Asimov's Science Fiction: April/May 2014 Read Online Free PDF Page A

means, eased half open. The TV came on. The insistent words buffeted him as he closed his eyes, shutting out the sound. He pictured Bekka and her friends arrayed about the living room. He sensed fragments of each person, edges, nothing more, nothing more than what he would catch by looking at them if he passed through the room.
    He adjusted the pillow at his back and opened his book again, but he didn't read. When he saw the word "left," he thought what it would be like if Bekka weren't with him tomorrow. This roused him at last.
    He stepped out among the uncertain faces and received a greeting from everyone that was so intended to make him feel welcome that instead he felt like the focus of speculation. Evidently, they had been talking about him.
    Max pottered about the kitchen; Bekka and Megan shared the small marshmallow of a sofa; Jimmy took a stuffed chair. They all watched the weather report. On the map of the state, every county line and town appeared clear and unobscured. Nothing was happening, meteorologically speaking, and this was the entirety of the report, though it went on for several minutes. Max turned off the television and sat on the wooden arm of the second sofa, and they recounted the day and batted about what they might do tomorrow. Not until the afternoon would Bekka and Jimmy set off to camp with gear borrowed from Max and Megan.
    After they had said their goodnights and Bekka had shut the bedroom door, Jimmy ventured, "I know you don't like my being so quiet."
    Bekka took in breath, stretching her upper body as if preparing to speak some truth, then seemed to def late a bit. She brought up both palms and crookedly grinned. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say. We've had this conversation."
    "You're right. Remind me what we've said."
    "Really? Mr. Randolph, you're being needy. That, I don't like. Quiet I'm fine with."
    "I hope you mean that." They stood on either side of the bed.
    "I do not find silence in a man enigmatic or charming. Okay? I
know
you're dealing with some... some unpleasant things, and I know there are things you haven't told me. If that becomes a problem for me, then I suppose we won't be together at that point. I've got private things too. I don't tell you everything."
    This hummed through him. He opened his mouth, but she continued.
    "As I've said, and as is obvious, I like spending time with you and even sharing a bed with you, which I do not take lightly. You're the first guy I've been around who makes me better, makes me a better person, a better version of who I am. How's that? And you've got a pretty face." They eyed each other bluntly, her wry smile unaltered. "What can I tell you?"
    He waited too long to voice something complementary, thinking whatever he said would sound insincere, and she let the moment go.
    They undressed and commenced to reading; he realized he hadn't asked about her morning's purchase.
    "What's that book again?"
    "Tyson. Astronomer. Talking about being a black scientist. How's your 'pulp'?"
    "Uh... fun. It started off with the Big Man taking out a few thugs wham bam. Then this other guy who looks like a bag of bones comes along and collapses at his feet. And then—Do you want to hear this?"
    "Keep going."
    He sat up a bit. "So two guys are in a restaurant and one just all of a sudden turns ancient. He was telling this longtime friend that he's made a discovery, and the friend goes to the bathroom, and when he comes back, the other guy is ninety and having a heart attack. Falls out of his chair, knocks over the waiter. Panic erupts. People run out waving their arms. Then the hero shows up to interview the friend. The police get out of his way and let him do whatever he wants. They know he's better at this kind of thing than they are."
    "I thought our friend said these were based on actual events. I mean, come on."
    Jimmy scowled at the cover. The heroic pose, even in defeat. The foregrounded figure with his back to the viewer, holding toward the hero the