The Apex Book of World SF 2 Read online

  The Apex Book of World SF 2

  Edited by

  Lavie Tidhar

  THE APEX BOOK OF WORLD SF 2

  Copyright @ 2012 by Lavie Tidhar

  Cover Art "Santa Adela" @ Raúl Cruz

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce the book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  Published by Apex Publications, LLC

  PO Box 24323

  Lexington, KY 40524

  www.apexbookcompany.com

  First Edition, Auguest 2012

  "Alternate Girl's Expatriate Life" @ Rochita Loenen-Ruiz 2010. First published in Interzone.

  "Mr Goop" @ Ivor W. Hartmann 2009. First published in African Writing.

  "Trees of Bone" @ Daliso Chaponda 2005. First published in Apex Digest.

  "The First Peruvian in Space" @ Daniel Salvo 2005, 2011. Translated by Jose B. Adolph. English publication original to this collection. First published in Spanish as El Primer Peruano en el Espacio in Ciencia Ficción Perú.

  "Eyes in the Vastness of Forever" @ Gustavo Bondoni 2010. First published in Innsmouth Free Press.

  "The Tomb" @ Chen Qiufan 2004, 2011. Translated by the author. English publication original to this collection. First published in Chinese as Fen in Science Fiction World.

  "The Sound of Breaking Glass" @ Joyce Chng 2010. First published in Semaphore Magazine.

  "A Single Year" @ Csilla Kleinheincz 2009, 2011. Translated by the author. English publication original to this collection. First published in Hungarian in 2009 as Egyetlen esztendő in the anthology Nyulak • Sellők • Viszonyok.

  "The Secret Origin of Spin-Man" @ Andrew Drilon 2009. First published in Philippine Speculative Fiction IV.

  "Borrowed Time" @ Anabel Enríquez Piñeiro 2007, 2011. Translated by Daniel W. Koon. English publication original to this collection. First published in Spanish as Deuda Temporal in Nada Que Declarar.

  "Branded" @ Lauren Beukes 2004. First published in SL Magazine.

  "December 8th" @ Raúl Flores Iriarte 2006, 2011. Translated by Daniel W. Koon and the author. English publication original to this collection. First published in Spanish as 8 De Diciembre at juventudtecnica.cu.

  "Hungry Man" @ Will Elliott 2011. Original to this collection.

  "Nira and I" @ Shweta Narayan 2009. First published in Strange Horizons.

  "Nothing Happened in 1999" @ Fábio Fernandes 2010. First published in Everyday Weirdness.

  "Shadow" @ Tade Thompson 2010. First published in Expanded Horizons.

  "Shibuya no Love" @ Hannu Rajaniemi 2004. First published in Futurismic.

  "Maquech" @ Silvia Moreno-Garcia 2008. First published in Futurismic.

  "The Glory of the World" @ Sergey Gerasimov 2008. First published in Clarkesworld Magazine.

  "The New Neighbours" @ Tim Jones 2008. First published in Transported.

  "From the Lost Diary of TreeFrog7" @ Nnedi Okorafor 2009. First published in Clarkesworld Magazine.

  "The Slows" @ Gail Hareven 1999, 2009. Translated by Yaacov Jeffrey Green. First published in Hebrew as "Ha'iti'im" in the collection Haderech Legan Eden. First published in English in The New Yorker.

  "Zombie Lenin" @ Ekaterina Sedia 2007. First published in Fantasy Sampler.

  "Electric Sonalika" @ Samit Basu 2011. Original to this collection.

  "The Malady" @ Andrzej Sapkowski 1992, 2006. Translated by Wiesiek Powaga. First published in Polish as "Maladie" in Nowa Fantastyka. First published in English at PolishWriting.net. Published by arrangement with literary agency Agence de l'Est.

  "A Life Made Possible Behind the Barricades" @ Jacques Barcia 2010. First published in Steampunk Reloaded Web Annex.

