The Year's Best Science Fiction: 4th Annual Collection

4 Dec

The Year's Best Science Fiction: 4th Annual Collection

The Year's Best Science Fiction: 4th Annual Collection

Language: English

Pages: 666

ISBN: 2:00222148

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

This latest volume of The Year's Best Science Fiction carries on the proud tradition, with stories by Lucius Shepard, Orson Scott Card, Damon Knight, Pat Cadigan, Robert Silverberg, Somtown Sucharitkul, Tanith Lee, Scott Baker, Michael Swanwick, John Kessel, Richard Kearns, Greg Bear, Bruce Sterling, Jack Dann, Tim Powers, James Patrick Kelly, Connie Willis, Harry Turtledove, Howard Waldrop, Walter Jon Williams, Neal Barret, Jr., Lewis Shiner, Judith Moffett, Kim Stanley Robinson, Tom Maddox, Karen Joy Fowler, William Gibson. More than any other anthology, this volume truly is the best science fiction of the year--the single book no SF fan can be without.




















makes you think I don’t belong?” “I read some books in the school library. About the war and everything. I looked up Enigma and Ultra. I found a fellow named Peter Thornton. His picture looked like you but younger. The books made him seem like a hero.” Tuthy smiled wanly. “But there was this note in one book. You disappeared in 1965. You were being prosecuted for something. They didn’t even mention what it was you were being prosecuted for.” “I’m a homosexual,” Tuthy said quietly. “Oh. So

remember? The Great Red-Legged Scissors Man, who dashes up with a hugh pair of scissors and cuts the thumbs off kids that suck their thumbs? How’s it end?—’I knew he’d come … to naughty little suck-a-thumb.’” “They’re…” began Roger, so wildly disoriented that it was hard to take a deep breath or refrain from giggling, “They’re going to cut off our thumbs, are they?” Cyclops looked disgusted. “No. Are you drunk? I said I just call ’em that ’cause they look like the guy in the picture that went

honor the memory of someone, now pretty certainly dead, who didn’t want it told. Yet over those years I’ve come gradually to feel uncomfortable with the idea of dying without recording what I know—to believe that science would be pointlessly cheated thereby, and Sally, too; and just lately, but with a growing urgency, I’ve also felt the need to write an account of my own actions into the record. Yet it’s difficult to begin. The events I intend to set down have never, since they happened, been

cheeks, an eye webbed shut. Like a face out of a movie about nuclear mutants. He was tempted to believe that he had really seen this; the co-pilot’s deformities would validate his prediction of a secure future. But Mingolla rejected the temptation. He was afraid of dying, afraid of the terrors held by life at the Ant Farm, yet he wanted no more to do with magic … unless there was magic involved in being a good soldier. In obeying the disciplines, in the practice of fierceness. “Could be his

there’s a staff that does nothing all day but watch and interpret their symbols for breakthroughs in thought. And we’ll be taking Pretty Boys for as long as they’re publicly sought-after. It’s the most efficient way to find the best performers, go for the ones everyone wants to see or be. The top of the trend is closest to heaven. And even if you never make a breakthrough, you’ll still be entertainment. Not such a bad way to live for a Pretty Boy. Never have to age, to be sick, to lose touch. You

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