Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 169 by Neil Clarke

Author:Neil Clarke [Clarke, Neil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: magazine, science fiction, Science Fiction - Short Stories, science fiction magazine, short story
Publisher: Wyrm Publishing
Published: 2020-10-01T00:00:00+00:00

About the Author

Greg Egan has published more than sixty short stories and thirteen novels. His work has won the Hugo Award, the John W. Campbell Memorial Award, and seven Japanese Seiun awards. His latest publication is the novella Dispersion from Subterranean Press.

Last Wishes

D.A. Xiaolin Spires

The urn looked like it weighed a million pounds, but when I picked it up from the bottom, it was as light as a feather. These artisans were full of trickery and skill like that. I’m guessing that’s why my mom chose it.

“Be careful, Jinying,” Dr. Lee-way, the head artisan, said. The hologram designer next to him nodded at the handles, a silent request that I pick it up from there.

“I will,” I said. I moved my hands to the handle and raised it higher. On the bottom were their signatures and the encryption code that certified the authenticity of the piece that surrounded the tiny hole for tuning.

Dr. Lee-way pushed a paper toward me. “Sign here,” he said. “That will confirm the credit transfer.”

I scribbled with a flourish in multiple languages as the form required: mother language of your name and phonetic translation. 津瑩. Jinying.

Dr. Lee-way glanced at my signature and up at me and said, “Seems fitting. Jin. Ying.” He stretched out the syllables, thinking. “My Chinese isn’t great, but isn’t that . . . ferrying . . . conveying . . . and the luster of gems.” He reached out, stroked the urn, and laughed. “You’ll be quite the carrier, no, quite the chauffeur, for this treasure.”

“That’s an interesting interpretation,” I said. “My name’s more about migration, for the jin and the ying reflects my mom’s love for appearance and cosmetics: luster.” I touched my face, thinking about her flawless skin.

He nodded at me, then touched the urn, urging me to pick it up.

I shook the urn, seeing the puzzle-like cracks in the cloisonné design-ware. I felt across the surface. There it was, a few of the flame tree flower pieces made from dray-copper wire I pinched and handed to the artisans years before my mother passed. Across the urn were flowers of all kinds, and also images of that little blue marble in space of our homeland and the Driftnet colonies we’ve transplanted to as our new home in generations after. I had sketched this out according to my mom’s wishes and sent it to the experts. My mom was adamant that I have a hand in her design. She said she wanted the fruits of my labor always near her, so it would feel like she would be cared for.

Of course I would care for her. Even more than doing some sketches and adding a few pinches of dray-copper wire on an elaborate never-yet-seen custom-made puzzle vase.

I pressed my nail into a signature crimson mark in one of the designs of the flame tree flowers, near the inlay draymetal that I had bent. A holo projected from that side of the urn. Dr. Lee-way moved aside and I stepped back to

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