by Irene Gallo
“You’re still an army dependent, right?”
“Yeah. I’ve got my ID with me. It’s a great thing. I get insurance, the army helps pay for my education.”
“Right.” He smokes for a few minutes. “Well, look. I think it would be okay to let you sleep in the barracks tonight. Then I could get somebody to give you a ride out to the test site tomorrow. I don’t think anything’s scheduled, but I guess you just want to look around, right?”
“You’re kidding! Really? That would be fantastic!”
“Might even be able to scare up somebody who knew your dad. What was his name?”
“Chet. Chester Thaddeus Hall.” She laughs. “He hated his middle name. Listen, I don’t want to get anybody in trouble.”
“I’ll check it out, but I think the ID will make it okay. Besides, if it weren’t Christmas, you wouldn’t have a problem. It’s not as if you’d be going anywhere classified.”
* * *
The next day, Carol stands on the dunes, visits the blockhouse, hears the ghostly laughter of those engineers, amused that she knows so much, amused that she is even here on their sacred male ground. The sky above is clear and blue, a perfect test day. She remembers their careful measurements, the record sheets, the calculations.
Rocketry is in her blood.
I’m here, dammit. And I’m here to stay.
* * *
When she finally gets home, she tells her mother she is transferring to Caltech. June’s eyes light up. “Oh, honey, that’s wonderful.” She gives Carol a tight hug, and her thin arms feel like bird’s wings. Carol steps back. “Mom, are you okay?”
“Sit down.”
Blake sits next to June on the couch and holds her hand as she talks. She has had one breast removed, but now she is recovering. Everything is going well.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt your studies.”
“I’m not going back.”
“Just finish out the year, and then—”
“What for? I’ll fly back, get everything taken care of, find someone to take over the lease, withdraw from school—”
“But it will take time to apply to Caltech. You won’t be able to start this semester. What are you going to do?”
“Spend time with you, Mom. I can take you to the doctor, we can go for drives, play bridge—you know. All that.”
“Well, it would be nice. But I feel so selfish.”
“I feel absolutely delighted.”
* * *
June lied, of course. She is not recovering.
They spend two strange, luminous months in suspended time. Carol drives her up the old roads, and it often seems that Chet is there between them, like some kind of phenomenon in which intersecting waves create meaningful data.
* * *
She finally asks, “What happened to Dad? Really?”
Her mother is lying on the sofa in the living room. “There’s a box on the top shelf of my closet. Get it for me, please.” Her very short hair is white, and her voice is hoarse. If Carol takes time to think about what’s happening, she cries, so she tries her best to just be there and enjoy this time.
“Put it on the coffee table and open it up.”
On top are a lot of old pictures. Some are black and white, with scalloped edges. She is in some of them, and there are various configurations of family in most of them. “You remember your Grandpa Hall, right? You should really go see him sometime. He’s still in Pennsylvania. Did you know he was a Communist during the 1930s?”
“Of course not. Who would tell me?”
“Families are funny. Aunt Edna might have said something.”
Carol shakes her head. “What does this have to do with Dad?”
“Your grandpa helped lead several miner’s strikes. At that time, the Communist Party was widely accepted as progressive. It was about worker’s rights. We didn’t really know how terrible conditions in the Soviet Union had become. Certainly, being a member of the party wasn’t looked on as being un-American. They called themselves patriots. They felt that they were being exploited by wealthy industries, and they were. Your father’s big brother—”
“Uncle Mike.” The mythical, perfect brother who died in the war.
“Yes. He was a deep believer. I think your father just followed in his footsteps. But in 1939, they both dropped their memberships and moved on with their engineering education. I think this broke your grandfather’s heart.
