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    Apex Magazine Issue 129: Apex Magazine, #129
    Apex Magazine Issue 129: Apex Magazine, #129
    Apex Magazine Issue 129: Apex Magazine, #129
    Ebook256 pages3 hours

    Apex Magazine Issue 129: Apex Magazine, #129

    By Jason Sizemore, Lavie Tidhar, Lesley Conner and

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    About this ebook

    Strange. Beautiful. Shocking. Surreal.

     

    APEX MAGAZINE is a digital dark science fiction and fantasy genre zine that features award-winning short fiction, essays, and interviews. Established in 2009, our fiction has won several Hugo and Nebula Awards.

     

    We publish every other month.

     

    Issue 129 contains the following short stories, essays, reviews, and interviews.

     

    EDITORIAL
    Editorial by Jason Sizemore

     

    ORIGINAL FICTION
    It Happened in 'Loontown by Lavie Tidhar
    City Lights by Yilun Fan (translated by S. Qiouyi Lu)
    Sheri, At This Very Moment by Bianca Sayan
    What Una Loves by Rich Larson
    Lamia by Cristina Jurado (translated by Monica Louzon)
    The Cure for Loneliness by M. Shaw

     

    CLASSIC FICTION
    O2 Arena by Oghenechovwe Donald Ekpeki
    That Rough-Hewn Sun by Benjanun Sriduangkaew

     

    NONFICTION
    Tie Me to the Mast (Metaphorically Speaking): Social Writing in the Age of the Pandemic by C.S.E. Cooney
    The Importance of Presenting Disabilities in Literature by Mercedes M. Yardley

     

    REVIEWS
    Words for Thought: Short Fiction Review by A.C. Wise
    Book Review: Black Chain by Dominic Martell (reviewed by Keturah Barchers)
    Book Review: Flowers for the Sea by Zin E. Rocklyn (reviewed by Tracy Robinson)

     

    INTERVIEWS
    Interview with Author M. Shaw by Marissa van Uden
    Interview with Author Bianca Sayan by Rebecca E. Treasure
    Interview with Cover Artist Luka Brico by Russell Dickerson

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherApex Publications
    Release dateMay 2, 2022
    ISBN9798201393250
    Apex Magazine Issue 129: Apex Magazine, #129
    Author

    Jason Sizemore

    Jason Sizemore is a writer and editor who lives in Lexington, KY. He owns Apex Publications, an SF, fantasy, and horror small press, and has twice been nominated for the Hugo Award for his editing work on Apex Magazine. Stay current with his latest news and ramblings via his Twitter feed handle @apexjason.

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      Book preview

      Apex Magazine Issue 129 - Jason Sizemore

      Apex Magazine

      APEX MAGAZINE

      ISSUE 129

      LAVIE TIDHAR BIANCA SAYAN RICH LARSON CRISTINA JURADO YILUN FAN M. SHAW OGHENECHOVWE DONALD EKPEKI BENJANUN SRIDUANGKAEW C.S.E. COONEY MERCEDES M. YARDLEY

      Edited by

      JASON SIZEMORE

      Edited by

      LESLEY CONNER

      APEX PUBLICATIONS

      CONTENTS

      FROM THE EDITOR

      Issue 129 Editorial

      Jason Sizemore

      ORIGINAL FICTION

      It Happened in ‘Loontown

      Lavie Tidhar

      City Lights

      Yilun Fan

      Sheri, At This Very Moment

      Bianca Sayan

      What Una Loves

      Rich Larson

      Lamia

      Cristina Jurado

      The Cure for Loneliness

      M. Shaw

      CLASSIC FICTION

      O2 Arena

      Oghenechovwe Donald Ekpeki

      That Rough-Hewn Sun

      Benjanun Sriduangkaew

      NONFICTION

      Tie Me to the Mast (Metaphorically Speaking): Social Writing in the Age of the Pandemic

