Year's Best Canadian Fantasy and Science Fiction: Volume One: Year's Best Canadian Fantasy and Science Fiction, #1

By Stephen Kotowych

Award winners. Award finalists. Hidden gems. All Canadian. All in one anthology.

 

Year's Best Canadian Fantasy & Science Fiction: Volume One showcases the powerful, award-winning fantastical fiction being written by Canadians today.

 

Discover the magic woven by more than three dozen of Canada's finest established and emerging fantasy and science fiction writers, including Premee Mohamed, Peter Watts, Kate Heartfield, Ai Jiang, Eric Choi, and Suzan Palumbo, among others.

 

From hard science fiction that propels you through the cosmos to haunting fantasy that lingers in the recesses of your imagination, join these writers as they explore the wonderous, the contemporary, the futuristic, and what it means to be human—all through the lens of the fantastic.

 

Curated by award-winning author and anthologist Stephen Kotowych, and selected from top markets like Analog, F&SF, Lightspeed, On Spec, Strange Horizons, and Tor.com, the Year's Best Canadian Fantasy and Science Fiction is your definitive guide to the very best fantastical fiction written by Canadians today.

 

Featuring stories and poems that were winners and finalists for the Aurora Award, Nebula Award, Locus Award, Ignyte Award, Prix Solaris, World Fantasy Award, the Rhysling Award, and many more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ansible Press
• Release date: Dec 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9780993937583

Book preview

Year's Best Canadian Fantasy and Science Fiction

Volume One

Edited by Stephen Kotowych

Ansible Press

Copyright © 2023 by Stephen Kotowych

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by Canadian copyright law.

No part of this publication may be scraped, extracted, digested, analyzed, combined in a dataset, or otherwise used by any person, organization, algorithm, corporation or any other entity for the purpose of building, developing, or training an artificial intelligence, large language model, or any other generative computer algorithm now existing or henceforth invented.

The stories, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed herein are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, products, or events is intended or should be inferred.

Cover art by Tithi Luadthong/Adobe Stock

Cover design by Something Creative Marketing + Design (www.somethingcreative.ca)

Illustrations: Copyright © 2023 Herman Lau and Copyright © 2023 Marco Maurin. All rights reserved.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication (CIP) data has been applied for.

ISBN 978-0-9939375-9-0 (trade paper)

ISBN 978-0-9939375-8-3 (e-book)

ISBN 978-1-7381875-0-8 (large print edition)

