Solaris Rising 1.5

AN EXLUSIVE EBOOK

OF NEW SCIENCE FICTION

SOLARIS RISING
^1.5

EDITED BY

IAN WHATES

Solaris Books

SOLARIS RISING
^1.5

AN EXCLUSIVE EBOOK OF NEW SCIENCE FICTION

EDITED BY

IAN WHATES

INCLUDING STORIES BY

Paul di Filippo

Paul Cornell

Sarah Lotz

Gareth L. Powell

Adam Roberts

Mike Resnick

Tanith Lee

Aliette de Bodard

Philip Vine

First published 2012 by Solaris an imprint of Rebellion Publishing Ltd, Riverside House, Osney Mead, Oxford, OX2 0ES, UK

www.solarisbooks.com

ISBN (.epub): 978-1-84997-442-4

ISBN (.mobi): 978-1-84997-443-1

Cover Art by Pye Parr

‘Introduction’ © Ian Whates 2012

‘What Did Tessimond Tell You?’ © Adam Roberts 2012

‘Two Sisters in Exile’ © Aliette de Bodard 2012

‘Another Apocalypse’ © Gareth L. Powell 2012

‘The Second Civil War’ © Mike Resnick 2012

‘Charlotte’ © Sarah Lotz 2012

‘The Gift’ © Phillip Vine 2012

‘IT’ © Tanith Lee 2012

‘A New Arrival at the House of Love’ © Paul Cornell 2012

‘A Palazzo in the Stars’ © Paul di Filippo 2012

The right of the authors to be identified as the authors of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owners.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Designed by Rebellion Publishing

CONTENTS

Introduction
, Ian Whates

What Did Tessimond Tell You?
Adam Roberts

Two Sisters in Exile
, Aliette de Bodard

Another Apocalypse
, Gareth L. Powell

The Second Civil War
, Mike Resnick

Charlotte,
Sarah Lotz

The Gift
, Phillip Vine

IT
, Tanith Lee

A New Arrival at the House of Love
, Paul Cornell

A Palazzo in the Stars
, Paul di Filippo

BUILDING BRIDGES:

AN INTRODUCTION

IAN WHATES

I
WAS DELIGHTED
when Solaris commissioned me to compile and edit a second volume of
Solaris Rising
(set to appear in 2013). When they subsequently contacted me with the notion of putting together a ‘mini-anthology’ for e-book release only, to bridge the gap between
Solaris Rising
and
Solaris Rising 2
, I was initially intrigued and then regretful. I had to explain to them that, sadly, it couldn’t be done; there simply wasn’t enough time.

Asking big-name authors to produce top-notch stories with a submission deadline that was only a few months away...? I mean, these are busy people, with commitments stretching far into the future... And I certainly wasn’t prepared to compromise on quality. So no, out of the question;
SR1.5
was a nice idea, but utterly impossible.

So... here it is.

Paul Cornell is an author I’ve
almost
published on a number of occasions, but somehow other commitments and circumstance have always conspired against us. When Paul told me early in 2012 that he was working on a short story or two and could guarantee me one for
Solaris Rising 2
, I was sceptical.
Something
would intervene and prevent this from happening. It didn’t, and Paul duly delivered an excellent piece called ‘Tom,’ which will debut in next year’s book. Pushing my luck a little, I turned around and said, “Paul, thanks for this; now, how do you fancy writing me another...?”

I chose, you see, to interpret Solaris’ brief of the e-book as a bridge between
SR1
and
SR2
literally, and determined to feature one or two of the authors from the first book alongside some from the second; which would still leave room, of course, for others who weren’t in either but may yet feature in future volumes, who knows? Paul provides a perfect link to
SR2
.

I’m very proud of the first book and would happily work with any of the authors again. On this occasion, I approached Adam Roberts and Paul di Filippo. Once I received their submissions, I was delighted that I had. Paul’s Wellsian-flavoured scientific romance is a joy, while Adam’s clever tale of bitter-sweet scientific discovery must rate among his best shorts yet.

Mike Resnick’s contribution arrived almost by accident. We were in e-mail discussion about something else entirely when Mike mentioned that he’d just written an alt-history piece for a planned anthology that was no longer happening. Would I be interested in seeing it? Would I heck!

Sarah Lotz is a quiet, demure, softly-spoken... Oh, who am I kidding? Sarah is a friend of Lauren Beukes (the Arthur C. Clarke award-winning author of
Zoo City
), which puts paid to
that
description. Sarah seems hell-bent on establishing some sort of a record for the number of collaborative pseudonyms an individual can be simultaneously published under; but, whatever the name, the quality of her work remains consistently high.

Gareth L. Powell has been busily building a reputation for himself over the past few years. I attended the London launch of his first collection,
The Last Reef,
in 2008, and he has since contributed well-received stories to two of my NewCon Press anthologies. Gareth was a natural to approach regarding
SR1.5
. His story here is set in the same universe as his novel
The Recollection
.

