Nebula Awards Showcase 2004
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Presented by the members of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America(r), the Nebula Awards honor the extraordinary work of those authors whose stories offer fresh perspectives on the genre. Featuring the year's best, the Nebula Awards Showcase is an annual tradition bringing readers the finest science fiction from today's most respected authors.
This year's winners include New York Times bestselling author Neil Gaiman, Richard Chwedyk, Carol Emshwiller, and Ted Chiang.
Even from way up here, I can see a little herd of panicked deer galloping off toward the hills. Rosie covers her eyes this time and leans over as if she has a stomachache. Says, “Mmmmm-mmmnnn. Not Kkkh kkh krright.” “What were you supposed to do?” “Kkh . . . khill. . . . Mmmm those like kh you. Khill you.” Below us, the creature that was on its back tries to escape but the others leap high and claw at it, pull it down then one bites the under part of the neck. Now there is blood. I turn to
Forest, Viking, May 2002) “The Ferryman’s Wife,” Richard Bowes (The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, May 2001) “Hell Is the Absence of God,” Ted Chiang (winner) (Starlight, July 2001) “Madonna of the Maquiladora,” Gregory Frost (Asimov’s Science Fiction, May 2002) “The Days Between,” Allen Steele (Asimov’s Science Fiction, March 2001) “Lobsters,” Charles Stross (Asimov’s Science Fiction, June 2001) SHORT STORIES “Creature,” Carol Emshwiller (winner) (The Magazine of Fantasy &
teeth. “Good morning, Axel,” said Reggie. “What can Reggie do for you today?” Reggie always referred to himself in the third person. “A whole bunch of stuff!” Axel stretched his forepaws far apart. “Important stuff! Fate of the universe stuff! Really truly big important stuff!” His head bobbed with each exclamation. “Where would you like to begin?” Reggie said with patience. Axel looked sharply to one side, then the other. “Don’t know! I forgot. Wait!” He nodded vigorously. “The screensaver!
bring up the questions that burned in my breast was terminated without apparent malice. Back upstairs. The dog nosing at my hand. Minnie noting that he liked me. Minnie not saying anything about the son whose room we’d changed in, the one who’d died “in the war”. A very real heartbreak about the way her eyes grew distant at that moment. I asked which war, and she smiled sadly: “There’s only been one war, dear—and it doesn’t really matter what you call it.” Nikki patting her hand. Oscar telling a
this, it may also be possible that—in our genetic idiosyncrasies—we may be only capable of performing half the job.” “Oh, who died and made you king?” Agnes turned away in disgust—or perhaps to hide her pained expression momentarily. Doc smiled and gently said, “Sweet Agnes, pay no attention to me, then. I am just a lame old fool who knows nothing except that he loves all his good friends here assembled.” “You old windbag!” Agnes backed away. “As if I trusted carnosaurs any better than humans!