Contents

Dedication

Introduction

1.Give Me English

1. Ai Jiang

2.The Voice of a Thousand Years

2. Fawaz Al-Matrouk

3.Bottom’s Dream

3. Glenn Clifton

4.And in the Arcade, Ego

4. Kate Heartfield

5.The Secret Lives of Shellwomen

5. Geneviève Blouin. Translated from the French by Margaret Sankey

6.In Stock Images of the Future, Everything is White

6. Terese Mason Pierre

7.Michif Man

7. Chelsea Vowel

8.Sunday in the Park with Hank

8. Leah Bobet

9.A New Brave World

9. Eric Choi

10.Poltergeist

10. Rhonda Parrish

11.One Day in the Afterlife of Detective Roshni Chaddha

11. Rati Mehrotra

12.Big Trouble in Droidtown

12. Hayden Trenholm

13.First Contact

13. Lisa Timpf

14.Distant Skies

14. Charlotte Ashley

15.Shattered

15. Marie Bilodeau

16.Necklace

16. Carolyn Clink

17.All That Burns Unseen

17. Premee Mohamed

18.Rapunzel in the Desert

18. Melissa Yuan-Innes

19.Redfin Spine

19. Jonathan Olfert

20.Maximum Efficiency

20. Holly Schofield

21.Choose Your Own

21. C.J. Lavigne

22.After the Apocalypse

22. Colleen Anderson

23.Rare Earths Pineapple

23. Michèle Laframboise

24.Choke

24. Suyi Davies Okungbowa

25.Three Herons

25. Geoffrey W. Cole

26.Folk Hero Motifs in Tales Told by the Dead

26. KT Bryski

27.Vi'hun Heal

27. Michelle Tang

28.The Bleak Communion of Abandoned Things

28. Ariel Marken Jack

29.a sinkhole invites a street to consider its future

29. Dominik Parisien

30.Broken Vow: The Adventures of Flick Gibson, Intergalactic Videographer

30. Peter G. Reynolds

31.Green Witch

31. Elizabeth Whitton

32.The Mall at Night

32. Millie Ho

33.Homeplus

33. Liz Westbrook-Trenholm

34.Into the Frozen Wilds

34. P.A. Cornell

35.The Wolf of Your Passions

35. Lynne Sargent

36.Critical Mass

36. Peter Watts

37.Douen

37. Suzan Palumbo

Year's Best Novellas and Novelettes 2022

Aurora Awards 2022

Prix Boréal-Aurora 2022

About the Authors

About the Artists

About the Editor

Acknowledgements

Publication Details

Kickstarter Backers

Dedicated to Maria Haskins,

who does so much for the short fiction community

and is THE BEST

Introduction

I once heard a panelist at a convention say that an editor assembles an anthology to put forward a thesis about some aspect of science fiction or fantasy.

I can’t pretend I had anything so grandiose in mind when I decided to undertake this project, just this idea: the world (as the old saying goes) needs more Canada.

Per capita, more world-class fantasy and science fiction writers hail from Canada than from any other nation. Canadian authors routinely win or are nominated for the highest awards in the field, including the Hugo, the Nebula, the World Fantasy Award, and the Locus Award, amongst others. And, of course, we also have our own national prizes, the Aurora Award (for works in English) and the Prix Boréal-Aurora (for works in French).

Despite this, the Canadian SFF community doesn’t have a showcase anthology where readers can find the very best work coming out of this country each year all gathered in one place.

The goal of this anthology series is to change that.

A Year’s Best for Canada

There have been Canadian Year’s Best volumes in the past, of course.

The most recent managed several volumes before the complete implosion of the publishing house. The final entry in that series was published nearly a decade ago as this volume goes to press.

For many years, the Tesseracts series filled a similar niche as a showcase for what’s new in the Canadian field. In its annual anthologies, the series maintained a wonderful track record of publishing both established and up-and-coming talent in the Canadian SFF field. However, the series went on hiatus after the 2019 volume (though Tesseracts is apparently slated to resume in 2024, according to the publisher).

While the short fiction publishing landscape has always been one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster (to borrow a phrase), the market for short fiction these days is uniquely fractured. Stories written by Canadians appear in magazines both at home and abroad, on websites, in anthologies, and in zines. Some markets are well-known; others are smaller and might be missed. Some markets are free to read, while others are available by subscription only. And once the next issue of a magazine comes out, or an anthology goes out of print, or a publisher shuts down, these stories become hard to find and risk disappearing. It is difficult verging on impossible for any single reader to track down and read the total annual output by Canadians in the SFF field.

More than ever, then, we need a place where the best short Canadian fantasy and science fiction from the previous year is gathered in one place, easy for readers to find and enjoy.

And that, in large measure, is why you hold in your hands the inaugural volume of this new anthology series: Year’s Best Canadian Fantasy and Science Fiction.

A Year’s Best for Canada

As I contemplated producing a Year’s Best of Canadian genre fiction, it also meant considering what we mean when we say Canada or Canadian.

The simplest definition (and the one I borrowed as the basic eligibility criteria for inclusion in this volume) is that used by the Aurora Awards, our national English-language prize for work in the fantastic. For the purposes of this collection, Canadian means Canadian citizens, permanent residents, or Canadian citizens who are living and writing from abroad.

However, it’s not as simple as that.

Our historical reality, which includes Indigenous peoples, French and English settler cultures, and both historical and ongoing immigration from around the world, means that Canada and Canadian can be deeply contested terms.

I hope the multiplicity of ideas about what Canada does or doesn’t mean and what it does or doesn’t mean to be Canadian is evident in and reflected by the stories and the contributors included in this volume.

Because regardless of whether these stories deal directly with Canada or Canadians (most don’t), I think that people who hail, in whatever way, from this land offer unique perspectives on the world and on the fantasy and science fiction genres. And I hope that a dialogue about the meaning(s) of Canada and Canadian and how those meanings shape the fantasy and science fiction we write continues throughout future volumes of this series.

