The Mammoth Book of Time Travel SF / Большая книга путешествий во времени
Название: The Mammoth Book of Time Travel SF / Большая книга путешествий во времени Год выпуска: 2013 Под редакцией: Ashley Mike / Эшли Майк Издательство: ROBINSON eISBN: 978-1-24601-026-9 Формат: EPUB Качество: eBook Язык: английский
Описание: Антология содержит 25 научно-фантастических повестей и рассказов, посвященных путешествиям во времени и/или их последствиям ...
INTRODUCTION: TIME AFTER TIMEMike AshleyCAVEAT TIME TRAVELERGregory BenfordCENTURY TO STARBOARDLiz WilliamsWALK TO THE FULL MOONSean McMullenTHE TRUTH ABOUT WEENADavid J. LakeTHE WIND OVER THE WORLDSteven UtleySCREAM QUIETLYSheila CrosbyDARWIN'S SUITCASEElisabeth MalartreTRY AND CHANGE THE PASTFritz LeiberNEEDLE IN A TIMESTACK / Иголка в стогу времени Robert SilverbergDEAR TOMORROWSimon ClarkTIME GYPSYEllen KlagesTHE CATCH / Ловушка Kage BakerREAL TIMELawrence Watt EvansTHE CHRONOLOGY PROTECTION CASEPaul LevinsonWOMEN ON THE BRINK OF A CATACLYSMMolly BrownLEGIONS IN TIME / Хронолегион Michael SwanwickCOMING BACKDamien BroderickTHE VERY SLOW TIME MACHINE / Очень медленная машина времени Ian WatsonAFTER-IMAGES Malcolm Edwards[/i] "IN THE BEGINNING, NOTHING LASTS . . ."Mike StrahanTRAVELLER'S RESTDavid I. MassonTWEMBERSteve Rasnic TemTHE PUSHER / Толкач John VarleyPALELY LOITERINGChristopher PriestRED LETTER DAY / День красных писем Kristine Kathryn Rusch
We close with two more stories that look at the manipulation of time. I have saved them to the end because of their unusual scenarios which I will let the authors unfold. Christopher Priest is one of Britain’s most respected writers of science fiction and the fantastic. His 1995 novel, The Prestige, about the rivalry between two stage magicians, was filmed by Christopher Nolan in 2006 and has since been adapted for the stage. His other work, some of which incorporates elements of time and a psychic distortion of reality, includes The Inverted World (1974), The Space Machine (1976), A Dream of Wessex (1977) and The Separation (2002).
During the summers of my childhood, the best treat of all was our annual picnic in Flux Channel Park, which lay some fifty miles from home. Because my father was set in his ways, and for him no picnic would be worthy of its name without a joint of freshly roasted cold ham, the first clue we children had was always, therefore, when Cook began her preparations. I made a point every day of slipping down unnoticed to the cellar to count the hams that hung from steel hooks in the ceiling, and as soon as I found one was missing I would hurry to my sisters and share the news. The next day, the house would fill with the rich aroma of ham roasting in cloves, and we three children would enter an elaborate charade: inside we would be brimming over with excitement at the thought of the adventure, but at the same time restraining ourselves to act normally, because Father’s announcement of his plans at breakfast on the chosen day was an important part of the fun. We grew up in awe and dread of our father, for he was a distant and strict man. Throughout the winter months, when his work made its greatest demands, we hardly saw him, and all we knew of him were the instructions passed on to us by Mother or the governor. In the summer months he chose to maintain the distance, joining us only for meals, and spending the evenings alone in his study. However, once a year my father would mellow, and for this alone the excursions to the Park would have been cause for joy. He knew the excitement the trip held for us and he played up to it, revealing the instinct of showman and actor. Sometimes he would start by pretending to scold or punish us for some imaginary misdemeanour, or would ask Mother a misleading question, such as whether it was that day the servants were taking a holiday, or he would affect absent-mindedness; through all this we would hug our knees under the table, knowing what was to come. Then at last he would utter the magic words “Flux Channel Park”, and, abandoning our charade with glee, we children would squeal with delight and run to Mother, the servants would bustle in and clear away the breakfast, there would be a clatter of dishes and the creak of the wicker hamper from the kitchen . . . and at long last the crunching of hooves and steel-rimmed wheels would sound on the gravel drive outside, as the taxi-carriage arrived to take us to the station.