Uncanny Magazine Issue 6
UNCANNY MAGAZINE
Uncanny Magazine Issue Six
“Uncanny Magazine Editorial Staff” by Uncanny Magazine
About Our Cover Artist: Matthew Dow Smith by Matthew Dow Smith
“The Uncanny Valley” by Lynne M. Thomas and Michael Damian Thomas
“Find a Way Home” by Paul Cornell
“The Oiran’s Song” by Isabel Yap
“The Sisters’ Line” by Liz Argall and Kenneth Schneyer
“And Never Mind the Watching Ones” by Keffy R. M. Kehrli
“Sinners, Saints, Dragons, and Haints, in the City Beneath the Still Waters” by N. K. Jemisin
“Suspended Beliefs: Verisimilitude vs. Accuracy” by Diana M. Pho
“A Brief History of MidAmeriCon” by Steven H Silver
“Diversity Panels Are the Beginning, Not the End” by Michi Trota
“Masculinity Is an Anxiety Disorder: Breaking Down the Nerd Box” by David J. Schwartz
“A Riddler at Market” by Rose Lemberg
“To a Dying Friend” by Dominik Parisien
“Biting Tongues” by Amal El-Mohtar
“The Book of Longing” by Jennifer Crow
“Interview: Isabel Yap” by Deborah Stanish
“Interview: Liz Argall and Kenneth Schneyer” by Deborah Stanish
“Thank You, Kickstarter Backers” by Lynne M. Thomas and Michael Damian Thomas
Edited by Lynne M. Thomas, Michael Damian Thomas, and Michi Trota
Ebook generated by Clockpunk Studios.
Copyright © 2015 by Uncanny Magazine.
www.uncannymagazine.com
Uncanny Magazine Editorial Staff
Publishers/Editors–in–Chief: Lynne M. Thomas & Michael Damian Thomas
Managing Editor: Michi Trota
Podcast Producers: Erika Ensign and Steven Schapansky
Interviewer: Deborah Stanish
Podcast Reader: Amal El–Mohtar and C.S.E. Cooney
Submissions Editors: Alex Kane, Andrea Berns, Arkady Martine, Ashley Gallagher, Cislyn Smith, Elizabeth Neering, Heather Clitheroe, Jen R. Albert, Jesse Lex, Jessica Wolf, K.E. Bergdoll, Kay Taylor Rea, Lesley Smith, Liam Meilleur, Mishell Baker, Piper Hale, Shannon Page, Vida Cruz
Logo & Wordmark design: Katy Shuttleworth
About Our Cover Artist: Matthew Dow Smith
Matthew Dow Smith is a writer and comic book artist. His art has appeared in IDW Publishing’s Doctor Who, DC Comics’ Justice League: Gods & Monsters—Batman, and Boom! Studios’ Last Sons Of America. He has also written several Doctor Who comic book stories in the US and UK, as well as the third volume of Archaia’s Dark Crystal prequel comic, Dark Crystal: Creation Myths. Currently, he is the regular artist on IDW’s The X–Files: Season 11 and the writer/artist of his creator–owned comic book, The October Girl.
The Uncanny Valley
by Lynne M. Thomas and Michael Damian Thomas
Crowdfunding Adventure!
With this issue, we can check off the Uncanny Magazine Year One Kickstarter backer fulfillment as completed. We promised we would bring you six issues of stunning covers and passionate science fiction and fantasy fiction and poetry, gorgeous prose, and provocative nonfiction by writers from every conceivable background. Not to mention a fantastic podcast featuring exclusive content.
We did it. We crossed the finish line on time and on budget, and delivered everything we said we would, or made alternate arrangements due to scheduling.
Thank you.
We are deeply grateful that you supported us and made this year possible. Thank you for the wonderful feedback about our first five issues. We are immensely proud of the work we’ve done. We think Uncanny Magazine Year One is the best thing we’ve ever produced. We’re so happy to have had the Space Unicorn Ranger Corps along for the journey.
So now we can rest.
… Or run the Uncanny Magazine Year Two Kickstarter, which is pretty much the opposite of resting. (You’ve met us, right?)
