Kelly, James Patrick (ed.) - Nebula Awards Showcase 2012 / Келли, Джеймс Патрик (ред.) - Витрина премии Небьюла 2012 [2012, fb2, ENG]

In Which Your Editors Consider the Nebula Awards of Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow by James Patrick Kelly and John Kessel Ponies / Пони short story by Kij Johnson The Sultan of the Clouds short fiction by Geoffrey A. Landis Map of Seventeen / Карта семнадцать лет novelette by Christopher Barzak And I Awoke and Found Me Here on the Cold Hill's Side / Тут я проснулся и оказался здесь, на холодном склоне холма short story by James Tiptree, Jr. In the Astronaut Asylum poem by Samantha Henderson and Kendall Evans Pishaach / Пишах short fiction by Shweta Narayan Excerpt from Blackout/All Clear by Connie Willis Bumbershoot poem by Howard V. Hendrix Arvies short fiction by Adam-Troy Castro How Interesting: a Tiny Man / Человечек? Как интересно! short story by Harlan Ellison The Jaguar House, in Shadow novelette by Aliette de Bodard The Green Book short story by Amal El-Mohtar That Leviathan, Whom Thou Hast Made / Этот Левиафан, которого ты сотворил... novelette by Eric James Stone Excerpt from I Shall Wear Midnight / Платье цвета полуночи (отрывок) by Terry Pratchett To Theia poem by Ann K. Schwader The Lady Who Plucked Red Flowers Beneath the Queen's Window novella by Rachel Swirsky 2011 Nebula Awards Nominees and Honorees Past Nebula Winners

Sol Central Station floated amid the fusing hydrogen of the solar core, 400,000 miles under the surface of the Sun, protected only by the thin shell of an energy shield, but that wasn’t why my palm sweat slicked the plastic pulpit of the station’s multidenominational chapel. As a life-long Mormon I had been speaking in church since I was a child, so that didn’t make me nervous, either. But this was my first time speaking when non-humans were in the audience. The Sol Branch of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had only six human members, including me and the two missionaries, but there were forty-six swale members. As beings made of plasma, swales couldn’t attend church in the chapel, of course, but a ten-foot widescreen monitor across the back wall showed a false-color display of their magnetic force-lines, gathered in clumps of blue and red against the yellow background representing the solar interior. The screen did not give a sense of size, but at two hundred feet in length, the smallest of the swales was almost double the length of a blue whale. From what I’d heard, the largest Mormon swale, Sister Emma, stretched out to almost five hundred feet—but she was nowhere near the twenty-four-mile length of the largest swale in our sun. “My dear Brothers and Sisters,” I said automatically, then stopped in embarrassment. The traditional greeting didn’t apply to all swale members, as they had three genders. “And Neuters,” I added. I hoped my delay would not be noticeable in the transmission. It would be a disaster if in my first talk as branch president, I alienated a third of the swale population. A few minutes into my talk on the topic of forgiveness, I paused when a woman in a skinsuit sauntered through the door and down the aisle. The skinsuit was a custom high-fashion one, not standard station issue, with active coloration that showed puffy white clouds floating across the sky on her breasts, and waves lapping against the sandy beach at her hips. She took a seat on the second row and gazed up at me with dark brown eyes. The ring finger of her left hand was unadorned. . . .