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Female
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07/05/1981
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The Resonance of Station SevenThe Resonance of Station Seven Cassius Log Entry: Year 17, Day 284. Backup power reserves at 3.2%. The station's non-essential systems have been offline for eleven years. Life support, limited to the command module, operates at 18% capacity. Hydroponics bay seven — the last functioning vegetative system — terminated on Day 412 of Year 14 due to nutrient depletion. Crew complement: zero. I am...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 BewertungenBitte loggen Sie sich ein, um liken, teilen und zu kommentieren!
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The saxophone played in a key that didn't exist on any piano. It was a blue note bent so far flat it became purple, and it hung in the smoke-filled room like a question nobody wanted to answer.His name was Little Charlie, but nobody called him that anymore. They called him Charlie, or Chaz, or just "man" when they needed something and didn't want to use a name. Names were heavy things in the Micro Age. Heavy and inconvenient. I landed the Sky Angel on a rooftop in what used to be Long Island and walked into a party that had been going on for two thousand five hundred years. Well, not...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Double Life of Thomas VanceThomas Vance opened the bookshop at nine in the morning and he closed it at six in the evening and he did exactly the same thing every day for three years. He straightened the books. He wiped the counter. He drank tea from a cup that said World's Best Bookseller in letters that were chipped and fading. He watched the people walk past the window and he thought about nothing. This was exactly...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 4 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Star PolisherThe piano had stopped making music on a Tuesday in March. Henry West was sitting at it—his grandmother's upright, the one with the sticky F-sharp and the yellowed keys that looked like teeth—he was sitting at it with his hands on the keys and pressing down and nothing came out except a sound like a cough. Not a musical sound. A mechanical sound. The sound of a thing that had been built for one...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Last PharmacyEllis Thorn stood in the last pharmacy on Earth and counted the pills on the counter. One hundred and seventy-three. All of them real. All of them prescription. All of them meaningless in a world where death had been retired like a worn-out employee. He was the only person alive who still needed them. The pharmacy was a museum piece, preserved by the Consensus as a joke a reminder of the Time...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 950 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The patient from belowDr. Eleanor Hart had been coming to the Blackwood Institute for three weeks when she first heard the word transfiguration. The patient who said it was in Room 217—the highest security room on the fourth floor, where the walls were padded with beige fabric that had been stained by decades of fingerprints, heads thrown against them in moments of despair, and hands pressed flat in moments of...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 8 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Golden ExchangeThe ticker tape never stopped talking. That was the first thing Vincent Moretti learned on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange: the machine had opinions, and they came in the form of punched paper ribbons that fell like confetti from the ceiling of a cathedral built for a new god. He was nineteen, Irish-Italian from Hester Street, with ink on his fingers and a photographic memory that made...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 7 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Last Candle(Tragic Romance Style) The fog of Victorian London was a shroud that clung to the cobblestones. Clara was dying. The consumption had turned her breath into a rattle and her skin into translucent parchment. Julian, a disgraced medical student with a mind like a lightning storm, could not accept the verdict of the physicians. He had found the "Aeterna Sequence," a series of forbidden neurological...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The magnolias at LeClair Manor had not bloomed in seven years. Beau sat on the veranda, watching kudzu consume the columns his grandfather had carved from live oak, and tried to remember what it felt like to belong to a house that belonged to someone.Louisiana heat pressed down like a wet wool blanket. Beau LeClair was thirty-one years old, the last son of a family that had once controlled ten thousand acres and three hundred souls, and currently controlled a debt of approximately forty thousand dollars and a house that was slowly sinking into the bayou beneath it. The device arrived in a plain wooden crate with no return address. Inside...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 7 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Black SignalThe phone rang at 11:47 PM, which was late even for this city, but not late enough to be surprising. Jack Moranne let it ring twice, then reached across the desk and picked up the receiver with his good hand. The bad one—the one that ended at the wrist where the war had taken everything below—was tucked under his arm, holding a half-empty bottle of bourbon and a notebook that contained more...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 7 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The House That RememberedThe Thorne estate sat on a hill in the Mississippi delta, surrounded by live oaks that looked like they were holding their breath. Bell Thorne was twenty-six and the last person with the deed, which was not the same thing as having the means to keep what the deed described. The house was falling apart. The roof leaked in seventeen places that Bell had marked with chalk X's on the ceiling of the...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 8 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Keeper of Blackwood ShipyardsThe Thames fog clung to the cranes and gantries of Blackwood Shipyards like a shroud. Arthur Blackwood stood on the weathered planks of the launching ramp, his hands gripping the cold iron railing, and watched the last light of an English autumn bleed into the river. Behind him, the hull of the Blackwood rose from the darkness—a leviathan of riveted steel, her lines clean and ruthless, her...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 5 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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