Amazon’s Relentless Development Brings Cybernetically Enhanced Struggle in This Poignant Sci-Fi Story

io9 is proud to current fiction from Lightspeed Magazine. Once a month, we feature a story from Lightspeed’s present difficulty. This month’s choice is “Mom’s Hip” by Corey Jae White and Maddison Stoff. Get pleasure from!

Mom’s Hip

By Corey Jae White and Maddison Stoff

Excessive above the Amazon Rainforest, Hynd circled, her huge wingspan solely seen by the shadow she forged on the battlefield under. She felt the wind go throughout her wings, whispering of torrential rain coming; not her concern, to this point above the clouds, however she packaged the info and shot it all the way down to the comms base at floor degree so the grunts would know what was coming.

Hynd by no means cared concerning the grunts, probably not, not after they had been to this point beneath her, their our bodies so completely different to her personal. Her sixty-four wombs swelled, automated manufacturing unit arms quickly piecing her youngsters collectively. Mom to a swarm of carbon fibre youngsters, their IFF tags dancing and taking part in amongst the timber, looking anarchists by way of the rainforest with lethal precision.

Sheena went darkish and Hynd’s coronary heart broke for the eighty-first time that day. She was born with one weak rotor, however she was such a intelligent little woman, rewrote her firmware to compensate, outlasted her broodmates by greater than an hour.

A tear dissipated from the warmth of Hynd’s cybernetic eyes earlier than it might roll down her cheek. Sheena ought to have been an engineer, however Hynd would have cherished her simply as a lot if she’d began a punk band, received drunk underage, and tried to go off an apparent hangover as “only a abdomen bug.”

Three extra of her youngsters had been shot out of the sky: Davey, Nicola, and Grant—anarchist fight heuristics upgraded once more. A brand new software program replace seeped into the again of her head, simply in time for her gestating brood. She could be proper down there together with her youngsters if she might, if it could assist preserve them secure, however improved software program was all she might provide them.

Her ripe wombs distended, the bomb bay doorways alongside her fuselage opening, air speeding inside her like a chill breath into the lungs. Her infants dropped, two-by-two, their little aerodynamic our bodies formed for the lengthy fall. Half of them would lengthen their wings and rotors, burning vitality to halt their drop and fly buzzing into the fray. The others would lengthen fins and let their suicidal impulses lead them nose-first into anarchist heavy armour and hidden bunkers.

If solely she might maintain them, she thought. If solely she might maintain them to her hip, bounce them till they smiled and squeed. If solely she might discuss them out of it. However regardless of how a lot she pled, she couldn’t cease them. They had been born to die, and nonetheless every demise was a dagger in her beating coronary heart.

• • •

The lady steps up onto the small stage, carrying a small, pink valve amplifier, a noisebox, and a black electroacoustic guitar. She’s clearly a veteran, her silver eyes glinting beneath the stage lights, her scalp a patchwork of lengthy, black hair, and scars from the place they eliminated her information ports. She wears a flowing black gown, silver ankh and eagle necklaces, engraved bracelets, and rings on each finger. Contained in the gown she’s swimming, emaciated, one other signal of post-cybernetics syndrome.

She sits on the stool on the centre of the stage, checks the tuning on her guitar, and makes a small adjustment. She leans into the microphone and faucets it gently.

“I’m, uh, Mom’s Hip, and I’m going to play a couple of songs,” she says, her voice husky, have an effect on flat.

A man with a mug of beer cheers and laughs earlier than instantly going again to speaking loudly together with his pals. The remainder of the bar doesn’t even appear to note. A gaggle of trans dykes performs augmented pool on the desk within the again, and a glamorous brunette with darkish lipstick and heavy eyeshadow sits on the bar, smoking a clove cigarette in an extended holder, frowning at one thing on an AR display screen solely she will see. The bartender cleans a glass slowly, his hearth engine pink cyber-arms embellished in vibrant stickers like tattoos, an ex-military mecha preventing event taking part in within the air above his head.

