Now We Are Ten: Celebrating the First Ten Years of NewCon Press Read online

  Now We Are Ten

  Celebrating the First Ten Years of NewCon Press

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Now We Are Ten | Celebrating the First Ten Years of NewCon Press | Edited by Ian Whates

  Contents

  Introduction | Ian Whates

  The Final Path | Genevieve Cogman

  Women’s Christmas | Ian McDonald

  Pyramid | Nancy Kress

  Liberty Bird | Jaine Fenn

  Zanzara Island | Rachel Armstrong

  Ten Sisters | Eric Brown

  Licorice | Jack Skillingstead

  How to Grow Silence from Seed | Tricia Sullivan

  The Time-Travellers’ Ball | (A Story in Ten Words) | Rose Biggin

  Dress Rehearsal | Adrian Tchaikovsky

  The Tenth Man | Bryony Pearce

  Rare as a Harpy’s Tear | Neil Williamson

  Utopia +10 | J. A. Christy

  Ten Love Songs to Change the World | Peter F. Hamilton

  Ten Days | Nina Allan

  Front Row Seat to the End of the World | E.J. Swift

  About the Authors

  NewCon Press: The First Ten Years

  NEWCON PRESS

  Crises And Conflicts | The Sister Volume to | Now We Are Ten

  Nik Abnett * Amy DuBoff * Michael Brookes | Janet Edwards * Una McCormack * Christopher Nuttall | Mercurio D. Rivera * Adam Roberts * Robert Sharp | Gavin Smith * Allen Stroud * Tim C. Taylor | Tade Thompson * Ian Whates * Jo Zebedee

  Now We Are Ten

  Celebrating the First Ten Years of NewCon Press

  Edited by Ian Whates

  NewCon Press

  England

  First edition, published in the UK July 2016

  by NewCon Press

  NCP 100 (hardback)

  NCP 101 (softback)

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Compilation copyright © 2016 by Ian Whates

  Introduction copyright © 2016 by Ian Whates

  “The Final Path” copyright © 2016 by Genevieve Cogman

  “Women’s Christmas” copyright © 2016 by Ian McDonald

  “Pyramid” copyright © 2016 by Nancy Kress

  “Liberty Bird” copyright © 2016 by Jaine Fenn

  “Zanzara Island” copyright © 2016 by Rachel Armstrong

  “Ten Sisters” copyright © 2016 by Eric Brown

  “Licorice” copyright © 2016 by Jack Skillingstead

  “The Time-Travellers’ Ball (A Story in Ten Words)” copyright © 2016 by Rose Biggin

  “Dress Rehearsal” copyright © 2016 by Adrian Tchaikovsky

  “The Tenth Man” copyright © 2016 by Bryony Pearce

  “Rare as a Harpy’s Tear” copyright © 2016 by Neil Williamson

  “How to Grow Silence from Seed” copyright © 2016 by Tricia Sullivan

  “Utopia +10” copyright © 2016 by J.A Christy

  “Ten Love Songs to Change the World” copyright © 2016 by Peter F. Hamilton

  “Ten Days” copyright © 2016 by Nina Allan

  “Front Row Seat to the End of the World” © 2016 by E.J. Swift

  All rights reserved, including the right to produce this book, or portions

  thereof, in any form.

  ISBN: 978-1-910935-18-7 (hardback)

  978-1-910935-19-4 (softback)

  Cover art copyright © 2016 by Ben Baldwin

  Text layout by Storm Constantine

  Contents

  Introduction by Ian Whates 7

  The Final Path – Genevieve Cogman 9

  Women’s Christmas – Ian McDonald 19

  Pyramid – Nancy Kress27

  Liberty Bird – Jaine Fenn 33

  Zanzara Island – Rachel Armstrong 53

  Ten Sisters – Eric Brown 65

  Licorice – Jack Skillingstead 81

  How to Grow Silence from Seed – Tricia Sullivan 95

  The Time Travellers’ Ball (A Story in Ten Words)

  – Rose Biggin 117

  Dress Rehearsal – Adrian Tchaikovsky 119

  The Tenth Man – Bryony Pearce 137

  Rare as a Harpy’s Tear – Neil Williamson 156

  Utopia +10 – J. A. Christy 159

  Ten Love Songs to Change the World– Peter F. Hamilton 171

  Ten Days – Nina Allan 193

  Front Row Seat to the End of the World – E. J. Swift 235

  About the Authors 259

  NewCon Press: the First Ten Years 263

  Introduction

  Ian Whates

  I still have to pinch myself at the realisation that NewCon Press has been around for ten years. You see, the imprint was only supposed to exist for one single book, produced as a fund raiser. In October 2005 I helped organise a convention, Newcon 3 (‘new convention 3’), which proved a spectacular success in every way but one: attendance. We were naïve, focussing on attracting local interest and failing to sufficiently engage the SF community.

  Faced with a debt (being carried by others), I determined to edit and publish an anthology to raise funds. What should I call the ‘publisher’ of this book? Why, name it after the convention, obviously; it didn’t much matter, this was only going to be one book, after all...

