EXCLUSIVE: Excerpt from "Moon Melody," a Jewish science fiction novelette
Read the full story in Jewish Futures - available today wherever books are sold
Good morning, lovely readers! This newsletter edition is going to be a bit different from my usual — less analysis of fiction and more, uh, straight up fiction.
Because today (HUZZAH!) is the official launch day of Jewish Futures: Science Fiction from the World's Oldest Diaspora, an anthology of Jewish sci-fi short stories that was funded by a wildly successful Kickstarter last year that raised twice its target amount.
I got in on the ground floor of this collection, because I was approached prior to the Kickstarter by the editor, Hugo- and Nebula-nominated Michael A. Burstein, and was asked to contribute a story. I very nearly declined, actually, because I prefer my fiction writing to be an escape, and don’t like having it deal with boring real life things, such as being a religious Jew. But Michael urged me to think about it and get back to him if I had any ideas, and lo and behold, once the seed was planted, the Idea Tree immediately began to sprout.
And, well, once an Idea Tree has sprouted, no deforestation in the galaxy can keep it down.
To celebrate the launch, here is an excerpt of the opening section of my story, Moon Melody. Read on for a taste of what you’ll get if/when you buy the anthology.
Moon Melody
by SM Rosenberg
I.
It started the day after Contact M, when Kara was up to the eighth option on her list, and it started because of the papercut.
She’d talked to Jake before, of course, since they were frequently the only two students in the library, she with her endless job research and he with his equally endless medical textbooks, but those conversations were just hey and hi and I heard the Contact K aliens traded us some new nanotech for a pair of penguins and the desert surrounding this weird excuse for a school is especially desert-y today, isn’t it? Nothing of consequence.
It was the papercut that really broke the ice.
* * *
Everything else was the same as usual. She entered the nearly empty library and exchanged cordial nods with Jake, who was sitting in his usual corner armchair with his usual stack of textbooks beside him. Today’s textbook balanced open on his lap, and he looked every inch the boring studious nerd.
Unless you looked very closely and saw the pages occasionally turning without him touching them, there was absolutely nothing interesting about him, today or any day.
The school rumor mill churned with more speculation about Jake and his possible abilities than any other First Gen, but Kara figured that if this utterly average-looking boy had the most spectacular powers ever recorded in the brief couple of decades since powers had begun surfacing in random humans, she’d rather hear about it from him directly. Otherwise, it was none of her business. He’d never asked about hers, after all.
She settled into her favorite computer console, the one with the fastest link to the interplanetary database that her own laptop couldn’t access. It wasn't technically necessary — her research was pretty exclusively Earth-based — but still, it was nice to know the information would be there if she decided to expand her parameters.
Her small spiral notebook beside the keyboard displayed her current list, which she had neatly titled Prospective Careers:
☑ 1 - Wildfire Lookout
☑ 2 - Park Ranger (wintertime)
☑ 3 - Nanotech Programmer
☑ 4 - Submarine Technician
☑ 5 - Volunteer Mock Astronaut for Solo Mission Studies
☑ 6 - Arctic Base Personnel
☑ 7 - Antarctic Researcher
And finally today’s subject, at the bottom of the page:
8 - Underwater Archeologist
Kara typed it in and began her daily task of sorting through the deluge of data that greeted her.
Ignoring the sidebar and banner ads blaring things like COOLEST XENOTECH GIFTS FOR THE HOLIDAYS, she filed away hastily skimmed articles, blog posts, vids, job postings, forum discussions, sarcastic social media references, sample resumes, and anything and everything that might be of use to her future self in making a career choice.
Collect info now, decide later. It was a threadbare excuse for this procrastination.
But as long as she kept coming up with more options to research, she could beat back the school administration and their...Assignments...with a stick. A stick claiming that she was doing something with her life and I swear I’m not gonna go full Tucker, please don’t take my stipend or loan me out, pretty please.
The hours blurred, as they always did when she fell down a research rabbit hole. At last, feeling tell-tale cramps in her shoulders and wrists, she reached to turn the page in her notebook, checking on tomorrow’s topic—
“Ow!”
