Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 202

By Neil Clarke, Marie Vibbert, Bo Balder and 6 more

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 July 2023 issue (#202) contains:

• Original fiction by Marie Vibbert ("Cheaper to Replace"), Lou J Berger ("Death and Redemption, Somewhere Near Tuba City"), Bo Balder ("Estivation Troubles"), Brenda W. Clough ("Clio''s Scroll"), Risa Wolf ("Tigers for Sale"), Davian Aw ("Timelock"), Alexandra Seidel ("What Remains, the Echoes of a Flute Song"), and Kelsea Yu ("The Orchard of Tomorrow").
• Non-fiction includes an article by Carrie Sessarego, interviews with Yukimi Ogawa and Aimee Ogden, and an editorial by Neil Clarke.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wyrm Publishing
• Release date: Aug 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781642361445

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 202

Table of Contents

Cheaper to Replace

by Marie Vibbert

Death and Redemption, Somewhere Near Tuba City

by Lou J Berger

Estivation Troubles

by Bo Balder

Clio’s Scroll

by Brenda W. Clough

Tigers for Sale

by Risa Wolf

Timelock

by Davian Aw

What Remains, the Echoes of a Flute Song

by Alexandra Seidel

The Orchard of Tomorrow

by Kelsea Yu

Margaret the First and The Blazing World

by Carrie Sessarego

Colorful Tales: A Conversation with Yukimi Ogawa

by Arley Sorg

Riding On a Toy Train: A Conversation with Aimee Ogden

by Arley Sorg

Editor’s Desk: Things Only Sort of Change

by Neil Clarke

Autumn Pond

Art by Sergio Rebolledo

*

© Clarkesworld Magazine, 2023

www.clarkesworldmagazine.com

Cheaper to Replace

Marie Vibbert

Hanh tried not to look at the greasy fingerprints marking the seams on James’ silicone skin. How do you feel, James?

Dizzy. He swung his legs against the workbench in perfect imitation of the teen he resembled. But not so much as before.

The IT guy mashed his hands in an oily towel. He had thick forearms and a purple skullcap. I replaced the gyroscopic components, but that’s not the source of the problem. His balance processing’s all screwed up, and the gyros are getting banged around. Whatever I put in there’s going to wear out the same.

Hahn didn’t like the IT guy. Can he learn to compensate?

Well, I dunno. You could hire a specialist to tweak his program. Don’t think there are any out-of-the-box solutions available. He’s too old. Honestly, I think the whole processing unit has to go. Otherwise, you’re gonna have a robot in a wheelchair inside two months. He raised his eyebrows at Hahn, expectant, like this was a door he was holding open for her.

Hahn thrust her arm between the IT guy and James. Come on, we’re going home.

Hey, don’t be like that. I did my best work on this kid. Tell you what; we’ll buy him off you for the price of the parts—that’s more than you’ll get anywhere else. Give you something toward a new one.

No, thank you.

James took her hand and stood up slowly, not tugging like a real boy would. Hahn loved his gentleness, even though, on an intellectual level, she knew he was a puppet controlled by libraries of commands. He was a rich family’s unwanted toy, dumped on the university as a tax write-off. Hanh liked to think, though, that he had once been loved, the cherished caregiver to a lonely child, maybe, or a stand-in for never-visiting grandchildren.

The IT guy’s voice echoed after them in the basement hallway, It’ll be cheaper to replace him than to fix him. Anyone’ll tell you that.

A parking garage separated the Biomedical Research Building from the School of Medicine main building. When they were almost halfway across the yellow-hashed walk, the light at the entrance of the garage blacked out, followed by a scrape of metal on concrete and the roar of gasoline combustion. Hahn ducked behind James and prayed Dr. Narayanan was paying attention.

It could only be Dr. Narayanan.

Dr. Narayanan’s legendary 1975 Ford LTD Brougham swung within a foot of them. Its blocky frame rocked like a ship, exposing the wheel wells as it turned into its special double-width parking spot, where it huffed like a wearied dragon and settled its sparkly brown carapace to rest.

Hahn was shaking from the near miss. James hugged her. You’re all right now, he said. Some routine noticed the facial features of fear, or the action of cringing, and prompted his soothing words. Her heart broke for the nameless programmers. They didn’t have to code that, but they did.

The IT department was our last hope, James. Dr. Brescia doesn’t want you back. I’m sorry. His hair smelled like her old Barbie doll and clung to her wet cheek.

That’s okay.

A bang echoed through the underground lot—the heavy door of the LTD. Dr. Narayanan strutted by, swinging her car keys on one finger. Get a room, kids, she said in passing.

Hahn stepped back from James and wiped her eyes. She watched Dr. Narayanan step through the door to the Biomedical Research Building. Could Hanh ever be that confident? That assertive? We’ll just have to move you out of the lab.

No. Gundo, the administrative assistant for the biochemistry department, didn’t even look up from his screen. You guys are always dumping old lab equipment on me.

