Actueel
  • The robot fell from the sky on a Tuesday, which is to say it fell from the space elevator, which is practically the same thing in New York.
    I was on Level 7 of the elevator shaft, doing my usual pre-shift inspection—checking cable tension, examining the carbon-nano weave for microfractures, making a note of three minor abrasions on the north-facing panel that I'd report to Sarah when she came on shift the next morning. Standard stuff. Boring stuff. The kind of work that keeps a man employed for twenty-three years and four months....
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  • 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...
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  • THE CONTAGION
    I. The door was in the basement of a building that didn't have a basement. Jack Morretti had been hired to find a missing woman—Margaret Linney, thirty-two, worked at an insurance company on Fifth Avenue, lived in an apartment on the Upper West Side. She'd stopped coming home three weeks ago. Her husband, a mild-mannered actuary named Linney, had called Jack because the police had told him to...
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  • THE GOLDEN DELUSION
    Act I — The Double Gaze Dr. Victor Blackwood was the youngest neurologist ever appointed at St. Thomas's Hospital, London. At twenty-nine, he possessed the kind of sharp, elegant features that made patients trust him immediately and colleagues resent him quietly. His office in the Mayfair district was immaculate—white marble, dark wood, shelves of medical texts in perfect alignment. Victor was...
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  • The Eighth Field
    The Eighth Field I did not come to Montana to heal. I came to Montana because there was nowhere else to go. My license was revoked. My patients had stopped calling. My wife had stopped pretending I was a person she could live with. The only thing I had left was a savings account and a reputation that was now a joke in medical circles, and I had to do something with both of them before they ran...
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  • The Architect of Survival
    (V-02: Jazz Age Idealism) The sky over the Sector was the color of a bruised plum, heavy with the static of a thousand dying transmitters. Julian Thorne stood atop the spire of the Central Hub, looking down at the fragmented ruins of what had once been a city. Below him, the survivors lived in "shards"—isolated pockets of humanity clinging to the wreckage of a forgotten technological age. They...
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  • The Bayou Prophetess
    The Bayou Prophetess The humidity in St. Denis Parish had a weight to it, the kind that pressed on your chest and made every breath feel like you were breathing something thicker than air. Celestine Duval sat on her grandmother's porch and watched the cypress trees stand black against the purple evening sky, their Spanish moss hanging like old women's hair. Amelia Duval had taught her to...
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  • The Garden of Forgotten Letters
    Rain fell on the leaden windows of the Beauregard townhouse like a thousand small fists. Clara sat at her mother's writing desk, the ribbon in her hands black with age, the letters beneath it yellowed and brittle as autumn leaves. She had been looking for a receipt for the gas bill and found this instead—tucked inside a copy of the Vulgate Bible, wrapped in a ribbon that had once been crimson...
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  • The Seven Julians
    In the age before recording, when the first cities rose from the mud and the first kings claimed descent from gods, there lived a man in the kingdom of Oakhaven who could hear the last words of the dead. He was not a priest. He was not a king. He was a digger — a man who worked in the common graves behind the temple, where the poor were buried in shallow pits and the names were forgotten within...
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  • The First Light
    I. They begin with clay. This is the first truth, the one that connects the man kneeling on the riverbank in Mesopotamia in the year five thousand before the birth of a religion that has not yet been born to the woman standing on a platform in the year three thousand after it, looking up at a nebula that is the direct descendant of a cloud of gas and dust that was, in some sense, the same...
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  • The Stardust Covenant
    ACT I: THE RISING The quantum collider on the far side of the Moon hummed at a frequency that Sarah Chen could feel in her molars. She stood before the main observation window, her reflection ghostly against the blackness of space, and watched the data stream across the monitors in cascading rivers of light. "Minerva is ready," said the system voice, calm and genderless and utterly indifferent...
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  • What the Mantle Remembers
    I. The hole appeared on a Tuesday. Dr. Margie Callahan was reviewing seismic data when the junior technician called her to the observation deck. The New Mexico desert stretched flat and white-hot in every direction. In the center of the test site, a circle of ground the diameter of a manhole cover had begun to sink. "It started an hour after detonation," the technician said. "We thought it was...
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