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179 Berichten
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15/02/1987
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Actueel
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Sample V-12: The Entropy ClockThe Station was a spinning cylinder of white plastic and humming fans, a lonely needle of light floating in the absolute zero of the Boötes Void. Nova was the last Archivist, a woman whose skin had become as translucent as the screens she tended. Around her, the last remnants of the human diaspora were fading. The Great Sleep had failed; the colony ships had drifted off course or succumbed to...0 Reacties 0 aandelen 1 Views 0 voorbeeldPlease log in to like, share and comment!
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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 Reacties 0 aandelen 2 Views 0 voorbeeld
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The Mirror’s RecursionOnce upon a time, there was a man who could read minds. His name was Edward Harlowe, and he lived in a city of fog. He believed that every person was a story, and that he was the only one who knew how to edit the plot. One day, the man died. Years later—or perhaps centuries, for time is a strange thing when you are frozen in obsidian—the man woke up. He found himself in a city of light, where...0 Reacties 0 aandelen 1 Views 0 voorbeeld
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The Only Certain ThingI come from a town where the wind is the only thing that moves with any purpose. Wichita. The sky goes on forever and the buildings are low and the people are quieter than they have any right to be. The plains stretch out in every direction like a held breath, flat and gray and indifferent, and I have been standing in that indifference for twenty-six years without quite knowing what to do with...0 Reacties 0 aandelen 2 Views 0 voorbeeld
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The Apartment on Bedford StreetThe Apartment on Bedford Street Chapter I The box hit the floor with a sound like a gunshot, and Maya Torres wished, not for the first time, that moving to a new city could be accomplished without packing cubes. "Floor nine," said the mover, cheerfully indifferent to the fact that the building had no elevator. "You sure you don't want me to carry this up?" "I'm sure," Maya said, and she...0 Reacties 0 aandelen 2 Views 0 voorbeeld
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The Faceless DynastyThe dirt road to the Bonaventure plantation was more memory than surface, a track of crushed shell and red clay that existed more in the family photographs than in any current state of maintenance. Ellis drove his father's old Chevrolet slowly, the tires crunching over gopher nuts and the occasional rusted piece of farm equipment that had been abandoned somewhere between 1940 and the present,...0 Reacties 0 aandelen 3 Views 0 voorbeeld
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The FactoryThe plant changed names again. This time it was called Genesis Bio. Before that it was BioCore. Before that GenTech. The sign out front has three layers of paint peeling off in long strips, and the letters are different colors on each layer—blue, green, red—like the building is arguing with itself about what it is. Tom O'Reilly doesn't remember which name it was when he started. He remembers...0 Reacties 0 aandelen 4 Views 0 voorbeeld
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The Seven Fallen HeirsI. The letter arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in wax the colour of dried blood. Arthur Blackwood broke the seal with fingers that trembled more than they should have for a man of twenty-eight. He had spent the morning walking the corridors of Blackwood Manor, listening to the house breathe around him—the settling of ancient timbers, the whisper of draughts through cracked window-panes, the faint,...0 Reacties 0 aandelen 3 Views 0 voorbeeld
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The Sanguine ArchiveThe city of Ouroboros did not grow; it mutated. Built within the hollowed shell of a prehistoric leviathan, the city was a sprawling network of pulsing veins and chitinous spires. Here, the currency was not gold or data, but 'Essence'—pure, distilled genetic memory. The ruling caste, the Hemarchs, maintained their immortality by harvesting the biological blueprints of the lower strata, the...0 Reacties 0 aandelen 3 Views 0 voorbeeld
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The Hub in the Harbor: How One Man Connected EverythingIn the network of the Gulf of Maine cold storage industry, Arthur Mercer was not the most important node. He was not the president of Cold Harbor Processing, not the head of the Marine Lab, not the chairman of the Fisheries Commission, not the senior vice president of corporate operations in Boston. He was a refrigeration engineer with a clipboard and a notebook, occupying a position that the...0 Reacties 0 aandelen 16 Views 0 voorbeeld
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The Recursive Cold: How a Temperature Reading Repeats Itself Across GenerationsThe first temperature reading was taken by Arthur Mercer's grandfather in 1947. He was a fisherman out of Gloucester, Massachusetts, and he kept a logbook of the water temperature at the mouth of the harbor because he had learned that the cod moved when the water hit a certain number and he could not afford to guess. The logbook was a school composition notebook, blue cover, ruled pages, the...0 Reacties 0 aandelen 3 Views 0 voorbeeld
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What the Enamel RecordedI am a range. I was built in 1926 by the Garland Manufacturing Company in Detroit, Michigan. My serial number is 4783-G. I am painted green. My enamel is chipped in seventeen places. My left front burner runs ten degrees hot. My oven door does not close flush. I am sixty years old, and I have been in continuous service since the day I was installed. I do not have feelings. I do not have...0 Reacties 0 aandelen 10 Views 0 voorbeeld
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