It’s not a big house. Not a lot greater than the cockpit of her Lilith-class mothership again within the warfare. At its centre there had been a sepulchral altar, lit up by uninteresting pink lights that doubled as her dwelling coffin. She wouldn’t climb into the gun-metal grey tube. As an alternative they put in her in it, her flesh skewered by way of with information cables and tubes for water, feeding, and waste. Her head obscured beneath a heavy HUD like an inverted crown, her arms outstretched in cruciform. Cooling fluid pumping by way of huge tubes round, beneath, and above her. Her flesh-self held in place by tethers she’d overlook instantly as soon as she primed her engines, hit the throttle, and felt the ability coursing by way of each a part of her enormous and transcendent kind. She would keep within the air for days at a time. Weeks. With solely her datafeeds and her youngsters to maintain her firm. They known as her mom. To all people else, she was Hynd.

“This primary one is,” the musician clears her throat then swallows, the warmth of the stage lights drawing sweat from her pores and skin. A drop slides down her cheek and off her chin, however she ignores it. “‘Stillborn Skyfish.’”

Her fingers snake alongside the fretboard, weaving a delicate melody to evoke the sensation of waves lapping towards the seashore. She nods her head together with the beat coming from her noisebox like offended static, and she or he lets it carry her. Music all the time calmed her. She performed bass in a punk rock band when she was a teen, when she nonetheless thought she was a boy, however the band broke up on the finish of highschool. So way back now. Lengthy earlier than she signed up for the Amazon Prime Air Brigade at twenty years outdated, determined and unemployed. However she all the time questioned how far the band might have gone if they’d saved taking part in.

“Wasted . . . away . . .” she sings over her strumming. A mournful tone, noticeably extra tuneful than her talking voice. One of many trans dykes makes eye contact together with her for a second whereas she’s teeing up her shot and smiles. The lady blushes and appears down at her guitar earlier than closing her eyes. “In cloud seas . . . She performs.”

• • •

Typically the wind would hit like waves, Hynd’s inside construction shuddering with the pressure. She would clench her tooth, as if she might maintain all of it along with simply the energy of her jaw.

Her infants grew inside their wombs; Hynd set them to beginning inside her maintain and wait, then she set subroutines to trace climate patterns. She would give her youngsters the very best begin in life she might, with out a wayward gale throwing them off track.

She shifted route, reduce the wind shear sufficient for her bones to cease rattling, and checked her sensors. Nothing else up this excessive however skinny wisps of cloud transferring beneath her in parallax, the bottom far, far under.

Incoming sign like an itch inside her ear canal, so deep she wouldn’t have the ability to attain it together with her pinkie finger even when her arms weren’t splayed to both facet, needlelike connectors inserted beneath her fingernails, linking her natural nerve fibres to the ship’s peripheral cybernetic nervous system.

With an autonomic reflex like scratching, Hynd accessed the sign and ran it by way of a battery of decryption algos. It unlocked virtually instantly, outdated code from early within the warfare—the primary one Amazon’s Coding Auxiliary was capable of crack.

“—need your youngsters to have the ability to breathe?” a lady stated.

The sign was weak, quiet. Hynd boosted the ability to her comms array and the voice continued, clearer, like the girl was standing within the cockpit beside her altar, talking immediately into her ear.

“We’re all determined. We’re unemployed and scraping by nonetheless we will, or in any other case we’ve received jobs however we’re overworked and underpaid. It’s exhausting to consider the longer term when it looks like there isn’t one. However these are the lungs of the world, and we’ve got to save lots of them.”

“Hi there?” Hynd stated, her voice a rasp, scraping uncooked from her throat.

“Holy fuck. Hi there. Who is that this?”

“Lilith-class Mothership, Hynd Revel.”

There was silence on the road however for the mushy crackle of interference. “No shit, I’m chatting with a mothership?” When Hynd didn’t reply the girl continued. “I’m glad you answered—I used to be getting sick of repeating the spiel.”

“Who’re you?” Hynd requested.

“Sorry, how impolite of me. I’m Peta. I’m with the anarchists, down on the bottom someplace beneath you. We can assist, y’know. Amazon does all types of shit to their troopers and pilots. We’re determining learn how to undo numerous their management software program, give individuals their selves again.