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  Lavie Tidhar

  Alternate Girl's Expatriate Life

  Rochita Loenen-Ruiz, Philippines

  Mr Goop

  Ivor W. Hartmann, Zimbabwe

  Trees of Bone

  Daliso Chaponda, Malawi

  The First Peruvian in Space

  Daniel Salvo, Peru

  Eyes in the Vastness of Forever

  Gustavo Bondoni, Argentina

  The Tomb

  Chen Qiufan, China

  The Sound of Breaking Glass

  Joyce Chng, Singapore

  A Single Year

  Csilla Kleinheincz, Hungary/Viet Nam

  The Secret Origin of Spin-Man

  Andrew Drilon, Philippines

  Borrowed Time

  Anabel Enríquez Piñeiro, Cuba

  Branded

  Lauren Beukes, South Africa

  December 8th

  Raúl Flores Iriarte, Cuba

  Hungry Man

  Will Elliott, Australia

  Nira and I

  Shweta Narayan, India/Malaysia

  Nothing Happened in 1999

  Fábio Fernandes, Brazil

  Shadow

  Tade Thompson, Nigeria

  Shibuya no Love

  Hannue Rajaniemi, Finland

  Maquech

  Silvia Moreno-Garcia, Mexico

  The Glory of the World

  Sergey Gerasimov, Ukraine

  The New Neighbours

  Tim Jones, New Zealand

  From the Lost Diary of TreeFrog7

  Nnedi Okafor, USA/Nigeria

  The Slows

  Gail Hareven, USA/Nigeria

  Zombie Lenin

  Ekaterina Sedia, Russia

  Electric Sonalika

  Samit Basu, India

  The Malady

  Andrzej Sapkowski, Poland

  A Life Made Possible Behind the Barricades

  Jacques Barcia, Brazil

  Editor Biography

  Artist Biography

  Introduction

  By Lavie Tidhar

  When we first set out to put together and publish The Apex Book of World SF, none of us thought it would become quite what it became. Success is relative, of course—but we were in turns amazed and gratified as the anthology took off, receiving wide-spread exposure in the genre world, initiating conversation—even ending up on more than one university curriculum!

  At the same time as the book came out, I launched the World SF Blog, initially intended to be a promotional tool for the anthology, but very quickly it took on a life of its own. The site now publishes a regular stream of articles, essays, interviews and even short fiction, all on a daily basis (you can find the site here: http://worldsf.wordpress.com/). Charles Tan joined to help me run it, and somehow, between blog and book, we seemed to have hit on a new wave of interest in, and enthusiasm for, the science fiction and fantasy coming from outside of the traditional Anglophone world of SF. Whether we helped create the wave, or merely rode the top of it, I can't say—nor does it matter, as long as the wave is there and still going.

  To my mind, though, what we are doing simply reflects a wider change in the SF world. In this volume, for instance, we have a story from Finnish author Hannu Rajaniemi, whose debut novel—written in English—has done tremendously well on publication. Here, too, is mega-star in the making Lauren Beukes from South Africa, who I got the chance to see win the Arthur C. Clarke Award this year in London…

  In this volume, too, we are very lucky to have a story from Polish grandmaster Andrzej Sapkowski, whose novels are beginning to be translated into English and winning a wider readership everywhere. And here, too, I have tried to address the imbalance that was present in the first volume, and which I lamented in my last introduction—namely, to introduce more African and Latin American writers into the next volume

  I am extremely grateful to Daniel W. Koon for his help with the two Cuban stories, and much else, to Wu Yan for his help with securing anothe
r Chinese story—this one by Chen Qiufan—for this volume, and for Charles Tan for services above and beyond the call of duty. And none of this would have been possible without the support and enthusiasm of our hard working publisher, Jason Sizemore, whose faith brought this project alive.

  There are more original stories in this collection than in the last one, and more stories, period—a whopping twenty-six this time around!—featuring writers from Africa and Europe, Asia and Latin America, Australia and New Zealand and the Middle East. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did.

  Lavie Tidhar

  Viet Nam, 2011

  Alternate Girl's Expatriate Life

  Rochita Loenen-Ruiz

  Rochita Loenen-Ruiz is a Filipina writer now based in the Netherlands. Her short stories have appeared in Fantasy Magazine, Weird Tales and Interzone, amongst others.

  In Springtime, her garden yielded a hundred wisteria blossoms. White English roses climbed the pergola. Digitalis purpurea, lavender from the South of France, mint and thyme, rosemary and tarragon, basil and sweet marjoram—they all grew in Alternate Girl's one-hundred-percent super-qualified housewife garden.

  Across the street, excavators dug up large swathes of grass.

  "They're building a new complex over there," her neighbour said. "I heard the farmer who owned that land went off to live the life of a millionaire."

  Her neighbour babbled on about yachts and sea voyages and Alternate Girl stood there staring while the machines went about their business of churning up grass and soil. She wondered what it would be like to be crushed under those hungry wheels, and she flinched at her own imagination.

  "A pity," her neighbour said. "I sure will miss the view."

  Alternate Girl murmured something vague in reply, and went back to tending her flowers.

  She wondered if the farmer was happier now that he had his millions. Would wealth and sea voyages make up for severed ties and the erasure of generations of familial history?

  She pulled out a stray weed, and scattered coffee grounds to keep the cats from digging up her crocus bulbs.

  She shook her head and headed back indoors. She'd only known two kinds of lives, and in neither of them had she been a millionaire.

  Most expatriates pursue a model life. This makes them a desired member in their adopted society. They appear to assimilate quickly, adapting without visible complications to the customs of the country in which they reside.

  On the surface, they may appear contented, well-adjusted, and happy. However, studies reveal an underlying sorrow that often manifests itself in dreams. In dreams, the expatriate experiences no ambivalent feelings. There is only a strong sense of loss. It isn't uncommon for expats to wake up crying.

  —On Expatriate Behaviour, Mackay and Lindon—

  In her dreams, Alternate Girl fled from her life as an expat. She sprouted wings and let the wind take her back to the gates of her hometown.

  Even in the dreamscape, she could smell the exhaust from passing jeepneys. She could taste the metal dust in the air. The moon shone on the gentle curve of asphalt, cutting through dusty thoroughfares, creating long dark shadows on the pavement. Metal tenements jutted up from the land, pointing like fingers at the night sky.