What’s included (and what’s not)

This series aims to be an annual calling-card anthology, and the stories included in this first volume show readers the full range of powerful fantastical fiction being written by Canadians today, from hard science fiction to haunting fantasy and everything in between.

However, even though this book contains 125,000 words of short fiction and speculative poetry, that doesn’t mean it can contain all the best work from Canadians that appeared in 2022. Choices had to be made. Personal taste played a role.

No doubt I have missed some stories or poems that people will wish I’d included. No doubt twenty minutes after this book goes to press, I will come across some stories or poems that I will wish I’d included. And there are many great Canadian F&SF writers who aren’t represented here because they didn’t have a short story published in 2022, rarely work in the short form, or they have elected to focus their energies on longer projects.

And if I have one regret about the contents of this volume, it is around those longer works.

We live in a golden age of novellas—a form that has been suggested as the natural ideal length for fantasy and science fiction stories. But for reasons of both length and rights availability, such works couldn’t be included here. I have, however, appended a list of what I thought were some of the best novellas and novelettes published by Canadians in 2022. I hope you will seek them out and enjoy them as much as I have. If I could have included them herein, I would have.

One inclusion that I am especially proud to bring to readers, however, is a story translated from French and available exclusively in this volume: Geneviève Blouin’s award-winning The Secret Lives of Shellwomen, translated by Margaret Sankey.

Returning to my thinking about Canada and Canadian, I was keenly aware that in preparing a Year’s Best of Canadian fantasy and science fiction, what I was really preparing was a Year’s Best of Canadian English-language fantasy and science fiction. As with so many aspects of our culture, the Anglophone and Francophone SFF traditions in Canada often form their own two solitudes, and I wanted to, at least in some small way, help give English-language readers in this country (and beyond) a glimpse into the wonderful writing by Quebecois and Francophone authors in Canada working in the fantastic today.

A word of thanks to our Kickstarter backers

I first thought of publishing a volume like this in late autumn 2022. In the end, the project had to come together on a very short timeline because I’d spent several months repeatedly talking myself out of and then back into doing the project—Can I make a go of this? Will anyone want this anthology? Will I be able to include enough stories to make it worth doing? But seriously: will anyone want this thing? Actually seeing it happen is immensely gratifying. And for that, I have to thank the Kickstarter backers who made this book possible.

It’s worth noting that the same panelist I mentioned earlier also said during their talk that editors create anthologies against their better commercial judgement. Anthology projects can be dicey financial prospects for publishers, which is why fewer and fewer of them are being produced by traditional SFF publishers and why a Year’s Best for Canada has been so hard to sustain over the years.

But by turning to Kickstarter—through which backers essentially raise a hand and say in advance, I’d like a copy, please—suddenly books like Year’s Best Canadian Fantasy and Science Fiction: Volume One become possible. Instead of guesstimating what demand or interest there might be for an anthology, this successful crowdfunding campaign means I, as a publisher, am able to cover production costs up front and make the book available to the wider public without financial risk.

With Kickstarter backing, I know exactly how much money I have to pay reprint fees and exactly how many copies I need to print, with no guessing and no waste. And I know that I can keep production costs low by using high-quality short-run and print-on-demand publishing instead of warehousing books that may or may not sell.

My first pledge on Kickstarter was to support a novel way back in 2011. Since then, I’ve backed 100+ projects, including novels, anthologies, comic books, role-playing games, and even a butter knife (long story). It’s fair to say I love the Kickstarter model for publishing, and I was thrilled for Year’s Best Canadian Fantasy and Science Fiction: Volume One to be my first project there as a creator.

So, thank you to all the backers who helped make this book possible—all 236 of you from a total of 13 different countries. I’m glad you think the world needs more Canada, too.

2022: A year in review

In future volumes of this series, I hope to give a substantive account of the year that was for the Canadian F&SF community. But, since this introduction has focused on the why and how of this series, I’ll forgo a deep dive into the year-that-was this time.

However, I will say this for now by way of looking back: 2022 was a year marred by the lingering effects of the COVID-19 pandemic.

For all the talk of the world opening back up and promises that it was going to be a Hot Girl Summer that nothing and no one could stop, the ongoing impacts of the pandemic deeply affected writers and fans alike. So many authors I know struggled to write at all during the pandemic, for example.

