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    Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 198
    Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 198
    Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 198
    Ebook218 pages2 hours

    Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 198

    By Neil Clarke, Bo Balder, Isabel J. Kim and

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    About this ebook

    Clarkesworld is a Hugo and World Fantasy Award-winning science fiction and fantasy magazine. Each month we bring you a mix of fiction, articles, interviews and art. Our March 2023 issue (#198) contains:

    • Original fiction by Bo Balder ("Love in the Season of New Dance"), Angela Liu ("Pinocchio Photography"), Fiona Moore ("The Spoil Heap"), Shari Paul ("Bek, Ascendant"), Shih-Li Kow ("Failure to Convert"), Isabel J. Kim ("Zeta-Epsilon"), Louise Hughes ("AI Aboard the Golden Parrot"), and Jonathan Kincade ("Love is a Process of Unbecoming").
    • Non-fiction includes an article by Samantha Hind, interviews with Nadia Afifi and Janice L. Newman and Gideon Marcus, an editorial by Neil Clarke, and the winners of our annual readers' poll.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWyrm Publishing
    Release dateAug 1, 2023
    ISBN9781642361360
    Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 198
    Author

    Neil Clarke

    Neil Clarke (neil-clarke.com) is the multi-award-winning editor of Clarkesworld Magazine and over a dozen anthologies. A eleven-time finalist and the 2022/2023 winner of the Hugo Award for Best Editor Short Form, he is also the three-time winner of the Chesley Award for Best Art Director. In 2019, Clarke received the SFWA Kate Wilhelm Solstice Award for distinguished contributions to the science fiction and fantasy community. He currently lives in New Jersey with his wife and two sons.

    Read more from Neil Clarke

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      Book preview

      Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 198 - Neil Clarke

      Clarkesworld Magazine

      Issue 198

      Table of Contents

      Love in the Season of New Dance

      by Bo Balder

      Pinocchio Photography

      by Angela Liu

      The Spoil Heap

      by Fiona Moore

      Bek, Ascendant

      by Shari Paul

      Failure to Convert

      by Shih-Li Kow

      Zeta-Epsilon

      by Isabel J. Kim

      AI Aboard the Golden Parrot

      by Louise Hughes

      Love is a Process of Unbecoming

      by Jonathan Kincade

      The Greenery Around Me Held Secrets I Would Never Learn: Plant Life in Contemporary Science Fiction

      by Samantha Hind

      Clones And Consciousness: A Conversation with Nadia Afifi

      by Arley Sorg

      Striking A Balance: A Conversation with Janice L. Newman and Gideon Marcus of Galactic Journey

      by Arley Sorg

      Editor’s Desk: An Important One

      by Neil Clarke

      The Best from 2022

      by Neil Clarke

      Home

      Art by Alex Rommel

      *

      © Clarkesworld Magazine, 2023

      www.clarkesworldmagazine.com

      Love in the Season of New Dance

      Bo Balder

      According to orbital observations, the aliens wouldn’t rise from their hibernation caves today. The three moons weren’t in position yet. Leena dialed a cup of coffee, checked her instruments, and settled down with her knitting. Observing the Amphim’s once-per-seventy-nine-years mating rituals sounded like the front lines of science, but in truth it was years of prep for a couple of weeks of frenzied observation, after which the surviving aliens would return to hibernation and the math would begin. The analysis of their rituals would continue until the next mating season. She’d be over a hundred then. No longer an active scientist.

      Although that stage of her life might end even sooner. She didn’t have high hopes of getting tenure, and moving to a new postdoc, a new location every few years, was getting old. She sighed. Her woolgathering had produced a whole slew of knitting mistakes. Dammit! Now she’d have to unpick her work and fix them.

      She was so deep in somber thoughts that she almost missed the buzz from her instruments. A temperature spike. Something was happening. But wait, why was it so tiny and so localized? She compared it to the seventy-nine-year-old data. It matched. Only it wasn’t a hive-wide awakening, but one single Amphim.

