LINKDING

excerpt: She knew to expect Kierk’s homegrown MDMA analog to hit like a blissy staticky tsunami. She knew to expect Mona’s band—formerly the Noctambulists, now Gristleswing—to pack the dancefloor into an electric sea of skin and sweat. She knew to expect the long rambling goodbye pep-talk from Vawn on the rooftop and the frantic-turned-tender goodbye sex with Ilya at hers. She did not expect to stumble home and find a corpse on her doorstep. ➜ a short story about a dystopian future, a murder investigation, community, and someone who's trying to leave the only home she's ever known ➜ the information reveals over the course of the story are handled so well ➜ and the narrative tone of...hm. of inevitability? of sadness. of people trying their best to hold the line against the constant pressure of external forces. idk it's real good. ➜ written for a Stop Copaganda short story contest! ➜ 4.7k words

quote: There are seven hundred aliens hidden in Miko’s backpack, and the Galactic Security Agent currently studying her passport (hopefully) has no clue. The agent is an alien themselves, some tentacular species with assistive devices hooked into its uniform to mist its soft skin every few seconds. A puff of evaporated solution exits from one of the devices by its neck as it draws her passport closer to its pitted eyes. ➤ a scifi short story set in space, about a smuggler who left her sister behind when she left the shitty planet she grew up on ➤ but her latest mission has her returning to that planet to deliver the goods ➤ (the goods are hundreds of teeny tiny sentient bioluminescent jellyfish fleeing civil war) ➤ I enjoyed the worldbuilding, and the difficult emotions about family, and how the things that felt world-endingly true at 17 don't need to be true forever ➤ 7k words in length

quote: Andrew was convinced the writer had been trans. By this point his friends were tired of hearing about it, but he had no one else to tell besides the internet, and he was too smart for that. That would be asking for it. ➤ short story about a trans man who's obsessed with the m/m novels of a dead historical novelist who he's convinced was trans ➤ and about the dreams he has where he meets her and talks with her ➤ it's a story that feels unsatisfying but like, in a satisfying way? ➤ idk how to explain! it makes me want to reread it 3 more times and think about the way one's relationship with oneself is mediated through the stories one reads and loves ➤ it's really good ➤ 6k words in length

Quote: Outside the viewport, light and shadow stitched a tapestry across the surface of Himalia. The shuttle ticked the countdown, thrusters firing to control descent to the docking cradle at Base Camp. I videoed everything, but the footage looked like a million other landings on a million other rocky airless surfaces. What made this different? Well, it was me, and this was home. ➤ Scifi novelette about growing up somewhere you always know you're going to have to leave eventually, because it was never intended to be permanent ➤ and leaving your best friend behind, who wants to never leave, because it's home ➤ it's really good!! I had a lot of feelings about the characters, and the way Niri is drawn in Jenny's life through her absence in this day of her return ➤ also it's set in space, on one of the satellites of Jupiter! ➤ wistful vibes ➤ 8k words in length

quote: Dad says Auntie was beautiful when she was young, with a bright-eyed gaze, pure yet alluring, and a slender, curving waist. When happy, her face was like springtime. When sorrowful, she was like a thin willow bending in the wind. Sometimes I try to imagine my aunt’s youthful beauty, and I end up thinking of those fox demon women in Zhiyi novels, eyes flickering like stars. With a slight twist of the demon’s waist, your soul is hers. But Auntie was the type who’s a thousand miles removed—aloof, full of rebuffs. Every boy who saw her back then suffered pangs of desire, yet they shunned her. Before Deng Baolin met her husband, she scratched the faces of thirteen boys. She was a prickly beauty, a thorny rose. In short, she was completely unlike the person before my eyes. ➤ scifi short story translated from chinese; originally published in 2021 ➤ it's a fascinating outside-outside pov, a nephew telling the story of his aunt, whose story is that of her famous physicist-astronaut husband ➤ the multiple layers of abstraction work well for this story -- and the narrative loops around itself in how it's told too, wandering forwards and backwards in time to circle around the heart of things ➤ which is really a story about family and about place and about how you decide what to prioritise in your life ➤ it's lovely and thoughtful and wistful. I really liked it! ➤ 7k words in length