Fanish gatherings of all kinds also continued to be affected. Canada’s SFF conventions had some hard choices to make, with each con feeling out the best way forward for their events and their attendees.

More media-focused conventions, like Hal-Con (October 28–30, 2022; hal-con.com), went back to running largely as they had in the Beforetimes. Winnipeg’s Keycon 39 (May 20–22, 2022; www.keycon.org) ran in person but required double vaccination and masks to attend. Ottawa’s Can*Con ran again (October 14–16, 2022; can-con.org) after skipping 2020 and 2021 due to the pandemic, but they opted for a hybrid event, with an in-person con (capped at a reduced capacity from previous Can*Cons and with masking required for safety) and an online programming track running in parallel. Some opted for online-only events; for example, Toronto’s AugurCon (November 26 and 27, 2022; augurcon.com) featured an impressive 9+ hours of panels, workshops, and industry-related sessions online on each of two days, with more than 45 panelists participating. Others, like Toronto’s Ad Astra (www.facebook.com/adastraTO/), were forced to cancel their cons outright for another year.

Perhaps the most science-fictional thing that could have happened after years of political unrest and a global pandemic, however, was the debut in late 2022 of ChatGPT—an AI chatbot using natural language processing to generate text of all kinds at lightning speed. Suddenly, the machine uprising—long foretold—was finally here.

An immediate sensation and the source of endless think pieces on the implications of AI (seemingly all of which used the clever hook of generating the opening few paragraphs using ChatGPT and then surprising the reader with this fact to illustrate the power of generative AI…), the technology was also immediately controversial. As it was trained on a vast corpus of copyrighted material scraped from the internet (including fiction of all kinds) and offered no compensation to human creators for the use of their material, many writers felt not only was ChatGPT coming for their jobs but it was doing so by using their own work against them.

ChatGPT and the flood of similar generative AI tools that followed came too late in the year to have much effect on short story markets in 2022, but there will doubtless be much to say about their impact in next year’s volume.

Speaking of which…

Submissions for Year’s Best Canadian Fantasy and Science Fiction: Volume Two

Because this first Year’s Best came together in large part as a proof-of-concept test, I relied heavily on my own reading as well as awards and recommended reading lists from various sources to help me locate the majority of what I considered for inclusion in this initial volume. I also benefitted from material sent to me by authors and publishers during a brief open call in summer 2023 that alerted me to work I might otherwise have missed.

For Year’s Best Canadian Fantasy and Science Fiction: Volume Two, however, I have a longer timeline to work with. And I need your help in casting as wide a net as possible to identify any and all fantasy and science fiction short stories and poems written by Canadians in 2023 so that I can make Volume Two of this series even more representative of the great work being done each year by Canadians.

Writers, editors, and publishers who have material they would like considered for next year’s edition (the best of 2023) can visit kotowych.com/yearsbest for instructions on how to submit their work. Readers who would like to alert me to their favourite reads by Canadian authors published in 2023 can likewise find directions there.

So spread the word! Share that link on your social media. Tell your SFF-loving friends. Alert your favourite Canadian writers to send me their work. Fly, my pretties! Fly! Fly!

Thanks in advance for your help.

Now, please enjoy Year’s Best Canadian Fantasy and Science Fiction: Volume One.

Stephen Kotowych

Kitchener, Ontario

November 2023

Herman Lau

Herman Lau

Give Me English

Ai Jiang

Itraded my last coffee for a coffee. How ironic. My finger jabbed at the ordering machine. The Langbase implanted in my brain popped up in front of my eyes, and I watched as the word disappeared. A heavy breath escaped my lips. I would have to trade my tea s next.

The Langbase total changed from 987 to 986 words. I blinked twice to close it. There was one fewer word I could use to communicate with others—or to pay for necessities and rent. The word c----- was like a familiar stranger. My Langbase blurred it from my mind now that I had used the last one as payment. I could trade for it again with my duplicate haves and yous but having c----- wasn’t a necessity. No longer could I use it when speaking, writing, or processing it when others said or wrote it. Though there were a finite number of words I could use to trade, I was allowed to use the words indefinitely as long as I still had them in my Langbase. Would I become a Silent, too, when my Langbase emptied?