      C.S.E. Cooney

      The Importance of Presenting Disabilities in Literature

      Mercedes M. Yardley

      REVIEWS

      Words for Thought: Short Fiction Review

      AC Wise

      Book Review: Black Chain by Dominic Martell

      Keturah Barchers

      Book Review: Flowers for the Sea by Zin E. Rocklyn

      Tracy Robinson

      INTERVIEWS

      Interview with Author M. Shaw

      Marissa van Uden

      Interview with Author Bianca Sayan

      Rebecca E. Treasure

      Interview with Artist Luka Brico

      Russell Dickerson

      MISCELLANEOUS

      About Our Cover Artist

      Subscriptions

      Patreon

      The Apex Magazine Team

      Copyright

      Stay Connected

      FROM THE EDITOR

      Jason Sizemore

      ISSUE 129 EDITORIAL

      800 WORDS

      JASON SIZEMORE

      Welcome to issue 129!

      Putting together this issue has been a bit of a scramble. Several major events converged this month that consumed much of the Apex team’s time and availability: the holidays, bonus issue 128, Worldcon (DisCon III), the stress around the Omicron variant of COVID-19.

      And yet …

      … I feel like this is one of the strongest issues we’ve published thus far.

      Yes, I know I say that nearly every issue. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel that way at that moment, though. In this one, familiar faces return along with several first-timers to our pages.

      Our lead work of original fiction is by frequent Apex Magazine contributor Lavie Tidhar. His latest, It Happened in ‘Loontown, is a fun crime-noir drawing on the style of Raymond Chandler and filled with characters full of hot air.

      City Lights by Yilun Fan (translated by S. Qiouyi Lu) was originally a selection by Francesco Verso for his guest-edited International Futurists issue. Due to word count limitations, we agreed to move it to issue 129. It’s a story about the beauty of dancing, memory, and authority. It is our first Yilun Fan story and, hopefully, not the last.

      Thematically, Sheri, At This Very Moment by Bianca Sayan deals with memory and our inability to let go of the things and people we love. It’s a bittersweet tale layered with regret and hard choices.

      Rich Larson is one of my favorite writers, so when What Una Loves dropped into my reading queue, I was delighted. Rich’s fiction with Apex has always had a more visceral vibe than most of his work elsewhere. What Una Loves continues this trend as the story’s main character takes part in a reality show where the audience votes for what happens next. A grisly read that examines the nature of privacy, poverty, and our salacious desire for entertainment.

      Former Apex Magazine international fiction editor Cristina Jurado returns this time as an original fiction contributor with Lamia (translated by Monica Louzon) Part of the beauty of this story is the slow discovery as the plot unfolds, so I don’t wish to spoil it with any descriptions. Cristina is an exciting writer who has gained loads of acclaim overseas, and I expect will be filling award lists before long on this side of the globe.

      M. Shaw is another Apex Magazine first-timer. We’ve mostly stayed away from publishing COVID-related fiction since our relaunch (with The Niddah from issue 121 by Elana Gomel a notable exception). It’s hard to make something interesting out of a thing that has completely upended our lives and refuses to go away. With The Cure for Loneliness, M. Shaw turns this feeling of it’s never going to end into a fascinating meditation of how our loneliness (and the pandemic) is a growing monster that has moved into our homes and forcibly become a part of our lives.

      Our classic fiction this month is O ² Arena by the talented writer/editor Oghenechovwe Donald Ekpeki and That Rough-Hewn Sun by Benjanun Sriduangkaew (a novelette set in her Her Pitiless Command universe).

      We welcome C. S. E. Cooney back into our pages with the essay Tie Me to the Mast (Metaphorically Speaking): Social Writing in the Age of the Pandemic. Mercedes M. Yardley shares her perspective as the mother of a child with Williams Syndrome and autism in The Importance of Presenting Disabilities in Literature.

      Our interviews this month are with M. Shaw, Bianca Sayan, and cover artist Luka Brico. A. C. Wise contributes her regular short fiction review column, and we offer a pair of book reviews for a couple of interesting titles.

      Finally, the latest episode of the Apex Magazine Podcast features a fun narration of Lavie Tidhar’s It Happened in ‘Loontown.

      Apex Magazine welcomes Alyson Grauer to the team. Aly is stepping into the role of podcast producer and host. Listen to the new podcast to get a taste of what Aly brings to the show.

