Twelve Tomorrows - Visionary stories of the near future inspired by today's technologies
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Inspired by the real-life breakthroughs covered in the pages of MIT Technology Review, renowned writers Brian W. Aldiss, David Brin, and Greg Egan join the hottest emerging authors from around the world to envision the future of the Internet, biotechnology, computing, and more. This collection features 12 all-new stories, an exclusive interview with science fiction legend Neal Stephenson, and a full-color gallery of artwork by Science Fiction Hall of Famer Richard Powers.
stood. He breathed deep. I saw the second he decided not to lie to me. “Not now, not with what we know at present, which isn’t nearly enough. But potentially, far down the road and with the right connections to the cortex, it’s not inconceivable.” Which was a fancy way of saying yes. “Good night,” I said abruptly and went into my room. “Ludie—” But I didn’t have nothing more to say to him. In bed, though, I used the tablet he loaned me—that’s what I been reading the book on—to get the
exploded. The news corporation helicopters and remote camera drones caught the defining image: protesters gyring around the column in the centre of Golden Rukh Square, gyre within gyre, circle within circle, wheel within wheel. Commentators were careful not to draw too close an analogy with pilgrims performing the Tawaf around the Kaaba, but it was there to be seen, on a hundred news reports and a thousand white-boy mash-ups, some with jokey yakety-sax music. The people united can never be
reflect upon our current challenges, who do you believe is actually there, ready to help? A:I’m hesitant to try to impose a big theory on how to change the world. Because they frequently don’t end very well. I tend to see things more in general tendencies rather than big theories. But I’ve done a lot of thinking in the past year about what the problem is. In the case of alternative space launch technologies—which is something I’ve devoted a shocking amount of time to thinking about—there are a
alternatives, and her reward was a modest fraction of the resources she’d effectively freed. ChemFactor would model any collection of atoms and molecules she liked, free of charge—up to a preset quota in computing time. Latifa closed her history book and moved the laptop to the center of her desk. If the binding problems were easy for her now, when it came to the much larger challenge she’d set herself the instincts she’d honed on the site could only take her so far. The raw computing power that
with fists? Screamed threats? Making a best guess, I run. Gravel stays underfoot for eight good steps, then gives way to grass, so I correct, meeting path again ... ... before tripping over her outstretched leg and sprawling face-first. My chin stings and I spit dust. “Jayann ... I’m sorry!” “Not half as sorry as you’re—” I leap up, stagger forward again. There was a slope down from the street, I recall. And now I hear joggers panting. Traffic sounds beyond. With that bearing, I run again.