As you’re reading this, the Kickstarter has been running for the last three weeks or so. We are in the home stretch. If you’ve backed us already, thank you. If not, please consider supporting Uncanny Magazine. We believe we’re accomplishing something that’s very important, and we’d like Uncanny Magazine to run for many years to come. Your support makes that possible.
Since writing our last editorial, it has been WeddingCeremonypalooza around the Uncanny Magazine space station, home of the best tomfoolery. Editors–in–Chief Lynne M. Thomas and Michael Damian Thomas, the Nick and Nora Charles of SF/F, renewed their wedding vows at CONvergence dressed in full Regency regalia. Staff members Michi Trota and Erika Ensign were there along with numerous friends and Uncanny Magazine contributors. A wonderful time was had by all. As always, we’re deeply grateful to have the friendship and support of such marvelous people.
In addition to that, the multi–talented Uncanny Magazine Podcast Reader (along with being a writer/poet/musician/editor/critic/owl handler) Amal El–Mohtar married her fantastic fiancé Stuart West in a gorgeous ceremony in the wilds of Canada. The Thomases and fellow Uncanny Magazine Reader C. S. E. Cooney were in attendance among family and friends of the happy couple. All of us at Uncanny Magazine wish Amal and Stuart the best for a phenomenal future.
This issue, Uncanny Magazine features a varied array of fantastic pieces, starting with the awesome cover by Matthew Dow Smith. Our fiction includes Paul Cornell’s delightful mid–grade alien invasion romp “Find a Way Home,” Isabel Yap’s powerful and disturbing novelette of war and demons “The Oiran’s Song” (please note that there is a trigger warning on this story), Liz Argall and Kenneth Schneyer’s whimsical and surreal tale “The Sisters’ Line,” and Keffy R. M. Kehrli’s novelette of frogs and alienation “And Never Mind the Watching Ones.” Our reprint this month is N. K. Jemisin’s “Sinners, Saints, Dragons, and Haints, in the City Beneath the Still Waters,” a tremendous story of heroism, community, and monsters in a Katrina–ravaged New Orleans which first appeared in The Company He Keeps: Postscripts 22/23.
Our essays this month feature Michi Trota discussing convention panels and representation, David J. Schwartz looking at toxic masculinity and geek culture, Diana M. Pho examining historical accuracy in fiction, and Steven H Silver recounting the fascinating history of the first Worldcon in Kansas City. Our poetry includes Dominik Parisien’s powerful “To A Dying Friend,” Rose Lemberg’s delightful “A Riddler at Market,” Jennifer Crow’s haunting “The Book of Longing,” and Amal El–Mohtar’s poignant “Biting Tongues” (originally published in the The WisCon Chronicles, Vol.5: Writing and Racial Identity). Finally, Deborah Stanish interviews Isabel Yap and Liz Argall and Kenneth Schneyer about their stories.
Podcast 6A features Paul Cornell’s story “Find a Way Home” as read by Erika Ensign, Rose Lemberg’s poem “A Riddler at Market” as read by Amal El–Mohtar, and Deborah Stanish interviewing Paul Cornell. Podcast 6B features Keffy R. M. Kehrli’s story “And Never Mind the Watching Ones” as read by Amal El–Mohtar, Amal El–Mohtar’s poem “Biting Tongues” as read by the author, and a Deborah Stanish interview.
You might have noticed that C. S. E. Cooney isn’t reading for the podcast this issue. C. S. E. has found her career taking off, and as a result, has had to step away from Uncanny Magazine due to too many commitments. We want to thank her from the bottom of our hearts for her truly memorable performances that helped make the podcast so successful. She was a pleasure to work with, and we wish her every success with all of her future projects. She will always be a founding member of the Space Unicorn Ranger Corps.
Please enjoy the latest issue of Uncanny Magazine, and thank you all so much for your continued support.
r /> © Lynne M. Thomas and Michael Damian Thomas
Lynne and Michael are the Publishers/Editors-in-Chief for Uncanny: A Magazine of Science Fiction & Fantasy.
