Nebula Awards Showcase 2003
Page 16
“.minutes six” ,said she “,downwhen Skip” .blood spat and up herself pull to struggled She .whispered she “,Goodbye” .cheek her into seeping deck the of cold the ,moment a for there lay She .woman dead a like dropped and it off caromed ,screen main the into crashed she as lip her bit Mada ;gone was Owen Suddenly ~. . . . com the Substantiate~ “.no ,no ,no” ,panted he “,No” ?her to it Was .something Saying .her behind right was He ~.mod command the Substantiate~ .ship the to subbed she ~.you need I~ .fast so run to or—her after come to Owen expect didn’t She .ran Mada “.Owen ,you offer can I all That’s” .feet her to staggered She “.survive should body my says ship The” “.me Tell” .fours all on him from away scrabbled she and her at lunged He “?doing you are What ?children the of care take ,mean you do What.” “.children the of care Take” .on shift the tugged She “.explain will ship The” “?how Different” “.different be I’ll ,it do I after Because” “?sorry you are Why” .warily her watched Owen. “.sorry I’m ,myself help can’t I” .shift her for fumbled She “.do to have I something There’s” ?man this For ?what for her made had who those of cause the betray to ready been had She .happy be to duty her wasn’t It .shame and guilt of weight the by her of out crushed lightness the all ,Owen from away rolled She .was she happy dangerously how then realized Mada .babies her of one like giggled and lips his to finger a put She “.know I” “. . . . was meant I what ,No” “.say to supposed you’re something not it’s but” ,laughing, said she “,true be may That” .her off him pushed and squawked She .said he “,else one no is There” “.person wrong the to poems love writing You’re” .said she “,comment my is This” .eyes his see to craned She “.No” “?comment your that Is” “.one the was That”.purr silken a voice her ,said she “,Owen”
When threespace went blurry, it seemed that her duty did too. She waved her hand and watched it smear.
“You know what you’re doing,” said the ship.
“What I was designed to do. What all my batch siblings pledged to do.” She waved her hand again; she could actually see through herself. “The only thing I can do.”
“The mine will wipe your identity. There will be nothing of you left.”
“And then it will be gone and the timelines will open. I believe that I’ve known this was what I had to do since we first skipped upwhen.”
“The probability was always high,” said the ship. “But not certain.”
“Bring me to him, afterward. But don’t tell him about the timelines. He might want to change them. The timelines are for the children, so that they can finish the revol . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
“Owen,” she said, her voice a silken purr. Then she paused.
The woman shook her head, trying to clear it. Lying on top of her was the handsomest man she had ever met. She felt warm and sexy and wonderful. What was this? “I . . . I’m . . . ,” she said. She reached up and touched the little red cloth hanging from his shoulders. “I like your cape.”
done
“.minutes six” ,said she “,downwhen Skip” .blood spat and up herself pull to struggled She .whispered she “,Goodbye” .cheek her into seeping deck the of cold the ,moment a for there lay She .woman dead a like dropped and it off caromed ,screen main the into crashed she as lip her bit Mada ;gone was Owen Suddenly ~ . . . com the Substantiate~ “no ,no ,no” ,panted he “,No” ?her to it Was .some-thing Saying .her behind right was He ~.mod command the Substantiate~ .ship the to subbed she ~.you need I~ .fast so run to or—her after come to Owen expect didn’t She .ran Mada “.Owen ,you offer can I all That’s” .feet her to staggered She “.survive should body my says ship The” “.me Tell” .fours all on him from away scrabbled she and her at lunged He “?doing you are What ?children the of care take ,mean you do What.” “.children the of care Take” .on shift the tugged She “.explain will ship The” “?how Different” “.different be I’ll ,it do I after Because” “?sorry you are Why” .warily her watched Owen. “.sorry I’m ,myself help can’t I” .shift her for fumbled She “.do to have I something There’s” ?man this For ?what for her made had who those of cause the betray to ready been had She .happy be to duty her wasn’t It .shame and guilt of weight the by her of out crushed lightness the all ;Owen from away rolled She .was she happy dangerously how then realized Mada .babies her of one like giggled and lips his to finger a put She “.know I” “.. .. was meant I what ,No” “.say to supposed you’re something not it’s but” ,laughing, said she “,true be may That” .her off him pushed and squawked She .said he “,else one no is There” “.person wrong the to poems love writing You’re” .said she “,comment my is This” .eyes his see to craned She “.No” “?comment your that Is” “.one the was That” .purr silken a voice her ,said she “,Owen”
Mada waved her hand and saw it smear in threespace. “What are you doing?” said the ship.
“What I was designed to do.” She waved; she could actually see through herself. “The only thing I can do.”
“The mine will wipe your identity. None of your memories will survive.”
