Various - Cosmos (1970s): The Complete Fiction / Разные авторы - Полная коллекция произведений из журнала "Cosmos" (1970-е) [2021, EPUB, ENG]

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Cosmos (1970s): The Complete Fiction

Название: Cosmos (1970s): The Complete Fiction / Полная коллекция произведений из журнала "Cosmos" (1970-е)
Год выпуска: 2021
Издательство: Jerry eBooks
ISBN: отсутствует
Формат: EPUB
Качество: eBook
Язык: английский

Антология, составленная из художественных произведений, опубликованных в журнале "Cosmos", издававшемся в 1977 году. Сканирование, вычитка, форматирование, создание электронной книги - Jerry.
"Cosmos" - журнал НФ и фэнтези, издавался с мая по ноябрь 1977. В 50-е годы издавался другой журнал с тем же названием.
Среди авторов: Larry Niven, Frederik Pohl, Fritz Leiber, Brian W. Aldiss, Harlan Ellison ...
The House of Compassionate Sharers - Michael Bishop
3 Vignettes - Larry Niven
Homemaker - Greg Benford
Strix - Raylyn Moore
The Lodestar - Cherry Wilder
Rem the Rememberer - Frederik Pohl
Rime Isle . Льдистый остров (Part One) - Fritz Leiber
Rime Isle (Conclusion) - Fritz Leiber
Tin Ear - Spider Robinson
Waiting at the Speed of Light - Roger Lovin
Camera Obscura - Thomas F. Monteleone
Monad Gestalt - Gordon R. Dickson
All the Universe in a Mason Jar - Joe Haldeman
The Apocalypse of Harry Jones - Robert Borski
The Wayward Flight of the Teety-Oh - Sherwood Springer
The Child's Story - Richard A. Lupoff
Horsemen - Brian W. Aldiss
Blackout - Norman Spinrad
Sunday's Child - Phyllis Gotlieb
Bitterblooms / Злоцветы - George R. R. Martin
The Alphabet System - Mary Jean Tibbils
At the Dixie-Apple with the Shoo Fly-Pie Kid - Michael Bishop
O Ye of Little Faith - Robert Chilson
The Other Eye of Polyphemus / Второй глаз Полифема - Harlan Ellison
Sir Richard's Robots - Felix C. Gotschalk
Wheels Westward - Robert Thurston
The House of Compassionate Sharers

Michael Bishop

And he was there, and it was not far enough, not yet. for the earth hung overhead like a rotten fruit, blue with mold, crawling, wrinkling, purulent and alive.
—Damon Knight, “Masks”

In the Port Iranani Galenshall I awoke in the room Diderits liked to call the “Black Pavilion.” I was an engine, a system, a series of myoelectric and neuromechanical components, and The Accident responsible for this clean and enamel-hard enfleshing lay two full D-years in the past. This morning was an anniversary of sorts. I ought by now to have adjusted. And I had. I had reached an absolute accommodation with myself. Narcissistic, one could say. And that was the trouble.
“Dorian? Dorian Lorca?”
The voice belonged to KommGalen Diderits, wet and breathy even though it came from a small metal speaker to which the sable curtains of the dome were attached. I stared up into the ring of curtains.
“Dorian, it’s Target Day. Will you answer me, please?”
“I’m here, my galen. Where else would I be?” I stood up, listening to the almost musical ratcheting that I make when I move, a sound like the concatenation of tiny bells or the purring of a stope-car. The sound is conveyed through the tempered porcelain plates, metal vertebrae, and osteoid polymers holding me together, and no one else can hear it.
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