tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91465586118890992782024-10-09T15:39:43.817-07:00Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger109125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-75621130100356463702013-07-16T00:34:00.000-07:002013-07-16T00:34:16.730-07:00

by MURRAY LEINSTER In science-fiction, as in all categories of fiction, there are stories that are so outstanding from the standpoint of characterization, concept, and background development that they remain popular for decades. Two such stories were Murray Leinster's_ The Mad Planet _and_ Red Dust. _Originally published in

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-81821356960124584672013-07-16T00:18:00.000-07:002013-07-31T21:20:58.760-07:00

By Miles J. Breuer In their pursuit of an unscrupulous scientist, Phil and Ione are swung into hyperspace--marooned in a realm of strange sights and shapes. Tony Costello leaned glumly over his neat, glass-topped desk, on which a few papers lay arranged in orderly piles. Tony was very blue and discouraged. The foundations of a pleasant and profitable

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-28025241589312722262013-07-15T23:59:00.000-07:002013-07-31T21:21:59.108-07:00

by LEIGH BRACKETT The first ripples of blue fire touched Dio's men. Bolts of it fastened on gun-butts, and knuckles. Men screamed and fell. Jill cried out as he tore silver ornaments from her dress.      Mel Gray flung down his hoe with a sudden tigerish fierceness and stood erect. Tom Ward, working beside him, glanced at Gray's Indianesque profile, the youth of it hardened by

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By Edward Bellamy 1898 The narrative to which this note is introductory was found among the papers of the late Professor S. Erastus Larrabee, and, as an acquaintance of the gentleman to whom they were bequeathed, I was requested to prepare it for publication. This turned out a very easy task, for the document proved of so extraordinary a character that, if published at all, it should obviously

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-91224276108698807352013-02-20T11:22:00.001-08:002013-02-20T11:23:17.309-08:00

by Philip K. Dick Reddish-yellow sunlight filtered through the thick quartz windows into the sleep-compartment. Tony Rossi yawned, stirred a little, then opened his black eyes and sat up quickly. With one motion he tossed the covers back and slid to the warm metal floor. He clicked off his alarm clock and hurried to the closet. It looked like a nice day. The landscape outside was motionless,

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-381971767599918562013-02-17T14:46:00.000-08:002013-02-17T14:47:46.223-08:00

Ordinarily the military least wants to have the others know the final details of their war plans. But, logically, there would be times-- BY BEN BOVA "I don't really see where this problem has anything to do with me," the CIA man said. "And, frankly, there are a lot of more important things I could be doing." Ford, the physicist, glanced at General LeRoy. The general had that quizzical

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-63918409707982617842013-02-17T14:29:00.000-08:002013-02-17T14:29:08.160-08:00

By Forrest J. Ackerman The little man dared to venture into the realm of the Gods--but the Gods were cruel! The early morning streetcar, swaying and rattling along its tracks, did as much to divert my attention from the book I was reading as the contents of the book itself. I did not like Plato. Comfortable though the seat was, I was as uncomfortable as any collegiate could be whose mind

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-80841902886637421832013-02-17T10:18:00.002-08:002013-02-17T10:18:51.348-08:00

The way we feel about another person, or about objects, is often bound up in associations that have no direct connection with the person or object at all. Often, what we call a "change of heart" comes about sheerly from a change in the many associations which make up our present viewpoint. Now, suppose that these associations could be altered artificially, at the

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-31408029154734641812013-02-17T07:48:00.001-08:002013-02-17T07:48:21.370-08:00

By ROBERT SHECKLEY Strange how often the Millennium has been at hand. The idea is peace on Earth, see, and the way to do it is by figuring out angles. When Gelsen entered, he saw that the rest of the watchbird manufacturers were already present. There were six of them, not counting himself, and the room was blue with expensive cigar smoke. "Hi, Charlie," one of them called as he came in.

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-33841349211611761532013-02-17T04:46:00.001-08:002013-02-20T09:20:53.057-08:00

By JOHN W. CAMPBELL, Jr. I am the last of my type existing today in all the Solar System. I, too, am the last existing who, in memory, sees the struggle for this System, and in memory I am still close to the Center of Rulers, for mine was the ruling type then. But I will pass soon, and with me will pass the last of my kind, a poor inefficient type, but yet the creators of those who are now,

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-76386636606467008812013-02-17T04:28:00.001-08:002013-02-17T04:47:07.994-08:00

by Ray Bradbury "LORD! HE'S THERE AGAIN! HE'S THERE! LOOK!" the old man croaked, jabbing a calloused finger at the burial hill. "Old Piper again! As crazy as a loon! Every year that way!" The Martian boy at the feet of the old man stirred his thin reddish feet in the soil and affixed his large green eyes upon the burial hill where the Piper stood. "Why does he do that?" asked the boy. "Ah?"