In a week you won’t know how you got along without him! Hahn glanced at James, who straightened up in his chair and looked, she hoped, helpful and secretarial. Aren’t you always saying you need more help?

Gundo fell back in his chair, letting it swivel. I need a student who can run printing and scanning for our paper-fetishizing faculty.

James can do that! He learns anything by watching.

Gundo rubbed his forehead.

You won’t regret this! Hahn jumped to her feet.

I didn’t say yes!

James stood to follow her. Hanh held out her palm toward him. No, James. Stay with Gundo.

James took a step. I feel dizzy, he said. I think . . . 

James fell forward. Hanh and Gundo both lurched toward him. He stumbled into the doorframe. There was a crack.

Then he was down on his side on the carpet, waving a wedge of the wooden doorframe like a flag of surrender.

Gundo stood, arms out, as if to catch. He turned from the door to James and back.

Hahn said, He has balance issues. It’s not . . . 

Gundo collected himself. Out! Take it out of here, or I’ll call security!

Hahn had to duck under James’ swinging elbows to try to help him up. He struck her, hard and heavy. James!

I’m sorry! James had a note of panic in his voice. I must balance. I can’t.

Just stop, James. Be still.

He stopped, becoming as stiff as a corpse. Hahn couldn’t lift him, but she dragged him into the hall. Gundo watched without offering to help. When they were clear, he tried to close the door. It wouldn’t latch. Gundo tried again. He slammed the door hard, breaking more wood free. Like a curse, he muttered, Now I have to call facilities.

Hahn got two other grad students to help her carry James into his storage closet. She thought he looked relieved when she turned him off.

Hahn sat on the grimy curb in the parking garage. She heard the door behind her open and turned away from it, not wanting whoever it was to see her crying.

Hey, a soft woman’s voice.

Hahn hunched her shoulders and hoped to turn invisible.

Dr. Narayanan sat on the curb next to her. She was wearing tan pants that would easily get dirty. Hahn said, I’m fine. It came out sounding wet.

Let me walk you to the counselor’s office, Dr. Narayanan said.

Hahn shook her head. Dr. Narayanan tugged her elbow upward. Hahn turned toward her. You drive that horrible car.

Dr. Narayanan straightened. Roberta isn’t ‘horrible.’

I mean . . . Dr. Narayanan, you have to help me. They’re going to sell him for parts. I know he’s just a machine, but he’s like my little brother, and they want to tear him up for money!

Dr. Narayanan’s posture relaxed. Ah. You’re Dr. Brescia’s assistant.

You have to know someone who can fix him. You make your antique car run.

She shook her head. I’m sorry, kid, but cars aren’t robots. It’s not the same thing.

But could your mechanic at least look at him?

Dr. Narayanan stood up and dusted her bottom. Look, if it don’t bleed, it don’t matter, right?

James does matter! She couldn’t put it in words, but there was something important in loving an object, putting your heart into the Velveteen Rabbit or Piglet or this sweet, doe-eyed silicone boy.

Dr. Narayanan gave her a long look. You’re young. You need a couple more years before you can have expensive hobbies like mine. She took a backward step. Counselor’s office is still open. She walked away, steps echoing in the wide, low parking garage.

Online forums echoed the IT guy’s opinion: it was cheaper to replace James than to fix him.

Two years ago, Hahn’s sewing machine had seized up. It was only a year old. When she took it back to the store, they had said it would be cheaper to replace it than fix it. Then she took it to an old junk shop near her apartment, and a little old man with gnarled hands and a thick eastern European accent had said, Na! Is gear. You see. He’d popped the case off her sewing machine and replaced a little plastic gear that had seized with a metal one. It took him barely a minute to do. You see how they cheap with plastic? Bah. Standard size. No charge. Please, is pleasure. No charge. She bought him a cup of coffee to pay for the repair that was too expensive to make.

Hahn was working on making this into a forum reply.

Gundo poked his head into the lab. Your toy is gone tomorrow.

Hahn stopped typing and stood. I can get him fixed.

Gundo half-shrugged. You keep saying. I have the equipment disposal paperwork all filled out, and if he’s not doing something useful or gone by tomorrow, I’m filing it.

Hahn followed him into the hall. Why are you doing this?

It’s my job? Why are you so attached? You do know he’s not alive, right? The door to the administrative office was propped open for repair. When Gundo saw her looking, he raised his eyebrows at her, a silent threat.

Hahn had done the unthinkable: she had pissed off a departmental admin. She’d heard horror stories—dissertations lost; grades removed from records. She had to find a way to make it up to Gundo once she saved James.

The junk shop was empty, its sign gone. Through the window the space looked larger than she remembered, the counter bare. She could still see the drawer the old man had opened, full of little wooden compartments like the change drawer on a cash register.

She waited on the stoop, hoping to see the old man, if he lived nearby. A police officer walked by. Then he came back. This isn’t a safe neighborhood, miss.

