No, but it’s certainly enjoyable, I replied. Aloud, I said, “The places you took had things you wanted. Resources. Tea and cinnamon and precious metals and girls no one would ever debase themselves by marrying, but whom every British gentleman was happy to deflower. That’s the first reason you did what you did, and that’s the first reason we do what we do.”
Arthur swallowed hard before whispering, “What’s the second reason?”
I leaned closer still, watching my reflection expand to fill the reflective surfaces of his eyes. Such a wonderful biological invention, the eye. Functional and delicious. “Because we can.”
Arthur turned his face away. I sighed, leaning back into my own seat.
“Really, Arthur, I wish you wouldn’t be that way. I’m only acting according to my nature. Isn’t that what you’ve told me every time one of your countrymen leered at your sister or called me a savage jungle girl? Me, who has never even seen a jungle, who originated in a hothouse that spanned a world? ‘They are only acting according to their nature.’ Those were your words. Why is it correct when they do it, and so fearsome when I do?”
“You killed a man.”
“He shot me. Twice, might I add. I think he quite deserved what became of him.”
Arthur’s eyes snapped open. “That does not matter,” he snarled. “You are not judge, nor jury, nor executioner!”
“No, dear: I am none of those things. I am the vanguard of an invading army, and that means your laws no longer apply to me.” I shrugged. “If we fail—and we will not fail—I’ll be tried for treason and imprisoned until the Queen can find a suitably gruesome means of execution. If that happens, be sure they put me in a prison with large windows, or I won’t live long enough for you to kill me. If we succeed, your laws will be permanently suspended, and cannot be used against me. The things we do tonight are crimes of war. They are not things for which we can be punished in the court of law.”
“Britain will not lose.”
I sighed. “Oh, my sweet, foolish mammal of a man, it already has. It just doesn’t know it yet.”
The conveyance rattled to a halt behind the palace, near one of the many entrances used to bring in those who were better than servants, but less than noblemen. There was a soft sighing sound as the springs relaxed, allowing our carriage to sink lower to the ground. I stood, smoothing the wreckage of my skirts with my hands.
“We’ve arrived,” I said. “Do I look ready for an audience with the Queen?”
Arthur merely glared.
“Don’t be tedious, Arthur; it’s not polite.” I opened the carriage door, stepping into the London night.
The air, which would normally have smelled of burning gas and the wood fires used to stoke the steam engines of those too poor to afford solar paneling, smelled like sap and petrichor and electrical discharge. And blood, of course. The streets would be red come morning, painted carnival bright with the lives of those who had built this country. I hesitated a bare moment before kicking off my shoes and allowing the small root surfaces packed into my toes to taste the earth between the cobblestones. Ah, yes; the taste of home. It was falling to the planet’s surface with every barrage of laser fire and steam-powered bullets that ripped apart the sky. Our ships were designed to serve more than one purpose, after all, and with every one that fell, the Earth became a little more suited to our needs.
Footsteps behind me telegraphed Arthur’s emergence from the carriage. I turned to see him standing in front of the door, backlit by the rainbow and ray gun colored sky. It turned his skin a dozen shifting rainbow shades, from milky pale to carmine, and he was beautiful. I wondered if he would ever understand how beautiful he was. I wasn’t sure he’d have the time.
“Come now,” I said. “Walk with me.”
“I am not a traitor.” His voice broke on the last word.
“No. You’re not. You’re a man doing his duty to his Queen, and taking an ambassador to her, that she might properly negotiate surrender.”
Arthur looked unsure, as well he might: I had not, after all, specified who would be surrendering, and who would be the recipient of an empire. But the habit of mannerly comportment was drilled into him, and so he simply nodded, and said, “I pray we may end this peacefully,” and walked with me into the palace, while London burned behind us, and the night was radiant with alien light.
6.
“There were those who would insist that a lady’s chief graces were as follows: breeding, beauty, and a blind adherence to the manners of the society in which she takes root, no matter how senseless or silly those manners may be. It was considered better to bloom beautifully and without offending anyone than to grow wanton and in healthy abundance.
