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Imagine a technology that can change the structure and function of your own body...or that can devour an entire country.
This is nanotechnology--the creation of self-replicating machines with the capability to build or alter almost any structure, including the human form, by manipulating atoms or molecules--and it has captured the imaginations of science fiction writers and readers everywhere. Now these eleven short tales will capture you...
individual, the nanny tries to restructure it as well as repair it." Canazetti called up another visual on the terminal. "The jellyfish on the left," he said, "was repaired with nannies grown from the DNA of the one on the right." Henry inspected the two cell diagrams. "How close is the match?" "Eighty-seven percent." "Nearly complete." Henry's own voice sounded far away. He could hear the rush of his blood in his ears. He felt light-headed. Nearly complete. "Only if the donor and recipient
through the great museums of London, Paris, and Vienna searching for surcease which never came. Perhaps taking the museum trip they planned before Annais died had not been wise. But of course, his real intent had been different all along. He realized only fifteen minutes earlier that he was fooling himself about the real purpose of his quest. He knew this the instant he overheard a man in a booth behind him mention to someone that the GULDEN was heading to Amsterdam. Amsterdam. The city he had
and his family. He grabbed Claire and clamped his hand over her mouth and nose. Without breathing, he rushed for the door, aware that Annais and Julie were next to him, on the crest of a stampede. As they ran down the stairs Claire struggled and bit his hand. He did not let her breathe till they had crossed the street and she gasped and coughed and screamed. Tears wet Annais' face. Julie was pale. They walked silently toward their apartment on M Street, and Julie came with them. They were all
sit down. We need to discuss your accident." "My what? My accident? That's the same word the militia used. Well, it was no accident! It was an assault, a rape, a vicious attack. Not an accident!" "Excuse me," said Eleanor's attorney general, "but we were using the word 'accident' in its legal sense. Both sides have provisionally agreed . . ." I left the room without a word. I needed urgently to urinate again. Mercifully, the bathroom door opened to me. I knew I was behaving terribly, but I
wouldn't try to force my way into the bedroom when she opened the door. "All your clothes were confiscated by the militia," said the chief of staff, "but Fred will bring you something of his." Before I could ask who Fred was, a big, squat-bodied russ came out of the back bedroom, the room I used for my trips to Chicago. He was dressed in a conservative business suit and carried a brown velvet robe over his arm. "This is Fred," said the chief of staff. "Fred has been assigned to . . ." "What?"