The Visible Man and Other Stories

The Visible Man and Other Stories

Gardner Dozois

Language: English

Pages: 231

ISBN: 2:00338615

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

A collection of original fiction by Hugo and Nebula award winning SF legend Gardner Dozois. The collection contains legendary science fiction tales “A Special Kind of Morning,” “Chains of the Sea,” the riveting title story, “The Visible Man,” and twelve other Dozois-authored stories. With an introduction by Robert Silverberg.

• “The Vis­i­ble Man” orig­i­nally ap­peared in Ana­log
• “Flash Point” orig­i­nally ap­peared in Orbit 13
• “Horse of Air” orig­i­nally ap­peared in Orbit 8
• “The Last Day of July” orig­i­nally ap­peared in New Di­men­sions III
• “Ma­chines Of Lov­ing Grace” orig­i­nally ap­peared in Orbit 11
• “A Dream at Noon­day” orig­i­nally ap­peared in Orbit 7
• “A King­dom by the Sea” orig­i­nally ap­peared in Orbit 10
• “The Man Who Waved Hello” orig­i­nally ap­peared in Uni­verse 2
• “The Storm” orig­i­nally ap­peared in Fu­ture Cor­rup­tion
• “Where No Sun Shines” orig­i­nally ap­peared in Orbit 6
• “A Spe­cial Kind of Morn­ing” orig­i­nally ap­peared in New Di­men­sions 1
• “Chains of the Sea” orig­i­nally ap­peared in Chains of the Sea

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Highland Avenue. He made a desperate, sporadic attempt to move, but a giant hand seemed to press down on him, driving his feet into the ground like fence posts. It was impossible, he realized. He wasn’t going to make it. He might as well try to walk to the Moon. Below him, at the bottom of the slope, groups of children were walking rapidly along the shoulder of the avenue, hurrying to make school before the late bell. Tommy could see Steve and Bobbie and Eddie walking in a group with Jerry

other job he ever had. It was his job, it was what he did. Every day, Mason would stand with his hammer and kill cows. It is raining: a sooty, city rain that makes you dirty rather than wet. Mason is standing in the rain at the bus stop, waiting for the bus to come, as he does every day, as he has done every day for the past six years. He has his collar up against the wind, hands in pockets, no hat: his hair is damp, plastered to his forehead. He stands somewhat slouched, head slumped forward

without waiting for an answer he was inside, followed by the two plumbers. They pushed by Paul and went into the kitchen. In a daze, Paul retreated to the living room. They were stomping around inside the bathroom now. “There’s an airspace behind this bathroom wall here,” one of the plumbers was shouting. “See, it used t’be a window and somebody plastered it over. We knock a hole through the plaster, we can get out inta the airspace and get a pump extension up to that outside drain on this

there could be nothing else. Period. The war was over. We were almost right. But not quite. In another hour or so a man from field HQ came up over the mountain shoulder in a stolen vacform and landed in camp. The man switched off the vac, jumped down, took two steps toward the parapet overlooking hell, stopped. We saw his stomach muscles jump, tighten. He took a stumbling half-step back, then stopped again. His hand went up to shield his throat, dropped, hesitated, went back up. We said

saying that he consciously figured that out, deliberately shielded me (though who knows), but I had given him the only warmth he’d known in a long nightmare of pain, and so he remained by me when there was nothing stopping him from running away—and it came to the same result. You don’t need intelligence or words to respond to empathy, it can be communicated through the touch of fingers—you know that if you’ve ever had a pet, ever been in love. So that’s why I was spared, warmth for warmth, the

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