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    Forever Magazine Issue 3: Forever Magazine, #3
    Forever Magazine Issue 3: Forever Magazine, #3
    Forever Magazine Issue 3: Forever Magazine, #3
    Ebook122 pages1 hour

    Forever Magazine Issue 3: Forever Magazine, #3

    By Neil Clarke, David Marusek, Ken MacLeod and Lauren Beukes

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    About this ebook

    Forever is a new monthly science fiction magazine that features previously published stories you might have missed. Each issue will feature a novella, a brief interview with the novella's author, two short stories, and cover art by Ron Guyatt. Edited by the Hugo and World Fantasy Award winning editor of Clarkesworld Magazine, Neil Clarke.

    Our third issue features a novella by David Marusek ("The Wedding Album"), short stories by Ken MacLeod ("The Surface of Last Scattering") and Lauren Beukes ("Slipping"), and a short interview with David Marusek.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWyrm Publishing
    Release dateApr 1, 2015
    ISBN9781890464554
    Forever Magazine Issue 3: Forever Magazine, #3
    Author

    Neil Clarke

    Neil Clarke (neil-clarke.com) is the multi-award-winning editor of Clarkesworld Magazine and over a dozen anthologies. A eleven-time finalist and the 2022/2023 winner of the Hugo Award for Best Editor Short Form, he is also the three-time winner of the Chesley Award for Best Art Director. In 2019, Clarke received the SFWA Kate Wilhelm Solstice Award for distinguished contributions to the science fiction and fantasy community. He currently lives in New Jersey with his wife and two sons

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      Book preview

      Forever Magazine Issue 3 - Neil Clarke

      Forever Magazine

      ISSUE 3

      © Wyrm Publishing, 2015

      wyrmpublishing.com

      forever-magazine.com

      Table of Contents

      Introduction

      by Neil Clarke

      The Wedding Album

      a novella by David Marusek

      A Few Words with David Marusek

      The Surface of Last Scattering

      a short story by Ken MacLeod

      Slipping

      a short story by Lauren Beukes

      About the Artist and Authors

      Introduction

      Neil Clarke

      Welcome to the third issue of Forever Magazine!

      This month’s novella is The Wedding Album by David Marusek. It also happens to be my twentieth wedding anniversary. The two aren’t connected in any way, but I does provide me with the opportunity to bring up that happy occasion. I’m a very lucky man to have Lisa in my life and I’ll happily accept the opportunity to mention it. She’s the mother of my two amazing children and the person who first supported me in this crazy endeavor. I couldn’t ask for better.

      In other news, I’ve signed a two-book contract to edit The Best Science Fiction of the Year for Night Shade Books. It’s an exciting opportunity and dovetails nicely with what I’m hoping to do with Forever over the next few years. In many ways, they are companion projects. Look for the first volume in the second quarter of 2016. If you’re interested in more details, visit my website (neil-clarke.com) for regular updates on the project.

      As always, thanks for reading! Until next month . . .

      -Neil

      The Wedding Album

      David Marusek

      Anne and Benjamin stood stock still, as instructed, close but not touching, while the simographer adjusted her apparatus, set its timer, and ducked out of the room. It would take only a moment, she said. They were to think only happy happy thoughts.

      For once in her life, Anne was unconditionally happy, and everything around her made her happier: her gown, which had been her grandmother’s; the wedding ring (how cold it had felt when Benjamin first slipped it on her finger!); her clutch bouquet of forget-me-nots and buttercups; Benjamin himself, close beside her in his charcoal gray tux and pink carnation. He who so despised ritual but was a good sport. His cheeks were pink, too, and his eyes sparkled with some wolfish fantasy. Come here, he whispered. Anne shushed him; you weren’t supposed to talk or touch during a casting; it could spoil the sims. I can’t wait, he whispered, this is taking too long. And it did seem longer than usual, but this was a professional simulacrum, not some homemade snapshot.

      They were posed at the street end of the living room, next to the table piled with brightly wrapped gifts. This was Benjamin’s town-house; she had barely moved in. All her treasures were still in shipping shells in the basement, except for the few pieces she’d managed to have unpacked: the oak refectory table and chairs, the sixteenth-century French armoire, the cherry wood chifforobe, the tea table with inlaid top, the silvered mirror over the fire surround. Of course, her antiques clashed with Benjamin’s contemporary—and rather common—decor, but he had promised her the whole house to redo as she saw fit. A whole house!

      How about a kiss? whispered Benjamin.

      Anne smiled but shook her head; there’d be plenty of time later for that sort of thing.

      Suddenly, a head wearing wraparound goggles poked through the wall and quickly surveyed the room. Hey, you, it said to them.

      Is that our simographer? Benjamin said.

      The head spoke into a cheek mike, This one’s the keeper, and withdrew as suddenly as it had appeared.

      Did the simographer just pop her head in through the wall? said Benjamin.

