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Hugo Award winner "Neutron Star" and seven other groundbreaking stories and novellas by the author of RINGWORLD. Well-known Niven characters -- including Beowulf Schaeffer, Sigmund Ausfaller, Nessus and other alien Puppeteers, the ferocious Kzinti -- appear in these pages. As Tom Clancy says, "The scope of Larry Niven's work is so vast that only a writer of supreme talent could disguise the fact as well as he can."
"Niven...juggles huge concepts of time and space that no one else can lift."
- Charles Sheffield
"Great storytelling is still alive in science fiction because of Larry Niven."
- Orson Scott Card, author of ENDER'S GAME
"The scope of Larry Niven's work is so vast that only a writer of supreme talent could disguise the fact as well as he can."
- Tom Clancy, author of THE HUNT FOR RED OCTOBER
"His tales have grit, authenticity, colorful characters and pulse-pounding narrative drive. Niven is a true master!"
- Frederik Pohl
"Larry Niven is one of the giants of modern science fiction."
- Mike Resnick
"Our premier hard SF writer."
- The Baltimore Sun
"Niven ... lifts the reader far from the conventional world -- and does it with dash."
- The Los Angeles Times
"In creating a geologic world and in the interactions between humans and aliens, Niven is superb."
- Boston Sunday Globe
"One of the genre's most prolific and accessible talents."
- Library Journal
about the author:
Born April 30, 1938 in Los Angeles, California. Attended California Institute of Technology; flunked out after discovering a book store jammed with used science fiction magazines. Graduated Washburn University, Kansas, June 1962: BA in Mathematics with a Minor in Psychology, and later received an honorary doctorate in Letters from Washburn. Interests: Science fiction conventions, role playing games, AAAS meetings and other gatherings of people at the cutting edges of science. Comics. Filk singing. Yoga and other approaches to longevity. Moving mankind into space by any means, but particularly by making space endeavors attractive to commercial interests. Several times we’ve hosted The Citizens Advisory Council for a National Space Policy. I grew up with dogs. I live with a cat, and borrow dogs to hike with. I have passing acquaintance with raccoons and ferrets. Associating with nonhumans has certainly gained me insight into alien intelligences.
kind of weapon is this? I’m talking about the whole bundle, not any single setting.” “As you say, I am not an expert on warfare.” “I don’t think it’s a soldier’s weapon. I think it’s for espionage.” “Would that be different? I gather the question is important.” Jason stopped to gather his thoughts. He held the gun cradled in his hands. It was still at the eighth setting, the peculiar, twisted shape that Nessus had compared to a diagram from differential topology. He held history in his
bicycle in the cargo hold. Too simple, too foolproof. He ignored the ramscoop because he wouldn’t have understood it. He ignored the fusion drive for both reasons. If there was a flaw in either of them, he would not find it. His only chance was in the lifesystem. It was big and roomy, that lifesystem, even for four people. Most flatlanders did not have that much room in their homes. But a claustrophobic ramship passenger could not step outside for a breath of air. The lifesystem was a cylinder
sadly when he found both of the two special-mix phials that close to empty. Hooker didn’t know it, but Jurgenson was the third man on Earth who knew his secret. He had guessed it, of course, but the guess was a certainty. You can’t hide baldness from your barber. Jurgenson filled the phials, still saddened. Mr. Hooker always sent him a twenty-five-mark bill for a Christmas present. (A firm handled Christmas presents of that nature for Hooker, remembering for him, but Jurgenson didn’t know that.)
clear a magnificent range of young mountains. “Can you fly a car?” I looked up from my cards. “Of course.” Most people can. Every world has its wilderness areas, and it’s not worthwhile to spread transfer booths all through a forest, especially one that doesn’t see twenty tourists in a year. When you’re tired of civilization, the only way to travel is to transfer to the edge of a planetary park and then rent a car. “That’s good,” said Emil, “in case I get put out of action.” “Now it’s your
I’m a genius.” That served me right. I took the car up without quibbling. Ten miles down was the wandering line of the forest border, sharply demarcated from the veldt. At this height all the magnificent colors of Gummidgy vegetation blurred into a rich brown. “Do you see it?” “No.” “Look for two nearly parallel lines,” said Emil. “A little lighter than the rest of the forest.” “I still don’t see it.” “It shows on the veldt too.” “Nope. Hah! Got it.” Crossing the rich brown of the forest