*Incoming message from Jorry.*

I muttered under my breath and blinked twice to open the message.

Remember that the L---- show is tonight! I’ll be picking you up in 30 minutes.

Of course I remembered. He had sent reminders every few hours for the past two days. Although I had been thankful for Jorry in the past, his narcissism was difficult to handle at times.

My reply floated in the air across my eyes while I waited for my c-----.

Yes, yes. I remember. I’ll be at the usual drink shop.

Oh, you mean L------’s C-----? The selections there are m--------. I cannot f---- purchasing c----- elsewhere.

He was gloating. I held my breath, irritated. It had been a while since the last time I attempted deciphering his words. I knew it would only make me more frustrated. 

Yes. That one. It’s great.

My answer sounded dry. I didn’t want to speak to Jorry. He always used words that he knew I no longer had. Women, he believed, as per Chinese traditional mind-sets, were better silent, docile, obedient. Of course, I disagreed. The only reason I put up with him was because our families were friends. I suspected it was similar for him. 

Jorry had picked me up from the airport when I first arrived and showed me around New York. I called him by his Chinese name, but it turned out he had sold it along with most of his Chinese words a few years after he came to New York. Though I noticed he had been using them again lately. It seems that he bought quite a few characters before Chinese climbed the Language World Rankings this year. He always had great intuition when it came to Language Trading, though his main income was from Language Gambling. There was no doubt he would’ve had to give up some of his L---- words to afford it. Since he had more than enough English in his inventory now, he wanted to invest in more of what he called foreign languages—though Chinese had been his mother tongue.

I blinked to close the chat.

What was your order? the barista asked.

I scanned the digital menu above his head. Number seven.

The barista looked at me with a knowing smile. I usually order number ten.

Tea. I nodded and grinned.

He didn’t say the word back, and I regretted saying it, realizing that he didn’t have the word himself. My head bowed as I turned away from the barista, his smile no longer as joyous as before. 

I took a seat at the back of the shop with my body angled toward the corner to avoid potential unwanted conversations.

I opened my Langbase again and selected Chinese. I only had a handful of characters left in my native tongue. To afford the rent in New York, I had traded most of them away at the Language Currency Exchange Centres. Sometimes multilingual individuals approached me in hopes of buying more foreign words for their collection. The Currency Centres often restricted the number of foreign words you could buy within a year.

What would you like in exchange? they had asked.

I had always answered with, Give me English.

At a nearby table, a woman sat across from her friend, adjusting the bright yellow stroller beside her. A child, only a few months old, lay inside. Their blond hair gave them an angel-like appearance.

"I’m so glad they implemented that new childcare policy for native citizens. My sweet baby can start her life with a dictionary’s worth of English. The woman leaned over the stroller and cooed at her baby. I don’t know how I survived without it. We wouldn’t be able to now, that’s for sure!"  

I didn’t remember China having such a policy, or if we did, my parents never told me. The rich only became richer, and the poor continued to struggle. My family was never as well off as Jorry and his family. I was often surprised that they had the chance to meet, and I was even more surprised that they remained friends. Perhaps Jorry’s family had a hand in funding my trip to the States. My parents had offered me half their savings, but it didn’t seem possible they had so much stored away in their Langbases. 

The woman’s friend shook her head. "I recently traded the words I thought my three-year-old would never use for sufficient French to hold a conversation. It’s not enough just to be born here anymore. My boss is insisting that all of us need to know at least two languages." 

Even the at-home telemarketers now, eh? said her friend.

The woman looked down at her child. By the time this little one grows up, she’ll have to know five languages just to keep up with the rest of the world!

As the women continued to chatter, I scrolled through my Langbase mindlessly, but it didn’t take long to reach the end of the list. With the laws always changing, even Sign Language had to be purchased. The American government left no missed opportunities to capitalize and monetize language. That baby had a much better chance of surviving here than I did. 

The friend took a sip of her drink—what looked to be the most expensive one on the menu. And with how fast the housing market is growing, soon we’ll need L---- just to afford it.

Did these women live in mansions? Apartments and condos with many rooms? To have enough to buy a stroller like that . . . The room I rented sat in the basement next to the laundry. It was a poorly renovated storage space without a window. At night, the pounding from the washers and dryers rattled my walls and ceilings, but I was used to that now. Even with the vibrations from the subway nearby, it was good enough for me. This was the cheapest place I could find in New York, and my previous job as a dishwasher only covered my rent and basic grocery trips.

