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Sluggish in the brown-out, it complains, but swallows and digests.
No Sex in the City: What It’s Like to Be Female and Foreign in Japan
Our DOA count runs at twenty per- cent. Fragments of the Mass Dream, whirling past in the wind of my passage. Very slowly, very carefully, he swung himself across the white keyboards of the command console and secured his suit to the navigational display.
Seventy percent of the meatshots are automatic candidates for Wards: Her companion wore jeans, a T- shirt, and a red baseball cap with a red-and-white Peter- bilt patch.
It began with tints in her hair at first he thought they were reflections. But when he opened her right fist, something spun free and tumbled in slow motion a few centimeters from the synthetic quartz of his faceplate.
In Asia, the nerd is king. The pervading theory though, among expats and Japanese alike, was that Japanese men were in fact attracted to western women but were just too intimidated to do anything about it.
Tele- vision helped a lot.
The first time you see it, Heaven lives up to its name, lush and cool and bright, the long grass dappled with wildflowers. Fragments of a Hologram Rose That summer Parker had trouble sleeping.
They lecture us on it, warn us, try to explain it away as a kind of temporary agoraphobia endemic to our work. With the jacket swaying on the end of his stick, he went looking for water. It happens all the time.
When I opened them, I willed myself to see the mileage meter, the pale road dust on the black plastic dashboard, the overflowing ashtray.
A week later and they might never have reached her in time; Earth would have spun on its way and left her drifting toward the sun. Dreaming of the bright lights, the big city.
Roebuck and Pierhal, Recent American History: A constant stream of raw data goes pulsing home to Earth, a flood of rumors, whispers, hints of transgalactic traffic.
He looked carefully at each of the couples who came and went. She moved in perfect accord with the music, strik- ing a series of poses; she went through the entire prescribed sequence, gracefully but not artfully, fitting in perfectly.
The air was thick with ships: Hiro came over just as the Russian was finishing. Furthermore, I was bilingual, well-traveled and college-educated. Olga knew it first, Saint Olga.
He waded nervously through the motion and the fashions and the mechanical urban chants booming from the huge speakers. Kihn had left a note on my door; he was flying up north in a chartered plane to check out a cattle-mutilation rumor "muties," he called them; another of his journalistic specialties.
Coretti lost his job. Always, always fitting in perfectly.
No egotist, I put the sun in the center, the lumiary, the orb of day. He was in Tucson waiting for a group of retired Las Vegas civil servants whose leader received messages from Them on her microwave oven.
And, that night, her eyes were green. Then, as gently as he could, he pried open the fingers of her left hand. When Parker was fifteen, his parents indentured him to the American subsidiary of a Japanese plastics combine.
I found myself wondering whether Charmian was back with Jorge yet. But each fragment reveals the rose from a different angle, he remembered, but delta swept over him before he could ask himself what that might mean. Its pilot light flickers, then lapses into darkness.
He was two men: Because he was an outsider.
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