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-8674729936707064512013-02-17T04:14:00.002-08:002013-02-17T04:15:09.807-08:00

By Ray Bradbury Up and down, back and forth, up and down. First the quick flite skyward, gradually slowing, reaching the pinnacle of the curve, poising a moment, then flashing earthward again, faster and faster at a nauseating speed, reaching the bottom and hurtling aloft on the opposite side. Up and down. Back and forth. Up and down. How long it had continued this way Layeville didn't know. It

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-69932512960480055672013-02-17T04:03:00.000-08:002013-02-17T04:03:40.222-08:00

BY RAY D. BRADBURY Space--thy boundaries are Time and time alone. No earth-born rocket, seedling skyward sown, Will ever reach your cold, infinite end, This power is not Man's to build or send. Great deities laugh down, venting their mirth, At struggling bipeds on a cloud-wrapped Earth, Chained solid on a war-swept, waning

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-46648366884130730602013-02-17T03:55:00.000-08:002013-02-17T03:55:05.256-08:00

by Ray Bradbury For several moments Stern had eyed his typewriter ominously, contemplating whether he should utter the unutterable. Finally: "Damn!" he roared. "I can't write any more! Look, look at that!" He tore the sheet out of the rollers and crumpled it in his fist. "If I'd known it would be this way," he said, "I wouldn't have voted for it! Technocracy is ruining everything!" Bella

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-77467524250087683482013-02-17T03:38:00.000-08:002013-02-17T03:38:12.020-08:00

Here is high fidelity fiction at Philip José Farmer's story-telling best. It's a vibrant, distractingly different tale of three centuries into the future. And as you read you'll have a vague, uneasy feeling that it's all taking place somewhere in the unexplored parts of the universe, even today. by ... Philip José Farmer Enslaved by a triangular powered

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-38249448977801295932013-02-17T03:24:00.001-08:002013-02-17T03:24:27.885-08:00

Did you ever wonder at the lonely life the bird in a cuckoo clock has to lead--that it might possibly love and hate just as easily as a real animal of flesh and blood? Philip Dick used that idea for this brief fantasy tale. We're sure that after reading it you'll give cuckoo clocks more respect. by ... Philip K. Dick Larry Thomas bought a cuckoo clock for his wife--without

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-44228095082911853692013-02-16T01:56:00.001-08:002013-02-16T01:57:32.138-08:00

by MANLY WADE WELLMAN It was not very large, as asteroids go, but about it clung a silvery mist of atmosphere. Deeper flashes through the mist betokened water, and green patches hinted of rich vegetation. The space-patroller circled the little world knowledgeably, like a wasp buzzing around an apple. In the control room, by the forward ports, the Martian skipper addressed his Terrestrial

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-20721583064573472262013-02-16T01:29:00.001-08:002013-02-16T01:29:25.930-08:00

By Jules Verne and Michel Verne Little though they seem to think of it, the people of this twenty-ninth century live continually in fairyland. Surfeited as they are with marvels, they are indifferent in presence of each new marvel. To them all seems natural. Could they but duly appreciate the refinements of civilization in our day; could they but compare the present with the past, and so better

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-83082013668192366812013-02-15T09:13:00.000-08:002013-02-17T03:19:36.191-08:00

By KURT VONNEGUT, JR. If it was good enough for your grandfather, forget it ... it is much too good for anyone else! Gramps Ford, his chin resting on his hands, his hands on the crook of his cane, was staring irascibly at the five-foot television screen that dominated the room. On the screen, a news commentator was summarizing the day's happenings. Every thirty seconds or so, Gramps would

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-22270219806596586202013-02-15T08:12:00.002-08:002013-02-15T08:13:04.313-08:00

By Isaac Asimov Red and Slim found the two strange little animals the morning after they heard the thunder sounds. They knew that they could never show their new pets to their parents. There was a spatter of pebbles against the window and the youngster stirred in his sleep. Another, and he was awake. He sat up stiffly in bed. Seconds passed while he interpreted his strange

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-33219677240490496052013-02-15T08:04:00.002-08:002013-02-15T08:04:46.030-08:00

"The wub, sir," Peterson said. "It spoke!"   By PHILIP K. DICK The slovenly wub might well have said: Many men talk like philosophers and live like fools. They had almost finished with the loading. Outside stood the Optus, his arms folded, his face sunk in gloom. Captain Franco walked leisurely down the gangplank, grinning. "What's the matter?" he said. "You're getting paid for

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-22465478539259564432013-02-15T07:23:00.000-08:002013-02-15T07:23:06.158-08:00

By H. P. Lovecraft High up, crowning the grassy summit of a swelling mound whose sides are wooded near the base with the gnarled trees of the primeval forest, stands the old chateau of my ancestors. For centuries its lofty battlements have frowned down upon the wild and rugged countryside about, serving as a home and stronghold for the proud house whose honoured line is older even than the

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-33031603032044355962013-02-15T07:08:00.002-08:002013-02-15T07:19:22.040-08:00

By H. P. LOVECRAFT From even the greatest of horrors irony is seldom absent. Sometimes it enters directly into the composition of the events, while sometimes it relates only to their fortuitous position among persons and places. The latter sort is splendidly exemplified by a case in the ancient city of Providence, where in the late forties Edgar Allan Poe used to sojourn often during his

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-72186611892161475962013-02-15T06:53:00.000-08:002013-02-15T06:53:08.363-08:00

By PHILIP K. DICK Stark terror ruled the Inner-Flight ship on that last Mars-Terra run. For the black-clad Leiters were on the prowl ... and the grim red planet was not far behind. "Attention, Inner-Flight ship! Attention! You are ordered  to land at the Control Station on Deimos for inspection.  Attention! You are to land at once!" The metallic rasp of the speaker

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9146558611889099278.post-9030689970438888682013-02-15T06:41:00.000-08:002013-02-15T06:43:10.199-08:00

By PHILIP K. DICK No weapon has ever been frightful enough to put a stop to war--perhaps because we never before had any that thought for themselves! Taylor sat back in his chair reading the morning newspaper. The warm kitchen and the smell of coffee blended with the comfort of not having to go to work. This was his Rest Period, the first for a long time, and he was glad of it.

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