Year's Best SF 16 (Year's Best Science Fiction)
A dazzling new collection of the finest short form science fiction from the previous year, compiled once again by World Fantasy and Hugo Award-winning editors by David G. Hartwell and Kathryn Cramer, Year’s Best SF 16 features some of the brightest stars of the genre—including Gregory Benford, Cory Doctrow, Joe Haldeman, and Michael Swanwick. From space travel to time travel to journeys through the mind, brilliant and original speculative fiction is alive and well and magnificently celebrated in this splendid compendium of plausible wonders.
assumed that “spectacular” was the wrong word. But it wasn’t. Minutes later, I was wearing my seat belt and shoulder harness and my door was locked, both hands wrapped around the plastic handle above the window. As promised, we were flying down the highway. It seemed as if we were on the same road on which I had entered Nancy. Noelene admitted that it was, then added, “But not for long.” Several quick turns followed, and I lost all track of where I was. Maybe we were heading for Germany, but
make an artificial leg. You read that yourself. Even Gerry said he could do it. We might even find one that will fit me. Just because there wasn’t anything in the Metropolis Hospital doesn’t say anything about other hospitals. So it’s not my leg. It’s not like I haven’t been useful. You wouldn’t have gotten out of Saint Louis without me. It’s been me, with my human hands, who’s been able to keep the stiff together. I’m the one who can use a gun. I’m the one that saved your life. The truth is you
sunlight. But it was enough to see that my guess had been a vast underestimate: the creature’s thorax was almost fifteen centimeters long, its limbs adding another ten centimeters or so. And those limbs moved, not randomly with the currents, but in clear locomotion. It might have been a terrestrial lobster, except for the number of claws and its greenish coloring. This was the ninetieth voyage of the Starship Frederik Pohl. My ship and crew had visited eighty-seven star systems, all still
thigh-sized haunch of freezer-wrapped meat. “Carry this for me, buddy,” he said. I took the meat, cradling it in both arms. We went out of the laboratory by a different door, then walked down a short corridor until a second door opened out into a dark, echoey space, like the inside of an aircraft hangar. “Wait here,” Jake said, and his footsteps veered off to one side. I heard a clunk, as of some huge trip-switch being thrown and, one by one, huge banks of suspended ceiling lights came on. Even
privacy. At the risk of repeating myself, it wasn’t a question. Let’s see. Phew! There’s some pretty rough stuff here. So where is it? Where is what? Your body unit. Usually, they’re kept in a trunk under the bed, but . . . Ah, here it is, in the closet. It appears to have seen some use. I take it from the accessories, your man likes to be tied up and whipped. I can explain. No explanation needed. What two individuals do in the privacy of their own house is their own business. Even when one