Alien Sex: 19 Tales by the Masters of Science Fiction and Dark Fantasy
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Alien Sex: 19 Tales by the Masters of Science Fiction and Dark Fantasy
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Overview
An incubus disguised as a high school girl puts a disturbing spin on the teacher/student fantasy. An engineer creates a robot with unexpected consequences during the end of the world. A man becomes the pet of alien invaders. From stories of aliens in other worlds to those living among us, these tales will move you out of your comfort zone and open you up to experiencing something—or someone—completely different. This ebook features an illustrated biography of Ellen Datlow, including rare photos from the editor’s personal collection.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781453273258 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Open Road Media |
| Publication date: | 09/11/2012 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 254 |
| Sales rank: | 304,759 |
| File size: | 13 MB |
| Note: | This product may take a few minutes to download. |
About the Author
Ellen Datlow, an acclaimed science fiction and fantasy editor, was born and raised in New York City. She has been a short story and book editor for more than thirty years and has edited or coedited several critically acclaimed anthologies of speculative fiction, including the Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror series and Black Thorn, White Rose (1994) with Terri Windling. Datlow has received numerous honors, including multiple Shirley Jackson, Bram Stoker, Hugo, Locus, and World Fantasy Awards, and Life Achievement Awards from the Horror Writers Association and the World Fantasy Association, to name just a few. She resides in New York.
Harlan Ellison (1934–2018), in a career spanning more than fifty years, wrote or edited one hundred fourteen books; more than seventeen hundred stories, essays, articles, and newspaper columns; two dozen teleplays; and a dozen motion pictures. He won the Hugo Award eight and a half times (shared once); the Nebula Award three times; the Bram Stoker Award, presented by the Horror Writers Association, five times (including the Lifetime Achievement Award in 1996); the Edgar Allan Poe Award of the Mystery Writers of America twice; the Georges Melies Fantasy Film Award twice; and two Audie Awards (for the best in audio recordings); and he was awarded the Silver Pen for Journalism by PEN, the international writers’ union. He was presented with the first Living Legend Award by the International Horror Critics at the 1995 World Horror Convention. Ellison is the only author in Hollywood ever to win the Writers Guild of America award for Outstanding Teleplay (solo work) four times, most recently for “Paladin of the Lost Hour,” his Twilight Zone episode that was Danny Kaye’s final role, in 1987. In 2006, Ellison was awarded the prestigious title of Grand Master by the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. Dreams with Sharp Teeth, the documentary chronicling his life and works, was released on DVD in May 2009. He passed away in 2018 at the age of eighty-four.
Eugene R. "Pat" Murphy is the executive director of The Community Solution. He co-wrote and co-produced the award-winning documentary The Power of Community: How Cuba Survived Peak Oil, has initiated four major Peak Oil conferences and has given numerous presentations and workshops on the subject. He has extensive construction experience and developed low energy buildings during the nation's first oil crisis.
James Tiptree Jr. was the pseudonym of the late Alice Sheldon. An ex-CIA employee, Sheldon had the honor of being known as one of the best science fiction writers of the twentieth century. Among her novels, Brightness Falls From the Air is considered the most engaging.
Philip José Farmer (1918–2009) was born in North Terre Haute, Indiana, and grew up in Peoria, Illinois. A voracious reader, Farmer decided in the fourth grade that he wanted to be a writer. For a number of years he worked as a technical writer to pay the bills, but science fiction allowed him to apply his knowledge and passion for history, anthropology, and the other sciences to works of mind-boggling originality and scope.
His first published novella, “The Lovers” (1952), earned him the Hugo Award for best new author. He won a second Hugo and was nominated for the Nebula Award for the 1967 novella “Riders of the Purple Wage,” a prophetic literary satire about a futuristic, cradle-to-grave welfare state. His best-known works include the Riverworld books, the World of Tiers series, the Dayworld Trilogy, and literary pastiches of such fictional pulp characters as Tarzan and Sherlock Holmes. He was one of the first writers to take these characters and their origin stories and mold them into wholly new works. His short fiction is also highly regarded.
In 2001, Farmer won the World Fantasy Award for Life Achievement and was named Grand Master by the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America.
Pat Cadigan is the author of more than a dozen books, including two nonfiction titles, a young adult novel, and two Arthur C. Clarke Award–winning novels, Synners and Fools. She has won two Scribe Awards for a novelization of Alita: Battle Angel and an adaptation of William Gibson’s unproduced screenplay for Alien 3, along with three Locus Awards and a Hugo Award for her novelette “The Girl-Thing Who Went Out for Sushi.” Pat lives in North London with her husband, Chris Fowler.