Blood welled at her fingertip where the page nicked her.
Across the room, Jake’s head snapped up from his textbook. Their eyes met. His were unnervingly blue.
“Just a papercut!” she said quickly, casting around for something to blot it with. “That’s what I get for resisting the modern age—”
“Can I help?” Jake was on his feet now, but the question was quiet, almost hesitant.
Kara paused. “Uh, you want to get a band-aid?”
“No, I mean...” He shook his head, striding closer. “I can - If you don’t mind.” His hand reached toward her, gesturing vaguely. “I can help.”
Oh. Her mind flooded with the rumors she’d pushed aside, dismissed as wild speculation: he’s a time-traveler, he’s a telekinetic, he can turn invisible, he can disintegrate you with his eyes, he can cure cancer by touching you…Well, might as well find out if there was any truth to it.
But—“Can you do it without touching me?”
Jake’s brow furrowed, then smoothed. “Oh, yeah, of course. Sorry, didn’t realize you were a touch telepath.”
“I—” She opened her mouth, possibly to correct him or demand where he’d heard about her powers, but immediately lost her train of thought when a chair swung from a nearby table and whipped through the air, landing in front of her with barely a thump.
Then Jake was there, dropping into the chair, dark hair flopping across his forehead. “Let me see it?”
Numbly, she held out her hand.
She hadn’t known he could do that. The other telekinetics in the school were nowhere near that strong, that controlled. Mostly, with intense concentration, they were good at making stuff vibrate, occasionally fall over, often shatter. Maybe turn pages like she’d seen Jake do.
But the complete ease with which he’d moved that chair? Unthinkable.
Jake was studying the papercut. Then he nodded. His hand hovered several inches from hers, tilting slightly — and the cut closed up, skin knitting itself back together into perfect, unmarred smoothness.
“Wow,” she breathed, flexing her finger. She pointed it toward the mountain of medical textbooks Jake had temporarily abandoned. “Which of those taught you that?”
Jake ducked his head. “None of them, actually. I heal by...instinct, I guess. Always have.”
Kara stared at him. “What? Then what’s your deal with the books?”
“They’re—” His blue eyes flicked over the books, then back to her, then down at the floor.
Kara abruptly felt like she’d invaded very personal territory, but she couldn’t imagine why.
Then Jake met her eyes again. “Because my instincts are just mine.” He made a frustrated little movement with his hand, grasping for words, and continued, haltingly, “I – No one else can do what I do. And I can’t be everywhere. But if I - if I could somehow learn exactly what I’m doing, all the names, all the steps, all the processes — then maybe I could teach other doctors to do what I do. Or help hospitals program their nanotech. Or something. So I’m trying that inst—I’m trying that.”
I’m trying that instead, was what he’d nearly said, Kara was sure. Something twisted in her gut, and she suddenly knew with a near-certainty that required no telepathy: this was someone who had tried to be everywhere, tried to fix everything.
And, somehow, he’d failed.
The admission was too raw and private for a first real conversation; Kara felt awkward at having intruded like this.
“I’m not a touch telepath,” she blurted, and Jake’s eyebrows shot up. “I mean, touch doesn’t make a difference one way or the other for me. The no-touching was because of, uh, religious reasons. Orthodox Jewish reasons. I don’t touch boys.”
“Oh! My mistake.”
“My dad’s a rabbi,” she blundered on, as if that explained it, “and it’s more of a custom than a law and not everyone keeps it, but I—”
Jake’s hands went up, palms out, a gentle surrender. “Hey, you don’t have to explain. You’ve got boundaries. I get it.”
So there you have it — the opening of Moon Melody, which you can finally read in its entirety just by buying a copy wherever books are sold! Such as here. Or here. Or even here! (But seriously this one is probably the easiest.)
And for those who are interested in hearing more about the book, my cohosts and I at the Nice Jewish Fangirls podcast recently interviewed Michael (the editor) and Ian Randal Strock (the publisher) about it, and that episode should be coming out soon.
Feel free to share with any other Jewish and/or sci-fi nerds in your life, and if you were a Kickstarter backer and got your copy already, let me know what you think!