Schmidt, Bryan Thomas (ed) - Infinite Stars: Dark Frontiers / Шмидт, Брайан Томас (ред) - Звезды без конца: Темное пограничье [2019, EPUB, ENG]

Ishigaki short fiction by Jack Campbell A Good Heretic short fiction by Becky Chambers Misfit / Неудачник novelette by Robert A. Heinlein A Beast for Norn / Зверь для Норна novelette by George R. R. Martin The Devil in the Details short fiction by Susan R. Matthews Messenger short fiction by Orson Scott Card The Vortex Blaster short story by Edward E. Smith First In short fiction by Tanya Huff Fire in the Pocket short fiction by Curtis C. Chen Frontier ABCs short fiction by Seanan McGuire Dark Secrets short story by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller The Lady or the Tiger short fiction by Steven Barnes and Larry Niven Earthman, Come Home / Землянин, вернись домой novelette by James Blish A Special Kind of Morning / Чудный рассвет novelette by Gardner Dozois Respect short fiction by Dave Wolverton (as by David Farland) Boot Recruit short fiction by Mike Shepherd Shambleau / Шамбло novelette by C. L. Moore The Veteran / Ветеран short story by Neal Asher The End of the World Bowling League short fiction by Weston Ochse Death, Butterflies, and Makers of War short fiction by Brenda Cooper Sideshow short fiction by Alan Dean Foster Lieutenant Tightass novelette by Kristine Kathryn Rusch Feet of Clay short fiction by Kevin J. Anderson The Traitor novelette by David Weber Rescue Party / Спасательный отряд novelette by Arthur C. Clarke Cold Sleep short fiction by C. J. Cherryh

Graff was born more than three thousand years ago, so it shouldn’t have surprised him that he was starting to feel old. But since he’d spent most of those years in stasis, he didn’t feel as if he had really lived that long. Two weeks awake, then ten or fifteen or twenty years in stasis. And since he spent most of that waking time working on keeping his networks alive, replacing the people who had dropped out or retired or emigrated or died, he hadn’t done half the physical activity his doctors had warned him that he required. So this time he would spend some quality time on the treadmill before he met with anybody. Not even Scipio, who was probably getting rather old himself. And if three miles an hour was the best he could do—barely a brisk walking pace—that was simply a demonstration of how much he needed to keep up an exercise regimen. He got out of his coffin—nobody but Graff thought that this vampire reference was amusing, but he didn’t expect anyone alive now to get any of his jokes—and looked for something to wear while he took his walk-in-place. There was no chifforobe where he expected one. . . .