Richard C. Matheson is a #1 bestselling author and screenwriter/producer. He has created, written, and produced acclaimed TV series, mini-series, and films, including cult favorite Three O’Clock High and Stephen King’s Battleground, which won two Emmys. Matheson’s short stories appear in his collections, Scars and Other Distinguishing Marks, Zoopraxis, Dystopia, and over one hundred anthologies, including Best of the Year volumes. His novels include Created By and The Ritual of Illusion.
K. W. Jeter was born in Los Angeles in 1950. His novels include Dr. Adder, The Glass Hammer, and Infernal Devices. His most recent publication is Real Dangerous Place, the latest in his Kim Oh thriller series.
Lisa Tuttle is an American-born writer living in Scotland. Her first novel, Windhaven, written in collaboration with George R. R. Martin, was published in 1981. Her most recent novel, The Curious Affair of the Missing Mummies, is the third in a series of supernaturally tinged mysteries set in 1890s London. She has published several short story collections, including her latest, Riding the Nightmare. Find her at www.facebook.com/lisatuttlewriter.
Read an Excerpt
Alien Sex
19 Tales by the Masters of Science Fiction and Dark Fantasy
By Ellen Datlow
OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA
Copyright © 1990 Ellen DatlowAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4532-7325-8
CHAPTER 1
HER FURRY FACE
LEIGH KENNEDY
Leigh Kennedy was born in Colorado but has lived in Hastings, England, for many years. Her first novel, The Journal of Nicholas the American, appears on the SF Masterworks list from the Gollancz publishing imprint. She has also published another novel and two short story collections, most recently Wind Angels (2011). Kennedy is currently at work on her next novel, with ideas for others brewing.
Douglas was embarrassed when he saw Annie and Vernon mating.
He'd seen hours of sex between orangutans, but this time was different. He'd never seen Annie doing it. He stood in the shade of the pecan tree for a moment, shocked, iced tea glasses sweating in his hand, then he backed around the corner of the brick building. He was confused. The cicadas seemed louder than usual, the sun hotter, and the squeals of pleasure from the apes strange.
He walked back to the front porch and sat down. His mind still saw the two giant mounds of red-orange fur moving together like one being.
When the two orangs came back around, Douglas thought he saw smugness in Vernon's face. Why not, he thought? I guess I would be smug, too.
Annie flopped down on the grassy front yard and crossed one leg over the other, her abdomen bulging high; she gazed upward into the heavy white sky.
Vernon bounded toward Douglas. He was young and red-chocolate colored. His face was still slim, without the older orangutan jowls yet.
"Be polite," Douglas warned him.
"Drink tea, please?" Vernon signed rapidly, the fringe on his elbows waving. "Dry as bone."
Douglas handed Vernon one of the glasses of tea, though he'd brought it out for Annie. The handsome nine-year-old downed it in a gulp. "Thank you," he signed. He touched the edge of the porch and withdrew his long fingers. "Could fry egg," he signed, and instead of sitting, swung out hand-over-hand on the ropes between the roof of the schoolhouse and the trees. It was a sparse and dry substitute for the orang's native rain forest.
He's too young and crude for Annie, Douglas thought.
"Annie," Douglas called. "Your tea."
Annie rolled onto one side and lay propped on an elbow, staring at him. She was lovely. Fifteen years old, her fur was glossy and coppery, her small yellow eyes in the fleshy face expressive and intelligent. She started to rise up toward him, but turned toward the road.
The mail jeep was coming down the highway.
In a blurred movement, she set off at a four-point gallop down the half-mile drive toward the mailbox. Vernon swung down from his tree and followed, making a small groan.
Reluctant to go out in the sun, Douglas put down the tea and followed the apes down the drive. By the time he got near them, Annie was sitting with mail sorted between her toes, holding an opened letter in her hands. She looked up with an expression on her face that he'd never seen—it could have been fear, but it wasn't.
She handed the letter to Vernon, who pestered her for it. "Douglas," she signed, "they want to buy my story."
Therese lay in the bathwater, her knees sticking up high, her hair floating beside her face. Douglas sat on the edge of the tub; as he talked to her he was conscious that he spoke a double language—the one with his lips and the other with his hands.
