Hayden Trenholm is an award-winning playwright, novelist and short story writer. His short fiction has appeared in many magazines and anthologies and on CBC radio. His first novel, A Circle of Birds, won the 3-Day Novel Writing competition in 1993; it was recently translated and published in French. His trilogy, The Steele Chronicles (Defining Diana, Steel Whispers and Stealing Home), were each nominated for an Aurora Award. Stealing Home, the third book, was a finalist for the Sunburst Award. Hayden has won four Aurora Awards – twice for short fiction and twice for editing anthologies. He purchased Bundoran Press in 2012 and is its managing editor. He lives in Ottawa with his wife and fellow writer, Elizabeth Westbrook-Trenholm.

Strange Bedfellows by Hayden Trenholm

Politics makes strange bedfellows.

Science fiction contains within its central premises a profoundly political stance. It looks at the world and asks: does it have to be that way? Every political reformer, every revolutionary, indeed, every reactionary, has asked the same question.

Stories from around the world from Andrew Barton, Gustavo Bondoni, Ian Creasey, D. A. D'Amico, Craig DeLancey, Eugie Foster, Richard Harland, Juliet Kemp, Conor Powers-Smith, Alter Reiss, Elinor Caiman Sands, Erica L. Satifka, Trevor Shikaze, John Skylar, Katherine Sparrow, Bogi Takács, Jay Werkheiser, f. f. white

Contains stories from Nebula winner, Eugie Foster, Nebula nominee, Katherine Sparrow and Aurealis winner, Richard Harland.

 

REVIEWS

  • "An often-terrific new Canadian anthology of politically based science fiction tales from around the globe and beyond."

    – Corey Redekop, Quill and Quire
  • "Here is a collection that goes straight to SF's love or argument. These tales ask: what's going wrong? What might get worse? And how might things get better…if we learn to argue well?"

    – David Brin, author of Earth, The Postman and The Transparent Society
  • "Utterly intriguing, thought provoking and simply spectacular this is a book that delves into philosophy and reflecting on life and otherworldly thoughts."

    – Goodreads reviewer
 

BOOK PREVIEW

Excerpt

Tried as an Adult

by Eugie Foster

I was in the bust house again, waiting for Buzzbomb to spring me, and the law was putting the heat on. Now, I know my rights; I've had them drilled into me—rules and regs—since I was nine. But the law dogs have been getting out of hand lately, roughing up even some of the underagers like me, so I decided to play it baby face and made with the cryballs.

"I just wanna go home," I bawled. The snot built up and I let it get good and goopy before snuffling it back. "I-I told you, th-the man said he'd give me ten dollars if I just took the box to his brother. He didn't say nothing 'bout no illegal tech." Maybe that was too smooth-tongued for the state I was supposed to be in. I switched to babbles and hiccupping.

The bloated sow sitting behind the flat screen wasn't impressed, but the kluge social worker was sunk. His brown eyes were wide and liquid and I would've put a twenty down he was going to start howling right with me in another minute. But Doglady didn't give him that minute.

"If you don't stop that noise, boy, I'll smack your mouth shut for you." She sneered at me. "Or would you rather I call you 'Traction'?"

I almost choked on my next bogus hiccup. It wasn't the threat of her backhand but that she knew my alias. That meant either she'd spent more time on the streets than her fat, pasty carcass showed, or I'd been sneaked on. It also meant they were probably going to nab Buzzbomb, too, whenever he showed up with the guardian line. I'd be okay; I was thirteen so they couldn't nail me for more than a week in juvie, but Buzzbomb was over the big one eight.

For the gazillionth time I wished I had a brain-plant. I could've clicked into the gang's thought space and warned Buzzbomb off, but Honcho said that a neural implant would've kyboshed my running since it'd mark me as a gangbanger to the law.

"I-I don't know what you're talkin' about," I snuffled. "My name's Franklin Henry."

Doglady came at me around the desk. "Don't you lie to me! You think you're so clever with your tech running for the Bleeding Edge? You're just a filthy little crotch dropping that should've been aborted when your mama forgot to make her john wear a rubber."

The kluge gasped and turned eyes-wide to Doglady. "How dare you speak to a child like that?"

Doglady gave him the stink eye. "Mr. Canton, I gotta have you in my interrogation room since Traction here is underage. Them's the regs. But I don't have to put up with you undermining my investigation. This 'child' is thirteen years old and a member of one of the largest, most notorious gangs in the city. The only thing he understands is a kick in the teeth."

Doglady even knew my real age. That did it. I turned off the waterwails.

"I don't gotta talk to you," I said. "According to Code Section 15-4-23, I'm entitled to legal counsel and my guardian present as witness to any questioning. 'Sides, you can't hold me. I'm underage."

I watched Doglady turn pink around the edges. Had a moment of worry, but with the social worker in the room, she wouldn't dropkick me. I hoped.

"Guess Honcho hasn't been keeping you up to date," she said. "Can't blame him for not telling you about HB 419."

I didn't like the smug look on her face.

"The courts are going to try delinquents like you as adults."