“Clearly, this was a civilization cultivating itself for conquest.”
—from Lady Antheia’s Guide to Horticultural Warfare, first printing.
* * *
As I had hoped, the Queen was in her chambers. Sadly, she was there along with the Prince Consort, the Ministers of War, and a dozen other powerful men. I sighed. This would have been so much simpler had she been alone. Humans were not a hive mind in any rational way. A human alone could make reasonable decisions, come to reasonable accords. Humans in a group all seemed to believe they and they alone had the authority to speak for their species, and disputes were resolved by shouting until the loudest won. Truly, this world would be more peaceful once it was ruled by cooler vegetable minds.
All those powerful men turned at our entrance, their eyes taking in my charred, disheveled state and Arthur’s pale, shocked face, and reaching the logical conclusion. “Lady Antheia, are you hurt?” asked a Minister, a round, ruddy-cheeked man whose name I had never bothered to remember.
“Not any longer, but thank you for your concern,” I said. “I do apologize for the hour. I have a matter of some importance to put before the Queen.”
Queen Alice finally turned, a frown on her pretty, pleasure-loving face. She had never been equipped to rule. I was here to do a favor, really. “Lady Antheia. This is most irregular.”
“I know, Your Majesty.” I proffered a curtsey. “I am here to thank you for your hospitality of these past few years, and request your immediate surrender to the Vegetable Empire. We have superior weaponry, and we are even now amassing the superior numbers we will need to take your world as our own. If you cede yourselves to us, we may be merciful.”
And then, exactly as I had expected, all those powerful men drew their powerful weapons and shot me dead where I stood. My consciousness winked out before my body hit the floor.
7.
“Humanity, in addition to being delicious and very well designed for its environment, was constantly coming up with excuses to make war upon its own kind. If they had survived as an independent species long enough to establish the means for long distance space travel, we might have found ourselves with unwanted rivals for this galaxy’s treasures. It is because of this yearning for conquest that runs so strong in the veins of most meat that I must recommend we speed up our efforts to become the only sapient life living free in known space. It is, sadly, the only way to be safe from the threat of empire.”
—from Lady Antheia’s Guide to Horticultural Warfare, first printing.
* * *
I never put my shoes back on.
That may seem like a trifling detail, but that is because few people fully understand the deeply concentrated root systems to be found on the soles of a diplomat’s feet—or whatever passes for feet in the local environment. My body was destroyed, broken beyond repair, and my poor Jill broken with it. But when the Queen’s men toted that unwanted seed pod away, they did not notice the small roots that had broken off in the carpet, already working their way down, down, deep into the foundations of the palace.
When we sprout, we sprout quickly, for surprise is our best weapon. Dawn came, and I rose, faceless, a pale green whisper of a thing dressed in a mockery of human form. All in silence, I moved through the chamber to the door beyo
nd, which led to the private apartments of the Queen. She was sleeping, innocent of what was about to befall her, her husband and consort snug beside her in the bed. I did not see them, for I did not have eyes, but there are other ways of sensing such things. She did not know I was there; she presented no threat.
I ate her.
8.
“It was a small matter for our soldiers to subdue the populace, once they had seen their Queen unmasked as an alien, welcoming the invaders into Buckingham Palace with open arms. Perhaps if we had been a little less swift, there would have been time to mount a resistance … but that was not to be. As the humans once said: the Queen is dead.
“Long live the Queen.”
—from Lady Antheia’s Guide to Horticultural Warfare, first printing.
* * *
I set my quill aside, considering the words I had written. They were good words: they would do nicely, and would serve well as a guide to the next invasion of a world like Earth. The fields were rich with our seedlings, and the men of science already looked outward, considering the next path our colony ships would take.
Footsteps behind me alerted me to the approach of my husband—a human custom, yes, but one which many of us who found ourselves with human forms and vaguely human ways of thinking had chosen to observe. It was a diversion, if nothing else, and could provide a new social frame, if it proved useful.
