The Best of World SF Lavie Tidhar (me reader .TXT) 📖

the United Nations that paid to not solve the problem, not the refugees, forced to live there without hope of leaving. I would never want to return there to survive, imagining a life elsewhere. My elsewhere, like that of many others, was being born from the commitment of all who participated in ‘No-Mad Land’. If we’d created a precedent better than Sealand, the Republic of Minerva, Rose Island, to cite some cases Sergio had talked about, who knew what we’d be able to achieve? Who knew if international law would adapt to the fundamental necessities of humans?

My mother and brother were already on their way to intercept the path of the Green Ship. Professor Kysmayo climbed down to the islet and waved to greet us. In his other hand he held an parcel with a round object inside.

‘Down there, did you see it?’

We stood up and followed him until we reached the top of another hill where there was a second meadow, green and flat.

‘They taught me how to use the 3D printer.’

White lines were traced into the side of the field.

‘This is my first ball,’ he said, pulling the object out of the envelope and raising it above his head like a trophy. And then he gave the ball a kick.

A soccer goal awaited only us.

Translated by Michael Colbert

Eyes of the Crocodile

Malena Salazar Maciá

Cuba

Malena was one of the writers new to me for this volume, which is why I keep a close eye on anything being published. She is the author of several novels in Spanish, and we’re lucky to start seeing her stories in translation. ‘Eyes of the Crocodile’ is short and sharp, and I hope is merely the introduction to much more fiction from this talented author. This story was translated by Toshiya Kamei.

My return to our ancestral roots began when a crocodile’s eye sprouted on my right breast. It felt like a grazing kiss from a razor-sharp bamboo tip or the sting from the cold current of a river that once flowed on the ruined Earth. I chewed on bitter, nameless herbs to soothe my pain. Still, I wasn’t bleeding.

I’d spotted the eye when I undressed to bathe. The bump was still swollen and tender to the touch. It stared at me from my shivering, erect areola. The other eye hadn’t yet appeared. It was only a matter of time.

Our memory nanobots were programmed to instill in us the traditions handed down from our ancestors many millenniums ago. Our rituals survived even humanity’s hunger for technology.

Years ago, I’d have been delighted to obtain, by chance, modification nanobots, because it meant that the history of my people was going to live with me. I’d have worn our past with pride. Even better if the nanobots had carved geometric shapes that exalted my feminine traits into my skin.

However, I wasn’t supposed to have a crocodile’s eye. That ritual scarification was meant for men. Besides, in recent years, the ceremony had come to bear ominous tidings.

The nanobots were originally designed to watch over the meager remains of humanity, but they no longer kowtowed to their creators.

Thus, when I found the crocodile’s eye on my right nipple, I knew the universe had condemned me.

My husband Chioke had been a crocodile man. His scarification ceremony took place at the shelter where we’d taken refuge. When it was complete, he bled to death.

I broke the rules. As Chioke bled, my tribemates turned away and bit their lips, their arms pressed tightly against their sides. Nobody tried to stop the blood spewing from his scars. I laid him on my lap and sang for him until every trace of warmth had vanished from his body.

The following day, another eye sprouted on my left breast. This time, I didn’t bleed either. The swelling on my right breast had gone down. The skin looked darker, showing signs of necrosis. The nanobots didn’t mark my skin as quickly as they had Chioke’s. They seemed to have woken from hibernation because of radioactive contamination in the domed shelter.

I put on an airtight suit and left behind the place I had called home, albeit briefly. Home? I wasn’t going to need it anymore. I made my sentence public and unleashed panic among my tribe.

‘Your sentimentality will get us all killed!’

‘You could’ve said goodbye to Chioke without touching him.’

‘I wouldn’t trust that suit. It may have a leak!’

‘Who else had physical contact with you, Mandisa?’

‘Sacrifice! Before it’s too late! Sacrifice! For the rest of us! For our survival!’

‘You shall have that,’ I declared, as the infrared lenses on my visor revealed the nanobots creeping under my skin. They were already carving scales on my shoulders. ‘I need to leave here – before the nanobots will evolve and infect all of you. Give me a hovercraft and let me go to the Tree. After all, I’m already doomed.’

‘If you succeed, you’ll survive,’ a woman shouted as her mouth twisted in contempt. ‘But you’ll be scarred. You won’t be able to get rid of the nanobots. What if everything starts again? You’ll tread among us with that dormant curse! The death-bearer!’

‘On Earth, the ceremony was the highest honor a warrior could receive.’ I raised my hands, like the mother goddess in the files we kept during our flight. ‘It’ll be a mark of triumph! I’ll find a way to remove the nanobots from my body. The Tree will do the work.’

I didn’t need to insist. They didn’t want me around the shelter, where anyone could touch me by accident. I needed to go somewhere else, a place where no one could see me and recall the fall of civilization. The nanobots pricked my shoulders like pins. They grazed my nerve fibers for fractions of a second, long enough to spread numbness through my body. None had torn my skin. They had refined their technique after doing a botched job with my beloved Chioke.

In a hangar located on the edge of the shelter, my tribemates left everything I asked for: