“You look well,” it said, as we walked down the walkway. We both loved the walkway because of the winds the warm clear seawater created as it rushed by below.
I smiled. “I feel well.”
“When did you make it?”
“Over the last two suns,” I said.
“I’m glad,” it said. “You were beginning to fade.”
It held up an okuoko. “I was working with a yellow current to use in one of my classmate’s body tech,” it said.
“Oh,” I said, looking at its burned flesh.
We paused, looking down at the rushing waters. The relief I’d felt at the naturalness, the trueness of the otjize immediately started waning. This was the real test. I rubbed some otjize from my arm and then took Okwu’s okuoko in my hand. I applied the otjize and then let the okuoko drop as I held my breath. We walked back to my dorm. My otjize from Earth had healed Okwu and then the chief. It would heal many others. The otjize created by my people, mixed with my homeland. This was the foundation of the Meduse’s respect for me. Now all of it was gone. I was someone else. Not even fully Himba anymore. What would Okwu think of me now?
When we got to my dorm, we stopped.
“I know what you are thinking,” Okwu said.
“I know you Meduse,” I said. “You’re people of honor, but you’re firm and rigid. And traditional.” I felt sorrow wash over and I sobbed, covering my face with my hand. Feeling my otjize smear beneath it. “But you’ve become my friend,” I said. When I brought my hand away, my palm was red with otjize. “You are all I have here. I don’t know how it happened, but you are . . .”
“You will call your family and have them,” Okwu said.
I frowned and stepped away from Okwu. “So callous,” I whispered.
“Binti,” Okwu said. It plumed out gas, in what I knew was a laugh. “Whether you carry the substance that can heal and bring life back to my people or not, I am your friend. I am honored to know you.” It shook its okuoko, making one of them vibrate. I yelped when I felt the vibration in one of mine.
“What is that?” I shouted, holding up my hands.
“It means we are family through battle,” it said. “You are the first to join our family in this way in a long time. We do not like humans.”
I smiled.
He held up an okuoko. “Show it to me tomorrow,” I said, doubtfully.
“Tomorrow will be the same,” it said.
When I rubbed off the otjize the burn was gone.
* * *
I sat in the silence of my room looking at my edan as I sent out a signal to my family with my astrolabe. Outside was dark and I looked into the sky, at the stars, knowing the pink one was home. The first to answer was my mother.
NEBULA AWARD NOMINEE
BEST NOVEL
EXCERPT FROM RAISING CAINE
CHARLES E. GANNON
Dr. Charles E. Gannon’s award-winning Caine Riordan/Terran Republic hard sf novels have been multiply best-selling and Nebula finalists He also collaborates with Eric Flint in the NYT and WSJ best-selling Ring of Fire alternate history series. His other novels and short fiction straddle the divide between hard SF and technothrillers and have appeared through various imprints and in various magazines. He also worked extensively in game design and writing, as well as being a scriptwriter and producer in New York City, where his clients included the United Nations, the World Health Organization, and PBS.
A Distinguished Professor of English and Fulbright Senior Specialist, his book Rumors of War and Infernal Machines won the 2006 American Library Association Choice Award for Outstanding Book. He is a recipient of five Fulbright Fellowships and Travel Grants and has been a subject matter expert both for national media venues such as NPR and the Discovery Channel, as well as for various intelligence and defense agencies, including DHS, Pentagon, every service branch, NATO, DARPA, ONR, NRO, NASA, and several other organizations with which he signed NDAs.
FROM THE AUTHOR
Writing Raising Caine started with me poring over almost 40,000 words of notes, and then listening to something like four hours of audio notes.
Here’s why: the Caine Riordan/Terran Republic series (of which it is the third volume) is, in part, a chronicle of humanity’s transition from thinking itself alone in the universe to realizing that it is not. It’s not, however, a polarized, “us-them,” first contact saga, because there are several different races (four, or five, depending upon how you count them). But the confusions and conflicts that arise are not merely (or even primarily) caused by contemporary differences, but are revealed to emerge from a local history of which humanity has not yet been apprised. In short, much of the deeper narrative action is how the layers of hidden knowledge are peeled away like the layers of an onion, and how that process results in both new perceptions and misperceptions. Consequently, understanding any (let alone all) of the exosapients occurs not all at once, or even in one book, but over time, particularly as the humans come to understand what was happening in this stellar cluster before they emerged into it.
To put it lightly, a story (well, a mosaic) like this has a lot of moving parts. Not just in terms of characters and current events, but the constantly changing state of knowledge of the various entities (human and otherwise) who are involved in these uncertain and often half-veiled exchanges. This means resolving threads set out in prior books, evolving others which will only be resolved later, and starting new ones. Raising Caine had a lot of this traffic, even though it did not dominate the “text” of the narrative. Rather, it was the subtext which, like bedrock, shapes the topography of the surface: of the unfolding and immediate events of the story. So, although I am partially a “pantser” when it comes to individual scenes, my “plotter” hat was jammed firmly on my head as I wove this tale of misdirection, survival, and betrayal during a diplomatic effort to forge a relationship with another species.