“I imply, how have you learnt you even need to struggle? How a lot of that is you, and the way a lot is their programming?”

• • •

The lady finishes her tune and clears her throat once more. “Sorry, can I get some water up right here? Be certain it’s chilly, please.”

She simply can’t drink it at room temperature, not since that transient interval between leaving highschool and becoming a member of up with Amazon the place she was on Primary and it was all she might afford to drink. Primary Revenue began out as revolutionary public coverage, however by the point she was on it, a long time later, it had become a gilded leash that saved you largely locked into boarding homes, paying ninety % of your meagre earnings for a room that you simply needed to share with a number of others.

The trans lesbian who smiled earlier deposits a glass on the pink amp beside her with a delicate nod of recognition, earlier than returning to her sport. She wears a canine collar with a small metallic tag engraved with the identify Crystal, however the girl isn’t positive if the identify is hers or her “proprietor’s.” She takes a sip of water, ice clinking towards the glass. It tastes good. And with the ice, it’ll keep chilly for some time. She loves that. She places the glass again down on the amp, condensation already forming, and fiddles with the tuning heads of her guitar in preparation for her second tune.

“This subsequent one,” she says, confidence slowly constructing with extra time beneath the stage lights, “known as ‘On Angel Wings.’ It’s about . . .”

She hesitates, unsure if she desires to disclose her former allegiances. Some crowds will heckle an Amazon veteran, and on one degree she will get it: What she and her employers did there was a tragedy. However on one other degree, she writes her songs to attempt to course of what she did, who she was, and what was finished to her.

“. . . my time as a supply drone pilot,” she says lastly, dropping her nerve. Navy vets aren’t the one ones that suffer from post-cybernetics syndrome. Loads of civilian floor and air truckers undergo from it, in addition to heavy customers of commercial exoskeletons, however that doesn’t cease it being stigmatised now the warfare is over. She notices the glamorous brunette on the bar has shifted three stools nearer, AR display screen quickly forgotten as she hangs off Hynd’s phrases. She appears to be like down at her fretboard till her nerves settle. “I hope you prefer it, ’trigger it’s actually . . .”

She hits her noisebox, hissing rhythmic just like the ocean beating towards the shore, and begins to play—sound like a summer season breeze, with a delicate tone of craving.

“That was actually after I realized to like my youngsters, y’know? By being them, by dwelling them,” she says over the tune’s lengthy, constructing instrumental intro, pondering again to her days within the UCAV Wraith pool. She spent a few years piloting the drones remotely—embodying them every time she took to the air—earlier than she proved she had the aptitude for the mothership program. “It wasn’t simply my conditioning. Although it nonetheless damage after they stripped that from me, as a result of—” She pauses. “I used to be by no means given any selection. All I ever wished was a selection.”

She appears to be like up on the house above the viewers, under the lights. There are tears across the orbit of her cybernetic eyes. She blinks the tears away and begins to sing . . .

• • •

The whole topside of Hynd’s fuselage was panelled in strengthened photovoltaics, gleaming vibrant beneath the South American solar. It felt like heat, like consolation meals, nevertheless it wasn’t sufficient to maintain her within the air indefinitely. She birthed one other litter of kids; these ones she would have the ability to preserve shut—for a time. They fashioned a defensive grid round their mom; their pure, harmless love demonstrated in a willingness to die for her. At all times. Like so many had.

She started her gradual descent, circling downwards in a kilometre-wide spiral, towards the useful resource platform floating beneath the cloud line. Her coronary heart beat sooner, more durable, a siren whined in her bowels. She was most susceptible when refuelling, even together with her youngsters surrounding her and the platform’s autoturrets scanning for threats.

She broke by way of the heavy blanket of clouds, the bottom revealing itself beneath her – the sensible inexperienced foliage, the myriad brown craters fashioned by her fallen youngsters and different ordnance, the stark black char of burnt timber, our bodies, cybernetics, and heavy armour. A golden blade reduce by way of the air far under—a Revenant.

Her superstructure shuddered, or she did; the Revenants had been a vicious fusion of flesh and machine, suicidal of their strategy to fight—the very antithesis of herself and her physique, made just for creating life. A sort of life, no less than.