"Bunkus," I said. She had to be bluffing. No way could they do that. Back in the bad old days pre-Johnson v Kane, the system routinely nabbed and nailed underagers for cracking the rules, especially if the deed was horrocious enough—murder one usually. But then Mother Johnson got all riled up when her little boy got death rowed for axing a counter clerk and took it to the top. She made her case that since underagers got no major-ager rights—no vote, no booze, no contractual status—they can't be subject to the same smack-downs.

The law scratched its collective butts, the legal shakers leaned on some softies, and they gave it to her. Nowadays, the only way to be sure of dodging the heavy hand is if you are, and especially look, way below the one eight marker.

"Like they'd overturn Johnson v Kane," I said. "That was a Supreme Court ruling."

Doglady grinned, happy at seeing me riled. "Not overturn it. They're fixing to drop the age of majority for you skinmugs." She leaned in until her ugmo face loomed a nose away from mine. "To twelve."

"Yeah, uh huh," I said. "And they're gonna give plebs like me the vote, and put everyone in a big ole organ donor pool so gangbangers can live to a hundred while rich boys give up their kidneys. Right."

Doglady mashed a knobby thumb against the flat screen before swiveling it around. "Read it yourself."

It was worse than she'd said. The legals had found a loophole around the Mama Johnson ruling. Give twelve-year-olds the vote? Of course not. Let 'em buy fun-juice or get some real perks? Nope. Or rather, not all of us, just the ones who've been charged with a grade A offense. Them, they'd get big boy rights all the way to lockup. 'Course it wouldn't matter since felons lose citizen rights. But technically, like if they got off or appealed out (as if either ever happened), they'd be major-agers.

Doglady gave me plenty long enough to suck in an eyeful.

"But it hasn't passed," I said.

"Yet."

"That means you can't keep me here now."

She showed her stained set of crunchers. "But we can keep you until someone brings in a guardian release form, which I'm betting Honcho won't be sending now since Harlan—what do you call him? Buzzbong?—is nineteen and we've let it 'leak' that we're onto you."

Even hearing her get Buzzbomb's alias wrong couldn't keep the room from crushing down on me. No one was coming for me. They were going to trunk me out in juvie until HB 419 passed and then lock me away. Sure, I'd never done murder one, but with tech running on my dossier, that'd get me time out for a good twenty years. My throat felt like a desert had taken up residence.

"I see you're thinking over the benefits of cooperating," Doglady said.

I wasn't, but I was game to hear her out.

"You tell me where Honcho keeps his shops, I'll put in a word with the judge." She hit the button on the flat screen. "Might get a couple years knocked off your sentence."

"You want me to sneak on him?"

"Don't let misplaced loyalties make you do something you'll regret." This coming from the social worker. I eyed him, wondering if they'd been playing me. "What has this street gang done for you?" he continued. "You've been exploited, corrupted, and now you're going to pay for it with your future. You're young. If you give us the information, you'll still have a life when you get out."

Nah. The kluge wasn't playing me; he was just dim.

The flat screen flashed up an urgent incoming. Doglady saw it a second after I did and swiveled it out of my line-o. She tapped the screen and I studied the crinkle lines around her eyes as she scanned the text.

She scowled. Then she frowned. Then she turned a pretty red, the same color my dad used to when he got vivid-livid. Apparently, it was good news. Anything that ticked off Doglady was music.

The door opened and a kid I'd never seen before stepped in, accompanied by a street-clothes. The kid's hair was lanky blond dreads that kept falling into his face. He pushed one hank back, and as he did, flashed Honcho's signal to me with his hand.

The breath I hadn't known I'd been holding wooshed out. Of course Honcho wouldn't leave his best runner wrung out and wiggling. I couldn't believe I'd been that rattled.

The kid looked six, so I was betting he was around ten.

"Franklin!" he said, his voice all squeaky and young. It was probably still natural. I'd been on the suppressant drugs for two years to keep my voice from going.

"Mom's worried sick," he continued. "You're gonna get it when you get home."

He was supposed to be my kid brother? He looked about as much like me as techno sounds like jazz, but he had the paperwork. He tossed the clearance form on Doglady's desk, grabbed my hand, and made to lead me out. I was so set to skitter out of there, I was afraid I'd trample him.

Doglady lurched to her feet, still that eye-pleasing red, but the plainclothes shook his head. I could almost hear her fuses popping.

We ran the two blocks to the nearest funnel station and hopped the first one uptown.

"I'm Ring," the kid said.

"Thanks for the assist," I replied. "I thought I was shredded."

"Honcho thinks you're worth it. He said someone sneaked on you as soon as you were nabbed."

"Doglady said that was leaked."

"Uh huh. But Honcho's got his finger on it."

I wanted to ask more questions, but the way Ring's eyes kept roving wasn't conducive to chitchat. Was he tossed on street candy?

When my stop came buzzing up, I was ready to split. But Ring had busted me out, so protocol dictated I offer hospitality.

"Here's my squat. You wanna come up?"

Ring shook his head. "Honcho wants me back. But he said to tell you there's a touch base tonight. Usual time."