The Mammoth Book of Best New SF 22
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Retail ePub, from Overdrive
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.
reprinted in several best of the year anthologies, including this one, and was one of the most talked-about stories of the year. He’s published little else since, a handful of Finnish fantasy stories that were collected in the chapbook – until the story that follows, which appeared this year in Interzone. He is reported to have just sold a trilogy of SF novels to Gollancz though, and I suspect that if he can find the time to write more, he’s going to turn out to be very important to the field.
men hauling the wagons never stopped frothing, eyes edged white. They were trapped in yokes and that made them easy prey. We hated being strung out along the narrow trail, and kept hanging back so we could gather together in clumps. She would stomp on ahead and stomp on back. “Come on, everyone, while it’s still dark.” “We’re just waiting for the others,” quailed Lindalfa. “No room for the others, love, not on this path.” Lindalfa sounded harassed. “Well, I don’t like being exposed like
Nothing came. The U-Men vanished over the roof of the next apartment building, heading out to sea. Weeks after the invasion, the factory remained closed. Workers began to congregate there anyway. Some mornings they pushed around brooms or cleared debris, but mostly they played cards, exchanged stories of the invasion, and speculated on rumours. Lord Grimm had not been seen since the attack. Everyone agreed that the Saviour of Trovenia had been dead too many times to doubt his eventual
ship went ahead and turned around, headed for Earth just as fast as it fucking could. Me and Monique, we had a fine old time partying the nights away, night after night, but we knew this trip wasn’t gonna last forever. “Marry me,” I said to her one night when we were lying in bed, both of us smoking. I wasn’t sure I meant it, wasn’t sure I wanted to marry anyone at all, but it sounded like the thing to say. “Robbie,” she said, “I know you. You are musicien. You don’t need a wife. You are like a
have swum the Mekong and made it into Thailand. He isn’t sure if they were accepted as refugees or if they were sent back. It is not an official news piece. More, the idea of a news piece. SomPaBoy doesn’t believe it, but Khamchanh contends that the rumour is true, heard from someone who has a sister married to an Isaan border guard in the Thai army. So we cling to it. Wonder about it. Guess where these people came from, wonder if, against all odds, it could be one of ours: a brother, a sister,