Chapter Twenty-Two
BIOBAND’S VALLANDGJ 1248 ONE (“ADUMBRATUS”)
As Caine worked his way to the head of the legation, Yiithrii’ah’aash continued on into a grove of immense, hypertrophied bushes which were simultaneously reminiscent of pointy mushrooms and very squat Christmas trees. “These are one of our most effective organisms for inducing xenobiots to become receptive to our own flora. And ultimately, to our settlers and other fauna.”
Trent Howarth looked around, puzzled. “Isn’t this planet already inhabited by Slaasriithi?” He glanced meaningfully at the ambassador’s shorter, thicker assistants.
“What you see, Mr. Howarth, are pioneer inducers of change, not colonists. Their life work is to shape the environment by fostering symbiotic or cooperative relationships between the indigenous biota and our own. Where that is not possible, we will establish preserves of our own biota by crowding out the native ones. These plants excel at that task.” Yiithrii’ah’aash gestured toward what Riordan was already thinking of as a cone tree. “By using their canopy to capture all the light and water that would normally find its way down to the ground, and by selectively sharing the resulting resources with our own—or receptive indigenous—biota, the trees claim the area beneath them for our exploitation. We introduce our own biota into it, and then work at inducing further mutations to maximize the harmony between the two families of bioforms.”
Phil Friel’s soft voice rose from the rear of the group. “You keep using the word ‘induce’ when you speak about changing an organism. Since you seem to have a wide command of our language, I’m wondering if that repetition is not merely intentional, but important.” Tina Melah glanced at the quiet Irishman with unveiled admiration. Of course, Tina didn’t seem to bother with veils of any type.
Yiithrii’ah’aash purred. “Indeed, we use the word ‘induce’ quite purposefully. It describes how we prefer to transform biota: to provide the correct environmental circumstances and monitoring to encourage natural change in a desired direction. Creating change by using sudden force, whether by traumatic stimuli or mechani
stic alteration, rarely produces stable environmental blending.”
They left the grove of cone trees along a path that straddled an irregular border between day-glo green lichens struggling out from beneath the Slaasriithi plants on one side and a diffuse violet moss pierced by intermittent black spikes on the other side. Caine tried to recall an analog for the latter flora, but the only image that came to mind was of sea urchins trying to push up through a carpet of violet cotton candy. The ground between the two masses of plants was a tangle of runners from both, many of which were brown and lank: die-off where the two families of vegetation met, fought, and died.
Oleg Danysh squinted along their probable path, which remained in the shade of the brightside wall: the high terminal moraine that sheltered both the indigenous and exogenous biota from the steady red-gold light of GJ 1248. “It seems, Ambassador, that you mean to follow the contact margin between your own imported species, and those native to this planet.”
“Very astute, Dr. Danysh. In addition to keeping us in the shade of the ridgeline, it allows us to visit where we are making our greatest progress to transform the native life. And so, it offers you the best opportunities to learn about us.”
“Well, about your work as planet-changers, at least,” Tina Melah drawled.
Yiithrii’ah’aash’s head turned back in her direction; he did not slow his forward progress. “You may find, Ms. Melah, that the latter reveals the former more profoundly than any other behavior of ours. What we do here is no different from what we do everywhere.”
“Even on your homeworld?” she wondered.
“Especially on our homeworld,” Yiithrii’ah’aash emphasized. “We seek to reconcile and blend different species, taxae, individuals. It is the great challenge and conundrum of life, wherever it exists, that stability is only achieved by acknowledging the inevitability of change, and is only preserved by working with the forces of entropy to create a dynamic equilibrium in the natural order.”
Gaspard aimed his chin toward the rose-tinted cream sky. “And if those endeavors reveal the nature of the Slaasriithi best, which behaviors would you say reveal humanity’s nature most clearly to you?”
“We have not known you for that long.” Yiithrii’ah’aash might have sounded evasive.
“True, but you have had reports on us from the Custodians while we were a protected species, and you have had access to a full compendium of our history and media for almost a year now. Surely you have some sense of which endeavors reveal the most about us.”
“I do,” Yiithrii’ah’aash admitted slowly. “Human nature, we find, is best revealed in endeavors characterized by uncertainty, innovation and crisis. So, we find depictions of your exploration, and of rescue operations, particularly informing.”
Caine waited for the third category of activity and, when he did not hear it, asked outright. “And war?”
Yiithrii’ah’aash slowed slightly, swiveled his head back at Riordan. “Yes. Most especially, war.”
They continued up the rough trail in silence.
* * *
The legation descended into a flat expanse where the native “forest”—stacks of vine-bound cream-teal tumbleweeds—were embroiled in a war of econiche flanking maneuvers against the cone trees and giant ferns of Slaasriithi origin. Arrayed just in front of that latter mass of Kelly- and lime-green vegetation, Slaasriithi were patiently watching some of their own fauna roll what looked like unripe grapefruits toward a waiting clutch of indigenous animals. The Slaasriithi creatures, which resembled a nutria–flying squirrel hybrid with far too many eyes, deposited the fruits in the midground between the two groups, then backed off a few steps and waited.
