Robots vs. Fairies(47)
And then there are songs about love that kills. Murder ballads and choruses of women haunting hills in long black veils. And over the púca’s pop beat and the sweet harmonies of the flower Fae, that was what I sang.
What I wailed.
The cold and fog curled up through my throat like ghosts, and the blood iced in my veins. This time, this time I knew the power would work. My voice echoed in that dingy club as if it were an opera house. This was what it was to sing as a banshee.
I sang of love that consumes. That murders and unmakes. I sang an unraveling, aiming my voice at the very heart of him.
When I started, the gancanagh was singing too, trying to harmonize, but his voice grew weaker, hesitant, flat. One by one, the enchantments broke from the other Fae in his band, and their music went silent. Until the only sounds in the room were his voice and mine.
And then mine was the only one. I met his eyes, and I took a bow.
“What did you do?” he asked. Still not dead. His magic, however, was. I’d felt it on the stage, and heard it when he spoke. His voice was normal. No power to woo, or lure, or take away choices.
I helped Sarah out from behind the drums, down off the stage. She was shaking as she walked, but she turned and glared at him and whispered the worst curse I’d ever heard her say. Trent was in for an extended plague of ripping seams, unzipping zippers, and oversalted, undercooked food. Brownies can be ruthless.
“I did just what you wanted,” I said. “I sang you a love song.”
TEAM FAIRY
* * *
BY KAT HOWARD
Team Fairy. Of course I’m on Team Fairy. As if there was ever any doubt. I mean, can you imagine a robot singing a murder ballad? Well, perhaps you can, but that raises the question of whether you should, and let me assure you, if you want to have any pleasure at all in the listening, better to imagine a fairy. Even if her song will stop your heart. I’ve been fascinated with banshees since I first knew what they were, and to me, fairies are fun precisely because they are powerful. A woman whose power is in her voice, learning to use it? Oh yes. I’ll write that.
SOUND AND FURY
by Mary Robinette Kowal
The hum of the ship engines sent a vibration up through the soles of Jela Dedearian’s feet. It was always more pronounced near the engine room. By god, she was exhausted. All she wanted was to curl up with her cat and a good novel, but this shift was never going to end.
She rubbed her face with both hands and leaned against the wall of the shuttle bay for a moment. “All right, Okeke. Let’s check the restraints.”
Okeke nodded, her locs bobbing around her cheeks. “Checking giant robot now.”
“Diplomatic Personal Surrogate.”
Okeke snorted. “Yeah. That’s totally what I meant.”
“Obviously.” The captain would have their asses if she caught them talking shit about the mission, but goddamn it. . . . Even if Jela had agreed with the Consortium of Worlds’ expansion policy, Diplomat Foenicul made it damned hard to be respectful.
“Hey . . . Chief. I got this.” Okeke straightened from the restraint strap she was testing. “You can go on to bed.”
“Oh, believe me. I have zero doubts about you. It’s just that, bless her heart, Diplomat Foenicul has expressed that she will be more comfortable if the chief engineer is involved.” She widened her eyes and adopted a too-innocent expression. “Because clearly, I’m the only one on the whole ship who knows how to tie down a giant robot.”
“She’s not even in here.”
“But she will be.” Jela massaged the nagging ache in her forehead. “Believe me, the moment y’all deploy to the surface I have a date with my bed and my cat.”
“How’s Sadie doing?”
“Deeply annoyed.” All of the straps were fine. There was no point in her checking them, except that Guadalupe Foenicul insisted on having “the best,” which meant that Jela had been working double shifts in order to do the work she actually needed to do, in addition to the busywork that the diplomat required. And for what? So they could bring another planet into the fold? “How about you? Adika okay with you going to the planet?”
“As long as I bring him back a souvenir, he’ll forgive anything. And by souvenir, I mean a rock. That child . . . his rock collection is going to be the envy of geologists across the galaxy.”
“Maybe he can negotiate mining rights for—”
The doors to the cargo bay opened and Diplomat Foenicul fluttered in, followed by her assistant and Captain Afaeaki. Her gossamer wings kept her at eye level with the captain, even if her feet were a good meter away from the ground. The captain had her lips so firmly set that it suggested she was less than happy. At least Jela wasn’t the only member of the senior staff who was being asked to do work below her pay grade. It was just one mission. Jela just had to keep reminding herself of that. It was only one mission and if she weren’t doing it, someone else would be feeding the insatiable maw of the Consortium.
“Ah! Chief Engineer Dedearian. Are we ready?”
First of all, this was an hour before departure was scheduled. Second . . . We? As if Jela was going anywhere near the surface. “Yes, sir. You’ll be in good hands with Lieutenant Okeke.”