2014 Campbellian Anthology

by Various

Then, with a deft flip, Raychit turned the knife and held it out to Ardam hilt first. “Your sacrifice has been great enough and your bravery undeniable. Your wisdom has kept us at peace. I am proud to follow you, Paramount Ardam.”

  The Family howled and whistled its support. Even those with doubts wanted someone strong to follow. Raychit’s response made him strong in the Family’s eyes.

  Having been prepared for his own death, this turn of events stunned Ardam into silence. He accepted the knife with disbelief. Raychit curled her right ear with some mirth to his response. Her friendship and loyalty obviously outweighed her ambition.

  He shifted his gaze to Kaliff and then to each member of the caucus and to his Family beyond. Their support made his third heart light. It seemed that in being Paramount he was not as alone as he thought.

  Maybe there were no perfect solutions. He still had a lot to learn about leadership. It was evident now that learning could come from all directions. He wondered what Mayor Toumani Shaw had learned today.

  • • •

  Fatigue tugged at Ardam. From atop the ridge he watched the two-legs fill their meeting hall when the cool mist of morning still clung to the ground. With his fourth eye he noted that the Mayor now held a blaster, as did several others that stood with him. The pale one limped to the proceedings, his face bruised and swollen. Ardam looked down at the place where his arms had been and didn’t feel sorry. The healer’s balms only calmed the pain on the surface; they could not erase his deformity. A deeper pain lanced through his torso with the reminder.

  He watched for hours. The two-legs had their own type of chaos, a chaos that even through the Barter he did not understand. More than once the hall filled with shouts and uproar so loud it seemed as if the structure would fall from the sheer volume of the riot. Cranthers certainly had their arguments but nowhere near the capacity to sustain them as the two-legs did.

  The sun crested midday when the seedlings started their protracted assault. Black roads bulged slowly with pressure from underneath. The ones that appeared at seams broke through effectively, as Ardam had hoped, but the rest were fighting a tougher battle.

  When the two-legs realized what was happening, they hurried out of the hall. The Mayor was quick to start dismantling tiles to ease pressure on the seedlings; his closest supporters did the same. The arguments grew louder and more physical with pushing and shoving. Divisions became obvious as the Mayor’s people coalesced behind those with the blasters, still working at freeing the seedlings. Verbal assaults flew back and forth. The Mayor’s group was outnumbered two to one. Toumani Shaw was not going to be able to help the seedlings on his own.

  It was time to act.

  Ardam whistled and the caucus arrived, lining up behind him. The command whistle and three huffs and the Nemek gathered around him. He gave very specific instructions as to how and when they were to apply their weapons. If he handled this correctly, they might avoid further bloodshed.

  The Nemek followed Ardam and the caucus down the hillside. He set a brisk pace but kept it short of a charge. A pace his wounded self could maintain without revealing weakness.

  At the edge of town, the Mayor’s people hurriedly stacked the materials they removed, working against the constant press of the opposition. Ardam could hear some of the shouts. Words like control and brainwashed came through. The two-legs had lost faith in the Mayor; he was on the verge of losing his power.

  Two blaster shots squealed into the air and the opposition group fell back. The Mayor’s supporters took over the ground that was relinquished and continued their work. It was then that members of the opposition noticed Ardam and his army. Their movements stilled. A few moments passed before their attention caused the Mayor’s group to turn and look. Ardam was close enough now to feel Toumani’s concern. He had never seen so deep a crease over his friend’s eyes. From the strength of his emotions it was an important expression to remember, but not a good one.

  Ardam approached Mayor Toumani Shaw and extended his hand. The Mayor hesitated at the offer, looking over his shoulder at the opposition before turning his gaze back to Ardam.

  “I still want peace, my friend,” Ardam said. “But the seedlings must be born.”

  The Mayor nodded and shook his hand. He could feel doubt in the Mayor’s heart. “Please do not hurt my people.”

