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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 LAST WALL
    The stone was cold beneath Edward's gloved hands. He ran his palm along the face of it, feeling for the cracks his predecessors had spent a thousand years cataloguing. There were none today. The wall held. It always held. Edward Blackthorne, seventieth Lord Keeper of the Morvayne Ramparts, walked the parapet at midnight, as he had every night for twelve years. The moon was a sliver of bone in a...
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  • The Broken Sail
    Billy Harper was cleaning windows on the fortieth floor of the John Hancock Center when it started to snow. The wind was cold and sharp, cutting through his coat like a knife. His fingers were numb inside his gloves, and the soapy water in his bucket was freezing into tiny crystals that floated on the surface like sugar. He was twenty-six, from a small town in Kansas where the wind was also...
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  • The Bricklayer's Mark
    New York in 1853 was a city built by men who had lost everything and were determined to build something new with their hands. Patrick Sullivan had lost his farm in County Cork to a blight that turned potato leaves black overnight. He was twenty years old when he stepped off the boat at Castle Garden, carrying a canvas bag with three shirts, a photograph of his mother, and a pair of hands that...
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  • The Promise That Contained the Promise
    The promise Victor Sterling made was not one promise. It was a promise that contained within itself an infinite regress of smaller promises, each one a fractal repetition of the whole. At the largest scale, the promise was simple: one thousand people would leave Earth and establish a new civilization on a planet orbiting sixty-one Cygni. This was the promise as it appeared in the newspapers, in...
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  • The Rust and the Fire
    Frank Mitchell found the generator in the basement of the abandoned steel mill on East Sixth Street. It was buried under a pile of rusted rebar and broken concrete blocks, the kind of stuff you stack somewhere because throwing it away costs money you don't have and keeping it around costs nothing except space, which you also don't have but don't really need. The generator was about four feet...
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  • The Crystallization of Arthur Pendleton
    There is a temperature at which everything changes. Water becomes ice at thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit. Iron becomes liquid at two thousand eight hundred degrees. A man becomes something else at a temperature no thermometer can measure. Arthur Pendleton had been in the white room for seven years, three months, and eleven days when the change began. He did not know the exact count at the...
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  • THE WEIGHT OF NOTHING
    ### Act I: The Spark Ethan Cross stood in the supermarket aisle for twelve minutes before making a decision. The decision was about cereal. There were fourteen brands on the shelf, from store-brand corn flakes at three dollars a box to artisanal granola at nine dollars, and Ethan was trying to choose one. Not because he was hungry—hunger was not the issue. The issue was that each choice carried...
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  • The Gilded Pupil
    Act I: The Accident It began with a lamp and a bottle of absinthe and a moment of perfect, terrible clarity that Julian Vane would spend the rest of his life trying to reproduce and failing. He had been in his studio in Montmartre for three days without sleep, painting a portrait of a woman he had met at a salon in Saint-Germain and could not remember the name of, though he could remember...
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  • The Starlight Temple
    The Cotton Club breathed. It exhaled smoke and trumpet notes and the sweat of three hundred bodies packed into a space that had never been designed for so much joy. Marcus Chen sat at the piano and let his fingers do the thinking, because sometimes the thinking was too heavy for the mind to carry. He was twenty-two years old and his hands knew things his brain had not yet learned. The piano was...
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  • THE QUIET END
    Frank O'Malley woke at six in the morning. It was not an alarm clock that woke him. It was the habit of waking at six, established twelve years ago in a base camp in the Ho Chi Minh Trail and never broken, even after he broke everything else. He lay in the dark. The apartment was small—one bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen that was really just a corner with a stove and a refrigerator the size of...
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  • The Leviathan's Wake
    I am nine meters tall and I eat worlds, and I hate myself for it. My name is Darek, though the name means nothing. Names mean nothing on the Ring. We are numbers on the Ring. I am Number Seven-Two-Nine-Four, assigned to Sector Gamma, Resource Extraction Division, Sub-Section Twelve. My job is to watch the planet being consumed and make sure the extraction cables hold. I have done this job for...
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