Blake, Victoria (ed) - Cyberpunk / Блейк, Виктория (ред) - Киберпанк [2019, epub, ENG]

Johnny Mnemonic / Джонни-мнемоник short story by William Gibson Mozart in Mirrorshades / Моцарт в зеркальных очках short story by Lewis Shiner and Bruce Sterling Interview with the Crab short fiction by Jonathan Lethem El Pepenador short fiction by Benjamin Parzybok Down and Out in the Year 2000 short story by Kim Stanley Robinson Getting to Know You / Знаю я вас... novelette by David Marusek User-Centric / Пользовательско-ориентированный short story by Bruce Sterling The Blog at the End of the World short story by Paul Tremblay Memories of Moments, Bright As Falling Stars short story by Cat Rambo Rock On / Рокенроллим short story by Pat Cadigan Blue Clay Blues novelette by Gwyneth Jones The Lost Technique of Blackmail short fiction by Mark Teppo Fall of the House of Escher short fiction by Greg Bear Soldier, Sailor short story by Lewis Shiner The Nostalgist short story by Daniel H. Wilson The Jack Kerouac Disembodied School of Poetics short story by Rudy Rucker Mr. Boy novella by James Patrick Kelly Wolves of the Plateau short story by John Shirley Life in the Anthropocene / Жизнь в антропоцене short story by Paul Di Filippo When Sysadmins Ruled the Earth / Когда сисадмины правили Землёй novelette by Cory Doctorow

It was going to be hot again. Summer in Washington, D.C. Lee Robinson woke and rolled on his mattress, broke into a sweat. That kind of a day. He got up and kneeled over the other mattress in the small room. Debra shifted as he shaded her from the sun angling in the open window. The corners of her mouth were caked white and her forehead was still hot and dry, but her breathing was regular and she appeared to be sleeping well. Quietly Lee slipped on his jeans and walked down the hall to the bathroom. Locked. He waited; Ramon came out wet and groggy. "Morning, Robbie." Into the bathroom, where he hung his pants on the hook and did his morning ritual. One bloodshot eye, staring back at him from the splinter of mirror still in the frame. The dirt around the toilet base. The shower curtain blotched with black fungus, as if it had a fatal disease. That kind of morning. Out of the shower he dried off with his jeans and started to sweat again. Back in his room Debra was still sleeping. Worried, he watched her for a while, then filled his pockets and went into the hall to put on sneakers and tank top. Debra slept light these days, and the strangest things would rouse her. He jogged down the four flights of stairs to the street, and, sweating freely, stepped out into the steamy air. ...