The Year's Best Science Fiction & Fantasy, 2010 Edition
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
- This second volume of The Year's Best Science Fiction and Fantasy features over a quarter million words of fiction by some of the genre's greatest authors, as selected by Rich Horton, a well-known and well-received contributor to many of the field's most respected magazines.
scholar” is wanted for homicide, Inspector,” Captain Foster said with wintery condescension. “And in any case, a whole crew of malcontents might be concealed down there. It is my duty to take appropriate precautions.” Like me, Captain Foster was a Brit: pale, blond, and laconic, also startlingly young and eager to prove himself on his first real action. We had a brief discussion about whether or not I should accompany the strike team on their crash entry or wait aboard the ship until they had
The sand is full of colors—not only beige and yellow, but red and green and blue. Lichen clusters on the stones, the hue of oxidized copper. Shadows pool between rock formations, casting deep stripes across the landscape. Lucian’s mind is creeping away from him. He tries to hold his fingers the way he would if he could hold a pen, but they fumble. At night there are birds and jackrabbits. Lucian remains still, and they creep around him as if he weren’t there. His eyes are yellow like theirs. He
I pled up to Dulcie, grasping her skirt like an infant its mother’s. “Here he comes!” said Sammy Mack, and down the hill strode Ashman in his shirtsleeves, but with his hat on. I could not imagine him naked and raving and covered in gooseflesh, as Dulcie had described him. “What’s up, Frogget?” He pushed through the onlookers—he didn’t have to push very hard, for people leaped aside to allow in his part of the drama, his authority. John Frogget ushered him into the shooting gallery. Sammy Mack
baskets nailed to trees. The people watchin and playin were too busy to notice us passin through. Tall weeds almost hid the back of the house at the end of the street. The air conditioner had been ripped out, and we could see it lyin in the high grass. There was a carport, but no car. The grass was high under there too. The backdoor was open just a little, and there was a bunch of paper thrown across the porch. Some of it had blown into the yard, down into the creek. Tey pulled the weeds out of
but when he considered the possibilities, that Cugel might travel on forever in that void, or that he might be bound for some hell of Pandelume’s device, or for one of the worlds they had glimpsed at the ends of the corridors, for the table in the workshop, say, where he would be imprisoned beneath a glass bell and subject to exotic predation . . . though a clear judgment on the matter was impossible, these notions dispelled his gloom. Pandelume’s figure dispersed, fading and fading until only