I used to be a waitress when I still had most of my Chinese. It paid to be multilingual. Now I worked in a disposal factory. Not much talking happened there.

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Jorry arrived at the c----- shop early. That was the one, perhaps the only, good thing about him—he was always punctual. He waved to me from outside the wall-to-wall window near the entrance. I tossed the soggy c----- cup into the trash, my fingertips still damp, and walked toward the exit. The unnatural smile on my face tightened as I neared him.

Jorry.

玉河!

Jorry had never called me by my Chinese name before, always the English one, Gillian. Did he sell Gillian or did he buy the characters 玉 and 河?

I looked at him, really looked at him, like how grocers back in Fuzhou looked at me whenever I said Thank you—bewildered.

What’s wrong?

I shook my head. Nothing.

He shrugged at my clipped response.Well, then let’s go! Here are the tickets. They really are i-----------, aren’t they? I quite like their a-------- this year.

I grimaced every time he emphasized words that were too expensive for me to afford, ones that I heard only as garble. The designs on the tickets were nothing unique with their shimmering gold logo and calligraphy-printed letters, but Jorry would use any excuse to show off the words in his Langbase.

Yes, exquisite, I said. This was one of the few sophisticated words I still owned. I sold most of the others since I didn’t use them except for with Jorry. Most of my Langbase was made up of words like and or the; most people received these as change. I only had one I at all times, but I suspected Jorry had thousands, and not because of their value. Self-love is important, but he had far too much of it. I tried to keep my disgust from surfacing as he ran his hand through overly waxed hair; remnants of the product remained in between his fingers when he dropped his arm back down. I pretended not to notice as he discreetly wiped his hand on his dress pants.  

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On our way to the show, a Silent jumped in our path. With her hands cupped in front of her, she offered a small smile. From the corner of my eye I could see the frown on Jorry’s face.

Leave us alone. Jorry pushed past the Silent, brushing his hands off as if he’d touched something dirty. My feet stayed planted.

The Silent looked at me with pleading eyes, ringed with purple—a prominent bruise over the right eye—begging for words. Her gaunt face stretched as she opened her mouth, but no voice came out. I clenched my teeth when my eyes wandered to the oversized shirt she wore, plastered with various words—some part of the design, some looking as though they had been forcefully written on by those who encountered her on the streets. Beggar. Home. Less. America. Silent. Dream. Silent. Reality. Silent. Silent. Silent. It was unlikely she could read any of the words on her shirt.

The Silent were a common sight on the streets. I often bumped into them outside convenience stores, where they shielded themselves from the cold with their knees huddled together. Others walked past without taking notice, some relieved their rage on these already vulnerable individuals, some showed kindness, offering their words. Not everyone had the privilege to speak.

I blinked open the transfer option in my Langbase and sent the Silent a few ands.

She bowed her head. And.

玉河, we’re going to be late! Jorry’s irritable voice traveled from half a block away.

玉河, don’t let them take your native tongue from you. My mother’s voice drifted into my mind. These were words she had said to me over a call when I first arrived in New York. Too late, Mother, most of my characters were already gone. What if I, too, became a Silent by staying here?

When I left the Silent, I couldn’t help but imagine my face in the place of hers.

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I had only been to one other show with Jorry. That one was in English. I forgot what it was called, but it had something to do with romance, wealth, and the people of my culture. We went when I first arrived in New York. Maybe he thought it would remind me—us—of home, but really, it only showed me what Jorry’s dream was and why he left Fuzhou. The same goal my parents had for me when they heard of Jorry’s success here. They didn’t seem to understand that what Jorry did was Language Gambling. His parents made it sound like he worked at a Currency Centre, but really, he was a frequent visitor of Language Casinos around New York. It was a secret Jorry made me promise to keep. I had a feeling that was the only reason he sometimes offered to treat me to a meal or invited me to Language Shows.

The movie we watched before was entertaining, though. I understood some parts that were in English and all the Chinese dialog. Since then, Jorry always purposely chose things that were difficult for me to understand.

