Uncanny Magazine Issue 9 by Lynne M. Thomas

Author:Lynne M. Thomas [Uncanny Magazine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: science fiction, fantasy, speculative fiction, magazine
Publisher: Uncanny Magazine
Published: 2016-02-21T00:00:00+00:00

Kelly Sandoval’s fiction has appeared in Asimov’s, Shimmer, and Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy. She lives in Seattle, where the weather is always happy to make staying in and writing seem like a good idea. Her family includes a patient husband, a demanding cat, and an anarchist tortoise. You can find her online at kellysandovalfiction.com.

The Artificial Bees

by Simon Guerrier

Randall lowered one foot on to the surface of green fibers. The organic matter yielded under her weight but seemed to support her. She dared to put a second foot on to the strange, graminoid material—just as Archive came back with a response.

“A lawn,” it told her. “Proceed with operation.” Randall prowled across the lawn and into the light.

As she entered the suspect zone, her sensors met a high–flux bombardment of electromagnetic waves. After all her years in the dark, industrial wasteland, the light blinded her for a moment. “Five–fifty terahertz,” said Archive. Randall blinked away the coloured spots in her eyes, taking in the sight of the world inside the glass.

The wide expanse of lawn was bordered by tall, organic installations. Randall ignored Archive as it listed different classes of tree and shrub, scrolling text listing orders and families. She ignored the small, winged units buzzing round the flowers. She concentrated on the ringing of her own alarm systems.

Archive had detected pungent cis–3–Hexenal in the atmosphere around her; a volatile, aldehyde compound released by the slender leaves of the organic material under her feet. It took a moment to scan ancient source–works and confirm Archive’s hypothesis: the distinctive tang was due to every blade of grass having been recently cropped to a uniform height. Such grooming was not an automatic process, which meant Randall was not alone.

She primed her snub–missiles, then signalled her name and defence capability on a broad range of different wavelengths. Something suddenly responded, from behind a hedge.

“What is that infernal racket?” it spluttered in an archaic form of address Archive swiftly matched. Randall targeted all her missiles on the source of the words as it emerged into the light.

“Oh,” said the small, brown Homo sapiens, scrutinising Randall with its binary optical sensors. “Hello. Are you a robot? Or are you all called something different these days?”

“Designation: Randall,” Randall told it, struggling with the clumsy imprecision of the discontinued language. Her receptors scanned the man over, checking for hidden armaments in the skin and tissue. But the man presented no determined threat. Archive scrolled up details of accent and dialect, and estimated the man’s age. It also flagged a query.

“Why don’t you have any clothes on?” Randall asked.

The man looked down at his naked body as if he hadn’t realised. Then he flexed his shoulders, a manoeuvre Archive classified as a “shrug.”

“Who’s left to care?” he said.

Randall considered the question. “Currently: me.”

“True,” said the man. “I hope the sight doesn’t offend you.”

Randall studied him for a moment, just to be sure. “It doesn’t.”

“Well, there’s progress,” grinned the man. “Oh, time was there would have been objections. When we’d forgotten where we all came from.

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