“All done?” asked Arthur, a smile on his emerald lips.
It had been a small thing to take a seedling of an open line, with no ancestral memory, and place it next to Arthur’s bound, struggling form. He had thanked me, of course, when his memories settled properly into their new home. He had always been a botanist. Now he could study himself, for centuries if he liked. It was my wedding gift to him.
“Yes,” I said, and wrapped my creeper vines around his waist and my arms around his shoulders, and kissed him with the mouth I had stolen from a human Queen. The British Empire had claimed the sun would never set, and they had been wrong, because they had been thinking too small.
For the sun to be shining always, one needs more than a single world. It is vital to acquire a galaxy.
About the Authors
Bradley P. Beaulieu is the author of the critically acclaimed epic fantasy series, The Lays of Anuskaya. Along with fellow author Gregory A. Wilson, Brad runs the highly successful science fiction and fantasy podcast, Speculate, which can be found at www.speculatesf.com. Brad continues to work on his next projects, including a Norse-inspired middle grade series and The Song of the Shattered Sands, an Arabian Nights-inspired epic fantasy that will be published by DAW Books in the US and Gollancz in the UK. For more about Brad and his writing, please visit www.quillings.com.
Although not a zombie, S.C. Butler freely admits to needing more brains. His fantasy trilogy, “The Stoneways,” was published by Tor Books, and his short fiction has appeared in Beneath Ceaseless Skies; After Hours: Tales From the Ur-Bar; and The Modern Fae’s Guide to Surviving Humanity. “Heart of Clockwork” is his first attempt at steampunk.
Leah Cutter currently lives in Seattle—the land of coffee and fog. However, she’s also lived all over the world and held the requisite odd writer jobs, such as doing archeology in England, teaching English in Taiwan, and bartending in Thailand. She writes fantasy set in exotic times and locations such as Tang dynasty China, WWII Budapest, rural Louisiana, and the Oregon coast. Her short fiction includes literary, fantasy, mystery, science fiction, and horror, and has been published in magazines as well as anthologies and on the web. Read more stories by Leah Cutter at www.KnottedRoadPress.com.
David J. Fortier grew up in Winnipeg, Canada, reading adventure classics and epic fantasies over the long winters. A true geek, he loves board games, superhero movies, video games, D&D, and comics. Naturally, his whiskey preference is rye, though he will not scoff at fine bourbon. He currently resides in Calgary, in the foothills of the Canadian Rocky Mountains, where he writes sword & sorcery, heroic fantasy, and a touch of other speculative fiction. Oh, and pirates over ninjas.
Brad Hafford is an archaeologist, teacher, writer and traveler. He holds a Ph.D. from the University of Pennsylvania and he also a graduate of the Odyssey Writing Workshop. He remains staunchly scientific in his studies and non-fiction, but loves to imagine about the myriad “what-ifs” in the world. These imaginings drive his fiction wherein he attempts to express the compelling stories of alternate realities that dance about in his head. “Fingers of Steam, Veins of Gold” was inspired by a trek through parts of Alaska, in particular the rusting hulk of an old steam engine left to die outside Skagway.
Jason Richard Hargenrader is an American speculative fiction writer living in Melbourne, Australia. Jason studied astronomy, English, and radio/TV/film at the University of Texas and graduated from the Odyssey Writing Workshop in 2013. When not corralling his toddler, Grace, you can find him following his Pyrenean Mountain Dog with a vacuum cleaner. He also lives with his beloved wife and cat. Learn more at jrhargenrader.com.
Gini Koch lives in Hell’s Orientation Area (aka Phoenix, AZ), works her butt off (sadly, not literally) by day, and writes by night with the rest of the beautiful people. She writes the fast, fresh and funny Alien/Katherine “Kitty” Katt series for DAW Books, the Necropolis Enforcement Files series, and the Martian Alliance Chronicles series for Musa Publishing. As G.J. Koch she writes the Alexander Outland series. She also writes under a variety of other pen names including Anita Ensal, Jemma Chase, A.E. Stanton, and J.C. Koch. She can be reached through her website:www.ginikoch.com.
