Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 80: Clarkesworld Magazine, #80

By Neil Clarke, James Patrick Kelly, Andy Dudak and 3 more

Clarkesworld is a Hugo Award-winning science fiction and fantasy magazine. Each month they bring you a mix of fiction (new and classic works), articles, interviews and art.

Our May 2013 issue contains:

* Original Fiction by James Patrick Kelly ("Soulcatcher"), Andy Dudak ("Tachy Psyche") and E. Catherine Tobler ("(R + D) / I = M").

* Classic stories by Liz Williams ("The Banquet of the Lords of Night") and Michael Swanwick ("From Babel’s Fall’n Glory We Fled . . .").

* Non-fiction by Maggie Clark (When the Alien Is Us: Science Fictional Documentaries), an interview with Yoon Ha Lee, an Another Word column on the Singularity by Craig DeLancey, and an editorial by Neil Clarke.

* Art by Julie Dillon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wyrm Publishing
• Release date: Jan 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781501408557

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

Book preview

Clarkesworld Magazine

Issue 80

Table of Contents

Soulcatcher

by James Patrick Kelly

Tachy Psyche

by Andy Dudak

(R + D) /I = M

by E. Catherine Tobler

The Banquet of the Lords of Night

by Liz Williams

From Babel's Fall'n Glory We Fled . . .

by Michael Swanwick

When the Alien Is Us: Science Fictional Documentaries

by Maggie Clark

Assassinating the Reader: A Conversation with Yoon Ha Lee

by Jeremy L. C. Jones

Another Word: The Singularity is Dead. Long Live the Singularity!

by Craig DeLancey

Editor's Desk: Day of the Wineberry

by Neil Clarke

Desert Dragon

Art by Julie Dillon

© Clarkesworld Magazine, 2013

www.clarkesworldmagazine.com

Soulcatcher

James Patrick Kelly

After years of planning and scheming, of deals honest and not, of sleepless nights of rage and cool days of calculation, Klary’s moment arrives when xeni-Harvel Asher, the ambassador from the Four Worlds, enters her gallery.

As a concession to local xenophobia, the xeni is embodied as a human male. Of course, he is beautiful. Some liken the xeni to the faeries of Earth legend, their charisma so intoxicating that, at the merest nod, a groom will walk away from his new bride, a mother will abandon her infant. Is it telepathy? Pheromones? The lure of great wealth and power? No matter. Klary has steeled herself against the xeni’s insidious power. Ever since the Ambassador made planetfall, Klary has been on a regimen of emotion suppressants. Not that she really needs them. After xeni-Harvel Asher ruined her life, Klary has had just one emotion. No chemistry can defeat it.

Her hopeless assistant Elloran makes a fool of himself groveling before the xeni. Klary slips behind a display case protecting a cascading sculpture of lace and leather and spun sugar. She is content for now to study her prey. The xeni is slight, almost childlike, but he commands the room with eyes as big as Klary’s fists, a smile brimming with wide teeth. Slender hands emerge from the drooping sleeves of his midnight jacket. His fingers are delicate enough to pluck the strings of a harp—or a woman’s heart.

Here at Hamashy’s Fine Textiles we have the best collection . . .  Elloran is talking too fast.

Yes, this one is sure you do. Asher cuts him off. This one would speak with the owner now?

Which means it’s time. But when Klary steps from her hiding place, she sees that her plan is going hideously awry. Dear, beloved, lost Janary, clone sister of her sibling batch, has followed her abductor into her gallery.

Even though it has been fourteen years since they last saw each other, even though she has lost her name, her face, and her innocence, Janary knows her as her sister. How could she not? Her frightened stare pricks Klary’s shriveled heart. All is lost. Yes, a reunion was part of her plan, but that was for later. After this was over. Will she give Klary up? Can Janary even guess what her sister plans to do? But there is no turning back.

Ambassador. Klary steps forward and bows. You honor me. I am Klary Hamashy. Despite the suppressants, she braces herself against the xeni’s fierce regard. It’s like leaning into a headwind. Welcome, sir.