“Except for that, all was well and good. But after the war, when your father got his master’s degree at Caltech, he found it was a hotbed of Communist activity. He had never disavowed the ideals of the party, but he wasn’t interested in the secretive, regimented way they conducted their business. Anyway, someone from Pennsylvania recognized him and pressured him to rejoin. Your father refused, and so this man reported him as a past member of the Communist Party. Which was true. And even though it had been so long since he was involved in it, he eventually lost his very high security clearance. North American Aviation hated to let him go, but they had no choice. Everyone in the industry knew your father, knew what had happened, thought it terribly unfair, and gave him work. But it was piecemeal work. Your father felt that he couldn’t contribute what he was capable of contributing if he didn’t know everything there was to know about a project. He was offered some fabulous jobs outside of the country.”
“I know.”
June looks at her and smiles. “I don’t think so. How would you know? You were so little.”
“You never told me?”
“I doubt it.”
“Well … I don’t know how I know. I just do.”
“Ah, well. Afterward, I thought … well, it didn’t make any difference by then, but I thought I should have agreed to go. I imagine I would have if he hadn’t gotten sick. Being treated like an untrustworthy outsider hurt him very deeply.” She looks down. “I regret so many things.”
“Don’t!”
June says, “I’m not sure what happened. Why his car ran off the road. But I think he was just tired. So dreadfully tired. From sickness, from working so hard, from sadness at being pushed out … I … I have to believe this. But I also think it’s true.”
After her mother dies, Carol is going through her effects and finds Learn Conversational French in Ten Days. Inside is a receipt for a beginner’s night class in French. There is also a receipt for a refund ten days later. Between those two dates, her father had died.
Accident? Or suicide?
Does it matter?
Carol weighs the fragile evidence of the hard, sad, heavy bones of her family’s past in one palm. She holds the two receipts up, like an offering, and the spring breeze ruffling the curtains pushes them straight up into the air, as if launching past and future together into space.
San Fernando Chronicle
January 24, 2000
Carol Hall, who received her PhD in aeronautical engineering from the California Institute of Technology, will spend sixty days on the International Space Station to set up and monitor a device that may make travel to Mars easier. “It’s the dream of a lifetime,” she said. Her husband of twenty-five years, Hank Thaxton, agrees. “The kids and I—and our one grandchild—are just thrilled for her.” When asked what she will take with her, she says, “That’s easy—a plastic model of the Jupiter-C rocket that my father, Chet Hall, helped design in the 1950s while at the Jet Propulsion Lab in Pasadena. He helped me build the model, and our family saw the actual launch at Cape Canaveral in 1958. I guess you could say that space is in my blood.”
She does not mention the more private thing she is taking—her father’s Communist Party membership card.
She lets it go in space, where, as far as she knows, it is still orbiting the Earth.
* * *
Those old Disney shows, much as they irritated her father, are like an anthem of her life. She watches them occasionally, when her grandchildren ask for them. “Man in Space.” “Ma
rs and Beyond.” The story of her parents’ lives, her life, her country’s life. The political dark and light of it, inextricably intertwined in war, in peace, in human frailty, and in human dreams.
It is the world’s life, now. The wonders, the possibilities, the hardships continue to expand. The dark twist has long since popped open. Images, conversations, music—her childhood, like a disk of information sent in a spaceship for aliens to wonder over—have come forth whole, like clear, bright watercolors, like delicate, unearthly sound, like a sweet, remembered smile.
Like a star once wished upon.
KATHLEEN ANN GOONAN is the author of several novels, including This Shared Dream. In War Times won the John W. Campbell Award for Best Science Fiction Novel of 2007; it was also the American Library Association’s Best SF Novel of 2007. Previous novels were finalists for the Nebula, Clarke, and BSFA Awards. Angels and You Dogs (stories) was published in 2012. Her stories have been published in many various periodicals. She is a Professor of the Practice at Georgia Tech.
Acknowledgments
It takes an intrepid crew to run a rocket ship—so many people helped us launch Tor.com and so many more work to make it thrive.
