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impossible task? Why?
    Another giant moves to where they lie in darkness.
    "Dian, where’d you find that?"
    "In a corridor. Isn't he cute?"
    I am not cute! I am not cute! But he falters, now uncertain.
    "Odd. That's really odd."
    "What is?"
    "Someone else found a baby about fifteen minutes ago, wandering down near Data Central. It was — well, the damn thing was trying to crawl behind the main library core."
    And now he remembers.
    He remembers his brothers and sisters.
    Another shape moves closer, clicking charges from its weapon, adjusting its goggles. "Yeah . . . and they found three in sector 7. Just crawling around . . .. "
    Ginger hands set him on the ground, with respect. The three figures back away, and now there are eyes on him. Goggled eyes, yes, but he can sense the fear within them as they back off, move away, into the growing silence. The battle itself seems to still for this moment.
    My brothers, yes! Do you hear me now?
    "Hey, man, something's going on here. I don’t like it."
    He cannot count the eyes on him, riveted to his tiny, pink body.
    Yes, see me for what I am: your master! Kneel, I say, for I and my brothers and sisters are your conquerors!
    "But it's only a baby . . . "
    He hears the ticking surge, louder.
    "Oh my God, what's it doing?"
    "Let's get out—"
    It is time!
    The ticking stops, echoing in his ears. Into the vacuum he feels the rush of fire, swelling within him, swelling and growing, blowing and burning and cleansing.
    My supreme moment! My triumph! My—
    Spreading warm wetness.
    His excitement is too great. The instant of victory is shattered as he wets himself . . .
    And only then explodes.

    * * *

    “Rattleground” is copyright 2016 by Marc Laidlaw. It first appeared at marclaidlaw.com.
     

THE EIGHTIES: PEAK OMNI
    As a teenager, my favorite magazine was the venerable Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction . Thinking of it as a slightly more attainable New Yorker , I dreamed of being one of its regular contributors. I did eventually begin to sell my work to F&SF , and it has remained a reliable home for my stories. But I was most fortunate to find my footing as a writer precisely at the time when Omni Magazine was becoming a pop-cultural force, and it was at Omni where I truly cut my teeth.
    In Omni , my stories were guaranteed to reach a large audience, which turned up the pressure I felt to be at my best. It’s also, not coincidentally, where I received the most intensive editorial support from the brilliant Ellen Datlow. I knew that once Ellen finally approved of a story, it was my best work; and lessons learned honing drafts for Omni served me well in other undertakings.
    Of course, only a handful of my stories were suitable for Omni . Night Cry was a welcome co-conspirator when it came to weirder, woollier stuff, while F&SF rewarded my more sober efforts. There were also a number of interesting original anthologies that came along and encouraged work I might not have attempted otherwise, notably George Zebrowski’s sterling Synergy series.
    Early adulthood, marriage, a move from San Francisco to Long Island and back again, I can see all these influences reflected in these stories. Which is simply to say, life was happening. I wrote as much as I could, trying to keep up.

     

SNEAKERS
    What are you dreaming, kid?
    Oh, don’t squeeze your eyes, you can’t shut me out. Rolling over won’t help—not that blanket either. It might protect you from monsters but not from me.
    Let me show you something. Got it right here. . . .
    Well look at that. Is it your mom? Can’t you see her plain as day? Yeah, well try moonlight. Cold and white, not like the sun, all washed out; a five-hundred-thousandth of daylight. It can’t protect you.
    She doesn’t look healthy, kid. Her eyes are yellow, soft as cobwebs—touch them and they’ll tear. Her skin is like that too, isn’t it? No, Mom’s not doing so good. Hair all falling out. Her teeth are swollen, black, and charred.
    Yeah,