback copy of Black Hole. Once secured, they hitched themselves at the waist with a rope belt to their affixed thorn. I’d not noticed before, but they had bows and arrows, and lengths of thread, no doubt from Lynn’s sewing basket, draped across their chests like bandoliers. I had a sudden memory of The Teenie Weenies, a race of fairies that appeared in the Daily News Sunday comics when I was a kid. I envisioned, for a moment, an old panel from the Weenies in which one was riding a wild turkey with a saddle and reins while the others gathered giant acorns half their size. I came back from that thought just in time to see all four fairies release their arrows into the ceiling of the shelf they were on. I heard the distant, petite impact of each shaft. Then, bows slung over their shoulders, they began to climb, hand over hand, using the book spines in front of them to rappel upward.