Do, um, do you know the repair man who used to have a shop here?

His face was unmoving. You should go home.

Are there any other repair shops like this one was? Doesn’t anyone fix things anymore?

I’m not the person to ask about that. The cop looked apologetic, but his hands were on his gun belt. There’s no loitering here.

Hahn wheeled a lab chair over to the storage closet. She held the chair with one foot hooked behind a wheel while she carefully tipped James forward onto it. The chair slipped away. James dropped like a plank. The crash shook the whole floor. Hahn froze. No one came.

She looked at the chair and back at James. She wasn’t strong enough to pick him up. She crouched next to James and switched him on.

James rolled onto his back and smiled at her. Hello, Hahn.

Just . . . give me your hand. Steady. Can you sit up? Now stand. He listed sharply. No. No. Don’t try to balance . . . Just straighten your legs.

With James’ help, she got him on the wheeled chair. Hahn was covered in sweat by the time they reached the elevator.

Dr. Narayanan opened her apartment door with one hand cradling her phone to her ear. Uh . . . yeah . . . can I call you back? She stared at Hahn. What are you doing here?

Sorry to bother you, Dr. Narayanan. James is having trouble with your stairs.

Dr. Narayanan leaned to peer down the apartment stairs. James stood at the bottom, dutifully circling one leg up and back, caught in an endless loop of starting to climb, then being told he was off-balance, regaining, starting to climb . . .

Dr. Narayanan leaned back. How did you get through the security door?

Please help us, Dr. Narayanan. I promise I didn’t break anything.

Her glare was leveling, adult, firm. Tell me, or I call the cops.

James tried to step again and again. Hahn sighed. I found a hack for your lock online.

What! Dr. Narayanan ran a hand through her hair. She started to move away, then stopped, jabbing a finger at her. I’ll tell your PI.

Please don’t! I also uploaded the patch, so it won’t work again. See? I’m helping your security.

You just . . .  Dr. Narayanan closed her eyes. I can’t begin to unpack all that’s wrong with you. She grinned like that had been a compliment and opened her door wider. Okay, I’ll look at the beast. Let’s get him up.

Dr. Narayanan’s dining room table was covered in printed schematics and tools. Some strange mechanical thing stood at the end, a pillar of cast metal with a fan on top. It looked heavy. Dr. Narayanan set it on a chair before helping Hahn hoist James onto the table.

Thank you for seeing me, doctor, James said.

He calls the mechanic ‘doctor,’ Hahn explained. James, this really is a doctor.

Cute, Dr. Narayanan rubbed her chin. James? Can you follow my finger with your eyes? She passed her hand in front of James and watched his eyeballs track. She bit her lip. I have no idea if that tells me anything.

Dr. Narayanan stared at James as though his programming were written on the glass surface of his eyes. He’s got a university equipment tag. She tapped the QR code pinned to his shirt. The school knows you brought him here, right?

Hahn tried to force herself to say yes, but she wasn’t very good at lying. When more time passed than was natural, Dr. Narayanan said, I see.

It takes a lot of paperwork to throw anything out. If I bring him back working, everyone will be happy.

They’re throwing him out.

Hahn felt a tremble in her fists and forced herself to loosen them. Yes. Tomorrow, Gundo said.

Dr. Narayanan tapped her lip. So, the problem is his balance process?

Yes.

She shrugged. Let’s try taking it out.

Can you do that?

Sometimes a system can be bypassed. People used to remove their catalytic converters so they could use leaded gas. He won’t be able to tell if he’s balanced, but these things have a lot of processing power, we can program him to work around it. Like he reacts to your emotional needs without any of his own.

Hahn didn’t like the significant look Dr. Narayanan gave her. "It’s not . . . about needs. I customized his reactions to make him more fun to work with." It was a software bundle, actually, RoboQuirks 3.2, but she didn’t want Dr. Narayanan thinking she was just some script kiddy.

James said, I’m sorry to be so much trouble. He looked like he was trying to gauge her reaction, like he was worried and wanted her approval, and wasn’t that worth a measure of self-delusion? Didn’t everyone pretend that fake emotions were real, that the people they worked with were friends, that they were happy to see them, that they had a nice day?

I know it’s just programming, Hahn said.

Customization can ruin a machine, Dr. Narayanan tapped her lip. Have you tried removing the customization code?

I . . . but that’s his personality.

Dr. Narayanan seemed to study the back of Hahn’s soul. "Do you have any real friends?"

Hanh had to look away. I mean . . . it’s . . . we could comment it out for a test? If the first thing doesn’t work?

Dr. Narayanan’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and looked at it. All right, let’s give this a shot. She pressed her screen twice, and then set the phone down next to James.

Hahn expected Dr. Narayanan to open James, but instead she got a cable and plugged her phone into him. She frowned at her screen. Hahn tried to read the frown. The frown deepened. Then a grin broke across Dr. Narayanan’s features. She