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

He glanced at the stage where the Valencia stood, all her attention on her Queen. ‘Is it rebellion?’ she asked him again.

The Queen tilted his head in deference. ‘Yes.’

He grasped her hands before she could draw a weapon.

‘Come,’ Yuta said again.

He followed, his last sight of the Valencia that of both her wrists caught in her Queen’s hands as her Bishop motioned to the Knights. One Knight deactivated its spear, returned it to its belt and walked away.

His heart sang relief and a fierce rightness as he did the same.

*

His wife was asleep in his arms when he exited the Yuta’s Vineyards into his own and found Sister’s secondary drone floating in the centre of the field, filaments rippling, waiting for him.

He smiled at it. ‘You were worried.’

*Sister was out of contact for more than twenty-four hours. Caution Protocol enacted. Tracking systems were activated and found you both alive and not in distress. Greenlight Protocol enacted.*

He started for the Vineyard controls, Sister floating behind him. ‘There was no need for that. You know I would never let her come to harm.’

*Tracking could not confirm location data and Sister’s drone was deactivated. Vineyard ship did not respond satisfactorily to queries. Greenlight Protocol enacted.*

‘The Vineyard crew must have enjoyed that.’

*Crew was neutralized. Sister obtained seedling. Vineyard is under Sister’s control. Mirror connection open and active.*

He put a mask on Eva, then himself.

‘No need to set the controls then?’

*Mirror connection open and active.*

He trailed the drone toward the translocation point.

‘You didn’t hurt the crew, did you?’

*Neutralized. Sister would not want to cause a planetary incident. Husband is a pacifist.*

He stopped to laugh, the drone hovering patiently in the glistening fields beneath the rainbow-lit night.

*

Hours later, Eva stirred in the soft bed next to him, rolled over and opened her eyes. He smiled, his hand cupping her shoulder as he held her body against his. She smiled back, then let her gaze drift over the opulent stateroom, the best one in the Vineyard ship, intended only for Valencian dignitaries and guests. With everyone else locked in their cabins and Sister flying the ship back to the Outpost, there was no one to object and his wife damn well deserved the finest they had on offer, as he was never setting foot on a Vineyard again.

She groaned and buried her head in his shoulder before signing.

‘You never woke me.’

He kissed the delicate shell of her ear and signed. ‘Guilty as charged.’

She leaned back to meet his eyes. ‘What happened?’

‘Long story. It will keep. Enjoy your sleep. The Vineyard ship left orbit while we were away. We’re a few hours from the Outpost.’

She caressed the side of his face. ‘You okay?’

‘I’m good. Never better.’ And he knew she could see he meant it. Her body relaxed and she threw her leg over his, cuddling closer.

‘Told you we’d leave together.’

‘You did.’ He kissed her forehead, blinking rapidly to clear his suddenly blurry vision. ‘Right as always.’

‘Don’t you forget it.’

He stroked her hair as her breathing slowed.

‘Wake me for first watch?’

‘Of course.’

‘Liar.’

This time, they fell asleep together.

DUMP

Cristina Jurado

Spain

Cristina Jurado is an unstoppable force, an editor of magazines and anthologies, an award-winning author, and a tireless promoter of international speculative fiction in all its forms. I only met her once, briefly, a few years ago, but she came on board to edit The Apex Book of World SF 5 for me and has been invaluable in recommending stories I may have missed. Thankfully, Cristina’s also a great writer in her own right, and when she sent me ‘Dump’ to read I realized I had to include it! The story was translated by Steve Redwood and is original to this anthology.

BEGINNING

The mountains of plastic seemed to be observing Naima from the middle of the dump. The rest of the morning-shift Rats had also begun to stir, stretching what arms and legs they still had, defying cold and hunger. Faces blackened with dust and dirt, covered with scars; eyes caked in rheum and mucus; hair twisted and knotted; mouths with cracked lips and filthy uneven teeth.

Those who were now awake gazed towards the horizon, at the subtle changes in colour, and the appearance of shadows as long as the winter nights. Every dawn was an obstinate defiance of death, another day won, twenty-four more hours survived. With the light came a tiny infusion of hope that fortune might smile on them at last. This time, yes, this time they might find something valuable that would raise their status in the mara.

Bloody fools! Nothing but corpses ever emerged from the mara. We ‘compatriots’, whether we be Rats, Half-breeds, Santeros or Cyclops, have nothing but this dump. We can only finish up the scraps offloaded by the colonies in their rubbish trucks. Such lovely presents! We’re also rubbish, human rubbish, everything that those in the colonies don’t want to be. They’re afraid of us, of what we represent, which is their inability to cope with the destruction of the world. They fear this ocean of detritus.

Naima scrambled farther away from the gang towards the north-western face of this man-made monster. It was cold, and she knew that the others would start to rummage on the eastern slope until it got warmer, but she had heard the lorries unloading on the other side during the night. The strap of her prosthesis was digging into her more than usual, and she thought of loosening it, but she would have to wait until she was farther away so nobody would be near enough to see the stump just above the elbow of her left arm. One of the first things that Naima had learned was that the absence of her arm bothered people, especially the other Rats. Seeing her without the prosthesis would remind everyone how comparatively lucky she was, something she had fought against ever since Sibilo had found the orthopaedic arm among some hospital refuse, precisely on this northern slope.

It hadn’t been a gift exactly: Sibilo