  Even when I first held the finished copies of Time Pieces in my hands and thought, “I did this! I could do it again...” NewCon was only ever intended as a side-project, a hobby I could indulge in between writing. One book in the first year, one in the second, that should be fine. The signs were there in the third year, however, when we published a whole three books, but even then I didn’t imagine that by the end of year ten NewCon would have getting on for eighty titles to its credit.

  I owe a debt of gratitude to many people, notably Ian Watson, who was my partner in crime in those early days, offering advice and carrying out a second edit on the stories for each book, to Storm Constantine, who performs final layout on the content of virtually all NewCon titles, to Andy Bigwood, who lays out the vast majority of the covers, and to Helen Sansum, for constant support and unflagging belief even when I falter.

  I am especially indebted to all the talented writers and artists who have contributed to the books. I’ve been privileged to work with some of the biggest names in genre fiction and also to showcase exciting new and emerging talent. That’s what NewCon is all about, really. At the time we launched, there was a lot of talk about the short story being dead, of shrinking markets and the major publishers shying away from anthologies and collections. I’ve always loved short stories – anthologies borrowed from the library as a kid were my route into the work of so many authors who became integral to my reading thereafter. It occurred to me that a small specialist imprint might be able to make anthologies work where the big boys couldn’t, which is why the anthology became the backbone of NewCon’s output.

  Now, of course, multiple-author volumes have enjoyed a resurgence, with many medium-sized and small imprints producing them, which is fantastic news for everyone who enjoys a good story, or even several good stories under one cover.

  Over the years, NewCon has branched out, producing many acclaimed novels, novellas, and single author collections, but the anthology is still there, the beating heart of what we do. To mark our tenth birthday, how could I not turn to the anthology once again?

  This book is intended as a celebration, one of several produced to commemorate our first ten years, and I’m thrilled by the cast of contributors and the quality o
f story they’ve produced. All of which brings me to one final group of people to whom I owe a considerable debt: you, the readers. Thank you for supporting NewCon; thank you for sticking with us and showing such faith in what we’re attempting to do. I hope you have as much fun reading this book as I’ve had putting it together.

  Happy reading! Here’s to the next ten years.

  Ian Whates

  Cambridgeshire

  May 2016

  The Final Path

  Genevieve Cogman

  The rain splattering against the window pane was audible even over the game soundtrack on the computer. Annie considered turning the music up another notch, but that might have made it loud enough for Mum to hear it in her bedroom. Instead she got out her headphones and plugged them into the computer, blocking out the noises from outside.

  These days Mum was actually glad to have her staying inside and playing on the computer. Sure, she had to spend some of the time on homework and research for school, but otherwise it was okay. Inside was a safe place to be.

  Outside wasn’t. There were the gangs, and the fires, and the murders. And then there were things which weren’t in the newspapers or the online news, which Annie only knew about through shared gossip at school, and through official warnings which didn’t actually say what you were being warned about, just that it was bad.

  She’d done her homework for the night, French and maths and biology, and now she could get back to the game. It was one of those with a multi-path story, about being one of a group of pupils trapped on a deserted island after a shipwreck. The fun part was finding the right set of choices to get other characters to talk to you and tell you about their secrets and maybe end up as your boyfriend, and there were nine different endings you could get. Some of the online guides said there were ten endings, but the talk on the forums said that was just because some of the content had been removed before the game was published. But she wasn’t that interest in reading the online guides. Well, not unless she really got stuck. It was more fun to work things out by herself. It gave her something to do at night.

  Stopped her thinking about what was outside.

  *

  Annie sat at supper with Mum and Mum’s guests and daydreamed while they talked. She’d rather be up in her room with a tray of food, but Mum had said that was not an option. She ran through alternative game routes in her head. She imagined Gaudenz, the Swiss boy on the island, doing the cooking for supper. He’d make Swiss cheese fondue. He’d do it over the stove, since they don’t have a fireplace. What would he do when the island ran out of cheese? Had the game considered this?

  “I heard there was an incident up on Yew Tree Street last night, with the Ellis family,” Dr Andrews said. He was one of the guests whom Mum had round to supper most often. His hair had gone grey and thin, but his beard was still ginger-ish. If Annie’s hair ever went partway grey like that, she’d colour it. Dr Andrews always tried to talk around things, as if he thought Annie was still only ten and wouldn’t understand when he said an incident, but she was fourteen now and she knew very well what those words meant.

  Mum gave him a frown. “I heard so too,” she said, her voice very clipped. She clearly wanted the topic to stop right there.

  But Dr Andrews wouldn’t let it go. “I understand Vanessa Ellis was at your school, Agnes? I don’t suppose you talked with her much –”

  Annie could feel herself frowning, lowering her head like the little bull her mum sometimes called her. “I guess,” she interrupted, knowing that would get her a look from Mum, though nothing like the look Mum was giving Dr Andrews. “We never talked much.”

  She added another reason of why I don’t like Dr Andrews to the existing stack. He kept on calling her Agnes rather than Annie like everyone else did, even Mum these days.

  “And what did you talk about?” he prodded.

  “Stuff,” Annie said. If this was a conversation in the island game, she’d have a list of answers to give him and she could make a reasonable guess at what each answer would do to their relationship. “She wasn’t in my year, anyhow.”