Three-time Hugo Award winner Lynne M. Thomas was the Editor-in-Chief of Apex Magazine (2011-2013). She co-edited the Hugo Award-winning Chicks Dig Time Lords, as well as Whedonistas and Chicks Dig Comics.
Along with being a two-time Hugo Award nominee as the former Managing Editor of Apex Magazine (2012-2013) Michael Damian Thomas co-edited the Hugo-nominated Queers Dig Time Lords (Mad Norwegian Press, 2013) with Sigrid Ellis and Glitter & Mayhem (Apex Publications, 2013), with John Klima and Lynne M. Thomas.
Together, they solve mysteries.
Find a Way Home
by Paul Cornell
(Editors’ Note: This is a Middle–Grade story written for children of all ages. If you have come to Uncanny Magazine for the first time to read this story, please note that the rest of the stories, essays, and poems in Uncanny contain very adult elements.)
Alan Thompson was used to looking at radar displays. He knew the shapes of aircraft, advertising balloons, and birds. He’d worked in RAF control towers for twenty years. Right now, he was staring in shock at the green trace on the screen in front of him. He’d stood up, just a little, as if he could get a better view by being half out of his chair.
He’d been watching a series of RAF exercises over the English Channel. A flight of E–3 Sentry aircraft had been testing new anti–submarine gear by trying to find a Royal Navy submarine that was doing its best to get lost.
That’s when the amazing thing had appeared.
The new officer, Wing Commander Devereux, appeared at his shoulder. He’d been poking his nose into everyone’s business, without anyone seeming to know why he was here. “Problem?”
Alan put his finger on the green streak that was moving towards the South Coast of England. “That, sir. It’s been going back and forth. Like an aircraft with engine trouble, looking for a place to land.” Alan was experienced enough to recognise aircraft behaviour, even particular types of aircraft and species of bird. It’s got a radar signature like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
“Could be a meteorite.”
The thing on the screen suddenly changed course. “Or… not.” Devereux suddenly sounded very interested.
“But the really weird thing, sir… It’s the speed.”
“How fast is it?”
“Mach Eight… Nine… I swear it’s hit Mach Ten on some of those turns. Sir, no pilot could survive that. No… human pilot.” He looked up and met Devereux’s stern gaze.
“I’m just going to make a phone call,” said the senior officer. “You keep an eye on that thing. And Thompson—”
“Yes, sir?”
“You’ve got a wife and kids, haven’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then remember: this never happened. You haven’t seen anything strange. All right?”
The silver thing shot over the trees and vanished into the distance.
Gary Clark had his mouth open.
He was twelve, always carefully scruffy, with a tie as thin as he could get it, a number two haircut, and his shirt always falling out of his school trousers. He liked to wear the collar of his blazer up.
He was in the woods at the back of the school. It was five o’clock. He’d gone home, chucked his bag onto the bed, told Mum he was going back out. She’d said something in reply, he hadn’t caught it, but it had sounded okay, and she hadn’t followed him out of the door, so he probably wasn’t in trouble.
Not that he cared. Not that she did.
He’d been throwing stuff into the stream, bigger and bigger sticks, making a dam. The dam would stop the stream, then the water on this side would build up. He’d pull out the central stick, and then the water would burst out. He’d tried it before, but he’d never got it exactly right. He liked doing stuff like this, on his own, without a lot of people talking at him. He didn’t really have any mates. He didn’t really want any.
Or maybe… maybe he really did… but…
The sound of a jet had made him look up. He’d just caught the silver thing flashing overhead. Then it had gone.
And now his mouth was open.
Because he was sure that hadn’t been a jet.
He dropped the piece of wood he was holding and started to run in the direction the thing had gone. Then he stopped because it was hopeless. That thing would be all the way to London by now, it was moving so—
The silver shape flashed back above the trees.
And stopped.
Everything in it should have gone splat against the insides. But Gary was sure it hadn’t. It had stopped like a car skidding to a halt right on a kerb. That, Gary was sure, was exactly what the driver had wanted to do.
Gary stared up. He was nearly underneath the thing. It was a perfect silver teardrop, sideways, suspended in the sky. It was reflecting the light of the low autumn sun.
He guessed he should be afraid. But he wasn’t. He’d seen some scary stuff.