“I believe that I’ve known that’s what would happen since we first skipped upwhen.”
“It was probable,” said the ship “But not certain.”
Trueborn scholars pinpoint what the ship did next as its first step forward independent sentience. In its memoirs, the ship credits the children with teaching it to misbehave.
It played a prank.
“Loving you,” said the ship, “is like catching rain on my tongue. You bathe . . .”
“Stop,” Mada shouted. “Stop right now!”
“Got you!” The ship gloated. “Four minutes, fifty-one seconds.”
“Owen,” she said, her voice a silken purr. “That was the one.”
“Is that your comment?”
“No.” Mada was astonished—and pleased—that she still existed. She knew that in most timelines her identity must have been obliterated by the mine. Thinking about those brave, lost selves made her more sad than proud. “This is my comment,” she said. “I’m ready now.”
Owen coughed uncertainly. “Umm, already?”
She squawked and pushed him off her. “Not for that.” She sifted his hair through her hands. “To be with you forever.”
RHYSLING WINNERS
The Rhysling Awards for science fiction poetry, voted on by members of the Science Fiction Poetry Association, have been given continuously since their inception in 1978. Since the 1980s, they have usually been included in the Nebula anthology. There are two Rhyslings, one for a poem of up to fifty lines, one for more than fifty lines. This year’s winners follow a distinguished list that includes Ursula K. Le Guin, Gene Wolfe, Lucius Shepard, and Michael Bishop.
Bruce Boston is the author of thirty books and chapbooks. His poems and stories have appeared in hundreds of publications and won numerous awards, including the prestigious Pushcart Prize and an Asimov’s Readers’ Award. In 1999 the Science Fiction Poetry Association honored him with its first Grand Master Award. “My Wife Returns As She Would Have It” delicately embodies a grieving man’s wishes—and, perhaps, something else as well.
Joe Haldeman has won five Hugos, four Nebulas, and three Rhyslings. Having grown up in such far-flung places as Puerto Rico, Alaska, and Washington, D.C., Joe and wife Gay now bicycle across continents for fun. He is the author of twenty-four books, including such modern classics as The Forever War, Forever Peace, Mindbridge, and Worlds. His most recent work is the much-anticipated Guardian. “January Fires” is a powerful and unflinching look at what disaster can do to the human mind.
MY WIFE RETURNS AS SHE WOULD HAVE IT
for Maureen
Bruce Boston
“I’d come back as a butterfly,”
she often told me, “a Monarch
or something equally as beautiful.”
Eleven days after her death it happens.
I am walking a block from
our house
when a quick flutter of velvet wings,
dark against the pale dome of the sky,
passes left to right inches from my face,
causing me to pull up short in mid-stride.
Turning to the right I see a butterfly
has landed on the sidewalk at my feet.
Black and brown shadings striated by
vermilion bands, speckled with white.
(Not a Monarch but a Red Admiral,
I later discover in one of her books.)
“Is that you, sweetheart?” I whisper.
I am a fifty-six-year-old man suddenly
kneeling on the cement spilling out
his love and regrets to a lone insect
he hopes is a reincarnation of his wife.
Clearly as beautiful as any Monarch,
an epiphany of color in my flat world,
the butterfly appears to be listening.
Brilliantly hued wings shift slowly
up and down as if they sense the
coarse human sounds filling the air.
Even once language deserts me,
it/she remains a moment by my side
(together like partners after a dance!)
before soaring into a sky all-at-once blue,
vanishing into her future and my past,
alive and free as our finest memories.
JANUARY FIRES
Joe Haldeman
27 January 1967
precisely one month before I’d leave for Vietnam
the TV went silent
we all looked
into the white noise
news bulletin
the Apollo One astronauts
Grissom Chaffee White
have died in a freak fire
(killed by pure oxygen and one spark
on a wire’s cheap cotton insulation)
no pictures please no pictures
years later tempered by combat I saw those grim
unheroic pictures ugly and real as napalm death
one almost got the door open
28 January 1986
Daytona Beach
tropic morning winter cold
rigid splash of icy breakers
freezing seabirds
stalk annoyed
on cold sand
three launch holds no more patience
coffee cold and bitter gritty
waiting and grit and cold
that’s all we talked about
talking to keep warm
it finally went up
six jocks and one schoolteacher
riding a white column of steam
to a solid spasm of fire
cloud tombstone on the edge of space
the tourists cheering madly madly
thinking it was part of the show
booster separation or
the rest
whatever they call it
of us
in shock
watching pieces fall
into the frigid water
no parachutes no parachutes
two hours later
numb
the resident expert
I sat down in front of a microphone
and the pale talkshow woman
asked whether I would still go up
sure I said twenty-five to one odds
did you ever draw to an inside straight
and did you expect to make it
while something inside
still stalking jungle trail
said liar liar
you know
you would kill anything
to stay alive you
would even kill a dream
MIKE RESNICK
There is no overlooking Mike Resnick, ever. Exuberant, large, and big-hearted, he is as delighted to discover and encourage new talent as he is quick to praise good work from established writers. Mike enlivens any party, one way or another (his style of flirting runs to invitations to mud wrestle). Some of my most memorable SF dinners have been spent with Mike and his wife, Carol.