      This issue marks the last regular appearance for a long-time contributor—Russell Dickerson. For years, Russ has been our primary interviewer of cover artists. As an artist/writer himself, he provided valuable insight into the works of the amazing artists we’ve featured over the years. We wish Russ the best and thank him for his years of work!

      You’ll notice that the cover and title page lists Jason Sizemore and Lesley Conner as editors. Our roles as editor-in-chief and managing editor, respectively, have not changed. But Lesley and I are now, officially, co-editors of Apex Magazine.

      ORIGINAL FICTION

      Lavie Tidhar

      IT HAPPENED IN ‘LOONTOWN

      3.400 WORDS

      LAVIE TIDHAR

      Lavie Tidhar is the author of Osama, The Violent Century, A Man Lies Dreaming, Central Station, Unholy Land, and By Force Alone. His latest novels are The Hood and The Escapement. His awards include the World Fantasy Award, the British Fantasy Award, the John W. Campbell Award, the Neukom Prize, and the Jerwood Fiction Uncovered Prize.

      Content Warnings ¹

      1.

       ‘H old it right there, gasbag.’

      The red balloon turned. The beam of a searchlight from high above momentarily crisscrossed the dark alleyway, catching the smooth surface of his face and the scotch tape scar on the left.

      ‘… Oh, it’s you,’ he said.

      Three big balloons drifted menacingly along the alleyway towards him.

      ‘Where is it, gasbag?’

      ‘Listen, Flynn, I don’t have it. We turned up for the job but someone beat us to it. It was empty. The whole shipment was gone.’

      ‘Where is it, Mordechai?’

      Mordechai bobbed up and down in the air. He floated back until he hit the wall. He looked up. But the three bigger balloons came drifting up and spread, blocking any possible escape route.

      ‘Listen, Flynn, you gotta believe me,’ he said, desperate now. ‘It went down like I said, you said it would be there, we did everything according to the plan! You can’t hold me resp—’

      There was the flash of a flame being struck, and the big balloon called Flynn lit a cigarette. He took a long drag through his lip and very slightly swelled.

      ‘No, no, no,’ Mordechai said. ‘No, Flynn, no—’

      Flynn exhaled the smoke and closed his lip and then the glowing end of the cigarette came floating down the alleyway as the three goon balloons closed on their victim.

      ‘Noooo–!’

      The hot flame touched the delicate material of Mordechai’s skin.

      There was a soft, wet explosion.

      Pieces of torn red rubber hit the wall and flopped to the ground.

      Flynn tossed the cigarette.

      ‘Come on, boys. Let’s scram.’

      The three large balloons rose quietly into the air, drifting up until they were high above the city, pulled on the currents of the wind to find the unlucky fool who dared steal their shipment.

      2.

      Night in the city; somewhere in the distance the pop-pop-pop sound of pellet guns as rival gangs settled old scores down in Faraday; out on Hancock the scarlet balloon models were on full display as they bobbed up and down seductively, trying to entice punters; a police siren blared and a voice on the radio came alive and said, ‘Possible one eighty-seven on Ingram, calling all units, calling all units.’

      ‘Muldoon here,’ the grey-green balloon called Muldoon said. ‘Approaching.’

      ‘Copy that, Lieutenant.’

      Night in the city. Night in his city, the city that never slept. He floated past the scarlet models who rubbed seductively with an electric charge and made those scratching sounds that drive the punters crazy. A few of them called out to him, ‘Muldoon! Muldoon! It’s been too long—’

      ‘Not tonight, not tonight,’ he said, feeling a familiar ache now. Remembered how his ex-wife used to say balloons were nothing but suppressed feelings. It’s been a year since she’d died, snagged on a thorny branch that had been, must have been, meant for him. Another unsolved homicide to add to the ever-growing tally. Night in this city, where ‘loon life was cheap, where ‘loon death was cheaper.

      Past Hancock and down the narrow lanes where the hoppers hopped and the drifters drifted. Down at last to Ingram, finding it by the two bulles waiting at the alley entrance.

      ‘Muldoon,’ he said. ‘What do we have here?’

      ‘Lieutenant,’ the bulle on the right said. They were police bulles, big and mean, but it didn’t make them stupid. ‘You should take a look.’