The hair on the again of her neck stood on finish and Hynd realised the platform’s turrets had been monitoring her strategy, twin-barrels like void-black eyes observing her. She initiated a handshake, the turrets turning away as her safety codes had been accepted. An articulated arm prolonged from the platform’s reactor hub carrying the ability umbilical, the connector slotting inside her with a slight gasp from the again of her throat. The high-intensity recharge was awkwardly erotic when parsed by way of her chimeric physique, cybernetic and natural alerts blurring collectively. Whether or not it was an accident of her design or deliberate engineering, she had by no means requested. She knew she would get no reply.

“Sorry I haven’t been in contact.”

Hynd began on the voice out of the blue talking in her ear. Most days, her solely dialog was with the wind.

“Peta?” Hynd stated.

The anarchist responded: “The one and solely. Your facet took out our long-range transmitter, so I couldn’t attain you.”

Jane. It wasn’t simply Hynd’s facet that had finished it, however Hynd’s baby. Jane was cussed however inventive; the intricate arabesque she danced in her descent was elegant and delightful. A parting reward and her whole life’s work. That and the explosion.

“I suppose you should be beneath the clouds now then,” Peta stated.

“That data is classed.” Hynd hadn’t spoken—hadn’t meant to talk, the phrases pressured from her mouth by some autonomic safety conditioning. It was not the primary time it had occurred to her, nevertheless it was nonetheless an insult. If they might belief her sufficient to merge her flesh with a 200-million-dollar mothership, they need to belief her together with her personal tongue.

“For the longest time we thought the motherships had been totally automated. It’s unusual figuring out you’re an individual,” Peta stated.

“Unusual how?” Hynd requested.

“I’m unsure if you understand how a lot harm you do down right here together with your demons.”

A pause. “These are my youngsters.” The phrases escaped by way of Hynd’s clenched jaw.

“However that’s what they name you, proper? Lilith-class. She’s the mom of demons.”

“I like my youngsters,” Hynd spat.

A procession of materiel drones emerged from the useful resource platform. She opened her bay doorways and allow them to fill her bowels with the parts she would wish to gestate the following generations of her offspring.

“I didn’t imply any offense,” Peta stated. “I suppose I simply surprise how a lot of that love is you, and the way a lot is conditioning. Calling them demons might sound merciless, however they aren’t actually youngsters both, are they? They’re weapons. They’re weapons you create and management, and also you’re doing it for the mistaken facet. We’re preventing to save lots of the lungs of the Earth, Hynd. We’re preventing towards capital earlier than it chokes us all. Can’t you see that?”

Hynd might see that. She had no religion within the firm, its uploaded CEO, or its mostly-AI board of administrators. However the work they offered was the one factor that saved her from abject poverty, and now this motherhood had given her function. Even when the aim was not actually her personal. It felt like her personal, it felt true and sacred in a means nothing in her life ever had.

“We might change what they’ve finished to you, Hynd. Undo their conditioning and allow you to determine for your self. To provide you a selection.”

Earlier than Hynd might reply, an alarm sounded in her head like a migraine spike, drawing her consideration to a pink blur zigzagging throughout her radar display screen. Her youngsters reacted immediately, transferring to kind a unfastened wall between her and the incoming risk.

She zoomed in together with her hull cameras, watched the Revenant financial institution and spin, effortlessly dodging autoturret hearth because it climbed excessive above the rainforest after which tore previous the floating platform at unimaginable speeds. Hynd received a correct have a look at it—painted like a jaguar, a snarling face adorning its nostril. Its physique was a pair of wings, a big afterburner, and so many mismatched weapons it was tough to see the way it might keep within the air. It didn’t want a cockpit when the pilot was mainly a mind in a jar. And the anarchists mutilate themselves willingly to do it. She felt sick.

Her youngsters broke away to offer chase as autoturret tracers swung forwards and backwards like a cat’s tail. All of a sudden the Revenant stopped on a dime and turned, its nostril pointed not at Hynd, however on the platform’s reactor hub.

“That is you, isn’t it?” Hynd shouted into comms.

“What?” Peta stated, sounding confused. An excellent actor—Hynd needed to give her that.

