Bear, Greg (ed.) - Nebula Awards Showcase 2015 / Бир, Грег (ред.) - Витрина премии Небьюла 2015 [2015, epub, ENG]

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Bear, Greg (ed.) - Nebula Awards Showcase 2015

Название: Nebula Awards Showcase 2015 / Витрина премии Небьюла 2015
Год выпуска: 2015
Под редакцией: Bear, Greg / Бир, Грег
Издательство: Pyr
ISBN: 978-1-63388-091-7
Формат: epub
Качество: eBook
Язык: английский

Основу антологии составили произведения, номинированные на премию «Небьюла» 2013 года.
The Long, Hot Summer of Science Fiction essay by Greg Bear
If You Were a Dinosaur, My Love / Если б ты, мой любимый, был динозавром short story by Rachel Swirsky
The Sounds of Old Earth / Звуки старой Земли short story by Matthew Kressel
Selkie Stories Are for Losers short fiction by Sofia Samatar
Selected Program Notes from the Retrospective Exhibition of Theresa Rosenberg Latimer short fiction by Kenneth Schneyer
Alive, Alive Oh short story by Sylvia Spruck Wrigley
The Waiting Stars novelette by Aliette de Bodard
Paranormal Romance novelette by Christopher Barzak
They Shall Salt the Earth with Seeds of Glass novelette by Alaya Dawn Johnson
Pearl Rehabilitative Colony for Ungrateful Daughters novelette by Henry Lien
In Joy, Knowing the Abyss Behind novelette by Sarah Pinsker
The Litigation Master and the Monkey King novelette by Ken Liu
The Weight of the Sunrise novella by Vylar Kaftan
Excerpt from Ancillary Justice / Слуги правосудия (отрывок) by Ann Leckie
Finding Frqnkie: Remembering Frank M. Robinson essay by Robin Wayne Bailey
Excerpt from Sister Mine by Nalo Hopkinson
A Life Considered as a Prism of Ever-Precious Light: An Appreciation of Samuel R. Delany essay by Nalo Hopkinson
Time Considered as a Helix of Semi-Precious Stones / Время, точно низка самоцветов novelette by Samuel R. Delany
The Cat Star poem by Terry A. Garey
Basho after Cinderella (III) by Deborah P. Kolodji
Into Flight poem by Andrew Robert Sutton

1. The Disfigured God

So you ask for the story of your origin, beautiful boy, and why you and your father are different from those around you. You are fourteen and nearly a man. Before you choose your name, you should know yourself—and I, your grandfather, will tell you the story of you. The tale is written in the scars of my hands, and told in the blood of the Incan people.
You must imagine me younger, child—much the age that your father is now. Picture a warm December day, just before midsummer. It was 1806, though back then we did not count the years as Europeans do. Smallpox raged through the southern Land of the Four Quarters. You’ve seen your grandmother’s pitted face; once she was considered a beauty for those telltale scars. I worked in the fields near Cusco, because I enjoyed farming. I had never liked the city. The cool soil on my hands reminded me of childhood, and of home in the northern mountains.
When the gods summoned me, I was planting late-spring tomatoes—the ones that would blossom shortly before June frost. I knelt on the terraced slopes south of Cusco, on land owned by your grandmother’s clan—since as you know, I myself came from a poor potato-farming family. Each seed entered the ground lovingly; I thanked Pachimama that I could enjoy the planting and not fear the harvest. The noon sun blessed my bare head. My water jug rested nearby, with my flintlock rifle leaning against it.
. . .
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