The Starry Rift: Tales of New Tomorrows
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Truly successful science fiction does two things: it gives credible glimpses into the future while entertaining the reader. With this in mind, noted anthologist Jonathan Strahan - who is also the reviews editor of Locus magazine - asked sixteen of today's most inventive, compelling writers to look past the horizon of the present day. Neil Gaiman (Anansi Boys), Kelly Link (Magic for Beginners), Garth Nix (the Abhorsen Trilogy), Scott Westerfeld (Uglies; Pretties; Specials) and their colleagues have crafted a dazzling range of stories. Whether on spaceships, in suburbia, or in simulated gaming worlds, whether about cloning, battle tactics, or corporate politics, the stories of The Starry Rift will give every reader something to consider. This original anthology is crucial reading for those who want to see where the future (and the future of science fiction) is headed.
Note : taken from an almost public tracker.
I’ve told him you’re on your way.” “And I am!” I swung myself across the watery plan, watching Mister Chopes count heads, scan the hopping hopefuls, pick out a good clean man and give him a job-ticket, shoo away a sneaky-looking boy. The team’s chanter stood with his drum and beaters, wrapped in his white cloth and his dignity. He too was a contractor; he had no need to fuss. Mister Chopes counted again, then sent them off for their hooks and spades, and turned and saw me. “You Amarlis?” “I
fingers. “Unearthly good. Purest essence of money, trickling into the bosses’ pockets—” And then the bell rang, from the top of the plan, mad and loud and on and on. The whole crowd of workers swayed shoreward as if a gust of wind had bent them. Many day-jobbers broke and ran for shore, shouting. A slow shiver went through the whole length of the beast. At its foot, water splashed up from the drumming of its heel on the plan. The knee-team’s onlooker, whom I had thought so professional
candy-striped body. “Is that Mister Chopes?” I looked back down the plan. I wanted a boss. I wanted to be in charge of nothing, no one. “Look at them! And look at those raggedy foot-people coming after! Chopes will get commended for this, being so neat and ordered.” “If he doesn’t die.” “If we don’t all die.” “Look! Look at the stuff inside!” The bone lid had tipped right out from the beast’s head. The head-contents sat packed in their cavity. They were supposed to be gray, a purplish gray.
the Battle was on. It wouldn’t stop until a winner had been determined by the M-eq. We both surged toward the dark sand. We clashed in the middle. I had a lightning-fast left hand; that was common knowledge. I used the jab to keep him away from me, and then caught him with a right cross almost immediately. He took the shot pretty well, which was more than could have been said for my hand. Even given every genetic advantage, it was difficult to condition your hands to hit bone. He winked at me.
than me by four years. He didn’t like me. According to my father, when I was a baby Stephen used to unfasten my seat belt and also the strap that held my baby seat in. When I was five, he pushed me down a flight of stairs. I broke my wrist. My mother saw him do it, and so once a week for the next two years Stephen went to see a counselor named Ms. Blair in downtown Philadelphia; I remember I was jealous. When our parents got divorced, Stephen was ten and I was six, and they decided they would