Gail Z. Martin is the author of Ice Forged and Reign of Ash in The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga (Orbit Books), plus The Chronicles of The Necromancer series (The Summoner, The Blood King, Dark Haven & Dark Lady’s Chosen) from Solaris Books and The Fallen Kings Cycle (The Sworn and The Dread) from Orbit Books. In 2014, Gail’s new urban fantasy novel, Deadly Curiosities, debuts from Solaris Books. Iron and Blood, a Steampunk novel, will be published by Solaris in 2015. She is also the author of two series of ebook short stories: The Jonmarc Vahanian Adventures and the Deadly Curiosities Adventures.
Seanan McGuire writes things. It is very difficult to make her stop. When not writing things, she can be found in haunted corn mazes, comic book stores, and Disney Parks. Seanan shares a crumbling farmhouse with three massive blue cats, a large collection of dolls, and a sufficient number of books to be considered a library. Seanan regularly claims to be the vanguard of an invading race of alien plant people. We see no reason to doubt her.
Jason Palmatier is a science fiction writer based in central Pennsylvania who has written numerous short stories and screenplays and is currently co-writing an independent comic. When not trying to create new worlds with just a keyboard and a dream he enjoys raising his three kids and sleeping. “Heart of the Empire” is his first professional sale.
C.B. Pratt has lived all over the United States, including California, New York and many stops in between. Having been a professional writer for over twenty years, she is ill-suited to any normal work and hopes to continue writing for the rest of her life. Independent publishing has allowed her to write the things she has always wanted to, including fantasy and steampunk. She is the author of numerous traditionally published books, as well as the Eno the Thracian fantasy-adventure series. Steam Demon, book one in a new steampunk series, will be available in 2015.
Tansy Rayner Roberts is the author of Power and Majesty and Ink Black Magic among many other fantasy novels. She also writes crime under the name Livia Day. Tansy podcasts with Galactic Suburbia and Verity!, and won the Hugo for Best Fan Writer in 2013. You can find Tansy at her blog http://tansyrr.com/ or on Twitter as @tansyrr.
Ian Tregillis is the son of a bearded mountebank and a discredited tarot card reader. He is the author of the Milkweed Triptych (Bitter Seeds, The Coldest War, and Necessary Evil), as well as the critically acclaimed novel Something More Than Night and the forthcoming Clakkers Trilogy. His short fiction has appeared in T
or.com, Apex Magazine, Subterranean Press Magazine, and various anthologies. He lives in New Mexico, where he consorts with writers, scientists, and other disreputable types. His website is iantregillis.com.
Jean Marie Ward writes fiction, nonfiction, and everything in between, including novels (2008 Indie Book double-finalist With Nine You Get Vanyr) and art books. Her stories appear in numerous anthologies, such as The Modern Fae’s Guide to Surviving Humanity and the award-winning Hellebore & Rue. The former editor of Cresent Blues, she is a frequent contributor of video interviews and short subjects to BUZZYMAG.com. Her website is JeanMarieWard.com.
About the Editors
Patricia Bray is the author of a dozen novels, including Devlin’s Luck, which won the Compton Crook Award for the best first novel in the field of science fiction or fantasy. A multi-genre author whose career spans both epic fantasy and Regency romance, her books have been translated into Russian, German, Portuguese and Hebrew. She’s also spent time on the editorial side of the fence, co-editing After Hours: Tales from the Ur-Bar and The Modern Fae’s Guide to Surviving Humanity with her frequent partner-in-crime Joshua Palmatier.
Patricia lives in a New England college town, where she combines her writing with a full-time career as a Systems Analyst, ensuring that she is never more than a few feet away from a keyboard. You can find her on Twitter as @pbrayauthor, or visit her webpage at www.patriciabray.com.
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