  “Dr Andrews, really –” another of the guests butted in. She was Mrs Hawkins, and she and her husband both worked at the university. Normally Annie tried to avoid them because they wanted her to read better books, which meant anything other than what she usually wanted to read, but right now she was grateful for the interruption. “Annie’s just a child.”

  “She’s quite capable of answering a few simple questions,” Dr Andrews snapped. “The Ellis girl wasn’t among the bodies and–”

  It was at that point that Annie threw her plate in his face and ran upstairs.

  *

  “I’m sorry, love,” her mum said. “I won’t invite him again. It was really disgusting of him to ask you all those questions. I’m not saying that you were right to throw your food at him,” she added quickly, “but I understand it. I nearly threw my food at him too.”

  Annie twisted the remains of damp tissues between her fingers. Her eyes ached with crying. It was stupid. It was so stupid. She was a teenager now, she could handle this shit, she didn’t have to act like a silly little child, having her mum sit on her bed with her and hug her and everything. All the guests had gone home now, and it was just the two of them.

  “I did know Van a bit,” she said reluctantly. “Vanessa. She was okay. They said at school that her house had been burned down because of...” It was so hard not to start crying again. “Because of the gangs. But is she alive? Dr Andrews said they hadn’t found her –”

  Mum hushed her before she could finish the sentence, and that was probably a good thing, because Annie couldn’t quite shape the word body, couldn’t connect it to the girl she knew.

  “Dr Andrews doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Mum said. “Dr Andrews, if you will excuse the language, doesn’t know his arse from his elbow. Don’t you worry about Dr Andrews, love.” She looked around the room for a distraction. “Tell me about your game. You’ve been playing it all these nights, you must have got somewhere with it by now.”

  “It’s called Island of Loneliness,” Annie said. She got up to start it on the computer and show her mum the loading screen. “It’s by Jeweltree Publishing. It’s really good. You’re stuck on this island, you see, and there are these boys who were shipwrecked with you, and...”

  “Oh, right, one of those,” her mum said, grinning a bit. “Yeah, I’ve heard about those ones. I thought they were made in Japan, though?”

  “I think they’re made all over these days,” Annie volunteered. She watched her mum trace one boy’s face with her finger. “That one’s Heinrich and he’s from Germany, and you have to answer all his questions by saying you’re really into sport and stuff if you want him to be interested in you.”

  “Programming,” Mum muttered to herself. “Get them while they’re young. Training to give the right responses.”

  Annie nodded. “It’s really good programming. But it’s not, you know, adult stuff. You just get happy endings with being rescued from the island and going off together towards the future and things. And the music’s really great. And I’m doing the route with Ken at the moment, he’s the American one who’s into spirituality and wild animals, and that’ll make all nine of them!”

  Mum laughed. “All right, I get the message. They all sound like much better company than Dr Andrews.”

  “They are,” Annie insisted. “They really are.”

  *

  The new ending theme played happily in Annie’s headphones as she watched the girl who was supposed to be her sailing off with Ken on their handmade raft. They’d reach the mainland and bring back help for the other survivors. Of course, it was too late for Louis (snakebite), Achmed (wolf attack), and Heinrich (cliff accident), but there were always casualties, whichever boy you were trying to end up with.

  Van had said that maybe there was a special final route that you could achieve once you’d got all the separate ones, and that it mean
t keeping all the boys alive. She’d been one of the other people at the school who played the game. Her favourite ending had been the Louis one, where you found an airplane that had crashed there previously, and got it mended and managed to take off. But if you wanted that ending then you had to be mean to Jean-Paul, who was Louis’ older half-brother and bullied him, and Annie rather liked Jean-Paul. She’d written fanfic about how he was only bullying Louis because they didn’t understand each other and because Louis was a brat. People had given the piece good reviews.

  She saved the ending next to the other eight, and restarted the game.

  *

  Sometimes Annie felt as if nothing was ever going to change. There was school, and then there was home in the evenings, and the game on the computer, and there was nothing else. Nothing. Else. Ever. She and Mum didn’t go on trips any more because petrol cost so much, and because nobody wanted to go by train due to the gangs. School didn’t do trips anywhere. The school windows were all shuttered these days, and the sports grounds were walled so you couldn’t even see outside. When the school bus took them home, you could see bits of the streets out of the bus windows, but they weren’t generally worth looking at. Grey walls, grey streets, black burn sites. Everywhere felt cold and hungry.

  When Annie was older and she’d finished school, she was going to go to University somewhere else, somewhere away from here. Maybe London.

  Thomas on the bus said that London was worse than here. She wouldn’t listen.

  Thomas said that he was going to run away, but where was there to run to?

  Thomas said that Van had run away to join the gangs. That was so far beyond stupid it went straight into utter crap. Van had been Annie’s friend.

  *

  That night, when Annie was doing the bit at the start of the game where you wander round the island and see all the locations, there was something new in the graphics. She almost missed it. The game didn’t signpost: you were left to spot the new thing on your own. It was a pathway into the forest near the beach, curving into the background of the game art as if it had always been there.