Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 161: Clarkesworld Magazine

By Neil Clarke, Hollis Joel Henry, Malena Salazar Macia and 4 more

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

Our February 2020 issue (#161) contains:

• Original fiction by Hollis Joel Henry ("Outer"), Malena Salazar Macia ("Eyes of the Crocodile"), Cooper Shrivastava ("Mandorla"), Neal Asher ("The Host"), Grace Chan ("Jigsaw Children"), and Thoraiya Dyer ("Generation Gap").
• Non-fiction by Carries Sessarego, interviews with Tochi Onyebuchi and Ken Liu, and an editorial by Neil Clarke.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wyrm Publishing
• Release date: Jun 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781642360523

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 161

Table of Contents

Outer

by Hollis Joel Henry

Eyes of the Crocodile

by Malena Salazar Maciá

Mandorla

by Cooper Shrivastava

The Host

by Neal Asher

Jigsaw Children

by Grace Chan

Generation Gap

by Thoraiya Dyer

Jules Verne and a Journey Through Genre

by Carrie Sessarego

Nanobots and Braincases: A Conversation with Tochi Onyebuchi

by Arley Sorg

Faith in Vision: A Conversation with Ken Liu

by Arley Sorg

Editor's Desk: 2019 Reader's Poll Finalists

by Neil Clarke

cattleDrive

Art by Colie Wertz

© Clarkesworld Magazine, 2020

www.clarkesworldmagazine.com

Outer

Hollis Joel Henry

Part I

Toozen remembered Auntie Heather, sitting hunched on the sand, retreating under her beach towel.

Auntie, come swim nah, he’d said that day, still a small boy.

But even at that age he could feel the waves of her anxiety and anger lapping up against him.

She steupsed like she was peeling skin between her teeth and her bitter voice was muffled from below the towel.

You not seeing what going on? You too blind, boy. You too frigging naïve.

Hard words, but Toozen understood. He’d been with her all day. He’d been part of the beach posse. But he wasn’t like the other children. Toozen had a thing for people. It mattered more to him that the beach made them happy. Auntie Heather had started the day happy. And she hadn’t been too happy these days.

It was an effort for her, he saw that morning, to put on the swimsuit over her crooked body, to look at herself in the mirror through her crooked eyes. To put the longer arm on her hip and pose and smile like a playful flirt. To shake her bam bam to the dancehall music on the kitchen radio, crooked hip bone protruding.

Toozen saw, when the white and green regional corporation maxi stopped at the beach and the doors opened, Auntie Heather’s bony, twisted chest rise for a mindful breath. Come along, children, she said like a big woman. And she led them onto the beach.

The others couldn’t see, like Toozen could, how with each step she was sinking. They were children so all they cared about was the hot sun and the water and the bright beach colors. But walking beside her, he felt it all, everything she felt. He felt her hearing the whispers and seeing the looks. Toozen felt Auntie Heather pull back as the beach crowd pulled back from her. Stay close, she said, big woman voice now small. All the energy her bent body had whipped up in front of the mirror at the center wasn’t enough to protect her from that crowd. So she ran beneath the beach towels and a cold rage.

Auntie Heather, don’t be sad, Toozen remembered telling her.

Sad? I not sad. Who say I said? the beach towel beast barked at him. I don’t care about them. I hate them. I hate all these shitty shitty people. People are shit.

All of them? His small boy self had wondered. What about the nice people at the center? What about Nurse Rajkumar who gave them Kiss cake when they went for checkup? What about Constable Antoine who would come on weekends in a jersey and jeans and drive them in the regional corporation maxi to the play park or the old recreation grounds, or for chicken and chips, or to the beach?

No, Auntie Heather, Toozen said that day. People nice.

And he remembered the snarl building up from deep down in her belly. He remembered waiting to receive it. But she stopped. And she sighed. And she spoke like a big woman again—not a bold woman striding onto the beach, but a woman who knows more than a child.

No Toozen. People not nice. You nice, too too nice. And ah frighten for you. You don’t look like me but you are September too. They go hate you too. They go come for you too. You have to get hard, Toozen. They go mash you up.

Auntie Heather, he smiled and his eyes filled up. Big woman—she was 16 at the time. Toozen wished he could go back and protect her, protect all of them. That was one ability he did not have. He had many others but he couldn’t go backward. Still he wished he could go back, if just to tell her they had not mashed him up.

