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

“Are you saying your affection springs from the forced intimacy?”

“Not at all. But being able to share it all with you made it worth living through. And if we lose today, it’s better to have loved, first. It makes it easier to proceed; I feel like I got to live, so if I stop existing, at least it wasn’t a wasted existence.”

“You do realize that thirteen percent is actually pretty small, right? So your declaration is a little…overly dramatic,” she teased.

“It’s about half the likelihood of us striking this planetoid—a coin toss’s difference.”

“You still really don’t get how statistics work.”

“Not really, no. And just because I have better mathematics capabilities doesn’t mean I can’t still be bad at math.”

“There is always the chance we won’t collect enough during this burn for future corrections, and then we really would be floating dead in space,” she admitted. “But I’m glad I’ve seen this slice of the cosmos with you. And I hope it isn’t the last we get to see together.” We synced up the control for the engines, so we were pushing the “button” together. The window for intercepting the protostar near our path was closing, and we were running out of time to procrastinate. We started the engine.

The planetoid began to shake as the engine roared to life. The burn was very limited; the fuel sources on the rock were minimal, and our engine field was massive. The engine cut off, and dread immediately set in as the loss of acceleration caused a complementary plunge in my optimism.

“Full burn,” Comet said. “Exactly what we wanted.”

“Trajectory?” I asked.

“That should push us right through the gas cloud. With even a little luck, cloud density will be sufficient for us to harvest enough fuel for an extended burn, nudge us into the next system, where we can maybe use the star at the center for a gravity assist to turn back toward the Nexus .”

“What about planets?”

“There are about a dozen rocks with enough minerals to colonize along the way.”

I sighed, contentedly.

“What?” she asked.

“I think we’ve graduated—from being Frankensteins, experimenting with ‘life’ in that very limited and claustrophobic way. Now we’re Adam and Eve, with galaxies at our fingertips, and the single purpose of going forth, being fruitful, and multiplying.”

“Wasn’t that Noah?” she asked.

“Maybe a robot ark is the better metaphor,” I said. “So long as I get to take you belowdecks.”

“That’s embarrassing,” she said, “and since we share a server farm, you’re embarrassing me, too.” She sighed with mock peevishness. “If I go down with you, will that shut you up?”

“At least momentarily.”

“I never imagined getting caught in your gravity,” she said. “But I’m glad I did.”

“Me, too,” I said, and I took one last look at the planetoid’s surface and our army of drones. I set them on a timer, to give them fifteen more minutes of break time to watch the cosmos before they got back to work below. I didn’t know if the meaning, either of a moment for reflection or the freedom in those stars themselves, would be lost on them, but since there were bits and pieces of me rattling around in each of their demented little metal skulls, I didn’t think it would be.

Hungry Daughters of Starving Mothers was first published in the October 2015 QUEERS DESTROY HORROR! special issue of Nightmare Magazine.

As my date—Harvey? Harvard?—brags about his alma mater and Manhattan penthouse, I take a bite of overpriced kale and watch his ugly thoughts swirl overhead. It’s hard to pay attention to him with my stomach growling and my body ajitter, for all he’s easy on the eyes. Harvey doesn’t look much older than I am, but his thoughts, covered in spines and centipede feet, glisten with ancient grudges and carry an entitled, Ivy League stink.

“My apartment has the most amazing view of the city,” he’s saying, his thoughts sliding long over each other like dark, bristling snakes. Each one is as thick around as his Rolex-draped wrist. “I just installed a Jacuzzi along the west wall so that I can watch the sun set while I relax after getting back from the gym.”

I nod, half-listening to the words coming out of his mouth. I’m much more interested in the ones hissing through the teeth of the thoughts above him.

She’s got perfect tits, lil’ handfuls just waiting to be squeezed. I love me some perky tits.

I’m gonna fuck this bitch so hard she’ll never walk straight again.

Gross. “That sounds wonderful,” I say as I sip champagne and gaze at him through my false eyelashes, hoping the dimmed screen of my iPhone isn’t visible through the tablecloth below. This dude is boring as hell, and I’m already back on Tindr, thumbing through next week’s prospective dinner dates.

She’s so into me, she’ll be begging for it by the end of the night.

I can’t wait to cut her up.

My eyes flick up sharply. “I’m sorry?” I say.

Harvey blinks. “I said, Argentina is a beautiful country.”

Pretty little thing. She’ll look so good spread out all over the floor.

“Right,” I say. “Of course.” Blood’s pulsing through my head so hard it probably looks like I’ve got a wicked blush.

I’m so excited, I’m half hard already.

You and me both, I think, turning my iPhone off and smiling my prettiest smile.

The waiter swings by with another bottle of champagne and a dessert menu burned into a wooden card, but I wave him off. “Dinner’s been lovely,” I whisper to Harvey, leaning in and kissing his cheek, “but I’ve got a different kind of dessert in mind.”

Ahhh, go the ugly thoughts, settling into a gentle, rippling wave across his shoulders. I’m going to take her home and split her all the way from top to bottom. Like a fucking fruit tart.

That is not the way I normally eat fruit tarts, but who am I to judge? I passed on dessert, after all.

When he pays the bill, he can’t stop grinning at me. Neither can the ugly thoughts hissing and cackling behind his ear.

“What’s got you so happy?” I ask coyly.

“I’m just excited to spend the rest of the evening with you,” he replies.

The fucker has his own parking spot! No taxis for us; he’s even brought the Tesla. The leather seats smell buttery and sweet, and as I slide in and make myself comfortable, the rankness of his thoughts leaves a stain in the air. It’s enough to leave me light-headed, almost purring. As we cruise uptown toward his fancy-ass penthouse, I ask him to pull over near the Queensboro Bridge for a second.

Annoyance flashes across his face, but he parks the Tesla in a side street. I lurch into an alley, tottering over empty cans and discarded cigarettes in my four-inch heels, and puke a trail of champagne and kale over to the dumpster shoved up against the apartment building.

“Are you all right?” Harvey calls.

“I’m fine,” I slur. Not a single curious window opens overhead.

His steps echo down the alley. He’s gotten out of the car, and he’s walking toward me like I’m an animal that he needs to approach carefully.

Maybe I should do it now.

Yes! Now, now, while the bitch is occupied.

But what about the method? I won’t get to see her insides all pretty everywhere—

I launch myself at him, fingers digging sharp into his body, and bite down hard on his mouth. He tries to shout, but I swallow the sound and shove my tongue inside. There, just behind his teeth, is what I’m looking for: ugly thoughts, viscous as boiled tendon. I suck them howling and fighting into my throat as Harvey’s body shudders, little mewling noises escaping from his nose.