  “A great deal will depend on their actions. Do you consider those who stand against you, your people?”

  “Yes,” the Mayor said with certainty. Ardam wondered why the Mayor held to such loyalty when his people didn’t. Disagreement was one thing, rebellion another. Ardam wondered if he would ever fully understand the two-legs.

  The Nemek stepped forward, their numbers spanning the length of the town. Ardam used his remaining hands to motion them forward. They approached the crowd with grumbles and weapons at ready. The two-legs moved back.

  With a whistle, Ardam signaled the Nemek to begin. They used their spears and knives to hack at the seams that held the town together. The false black ground came apart quickly.

  Riotous objection rose from the two-legs, even those that stood with the Mayor.

  “Ardam, stop.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re damaging our town.”

  “We’re saving the seedlings.”

  “Let us show you so that our town may be rebuilt elsewhere,” the Mayor said.

  Ardam paused and read yearning from his friend’s heart. In a moment of empathy he let out a ceasing howl that stopped the Nemek. Without asking, the caucus fell in line beside him. The Mayor and one of his supporters knelt at the edge of the road closest to them and showed how the pieces fit together and how they could be disassembled without damage. With four chuffs, he told the caucus members to quickly spread out and instruct the Nemek fighters.

  “And what of your people? The ones you give your protection even though they disobey. Will you ask anything of them?”

  The Mayor stopped and stared at Ardam. His expression was strained, his heart conflicted.

  “My people don’t trust me,” the Mayor said quietly enough that only Ardam could hear. Then his voice rose. “They seem to have forgotten who guided them through the harsh rains and our first days here.”

  Ardam looked to each side at the rows of Nemek warriors that stood ready to support him, and the Mayor. “I believe you are in an excellent position to make demands. Are you their leader, or not?”

  One of the two-legs from the opposition yelled from deep in the crowd. “Why should we follow him when you control his words? You’re not in charge of us.”

  So the Mayor was in a precarious place. “Then let the words be mine,” Ardam said.

  Ardam turned to the two-legs. “I do not control Mayor Toumani Shaw. You must realize that it is his honor and friendship toward me that has kept you alive. I have shown you nothing but peace…”

  “Peace?!” a voice bellowed from the back. The pale one limped forward through the crowd leaning heavily on a walking stick. “You undermine our town and then come to destroy it with your army. That is not what I call peace!”

  All of Ardam’s hearts clenched at the sight of the two-leg who maimed him. In the moment they started beating again, his anger rose. The pale one was not armed this time. Ardam strode toward him.

  “I gave you the opportunity to leave, even offered to help, and you repaid me by attacking my children. Amongst Cranthers I have the right to retribution. Shall I take it out upon your child?”

  The pale one’s face contorted, showing teeth in a manner different from Toumani Shaw’s smile. It did not take the Barter to recognize this as the threatening expression he originally thought it to be.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” the pale one growled.

  From behind, Ardam sensed movement. A glance told him weapons had been raised. He knew what the Nemek were thinking but he couldn’t see which way the Mayor’s blasters were pointing. Would the Mayor side with the pale one simply because they were of the same Family, or di
d he put greater value on his friendship with Ardam?

  A friendship that was built on peace.

  “You’re right, I would not.” Ardam said. “Children are far too important to harm.” He stepped forward until he was directly in front of the pale one, a hand’s breadth separating their torsos. “Don’t you see that is the reason for everything I have done?” Ardam filled his throat pouch and released his anger in one brief, roaring bellow. The pale one’s eyes went wide and he staggered back with no roar of his own.

  “Ardam is right.” The Mayor’s voice boomed from a short distance behind. “We should have moved when we were first told that children were at stake. What hubris let us think that Cranther seedlings are less important than our own families?”

  Ardam knew then that the blasters were not pointed at his back. The relief was small amidst the growing hostility but he was glad his friend had found his strength.

  “Shaw, are you really going to let these aliens take our homes away?” the pale one said.