Yes he was a September—the child of a child of a child born in late September. They had a big accident, Constable Antoine told them, the science men and them, he said. They were playing with light. All the children loved the idea, science men and them down in the cities making footballs and swords and giant butterfly wings from light. But it wasn’t anything nice. The accident made people sick and killed them. It gave women bad bellies and the children came out twist-up, incomplete or with too much.

The Septembers lived at the center. It wasn’t good but they didn’t know any better, and children make do. They knew they didn’t look normal. Some of them couldn’t do normal things. But they could still laugh and play, even if they had to drag their bodies across the floor. In small communities the Septembers grew up, started families, and had their own children.

And then a funny thing happened. The babies started being born normal. They had two legs and two arms, ten fingers and ten toes. They had normal Caribbean skin, black and brown and cream. Everything worked, their lungs and eyes and bawling baby voices. So they thought they were normal.

Toozen was one like this, a brown skin boy, miraculously normal. His hands were a little small, his head a bit big, but that just made him a small hand, big head boy, nothing strange. When he learned how to walk and his infant face developed into a toddler face, they saw the difference. He had big black eyes set back deep below his big forehead with fat, wild, and writhing eyebrows. That’s how you could tell them, the third generation, they all had it. They all looked like brothers and sisters, family of the wise and wild faces. The farthest thing from normal.

And it wasn’t only them. A transformation had taken place. This very beach, the long coast, had gotten it rough from the work of the science men and them. The giant coconut trees collapsed like addicts, trunks too weak to hold them up. The coconut shells turned soft and foul and sick yellow. The community of crabs came out with fused legs or less legs or shells without space for eyes or holes in their backs for insects to feed off their open flesh.

Even this sick beach had healed, but it healed strange. Now the tree trunks wrapped round and round like a brass horn and the giant coconuts gleamed. The crabs had brilliant purple, blue, and red shells. They had carapace gowns and carapace capes. When Toozen walked past them they turned to look at him and he turned to acknowledge them.

He had no fancy clothes, an old jeans and an old football league jersey. But he was important in his own way. One could say he was the master here, of the empty beach, the vacant coastal settlements beyond the forest, and the nearly abandoned town itself, where the few people that remained were hiding.

That day so long ago, the beach was packed with people. And they were beautiful to Toozen. He saw them in a way no one else could. That was the biggest difference, the thing that was not normal at all about him. Even Septembers like Auntie Heather didn’t have it. He could see and feel and touch without his eyes or hands. When he stood close to a person he felt what they felt, their fear, their sorrow, hope, and love. His little self wondered how could people be shit when you could feel them so?

And when they were far and he closed his eyes he saw them in his head, lights in the darkness like single candle flames, so that the crowded beach looked like it was covered in deyas; a sea of lights before the sea itself. Toozen couldn’t see the coldness or cruelty in their faces when the Septembers came on the beach. He just saw the light. And he was enchanted. He loved people. Auntie Heather was right.

Part II

When the bush changed, as the bush always changed, traveling down through the forest, Muradali was frightened. It wasn’t the first time they had come down this way. It wasn’t the first time they had to pass through the strange bush, September bush, flaring and distended and deep, deep green. The whole bottom half of the forest was affected. The forest creatures made September sounds, hollow and humanlike. Like they were talking or pretending they were people, trying to set a trap.

But Muradali was a veteran in this thing. He was a hunter. So he was accustomed. His rifle wasn’t fancy, not like Gomez’s. She had the best gear. She was a red woman1 who came from money. So she had everything nice. He didn’t like her. He tried to smile for her the first time they went on a hunt together. Gave her a sweet eye, but she pretended she didn’t catch it. Haul your ass, yes woman. He thought to himself.

No he wasn’t handsome. Yes he had a soft and sagging belly that made his dirty brown shirt flow over his belt. Yes he was married. But he was a damn great hunter. One of the best. She shouldn’t have blanked him so. And she was so friendly with Chainani—not a handsome man by any means. A good tracker and a good shooter, but no kind of dude’s man with women.

The three of them had been a team for about two months now. They were working hard. A week before they took down three—a 25 year old and two teenagers—hiding in Charuma woods. Gomez made her best shot yet with the fancy rifle, burned a hole right through the boy’s chest. Dead one time,2 he didn’t have a chance to drop and he was gone. That’s how you had to do it. You never knew what a September could do. Satan business. Once they were still breathing they could hurt people. Muradali knew many stories about them. He knew hunters that had survived. Septembers could really hurt people.