"As soon as I called Ms. Young, the magazine editor, and told her who Annie was, she got really excited. She asked me why we didn't send a letter explaining it with the story, so I told her that Annie didn't want anyone to know first."
"Did Annie decide that?" Therese sounded skeptical, as she always seemed to when Douglas talked about Annie.
"We talked about it and she wanted it that way." Douglas felt that resistance from Therese. Why she never understood, he didn't know, unless she did it to provoke him. She acted as though she thought an ape was still just an ape, no matter what he or she could do. "Anyway," he said, "she talked about doing a whole publicity thing to the hilt—talk shows, autograph parties. You know. But Dr. Morris thinks it would be better to keep things quiet."
"Why?" Therese sat up; her legs went underwater and she soaped her arms.
"Because she'd be too nervous. Annie, I mean. It might disrupt her education to become a celebrity. Too bad. Even Dr. Morris knows that it would be great for fund-raising. But I guess we'll let the press in some."
Therese began to shampoo her hair. "I brought home that essay that Sandy wrote yesterday. The one I told you about. If she were an orangutan instead of just a deaf kid, she could probably get it published in Fortune. " Therese smiled.
Douglas stood. He didn't like the way Therese headed for the old argument—no matter what one of Therese's deaf students did, if Annie could do it one-one-hundredth as well, it was more spectacular. Douglas knew it was true, but why Therese was so bitter about it, he didn't understand.
"That's great," he said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
"Will you wash my back?" she asked.
He crouched and absently washed her. "I'll never forget Annie's face when she read that letter."
"Thank you," Therese said. She rinsed. "Do you have any plans for this evening?"
"I've got work to do," he said, leaving the bathroom. "Would you like me to work in the bedroom so you can watch television?"
After a long pause, she said, "No, I'll read."
He hesitated in the doorway. "Why don't you go to sleep early? You look tired."
She shrugged. "Maybe I am."
In the playroom at the school, Douglas watched Annie closely. It was still morning, though late. In the recliner across the room from him, she seemed a little sleepy. Staring out the window, blinking, she marked her place in Pinkwater's Fat Men from Space with a long brown finger.
He had been thinking about Therese, who'd been silent and morose that morning. Annie was never morose, though often quiet. He wondered if Annie was quiet today because she sensed that Douglas was not happy. When he'd come to work, she'd given him an extra hug.
He wondered if Annie could have a crush on him, like many schoolgirls have on their teachers. Remembering her mating with Vernon days before, he idly wandered into a fantasy of touching her and gently, gently moving inside her.
The physical reaction to his fantasy embarrassed him. God, what am I thinking? He shook himself out of the reverie, averting his gaze for a few moments, until he'd gotten control of himself again.
"Douglas," Annie signed. She walked erect, towering, to him and sat down on the floor at his feet. Her flesh folded onto her lap like dough.
"What?" he asked, wondering suddenly if orangutans were telepathic.
"Why you say my story children's?"
He looked blankly at her.
"Why not send Harper's?" she asked, having to spell out the name of the magazine.
He repressed a laugh, knowing it would upset her. "It's ... it's the kind of story children would like."
"Why?"
He sighed. "The level of writing is ... young. Like you, sweetie." He stroked her head, looking into the small intense eyes. "You'll get more sophisticated as you grow."
"I smart as you," she signed. "You understand me always because I talk smart."
Douglas was dumbfounded by her logic.
She tilted her head and waited. When Douglas shrugged, she seemed to assume victory and returned to her recliner.
Dr. Morris came in. "Here we go," she said, handing him the paper and leaving again.
Douglas skimmed the page until he came to an article about the "ape author." He scanned it. It contained one of her flashpoints; this and the fact that she was irritable from being in estrus, made him consider hiding it. But that wouldn't be right.
"Annie," he said softly.
She looked up.
"There's an article about you."
"Me read," she signed, putting her book on the floor. She came and crawled up on the sofa next to him. He watched her eyes as they jerked across every word. He grew edgy. She read on.
Suddenly she took off as if from a diving board. He ran after her as she bolted out the door. The stuffed dog which had always been a favorite toy was being shredded in those powerful hands even before he knew she had it. Annie screamed as she pulled the toy apart, running into the yard.
Terrified by her own aggression, she ran up the tree with stuffing falling like snow behind her.
Douglas watched as the shade filled with foam rubber and fake fur. The tree branches trembled. After a long while, she stopped pummeling the tree and sat quietly.