  “A strange sentiment considering they have acted far more humanely than you.” Mayor Shaw glared at the pale one and their eyes locked.

  “We will do what’s right. And I have a feeling that Ardam and his Family will still be willing to help us relocate. We will survive, and we will do it with a collectively clean conscience. Let’s get to work people.”

  Slowly the crowd shifted. The Mayor’s supporters restarted work immediately. The rebellious group grumbled amongst themselves with a few continuing arguments, but finally conceded and spread out to help.

  Through all of this, the seedlings pushed upward. Structures buckled even as their young stalks bent. Some would be deformed from their struggle. Though now that their Paramount was deformed, maybe the Family would be more understanding.

  The Mayor stepped alongside Ardam and helped him release the wall of a small structure. They looked at each other.

  “Was I correct in telling my people that you would be willing to help?”

  Ardam looked across the town at the mass of two-legs and Cranthers working together. The rebellious ones had not picked up the task of saving his seedlings eagerly and that had not set well within his hearts. But now they worked with as much vigor as the rest. Ardam supposed that after children and Family, the protection of one’s home would be important to a stationary culture. Then his eyes fell on the pale one on the far end of town, refusing to help, and Ardam still felt anger toward him.

  “We will help all except that one. I do not want him near my Family or the seedlings.”

  The Mayor’s mouth opened but no sound came out. His eyes widened and Ardam felt this expression as surprise. Finally he spoke.

  “What am I supposed to do with him? I can’t cast him out, he doesn’t know how to survive here alone. None of us do.”

  “The Nemek have a place for exiles and those requiring discipline. They will take him.”

  Surprise deepened to shock. Ardam could feel the beginning of bitterness from his friend. He reached over and loosened the next piece of wall.

  “They’ll kill him,” the Mayor said.

  “They might.”

  “Ardam,” the Mayor paused, his eyes sliding down to where Ardam’s arms used to be. “I know what he did was awful, but you’ve got to understand, he believed he was protecting us. The Captain is a warrior. He acted in the only way he knew how.”

  Ardam removed the wall and tossed it into the pile. A line of two-legs and Nemek passed the piece down moving it beyond the border of the breeding grounds into the hands of those that were organizing the pieces. He considered the Mayor’s argument.

  “If one of the Nemek attacked against orders, I would not hesitate to offer the warrior’s life to compensate for the offense.”

  “Ardam, we’ve worked so hard at peace, don’t let the Captain’s blood taint that.”

  “My blood has already tainted that.” Ardam stopped work and faced the Mayor. “My friend, he maimed me, and would have killed me. That is not something I can easily forget. What would you have me do with him?”

  The Mayor stammered. “Let us imprison him. We’ll build a cage and guard it and feed him. We’ll keep him away from your Family.”

  “Until one of his supporters sets him free. No. He must go with the Nemek.” Ardam ended with a huff though he didn’t know if the Mayor understood the finality of the phrase.

  “But what about his son? He has no mother. Will you send him to the Nemek, too?”

  This argument always returned to the children. Ardam could not declare the importance of children and then punish an innocent child for his father’s mistakes.

  “The south has a more agreeable climate year-round. In two seasons I will lead you and your Family where you can choose a territory in which to re-establish your town.” Ardam chuffed on the compromise he was about to make. “The pale one will stay with the Nemek until then. When we part ways, I will release him to you. That is my final word.”

  The pale one’s punishment would not be as harsh as Ardam would like, but his friendship with the Mayor was more important than revenge. And while he would tell them not to kill him, the Nemek would make the pale one work hard and contribute to the community. Maybe he could learn how to get along in the greater Family.

  “You are harder than you seem, Ardam. You preach peace but demand it with power.”

  Ardam could not read all of the emotion behind the statement, but he knew the Mayor was not entirely happy.

  “I prefer peace, but I will always take care of my Family,” Ardam said.

