SL Huang - Up and Coming - Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

Chancery stared. She couldn’t breathe.

"Don’t be afraid." His voice, thickly accented, was muffled. "My name is Doctor Marcello Martino. I need to take a blood sample, just to be sure everything is A-OK, yes? Miss Korsten tells me you survived five years without Walking. You are a very special young lady, and we will take very good care of you."

He carried a kidney dish. A blood collection kit, five tubes and a needle, rolled around in it.

She squealed.

Then she saw Hedron. He winked at her. "Don’t worry," he said. "List all the things you can do with apples."

People wearing crew uniforms grabbed the two figures in the corridor. They ripped the hoods off the suits as the men inside screamed. Martino turned to see what the commotion was and someone ripped his suit, too.

Hedron bared his teeth and his eyes spat lightning. He removed his hat. It was a dark, irregular ball made of dust, cobwebs, lint, stray hair, soil, dirt, skin flakes, fish scales, leaf litter, and fly shit. It oozed hunger. His hair sprang up in a thick, woolly mass of green and white, rippling like an anemone covered in cobwebs.

He clapped his hands against his hat.

Dust exploded.

Chancery’s eyes streamed, nausea making her stiff. Vertigo gnawed at her temples. Her marrow was on fire, her heart pounding so hard her ribcage shook. The doctor and his men doubled over, pink-tinged vomit splattering on the floor and filling the room with a sharp, bilious stench. Hedron grasped his hat in both hands and squeezed, wringing it like a dishcloth.

“Hedron—”

"It’s okay. Stay there. Close your eyes."

"I don’t feel well."

"I know. Don’t worry. Do as I say."

She could not disobey that voice. She wrapped her arms over her head, quaking with fever. Minutes stretched the shivers into spasms. Screams echoed from the corridor, punctuated by dull slaps, wet meaty thuds, and occasional gunshots.

When everything fell silent, Hedron came and sat beside her. His hat was back on his head and it was spotless.

"It’s okay," he said.

"I’m sick." Her teeth chattered.

"I know."

"Am I going to walk?"

He curled down to kiss her head. His voice surged inside her, a song without melody. "Ssh. Don’t worry. I’m here. You’re safe. Tell me all the recipes you know for liver."

Hours later, Hedron helped her limp onto the deck of the platform supply vessel, his hat sooty. The sky was darkening, snow drifting like ash. The control house sat five floors above the bow, bristling with antennae and radar arrays. The helicopter perched at the stern of the long, flat cargo deck, where the crew meandered in Brownian motion. They were a mile offshore. Black smoke from the harbour curled upwards against flat, grey clouds. The sea rolled in a smooth, glassy swell the colour of an approaching storm.

"What happened to Kay?" she asked.

Hedron pointed to one of the people on the deck. Chancery supposed she ought to feel sad.

But then, Kay had spoiled things. Just like Hedron said she would.

"Do you know how to drive a boat?"

He indicated the crew. "They do."

Chancery nodded. "I’m going to be okay amn’t I, Hedron?"

"Of course," he said. "You’ve got me. I’d do anything to keep you safe." He gazed towards the horizon, beyond the foggy swirls of Haar, and showed his teeth. "Anything."

“Seven Things Cadet Blanchard Learned From The Trade Summit Incident” originally appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Jul/Aug 2014.

To: Command Staff, Associated Planets Ship Stinson

by: Cadet-Captain DeShawna Blanchard

Re: Disciplinary Action Plan—Essay Component

SEVEN THINGS I LEARNED FROM THE TRADE SUMMIT INCIDENT

I knew I was in trouble when the air vents in the ship’s gymnasium started farting.

Cadet-Captains Padma Rajan, Kiyan Sherazi, and I were on the pull-up bars, just after 1930 hours.

“Seven…Eight… Jesus , Blanchard, what’d you do?” Rajan said.

I caught the look on her face and sniffed the air. It smelled like a wet fart. That’s when I noticed the light puff of smoke coming from the nearest air vent.

“It wasn’t me,” I said.

Sherazi finished his set. “Someone probably programmed the MECUs to print stink bombs,” he said. “It happened a few times on my last ship. Cheap prank. You’ve pulled off way better.”

Lesson #1 : The Stinson ’s safety systems can tell the difference between a hazardous gas and a stink bomb, and won’t activate for the latter.

Rajan dropped to the deck. “Command’s going to come looking for you, Blanchard.”

I finished my last rep and dropped down beside her. Cadets on the track were starting to moan and pull their shirts up around their noses. “It wasn’t me,” I said again. “I mean, stink bombs? What am I, eleven?”

“I didn’t say you did it. I said they were going to come looking for you.” She glanced up at the vents, which were now emitting a steady fog of brownish smoke. “I’m guessing in about three—two—”

The gymnasium’s main hatch swished open.

Commander Sherazi entered.

The cadet nearest to her on the track skidded to a stop. “Ten-hut!”

“As you were,” she called, before we could finish coming to attention.

“Oh, that’s not a good face,” Cadet Sherazi said, under his breath. “Trust me, Blanchard, you don’t want to back-talk my mother when she has that face.”

“Cadet Blanchard,” the commander called. “Hallway. Now.” She turned around and walked out.

“—one,” Rajan said.

“Thanks, pal .” I smoothed my hair and followed the commander out.

Commander Sherazi was waiting for me in the hall.

“Cadet-Captain Blanchard, reporting as ordered, Command—”

Commander Sherazi gestured to the nearest air vent. “Do you think this is funny , Blanchard?”

Lesson 2 : Stink bombs are not funny.

I resisted the urge to point out that the unparalleled record of inspired, class-one pranks I have allegedly orchestrated aboard the Stinson should put me well above suspicion for something as budget as stink bombs. However, I reserve my right to submit a formal protest at a later time. “No, sir.”

“You had better not, Cadet, because your little prank has just disrupted the trade summit.”

“Sir, I didn’t—”

“I do not want to hear it, Cadet. You think we didn’t have enough trouble with Earth’s agricorps rep dragging his heels on samples? Now we’ve had to suspend the summit entirely until we can scrub the air. I cannot believe I actually have to tell a cadet of the Associated Planets this, but you are not permitted to modify the Matter-Energy Conversion Unit code for any reason, ever. Am I understood, Cadet?”

I wanted to tell her again that I wasn’t involved. And I’d like to point out that if I had been allowed to defend myself at the time, I would not have needed to undertake the actions for which I’ve incurred this Disciplinary Action Plan. But because I am a model soldier who shows excellent restraint in the face of patently unfair accusations, I said instead, “Yes, sir.”

“I didn’t hear you, Cadet.”

I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and repeated, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” she said. “I understand you think yourself something of a wit, Cadet, but the captain is not happy about this. You’re going to be explaining yourself to him tomorrow morning. Now change your clothes, report to the mess hall, and fix the MECU code.”