The Mammoth Book of Best New SF 22

The Mammoth Book of Best New SF 22

Language: English

Pages: 798


Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Retail ePub, from Overdrive

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Widely acclaimed as the benchmark annual anthology for science fiction fans, The Mammoth Book of Best New SF is now in its 22nd successful year. Best SF 22 comprises over two dozen fantastic new pieces from the world's best writers of science fiction.

This collection encompasses every aspect of the genre: soft, hard, cyberpunk, cyber noir, anthropological, military, and adventure. As ever, a bonus extra is an insightful review of the year's best books and an extensive list of recommended reading. Gardner Dozois is the world's leading SF anthologist, and has won the Hugo Award for Best Editor fifteen times.

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Jonathan Strahan’s Eclipse last year for not having enough real science fiction in it, but this isn’t a complaint that can be levelled at his Eclipse Two. There are still a couple of fantasy stories here, and some borderline slipstreamish stuff, but the bulk of the stuff in the book is good solid no foolin’ core science fiction. My favourite stories are by Stephen Baxter, Alastair Reynolds, Karl Schroeder, Ted Chiang, and Daryl Gregory. Also good were stories by David Moles, Tony Daniel, Terry

rattles on, “So, Deependra then?” Jasbir has noticed that Deependra is not occupying his customary place in Kishore’s shadows; in fact he does not seem to be anywhere in this penthouse. “Third date,” Kishore says, then mouths it again silently for emphasis. “That janampatri aeai must be doing something right. You know, wouldn’t it be funny if someone took her off him? Just as a joke, you know?” Kishore chews his bottom lip. Jasbir knows the gesture of old. Then bells chime, lights dim and a

the cat takes the master’s head out very, very carefully. The fractal bush of the scanner comes out of its nest, molecule-sized disassembler fingers bristling. I have to look away when it starts eating the master’s face. I cheat and flee to VR, to do what I do best. After half an hour, we are ready. The nanofab spits out black plastic discs, and the airship drones ferry them to the concert hall. The metallic butterflies in my belly return, and we head for the make-up salon. The Sergeant is

didn’t plan to stay. “When the year’s up I’m moving on. I have a whole new world to explore. And plenty more besides.” “Ha. If I had a euro for every time I’d heard that from people who thought they were passing through but couldn’t find a reason to leave,” Ana Datlovskaya said, “I’d be riding around the desert in style, instead of nursing that broken-down donkey of a pickup.” Ana was a biologist who’d moved out to the western desert to study hive rats, supporting her research with her savings

way that centuries of time and space had not. That was distance. This was hostility. This was elementary fury that knew nothing of humanity. Yet life clung here. Life survived. From two light-minutes out, Oga had heard a whisper of radio communication, from the orbit station on the space elevator, also from the planet’s surface. Scanning sub-Antarctic waters, he caught the unmistakable tang of smart-ice. A closer look: what had on first glance seemed to be bergs revealed a more complex

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