He walked carefully, moving from tree to tree, until he was underneath it. The teardrop was giving out a low hum. The hum was pulsing, wowing to itself. Only it didn’t sound good. Something was slowing down. Like the engine was having trouble.
Gary made absolutely sure he could see it perfectly, wiping a bit of gunk from his eye. He wanted to soak up every detail.
A UFO. They were never going to believe him.
He’d always laughed when Rob had shown his pictures of crop circles to the class, because it was so obviously done by some bunch of kids who had, surprise, invented a new way to walk on corn. But this was definitely, one hundred percent, a flying saucer. They were real. He hoped someone else was seeing this, or he might never get to talk about it.
A new sound came from the direction of the school, overlapping with the teardrop’s wupping. A high screech—
Which blasted over his head. Two jets. RAF Tornadoes. Going right over the top of this thing and then gone over the trees.
Right. That was it. They must have seen it. That must be what they were up there for. They’d be back in a minute, and then there’d be the police, reporters, TV crews…
And he was here first! Just for once! This was his thing!
He ran a little further, to get right under it, to see what was on the very bottom of the curve of the underside. He reached in his pocket and realised he’d left his mobile in his bag at home. If only he’d got a camera!
The thing was moving, tilting, trying to turn. It was definitely in trouble.
It was changing, too. Something was happening underneath it. A dark space was opening up, a hatch. He could see it now. And then something was in that dark space—
Gary jumped aside as the thing fell straight at him.
It landed with a crunch a couple of feet away, and rolled into the trees. A black ball. Gary got up and went to it. Still not scared. Something in his stomach was telling him he really should be by now. He’d probably been zapped with enough radiation to turn him into a super hero.
He could hear cars now, or heavier vehicles, over on the distant road that led into the woods. Lots of them. They’d be coming to take away his big story, Boy Finds Aliens. He had to hang on to this at least until the TV news got here. Then he’d be on all the shows, and everyone would want to hear what he had to say. For the first time.
He grabbed the sphere. He lifted it off the ground, nicely light—
The top fell off.
Gary found himself staring into a pair of tiny yellow eyes with black pupils. The eyes were set in a round, dark green, shiny face. The thing had a thin, muscular body and a head like a young bird’s, with a big, beaklike snout. It was covered with scales like a lizard. Its tiny hands were struggling with a panel of small controls in front of it while it looked at Gary.
“Yope,” it said to him.
Gary tried not to swear, because he didn’t want the first contact between a
liens and humans to be him doing that over and over again on telly, or on whatever the aliens had instead of telly.
“Gary,” he finally came out with. “We come in peace. I mean, we’re here in peace. So… hey.”
He closed his eyes in shame. If he hadn’t been holding a reptile creature in a black sphere, he’d have smacked his own forehead. So much for his place in history.
A big sound made him and the creature look up.
The silver craft was slowly turning, its surface brushing against the tops of the trees. Wherever it touched a branch, the branch caught fire. It was making a groaning noise, like something very old dying.
The creature let out a yell and hit more controls, uselessly. Whatever it was trying to do, it wasn’t working.
Gary ran back a few metres, carrying it, so they weren’t under the thing any more.
With a great heaving roar the silver ship settled down onto the trees, which erupted in flame around it. They tried to take its weight for a moment… but then they bent and burst aside.
The ship fell.
The creature shrieked something.
Gary thought that was probably the word for “run.”
He sprinted away from the ship.
He felt more than heard the explosion. It hit him across his back like a wave hitting you when you were swimming in the sea. It took him along with it, flying across the forest floor, still holding onto the creature in its black ball, until he hit the ground and rolled, over and over, the sphere hard in his stomach, his body protecting the fragile–looking creature.
He stopped rolling when he was amongst the low bushes and nettles. The creature was yelling things he couldn’t understand, its head buried in his stomach. It jerked itself free and yelled right in his face. That thing that meant “run” again. Hey, they had a word worked out!
He turned as he felt the heat on his face.
The forest behind him was burning, a fireball.
The flames were rushing straight at him.
He gathered the creature back to his chest, leapt up, and ran as fast as he could, heading for the school.