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  • The Last Ark of Man
    The world was a dying ember. The sun had grown bloated and erratic, scorching the oceans and turning the great forests into pillars of salt. Humanity had retreated into the "Spires," towering cities of steel and desperation, where the last of the resources were rationed with a cruelty that bordered on the divine. Commander Thorne was the architect of the "Final Integration." He was the man...
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  • The Letters Burned in Order of Their Writing
    I. It is a truth universally acknowledged among those who have suffered a great loss, that the architecture of grief follows the precise contours of the life that was lived. Edward Ashworth, who departed this world on the seventeenth of December in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and ninety-two, had been a gentleman of considerable means and immoderate habits of mind. He had built his...
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  • THE LAST ARC
    The telegraph wires were singing at midnight. Not a metaphor. Lieutenant Isabella Cole heard it with her own ears—a high, keening whine that ran down the line of copper cable from the field station to the generators three hundred meters away. It was the sound of electricity escaping its pipes, of a thing that should have been contained breaking free. She pressed her headset to her ears. Static....
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  • Cold Coffee and Broken Radios
    I. The radio went first. It was a Zenith, cabinet made of dark wood, the kind of thing your father buys when he wants to feel like he's still got control of something. I bought it at a garage sale in Duluth three years ago for five dollars. It played WLOL on clear nights and static on the others. That was fine by me. Then the coffee maker went. Black plastic, automatic, the kind that promises...
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  • The Astronomer of Cambridge
    The Astronomer of Cambridge ACT I — THE SIGNAL The rain fell on Cambridge like a judgment. Dr. William Hartwell stood alone in the Royal Observatory's domed chamber, his breath fogging the cold glass of the telescope eyepiece. It was the thirty-seventh night of March, 1887, and the brass instruments of the observatory gleamed in the gaslight like the skeleton of some great mechanical beast....
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  • THE DRY STATIC
    ACT I: THE BOOT (20%) The boot was a left foot. Size nine. Leather, cracked at the ankle, the toe scuffed from walking over things that weren't pavement. Billy found it on Day 1, in the dust in front of a building that used to be a shop. He picked it up, turned it over in his hands, put it in his pack. He didn't know why. It was just a boot. But it was a boot with a story, and Billy liked...
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  • THE DEEP LEDGER
    ACT I: THE WOMAN IN FUR (20%) The office smelled like old paper, old whiskey, and old mistakes. Frank Callahan liked it that way. It reminded him that everything in this city had a history, and most of those histories involved someone doing something they couldn't take back. The door opened without a knock. Frank looked up from his desk. The woman standing in the doorway was dressed in black...
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  • Three Versions of Frank Mallory
    Three Versions of Frank Mallory Version One Frank Mallory reported the girl immediately upon seeing her in the cargo hold and he went home and slept soundly and the next morning he reported for work at six o clock as he had done every morning for forty years and his supervisor said good morning Frank and Frank said good morning Bill and neither of them mentioned the girl because there was...
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  • The Patient from Below
    Dr. 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...
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  • The Patient from Below
    ACT I Dr. Henry Blackwood's clinic was on Harley Street, in a building that had been a townhouse before someone with money and no taste turned it into a medical practice. The waiting room smelled of carbolic acid and lavender—two smells that had been mixed together by someone who thought they complemented each other but in fact created an odor that was worse than either alone. Blackwood sat in...
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  • The Merger of Shadows
    The boardrooms of Manhattan are the only places where the real wars are fought. There are no trenches, no gunfire, only the soft click of a fountain pen and the cold precision of a non-disclosure agreement. I was the "Fixer" for the Vanguard Group, the most powerful conglomerate in the Northern Hemisphere. My job was to ensure that Vanguard didn't just dominate the market—it owned the reality....
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  • The Patient from Below
    The asylum had been closed for twenty years before the Sleep came, but the children of Boston knew it by reputation the way children know about forbidden places: through whispers and warnings and the peculiar silence that falls over a room when someone mentions the Holloway Asylum in a voice that suggests they have been told not to speak of it at all. Theo Ashworth had never been inside. He was...
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