Before leaving Fuzhou, my mother said if I ever needed help, I could ask Jorry. I hadn’t and I didn’t plan to.

"For two." Jorry handed over our tickets, and the usher led us inside with several others behind us.

"Front row seats," said Jorry, even though I could see where we were heading.

The tickets must have cost an entire month’s worth of rent, at least for me.

Thanks for the invitation. My parents told me to always be grateful for gifts of kindness. Was this kindness or something else?

"Always a p------." Jorry smiled but the smile was so brief and sudden that I wasn’t sure if it was directed at me or because of his excitement for the show.

When the lights dimmed, I sat back in my seat, ready to replay the memories of my hometown using the Langbase’s memory function rather than listen to garbles that I no longer understood. Unfortunately, the Langbase’s memory function followed a subscription model, where we had to pay a few words monthly to continue to use it. Once the subscription expired, nearly all of your memories were blurred, leaving only the most basic information about yourself—name, age, address, family names, occupation, and the past week’s events—until you renewed the Langbase’s memory function again.

The curtains opened to reveal a man and a woman seated at a table. I sighed when the man opened his mouth. The garbles weren’t terrible; they sounded like musical murmurs.

Jorry laughed with the rest of the audience, though he was always a second late. I suspected he barely understood what was happening. That was how I knew he was only faking it. It wasn’t just a slow reaction, because Jorry was always quick to pounce on me whenever I couldn’t find the right words to say. L---- was expensive, even the name of it. Jorry was well-off, but there was little chance he could afford the large vocabulary in it.

I didn’t pretend to laugh. There was no point since Jorry didn’t care anyway. He was far more worried about how he appeared to others but had little interest in how others presented themselves. To him, what mattered most was that he stood out and looked as wealthy as his manner implied.

You enjoying the show? he asked in a low whisper halfway through. It was an empty question. He leaned toward me but never took his eyes off the stage, as if he might miss something if he did.

Yes. No.

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Hey, do you mind if we stop by the LangGamble House? he asked, a smirk lifting one side of his lips.

Yes, I do mind. Sure, why not? Though I had promised not to reveal the details of his work,—not that I knew much about it to begin with or had any great interest in it—I was surprised Jorry would willingly show me more. Did he not worry I would expose him? Or did he predict I would soon become a Silent myself?

The LangGamble House was a large dome the size of ten houses in length, width, and height. Its lights were never off. On my way home from work, the dome’s glare always lit my path. The red-carpeted lobby was dominated by a large staircase leading to private gambling rooms littered with velvet-covered tables and slot machines. There were both single- and multi-language options available.

I like to be adventurous, Jorry said. I wanted to scoff but didn’t.

He waved me over to a table. The man standing behind it was wearing a smart tuxedo. Jorry said this person was called an Asker, and the table would display holographic projections of the conversations they were about to have. Askers had entire dictionaries installed in their Langbases, but the knowledge was only lent to them by the House and would disappear after work. How would it feel to have such a large vocabulary at your disposal, if only temporarily? I imagined it would feel quite powerful. To have any voice, really, is powerful.

Language of choice? the Asker said.

L----, English, and Chinese, Jorry said.

I was surprised Jorry would choose L---- since he didn’t seem to have a large vocabulary in it judging from his responses at the show.

Perfect. Are you familiar with the rules?

Jorry smiled at me before turning back to the Asker. Yes, but please do explain again for the lady.

The Asker turned in my direction, completely unaware of Jorry’s condescending tone. First, the player will make a bet—a number of words in each currency. I will then ask three questions in each language to which the gentleman here will provide answers. Yes or no answers are not allowed. Each answer must be a minimum of three sentences. I will review the answers within a five-minute time frame and select one word in each language that I believe the player does not own. If I am correct, the player loses their bet, the opposite if I am incorrect.

It was strange how robotic the Asker’s voice was, although he was obviously human.

Shall we begin? the Asker said.

I hoped Jorry would lose, but of course, he didn’t.  

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I only called my parents once in a while because the language barrier was becoming an obstacle. It saddened my mother that most of my Chinese was gone, and that I couldn’t find the success she hoped for. They believed there were more opportunities to grow in America. It was too fiercely competitive in China, and I was never at the top of my classes. A new start, they said—optimistic. They told me to build a new life for myself—one they couldn’t offer me in China as factory workers. But what they didn’t realize was that the high-end jobs here required applicants to be multilingual: Trilingual was the bare minimum for entry-level jobs, but the employers always preferred quadrilingual or more.