Their local counterparts—smooth, leather-backed creatures with six squat legs, four small eyes, and a head that resembled an armor-plated badger crossbred with a catfish—waited, watched, and began side-winding forward. Several emitted a crackling hiss as they approached. In response to those which hissed, the surprisingly swift Slaasriithi nutria-squirrels scuttled forward and grabbed their fruits back to safety. In the case of the local creatures that approached more placidly, the flap-legged nutrias edged forward slightly. In most cases, the local creatures retreated. In several cases, they tolerated the modest advance of the alien animals until they could grab the fruit and scramble away. When the more truculent catfish-badgers then tried to muscle in and get some of the water-rich fruits retrieved by their fellows, the Slaasriithi summoned an almost invisible drone, which made a quick pass between the contending local creatures. The drone was noiseless and did not visibly discharge any payload, but it must have released a marker spore which repulsed the less cooperative local creature: in each case, the would-be fruit hijacker scuttled away empty-handed.
Another group of Slaasriithi, a taxon subtly different in physiology, unobtrusively followed the more cooperative local creatures. When they began tearing into their fruit, the Slaasriithi released insects which quickly caught the familiar scent. They hovered over the backs of the greedily feeding indigenous creatures until they abandoned the stripped rind. Then the insects descended to scavenge the remains.
“Let me guess,” Ben Hwang muttered, his arms folded. “By hovering over the local animals, these insects inadvertently ‘marked’ them. That allows you to follow the individuals which grabbed the fruit and to encourage their propagation.”
Yiithrii’ah’aash seemed pleased. “You are an exceptionally quick study, Doctor Hwang. Your surmise is correct. The rest is, I trust, obvious.”
Hirano Mizuki nodded. “The indigenous creatures which have tolerated greater proximity with your own species, being better fed and hydrated, now have better survival and breeding odds. In that way, you are increasing the prevalence of whatever combination of predisposition and learned behaviors made them more tolerant. Conversely, by ensuring that the aggressive ones cannot hijack the fruit, you reduce their breeding odds and, consequently, their ability to impart the unwanted traits to subsequent generations. Over time, you will provide the changed species with additional training opportunities and consequent survival and breeding advantages. And the final step will be to increase their toleration for your own fauna until they are comfortable mingling, and even sharing the fruit.”
Dora Veriden was watching the flapped nutria-squirrels. “Must be handy to have those trained muskrats ready to work for you. How long does it take to bribe them into submission?”
Yiithrii’ah’aash turned, as did several of the legation, at the facetiousness of Dora’s tone. “The species you refer to, Ms. Veriden, has several of our own traits, which we find not only useful but crucial. Specifically, Slaasriithi intelligence arose not so much from tool use, but from our reflex to establish relationships with other species, and thereby increase our social sophistication, specialization, and survival strategies.”
The ambassador gestured back toward the nutria-squirrels. “We did not train these creatures to apply a crude version of operant conditioning upon these indigenous species. It is a reflex, coded into their genetic matrix. This is how they, and we, survive and ultimately thrive in new environments.”
NEBULA AWARD NOMINEE
BEST NOVEL
EXCERPT FROM THE FIFTH SEASON
N. K. JEMISIN
N. K. Jemisin is a Brooklyn author who won the Hugo Award for Best Novel for The Fifth Season, which was also a New York Times Notable Book of 2015. She previously won the Locus Award for her first novel, The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, and her short fiction and novels have been nominated multiple times for Hugo, World Fantasy, and Nebula awards, and shortlisted for the Crawford and the James Tiptree, Jr. awards. She is a science fiction and fantasy reviewer for the New York Times, and you can find her online at nkjemisin.com.
FROM THE AUTHOR
I actually talked about this on my blog back when I first started it, in the blog post “Carving a New World” (nkjemisin.com/2011/12/carving-a-new-world/). Basically, I wrote a simple synopsis, then wrote some test chapters
to get a better feel for the voice I needed; this is something I do for every new novel. Then I wrote something that I call a “proof of concept” short story—not necessarily the same characters, but giving the worldbuilding a road test. The proof of concept story for The Fifth Season was actually published in Clarkesworld as “Stone Hunger” (clarkesworldmagazine.com/jemisin_07_14/). I did spend a while doing research into seismology, because I’m nothing but an armchair enthusiast. This involved a lovely, exhausting four-day trip to Hawai’i, in which I visited a volcano per day. Then I settled into writing. The whole thing took me about a year and a half.
prologue you are here
Let’s start with the end of the world, why don’t we? Get it over with and move on to more interesting things.
First, a personal ending. There is a thing she will think over and over in the days to come, as she imagines how her son died and tries to make sense of something so innately senseless. She will cover Uche’s broken little body with a blanket—except his face, because he is afraid of the dark—and she will sit beside it numb, and she will pay no attention to the world that is ending outside. The world has already ended within her, and neither ending is for the first time. She’s old hat at this by now.
What she thinks then, and thereafter, is: But he was free.
And it is her bitter, weary self that answers this almost-question every time her bewildered, shocked self manages to produce it:
Nebula Awards Showcase 2017 Page 23