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Hugo Award winner "Neutron Star" and seven other groundbreaking stories and novellas by the author of RINGWORLD. Well-known Niven characters -- including Beowulf Schaeffer, Sigmund Ausfaller, Nessus and other alien Puppeteers, the ferocious Kzinti -- appear in these pages. As Tom Clancy says, "The scope of Larry Niven's work is so vast that only a writer of supreme talent could disguise the fact as well as he can."
"Niven...juggles huge concepts of time and space that no one else can lift."
- Charles Sheffield
"Great storytelling is still alive in science fiction because of Larry Niven."
- Orson Scott Card, author of ENDER'S GAME
"The scope of Larry Niven's work is so vast that only a writer of supreme talent could disguise the fact as well as he can."
- Tom Clancy, author of THE HUNT FOR RED OCTOBER
"His tales have grit, authenticity, colorful characters and pulse-pounding narrative drive. Niven is a true master!"
- Frederik Pohl
"Larry Niven is one of the giants of modern science fiction."
- Mike Resnick
"Our premier hard SF writer."
- The Baltimore Sun
"Niven ... lifts the reader far from the conventional world -- and does it with dash."
- The Los Angeles Times
"In creating a geologic world and in the interactions between humans and aliens, Niven is superb."
- Boston Sunday Globe
"One of the genre's most prolific and accessible talents."
- Library Journal
about the author:
Born April 30, 1938 in Los Angeles, California. Attended California Institute of Technology; flunked out after discovering a book store jammed with used science fiction magazines. Graduated Washburn University, Kansas, June 1962: BA in Mathematics with a Minor in Psychology, and later received an honorary doctorate in Letters from Washburn. Interests: Science fiction conventions, role playing games, AAAS meetings and other gatherings of people at the cutting edges of science. Comics. Filk singing. Yoga and other approaches to longevity. Moving mankind into space by any means, but particularly by making space endeavors attractive to commercial interests. Several times we’ve hosted The Citizens Advisory Council for a National Space Policy. I grew up with dogs. I live with a cat, and borrow dogs to hike with. I have passing acquaintance with raccoons and ferrets. Associating with nonhumans has certainly gained me insight into alien intelligences.
selling that,” I said. “True. Do you notice anything else?” “Well…” The hardware that filled the transparent hull was very tightly packed. The effect was as if a race of ten-mile-tall giants had striven to achieve miniaturization. I saw no sign of access tubes; hence there could be no in-space repairs. Four reaction motors poked their appropriately huge nostrils through the hull, angled outward from the bottom. No small attitude jets; hence, oversized gyros inside. Otherwise… “Most of it looks
room behind it was a windowless reflective silver. From the back wall of the relaxation room an access tube ran aft, opening on various instruments and the hyperdrive motors. There were two acceleration couches in the control cabin. Both had been torn loose from their mountings and wadded into the nose like so much tissue paper, crushing the instrument panel. The backs of the crumpled couches were splashed with rust brown. Flecks of the same color were all over everything: the walls, the
many hours I’ve spent in space?” “No. Long enough to know how to use a drinking bulb.” “Funny. Very funny. Everywhere in human space a flatlander is a schnook who never gets above the atmosphere. Everywhere but Earth. If you’re from Earth, you’re a flatlander all your life. For the last fifty years I’ve been running about in human space, and what am I? A flatlander. Why?” “Earthian is a clumsy term.” “What is WeMadeItian?” he demanded. “I’m a crashlander. I wasn’t born within fifty miles of
The screen turned yellowish-white, with a blue point moving off screen near the top. Hooker centered that, enlarged it. A deep-blue flare with a black dot in the center. Loeffler was coming after him. Loeffler’s hoarse voice stopped suddenly. Then, it giggled. “Tricked you,” it said, suddenly calm. The stern scope turned deep red. Damn, thought Hooker. He did trick me. The scope screen would not transmit more light than human eyes could bear, but there was a dial to register the light
protectively over the customers, rising forty meters to touch the ceiling. The bartending machinery was halfway up the tree. “Interesting place,” said Jilson. “These booths were built to float.” He waited for me to express surprise. When I didn’t, he went on: “It didn’t work out. Lovely idea though. The chairs would swoop through the air; and if the people at two tables wanted to meet, they’d slide their booths together and lock them magnetically.” “Sounds like fun.” “It was fun. The guy who