      ‘It ain’t pretty,’ the other one said.

      Muldoon left them there and drifted inside.

      Red patches of rubber, red, red against the dirty wall and the black night. Even torn up like that Muldoon could recognise him.

      Mordechai the Mouth. He must have busted him a half-dozen times. He was the best scoop in the business, he specialised in robbing other criminals’ shipments. Muldoon guessed someone must have finally caught up with him.

      ‘Cigarette, half-smoked,’ he said.

      The bulle he’d spoken to earlier drifted up. ‘Classic gang execution style,’ he said. ‘Popped him right out with the flame. Nasty way to go.’

      ‘You know him?’

      ‘Mordechai? Who didn’t.’

      ‘Know what his line was?’

      The bulle made a raspberry sound. ‘H,’ he said. ‘Same as it ever was.’

      ‘Think he robbed the wrong guy?’

      The bulle bobbed sideways—a shrug. ‘Damned if I know, Lieutenant.’

      ‘Any known associates?’

      The other bulle drifted up to them.

      ‘Busted him a couple of times at the Eddieandbill Club,’ he said. ‘You could try there.’

      ‘Half the drifters in ’Loontown hang there,’ the first bulle said.

      ‘Every dirtbag in the city,’ the second one said.

      ‘I know the Eddieandbill,’ Muldoon said. ‘Thanks.’

      ‘No problem, Lieutenant.’

      ‘Bag him and tag him, will you?’ Muldoon said.

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      Muldoon left them to it and floated up, up. The city spread all around him. Balloons danced in the sky, congregated around lamps, smoked, cursed, laughed, flirted.

      ’Loontown.

      He used to love it.

      Not anymore.

      3.

      Circus balloons twisted themselves into knots on the main stage of the Eddieandbill Club. Dancers rose and fell on gentle thermals, skirts twirling, hoppers hopping, silver foil flashing everywhere.

      ‘You can’t come in.’ A bouncer hopped to block Muldoon. He was a big solid ball of air.

      ‘Muldoon. Homicide.’

      ‘Sorry, Lieutenant. Didn’t recognise you there. It’s been a while.’

      ‘Is that you, Tony Bouncy-Castle?’

      He would have smiled if balloons could smile.

      ‘You remember?’

      ‘How’s your sister?’

      ‘Much better now, Lieutenant. Thanks. Can I get you anything? Warm air? A spray of water?’

      ‘Not tonight, Tony. I’m on the job.’

      ‘Who popped?’

      ‘Mordechai,’ Muldoon said. ‘Mordy the Mouth.’

      ‘That guy.’

      ‘Yeah.’

      ‘Word was the Flynn Gang were after him,’ Tony said.

      ‘Flynn? I thought that gasbag was on a twelve stretch out in Blimpsville.’

      ‘Got out early.’

      ‘And pulling jobs again?’

      ‘That’s the word.’

      ‘H?’

      ‘Ain’t it always, Lieutenant?’

      H. Damned H, Muldoon thought. It filled you up and lifted you high, high as you could go. It got you hopping good. It was better than anything, better than the soft, sweet charge of static electricity rubbing skin to skin. Better than hot air. Better than a hot summer day at the fair. H was everything. And once you got a taste of it, you always wanted more.

      ‘Anything else you can tell me?’

      Tony Bouncy-Castle bounced as he thought. ‘There’s a skirt name of Red, she often comes here. Think she was friendly with the Mouth. You might want to ask around.’

      ‘I think I will. Thanks, Tony.’

      ‘Don’t mention it, Lieutenant.’

      ‘And say hi to your sister for me, will you?’

      ‘Will do.’

      Muldoon left him there and drifted inside.

      Balloon trumpeters played a jazzy tune on the stage. Boppers bopped and hoppers hopped and the crowd thickened around the bar where shots of warm air were handed out to the revellers. Muldoon saw familiar faces: the crime beat reporter for the ’Loon Times, the mayor’s deputy, and the police commissioner, whose ego was as inflated as he was.

      Everybody came to the Eddieandbill, from above and from below.