She spoke to herself with her long ape hand. "Not animal," she said, "not animal."
Douglas suddenly realized that Therese was afraid of the apes.
She watched Annie warily as the four of them strolled along the edge of the school acreage. Douglas knew that Therese didn't appreciate the grace of Annie's muscular gait as he did; the sign language that passed between them was as similar to the Amslan that Therese used for her deaf children as British to Jamaican. Therese couldn't appreciate Annie in creative conversation.
It wasn't good to be afraid of the apes, no matter how educated they were.
He had invited her out, hoping it would please her to be included in his world here. She had only visited briefly twice before.
Vernon lagged behind them, snapping pictures now and then with the expensive but hardy camera modified for his hands. Vernon took several pictures of Annie and one of Douglas, but only when Therese had separated from him to peer between the rushes at the edge of the creek.
"Annie," Douglas called, pointing ahead. "A cardinal. The red bird."
Annie lumbered forward. She glanced back to see where Douglas pointed, then stood still, squatting. Douglas walked beside her and they watched the bird.
It flew.
"Gone," Annie signed.
"Wasn't it pretty, though?" Douglas asked.
They ambled on. Annie stopped often to investigate shiny bits of trash or large bugs. They didn't come this far from the school much. Vernon whizzed past them, a dark auburn streak of youthful energy.
Remembering Therese, Douglas turned. She sat on a stump far behind. He was annoyed. He'd told her to wear her jeans and a straw hat because there would be grass burrs and hot sun. But there she sat, bareheaded, wearing shorts, miserably rubbing at her ankles.
He grunted impatiently. Annie looked up at him. "Not you," he said, stroking her fur. She patted his butt.
"Go on," Douglas said, turning back. When he came to Therese, he said, "What's the problem?"
"No problem." She stood, and started forward without looking at him. "I was just resting."
Annie had paused to poke at something on the ground with a stick. Douglas quickened his step. Even though his students were smart, they had orangutan appetites. He always worried that they would eat something that would sicken them. "What is it?" he called.
"Dead cat," Vernon signed back. He took a picture as Annie flipped the carcass with her stick.
Therese hurried forward. "Oh, poor kitty ..." she said, kneeling.
Annie had seemed too absorbed in poking the cat to notice Therese approach; only a quick eye could follow her leap. Douglas was stunned.
Both screamed. It was over.
Annie clung to Douglas's legs, whimpering.
"Shit!" Therese said. She lay on the ground, rolling from side to side, holding her left arm. Blood dripped from between her fingers.
Douglas pushed Annie back. "That was bad, very bad," he said. "Do you hear me?"
Annie sank down on her rump and covered her head. She hadn't gotten a child-scolding for a long time. Vernon stood beside her, shaking his head, signing, "Not wise, baboon-face."
"Stand up," Douglas said to Therese. "I can't help you right now."
Therese was pale, but dry-eyed. Clumsily, she stood and grew even paler. A hunk of flesh hung loosely from above her elbow, meaty and bleeding. "Look."
"Go on. Walk back to the house. We'll come right behind you." He tried to keep his voice calm, holding a warning hand on Annie's shoulder.
Therese moaned, catching her breath. "It hurts," she said, but stumbled on.
"We're coming," Douglas said sternly. "Just walk and—Annie, don't you dare step out of line."
They walked silently, Therese ahead, leaving drops of blood in the dirt. The drops got larger and closer together. Once, Annie dipped her finger into a bloody spot and sniffed her fingertip.
Why can't things just be easy and peaceful, he wondered. Something always happens. Always. He should have known better than to bring Therese around Annie. Apes didn't understand that vulnerable quality that Therese was made of. He himself didn't understand it, though at one time he'd probably been attracted to it. No—maybe he'd never really seen it until it was too late. He'd only thought of Therese as "sweet" until their lives were too tangled up to keep clear of it.
Why couldn't she be as tough as Annie? Why did she always take everything so seriously?
They reached the building. Douglas sent Annie and Vernon to their rooms and guided Therese to the infirmary. He watched as Jim, their all-purpose nurse and veterinary assistant, examined her arm. "I think you should probably have stitches."
He left the room to make arrangements.
Therese looked at Douglas, holding the gauze over her still-bleeding arm. "Why did she bite me?" she asked.
Douglas didn't answer. He couldn't think of how to say it.
