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Larry NivenFate of WorldsLarry NivenFate of WorldsReturn from the RingworldPAPERBACK (MASS MERCHANT)
UPC: 9780765366498Release Date: 7/2/2013
Series:Biographical note:
LARRY NIVEN is the multiple Hugo and Nebula Award–winning author of the Ringworld series, along with many other science fiction masterpieces. His Beowulf’s Children, coauthored with Jerry Pournelle and Steven Barnes, was a New York Times bestseller. He lives in Chatsworth, California. EDWARD M. LERNER, a physicist and computer scientist, toiled in the vineyards of high tech for thirty years as everything from engineer to senior vice president. Then suitably intoxicated, he began writing full time. Lerner lives in Virginia with his wife, Ruth. Excerpt from book:
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“There is an intruder, sir,” Jeeves announced, breaking the silence. Sigmund Ausfaller sighed. Age had not so much mellowed as exhausted him. The universe was out to get him, and so what? It had been—years?—since he had mustered the energy to care. Maybe it had been years since he had cared that he no longer cared. “Sir?” Shading his eyes with an upraised hand, Sigmund peered across the desert. The day’s final string of suns was low to the horizon. Here and there, scattered across barren landscape, cacti cast long shadows. A lone bird glided overhead. Beyond the limits of his stone patio, civilization had left no visible mark. A cluster of cacti reminded him of other columns. Long ago. Far away. Columns of a world-shattering machine. And they had shattered a world, although by the time it had happened he had been dead. That happened to him far too often. The getting dead part. Peril to entire worlds, too, but— “You should withdraw to safety, sir,” Jeeves prompted. Sigmund sighed again, this time at himself. Age made one’s mind wander. So did living by oneself. Not that, with Jeeves around, he was truly alone. To be old and alone— “Sir,” Jeeves insisted. Sigmund struggled out of his big mesh hammock to stand. “Describe the intruder.” “An antigrav flitter. It’s on approach from the east at just within the low-altitude speed limit.” “Visual sighting?” “Too distant at present. Radar, sir.” “How long until it arrives?” “Ten minutes, sir, if the craft maintains its current velocity.” Sigmund glanced at the dark circle inset in a corner of his patio. The circle was the bottom of a stepping disc. Apart from its active side being obstructed—and so rendered inert—the device was like millions across the world. Flip to light-colored side up and in one pace he could teleport at light speed to any disc of his choosing, almost anywhere on the planet. But were he to invert the disc, then others, if they had the authority to preempt his privacy settings, could teleport here. Sigmund valued his privacy, and his stepping disc stayed upside down. And to be honest, his disc was not exactly like the millions of others. The micro-fusion reactor on this disc would overload seconds after he stepped out, destroying all record of his destination. He really valued his privacy. “Sir?” Sigmund considered. “They’re not stealthed. They’re approaching from the east, easy to spot, not flying out of the setting suns. They want us to know they’re coming.” Sigmund gestured at his modest home, in which, on the oaken desk he had crafted by hand, his pocket comp sat powered down. “It’s not as though they can call ahead.” “Very good, sir,” Jeeves said in his gentleman’s gentleman tone of voice: acknowledgment and mild reproach together. Jeeves was more ancient even than Sigmund. The butler mannerisms that had once been a few lines of code—an affectation or a jape on ”Widescreen galactic scope, nifty super-science, crafty aliens, corporate corruption and cover-ups, and a multileveled spy vs. spy vs. spy mystery...a first-class example of pure SF entertainment.” |
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