20/04/2026 21:08

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Its ears flick back and forth. Miriam Bwalya stood, wrapped in a brightly-coloured chikwembe, her Bemba skin so black it had midnight blue highlights. Why none of the captains talk to you much. “Pardon my poor English,” she said, with an accent better than mine.

Steven Popkes, “The Crocodiles,” F&SF, May/June. He was sixteen now. Instead I will tell you that from aloft, the Esperigans’ poisoned-ground encampments made half-starbursts They didn’t use to live down there but somebody’s menagerie broke open—or was deliberately released—and some small group managed to survive the cooler winters.