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23/09/1968
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The Babel KnightsACT I: THE BLUE NIGHT (Rising Action) The piano played in C minor, which was Marcus Hale's way of telling the room that something was wrong. Samuel Johnson did not look up from the keys. He never did when he played. His hands moved across the ivory with a fluidity that had nothing to do with technique and everything to do with something deeper--something that lived in his bones and came out...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 ReviewsPlease log in to like, share and comment!
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The Patient from BelowACT I: THE SIGNAL Dr. Vivian Marsh first noticed the pattern on a Tuesday night, during the kind of shift that makes you question every life decision that led to you standing in a hospital corridor at 2 AM holding a cup of cold coffee. She was a third-year neurosurgery resident at Massachusetts General—twenty-nine years old, first generation college, the only person in her family who had ever...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Star Beacon of MontparnasseThe signal arrived on a Wednesday in November, 1923, and by Friday everyone in the astronomy community was arguing about it and nobody was certain what they were arguing about. Jack Callahan didn't care about the astronomy community. He was an American expat living in a garret on Rue de la Gaité, writing for the Chicago Tribune's Paris bureau about cabaret singers and failed painters, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The first time Kate Lindsay saw the mask, it was painted on the wall of an abandoned subway station beneath Lower East Street. It was a clown's face, red and grinning, and every five seconds a flicker"Welcome to the Wallfacer's kingdom," said a voice from the darkness behind her. Kate turned, her hand on the gun she no longer had permission to carry. She was thirty-one, recently decertified by the FBI for refusing to follow orders that violated her conscience, and currently surviving on caffeine and spite. "Who are you?" she asked. "The man you've been looking for," said the voice. "Or the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Patient from BelowPart I: The Lock Henri Leclerc was thirty-three years old, the youngest mathematics professor at the Ecole Normale Superieure in Paris, and in the spring of 1893 he was on the verge of a discovery that would have changed the course of mathematics. He had been working on hypergeometric functions—specifically, on a class of functions that extended the concept of infinity to higher dimensions. In...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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What Survives the CrashThe first thing the selection pressure kills is your ability to sleep. Not insomnia in the ordinary sense — I had been an insomniac for five years by the time Captain Reyes showed me the neural architecture of his dead son's uploaded consciousness. Ordinary insomnia is just the mind refusing to shut down. This was different. This was the mind realizing that shutting down was no longer an...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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The Seventh DescentACT I The first time I fell, I was twenty-three years old and standing in a room that smelled of old paper and lavender, and the woman who had been my fiancée for eleven months was signing a marriage license with a man whose name I would not learn for another three weeks. Her name was Eileen. Eileen Murphy—Irish immigrant, third generation, Dublin accent that softened when she was nervous and...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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Golden AshesI. The problem with writing about a city that is celebrating its own greatness is that the celebration drowns out the voices of the people the greatness was built upon. Julian Cross knew this better than most, because he had spent the last three years trying to write those voices into existence and discovering, with a patience that bordered on resignation, that existence and publication are not...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
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THE LAST GREAT GATSBY'S WARACT I: THE JAZZ CLUB (20%) The piano player at Le Diable Noir was playing a tune Nick Calloway had never heard but felt he had lived. It was slow and sad and sounded like a man walking through a room where everything he had loved had been taken, and he didn't know when it happened or by whose hand, so he just kept walking. Nick sat at the bar with a whiskey that was half water and watched the...0 Comments 0 Shares 12 Views 0 Reviews
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The Two-Dimensional RainThe rain in Los Angeles didn't fall straight down. It came at an angle, driven by a wind that smelled of salt and exhaust, and it made the neon signs on Sunset Boulevard bleed their colors across the wet pavement like watercolors left out in a storm. Jack Cole sat in his office on the fourth floor of a building that had been something once—a law firm, maybe, or a doctor's office, before the...0 Comments 0 Shares 10 Views 0 Reviews
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The Specimen's SongThe Galactic Museum of Extinction was a place of sterile perfection. It existed in the fold between dimensions, a vast network of white halls and shimmering spheres where the dead civilizations of a million worlds were preserved as holographic simulations. The Curator, a being of shifting light and geometric patterns, spent eons wandering these halls, fascinated by the patterns of failure. To...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The tremor began on a Tuesday.The tremor began on a Tuesday. Arthur Voss noticed it at 08:47, during his morning compliance band calibration. His left hand — the one he used to hold his datapad, to write on the haptic surface, to gesture during his compliance band calibration routine — was shaking. Not noticeably. Not enough for anyone else to see. But Arthur felt it. A subtle oscillation, roughly 3.2 Hertz, amplitude...0 Comments 0 Shares 12 Views 0 Reviews
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