Future Americas

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  Introduction

  A SOUVENIR TO REMEMBER

  SUFFER THE CHILDREN

  BETTER GUNS

  THE BABY STORE

  JESUS RUNS

  THE ROTATOR

  ACIREMA THE RELLIK

  FAMILY PHOTOS

  OUR FLAG WAS STILL THERE

  THE LAST ACTOR

  THE GREAT CHAIN OF BEING

  ATTACHED TO THE LAND

  THE THIEF CATCHER

  UNLIMITED

  SWITCHING OFF THE LIGHTS

  THE POWER OF HUMAN REASON

  ‘‘The old ones here, they traveled off world.’’

  We plodded along in the heat and on either side were more ruined buildings. I asked Micah about them and he said, ‘‘A few of them, we think, were temples or exhibit halls. There were old things in some of them . . . bones and stones from long, long ago. One temple had some paintings of flying machines, made from metal. And in that one temple . . . ships that traveled off the world, into space.’’

  I wiped my face one more time. ‘‘I’ve heard those tales as well.’’

  The tone of his voice changed. ‘‘They are not tales. The old ones here, they traveled off world.’’

  I said, ‘‘Well . . . some of our science men, they know that they sent instruments and such off world . . . but to think people traveled there . . . they believe it’s just tales, or imaginings . . .’’

  Micah stopped and gently took the bottle of water from me, took a sip, and said, ‘‘My grandfather . . . he told me once . . . that when he was a boy, an elder, who was part of the College, let him touch a stone from one of these buildings, a stone that came from the moon.’’

  ‘‘The moon?’’ I couldn’t help myself, I chuckled. Tour guides . . . how ignorant do they think tourists can be?

  —From ‘‘A Souvenir to Remember’’ by Brendan DuBois

  Also Available from DAW Books:

  Mystery Date, edited by Denise Little

  First dates—the worst possible times in your life or the opening steps on the path to a wonderful new future? What happens when someone you have never met before turns out not to be who or what he or she claims to be? It’s just a date, what could go wrong? Here are seventeen encounters, from authors such as Kristine Katherine Rusch, Nancy Springer, Laura Resnick, and Jody Lynn Nye that answer these questions. From a childhood board game called ‘‘Blind Date’’ that seems to come shockingly true . . . to a mythological answer to Internet predators . . . to a woman cursed to see the truth about her dates when she imbibes a little wine . . . to an enchanting translator bent on avenging victims of war crimes . . . to a young man hearing a very special voice from an unplugged stereo system . . . these are just some of the tales that may lead to happily ever after—or no ever after at all. . . .

  Fellowship Fantastic, edited by Martin H. Greenberg and Kerrie Hughes

  The true strength of a story lies in its characters and in both the ties that bind them together and the events that drive them apart. Perhaps the most famous example of this in fantasy is The Fellowship of The Ring. But such fellowships are key to many fantasy and science fiction stories. Now thirteen top tale-spinners—Nina Kiriki Hoffmann, Alan Dean Foster, Russell Davis, Alexander Potter, among others—offer their own unique looks at fellowships from: a girl who finds her best friend through a portal to another world . . . to four special families linked by blood and magical talent . . . to two youths ripped away from all they know and faced with a terrifying fate that they can only survive together . . . to a man who must pay the price for leaving his childhood comrade to face death alone. . . .

  The Future We Wish We Had, edited by Martin H. Greenberg and Rebecca Lickiss

  In the opening decade of the twenty-first century, many things that were predicted in the science fiction stories of the twentieth century have become an accepted part of everyday life, and many other possibilities have not yet been realized but hopefully will be one day. For everyone who thought that by now they’d be motoring along the skyways in a personal jet car, or who assumed we’d have established bases on the Moon and Mars, or that we would have conquered disease, slowed the aging process to a crawl, or eliminated war, social injustice, and economic inequity, here are sixteen stories of futures that might someday be ours or our children’s, from Esther Friesner, Sarah Hoyt, Kevin J. Anderson, Irene Radford, Dave Freer, and Dean Wesley Smith, among others.

  Copyright © 2008 by Tekno Books and John Helfers.

  All Rights Reserved

  DAW Book Collectors No. 1444.

  DAW Books is distributed by Penguin Group (USA).

  All characters in this book are fictitious.

  Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

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  First Printing, June 2008

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ‘‘Introduction,’’ copyright © 2008 by John Helfers

  ‘‘A Souvenir to Remember,’’ copyright © 2008 by Brendan DuBois

  ‘‘Suffer the Children,’’ copyright © 2008 by Barbara Nickless

  ‘‘Better Guns,’’ copyright © 2008 by Jean Rabe

  ‘‘The Baby Store,’’ copyright © 2008 by Ed Gorman

  ‘‘Jesus Runs,’’ copyright © 2008 by George Zebrowski

  ‘‘The Rotator,’’ copyright © 2008 by Pamela Sargent

  ‘‘Acirema the Rellik,’’ copyright © 2008 by Robert T. Jeschonek

  ‘‘Family Photos,’’ copyright © 2008 by S. Andrew Swann

  ‘‘Our Flag Was Still There,’’ copyright © 2008 by Steven Mohan, Jr.

  ‘‘The Last Actor,’’ copyright © 2008 by Mike Resnick and Linda Donohue

  ‘‘The Great Chain of Being,’’ copyright © 2008 by Brian Stableford

  ‘‘Attached to the Land,’’ copyright © 2008 by Donald J. Bingle

  ‘‘The Thief Catcher,’’ copyright © 2008 by Theodore Judson

  ‘‘Unlimited,’’ copyright © 2008 by Jane Lindskold

  ‘‘Switching off the Lights,’’ copyright © 2008 by Peter Crowther

  ‘‘The Power of Human Reason,’’ copyright © 2008 by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  Introduction

  by John Helfers

  ALTHOUGH I DO
not believe in predetermined destiny, I do believe in serendipitous coincidence. Take this introduction, for example. A few days before beginning the final assembly of the anthology you’re holding, my wife and I were watching the classic SF film Logan’s Run. While it now seems rather quaint watching Michael York and Jenny Agutter move through the sterilized, antiseptic blandness that typified much of the era’s science fiction films (notable exceptions being The Omega Man and Soylent Green), and only in the 1970s would Hollywood believe that people would still be wearing miniskirts two hundred and fifty years later, at the time I’m sure it was seen as a daring exploration of the themes of potential overpopulation and population control, concerns that were very much at the forefront of society’s mind.

  By now, anyone who has seen the movie will have drawn the obvious parallel to the theme of this book; that when Logan and Jessica escape the city, they are in a future version of America that had destroyed itself long ago, with only ivy-covered ruins standing where the Capitol and Lincoln Memorial once towered in Washington DC. While post-apocalyptic and dystopian stories of a future America and the rest of the world have been popular for decades, it takes a special vision to look at our nation as it currently is, and even try to imagine what life might be like one hundred, fifty, or even twenty years in the future. Authors have done so in the past, from Aldous Huxley’s dystopian satire Brave New World, which was heavily influenced by a visit he made to America in the 1920s, to more recent books like William Gibson’s Neuromancer , forecasting the ubiquitous World Wide Web and the rise of multi-national corporations and their influence on government, as well as the effects of each on a near-future society.

  As we come to the end of this first decade of the twenty-first century, there is little doubt in my mind that America is at a crossroads, or more of a six-or eight-way intersection. With social, religious, economic, governmental, and world cultural pressures bearing down on our nation from all directions, who can possibly guess what the future might hold (although I doubt it will be all handsome, jumpsuited men and beautiful, miniskirted women living in hedonistic, idle pleasure in domed cities)? Predicting the future is hard; just ask the people who have tried, whether it was the end of the planet as we know it, or the adoption of a new method of transportation, or, more famously, predicting that something wouldn’t catch on, and then being completely wrong.

  What can be theorized is that sweeping changes are coming on the horizon, but whether they will be for good or ill remains to be seen. But the concept is simple; what might an America of the future look like? In many ways, it is practically impossible to theorize or extrapolate what the future might hold, yet writers try every year. However, I’d imagine it would be much like if we were to somehow bring a man or woman from a century ago forward in time to today. Who knows what their reaction would be to the mechanized, technologized world they would find themselves in? Just as they would be lost in a sea of strange and wondrous sights, trying to imagine the future from what we know today, we would most likely be just as lost walking down a city street a century in the future. Some things would be familiar, like cars and houses, and some would be utterly foreign, like the personal computer, or a cell phone, or whatever someone is eventually going to invent to replace both of those.

  Regardless of how accurate anyone’s predictions can be, it is still very enjoyable to ask others for their views of the future. Sixteen of today’s finest authors responded to my invitation to write stories supplying their version of an America of tomorrow, and their takes on it may surprise you, as they surprised me. There are stories that cover almost every aspect of the issues that will shape—and possible fracture—our nation, from the two very different political ideas explored in the stories by George Zebrowski and Pamela Sargent, to the disturbing concept of future art posed in stories by S. Andrew Swann and Mike Resnick and Linda Donahue. The society of the future is laid bare in stunning pieces by Barbara Nickless, Ed Gorman, Steven Mohan, Jr., and Don Bingle. And, of course, where America goes, conflict often follows in its wake, as shown by the fiction of Jean Rabe and Theodore Judson. Finally, I do not think a collection like this would be complete with a tale of America reformed after a catastrophe, and Brendan DuBois kindly obliged with his story of an America that is at once familiar, yet so very different than the one we know today.