First I want to thank Tor Books Publisher and President Fritz Foy—it was his idea, after all. He put together the initial team of Patrick and Teresa Nielsen Hayden and myself. We never would have been successful without the support of Macmillan—Tom Doherty and John Sargent in particular. Thank you for giving us the space to try things.
I am privileged to spend five days a week working with the smartest, most passionate creative team I could imagine. It’s a group that cares deeply about what they do and their effect on the world. I am in awe of them on a daily basis. Thank you, Bridget McGovern, Chris Lough, Jamie Stafford-Hill, Emily Asher-Perrin, Sarah Tolf, Natalie Zutter, Leah Schnelbach, Molly Templeton, Andrew Arens, Katharine Duckett, Mordicai Knode, Lee Harris, Christine Foltzer, Esther Kim, and Chris Gonzalez.
Ruoxi Chen and Carl Engle-Laird, also part of the team, were invaluable in helping to organize Worlds Seen in Passing and shepherd it through. Additional thanks to Jamie Stafford-Hill (again) for the wonderful design—inside and out—as well as Lauren Hougen, Melanie Sanders, Jim Kapp, and Nathan Weaver for putting up with us as we navigated our first anthology.
Before the current crew, there were the folks who helped us turn a daydream into a reality: Pablo Defendini, Laurence Hewitt, Megan Messinger, Torie Atkinson, Faith Cheltenham, Ryan Britt, and Brian Napack, who gave us the original green light. We would not have made it very far without you guys. And to the countless others across many departments who have made the site what it is over the years: thank you.
I’m indebted to Greg Manchess for most good things in my life—on the very long list (if I ever could list it out) would be designing our logo, affectionately called “Stubby the Rocket.” Stubby lent immediate warmth and personality to Tor.com. And on a personal note, I owe him my love and thanks for giving me limitless support throughout this and all other endeavors.
I said this in the introduction but I’ll enjoy repeating it here: All my admiration and thanks goes out to the writers and artists that share their stories and thoughts with us—in fiction, nonfiction, and all the wonderful places in between. And of course, all the editors that have lent a guiding hand: Patrick Nielsen Hayden, Ellen Datlow, Ann VanderMeer, Liz Gorinsky, Carl Engle-Laird, Jonathan Strahan. There are so many others.
And most of all, I want to thank our readers for spending time with us and waiting to see what happens next. This book is a fraction of what Tor.com is, and we’re growing and exploring new worlds every day. I hope you’ll come on over to the site and join us as we journey onward and upward.
About the Editor
IRENE GALLO is the associate publisher of Tor.com and the creative director of Tor Books. As Tor Books’ creative director, Irene has established the look and design of an incalculable number of books since 1993. She has won the World Fantasy Award, the Richard Gangel Award for Art Direction from the Society of Illustrators, thirteen Chesley Awards, and numerous gold and silver medals from Spectrum and the Society of Illustrators. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Preface
Six Months, Three Days CHARLIE JANE ANDERS
Damage DAVID D. LEVINE
The Best We Can CARRIE VAUGHN
The City, Born Great N. K. JEMISIN
A Vector Alphabet of Interstellar Travel YOON HA LEE
Waiting on a Bright Moon JY YANG