But he was a veteran. He had been moving through September bush for years. It didn’t frighten him anymore, not until today. And now he knew why. Down on the beach, strolling along, was the fucking monster of monsters, Outer himself. They passed Gomez’s fancy zoom lens between the three of them to make sure it was him. Then they passed it around to check again. No mistake, he was in a jeans looking like it belonged to his father it was so big for him. He was wearing an old green jersey. It was him. They knew his funny face well, the eyebrows wild like September bush. They knew the eyes, big and expressive. Don’t get fooled by Outer’s nice eyes the warning was shared down in the lodge and at church.

Lying on the ground, Muradali passed the lens back to Gomez and they watched each other. There were no more petty thoughts between them. Truthfully, she wasn’t a looker herself. It didn’t matter. They might be dead already. Outer might have them already. They didn’t know his limits. No one knew how September power worked. But they knew he was the strongest on the island. He could be reading their minds. He could be walking around on the beach while his mind was standing over them in the bush. He could be hearing their hearts beat. And their hearts were beating hard.

Muradali nodded at the other two hunters, closed his eyes, and began the prayer; the Lord is my shepherd, saying it in his mind. It’s what the pastor said to do to protect themselves. That’s all they had against Septembers this strong, faith. This was God’s work they were doing. They were cleansing the nation. Satan had tainted the land with these creatures. And more of them kept coming. So many bad womb women. And they were getting stronger.

Down in Siparia there was Khaki Pants Susan, who set people on fire when she looked at them. There was talk of a real monster in Delta Amacuro, hiding in the swamp, using his mind to make people slaves. He had a kingdom in the swamp, the Spanish said.

Outer was the worst of all. He left people dead, so many people. You knew where he’d been from the bodies. Bodies on the street, in houses and in stores, there was not a mark on them. Their eyes were still open. He was a walking epidemic, passing3 people out.

Many hunters had come for him. That’s how they knew his face. He’d been captured on many a device. The problem wasn’t getting his image. It was getting out with your life. No hunter ever did. Muradali himself had come to collect the bodies of friends. He’d said prayers over them while they stared empty into nothing. The same thing could happen to them now.

Chainani was the first to find his courage. He checked his rifle. He nodded to the others. He crawled southward, weapon in his left hand, stomach flat on the ground. Chainani was always the left side of the cone. Muradali was the right and Gomez the center. The idea was, if the September’s attack was a wave they would not be packed together. He might miss one or even two of them. This idea was hope and faith. Nobody knew how this Satan business worked.

But they were still alive. They had a chance. Once they could take their shot they were taking it. Maybe he had not seen them.

Part III

Toozen saw the hunters long time, three flames creeping through the forest. Everything alive had a light, even the bush. But from people it was different, brighter, jumpy. Like it wanted to run. Like it wanted to feed. People light always stood out. So he saw them way off and he knew they would have to be dealt with. It made him breathe heavy. He wanted to walk the beach today and think about the old times. He didn’t want to have to go inside the muck, head deep, with these people and their thoughts.

Let them come, he told the crabs and coconut dreams. Ah go deal with them just now.

He was a lover of peace. That’s where the name Toozen came from, Uncle Brian had told him. Like Auntie Heather, he was one of the older Septembers at the center. He was born with arms and legs frayed like the roots of a plant. So he couldn’t walk or work. But he could talk. He was a storyteller like Constable Antoine, with even more jokes.

Toozen boy, you know how you get that name? he said one time. Uncle Brian appreciated the youth’s willingness to listen to any story from anybody—and even better, he was gullible as hell. You get it from the Chinese! ‘Zen’ means peaceful in the Chinese language, and you real real quiet. So they named you ‘Too Zen,’ get it? ‘Too Peaceful,’ you see?

Toozen laughed at himself. He was really a dotish child. Not stupid, but he would believe anything. Or maybe he just wanted the people telling him stories to feel good about themselves. It made him happy that Uncle Brian was happy. It was a hard thing having roots for arms and legs. What did it hurt, believing his stories?

You too blind, boy.

He missed them all from the center. He missed the days by the long mirror and the kitchen radio playing dancehall. Maybe that was dotishness too. Because as he got older it all changed. No, those were good times then. It was the circumstances that changed. Too many Septembers like him were being born. He remembered the first time he saw one on a screen during the news. It was a little girl lighting matches by looking at them. Toozen thought it was magical and wonderful. Not knowing people, he couldn’t see what it would mean. Septembers were no longer just ugly and unfortunate wretches. They were now threats. They were doing Devil thing. People were frightened.

When they were of age, they sent Toozen and the others to the government secondary school. It was like throwing