      I think so, said Anne, though it made no sense.

      I’ll just see what’s up, said Benjamin, breaking his pose. He went to the door but could not grasp its handle.

      Music began to play outside, and Anne went to the window. Her view of the garden below was blocked by the blue-and-white-striped canopy they had rented, but she could clearly hear the clink of flatware on china, laughter, and the musicians playing a waltz. They’re starting without us, she said, happily amazed.

      They’re just warming up, said Benjamin.

      No, they’re not. That’s the first waltz. I picked it myself.

      So let’s waltz, Benjamin said and reached for her. But his arms passed through her in a flash of pixelated noise. He frowned and examined his hands.

      Anne hardly noticed. Nothing could diminish her happiness. She was drawn to the table of wedding gifts. Of all the gifts, there was only one—a long flat box in flecked silver wrapping—that she was most keen to open. It was from Great Uncle Karl. When it came down to it, Anne was both the easiest and the hardest person to shop for. While everyone knew of her passion for antiques, few had the means or expertise to buy one. She reached for Karl’s package, but her hand passed right through it. This isn’t happening, she thought with gleeful horror.

      That it was, in fact, happening was confirmed a moment later when a dozen people—Great Uncle Karl, Nancy, Aunt Jennifer, Traci, Cathy and Tom, the bridesmaids and others, including Anne herself, and Benjamin, still in their wedding clothes—all trooped through the wall wearing wraparound goggles. Nice job; said Great Uncle Karl, inspecting the room, first rate.

      Ooooh, said Aunt Jennifer, comparing the identical wedding couples, identical but for the goggles. It made Anne uncomfortable that the other Anne should be wearing goggles while she wasn’t. And the other Benjamin acted a little drunk and wore a smudge of white frosting on his lapel. We’ve cut the cake, she thought happily, although she couldn’t remember doing so. Geri, the flower girl in a pastel dress, and Angus, the ring bearer in a miniature tux, along with a knot of other dressed-up children, charged through the sofa, back and forth, creating pyrotechnic explosions of digital noise. They would have run through Benjamin and Anne, too, had the adults allowed. Anne’s father came through the wall with a bottle of champagne. He paused when he saw Anne but turned to the other Anne and freshened her glass.

      Wait a minute! shouted Benjamin, waving his arms above his head. "I get it now. We’re the sims! The guests all laughed, and he laughed too. I guess my sims always say that, don’t they? The other Benjamin nodded yes and sipped his champagne. I just' never expected to be a sim, Benjamin went on. This brought another round of laughter, and he said sheepishly, I guess my sims all say that, too."

      The other Benjamin said, Now that we have the obligatory epiphany out of the way, and took a bow. The guests applauded.

      Cathy, with Tom in tow, approached Anne. Look what I caught, she said and showed Anne the forget-me-not and buttercup bouquet. "I guess we know what that means." Tom, intent on straightening his tie, seemed not to hear. But Anne knew what it meant. It meant they’d tossed the bouquet. All the silly little rituals that she had so looked forward to.

      Good for you, she said and offered her own clutch, which she still held, for comparison. The real one was wilting and a little ragged around the edges, with missing petals and sprigs, while hers was still fresh and pristine and would remain so eternally. Here, she said, take mine, too, for double luck. But when she tried to give Cathy the bouquet, she couldn’t let go of it. She opened her hand and discovered a seam where the clutch joined her palm. It was part of her. Funny, she thought, I’m not afraid. Ever since she was little, Anne had feared that some day she would suddenly realize she wasn’t herself anymore. It was a dreadful notion that sometimes oppressed her for weeks: knowing you weren’t yourself. But her sims didn’t seem to mind it. She had about three dozen Annes in her album, from age twelve on up. Her sims tended to be a morose lot, but they all agreed it wasn’t so bad, the life of a sim, once you got over the initial shock. The first moments of disorientation are the worst, they told her, and they made her promise never to reset them back to default. Otherwise, they’d have to work everything through from scratch. So Anne never reset her sims when she shelved them. She might delete a sim outright for whatever reason, but she never reset them because you never knew when you’d wake up one day a sim yourself. Like today.

      The other Anne joined them. She was sagging a little. Well, she said to Anne.

      Indeed! replied Anne.

      Turn around, said the other Anne, twirling her hand, I want to see.

      Anne was pleased to oblige. Then she said, Your turn, and the other Anne modeled for her, and she was delighted at how the gown looked on her, though the goggles somewhat spoiled the effect. Maybe this can work out, she thought, I am enjoying myself so. Let’s go see us side-by-side, she said, leading the way to the mirror on the wall. The mirror was large, mounted high, and tilted forward so you saw yourself as from above. But simulated mirrors cast no reflections, and Anne was happily disappointed.

      Oh, said Cathy, look at that.

      Look at what? said Anne.

      Grandma’s vase, said the other Anne. On the mantel beneath the mirror

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