Pride in SF

I believe in equality for all ethnicities and identities. I think we all need to get there. But we’re not there, so we need leaders. I believe that science fiction and fantasy, with the ability to take us places we’ve never been, should be the genre leading the way to equality. So I’m proud to announce there’s a new game in town–the Outer Alliance–and I’m delighted to stand in solidarity.

Here’s the bit they asked be posted:

As a member of the Outer Alliance, I advocate for queer speculative fiction and those who create, publish and support it, whatever their sexual orientation and gender identity.  I make sure this is reflected in my actions and my work.

Here’s the bit of fiction. 🙂  It’s Taro and Rafe, from my first NaNo. On a fierce colony world, Taro has taken a group of survival students into the wild for a final test. It’s turning out a little more final than anyone expected.

So. A never-before-read scene from Damsel in Distress—

I kept one eye on the trainees, watching as it slowly dawned, one by one, that they were probably sitting within a meter of the murderer.

Rector kept finding a problem with her seating, and every time she fidgeted she got closer to me and Rafe. Marshall, whom she had been next to, sneered at that and pulled a knife from his boot to sharpen. Ravid’s eyes widened—incredibly, wouldn’t have thought they could go any farther—as he stared at the flashing blade. While sitting close to Vold, and I didn’t miss the way the large man maintained a protective space around the boy. Burck and Donahoe seemed to have formed a mutual protection pact as well, they sat back to back. Donahoe had wrapped her arms around her knees, Burck slouched with the deceptive laziness of the veteran fighter. “A smart Marine,” Eve would say, “sleeps every chance she gets.”

Millett sat alone. I wondered if he were regretting being such an asshole yet.

Other than that he’d probably walked there on his own, I wasn’t learning a damn thing from Kizzie’s corpse. I gave it up in disgust and turned to the weapon.

Standard student issue, fired three times. Apparently the murder weapon, since all my remaining students had theirs, and none had been fired.

“Fales is still out there,” Marshall pointed out when I took his. “Maybe she didn’t go far after all.”

Hell.

“But—“ Ravid stuttered, “—why would Petra kill Kizzie?”

“Or maybe,” Millett put in, “Fales didn’t go on her own, and someone took her blaster. Maybe somebody used that one on Kizzie, and then took his, and now they still have one.”

“Maybe she knew,” Donahoe said. “Maybe she knew something and she argued with the—the murderer and—“

“And maybe we don’t know shit and should worry about getting our asses back alive.” I pointed at Marshall. “You want to be an instructor, you’re on point. We’re getting down this damn hill and we’re doing it as fast as we can. We’ll work together and we’ll watch each other’s backs and we’ll go to the latrine in fucking platoons.”

“And maybe,” Marshall drawled, “you’re the one we all need to be watching for. You and your pretty boy. Who the hell are you, anyway? Where were you when McCarney fell off the cliff? Who cooked Thies’ food? Where were you when Fales vanished? Or when Kizzie wandered off? Who’s got all the blasters now?”

“What’s to stop me killing you all now I’ve got them?” I demanded. “Get real, Marshall, if I wanted you dead, it would have taken me ten minutes without the guns.” I pulled Rafe close. “But why don’t you all vote? I’m getting Rafe out of here. Anyone who wants to come, I won’t trust you, but I won’t let you die if I can stop it, either. Anyone who wants to stay with Marshall, go for it.”

Rector tried, but she wasn’t the first on her feet. That was Ravid. Joss. Nineteen or not, he was just too little-kid cute to keep calling by his last name.

“I’ll go with you, sir,” he said, and blushed.

“Me too, Instructor.”

They all stood, even Marshall. “Hey, I wasn’t saying it was you,” he said. “Just throwing the idea out there.” He shrugged. “And even if it was, I’d want you in front of me, you know?”

“Take point.”

We ate as we walked. I’d brought emergency rations in case the hunting went badly; with the reduced size of the group I might have enough to get us all the way to Bartsass Station. And they were sealed, so everyone was willing to eat them. I walked with Rafe at the rear, and I kept a close eye on the seven in front of me.

“Relax,” Rafe said after a while. “It’s going to be all right, Taro.”

Smart as he was, Rafe could say some damned stupid things.

“It is.” He caught my hand. “You’ll take care of it. Just like you take care of every stupid bit of bullshit the galaxy pulls on us.”

“Rafe…” Now was not the time to tell him how I’d felt when I realized he was in danger. I would tell him; Rafe liked to hear those things. But not now. “Rafe, take a PBW.”

“I don’t need it; I have my emergency supplies.” He patted his pocket. “Stun-rod, pimple concealer, epinephrine injectors.” He patted me. “Incredibly sexy and skilled martial artist/lover. Yep, I’ve got all I need.”

“Rafe,” I said because I wasn’t arguing in front of everyone, “I love you.”

“You’d better.”

eta: seems I should have linked the actual post…