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AEon Eight [MultiFormat]
eBook by AEon Authors
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$5.00 |
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$4.25 |
eBook Category: Science Fiction/Fantasy
eBook Description: AEon Eight features stories by Daniel Marcus, Will McIntosh, Stephanie Burgis, Lawrence M. Schoen, Ron Savage, Liz Holliday, and Martin McGrath, and poetry by Amanda Downum and Marcie Lynn Tentchoff. Also, Kristine Kathryn Rusch takes on The New York Times, and Dr. Rob Furey contributes another fascinating look at science and how it applies to our experience of the universe.
eBook Publisher: Quintamid LLC, Published: 2006, 2006
Fictionwise Release Date: September 2006
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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [911 KB]
, ePub (EPUB) [1.1 MB]
, Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [539 KB]
, Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [2.4 MB]
, Palm Doc (PDB) [111 KB]
, Microsoft Reader (LIT) [944 KB]
, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [172 KB]
, hiebook (KML) [1.2 MB]
, Sony Reader (LRF) [1.2 MB]
, iSilo (PDB) [228 KB]
, Mobipocket (PRC) [2.1 MB]
, Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [2.0 MB]
, OEBFF Format (IMP) [608 KB]
Words: 36974
Reading time: 105-147 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED
 
"AEon continues to publish excellent work."--Locus
"This is fiction for the contemplative reader."--Internet Review of Science Fiction "AEon stands poised to be a strong, fresh face in the speculative fiction arena."---Tangent Online
IT'S ALWAYS THE LAST DAY OF THE WORLD at Echo Beach. From fifteen miles up, the horizon is visibly bowed. The sun hangs swollen above an oily sea. The coastal range ripples up from the water's edge, bunching together in wattles like the neck of a lizard. Scintilla flash from the ruins of a port city half engulfed.
The lounge is quiet, but it will start filling up soon. At a table in the middle of the room, an old man plays chess with an automaton. Every now and then, he reaches across the table and slaps the thing on the side of its metal head.
Near one of the large windows, a lanky, barrel-chested man drinks alone. Coal black skin, melanin-enhanced, tangle of blonde dreads. Circa 22C, a mod from one of the Martian arcologies. Clearly pre-Plague. Close enough to home for me that I want to say something to him, warn him. But what could I say?
A couple sits at the bar leaning toward one another, their heads touching. It's difficult to say whether they are accelerated canines or regressed humans, but there is something very dog-like in their focused attention to one another. An aura of benign stupidity hangs about them like sweet incense.
The digital clock above the holo fireplace reads 4:22:00. As I watch, the numbers dissolve and re-form: 4:21:59.
I check my console, pour a shot of absinthe and a pony of pomegranate juice, set them on a tray, and send it floating toward the Martian.
I walk down the length of the bar to the couple.
"Get you anything else?"
The man looks up at me with watery eyes.
"No, thank you," he says.
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