Summary: <blockquote>Eveline yellow-dressed golden-hair. Eveline. She came to me four years ago. I think it was four years. Maybe five. No, no. Seven. Time passes so strangely now, after so long, the world drip-dropped now like honey, sticky and swimming. I was a different woman once. So bright and sharp. Now I have the dreaming sickness, a cruel twist of modern medicine, time coming unglued, the price we pay for longevity. If you can pay for all the treatment, you all end up like me in the end. Not the old kind of dementia, where you abandon pieces of yourself to time, no, we’ve cured that—this kind is new, I abandon nothing, all of it just as sharp and kept as ever within the cage of my mind. The dreaming sickness takes away its relevance, its place. I am, as Vonnegut said, unstuck in time.</blockquote> ➤ A sci-fi short story about an elderly woman hundreds of years old, making use of every life extending treatment she can, but her grasp on time and on memory is no longer good ➤ Focuses on her relationship with her family, with her home aide, with her fear of death, with her experience of the confusion of past and present ➤ Evocative melancholy wistful tone, really effective! ➤ At the end of the story I'm left with many questions, but in a good way ➤ 4k words in length

Summary: <blockquote>Ojoa and I had to keep Dr. Brinsen happy, because he was going to save the world. Under his leadership, Matora Facility had been tasked with ending the deadly outbreak that had earned our planet the designation of failed colony in the Interstellar feeds. Immunodeficiency was common on terraformed worlds, but novel pathogens rarely survived the medical regimens that kept colonists safe. Our virus, the exception, had killed thousands and put an end to off-world transit. Compared with the work of developing a cure, Ojoa’s projects were fanciful distractions. I was a distraction.</blockquote> ➤ an original story about AI personhood, and about the bond between one AI who is different from the others, and their bond with a human who is different from other humans ➤ it's also about the difficulties of caregiving during a pandemic, and the toll it takes ➤ a beautiful, quiet, tender story about finding where you belong, no matter what others think ➤ and ultimately, in my read, about a neurodivergent robot and a queerplatonic relationship, which like. AS ALWAYS, TAKE ME TO THERE. I'm here for it. ➤ 6k words in length

Summary: <blockquote>He could see some of those flies as he came level with the glass-paned door. That Mask-damned cuff just left his wealth strewn about, jewelry box open, silk neck-cloths on the bed. Once, Tseges would have considered those neck-cloths alone a splendid haul... but now he wanted more. These people owed him more. First, though, he had to get inside.</blockquote> ➤ an original story that I believe to be set in the same world as Carrick's Rook & Rose trilogy, which I haven't read yet but which is on my tbr list ➤ having read this story and enjoyed it definitely increases my interest in that trilogy! ➤ this one's about a thief who gets talked into helping a legend steal information to get back at people who misuse their positions of power ➤ the importance of public infrastructure! the usefulness of recordkeeping! the will to carry out audacious crime! ➤ fun and interesting and I want to know more about this world ➤ 9k words in length

Summary: <blockquote>Maribel heard but did not see when the new pig-boy was named. She never went down into the village of San Rafael if she could help it. But she couldn’t miss the wailing lament of the village mothers echoing from the church courtyard, a wrenching sound, though traditional and expected. It made Maribel shiver despite the heat. It had only been a month, Only a month without a pig-boy. But she should have known that the new one would have to be named soon. The sun was retreating, the nights getting longer, and that meant the high season for pilgrims was coming.</blockquote> ➤ in a village where people possessed by demons are turned into javelinas, cared for by a pig-boy for the rest of their lives, what happens when the new pig-boy has a little too much empathy for his charges? ➤ excellent use of fantasy alternate world to engage with questions of the failures of the justice system and the penal system, and the ways people become complicit with the system ➤ really well done pov character ➤ 5k words in length

Summary: <blockquote>The far stall in the ladies room in the Land of the Dead was backed up again. The day had already started terribly, with an email that hit my phone as I walked the 387 steps from my staff cabin to the front desk, an email from Lana saying Vera, I wanted you to find out directly from me that I’ve started seeing somebody. Call if you want to talk.</blockquote> ➤ about queer intergenerational friendship and mentorship, about being a young adult trying to find your place, about death and what it means to you, about living through the death of all your peers and coming out the other side, about hope and love and making connections. ➤ holy shit this gave me so many emotions. READ IT READ IT READ IT. ➤ also I adore the title. pinsker writes great titles. ➤ 6k words in length

Summary: <blockquote>According to the ways, when the head of a household passed away, his womenfolk had to refrain from lifting their feet in dance and their voices in song until the moon cast its full light down for the third time. During that interval, which, to be clear, could be three months, the mourners remained cloistered in their home and performed ritual ablutions to cleanse themselves of death, while their family and friends slowly entombed them within walls of food containers and condolence cards. When her mom asked Oona to join her in observing this ancient duty, Oona said nah. The explosion that followed was totally understandable, but through it all Oona remained immovable and flippant.</blockquote> ➤ about the difficulties of being a teen girl whose dad just died, and who is trying to figure out her identity as an othered visible minority, with a large and close-knit multigenerational family whose older generations are more connected with traditional culture and who want her to be too ➤ the traditional culture is selkies ➤ yeah it's a GREAT premise and I love how carefully and believably the selkie culture is imagined, and what the experience of being part of a landed selkie family would be ➤ very emotionally affecting too! ➤ 8k words in length

