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  • Sample V-05: The Diamond Debt
    (Style D: Film Noir) The rain in Los Angeles didn't wash anything away; it just made the filth shine. I was a nurse at St. Jude's, the kind of place where the patients died and the doctors drank. I'd seen everything, or so I thought, until the night the woman in the red dress collapsed in the emergency bay. She looked like a million dollars, but she was leaking something that wasn't blood. She...
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  • The Observer's Garden
    The first sign was the headache. It came on during the salon, while Comte de Montclair was debating the nature of beauty with a fellow poet named Valmont. One moment he was speaking; the next, the room seemed to expand, the chandeliers rising like stars into a distant ceiling. He thought it was the wine. He ordered more wine. By morning, his reflection in the mirror was wrong. He was smaller....
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  • The Star Beacon of Montparnasse
    The 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...
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  • Oxygen-and-Rust
    Oxygen and Rust I. The fracture was invisible to the station's automated sensors, but Rosa Delgado felt it through the soles of her magnetic boots. It was a vibration, subtle but persistent, like a tooth waiting to crack. She floated in the void outside Station Kestrel, forty feet from the nearest airlock, welding a micro-fracture in the hull that no one else knew existed. 0.4 gravity made...
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  • The View from the Stoop
    (Act I: The Intruder) I’ve lived on this block in Brooklyn for forty years, and I’ve seen every kind of misery there is. I spend most of my days on my stoop, watching the world go by with a mixture of boredom and contempt. Then came the night of the Great Rain. A man in a charcoal suit—the kind that costs more than my house—stumbled out of a black car and practically fell into Leo’s yard. He...
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  • The Signal in the Stars
    The champagne in my glass had gone warm, but I drank it anyway because the alternative was to stand in this room any longer and listen to men who had never lost a battle discuss the art of losing. They were all friends of my father, men in their fifties with silver hair and silver teeth and silver tongues, and they had come to Wall Street to make fortunes the way my father had, by buying low...
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  • The Last Anaconda
    ACT I New York in 1923 smelled of jazz and gasoline and the particular kind of optimism that comes from having survived a war and decided that whatever comes next will be better. Dr. Vivian Serpentis did not share this optimism. She smelled the city and thought primarily of air quality and the complete absence of any habitat suitable for large reptiles. Her laboratory at Columbia was a small,...
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  • The Glass Farm
    The soil was black. Not the rich, dark loam of spring planting season, but the dead, greasy black of something that had been poisoned from within. Arthur Blackwood knelt beside it and let it run through his fingers like ground pepper. It had been three years since he returned to Blackwood Hall, and three years of watching the land die. The bank had given him ninety days. The letter sat on his...
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  • The Applause of the Abyss
    Paris in 1899 was a city of beautiful decay. It was a place where the air tasted of absinthe and old lace, where the salons were filled with poets who worshipped the moon and painters who painted the shadows of their own souls. Julian was the prince of this decadent court, a man whose brilliance was matched only by his capacity for self-destruction. Julian called himself the "Archivist of the...
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  • The Algorithm of Collapse
    The Algorithm of Collapse Ethan Cross did not expect to change the world. He expected to make eighteen dollars an hour and pay his rent. He worked at Meridian Capital, a mid-sized hedge fund on East Forty-second Street in Manhattan. His office was on the fourteenth floor, a glass box that overlooked the city. From his desk, he could see the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, and a...
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  • The Weekend Tyrant
    I. The free bookstore was in a church basement on the south side, and it was run by a woman named Martha who looked like she had been made out of leftover parts—too thin, too tall, with a face that had forgotten what it was supposed to do but kept forgetting anyway. She handed me a book without looking at me, the way you hand a cigarette to someone you've seen before but don't know....
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  • THE GLASS ALGORITHM
    I Jack Marlowe did not believe in fate. He believed in evidence. Evidence was something you could hold in your hand, something you could examine under a lamp, something you could follow from point A to point B without having to believe in anything you couldn't see. But the Glass Algorithm was making him reconsider. His latest client was a woman named Elena Vasquez. She was twenty-eight, wearing...
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