Fiction
“I Am a Being Under Enchantment” by Patricia Russo
“I am a being under enchantment. This is not my true form.”
“Go away,” Valeria said. “I’ve got my own problems.”
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“Someone Is Eating America’s Chess Masters” by Mary A. Turzillo
“Just for sport?” Zoyxaquitl asked, as he had before the two previous games, his voice rumbling over the roar of traffic.
“Sure,” said Weiskopf, inhaling cold autumn air and bus fumes. Pleasing smells, inextricably tied in Weiskopf’s mind with chess in Washington Square.
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“A Time Before” by Vincent Pendergast
It’s the glint in the surf that draws my eye, the flash of afternoon sun on cracked glass. Dropping to my knees on the wet pebble beach I break up the tangle of muck to expose the treasure within — a Casio with a shattered face, its hands pointing to three and eleven, the time all watches show.
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“Rule 88” by Andrew Kaye
The Rogmars had 144 Rules at their preserve on Rogmautha. Every hunting barge posted them in the eight-foot length of blank wall behind the marksman decks. They were written in the 28 accepted languages of the Frontier Colonies, even Teppedrek, which used pictograms instead of words.
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“The Unwinding House” by Jared Millet
“What you need to understand is that time doesn’t work right in Camden. It hasn’t since the bomb.”
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“No Woman, No Plaything” by Lisa Shapter
“Magistrate Resada Gestae, welcome to the Mother City, Colonial Planet 11811.” The man smiled. “I am God, this is my co-founder Red.”
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“Hostile Universe” by K. Eason
The word came up from Science in a condensed squirt over the comps: Atmosphere ninety-two percent carbon dioxide, surface temperate ranges between minus one hundred and minus fifteen C. And added, only half sarcastic: Wear your suit out there.
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“Fall from Grace” by David Tallerman
“We can’t afford to send out another observer. We can’t commit aid without some sure data on the scale of the problem. We…I trusted you. I told you what it would be like. You promised me you could handle it. As it stands now, our hands are tied. Do you realize that?”
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“Dead Merchandise” by Ferrett Steinmetz
The ad-faeries danced around Sheryl, flickering cartoon holograms with fluoride-white smiles. They told her the gasoline that sloshed in the red plastic canister she held was high-octane, perfect for any vehicle, did she want to go for a drive?
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Poetry
Other
Cover art via PhotoFunia and Remi Treuer.
