Thank you for visiting nature.com. You are using a browser version with limited support for CSS. To obtain the best experience, we recommend you use a more up to date browser (or turn off compatibility mode in Internet Explorer). In the meantime, to ensure continued support, we are displaying the site without styles and JavaScript.
Aimee Ogden’s Nebula-Award-finalist novella Sun-Daughters, Sea-Daughters debuted in 2021. Her short fiction has appeared in publications such as Lightspeed, Clarkesworld and Analog. Garage Door Spring With Hooks
You can also search for this author in PubMed Google Scholar
You have full access to this article via your institution.
Spring is the gentlest season. Tender green things push up from the reluctant earth around Travers Bays, and tender sun-starved people rush to meet them. Canals need dredging, fishmeal fertilizer needs spreading. Anyone who can lift a bucket or turn a spade is needed — everyone but Sooz, of course. The Station-keeper has her own duties, different but also important. She kisses Lalla goodbye each morning before setting out on her three-hour trek.
The people of the Glut built the Stations near the end of their reign, and — for once in their long shameful history — they made them with an eye to the future. Sooz climbs the ladder stowed below to lovingly clean the skyward-turned sun panel, which feeds the Station. Once satisfied with its well-being, she climbs down to send a few messages at the terminal, and to read one already waiting: a trade request from the Station’s nearest sister in Grayling. Sooz dutifully records the details — the numbers and directions and data she cannot remember on her own — in beetroot ink on her precious marsh-paper roll. Then she settles in to wait for nightfall.
After dark, messages stretch their way to her from farther away. Bad Ax requests help with a group of raiders. Someone in Lancing wants a better recipe for blue dye. And from Moonsing, far north across the cool blue stretches of the Great: another page of the story.
The story has gone on for nearly a year now, and there were other stories before that, dating back to Sooz’s youth. This tale details a spaceman’s exploration of a frozen-sea planet, the loss of his crewmates, the strange life he befriends undersea. The waters of another world: a lovely impossibility, a future stolen by the Glut. But how sweet to imagine! Sooz replays the story over and over, engraving into herself every nuance of the storyteller’s rough voice, marrying every line to all that has come before. A world of curiosities, but also one of love and sorrow and storms. She falls asleep imagining the glow of Lalla’s eyes as she listens, Glut-greedy for every detail.
Summer belongs to the dust storms. They blow up from the south, the dry prairie lands of Lancing. People run water from the Great and her canals to wash the plants clean, restoring to them the gift of sunlight. Like them, Sooz dons her broad-brimmed hat, the one that Lalla wove for her out of marsh reeds, and a scarf over her face to ward off the lung-scouring air. Then she sets out alone, for the Station.
Read more science fiction from Nature Futures
Read more science fiction from Nature Futures
Later, when she and Lalla lie in bed, not quite touching for the heat, she will recite the whole story from its start: frozen worldscapes to swaddle themselves in, until exhaustion wrestles prickling, miserable heat into the uneasy truce of sleep.
In autumn, storms come from the north: monstrosities birthed by the Great, all of her power with none of her grace. Sometimes messages come from west across the waters, with enough warning to bring in the boats and secure them, to shutter up the houses against the wind. Sometimes they don’t. In the held breath between one storm and the next, Sooz visits the Station, sweeps away the debris of branches, records what has been left for her and sends what is awaited. Then, while the Great’s wicked children howl and scream, she huddles in her house and dreams of labyrinthine palaces where a traveller may rest, for a spell, in the embrace of alien waves.
Winter is the fallow season. The people of the Glut, long ago, slew the frost snake that trapped the frozen air in the north, and now the world suffers for it. In Travers, someone is lost, every year or two, to the driving snows, believing surely they know the way well enough to navigate safely to the barn or their neighbour’s house. Even if it were safe for Sooz to make the trip, the other Stations fall silent too, hibernating until spring. I don’t want to think about frozen oceans right now anyway, Lalla and Sooz lie to each other.
The spring thaw comes, and Stations awaken, one by one, all across the region. The old, familiar patter of trades and migrants and intruders — but no story. Any day now, Sooz promises Travers; promises Lalla. Any day. But when the thaw gives way to spring’s full flush, she messages Moonsing. What happens next? We’ve been waiting so long.
Instead of returning to Travers, she sits with her back against the Station to wait. Against her back, the Station is cool and solid. A promise from the world left behind, and an apology, too, one that must be accepted without offering forgiveness in return.
Just as the weary sun makes his way towards his rest, the terminal sings softly to signal a new message. The Great took my grandmother this year, says the reply from distant Moonsing. I’m the Station-keeper now, but the stories were hers.
Sooz walks back slowly, as dawn makes pink slush of the soft wet sky. Lalla is awake already, waiting outside the door of their cottage. At her hopeful look, Sooz touches the rolled marsh-paper at her waist: still new, not a drop of ink on it.
There’s nothing there to feel, but why should that matter? The story is engraved on her bones, a map of what comes next. The world of her dreams is as alien as the Glut, but that doesn’t set it beyond her understanding. She smiles. Is there tea, my love? I need to wet my throat before I can tell you what comes now.
Aimee Ogden reveals the inspiration behind A map of what comes next.
When I first wrote this story, I had resilience and community on my mind. Now, shortly before its publication, we may be looking at the last days, or at least the dark days, of Twitter — a place where, despite its issues, many groups were able to build their own networks of outreach and activism and mutual aid. Rebuilding those networks won’t be easy, and it cannot be left up to those who need them most. Start local: give to a trusted mutual aid fund. Shovel a snowed-in driveway. Take a pot of chilli to your new neighbours. We only have each other; it’s up to us to make sure that’s enough.
doi: https://doi.org/10.1038/d41586-022-04187-1
The lucky ones by Aimee Ogden
In response to your request for a modification to the atmosphere of break bulk cargo hold 17 by Sylvia Spruck Wrigley
Entanglement by S R Algernon
Fixing the rift by Timothy Mudie
The last will and testament of the human race by Mark Vandersluis
The future will not be any% glitchless by Andrea Kriz
Work, energy, heat by Tom Easton
Again, still by Igor Teper
A girl invents a game by Ruth Joffre
The family tree by Russell Nichols
Conflict resolution by Holly Schofield
This must be the place by Glen Engel-Cox
Becoming Miss Pennyworth by Jenny Rae Rappaport
You have full access to this article via your institution.
The lucky ones by Aimee Ogden
In response to your request for a modification to the atmosphere of break bulk cargo hold 17 by Sylvia Spruck Wrigley
Entanglement by S R Algernon
Fixing the rift by Timothy Mudie
The last will and testament of the human race by Mark Vandersluis
The future will not be any% glitchless by Andrea Kriz
Work, energy, heat by Tom Easton
Again, still by Igor Teper
A girl invents a game by Ruth Joffre
The family tree by Russell Nichols
Conflict resolution by Holly Schofield
This must be the place by Glen Engel-Cox
Becoming Miss Pennyworth by Jenny Rae Rappaport
An essential round-up of science news, opinion and analysis, delivered to your inbox every weekday.
Sign up for the Nature Briefing newsletter — what matters in science, free to your inbox daily.
150 Lb Garage Door Spring Nature (Nature) ISSN 1476-4687 (online) ISSN 0028-0836 (print)