  Nearby a seedling squirmed. Ardam stepped over and tried to reach toward it with arms he didn’t have. In his mind he cringed and corrected the movement. The stalk rose thick and strong above Ardam’s knee. Large broad leaves enfolded the little Cranther within. His toes and the top of his head peeked out of the encapsulation. It would be a few days before any of them were ready to be fully born.

  Mayor Toumani Shaw stepped over and knelt next to the seedling. With the gentlest touch he peeled back the leaf to get a glimpse of the seedling’s face. He slept peacefully, all four eyes closed; the seedling had no idea the chaos that surrounded its birth. The Mayor leaned down and inhaled deeply the scent of the child. He sighed, then nodded and Ardam felt the Mayor’s mood soften.

  “They are incredible, Ardam. You had every reason to fight for them.”

  Ardam looked at his Family and at the two-legs and thought about the bloodshed they had avoided.

  “And even more reason not to.”

  Sarah Pinsker became eligible for the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer with the publication of “Twenty Ways the Desert Could Kill You” in Daily Science Fiction (Jul. 2012), edited by Michele-Lee Barasso and Jonathan Laden.

  Visit her website at www.sarahpinsker.com.

  * * *

  Novelette: “In Joy, Knowing the Abyss Behind” ••••

  IN JOY, KNOWING THE ABYSS BEHIND

  by Sarah Pinsker

  First published in Strange Horizons (Jul. 2013), edited by Brit Mandelo, Julia Rios, and An Owomoyela

  • • • •

  “DON’T LEAVE.”

  The first time he said it, it sounded like a command. The tone was so unlike George, Millie nearly dropped her hairbrush. They were in their bedroom, in their home of sixty-six years. Outside the French doors, fresh snow settled on top of old snow. The lights in George’s sprawling treehouse made it stand out against the otherwise unbroken white. George sat in the chair at the telephone desk. He was in the middle of changing his socks, one leg crossed over the other, when he dropped the new sock to the floor and coughed once. Millie glanced in the mirror on her vanity, caught him staring at her.

  “Don’t leave,” he said again.

  She turned around to face him.

  The third time it arrived as a question, a note of confusion lurking in the space between his words. “Don’t leave, please?”

  He seemed to struggle with the next sentence, his l
ast. “I’m sorry.”

  “What are you talking about, old man?” she asked, but he was already someplace else. He opened his mouth as if to say more, but no words came out.

  She had always been calm in the family’s minor medical crises, but this time the words this is it blazed across her brain and crowded everything else out. She took deep breaths and tried to remember what she should do. She crossed to his chair, put her hand on his chest, felt the rise and fall. That was good. She didn’t think she could get him to the floor, much less perform chest compressions. She stooped to put the clean sock on his bare foot, then reached across him to pick up the phone and dial for an ambulance. Should those actions have been the other way around? Possibly. This is it.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told him before leaving the room to unlock the front door. He was still in the same place when she returned, collapsed slightly to the right in the chair. His left eye looked panicked, his right eye oddly calm. She dragged the chair from her vanity over and sat down facing him. Behind him the snow continued to fall.

  “I wonder if this will be the storm that proves too heavy for that poor old sycamore,” she said, taking her husband’s hand in hers and looking out at the treehouse. “I think this is going to be a big one.”

  • • •

  It had snowed the day they met. Chicago, Marshall Field’s, December 1944. He had held the door for her as they both exited onto State Street.

  “Ladies first,” said the young man in the Army overcoat, gesturing with the fat notebook in his free hand. He was shorter than her by a few inches, and she was not terribly tall; if he hadn’t been wearing the uniform she would have mistaken him for a boy.

  “Thank you,” she said, giving him a smile over her shoulder. She didn’t see the patch of ice beyond the vestibule. Her left foot slipped out from under her, then her right. He caught her before she landed, losing his own footing in the process. The pages of his notebook fluttered to the ground around them as he broke her fall with his body. They both scrambled to their feet, red-faced and breathless.