Gwendolyn Clare resides in North Carolina, where she tends a vegetable garden and a flock of backyard ducks and wonders why she ever lived in the frozen northlands. She has a PhD in mycology, which is useful for identifying wild mushrooms but not for much else. Her short fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in Analog, Asimov's, and Beneath Ceaseless Skies, among others.
“You’re not Shurkar.” With confusion or doubt, with a hint of disdain, dismissively, or amused. They say it with pity, with soft genuine concern for my mental health. Sometimes they sound deeply offended. Or they say nothing at all, and keep walking. “Have you seen these marks before?” I say, lifting hair off the back […]
They are not the Brights, and so I hesitate to save them. Part of me is eager, and part of me ashamed. Even through the haze of plasma blasts dispersing over their shields, I recognize the ship as a Bright construct—too much glass, arranged in sharp geometric panels so the entire upper surface glitters with […]
The only enjoyable part of my daily meeting with Losin was the view. One large panoramic viewport made up the far wall of his grandiose office—a perk of being the Director-General of the UN Interworld Relations Organization. Losin sat facing the door instead, so while he talked I stared over his right shoulder at the […]