Adrift in the Noosphere: Science Fiction Stories
Language: English
Pages: 206
ISBN: 1434444643
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
In his Foreword, Rich Horton says: "First rate stories..." "Time Considered as a Series of Thermite Burns in No Particular Order" is a clever and very funny time travel romp; "The Beancounter's Cat" is set in a far future with Clarkean science sufficiently advanced to appear magical; "Walls of Flesh, Bars of Bone" (with Barbara Lamar) is another look at the mystery of human destiny; "Under the Moons of Venus" is a remarkable, evocative homage to one of SF's greats." Well-known editor Gardner Dozois has said of "The Beancounter's Cat" that it "...starts out reading like fantasy, and gradually turns into very far-future SF." Also included is an original tale with Paul Di Filippo, "Luminous Fish," taking Mike Moorcock's famous character Jerry Cornelius for a spin in the 21st century! Nine scintillating science fiction stories by a major writer in the field.
Client.” “A harmless variant on the transference, Massri. But you understand that I can’t discuss my patients, so I’m afraid we’ll have to drop that topic immediately.” He frowned at the Egyptian, who sipped tea from a half-filled mug. “I can say that Clare has a very garbled notion of your thinking about Venus.” “She’s a delightful young woman, but doesn’t. Seem to pay close attention to much. Beyond her wardrobe. Ah well. But Robert, I had to tell somebody. You didn’t seem especially
Something seemed to be stuck in his throat, and I doubt that it was an alien implant. “Your name is not Angel,” he told me, evading my question, “it’s Rosa. Rosa Rosch.” No, my lost life did not instantly flood back into my conscious awareness like a dam bursting. I looked at him as if he were the one with the mental problem. “What?” Benjamin sat where he was and extended his beautiful hand to within 20 centimeters of my own. “May I hold your hand?” I gave my permission. His grip was warm
doctor gave him a push in the back. “Forget it!” But a kind of sexual pulse passed through him, a perverse pleasure at this insanely obscene spectacle. What, they abduct you into a fucking flying saucer and stick needles up your nose and drill your brain, and then they expect you to bang some hybrid alien? Jesus! His erection could not make up its mind. Klar-2 struck him more firmly in the small of his back, and the lights on the control patches around the walls began to fizz and flicker. He
because I had gobbled up a couple of potted and scathing magazine exposes of Scionetics in the previous days, and I wasn’t buying it. He popped the top on a beer can (a “stubby”) and sucked froth into his mouth. The sun, burning down from the north of the sky, caught his machine-tanned forehead, slipped down the laugh lines beside his eyes. He should have been wearing a hat, of course, as I was, because the ozone hole was straight overhead in Sydney, but he was protected against cancer, he said,
feeling dreary, “I’m feeling dreary. How stale, flat and unprofitable are the uses of this world.” “Come on, buddy.” My wife jabbed me in the ribs. She’s just a little thing, but her elbow is sharp, even through a stolen blue police skirt. “Remember our motto, and be proud.” “A stitch in time,” I said without much enthusiasm. It’s the nature of our trade. You can change your future but not your own past. So you’re obliged to go further and further into the day after the day after, and track