Dozois, Gardner - Old Venus / Дозуа, Гарднер - Древняя Венера [2015, EPUB, ENG]

Introduction: Return to Venusport by Gardner Dozois
Frogheads by Allen Steele
The Drowned Celestial by Lavie Tidhar
Planet of Fear by Paul J. McAuley
Greeves and the Evening Star by Matthew Hughes
A Planet Called Desire by Gwyneth Jones
Living Hell by Joe Haldeman
Bones of Air, Bones of Stone by Stephen Leigh
Ruins by Eleanor Arnason
The Tumbledowns of Cleopatra Abyss by David Brin
By Frogsled and Lizardback to Outcast Venusian Lepers by Garth Nix
The Sunset of Time by Michael Cassutt
Pale Blue Memories by Tobias S. Buckell
The Heart's Filthy Lesson by Elizabeth Bear
The Wizard of the Trees by Joe R. Lansdale
The Godstone of Venus by Mike Resnick
Botanica Veneris: Thirteen Papercuts By Ida Countess Rathangan by Ian McDonald

1.

TODAY’S THUMP WAS OVERDUE. JONAH WONDERED IF IT MIGHT not come at all. Just like last Thorday when—at the Old Clock’s midmorning chime—farmers all across the bubble habitat clambered up pinyon vines or crouched low in expectation of the regular, daily throb—a pulse and quake that hammered up your foot soles and made all the bubble boundaries shake. Only Thorday’s thump never came. The chime was followed by silence and a creepy letdown feeling. And Jonah’s mother lit a candle, hoping to avert bad luck. Early last spring, there had been almost a whole week without any thumps. Five days in a row, with no rain of detritus, shaken loose from the Upper World, tumbling down here to the ocean bottom. And two smaller gaps the previous year. Apparently, today would be yet another hiatus … Whomp! Delayed, the thump came hard, shaking the moist ground beneath Jonah’s feet. He glanced with concern toward the bubble boundary, more than two hundred meters away—a membrane of ancient, translucent volcanic stone, separating the paddies and pinyon forest from black, crushing waters just outside. The barrier vibrated, an unpleasant, scraping sound. This time, especially, it caused Jonah’s teeth to grind. “They used to sing, you know,” commented the complacent old woman who worked at a nearby freeboard loom, nodding as gnarled fingers darted among the strands, weaving ropy cloth. Her hands did not shake though the nearby grove of thick vines did, quivering much worse than after any normal thump. “I’m sorry, grandmother.” Jonah reached out to a nearby bole of twisted cables that dangled from the bubble habitat’s high-arching roof, where shining glowleaves provided the settlement’s light. “Who used to sing?” . . .