Year's Best SF 17 (Year's Best SF Series)
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The Year’s Best SF 17 is a showcase of the best short form science fiction of 2011, selected by World Fantasy Award winners David Hartwell and Kathryn Cramer, two of the most respected editors in the field of speculative fiction. Like the previous sixteen volumes of the series that has been called “the finest modern science fiction writing,” The Year’s Best SF 17 features stories from some of the brightest lights in sf—including Gregory Benford (Beyond Human), Nancy Kress (Beggars in Spain), James Morrow (The Philosopher’s Apprentice), Michael Swanwick (The Dragons of Babel) and Neil Gaiman (American Gods) —as well as electrifying short stories from exciting newcomers.
night of feasting and music I’d emerge to find that centuries had gone by and everybody I knew was dead.” I stiffened, knowing that Mary found this kind of thing offensive. But she only smiled and said, “It’s not the wee folk you have to worry about. It’s the boys.” “The boys?” “Aye. Ireland is a hotbed of nativist resistance, you know. During the day, it’s safe enough. But the night belongs to the boys.” She touched her lips to indicate that she wouldn’t speak the organization’s name out
a nation of fucking werewolves!” I cried. Thinking that would put an end to the conversation. But Mary wasn’t fazed. “That we are,” she agreed. “Day by day, we present our harmless, domestic selves to the world, until one night the beast comes out to feed. But at least we’re not sheep, bleating complacently in the face of the butcher’s knife. Which are you, my heart’s beloved? A sheep? Or could there be a wolf lurking deep within?” “He can’t do the job,” Liam said. “He’s as weak as watered
standing by for consult. If any of these apply, please let us know what actions you have taken, so we may update your records. If this is a dietary anomaly, please disregard. The company appreciates your work. They test some of the components on a simulator. (Mason tells Paul they’re marking signs of understanding. Really, he wants to see if the simulation prefers one of them without a logical basis. That’s what humans do.) He pulls up a baseline, several traits mixed at random from
Protector was assassinated last note.” “Oh. Is that good or bad?” Bick shrugged. “It depends on who they blame.” As Bick hurried on her way, Thorn stood, balanced between going home and going on to warn Magister Pregaldin. The sound from above grew more distinct, as of slow drumming. Deciding abruptly, Thorn dashed on. The denizens of Weezer Alley had become accustomed to the sight of Thorn passing through to her lessons. Few of them were abroad this forenote, but she nearly collided with one
grinned. “Eres humana.” She straightened. Her eyes met Javier’s. “I suppose coming from a vN, that’s quite the compliment.” “We aim to please,” he said. Moments later, they were in her car. It started with a meal. It usually did. From silent prison guards in Nicaragua to singing cruise directors in Panama, from American girls dancing in Mexico and now this grown American woman in her own car in her own country, they started it with eating. Humans enjoyed feeding vN. They liked the special