      That was all right. It was just early. A quick check through the records confirmed that this often happened, individuals waking slightly earlier or later than the rest of the hive.

      Leena sent the info to the central post and started to pinpoint where the individual would emerge from the earth. Observation from inside the facility was recommended, because the sheer amount of aliens emerging from the earth might be unsafe. But just one? She really wanted to see it with her own eyes.

      She put on her light environmental suit, mandated although the planet’s atmosphere was safe to breathe for humans without lasting harm up to three days. The suit felt constricting and hot until she realized that was her, not the suit. She was sweating with excitement and her stomach roiled.

      The observation post’s location was on a rock-studded outcrop, in an area dense with hibernation caves. She stepped outside, always expecting to feel a change in light, sound, and smell, and not getting it because of the suit. The green of the sky and the uneven, rocky ground’s impact was muted, making it seem like she was still observing from the dome. She’d get used to it, and the barrier between herself and the outside world would gradually fade away.

      Right about . . . here. Nothing set the emerging area apart from the rest. Orange soil, covered in blue-green herbal growths. Her spectrometer showed a sharp rise in complex organic molecules. Its best guess was pheromones. Too faint to get past her suit’s filters, sadly.

      The orange earth stirred. Then heaved. Thick nailed hands like a mole’s burst through and clawed themselves out. Arms, second arms, a mud-covered head and a segmented body followed. Bedraggled, muddy wings trailed behind it. The Amphim lay on the earth, panting, scrubbing at its face with now soft fingertips. It had retracted its digging claws. No wait, it had shed them. This meant this was a male, and a second-timer, here for his final days above ground, ready to mate and then die.

      Leena watched, forgetting to breathe in the excitement.

      The Amphim lifted his head, opened large dark eyes, and looked at her. It struck her powerfully that he was not just an object in her observations, not a thing, a specimen, a number. He was a person, a sentient being that she was about to meet.

      Hello, she said. I’m Leena. For a terrifying second, she couldn’t even remember how the Amphim communicated. Sound? Gestures? Scent?

      The Amphim coughed and shook out his wings. They were still wet and folded up, but the first rays of the pink sun lit bits of them with tantalizing glimmers of lilac splendor. Yes, definitely second-timer, fully developed, twice the size of a new nymph.

      He turned his head away from her and sniffed the air.

      Leena felt slightly insulted but told herself firmly that he wasn’t here to meet her, he was here to have a week or two of glorious living with his own kind. She drew a deep breath. Observing, noticing, that was her purpose.

      He said something. The translator lit up but was unable to produce anything. One of the great mysteries of the Amphim was that they had a language. Why would a species who spent 99% of their lives in cocoons underground need language? But they were sentient, interested in strangers and had a rich culture of stories and dances. Some xenologists guessed they were the last surviving species after a great climate disaster, which would also explain why there was so little genetic variation between Amphim all over the world.

      Please say something more, Leena said. The translator knows your language, it just needs a bit more input to account for the individual inflections.

      The translator spoke something in the highly tonal language of the Amphim. The Amphim whipped his head around and looked straight at Leena.

      You are one of the aliens that watch us, he said.

      Yes. Welcome to the outside world.

      Where is everyone? The air is so still and empty. It doesn’t smell like the season of New Dance.

      Leena’s heart sank. So he already knew that.

      He gave a very human-like sigh and sat down, folding his wings neatly. I’m early again. It didn’t smell this early, before, though. I never talked to you aliens last time I was awake, but I think someone said you could measure everything? Can you tell when the others will wake?

      Leena’s data told her exactly that. It wouldn’t be soon. Not today. That was bad. By the time the fun and games began, he might be too weak to join in. He might even have died. She considered not telling him that, but starting off their meeting with lies seemed disrespectful.

      Not today, she said.

      Tomorrow? he asked.

