The Best of Galaxy’s Edge 2013-2014 by Larry Niven, Nancy Kress, Mercedes Lackey, Ken Liu, Brad R. Torgersen, C. L. Moore, Tina Gower Page A
Authors: Larry Niven, Nancy Kress, Mercedes Lackey, Ken Liu, Brad R. Torgersen, C. L. Moore, Tina Gower
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of random spots on a map he produced to keep him happy. He seemed to like this and smiled again. Then he invited me to join the others at the fire. I dropped onto a log that had been dragged inside. It felt great just being out of the cold. It was heaven to also smell the warming food, at least the little I could catch through the wall of steaming ammonia from my drying uniform. For some reason the Germans all sat on the far side of the fire from me.
I was given some stew. Metal spoons scraped on metal dixies as we ate greedily in the flickering firelight. I didn’t receive nearly as much as they did, but at least they shared with me. They’re not all bad, those Jerry swine.
Later I sat alone on a pile of hay in the stall, gulping down a mug of hot tea and smoking a cigarette. My uniform was still damp, but at least it was now warm again. The Germans huddled around the fire and spoke in soft tones, laughing from time to time. Once I’d finished, they retied my hands behind my back and I fell asleep with my face pressed against the hay.
It must have been an hour or so later that I was awoken by the strangest sound: a low-pitched hum. My stomach rumbled in response to the frequency. Or perhaps it was in response to the stew. The German who remained awake on guard apparently heard it too, as he stood and quietly woke the others. The fire was no more than a bed of glowing coals, fighting a losing battle against the cold night. The hum grew louder and louder until my ears hurt and my stomach trembled. A pale blue light strobed through the cracks in the rear wall of the barn. The Germans grabbed their rifles and made their way outside, leaving me alone. A few moments later I heard shouted commands and a few rifle shots. Then there was a new sound, a static crackling, and the blue glow around me changed to red. A few seconds later the pale blue light returned. The hum died away and there was only silence.
I have no idea what happened to those Germans. They never returned. My best guess is they were disintegrated by some kind of heat ray, much like that described by Mr. Wells in his ridiculous story.
I lay silently for the longest time, but eventually built up the courage to leave my stall and approach the barn door. There was an odd scent which reminded me of vanilla, and I paused to sniff the still air. Imagine my surprise when the door opened silently and before me stood a small creature—the likes of which I’d never even imagined before. It was grey, about three feet tall, with a large bulbous head and small, lithe body. Long arms reached almost to its knees. Its eyes were almond shaped and black—as black as coal—and it seemed to stare right through me into the very depths of my soul. It held a small silver tube, a ray gun I now presume. I shivered, and not just from the damp chill. Frankly, I was scared and started shaking. I almost fell over when I tried to cross myself against this demonic vision, as my hands were still securely tied behind my back. Instead I dropped to my knees and the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. Then I was hit by the most foul, pungent odour I’ve ever encountered on God’s green planet. I must have wrinkled my nose in response, because it spoke to me. In English, if you can believe that.
“Sorry about the smell,” it said. “You surprised me.” And it waved its hand rapidly behind its behind. Apparently, when startled, they let one go—so to speak.
“Cor! You smell awful,” I managed.
“You don’t smell so good yourself, pisshead,” it said. “No wonder the others left you behind. Are you crippled?”
“Crippled?” I asked.
“Yes.” It swayed its head gently from side to side. “You have no arms.”
I laughed nervously, stood up and turned around so it could see my arms tied behind my back. “I was their prisoner.” I turned to face it once more. “What are you?” I ventured.
“I’m not from around here.”
“Nooooo,” I said. “Really? I
I was given some stew. Metal spoons scraped on metal dixies as we ate greedily in the flickering firelight. I didn’t receive nearly as much as they did, but at least they shared with me. They’re not all bad, those Jerry swine.
Later I sat alone on a pile of hay in the stall, gulping down a mug of hot tea and smoking a cigarette. My uniform was still damp, but at least it was now warm again. The Germans huddled around the fire and spoke in soft tones, laughing from time to time. Once I’d finished, they retied my hands behind my back and I fell asleep with my face pressed against the hay.
It must have been an hour or so later that I was awoken by the strangest sound: a low-pitched hum. My stomach rumbled in response to the frequency. Or perhaps it was in response to the stew. The German who remained awake on guard apparently heard it too, as he stood and quietly woke the others. The fire was no more than a bed of glowing coals, fighting a losing battle against the cold night. The hum grew louder and louder until my ears hurt and my stomach trembled. A pale blue light strobed through the cracks in the rear wall of the barn. The Germans grabbed their rifles and made their way outside, leaving me alone. A few moments later I heard shouted commands and a few rifle shots. Then there was a new sound, a static crackling, and the blue glow around me changed to red. A few seconds later the pale blue light returned. The hum died away and there was only silence.
I have no idea what happened to those Germans. They never returned. My best guess is they were disintegrated by some kind of heat ray, much like that described by Mr. Wells in his ridiculous story.
I lay silently for the longest time, but eventually built up the courage to leave my stall and approach the barn door. There was an odd scent which reminded me of vanilla, and I paused to sniff the still air. Imagine my surprise when the door opened silently and before me stood a small creature—the likes of which I’d never even imagined before. It was grey, about three feet tall, with a large bulbous head and small, lithe body. Long arms reached almost to its knees. Its eyes were almond shaped and black—as black as coal—and it seemed to stare right through me into the very depths of my soul. It held a small silver tube, a ray gun I now presume. I shivered, and not just from the damp chill. Frankly, I was scared and started shaking. I almost fell over when I tried to cross myself against this demonic vision, as my hands were still securely tied behind my back. Instead I dropped to my knees and the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. Then I was hit by the most foul, pungent odour I’ve ever encountered on God’s green planet. I must have wrinkled my nose in response, because it spoke to me. In English, if you can believe that.
“Sorry about the smell,” it said. “You surprised me.” And it waved its hand rapidly behind its behind. Apparently, when startled, they let one go—so to speak.
“Cor! You smell awful,” I managed.
“You don’t smell so good yourself, pisshead,” it said. “No wonder the others left you behind. Are you crippled?”
“Crippled?” I asked.
“Yes.” It swayed its head gently from side to side. “You have no arms.”
I laughed nervously, stood up and turned around so it could see my arms tied behind my back. “I was their prisoner.” I turned to face it once more. “What are you?” I ventured.
“I’m not from around here.”
“Nooooo,” I said. “Really? I
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