"Do you have any idea?" she asked.
"You asked for it, all your wimping around."
"I ..."
Douglas saw the anger rising in her. He didn't want to argue now. He wished he'd never brought her. He'd done it for her, and she ruined it. All ruined.
"Don't start," he said simply, giving her a warning look.
"But, Douglas, I didn't do anything."
"Don't start," he repeated.
"I see now," she said coldly. "Somehow it's my fault again."
Jim returned with his supplies.
"Do you want me to stay?" Douglas asked. He suddenly felt a pang of guilt, realizing that she was actually hurt enough for all this attention.
"No," she said softly.
And her eyes looked far, far from him as he left her.
On the same day that the largest donation ever came to the school, a television news team came out to tape.
Douglas could tell that everyone was excited. Even the chimps that lived on the north half of the school hung on the fence and watched the TV van being unloaded. The reporter decided upon the playroom as the best location for the taping, though she didn't seem to relish sitting on the floor with the giant apes. People went over scripts, strung cords, microphones, set up hot lights, and discussed angles and sound while pointing at the high ceiling's jungle-gym design. All this to talk to a few people and an orangutan.
They brought Annie's desk into the playroom, contrary to Annie's wishes. Douglas explained that it was temporary, that these people would go away after they talked a little. Douglas and Annie stayed outside as long as possible and played Tarzan around the big tree. He tickled her. She grabbed him as he swung from a limb. "Kagoda?" she signed, squeezing him with one arm.
"Kagoda!" he shouted, laughing.
They relaxed on the grass. Douglas was hot. He felt flushed all over. "Douglas," Annie signed, "they read story?"
"Not yet. It isn't published yet."
"Why come talk?" she asked.
"Because you wrote it and sold it and people like to interview famous authors." He groomed her shoulder. "Time to go in," he said, seeing a wave from inside.
Annie picked him up in a big hug and carried him in.
"Here it is!" Douglas called to Therese, and turned on the video-recorder.
First, a long shot of the school from the dusty drive, looking only functional and square, without personality. The reporters voice said, "Here, just southeast of town, is a special school with unusual young students. The students here have little prospect for employment when they graduate, but millions of dollars each year fund this institution."
A shot of Annie at her typewriter, picking at the keyboard with her long fingers; a sheet of paper is slowly covered with large block letters.
"This is Annie, a fifteen-year-old orangutan, who has been a student with the school for five years. She graduated with honors from another 'ape school' in Georgia before coming here. And now Annie has become a writer. Recently, she sold a story to a children's magazine. The editor who bought the story didn't know that Annie was an orangutan until after she had selected the story for publication."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Alien Sex by Ellen Datlow. Copyright © 1990 Ellen Datlow. Excerpted by permission of OPEN ROAD INTEGRATED MEDIA.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
FOREWORD: STRANGE ATTRACTORS WILLIAM GIBSON,INTRODUCTION,
HER FURRY FACE LEIGH KENNEDY,
WAR BRIDE RICK WILBER,
HOW'S THE NIGHT LIFE ON CISSALDA? HARLAN ELLISON,
THE JAMESBURG INCUBUS SCOTT BAKER,
MAN OF STEEL, WOMAN OF KLEENEX LARRY NIVEN,
THE FIRST TIME K. W. JETER,
THE JUNGLE ROT KID ON THE NOD PHILIP JOSÉ FARMER,
HUSBANDS LISA TUTTLE,
WHEN THE FATHERS GO BRUCE MCALLISTER,
DANCING CHICKENS EDWARD BRYANT,
ROADSIDE RESCUE PAT CADIGAN,
OMNISEXUAL GEOFF RYMAN,
ALL MY DARLING DAUGHTERS CONNIE WILLIS,
AROUSAL RICHARD CHRISTIAN MATHESON,
SCALES LEWIS SHINER,
SAVING THE WORLD AT THE NEW MOON MOTEL ROBERTA LANNES,
AND I AWOKE AND FOUND ME HERE ON THE COLD HILL'S SIDE JAMES TIPTREE, JR.,
PICTURE PLANES MICHAELA ROESSNER,
LOVE AND SEX AMONG THE INVERTEBRATES PAT MURPHY,
A Biography of Ellen Datlow,
Acknowledgements,
What People are Saying About This
Marvelously inventive, entertaining and challenging. Datlow is on her way to becoming the premier anthologist of genre fiction.
Startling, provocative, outrageous...and very funny.