Summary: <blockquote>Mirae sits on her bed, parting her hair with one hand and feeling for the access port on the back of her head with the other. She finds the notched edges of the cap and twists counterclockwise until it comes loose. Her eye twitches as she slides the plug into her skull. The sensation isn’t strong enough for her to say it hurts, but she doesn’t know how else to describe it. Her post-op recovery had been difficult. She had fever dreams of worms crawling into her brain through the still-healing metal port. Even after she was fully recovered and ready to be plugged in for her first update, images of the plug’s pin connectors piercing too deep and puncturing her occipital lobe made her hands shake.</blockquote> ➤ a short story about a young woman who was given a neural implant to improve her abilities and skills in school to be able to get a good job ➤ about parental expectations and abusive control ➤ trying to figure out who you are and what you care about when you've never been given the opportunity to be anything but obedient ➤ I had feelings ➤ 4k words in length

Summary: <blockquote>In your head, the dead man wakes up crying. He stutters into awareness just as you manage to stanch the tears welling in your eyes, a response to the pressure of his presence on your limbic system. Your fingers brush, irritated, against the port at the back of your neck, catching at the ridges of the drive that carries his consciousness. He’s confused, lashing out to wrest temporary control of your limbs from you in quick staccato bursts before you can yank them back. “Stop that,” you snap, and then, remembering your client, soften the message with a “please.” Your right pinky twitches and you lasso it in, exerting your will over its movement. You splay your hands on your desk and watch them carefully, pay attention to your toes lest they start off on unwelcome dance routines, but in your head the dead man quiets, and you know he’s beginning to understand.</blockquote> ➤ sci-fi story about a woman with a port-drive into her brain that allowed her to be a great child actor when she was young, and gives her a career as an adult of plugging in the mental backup of a dead person to visit bereaved families who want their beloved dead back again ➤ about identity, embodiment, and not knowing how to want things ➤ also about body-sharing ➤ in second-person pov which works so well for the things this story is about and the things it's doing! the main character is someone who spends most of her time being someone else, after all ➤ it's so compellingly written! ➤ has the perfect ending, which can be so hard to pull off right ➤ 7k words in length ➤ this is the first published story by this author, and something this great is her first; I am excited to think of where she might go from here!

Summary: <blockquote>“You really do a nice bird,” said Hua from her stepstool above Chimalus. He noticed a strand of black hair sticking to her cheek. She brushed it with the back of her hand which left a brown streak matching the branch she worked on. “It’s tough to get the tailfeathers right,” Chimalus said. “My name means Bluebird. Did you know that?” “How appropriate.” Hua leaned back and studied his work. “It’s American Indian, right? Do you know what tribe?” She braced her elbow against the unpainted wall below her tree then added a detail. The mural so far stretched along the hallway to their right until it curved up out of sight. To their left, unpainted metal, punctuated by doors and a corridor curved up too. Chimalus never shook the feeling he rested at a wheel’s bottom, like the bottom of a hamster wheel. A chatting couple strolled toward them, but neither glanced at the painting as they passed.</blockquote> ➤ about a stowaway on a generation ship ➤ also about art and being part of a community of amateur artists whose work is worthwhile ➤ I loved the details about the problems with microbial growth in a closed system full of humans who are constantly shedding skin particles, and that the main character sees it as an important job to be part of the clean-up ➤ the future is unknown but worth being a part of ➤ 7k words in length

Summary: <blockquote>The tenth time Jakey broke the rules, he put a sandwich in the mailbox where the window boy could get it. Mom had taken her sleep-quick pills and gone to bed after dinner, on account of her headaches. And Dad was dozing in front of the TV, chin on his chest and a half-empty glass clutched in his hand. It got still enough that the only sounds were Dad’s shows and the hum of the house filters, so Jakey slipped into the kitchen and put together a ham and cheddar on a plate, then placed it in the parcel chamber near the front door. He sat by the parlor window for a good long while after, curled up at the bench cushions, and his eyelids drooped now and again until he began to see the shadows move.</blockquote>