Elephants and Corpses KAMERON HURLEY
About Fairies PAT MURPHY
The Hanging Game HELEN MARSHALL
The Water That Falls on You from Nowhere JOHN CHU
A Cup of Salt Tears ISABEL YAP
The Litany of Earth RUTHANNA EMRYS
Brimstone and Marmalade AARON CORWIN
Reborn KEN LIU
Please Undo This Hurt SETH DICKINSON
The Language of Knives HARALAMBI MARKOV
The Shape of My Name NINO CIPRI
Eros, Philia, Agape RACHEL SWIRSKY
The Lady Astronaut of Mars MARY ROBINETTE KOWAL
Last Son of Tomorrow GREG VAN EEKHOUT
Ponies KIJ JOHNSON
La beauté sans vertu GENEVIEVE VALENTINE
A Fist of Permutations in Lightning and Wildflowers ALYSSA WONG
A Kiss with Teeth MAX GLADSTONE
The Last Banquet of Temporal Confections TINA CONNOLLY
The End of the End of Everything DALE BAILEY
Breaking Water INDRAPRAMIT DAS
Your Orisons May Be Recorded LAURIE PENNY
The Tallest Doll in New York City MARIA DAHVANA HEADLEY
The Cage A. M. DELLAMONICA
In the Sight of Akresa RAY WOOD
Terminal LAVIE TIDHAR
The Witch of Duva LEIGH BARDUGO
Daughter of Necessity MARIE BRENNAN
Among the Thorns VERONICA SCHANOES
These Deathless Bones CASSANDRA KHAW
Mrs. Sorensen and the Sasquatch KELLY BARNHILL
This World Is Full of Monsters JEFF VANDERMEER
The Devil in America KAI ASHANTE WILSON
A Short History of the Twentieth Century, or, When You Wish Upon a Star KATHLEEN ANN GOONAN
Acknowledgments
About the Editor
Copyright Acknowledgments
Copyright
Copyright Acknowledgments
“Six Months, Three Days” © 2011 by Charlie Jane Anders
“Damage” © 2015 by David D. Levine
“The Best We Can” © 2013 by Carrie Vaughn
“The City, Born Great” © 2016 by N. K. Jemisin
“A Vector Alphabet of Interstellar Travel” © 2011 by Yoon Ha Lee
“Waiting on a Bright Moon” © 2017 by JY Yang
“Elephants and Corpses” © 2015 by Kameron Hurley
“Abo
ut Fairies” © 2012 by Pat Murphy
“The Hanging Game” © 2013 by Helen Marshall
“The Water That Falls on You from Nowhere” © 2013 by John Chu
“A Cup of Salt Tears” © 2014 by Isabel Yap
“The Litany of Earth” © 2014 by Ruthanna Emrys
“Brimstone and Marmalade” © 2013 by Aaron Corwin
“Reborn” © 2014 by Ken Li
“Please Undo This Hurt” © 2015 by Seth Dickinson
“The Language of Knives” © 2015 by Haralambi Markov
“The Shape of My Name” © 2015 by Nino Cipri
“Eros, Philia, Agape” © 2009 by Rachel Swirsky
“The Lady Astronaut of Mars” © 2013 by Mary Robinette Kowal
“Last Son of Tomorrow” © 2009 by Greg van Eekhout
“Ponies” © 2010 by Kij Johnson
“La beauté sans vertu” © 2016 by Genevieve Valentine
“A Fist of Permutations in Lightning and Wildflowers” © 2016 by Alyssa Wong
“A Kiss with Teeth” © 2014 by Max Gladstone
“The Last Banquet of Temporal Confections” © 2018 by Tina Connolly
“The End of the End of Everything” © 2014 by Dale Bailey
“Breaking Water” © 2016 by Indrapramit Das
“Your Orisons May Be Recorded” © 2016 by Laurie Penny
“The Tallest Doll in New York City” © 2014 by Maria Dahvana Headley
“The Cage” © 2010 by A. M. Dellamonica
“In the Sight of Akresa” © 2014 by Ray Wood
“Terminal” © 2016 by Lavie Tidhar
“The Witch of Duva” © 2012 by Leigh Bardugo
“Daughter of Necessity” © 2014 by Marie Brennan
“Among the Thorns” © 2014 by Veronica Schanoes
“These Deathless Bones” © 2017 by Cassandra Khaw
“Mrs. Sorensen and the Sasquatch” © 2014 by Kelly Barnhill
“This World Is Full of Monsters” © 2017 by Jeff VanderMeer
“The Devil in America” ©2014 by Kai Ashante Wilson
“A Short History of the Twentieth Century, or, When You Wish Upon a Star” © 2014 by Kathleen Ann Goonan