Lightspeed: Edited by John Joseph Adams

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Fiction

Fantasy

The Real Worlds

The possible worlds hung and spun in five-dimensional space like ever-twisting jewels of sand-brown and burgundy, frost and ocean. Mother, Father, and Amelia made their camp on a relatively flat piece of spacetime, stretched between three clusters of possible worlds. Mother and Father were careful campers. They’d drilled Amelia on the dangers of disturbing the possible worlds, so she watched them float and sway from the corner of her eye, making sure that her soft footsteps didn’t jostle them.

Science Fiction

The Bodhi Tree Asks Only For the Safe Return of Her Beloved

Welcome, Ambassador. I trust your voyage to the outer rim was a pleasant one? As promised, my forces did not attack your vessel and you passed through my systems without incident. I have kept my word and honored the ceasefire. Thank you. I too am gratified by your presence. Will you partake of some nourishment? It is traditional for visitors to partake of a cup of fig milk. There are some among your kind who consider it a sacred drink and its consumption an auspicious start to any new relationship.

Fantasy

Starpoop

First off, your name. I remember that night clearly. We were tucking you into your big boy bed upstairs after reading from your new book about the joy of going potty. A lavender breeze swirled open the curtains, revealing the constellations and full moon over the fields. Solemnly you announced, “I am poopy from the stars.” A moment later you soiled yourself loudly for emphasis and Papa made a quick escape, because he always says that diapers are Not His Thing.

Science Fiction

Death Is Better

Six minutes and a behemoth. That is all that stands between us and freedom. I glance at Abiola’s face. The helmet she wears prevents me from seeing her expression, but I catch the steely determination in her dark eyes. She’s ready. There’s no backing out now. I resist the urge to look behind us. I don’t want to appear fidgety and unsure in my little sister’s presence. Besides, the real threats are not the guard bots behind us, deactivated for ten minutes by my crudely assembled EMP jammer.

Fantasy

Monsters of the Drunken Shore

You are sitting on the third-floor balcony facing the beach when you see it breach the water. It rises upward with a snort of steam and sparks of flame, lifting its spiked reptilian head from the waves. It’s silhouetted in moonlight and bisected by the surface line. You know it’s too big to be there. You know because water that close to the coast never drops below fifty feet and this thing, breathing heavily in the ocean air and stretching its toothy jaw, must be all head and no body, but there it is.

Science Fiction

Six Months After All Life on Titan Died

I need a binge-worthy banger about the incident on Titan. Let’s start with that one picture from Titan that leaked, the one of the weird fishes in those underwater ruins dying. Let’s get going with a second-person narration of You looking at it, thinking about how extinction just happened, and your hands are trembling, and history—your memories of all the tragedies and scandals past—informs you that everyone will forget about it in a few weeks. Insert some beefy workplace drama in the background.

Fantasy

Philoctetes in Kabul

Call me Philoctetes. My real name doesn’t matter, and I wouldn’t be allowed to tell you what it is, anyway. Security concerns, you understand. What you need to know about me is that I was a US Army Green Beret—one of the Quiet Professionals. Usually tasked with working with the locals in counterinsurgency efforts and the like. The stuff that doesn’t—or shouldn’t—make the newspapers.

Science Fiction

Always Personal

Kess stepped through the scrolling yellow police holo, rubbing her bagged eyes. The latest victim was male, mid-forties, sprawled in a small dark pool of blood turning to slush in the winter air. His belly had been rent open with short, savage strokes. “Another inverse stabbing,” Barbier said, holding up a red-smeared evidence bag. “What a lucky cop you are, Kess. First month on the job and you get a serial killer.”

Fantasy

Bestiary viventem

Finch’s dad always said a book could neither plow the earth nor feed a mare, so Finch wasn’t surprised when his secret bestiary turned out to be alive. He inherited it upon his father’s death in the summer of Finch’s fifteenth year. After burying his father in the meadow near his favorite horse’s grave, Finch read the handwritten will that wouldn’t have withstood the rigors of Law, but was good enough for them.

Science Fiction

Queen of the Andes

Every morning before work, I measure the Queen of the Andes. I’ve nicknamed her Nova because her trunk is a ball of spikes that reminds me of a supernova in slow motion, an explosion of leaves pointing in two hundred and three directions from the core of the bromeliad (the largest of her species—and the last). For almost thirty years, Nova has been growing, her presence in the garden expanding, like a true queen’s.

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