Summary: <blockquote>I’ve always loved birds. When I was five I asked my dad for a bird feeder so I could see birds out my window when I was sitting at my desk doing remote school, but he just handed me his phone and said, “you know how to look up videos.” I do know, but bird videos aren’t as cool as having my very own bird friends that came up to my window to say hello. And anyway, I already had a tablet when I was five because kindergarten went on remote school after the wildfire that burned down the school building and made us have to drive in the middle of the night to my uncle’s house and sleep on his floor for two whole weeks, so I just used my tablet.</blockquote>

Summary: <blockquote>This is the first poem Xu Anshi gave to us; the first memory she shared with us for safekeeping. It is the first one that she composed in High Mheng—which had been and remains a debased language, a blend between that of the San-Tay foreigners, and that of the Mheng, Anshi’s own people. She composed it on Shattered Pine Prison, sitting in the darkness of her cell, listening to the faint whine of the bots that crawled on the walls—melded to the metal and the crisscrossing wires, clinging to her skin—monitoring every minute movement she made—the voices of her heart, the beat of her thoughts in her brain, the sweat on her body.</blockquote>

Summary: <blockquote>Past the sparrow-dark dust fields of Far Euniply, at the edge of the Joined Cultures’ galactic borders, within the section of space they call the Emptiness, the Station floats. The Station waits. The Station prepares itself for the inevitability of another explorer’s arrival. no I can’t, I won’t, never again— STOP Station has lost a millisecond. It searches its databanks but cannot find any data recording or logs for that specific moment in time.</blockquote> ➤ I'm not quite sure I follow everything but at its heart it's about an intense platonic relationship between a sentient ship and its human and I'm so here for that

Summary: <blockquote>Elizabeth Mauldin, driving fast along the skeletal remains of Arizona’s US-89, somewhere near Tuba City, saw a far-off glint and yanked her steering wheel hard to the left. Her custom-built tow truck left the broken roadbed and plowed into the scrub, red sand rooster-tailing behind her as the eight knobby rear tires bit hard, shredding small clumps of sage-green bushes into confetti. Bouncing in her harness, Mauldin felt adrenaline coursing through her body, easing the dull ache that constantly throbbed in her gut. She wasn’t sure if the glint was another ground-vehicle or an old, broken window that had happened to catch the sunlight. More than anything, though, she hoped it was Big Bertha.</blockquote> ➤ oh my god it's a horse girl story about bonding with the wild mustang except it's rogue ai cars instead of horses

Summary: <blockquote>Hanh tried not to look at the greasy fingerprints marking the seams on James’ silicone skin. “How do you feel, James?” “Dizzy.” He swung his legs against the workbench in perfect imitation of the teen he resembled. “But not so much as before.” The IT guy mashed his hands in an oily towel. He had thick forearms and a purple skullcap. “I replaced the gyroscopic components, but that’s not the source of the problem. His balance processing’s all screwed up, and the gyros are getting banged around. Whatever I put in there’s going to wear out the same.” Hahn didn’t like the IT guy. “Can he learn to compensate?”</blockquote>

Summary: <blockquote>here were two out-of-towners gawking at Adalène’s window when she sat down alone at the table in her shop. She’d had a pair of seamstresses to work for her, once upon a time, to do all the fussier piecing and hand-sewing. Sacred seas, she’d had customers once, too. A hundred years’ sleep had changed those things and so many more besides. She frowned down at the piecework for the simple gown she’d laid out and fitted pale-pink thread to a needle. It felt silly, some days, to set to sewing. But her feet always carried her here, to the work table.</blockquote> ➤ about one of the common people also put to sleep in the sleeping beauty tale having to make her way in a changed world after they're all awakened

<blockquote>“We always want the mole-year to come, don’t we?” I said. “Well, you and William will vote as you like,” said Dad. Mom held the kitten belly-up in her arms like a baby. With a furrowed brow, she said, “Dad and I always pray, and wish, and vote in favor. Who wouldn’t want more life?” “But people do vote no,” I said, and we were quiet, each perhaps imagining what might bring someone to vote no. In a moment Mom had put on her coat and was holding out Lucy’s. “What will I do?” said Lucy. “You’re too little. Can’t vote, can’t choose,” said William. Lucy stood and backed into her coat, scowling. “It isn’t real anyways.”</blockquote>

