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“A Serpent in the Gears,” by Margaret Ronald
While the Royal Society’s ostensible reason for our expedition was to offer the hand of friendship and scientific inquiry to their poor isolated cousins, any idiot could see that it was also to assay whether air power could bypass the gun emplacements. Thaumic reservoirs might be useless for certain engineering methods, but that hardly made them worthless, as the Royal Society well knew.
“Bellwether,” by A.C. Smart
Niddy’s pale corpse lay naked on the table. Her eyes were held shut by river-worn pebbles rather than the coins I’d placed before I left. The dress that should have graced the corpse, Niddy’s best, was on Trilla. Though it shamed me that my sister’s body was shown such dishonor before strangers, it didn’t hurt as it might have. If justice prevailed, that dress would be all the benefit Trilla’s treachery brought her?
“The Manufactory,” by Dru Pagliassotti, from BCS #30
Harvesting the bodies meant taking a few risks, but it was easy enough for a steady man who did his research and kept himself sober, and anatomists always needed fresh bodies to dissect. And if we dug up a not-so-fresh body, well, wigmakers and dentists pay well for human hair and teeth. We’d lived well back then, Bet and me, and we’d planned to give our baby girl everything she wanted.