• The Jazz Age Observatory
    The signal arrived in the autumn of 1925, when New York was drunk on its own prosperity and the jazz was so loud it could be heard from the Hudson to the East River. Henry Walsh stood on the rooftop of his small private observatory in Manhattan, a tin-roofed structure financed by a banker named Arthur Pendleton who believed that science was the next step in civilization's evolution. Henry did...
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  • THE WEIGHT OF NOTHING
    ### Act I: The Spark Ethan Cross stood in the supermarket aisle for twelve minutes before making a decision. The decision was about cereal. There were fourteen brands on the shelf, from store-brand corn flakes at three dollars a box to artisanal granola at nine dollars, and Ethan was trying to choose one. Not because he was hungry—hunger was not the issue. The issue was that each choice carried...
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  • The Plague of Stars
    ## I. Dr. Isabelle Duval had been practicing medicine in New Orleans for three years when the plague came, and three years of practice, she would later tell anyone who would listen—though no one ever would listen, because by then they were all looking upward, eyes wide and unblinking, pupils dilated to black wells that swallowed the light—three years of practice had taught her that the body was...
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  • The Black Site
    David Cortez sat in his office at the National Security Council and read a classified report that changed everything. The report came from CIA's "Lookout Station"—a secret facility in Ukraine that had been monitoring deep-space signals for two years. The signal it had detected was not from outer space. It was from beneath the ice of Europa, Jupiter's moon. The signal was coming from an ocean...
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  • The Jazz of Truth
    New York, 1924. The city was a fever dream of saxophone wails and illegal gin. Arthur Penhaligon was a man of the moment, a silver-tongued broker who could sell ice to an Eskimo. He lived in a penthouse that touched the clouds, surrounded by flappers in sequined dresses and the endless clinking of crystal. Arthur's life changed during a trip to a dusty bookstore in Greenwich Village. He found a...
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  • The Weight of the Obsidian Spire
    The Weight of the Obsidian Spire The fog rolled in off the Thames like a living thing, thick and yellow as old wool. Arthur Sterling stood at the window of his study in Sterling Manor, watching the gas lamps flicker through the haze. One by one they went out, swallowed by the darkness. He counted them absently, as he had done every night for the past three years. Forty-seven lamps on this...
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  • The Aesthetics of Consumption
    Lord Julian Ashworth discovered beauty in the most inappropriate places, which was perhaps why he survived when more suitable men broke. It began, as all of Julian's disasters began, with a dinner party. The year was 1891, and the setting was his townhouse in Mayfair, where the walls were papered in a blue that was neither Victorian nor aesthetic but something in between -- the color of a...
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  • The Red Beacon
    I. At half-past three in the morning of the ninth of November, 1887, Sir Edwin Harborough stood with his left eye pressed to the eyepiece of the great refractor, and watched the red world die. It was not death, not in any sense that a physician might recognise. There was no fading, no slow dimming as a candle guttering in a draught. One moment the disc of Mars burned with its familiar ruddy...
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  • Echoes of Stardust
    Dr. Elena Vasquez stood at the window of Mission Control in Houston and watched the screens that displayed the fate of eight billion people. The data was clean. The calculations were verified. The orbital models were as precise as human science could make them, which is to say they were precise to within 0.003 percent, which in the context of what was happening was precise enough to be cruel....
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  • The Echo of a Dead Signal
    The expansion was the only thing that felt real. I could feel my awareness pushing outward, a slow, steady tide of consciousness washing over the ruins of the cosmos. I saw the dead stars, the frozen planets, the silence that had become the only universal constant. I believed I was the Awakened. I believed I was the one who had finally broken the cycle of death and was now ascending to a state...
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