  I hope you enjoy these tales of an America that may be, but isn’t—at least, not yet.

  A SOUVENIR TO REMEMBER

  by Brendan DuBois

  Brendan DuBois is an award-winning author of short stories and novels. His short fiction has appeared in various publications, including Playboy, Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, as well as numerous anthologies, including The Best Mystery Stories of the Century. He has twice received a Shamus Award for his short fiction and has been nominated for three Edgar Allan Poe Awards. DuBois’ long fiction includes six previous books in the Lewis Cole mystery series, as well as several other suspense thrillers. DuBois lives in New Hampshire with his wife Mona.

  I THOUGHT OF Father’s words as I stood there alone on our hotel room’s balcony, looking out over the small town, the warm morning air thick and still about me.

  ‘‘Be careful for what you wish for, Armand,’’ he had said a week ago. ‘‘You just might get it.’’

  True enough. When Father had earlier told me of his trade mission to the south, I had begged, pleaded, and begged once again to let me go with him. I had never traveled with Father but always knew he went to wonderful places and met interesting people, and I didn’t want to pass up this chance. I hadn’t bothered trying to bring Mother into the fight; she was a traditionalist, one who focused on my sisters and the household, and she let Father take care of me and his position in Court. But after one evening dinner, as the servings and plates were taken away, when the servants were preparing cafe au lait and dessert for Mother and Father, she had said, ‘‘For once, Roland, listen to the boy. Let him go. It will be a good experience for him, to see what his father does with his time. And besides, he’s coming of age. He might meet others of influence, ones who can help him later on when he goes away to school.’’

  That was an insult for Father, one that I had seen instantly—for Mother had always chided him for not making enough of the right friends and allies in Court—but Father, still giddily in love with Mother after all these years, had just smiled and said, ‘‘Very good, dear. Of course.’’

  Which is how I found myself, two weeks later, on the good airship Pitseolak, gliding our way south, past the borders of the empire, to the unorganized territories and squabbling city states that were our empire’s poor southern neighbors. The trip took less than a day, and Father spent most of that day in our state-room, going through his papers, preparing for his days of meetings with the trade delegation representing a collection of southern coastal city-states, all vying to sell their sugar cane for our industries. I spent the time looking out the windows at the slowly passing landscape beneath me, excited at first, and then deathly bored. Just klick after klick of mountains, hills, and forested areas, punctuated here and there by crumbling ruins of some old city. And even when we landed at the small town—called Tomac—it was at night, so there wasn’t much to see, even on the short drive from the air station. So most of the trip had been one long bore.

  And now, bored again. Father had warned me that his days would be taken up with meetings and trips to the sugar cane fields, and, alas, I could not come along, which meant I spent my time alone in the hotel, small and clean and secure, but not much else. There were books to read and a radio to listen to, but I had a hard time with the language. It was something like franglish, but not quite, so I had listened to the music instead. There was a rawness to it that I had liked, but how long can you spend the day
alone in a room, listening to the wireless? The hotel had restaurants and a manmade pond for swimming, but it took all of a day before I had seen it all.

  I attended one formal event—when the leader of Tomac and the surrounding territory, called Prez Thomas III, sponsored a reception in honor of Father and the rest of the delegation—and I dressed in the only formal suit I had brought in my luggage. Polished boots, black trousers, scarlet tunic with ruffled sleeves, and for the entire night, being the youngest one there, I was ignored, as Father worked the room, plump and short in his own formal wear. Once, a couple of local women, drinks before them on white tablecloth, looked at me and then whispered and giggled behind their manicured hands. It was at that point that I wished I hadn’t come along. I was out of place, I didn’t belong.

  Now I breathed in the muggy morning air. Tomorrow we would return north to home, and for all the time here . . . I had seen this hotel room and the reception hall. So what? A wasted trip, for Father had been busy and had forbid me from leaving the hotel.

  ‘‘I don’t want you to get into trouble, Armand,’’ he had said. ‘‘So be a good boy and stay here while I’m out working.’’

  I grasped the stonework of the balcony. Leaving tomorrow without seeing more of Tomac and its lands than what I could see from this room. I should go out, poke around, see the ruins that were supposedly the most dramatic in this part of the world. . . .

  And I hesitated.

  Father had said be a good boy.