Atualizações recentes
  • The Chrome Heart
    Thomas Vale sits in the back of a noodle bar in District Nine, eyes glazed, running data through his head. The Chrome Heart processes the package in four seconds -- a speed that should be impossible for any street-grade implant. The data is encrypted, which means the buyer will pay triple. It means the buyer probably should not have it, which means Thomas should probably not be carrying it. He...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • THE LAST LIGHT OF NEW CARTHAGE
    I found Grandfather's diary in the cellar on a Tuesday in October, 1872. The house was cold—the coal fire had been banked too early, as it always is when one lives alone—and the smell of damp stone and forgotten things rose to meet me as I descended the narrow stairs with a candle in my hand. There, behind a stack of water-stained furniture covers, in a tin box whose lock had rusted solid, was...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Experiment at Blackwood
    Act One: The Book in the Margin The boy was seven years old and reading a book that had no business in the hands of a child. Dr. Julian Blackwood saw him in the reading room of the York Minster library, sitting on the floor with his back against a stone pillar, a copy of Freud's The Interpretation of Dreams open on his knees. The book was water-stained, its pages dog-eared, the margin filled...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Shadow Over the Marsh
    The fog did not roll in. It simply arrived, as if the world had always been this way and the fog had been waiting. Thomas Blackwood stood at the edge of the Thames Estuary and felt the mud beneath his boots like a slow tide, shifting, pulling, promising to take him if he stayed still long enough. Arthur Finch stood behind him, two paces back, as always. They had been walking together since...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Axiom of Mirrors
    ## Act I: The Setup Leo was seventeen when he discovered that the world was a lie—or rather, a very convincing approximation. It happened in the basement of his father's antique bookstore in a rain-slicked town in Vermont. While dusting a shelf of forgotten Euclidean geometry texts, Leo had leaned against a large, ornate mirror with a frame of tarnished silver. Instead of feeling the cold...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 784 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Equilibrium Game
    Leo didn't believe in morality; he believed in leverage. In the vertical jungle of modern Manhattan, morality was just a luxury for those who couldn't afford the rent. As a "cleaner" for the Balance, Leo’s job was to ensure that the social equation always favored the house. The Balance was a shadow government of CEOs and lobbyists who managed the city like a portfolio. When a cluster of...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Rust Loop
    The rain in Oakhaven didn't wash things clean; it just turned the dust into a thick, grey paste that smelled of oxidized iron and old regrets. Arthur spent his days at the Shell station on Route 4, pumping gas for people who looked through him as if he were made of glass. He was thirty-four, though his reflection in the greasy mirror looked fifty. Then he found the watch. It was a heavy, brass...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 21 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • THE MIRROR IN THE BASEMENT
    ACT I: THE WINDOWLESS ROOM Lord Alistair Finch-Worthingham inherited Blackwood Park on a Tuesday in November, which seemed appropriate: Tuesdays were the kind of days on which serious things happened—inheritances, deaths, the slow realization that one's life has been a performance for an audience that stopped watching years ago. The house was exactly as one might expect a country house named...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 19 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The jazz spilled from the doorway of the Harlem club like liquid gold, spilling onto the sidewalk an
    The Price of Freedom The jazz spilled from the doorway of the Harlem club like liquid gold, spilling onto the sidewalk and into the cold November air. Inside, the smoke hung thick as a curtain, and the band played something that made your feet move before your mind could catch up with the feeling. Marcus Johnson stood behind the bar of his small establishment two blocks away, polishing glasses...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 19 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Man in the Mirror: French Philosophical Variant
    The Man in the Mirror: French Philosophical Variant Batch 9 - Work ID 69454: The Man in the Mirror Tensor: TI=82.0, M=[9.0,0.0,2.0,4.0,3.0,5.0,5.0,5.0,4.0,5.0], N=[0.40,0.60], K=[0.60,0.40], theta=270.0 I. The first time I noticed Le Deuxième Soi, I was looking at myself in the bathroom mirror on the rue des Écoles at 3 AM. I had just returned from the CNRS lab in Marseille—eleven hours of...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 19 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • Blood in the Delta
    Silas Blackwood sat in the mud on the porch of the crumbling Blackwood Plantation and watched the Mississippi River flow by.It was 1955, and the Mississippi smelled different than any river Silas had ever known. It smelled of rotting cotton and muddy water and something deeper and older—the smell of a land that had been worked too hard and broken too many times and was now slowly, silently,...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 11 Visualizações 0 Anterior
  • The Empty Air
    The radio repair shop on Spring Street smelled of solder and regret, which Jack Callahan considered an honest combination. He'd been fixing radios since 1945, when he came home from the Pacific with hands that shook too much to hold a rifle steady but were perfectly steady enough to twist wire and crimp connectors and align oscillator coils. He was thirty-eight years old and looked fifty. The...
    0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 18 Visualizações 0 Anterior
Mais stories