But he wasn’t the first with those ideas either. One of the firsts was a woman, Mary Shelley, whose Frankenstein is a tale of science gone horribly, horribly wrong. (Metaphorically, it’s a fear-of-childbirth story, or maybe (more accurately) a fear-of-your-own-child story, but we’ll ignore that for the moment.) She influenced entire generations as well, but in a different way. Perhaps her influence was more on the horror side of the equation because her monster is so memorable or perhaps because science wasn’t in the air in the decades after her novel like it was in the late 19 ^thcentury and all of the 20 ^th.

Everything was about science when I grew up. Everything. From scientifically designed food (the astronauts drink Tang! You should too!) to scientifically enhanced clothing, we couldn’t escape science if we tried.

And, since I’m dyslexic and absolutely unable to write down the correct answer to any equation (even if I know it), I am not very good at practicing science. I would have been a dismal failure as an astronaut. I couldn’t have even started the training, let alone get to that scary exercise program.

But I’m fantastic at making things up. I can imagine strange new worlds and new lives and new civilizations. My imagination can boldly go where Kris herself has never gone before-and will not go ever.

Sometimes I think it a small consolation that I can write science fiction instead of live an adventurous lifestyle. Then I watch documentaries on what the astronauts went through or even watch someone else’s imagined journey (Howard’s trip to the space station on The Big Bang Theorycomes to mind), and I realize that I am hopelessly bookish, not all that adventurous outside of my office, and scared to death of Roman candles.

So would I have written science fiction if I’d been born in a different century? Who knows? If I’d been born much earlier, I’d have spent a lot of energy just trying to convince someone I was a person, not the property of the men in my life, that I had a brain and a purpose other than child-bearing. So I’ve had that luxury as well.

The luxury of respect, of education, of science, and of damn good entertainment.

Yes, I stand on the shoulders of giants. And those giants are living breathing people, with real lives and real fears. Sometimes those living breathing people wrote science fiction.

But many of them lived it-and shared the adventure with the rest of us.

And for that, I’m profoundly grateful.

Guardian

Jin hugged the wall on the edge of an alleyway. Loud music and conversation filtered down from the OldTown night market two blocks away, but nothing moved nearby.

The ancient coin Auntie Bai Wei had given her hung on a thin leather cord around Jin's neck. It pulsed with a steady throb that felt as if it should be audible, but she knew from experience that she alone could sense it.

Jin walked this path every day on her way to the cannery where she worked, when it was a bustle of activity. But by night, the darkness pressed heavily on her. Though not a soul broke the stillness, it felt like someone was watching. A tingling sensation spread between Jin's shoulder blades. Yao had told her that when the bullies chased him that morning, a strange man in a dark suit-unheard of on this side of the river-had watched it all with predatory eyes. It had upset him even more than being thrown in the refuse bin, again.

Knowing her deceased mother's spirit wouldn't approve of her illicit ventures into thievery, Jin had ignored the coin's pull for three days but Yao's fear and the fact that she couldn't protect him during working hours had driven her out into the night. She needed the yuanthat Auntie would pay for the trinket the coin had chosen, and she needed it now, before registration for the tech school on the other side of the river closed.

She inched forward, crouched low. A solitary electric light burned inside the jeweler's shop, back beyond the showroom. Its soft glow caught on the figurine that drew the coin's attention. A white jade lion, shot through with deep, blood-touched red inclusions in its mane and paws. One paw stretched forward, its claws bared, and its jaw gaped wide in a roar. It was a rare piece of stone and a rare craftsman who pulled the beast from its depths. Jin would be sorry to sell it. Undoubtedly, its owner would be sorry when he found it missing.

Don't think about it. She drove away the image of the jeweler, and his smiling eyes behind their wire-rimmed spectacles, when he waved to her every day. Would he smile tomorrow? Would she smile back, as if nothing had happened?

Metal grates guarded the door and windows. She turned the corner and spied a window high on the wall, just within her reach if she jumped, open a crack. It had been unseasonably warm. Had the jeweler opened it for some ventilation and forgotten to shut it again, since it was so far into October that open windows should be a thing of the past?

No matter. It made her work easier. No need to pull out her makeshift lock pick, carved out of an old knife, secreted in a breast pocket.

She backed across the space between that building and the next, then sprinted forward and launched herself up, her fingers catching on the bricks at the window's base. With a tug, she pulled the window open wide, then walked her feet up the wall and slithered through head-first. The floor was a long way down, but she kept one hand on the window-ledge and twisted her body until she hung down the wall, then dropped. Her knees bent, absorbing the impact, and minimizing any sound.

Jin froze for a moment, listening. The jeweler lived above his shop. She couldn't risk being caught. Yao would be sent straight back into the Orphan Care Authority dormitories and the predations of his peers. At twelve years old, he was four years her junior, and she'd only recently earned enough to take him under her guardianship in a ramshackle apartment where they subsisted on O. C. A. nutrition bars. It wasn't much, but at least she could begin fulfilling her promise to her mother to watch over him and give him his best chance to make something of his life.

After a silent count to a hundred, Jin decided it was safe to move on. She had dropped into the jeweler's workshop. The worktable sat in the center of the room, littered with tools and coils of silver and gold wire. Jin padded past, guided by the light in the hallway, then slipped into the showroom.

A spirit-bell hung over the entryway, but Jin resisted the urge to ring it, despite the intensifying feeling that she was being watched. Spirits weren't going to turn her over to the police. People would. Besides, it was probably nothing more than her own guilty conscience. Even now she could hear her mother's ghostly admonishment. Find another way. I'm ashamed to see my daughter is a thief.

"I'm sorry, Mother," she whispered, hardly more than an exhale. "There isn't another way."

Glass cases lined the walls, filled with handmade jewelry-pearl necklaces, gold rings set with precious stones, and jade figurines ranging from a beetle the size of her thumbnail to a reclining ox, nearly as long as her forearm. She passed them by. The lion in the front window called to Auntie Bai Wei's coin like a lodestone.

Jin reached the window and picked up the lion. It felt warm. The wild edges of its mane dug into her palm. Gently, she reminded herself. Jade was strong, but not unbreakable. She placed it at the bottom of her jacket pocket, then returned the way she came.

As she slipped out of the showroom, a floorboard squealed under her weight. Jin froze. An electric light flashed on at the top of a flight of stairs leading up to the next floor. Without a backward glance, Jin fled through the workroom and launched herself at the window.