  By day, a constant stream of drones strove to keep those buildings together. Every bit of scrap metal, every piece of residual wiring was used to keep the landscape of steel and concrete from breaking to pieces. For all its frailty, for all its seeming squalor, there was something dear and familiar about the way the streets met and turned into each other.

  Even if her life was filled with the cosiness of the here and now, she could not shake off the longing that thrummed through her dreams in the same way that the thrum of the equilibrium machine pulsed through this landscape.

  Towering above the tenements was the Remembrance Monument. Made of compressed bits and parts, it contained all the memories of those gone before. Each year, the monument reached higher and higher until its apex was lost in the covering of clouds. When she was younger, she'd often imagined she could hear the voices of the gone-before.

  Above the pulse of the Equilibrium Machine, above the gentle susurrus of faded ghosts, she heard a cry. High and shrill, it emitted a hopelessness Alternate Girl remembered feeling.

  It was the same cry that pulled her out of her dreams and back into the present. She turned on her side, pressed her ear against her pillow and stared into the darkness.

  This is my home now, she told herself. I am happy as I am. We are happy as we are.

  Never mind her personal griefs. Never mind her longing for that lost landscape.

  Would you like a chance to revisit the past or to visit the future? Optimum Labs offers you the chance to take the leap in time. Our company is 100% customer satisfaction guaranteed. Unlike the scams out there, Optimum Labs offers you the real thing.

  Alternate Girl stared at the screen. Each day the spam mail showed up without fail. Same time stamps, same recipient name, all from anonymous senders.

  Who sends this mail? she wondered. And did everyone in her neighbourhood receive the same mail with the same time stamps every day? If she had the courage to reply, would she receive an answer from all the anonymous senders? Her hand hovered over the delete key.

  If you sent garbage to the landfill, it got buried underground, but what about garbage in the ether? Did it float around silently on the airwaves? Would all the spam and the deleted mail come back to haunt her in the form of ether pollution or some such specialised name?

  While she sat there, the speakers gave off a faint ping. She clicked and waited as the new message filled her screen.

  Happy Birthday, Alternate Girl! Today is a milestone for all of us. You have successfully completed one hundred weeks of expatriate life. In recognition of your hard work, a reward has been issued to you at the designated station. Report in as soon as you can and don't forget to register at our renewed website. Greetings from [email protected]

  Alternate Girl squeezed her eyes shut. She opened them and stared once more at the message on her screen.

  Could it be what she had been waiting for all this time, or was Mechanic finally calling her home?

  Most expatriates express mixed feelings regarding their origin. Many of them harbour a secret fear of losing touch with the collective memory. While they seem content with their new lives, repatriation is a common subject of conversation. For the expatriate, to return raises a complex response.

  One of the subjects of this study worded it this way: "Return is something I fantasise about and desire. But at the same time, it is something I am afraid of."

  Choosing to build a new life in an unfamiliar land represents a leaving behind of the collective, and while there may still be remnants of a shared life, the expatriate faces uncertainty. What if he or she has lost the ability to pick up the threads of their old life?

  —On Expatriate Behaviour, Mackay and Lindon—

  Her first recollection was of Father's eyes shining down at her from his great height. Light filtered in through drawn shades and she could see an outline of buildings from where she lay. It seemed as if there were a thousand busy bees buzzing inside her skull. Beside her, someone moaned. She shivered and echoed the sound.

  "There, there," Father said. "No need to be frightened."

  "Father," he said pointing to himself. "Metal Town." He gestured to something beyond her vision.

  She repeated the words after him, and listened as he murmured sounds of approval.

  "You're progressing very well," he said. "Soon, I'll take you to the Mechanic."

  He shuffled away, out of her line of sight. She heard a thump and another moan, and she called out anxiously.

  "Father?"

  "I'm here," Father said. His voice was soothing and she drifted away into a kaleidoscope of screeching metal and the crescendo of another voice wailing out Father's name.

  When she woke, the curtains were drawn back. From where she was, she could see black m
etal struts and the carcasses of vehicles piled on top of one another.

  From far away, came the hum of lasers and a low bass thrum that she later discovered was the Equilibrium Machine. A man bent over her; his face was shiny and round and she saw metal cogs where his ears should have been.

  His fingers felt cold and hard on her skin.

  "Just like one of them," he whispered. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were one of them."

  His words made her uncomfortable, and when he took her hand she pulled it away.

  "Don't fight it," he whispered. "Fighting only makes it worse."

  She felt something sharp and burning on her skin. Wet leaked out of her eyes. She couldn't move.

  "You'll be fine," he said. "It's all part of the process."

  Staring at the message on her screen, she wondered if Mechanic considered this as yet another part of the process.

  "Leaving is a part of the process," Father had said.

  "While we may long for return, we also know that having left we are already changed."

  She looked around at her cosy nest, stared at the brilliant blues and greens of her living room, at the paintings of sunflowers and butterflies, and she wondered whether she would be able to go back and surrender to a life spent waiting for harvest.