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07/02/1982
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The crystal was the size of a human heart and just as fragile.The crystal was the size of a human heart and just as fragile. Jasper Holt held it in his palm, wrapped in a cloth of his own weaving, and felt the weight of it. Not the physical weight—the crystal was lighter than a stone of the same size, its internal lattice structure designed for maximum storage density and minimum mass. He felt the historical weight. This was a pre-Fall quantum crystal,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 ReviewsPlease log in to like, share and comment!
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All the Houses That Never WereThe morning Eleanor Whitmore did not die, she woke to a different kind of rain. It was lighter than the rain she had known for seventeen days, more mist than water, the kind of rain that softened the edges of the slag heaps and made Blackmoor look almost beautiful, almost like a place where someone might choose to live. She sat up in her bed and felt, for the first time in six months, something...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Water Eaters DebtThe ground was purple. That was the first thing you noticed when you climbed through the airlock onto the surface: the ground was a deep, violent purple, covered in vegetation that looked like moss but moved like muscle, flexing and expanding in the thin wind that swept across the New Orleans Wastes. Clara Wells stood in the airlock for a long time and looked at the purple ground and thought:...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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Degrees of TruthIn classical logic, a statement is either true or false. Senator Harlowe accepted a bribe: true. Senator Harlowe is an honest public servant: false. The world of classical logic is clean and austere and satisfyingly predictable. It is also entirely useless for understanding anything that actually happens in the world. In fuzzy logic, a statement can be partially true and partially false at the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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THE WEIGHT OF NOTHINGI Raymond Kowalski woke at 5:30 every morning. He dressed in the dark—dark trousers, dark shirt, the same jacket he had worn for five years. He ate toast with margarine. He drank coffee that was too weak because he had stretched the grounds with extra hot water. He walked out the front door at 5:45. The factory was two miles away. It took him twenty minutes to walk. He walked at the same pace...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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THE QUIET DESPERATIONTom Callahan was under Mrs. Kowalski's sink at 6:15 a.m., fixing a leak that smelled like cabbage and copper. The water was cold. His back hurt the way it always hurt now — a dull, constant ache that had nothing to do with any particular injury and everything to do with eleven years of working with his hands after the steel mill closed. He tightened the nut with his wrench, wiped his hands on...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The King of AshesThe City of Glass was a miracle of geometry and light, a utopia where every citizen's life was optimized for maximum happiness. Silas was the High Curator, the man who managed the 'Harmonic Grid'—the system that balanced the city's resources and emotional states. Silas had discovered a flaw in the Grid. He found that by fusing his consciousness with the fragmented memories of the city's...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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The Cipher of the DyingThe library was a cathedral of rotting paper, a sprawling labyrinth of forgotten knowledge located in the basement of a condemned building in South Kensington. Julian lived there among the dust motes and the smell of vanilla and decay. He was a pale man with fingers that looked like bird claws, a world-renowned paleographer who had spent his life decoding the undecodable. But now, the only code...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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The Blackwood ObservationPART I: THE FIRST SIGHTING Spring 1890. Blackwood Manor, the English countryside. The library smelled of mildew and old paper, the walls hung with portraits of men who had died poor and proud, and Lord Sebastian Blackwood sat alone with his insomnia and his telescopes and the terrible knowledge that was slowly eating him alive from the inside. He had not slept more than three hours in a row for...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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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 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The Silver BladeThe rain in Los Angeles don't wash things clean. It just makes the dirt slicker. I was hanging off the side of the Pentagon Annex building on Sunset, two hundred feet of empty air between my boots and the sidewalk, watching the rain turn the neon signs into watercolor paintings. My left shoulder was killing me—the shrapnel from Okinawa don't like cold weather, and November in LA is about as...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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The Patient from BelowDr. Evelyn Blackwood had been treating soldiers for fourteen months when she began to suspect that the war was happening inside their heads. The facility was a converted country estate outside New Carthage, all white corridors and padded rooms and the faint smell of carbolic and iodine. It housed the military's most difficult cases: men and women who had been brought back from the front lines...0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews
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