      Probably not. She licked her lips. They think you’re at least a week early. And that was putting it mildly.

      A rustle went through his wings. The translator tentatively labeled it as an intense, negative emotion. Duh.

      He rose up and started pacing.

      Leena wondered idly if all creatures with legs, whether two legs or a hundred, would pace to release tension. Maybe that could be a paper if her job here ended. She wrenched herself back to the present. She knew what she was doing; trying to avoid feeling the alien’s pain by shooting down mental alleys.

      I’m so sorry, she said. Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime? Would you like something to eat or drink?

      He flung out a brilliant wing towards the bluish green treetops below. Look at the leaves. They’re nowhere near turning. There is nothing for me to eat. The fruit is still bitter, the bugs too lean. And why would I eat? That would only prolong my suffering.

      Leena bit on her tongue to still her instinctive words of comfort. They would have been more lies. There was very little chance that he’d even live to see his people wake.

      You are a free being, she said. But I would like it if we shared a meal and if you would tell me something about yourself.

      Another violent wing flick. His arms stayed mostly still. So interesting.

      Why? For what purpose?

      Because we are both intelligent creatures, we are both alone, and I would enjoy talking to you.

      He didn’t answer.

      My name is Leena. I am thirty-seven years old, and I was born on Earth, a planet far away in the constellation of Purple Gauze.

      He threw her a look of scorn and kept looking away.

      Truth. Emotional truth. She had to give him something he could respond to.

      I’m a scientist, a xenologist. That means we study species not from our home world. But I didn’t make tenure, so this is going to be my last season on this world. I’m sad to leave here, but I’m very glad to at least witness your awakening.

      No response.

      I’m female, in the middle of my life, and I have no partner and no children. God, that still hurt to say, so much. Bloody James, for not wanting her, not wanting her children.

      His head went up. Are you still fertile?

      She felt herself blush. How silly. As if he would even be able to interpret that through her face cover. I think so.

      Suddenly, he was right in front of her. Personal space! Are there no alien men to have sex with here?

      Not here, not right now. Elsewhere on the planet, yes.

      Then what are you waiting for?

      Leena suppressed a nervous giggle. They had gotten there so fast, it was like a bad date. We humans don’t develop underground much of our lives, and we sleep at night. We have time to do other stuff besides have sex. I love my work.

      But nothing happens if you don’t get sex?

      No, I won’t die of that.

      But still. Why aren’t you with the men to try and get children? Are they not strong and virile?

      Now she laughed. I am working. We generally don’t have sex when we work.

      What is wrong with you then? Why are they not fighting over you?

      Somehow that hit home. Asshole alien. She took a deep breath. Time to steer the conversation away from this topic.

      She couldn’t keep calling him he. But the files said they didn’t use verbal names. We use names, I told you mine, it’s Leena. What can I call you?

      His wings rose and wafted a great stink toward her, penetrating even the suit. That’s my name.

      Yeah, that wasn’t going to work. How about the name of your favorite star?

      He looked up, like a human would have, although the sun was high in the sky. I like the last light to disappear in the evening. The blue hour.

      Blue it is. Tell me about your first awakening. What was it like?

      Blue gave a sideways look from under his feathery lashes. Then he took a step towards here. I will. Can I touch you?

      It seemed like a complete diversion from the original topic, but at least he was engaged now. She wanted to get as much footage of him as possible. And she felt sorry for him, even if he was possibly an asshole. She held out her arm.

      He stretched out his thick square fingertips. There were secondary claws there, suitable for picking nuts and fruits out of hard shells, useful for fighting other males. But she was female. She figured he wouldn’t.

      He touched her suit tentatively, then pressed harder. Such odd skin. So smooth. He sniffed his fingertip. It smells of nothing.

      Yeah. It was a suit. Tell the truth or not? She decided to keep on her chosen course. It’s a protective shell we wear because we are not from this world. We need different air.

