Galaxy's Edge Issue 45 by Lezli Robyn

Author:Lezli Robyn [Robyn, Lezli]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: magazine, science fiction, Science Fiction - Short Stories, Science Fiction & Fantasy, science fiction magazine
ISBN: 9781612424989
Publisher: Arc Manor
Published: 2020-06-28T00:00:00+00:00

Copyright © 1988 by Agberg, Ltd.

ZZ Claybourne is the author of The Brothers Jetstream: Leviathan, as well as the acclaimed short story collection Historical Inaccuracies. His essays on sci-fi, fandom, and creativity have appeared in Apex, Strange Horizons, and the “42” community blog at his website. He is currently at work on his fourth novel. Learn more at writeonrighton.com.

CYNTHIA YAU IS EXQUISITE

by ZZ Claybourne

The Bimaiy sent artists. Trillions of them forcing themselves out from the fissures and pores of the reality substrate into moist, spongy biospace, riding the drenching rain directly above Cynthia Yau’s head which caught the young woman unprepared as she dashed from the awning of Berkmott Hotel, then through the hot parking lot, and angrily into her car.

She slammed the vehicle’s door, drenched, pissed, and breathing heavily. She started the car, looked at herself in the mirror as rivulets escaped her hair, and sat, wondering if she could possibly grip the wheel any harder.

The Bimaiy, microscopic empaths of unrelenting sensitivity and grace, layered Cynthia from head to toe, passing through boring layers of inert yet colorful woven fibers to the highly active canvas of flesh beneath. They settled like a fine, invisible mist into her skin, spreading outward to ride her bloodstream, crowd around her mind and, like any good artist, become part of the art. Like the lightest, most gentle of touches, she had no idea they were there.

A few Bimaiy had experienced humans before, but never at a depth as this magnificent group’s undertaking. Even the temperature variances of the living canvas proved positively intoxicating. Parts of its face warmed and reddened as though angry fires flared directly beneath; other bits of the corporeal shell cooled and contracted as the moisture plastered the garments—inert material which obscured so much of the canvas’s beauty—to the skin; the Bimaiy had no idea why any meatspacer would bother with such primitive art.

As the Bimaiy flowed over and through her, the subject reached out and powerfully turned a knob amidst a row of inert protuberances arrayed in front of her. A massive and sudden flow of air blasted the damp, enclosed space. “Jesus fuck, that’s cold!” the subject exclaimed. The Bimaiy didn’t know “Jesus fuck” but the emotion with which this random meatspacer expressed the outburst marked it as a deeply personal song.

A contingent of religious devotees blessed this song.

The canvas quickly reversed the same inert bit, commanding the flow of air to lessen.

“That’s the last fucking time I meet anybody at a fucking hotel in this fucking city.”

The Bimaiy exulted. This meat contained symphonies of fucks. The canvas looked at the reflection of itself again. “You know who’s not giving any more fucks?” It pointed at itself. “She isn’t.”

Naming things was the first art. She.

A vibration startled their new, still fragile, connection with the canvas. She pulled a sleek rectangle from her back pocket and stabbed it till it came alive with various colors and shapes.

She studied one of the patterns on the screen. The Bimaiy studied with her.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.