His literary range is astonishing, from raucous adventure to the bittersweet “Kirinyaga” stories, with their memorable characters trapped in an unworkable and quixotic re-creation of a dead past. The author of over forty novels, twelve story collections, and more than 140 stories, Mike apparently never sleeps. He has edited over twenty-five anthologies, won four Hugos and a Nebula, and had his work translated into twenty-two languages.
“The Elephants on Neptune” is an unclassifiable short story, sui generis. It invites us to look at ourselves from an entirely new perspective, with very disquieting results.
THE ELEPHANTS ON NEPTUNE
Mike Resnick
The elephants on Neptune led an idyllic life.
None ever went hungry or were sick. They had no predators. They never fought a war. There was no prejudice. Their birth rate exactly equaled their death rate. Their skins and bowels were free of parasites.
The herd traveled at a speed that accommodated the youngest and weakest members. No sick or infirm elephant was ever left behind.
They were a remarkable race, the elephants on Neptune. They lived out their lives in peace and tranquility, they never argued among themselves, the old were always gentle with the young. When one was born, the entire herd gathered to celebrate. When one died, the entire herd mourned its passing. There were no animosities, no petty jealousies, no unresolved quarrels.
Only one thing stopped it from being Utopia, and that was the fact that an elephant never forgets.
Not ever.
No matter how hard he tries.
When men finally landed on Neptune in A.D. 2473, the elephants were very apprehensive. Still, they approached the spaceship in a spirit of fellowship and goodwill.
The men were a little apprehensive themselves. Every survey of Neptune told them it was a gas giant, and yet they had landed on solid ground. And if their surveys were wrong, who knew what else might be wrong as well?
A tall man stepped out onto the frozen surface. Then another. Then a third. By the time they had all emerged, there were almost as many men as elephants.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” said the leader of the men. “You’re elephants!”
“And you’re men,” said the elephants nervously.
“That’s right,” said the men. “We claim this planet in the name of the United Federation of Earth.”
“You’re united now?” asked the elephants, feeling much relieved.
“Well, the survivors are,” said the men.
“Those are ominous-looking weapons you’re carrying,” said the elephants, shifting their feet uncomfortably.
“They go with the uniforms,” said the men. “Not to worry. Why would we want to harm you? There’s always been a deep bond between men and elephants.”
That wasn’t exactly the way the elephants remembered it.
326 b.c.
Alexander the Great met Porus, King of the Punjab of India, in the Battle of the Jhelum River. Porus had the first military elephants Alexander had ever seen. He studied the situation, then sent his men out at night to fire thousands of arrows into extremely sensitive trunks and underbellies. The elephants went mad with pain and began killing the nearest men they could find, which happened to be their keepers and handlers. After his great victory, Alexander slaughtered the surviving elephants so that he would never have to face them in battle.
217 b.c.
The first clash between the two species of elephants. Ptolemy IV took his African elephants against Antiochus the Great’s Indian elephants.
The elephants on Neptune weren’t sure who won the war, but they knew who lost. Not a single elephant on either side survived.
Later that same 217 b.c.
While Ptolemy was battling in Syria, Hannibal took thirty-seven elephants over the Alps to fight the Romans. Fourteen of them f
roze to death, but the rest lived just long enough to absorb the enemy’s spear thrusts while Hannibal was winning the Battle of Cannae.
•
“We have important things to talk about,” said the men. “For example, Neptune’s atmosphere is singularly lacking in oxygen. How do you breathe?”
“Through our noses,” said the elephants.
“That was a serious question,” said the men, fingering their weapons ominously.
“We are incapable of being anything but serious,” explained the elephants. “Humor requires that someone be the butt of the joke, and we find that too cruel to contemplate.”
“All right,” said the men, who were vaguely dissatisfied with the answer, perhaps because they didn’t understand it. “Let’s try another question. What is the mechanism by which we are communicating? You don’t wear radio transmitters, and because of our helmets we can’t hear any sounds that aren’t on our radio bands.”
“We communicate through a psychic bond,” explained the elephants.
“That’s not very scientific,” said the men disapprovingly. “Are you sure you don’t mean a telepathic bond?”
“No, though it comes to the same thing in the end,” answered the elephants. “We know that we sound like we’re speaking English to you, except for the man on the left who thinks we’re speaking Hebrew.”