<blockquote>“Those charms on the eaves,” Rugg began. “Some trouble here?” Pong nodded, grimly. “Sour conja trouble.” “That why them all out there were ready to gut me? They think I did it?” “We know you ain’t a witch, Mister,” Loop said. “It’s what else you is burns the blood.” Rugg gave him a steady look. “I know lot of soldiers brought awfulness to little vills like this. I wasn’t one of those. Served in the king’s guard. Never stole any woman’s chickens or goosed any man’s daughter.” “Was that before or after you became a spellbreaker?” Pong asked, refilling both of the men’s cups. Loop downed his in one gulp; Rugg only sipped. “Wasn’t one before the other. Daddy taught me to soldier, momma taught me about witches.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Six months ago, the Very Large Array picked up a signal. Well, we didn’t pick it up so much as received a targeted message asking for a meeting. The senders—part of an alien civilization hurtling toward Earth in an inconceivably advanced spacecraft—had been studying our broadcasts, and that was how they learned about us, just like in the movies. The rest of it wasn’t going much like the movies. The Mapmakers—we didn’t know why they called themselves that—would land, but they would only talk to one person, and not anyone in power. No taking them to our leader. This request caused an uproar, quickly quashed because we still didn’t know what they could do or what they wanted. Apparently, one-to-one negotiation was their tradition—put two people in a room and see what they talked about. They said vast networks had been built on such beginnings. Start with the personal, work up from there. They were adamant; this was the method they always used. All we had were faulty expectations. Nobody wanted to let just one person have that much power or take that much glory. Or take the fall, was how I looked at it. Just one person couldn’t possibly represent all of us. But what choice did we have?</blockquote>

<blockquote>A lot of skips were like Truck Skip: money you could grab quick and get away with. On Economic Victory runs, the quicker you got out of the prole stage, got some real investment capital, the quicker you could start amassing actual wealth, work your way up to being the richest person in the world. Most of the best EV Any% players didn’t bother to start with wage jobs or uni at all. They just strung together a bunch of early skips, laundered the cash, bought a fully credentialed identity, and then got on with the real game. That’s where the timesave was—when you made more money in a day than proles made in a year or a lifetime.</blockquote>

<blockquote>“Abelique told me not to pick up my phone again until after lunch was over.” “Who?” Margo said. “It’s this new app for better living.” “I love the idea of an app that tells you to put your phone down more. For your own good,” Margo said, her eyes glinting. “You should try it!” June said. “You get the first thirty days free!” “And after that, you have to pay someone to nag you to use your phone less?” “It’s more than that.” June took a bite out of her tuna melt. “For one thing, you also agree to occasionally nag other people to put their phones down.” Margo and I both laughed, and June flushed. But she did not, I noticed, touch her phone again until we were ready to leave the diner.</blockquote> ➤ not quite sure what I think of it, not quite sure what it's saying about AI and algorithms, and not quite sure it knows either, but it was interesting to read

<blockquote>Two hours into the third session of our fourth cabinet meeting on the border dispute with the co-operative kingdom of Dahomey, my colleagues finally agree that we need to seek the dream-counsel of our electric mother. The dream-counsel consultation ceremony was usually a somewhat elaborate half-day affair, with a Chief Babaláwo being called in from the Ile-Ifẹ̀ Technology Center of Excellence a day before to run diagnostics, read the Odù, dine with the Ọyọ Mesi and remind us of our history and culture before we link our brains with that of our electric mother. Officially, the ceremony is performed to maintain transparency, to formally ensure that the public knows when this collective resource is being used. But everyone knows that the primary reason the ceremony was devised and is still performed is to maintain a sense of continuity of tradition because some of our people still believe that any contact with the ancestors should be mediated by a Babaláwo.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Up on the spoil heap Morag found a robot. This wasn’t that unusual in and of itself. She was always finding them, or parts of them anyway, frozen in contorted attitudes like dinosaur fossils, plastic housing cracked and aluminum limbs splayed. What was different about this one was that it was walking. Morag would go up the spoil heap two or three times a week, as a way of supplementing what she got from her farm. She was a lot slower going up than when she’d been a young woman, but she was still fitter and stronger than most, and, if she brought a stick with her, it was more to poke about in the buddleia growths than to lean on.</blockquote>

<blockquote>I said, “They’re waiting for you to take your Conversion Exams in Phylla.” “Ha! The divine powers in Phylla say I’m ready for the test of humanhood. Sorry, I don’t want a Convert stamp on my ID.” Her flippant attitude surprised me. Convert status was the holy grail of all lab clones. Clone embryos carried to term by surrogate mothers were considered natural-born, but not lab clones cultivated in synthetic wombs and jump-started with neural uploads. Lab clones had to be certified through Conversion Exams before they were recognized as legal persons. Until then, they were the limited life span property of their sponsors.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Elaine was what you might call an “experimental prototype,” a lovely chassis pre-loaded (courtesy of my code) with all the knowledge of Western art, history, and literature that any discerning mid-21st-century parent would expect of their child. There was no reason to make her a woman, other than some ancient Pygmalion-esque tech bro power fantasy. </blockquote>