I was first introduced to Phillip Vine by mutual friend and author Eric Brown. Phillip is now part of a small cadre of us literary types who gather at a pub in Cambridge from time to time to... ahem... discuss science fiction. Phillip has been writing professionally for many years, though not necessarily within the genre.

Aliette de Bodard is one of the rising stars of European science fiction. She has won the BSFA Award for best short story and has seen her work shortlisted for both the Hugo and Nebula awards. Aliette contributed one of the stand-out pieces to my recent anthology
Dark Currents
, and I didn’t hesitate in approaching her regarding this project.

Tanith Lee is... Tanith Lee. Really, that ought to say enough, but for anyone who requires a little more: Tanith is one of the finest sculptors of prose that genre fiction has ever known. Renowned for her dark fantasy, it’s easy to forget that once upon a time Tanith earned recognition for her science fiction. One evening in January, as we sat in yet another cosy pub in her beloved Hastings, I said, “What I’d
really
like to see from you is a new science fiction story.” I was delighted when Tanith’s eyes lit up and she replied, “Ooh, I haven’t written SF in ages. I’d love to!”

Tanith and I have occasionally locked horns (in a genial and purely amicable fashion) over my editorial stance (formulated in cahoots with sometimes collaborator Ian Watson) that authors occasionally rely a little too heavily on that small, unspecific and often superfluous word ‘it.’ It is therefore wholly appropriate and entirely
Tanith
that her contribution to this anthology should bear the title... ‘It.’

So, here we are:
Solaris Rising 1.5
. I hope you enjoy, and I trust this volume will provide a suitable appetiser for the forthcoming
Solaris Rising 2
.

Ian Whates

June 2012

WHAT DID TESSIMOND TELL YOU?

ADAM ROBERTS

Adam Roberts was born two-thirds of the way through the last century; he currently lives within thirty miles of where “What Did Tessimond Tell You?” is set, with his wife and family. His most recent novels are
By Light Alone
(Gollancz 2011) and
Jack Glass
(Gollancz 2012).

:1:

T
HE
N
OBEL WAS
in the bag
, and we were only a fortnight from our public announcement, when Niu Jian told he was quitting. I assumed it was a joke. But Niu Jian had never been a practical joker; and of course he wasn’t kidding now. The sunlight picked out the grain of his tweed jacket. He was sitting in my office with his crescent back to the window, and I kept getting distracted by the light coming through the glass. Morningtime, morningtime, and all the possibilities of the day ahead of us. The chimney of the boilerhouse was as white and straight as an unsmoked cigarette. The students wandered the paths and dawdled on the grass with their arms around one another’s shoulders. Further down the hill you could see the cars doing their crazy corpuscle impressions along the interchange and away along the dual carriageway. “You want to quit—now?” I said. “
Now
is the time you want to quit?”

He nodded, slowly, and picked for a while at the skin of his knuckles.

“Three weeks, we present. You
know
the Nobel is—look, hey!” I said, the idea occurring suddenly to me like the spurt of a match lighting. “You think
you
won’t be sharing? You will! I don’t know what Sleight has told you, but we’ll all be cited. He’s a kidder. You, me, Prévert and Sleight, we will all be cited. Is that what you think?” Storming out in a huff wouldn’t have been very characteristic of Niu Jian, either: for a more stolidly dependable individual never walked the face of this, our rainy, stony earth. But, you see, I was struggling to understand why he was quitting.

“It is not that,” he said,

“Then—?” I grunted. I coughed. P-O-R didn’t like that; the unruly diaphragm of it. There was a scurry of motion inside, as she readjusted herself.

He looked at me, and then, briefly, he glanced at my belly—I had pushed my chair away from the desk and my whole torso was on display, Phylogeny-Ontology-Recapitulator in all her bulging glory. Then he looked back at my face. For the strangest moment my heart knocked rat-tat at my ribs, like it wanted out, and I felt the adrenal flush along my neck and in my cheeks. But that passed.

Niu Jian said: “I have never been to Mecca.”

“The Bingo?” I said. I wasn’t trying to be facetious. I was genuinely wrongfooted by this.

“No,” he said.

“You mean, in”—I coughed—“like, Arabia?”

Nod.

“What’s that go to do with anything?”

“I want,” said Niu Jian, “to go.”

“OK,” I said. “Why not? It’s like the Taj Mahal, right? I’m sure it’s a sight to see. So go. Wait until the press conference, and then take the next available flying transport from Heathrow’s internationally renowned port-of-air.” But he was shaking his head, so I said: “Jesus, go
now
if you like. If you must. Miss the announcement.
That
doesn’t matter—or it only matters a little bit. But if it’s like, urgent, then go now. But you don’t have to quit! Why do you have to quit? You don’t have to quit.”

His nod, though wordless, was very clearly:
I do
.

“OK, you’re really going to have to lay this out for me, step by baby-step,” I said. “Blame my baby-beshrunken brain. Walk me through it.
Why
do you want to go to Mecca?”

“To go before I die.”