Xeni-Harvel Asher inclines his head. This one has heard tell of the local rug merchant, Friend Klary. She is not sure whether he intends this as a slight. Hamashy Gallery sells native and off-world carpets, yes, but it’s no rug shop. Klary is too busy trying not to goggle at Janary to take offense.  She has not changed since the xeni lured her away from their ancestral commune. Bitter years have aged Klary and she has taken steps to smudge her appearance, but Janary is still as striking as Klary once was. She has the rust-brown curls framing pale features of their genetic line. She wears a high-necked white gown, perhaps to satisfy some ancient bridal fetish. Her sister shows no signs of anger or sadness as she shies behind the Ambassador, as if she is afraid of Klary. Has she accepted her humiliation? Embraced it? Unthinkable. Klary tries to imagine herself in Janary’s place as her sister catches up the decorative glass chain that dangles from the choker around her neck.

What? Asher notices her. She won’t hurt you.

Without a word, Janary presses the end of her chain into his hand.

One never knows what bothers the pet. Xeni-Harvel Asher does not apologize. It’s been skittish today.

Klary wants to yank the chain away, crush it in her bare hand until shards of broken glass bite her. Not to worry, she says. She addresses the xeni, not her sister. She is safe in this place.

A pleasant enough shop. He gestures at the racks and display cases, the hangings and the shelves that line the walls. Might one find a present for a good friend here? A unique present, perhaps?

Klary’s smile is tight. She knows why the xeni is here. Klary has paid an outrageous price to bait the trap, has discreetly encouraged the rumors about her illegal acquisition. But she must not rush; there is a scene to play before the final act. Let me show you my treasures. She tries to gesture for Elloran to peel Janary away, but her assistant is useless. Tomorrow Klary will fire him—if there is a tomorrow.

The xeni is not impressed with the life-sized nylon nudes wrapped around moveable skeletons nor does he appreciate the remarkable properties of nylon. It’s semi-translucent, says Klary, so several layers of differently colored nylon produce the subtle skin tones. See how the artist’s needle modeling suggests wrinkles about the eyes? Nor does he care for bowls made of taut coiled snuro or the hanging of cloth beads arrayed on glow-wires. He passes Tuktuk’s mixed-media tensioned fabric sculptures without comment. Klary stubbornly describes a French tapestry from the twenty-second century. Notice the classic border filled with floral bouquets and architectural scrollwork, around very fine floating landscape scenes from old Earth. Depictions of Oriental life with courtiers seated on motorcycles, and see here, plants, birds, zombies . . .  But Asher has already moved on, past an area carpet in the Tabriz style by master weaver Kumanen and the chain mail business suits; Klary hurries to catch up.

He flips through Fovian rugs hanging on a telescoping display like they were pages of a book he’s deciding not to read. One wants something special for a special friend, he says. Then he leans close—too close—and for a second his huge black eyes erase all Klary’s worries about her ruined plans. In that instant of domination, Klary feels something for her sister that she has never felt.

Envy.

There is more. She twitches free of the xeni, gathers herself. Work not yet priced. Items I had not intended to sell.

Keep the best for yourself. A strategy to live by. He chuckles. Still, one might be interested to see, if not to buy.

Of course, Ambassador. Although it might be best if your companion stayed with Elloran. She raises her voice to rouse the bedazzled Elloran.  There may still be a way to salvage the plan, but Janary must not see what is to come.

No. Janary is trembling.

The xeni glances over his shoulder, as if he has forgotten that she is following them.  You’ve provoked the pet to speech, Friend Klary. He gives her chain a tug and she doubles over, eyes downcast. It’s not often so bold in public.

Want . . .  Her voice grates from disuse.  . . . to come. She raises her eyes just enough to meet Klary’s horrified gaze.

One is at a loss to explain this behavior.

Worried lest the xeni punish her, Klary babbles. It’s fine. Not a problem, I just thought she . . . it would be more comfortable out here. I live here, you see, and my rooms are rather cluttered just now. She gestures for them to follow and, when the xeni hesitates, she almost makes the mistake of putting a hand on the ambassador’s shoulder to steer him toward the rear of the gallery. Please, she says. It would be my pleasure. Elloran, you can close up and go home. The fewer