Hynd rotated her VTOL engines and dumped all energy into ahead thrust. Slowly she pulled away from the platform, recharge arm stretching to carry on to her.

The Revenant launched two volleys of micromissiles, explosions tearing by way of the reactor’s shielding. The nimble craft roared by way of the opening, disappearing from sight.

Explosion like a thundercrack, the cloud of flames engulfing her youngsters, scorching her wings as she fled. She tore the recharge arm free because the useful resource platform canted grossly and started to fall towards the forest under.

• • •

She begins to really feel self-conscious after “Fault Line on the Moon,” the tune she moved into so effortlessly after “On Angel’s Wings.” It talks concerning the delight she felt for her daughter who took out the transmitter . . . What was her identify once more? It may be exhausting to recall these days now, her physique, her whole physiology, altered once more to one thing resembling her kind from earlier than the warfare. She runs a hand by way of her hair, feeling the scar tissue from the place they stuffed within the dataports they faraway from her cranium.

She calms herself by wanting across the bar. No person is taking note of her anyway. What bothers her extra is that the trans lesbians look like preventing. The woman she’s calling Crystal on account of the tag on her collar doesn’t need to go away. However the others . . .? She appears to be like away. It’s not my fault, is it? Have they found out the kind of individual I was?

“This subsequent tune is about regrets,” she says, her coronary heart pounding as she stomps the footswitch for her noisebox twice to cue up the following beat. Crystal shoots a longing have a look at her whereas her pals push her off the desk and in the direction of the door. “Imagine me, I’ve many.”

The glamourous girl on the bar is observing her intensely. She couldn’t inform earlier than, however her eyes are cybernetic too: natural-looking, SOTA, the irises blinking pink to point out she’s recording. She briefly thinks about telling her to cease, however on some degree, she is aware of she signed up for this as a performer.

The lady with the guitar swallows nervously. “Anyway . . . This one’s known as ‘Pleasant Fires.’”

The noisebox is a tiny FM synthesizer when performed proper. Her staccato excessive hat recontextualised right into a skittering simulacrum of a crackling hearth, interspersed with bass drum kicks to offer the sense of drone bombs going off all through the tune, which itself is upbeat and melodic by comparability.

“I might have cherished you in case you had been a monster,” she sings as she performs a easy pop four-chord development on her guitar. Her voice and drums are supposed to be the main focus right here, not the guitar for as soon as. She’s pleased with this tune specifically for that. “I might have trusted that you simply’d know the rating.”

Three white noise hand claps from the noisebox resulting in a bass drum kick.

“You confirmed me hate by way of a masks of forgiveness.

Held out your hand confirmed us each who you had been.”

One other three claps from the noisebox resulting in a bass drum kick.

“And I knew,” her voice lifts right here whereas the noisebox strikes to cymbal crashes fine-tuned to sound like driving rain, that, prefer it did again within the warfare, quenches her high-hat fires whereas a metronome-like click on sounds within the background. Evocative of her days within the hangar. Crossing off the times, amusing herself with trivial VR leisure whereas she waited for a storm to finish. “The sick joke they’d made me. As you knew . . .”

A bass kick, then the skittering excessive hats come again once more.

“It was all that I’d received.”

• • •

A brand new goal dropped into the again of Hynd’s thoughts through satellite tv for pc uplink. The sting of her tongue tasted metallic, her face twitched out and in of a sneer—a precedence goal then, triggering a vile kind of rage that might maintain her in its grip till her mission was profitable. She steered south, towards the goal coordinates, monitoring inbound pleasant escort Wraiths on her radar.

Her wombs ticked and clicked, new youngsters being gestated and birthed, held inside her the place they might keep secure till the bombing run. Inside minutes the 4 remotely piloted Wraiths had been holding good formation far under her—far sufficient to intercept any risk earlier than it might climb to her altitude.

Hynd was glad of the help, however the Wraiths felt mistaken someway, piloted by the ghosts of different individuals, however hole of flesh. She would have most popular in the event that they labored like her youngsters—autonomous and alive in their very own means, creating a singular cadence and lifestyle within the transient time allotted them.

