Galaxy's Edge Magazine: Issue 3, July 2013 Read Online Free PDF Page A

the sun went down and—voila! Frog legs for dinner. That’s how we lost the Ukraine.
    So then the geneticists charged out and—well, that’s when the jokes got started. You know the ones:
    “How many genetic engineers does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Eleven—one to do the work, and the other ten to figure out why it doesn’t have a double helix.”
    “What’s the definition of a virgin genetic engineer? A nerd with too many pocket protectors.”
    My personal favorite: “Why did the genetic engineer cross the road? To get to the other slide.”
    Fortunately for the vertebrate world, Professor Whitfield came to the rescue again. His immortal words:
    “To fight low, think low.”
    Bingo. We got the rats, the rats started breeding, and we stopped the invasion in its tracks. Natural soldiers, rats. Born bug-killers. And, like I said, not bad guys once you get to know them.
    But enough’s enough. I hate to say it, as much as I admire Professor Whitfield (and who doesn’t?), but I think his latest idea is just plain goofy.
    Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard all the arguments.
    “The greatest insectivores in the entire history of the vertebrate phylum.” “The greatest night fighters ever produced by evolution.” Blah, blah, blah.
    That may all be true. Probably is—I’ll admit these new guys are a terror on the battlefield. The bugs won’t even move at night, anymore.
    But I don’t care. Study your history and you’ll find that it’s always the morale factor that ultimately prevails in warfare. Don’t take my word for it—read Clausewitz. Or Napoleon.
    And these new guys are just wrecking the Army’s morale. This is not shape prejudice! Sure, the new bunch are uglier than sin, but that’s not the problem. The rats are ugly too—but do I care? Not in the slightest. Some of my best friends are rats.
    The problem isn’t the way the new guys look. It’s their lousy sense of humor.
    That’s all, you say? All right, smart-ass civilian. Let’s see you get any sleep at night, lying in your bunk, with the new guys hanging from the rafters, chuckling and chortling, telling the same stupid joke over and over again:
    “I vant to trink your bludd.”
     
    Copyright © 2007 by Eric Flint
 
 
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Laurie Tom is the winner of the 2010 Writers of the Future Gold Prize. She’s recently been published in Solaris Rising, Penumbra, and Story Portals.
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    THE HELD DAUGHTER
    by Laurie Tom
     
    I realized that Heaven had a different fate in store for me when Imperial Father married off my younger sister while I was still unwed. The celebration was held at the Palace of the Tranquil Sea, where the waters of the southern ocean lapped at sandy beaches and the dragons could easily climb from the surf to give their blessings. Guests consumed meat and wine, and tried not to look my way, to look at Fourth Princess with only a guardian lion at her feet and attendants for company.
    Sek-fung’s fur was not the coarse stone it appeared to be, though, and I rubbed her shoulders vigorously as an excuse to ignore the questioning glances that people gave when they thought I could not see. Stone lions did not judge and she did not know this celebration from another. She lay her head at my feet, bored.
    “Don’t worry, Fourth Princess,” said Mung-laan, who had been my attendant since we were thirteen. “I am certain the Emperor is being particularly careful with your marriage.”
    But even when we returned to the imperial palace, he did not speak of marriage, either to me or my mother. Imperial Father was old, and no matter how many concubines he took, had produced no children beyond the fifth princess, and no sons at all. Mother folded her hands confidently and told me to be sure to keep the Emperor’s favor. Though unlikely, it was not impossible to think that he would still manage a son, and that would ruin my chances. Mother was only an imperial concubine, but still she dared