      Blue touched her arm again and then moved his fingers up to her face. Leena flinched back in spite of herself. Sorry. You startled me.

      He touched her face shell. I see. The soft you behind it moves, and it does not. What would happen to the soft you if you took it off?

      Nothing, not right away. But after a couple of days, I would start to have trouble breathing, and my skin would get damaged. After a few weeks, I would die.

      I feel as if I am talking to nobody. I cannot really see you if I can’t smell you.

      Leena sighed. I don’t smell like a female of your people. I smell like an alien.

      My head knows it. But my nose and my fingers would like to know it too.

      It was a difficult decision. She’d be fine today. Flowering season was over, no giant molecules trying to force their way into her nose. But it was scary. A large, threatening alien with sharp claws and a fiery temper.

      With stiff fingertips she removed her helmet. Whoever had decided suits should be taken off helmet-first? Your face was the most vulnerable part of you. You lived behind your eyes.

      Blue sniffed deeply, his rough cool nose feelers against her cheek. The feelers twitched. You stink.

      Leena stepped back. I’m alien. What did you think I’d smell like?

      I was hoping like a woman. Or a nal. But you don’t. Do you want to smell me?

      Not really. But clearly it was the polite thing to do.

      Her eyes open, she moved towards his corrugated dark-gray cheek. The Amphim had semi-chitinous skin, and not much musculature underneath; they communicated in other ways. So he’d feel hard if she touched him. Up close, all she smelled was his scent, tiny puffs of it venting right against her nose. Moister than she expected, in the extremely dry air here. His people were very good at retaining moisture.

      Leena closed her eyes. The smell continued to intrigue her. She breathed, trying to get a grip on it. What did it mean? It was elusive, wild, earthy. Truffles. Quince jelly. An aged Bordeaux. Leather. Complexity.

      None of the last cycle’s researchers had taken their suits off. Did that make her brave or stupid? She would probably have to spend time in the tank if she kept this up, but that was for later consideration. Her in-suit diagnostics had nothing to say, at least.

      Blue stood close all of a sudden. You like my scent? What does that mean? Can we mate together?

      Talk about a one-track mind. But then, what else did life mean to him?

      No, we can’t. For example, humans don’t have nal. Just two sexes, at least for procreation.

      Mating for Amphim males was brief, brutal, and lethal. The female and the nal he had fought for opened up his body and harvested his gametes. The nal then harvested the female’s eggs in the same horrendous way, mixed them with their own procreational contribution, and laid the fertilized eggs inside the other two’s bodies. Footage existed that suggested that the male and female were still alive at that point, and in a state of ecstasy. One could only hope. And of course there were never survivors to interview. The nal then spun a cocoon around the three of them and died as well, adding their nutrients to the eggs’ store during the long gestation.

      Much debate had rung in academia whether the nal might originally have been a separate, symbiotic species or one that used parasitic reproduction, instead of just a third sex.

      Of course this was intriguing, but what really fascinated Leena was how this species was even sentient. What did they need intelligence for? How did they even have a culture?

      She stretched her muscles out of their stiffness. They should not talk about mating and scent anymore, she decided.

      Tell me, Blue, she asked. When you woke up the first time, how did you know the songs and the dances? Who told you about them?

      His huge eyes blinked slowly at her as if she was crazy. I learned them in the cocoon, of course. During the cocoon times, we sing together and tell the long stories, so first timers will know what to do and what the dances mean. How else?

      Science had so far assumed that the transfer of culture and knowledge went via the second-timers, who taught the ones that were awake for the first time that cycle. Humming and thrumming had been observed in cocoon time, before the Sentience Act had made the practice of spying on aliens illegal, but it hadn’t been possible to assign meaning.

      So you’re not really sleep?

      What is sleep?

      What had he just said? Are you there all the time?

      He thought about it. In summer we go away for long stretches. In winter, we sing all the time to keep warm.

      So while they slowly metamorphosed below the earth, they had estivation cycles. When it was

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