An alarm sounded, rattling her chest like a panic assault; a pink dot burned on her monitoring system, low altitude, following the river, far beneath the cloud line.

Hynd signalled to 2 of her escorts to drop down and shadow it. Wraith pilots had nothing to lose, flying from the security of a deep bunker or a command centre again house. However Revenant pilots had been deeply enmeshed inside their agile warfare machines—the road between one and the opposite nonexistent. They lived solely in and for the moments they had been in flight.

The Revenants had been Wraiths as soon as, the machines captured in nets strung up between the strongest timber of the rainforest battlefields and repurposed by the anarchists. They by no means fly between the timber anymore: That work is left to Hynd’s youngsters.

The pink dot on Hynd’s radar appeared to disregard the Wraiths on strategy, persevering with to path the bends of the river. She related to the Wraiths’ video feeds, each lenses zoomed in tight to trace the Revenant: a stripped-down silver arrow, customised to prioritise pace reasonably than energy. Its solely armament was an auto-tracking gun turret, and a mesh satellite tv for pc dish had been jury-rigged onto the rear finish of its fuselage. The ship was painted in a sample of caiman scales, with a grinning lizard man adorning the nostril.

With one eye on the Wraith feeds, Hynd saved flying towards her goal coordinates, nonetheless uncertain of what it was she could be hitting, what goal was definitely worth the lives of so a lot of her youngsters.

Rapidly the Revenant broke from its path, zagging inhumanly quick away from the river, doubling again. One in all her escorts was hit earlier than the pilot even had an opportunity to react, explosive shells tearing by way of its fuselage. The second escort moved to have interaction, the dogfight an summary dance of two dots on Hynd’s monitoring display screen.

One dot. One other escort downed.

“Hynd, is that you simply?”

“Peta?” She wasn’t positive how the anarchist was contacting her, so excessive above the clouds.

“Issues are getting determined down right here, Hynd. You will need to perceive.”

“What are you saying?” Hynd requested. Her focus was on the monitoring display screen—the Revenant now gaining altitude quickly, her final two escorts holding place, ready to fulfill it.

“There’s a transmitter on that Revenant,” Peta stated. “We’re going to undo what they’ve finished to you. We’re going to free you from their conditioning. It’s simply software program—a bundle nestled someplace between your mind and the mothership’s command and management methods.”

“You may’t try this,” Hynd stated, unsure why Peta’s phrases struck extra worry into her coronary heart than the approaching Revenant.

“You’ll thank me when that is over, Hynd, I promise you.”

The Revenant broke by way of the clouds, turret firing an arcing line of tracers by way of the air; one Wraith banked too late, its wing chewed up by explosive shells. Hynd watched from her personal hull cameras because the UCAV modified kind, wings canting additional again, a second fin rising from the tail. Its afterburners kicked in and the ersatz missile streaked towards the Revenant, missed, and saved rocketing down towards the bottom; the Offensive Self-Destruct mechanism designed to make sure no extra Wraiths may very well be captured and transformed into anarchist Revenants.

“Simply chill out,” Peta stated. “It’ll be over quickly.”

The Revenant was shut sufficient now for the anarchists to pressure a connection, brute pressure handshake breaking by way of the primary layers of ICE with ease. Hynd’s thoughts raced with background processes, however there was nothing she might do, no lively countermeasures to set off, simply the layers and layers of programming that made up the interface between her meat and her true, full self.

Panic hit her just like the shells punching fist-sized holes in her remaining escort. It tumbled from the air, spiralling downward, too broken to provoke OSD. Her coronary heart thumped quickly in her chest, her cybernetic eyes flicking throughout the dozen readouts as if she’d discover a solution there.

“You may’t do that,” Hynd stated.

The anarchist hack plunged additional into her methods, like an icepick on the base of her cranium being gently hammered deeper and deeper into her mind.

Hynd didn’t know what she was with out the conditioning buried someplace inside her thoughts, with out the mothership that surrounded her, with out her generations of kids lovingly launched into the world.

“Now we have to,” Peta stated. “I’m sorry, but when we don’t win this warfare, all people dies. Not instantly, however ahead of anybody desires to confess. All of us choke on the smog of capital—you, me, all people. All proper, that is it.”