      He spotted her near the stage. She was hard to miss. She had the sort of curves that made a perfect teardrop. She was red like sunset over a forest fire. Muldoon couldn’t take his gaze off her. She bopped gently up and down in time with the music. He drifted to her.

      ‘Hello, Red.’

      She turned slowly. Looked him up and down.

      ‘What do you want, gasbag?’

      ‘I was hoping we could have a chat.’

      ‘Who the hell are you?’

      ‘Muldoon. I’m with the police.’

      ‘So?’

      ‘Somebody popped Mordechai the Mouth,’ he told her.

      She was quiet, then.

      ‘… Oh, Mordi,’ she said.

      ‘You knew him well?’

      ‘We swapped air a few times if you get my drift.’

       ‘Know what he was into?’

      ‘What wasn’t he?’

      She drifted close to him then. Her skin almost rubbing his. Static electricity coursing between them. He felt a spark.

      This skirt was dangerous.

      ‘We can’t talk here,’ she said, quietly.

      ‘Then where?’

      ‘My place,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s on Yost and Montgolfier.’

      ‘When?’

      ‘One hour.’

      ‘… Thanks, Red.’

      ‘Muldoon, was it? Be careful.’

      She pushed away from him. He stood alone at the bar. The trumpets played on stage. He looked around him, saw some black and green dirtbags in a corner with all their attention, apparently, on him.

      ‘Alright, then,’ he said, but quietly.

      He made his way out and they followed.

      4.

      ‘Stay back,’ he said. He pulled out his police issue long darner and aimed the sharp end at the dirtbags. They floated to surround him.

      ‘Police,’ he said.

      ‘We know who you are.’

      ‘Yeah.’

      ‘Muldoon, of Homicide.’

      ‘Yeah.’

      ‘What brings you here, Muldoon?’

      ‘Your kind ain’t welcome at the Eddieandbill.’

      ‘You with the Flynn Crew?’ Muldoon said.

      The dirtbags laughed.

      ‘Flynn? That hopper’s gonna pop.’

      ‘Yeah.’

      Muldoon paused, confused. ‘So who are you with, and what do you want?’

      The largest dirtbag darted at him. Muldoon’s long darner flashed but the dirtbag ducked under and then there were two more behind him. They were sneaky. A shove and a sudden blow of air and his long darner dropped from his mouth and he was now unarmed.

      ‘Stay away from this, copper.’

      ‘Won’t tell you again.’

      Then they were on him. Heavy, nasty bodies, hitting him so hard he lost air. He would have curled into a ball had he not, in fact, been a ball.

      They pummelled him and he took it. There was nothing else he could do.

      ‘Stay out of Big’s business!’

      And with that parting shot, they were gone.

      Muldoon sagged in mid-air.

      Everything hurt.

      Big? he thought.

      After a while, he drifted down until he found Red’s place on Yost and Montgolfier.

      5.

      ‘You came. I wasn’t sure you would.’

      She floated up to him. That electric charge. He sagged a little.

      ‘You’re hurt!’

      ‘It’s nothing.’

      ‘You’re losing air!’

      ‘It was only a small puncture.’

      ‘Here, let me.’ Deftly, she put a plaster over the hole. ‘You should go to the hospital.’

      ‘All they’ll do is pump me full of H. I have a case to solve.’

      ‘You cops are all the same.’ But she said it without bitterness.

      ‘You know cops?’

      ‘Who doesn’t.’

      ‘You knew Mordi.’

      She sighed, a sad whisper of air leaving her lip.

      ‘He wasn’t the smartest ’loon in town but he was always honest, for a crook.’

      ‘So what happened to him, Red? Why did he get popped?’

      ‘I’m sure I don’t know.’

      ‘Who’s Big?’

      She went still at that.

      ‘Big?’

      ‘That’s what I said.’

      ‘Forget it, Muldoon,’ she said then. ‘It’s ’Loontown.’

      ‘What aren’t you telling me?’

      ‘Mordechai was pulling another job. H shipment. He hijacked them coming into the city. Either he robbed the wrong guy or …’

      ‘Or what?’

      ‘Or somebody beat him to it.’

      She fell silent. Muldoon listened to the city. It was hot in Red’s place and the warm air pushed them both

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