I bought ten minutes with a few thes at the Public World Screen. Phones were too expensive, and I had sold mine a few months ago.

My mother’s face appeared first, then my father’s behind hers. She told me about how things were back in Fuzhou, and I listened with a blank grin. After a minute, my mother left the screen. I looked down at the gravel beneath my feet.

My father, quiet by nature, only stared without saying a word during our calls. But somehow, I understood my father’s expressions far more than my mother’s stream of now-foreign words. It was strange to hear my mother’s voice as garble when it used to be so clear. I concentrated on my mother’s lips, but it was like trying to look through frosted glass or listening underwater.

When my father thought my mother wasn’t looking, he mimed sentences to me, willing the meaning with his eyes. Sometimes I understood. The language of the eyes and body spoke much louder than words. I tried to mime back, but it wasn’t the same. Playing this game of charades was a loophole to the Langbase. Body language in general wasn’t considered an official language. I should be grateful for that.

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Wasn’t the L---- show just s---------?

I deciphered the sentence using the context of Jorry’s message.

Yes. Really great.

He was still typing, but I turned off my screen. I pulled up my Langbase. After paying rent, I had only 486 words left.

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My mother spoke of a new language for royalty. The show Jorry and I watched yesterday was based on that language. She said to invest in it, but I’d never had the chance. One word of L---- cost over a hundred thousand English words. I told her it was difficult to make a living here. It was hard enough keeping what few words I had left to communicate with her.

In the building where I lived, there was one very stubborn man. He wouldn’t trade any of his native language for English, and no one would hire him. He disappeared after losing everything by gambling. Street gambling was different from the sort that Jorry partook in. The man often met up with a group of street gamblers on the weekends. They challenged each other to games of description played in pairs. One team chose the words for the opponents and the partners would then take turns guessing. The team with the most correct guesses won. Those living in the building would often watch the exchange. More times than not, someone left the scene looking murderous.

The other gamblers swindled him, the onlookers said, but he didn’t understand what was happening until it was too late, or perhaps he just stopped caring. His fellow players knew which words he was missing and chose those specifically so he couldn’t describe them. He was kicked out of the building and roamed the streets as a Silent. Some say he was deported and sent back to his motherland because he was no longer a useful citizen.

Another man came to visit the apartment last week; a wealthy man who knew over twenty-four languages—the one from the show included, of course. He wanted to demolish the building for a new commercial project: a new stocks centre for Language Trading. Those of us who lived here didn’t have a say, not that we had many words to argue with anyway.

Once, a charity asked the wealthy man for a donation. I remember him saying, You know how it is. If I give handouts to everyone, I won’t have any left for myself. How do you think the rich stay rich? I’d disliked him ever since. Not all the wealthy were like this, but this man and Jorry were the same type of people. I didn’t have a good enough word left in my Langbase to describe them.

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I stopped contact with Jorry a month after the show.

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They scheduled the apartment demolition for the following month. We all had to clear out by the end of next week.

The woman who lived beside me asked for compensation. She got a call, but all the building manager said was, Don’t you remember agreeing to the section stating— How could she when she didn’t have the words to read it or to hire a lawyer who could? How could she when these agreements were always worded in ways they knew most of their tenants couldn’t process with their limited Langbases?

*Incoming message from Jorry.*

I heard about the apartment.

My eyes hovered over the reply button, but no words came to me.

You could live with me for now?

Jorry always wanted something. He offered nothing for free. The l------ penthouse he lived in came to my mind.

I can’t afford the rent.

Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.

I couldn’t help but notice that he was only using words I understood. But I knew he just wanted to appear as a saviour so I would feel further indebted to him. These words were not for me, really; they were only for himself.

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I wasn’t sure why I never thought to use my only Jorry. When my Langbase connected with the train’s fare system, I selected Jorry as my payment. The system inserted a few verbs into my Langbase in return. Nouns were always worth more.

A woman sat down beside me. I fiddled with my luggage handle without looking up.

And.

My head lifted at the