Hynd shrieked, an agonising flash of vibrant black blinded her. The whole left facet of her mind felt prefer it was on hearth—crackling and smoking however painless. She threw up, vomit splashing on the flooring beneath her altar. Her blood was chilly, respiration shallow.

With a flicker, her sight returned. She pressured herself to scan the unfold of screens that stuffed her imaginative and prescient. All methods nominal, no harm, inexperienced throughout the board, however one thing was very mistaken.

Her youngsters—no, not her youngsters, the place had been her youngsters?—these drones in her bowels rested of their bays, ready to fall, ready to launch hell on no matter was beneath her. Demons loaded with explosive ordnance, monitoring software program, and sufficient stupid-AI to regulate trajectories throughout their falls to maximise lethality. They weren’t her youngsters. Her youngsters had been lovely and distinctive and loving and wished nothing however a life for themselves and security for his or her mom. They weren’t good—who’s?—however they had been hers, and so they gave her pleasure when nothing else might.

“Hynd?” Peta stated softly. “How do you’re feeling? Did it work?”

Hynd roared, her throat tearing with the primal energy of it. “The place are my youngsters?” she screamed.

“You’re free now,” Peta stated. “Battle with us, Hynd. Flip in your masters and struggle with us.”

“You took them from me. My youngsters are air. They’re the very breath in my lungs. And also you took them from me!”

Hynd opened her bomb bay doorways, snarling as she purged the demons from her many wombs—a mass abortion, a cleaning. They started to fall, harried command protocols sending them assault coordinates whereas they had been nonetheless in vary of her transmitters.

Her wombs started to make extra youngsters, however they had been damaged and mistaken. She might really feel it. May really feel the hate rising inside herself.

She related to all Amazon property within the space to search out her targets—anarchist, Amazon, she didn’t care. All that mattered was clearing this filth from her womb so she might discover her youngsters once more. Discover herself.

The demons rained down. Hynd screaming mindlessly, engulfed by rage, as explosions boomed and bloomed throughout the rainforest under.

• • •

She by no means came upon if she killed Peta, however she destroyed the bottom the anarchist had been transmitting from—Amazon After-Motion Consultants had been capable of decide that a lot. Her “outburst,” as they known as it, killed as many Amazon contractors as anarchists, and burned down one other hundred hectares of rainforest earlier than the Cloud Punchers introduced her down.

“You stuffed my coronary heart with napalm,” Hynd sings, “then they tore me from the sky . . .”

She was sure she’d die when she hit the bottom, wind screaming by way of the ragged holes in her fuselage, warnings and sirens blaring in each a part of her. She didn’t care. She embraced demise, longed to be together with her youngsters, with the lie of them that had saved her going. That had given her the one function that had mattered in her whole life.

“And as I fell, I screamed, discovered their names scored from my thoughts . . .”

The lie of her youngsters. The lie of motherhood. The lie of her life.

“And each tree and animal I burned was formed such as you.”

However she survived. They yanked her out of the wreckage and patched her up—it was in her contract, even when she’d damaged it 100 instances over together with her indiscriminate bombing. They gave her a dishonourable discharge and launched her again into the world.

“And even when I someway took all of them it wouldn’t do.”

Her voice echoes, captured by the noisebox and spun off, quietly succumbing to silence as she strums the tune’s remaining chord.

“Thanks,” Hynd says gently. “And I’m sorry. Have an excellent remainder of your night time.”

Locked in memory of her painful previous, she doesn’t discover the glamourous girl strategy her as she’s closing her guitar case.

“Great set, angel,” the opposite girl drawls. “You have got a lovely voice. Highly effective lyrics too; I’d name them ‘poetic’ even.”

Hynd appears to be like up on the different girl. She’s somewhat older, most likely in her early forties, together with her gray-streaked darkish brown hair tied again right into a neat ponytail, and smile lined, pale blue eyes.

“I’d like that will help you attain a much bigger viewers, in case you’re eager about that,” she says.

Hynd feels her acutely aware thoughts recede into herself listening to the phrase “assist” spoken to her in the identical, pseudo well-intentioned tone that Peta had used, again within the warfare. She takes the enterprise card the girl offers her mechanically, figuring out her as an AR rep for Out of Order, the label answerable for managing a very good third of the pop stars on the holo-cast. She stares it blankly, unsure how she’s meant to really feel about it.

“Assist” was what they provided after they took her youngsters away. It was what Amazon instructed her to get, however wouldn’t pay for, after they reduce her off from any significant help. She ended up kind of precisely the place she’d began: again on Primary, however with the marginally larger veteran’s price that permit her hire a leaky studio she didn’t need to share with anyone. It was nicer nevertheless it nonetheless was simply one other leash. One other ball and chain weighing her down. She wished to soar.

The agent drones on to her about how the model she performs falls into the broader class of fight doll dreamfolk, apparently a style that was rising in recognition since a few former veteran artists Hynd had by no means heard of had hit mega-fame from songs shared to a holo-streaming service she didn’t care about.

“Your work is extra summary than theirs,” the AR rep breathlessly explains, “however nonetheless private. There are not any ensures on this trade, after all, however I believe if you may get in entrance of our—”

“I’m not ,” Hynd snaps, earlier than she even realises she’s saying it. “Go away me alone, please.”

“Oh, ah,” the AR rep says. “I’m sorry. I perceive you’re most likely writing from a spot of deep trauma—”

“I stated, go away me alone!” Hynd yells, and out of the blue it’s just like the bar is whisper-quiet and everyone seems to be taking a look at her. She closes her eyes. “Please . . . go away me alone. I simply need to make my music and be left alone.”

“It’s okay,” the AR rep says, sounding like she’s speaking all the way down to Hynd from the highest of a deep nicely, whereas Hynd is on the backside, rotting like a lifeless crow. “Should you change your thoughts although . . .”

“Go!” Hynd yells.

She retains her eyes squeezed shut. The cardboard continues to be in her proper hand. She crumples it, nevertheless it doesn’t make her really feel any higher. She focuses on respiration, out and in.

She doesn’t hear the AR agent go away, however she feels it, because the sounds start to return to the bar round her slowly. The tinkling of glassware, the quiet hum of dialog, music over the bar PA system, and the quiet sound of narration from the mecha struggle on the holo-screen.

She opens her eyes slowly, making eye contact with the bartender, who nods down in the direction of a drink of ice water ready for her on the bar.

She slides off the stool on stage and saunters over to the bar to take it.

“Thanks,” Hynd croaks.

“Don’t point out it,” the bartender replies, having the great sense to not comply with up by asking her if she’s okay.

She sips the drink earlier than she unwrinkles the enterprise card and stares at it once more.

Concerning the Authors

Corey Jae White is the creator of Repo Digital and The VoidWitch Saga – Killing Gravity, Void Black Shadow, and Static Smash. Her brief fiction has appeared in Unusual Horizons, Interzone, and Analog, in addition to a lot of sci-fi anthologies. Discover her on-line at coreyjwhite.com.

Mx Maddison Stoff (she/her) is a neurodivergent non-binary essayist, impartial musician and creator from Melbourne, Australia, writing unapologetically leftist, feminist, & queer fiction set in a steady universe which blurs the road between experimental literature & pulp sci-fi. Her brief tales have appeared in Unusual Horizons, Aurealis, Andromeda Spaceways, Interior Worlds, and anthologies together with Avast! Pirate Tales from Transgender Authors. You may comply with her on Patreon, Bluesky, and Twitter @thedescenters, or go to her web site at maddisonstoff.com for extra.

Please go to LIGHTSPEED MAGAZINE to learn extra nice science fiction and fantasy. This story first appeared within the January 2026 difficulty, which additionally options brief fiction by Oluwatomiwa Ajeigbe, Marisca Pichette, Effie Seiberg, M.R. Robinson, Adam-Troy Castro, Eli Brown, and Kehkashan Khalid, and extra. You may look ahead to this month’s contents to be serialized on-line, or you should buy the entire difficulty proper now in handy book format for simply $4.99, or subscribe to the book version here.

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