Astruc, RJ. "The Virtual Possible". Issue #3

Virtual possible, VP. It's netslang, of course, a term coined by one of the many slippery psuedo-intellectuals who roam the network's corridors. Simply it means that in the network anything can and will occur.

Baksh, Imam. "Consequence". Issue #2

"I have no appreciation of danger," said the boy as he and Gry sat on the mountain once again, this time under the midnight sky. "You think that that's what allows me to take these risks, but you've mixed it up. I take risks because I'm trying to learn that appreciation."

Beem, Scott. "Argonaut". Issue #5

Clay just couldn't figure why someone would bother to do the slice-and-clout on his sex sim. His test files--maybe, but the sex sim? The stolen protocols consisted of Mistress Ravenna, a cartoonishly proportioned custom vamp with a subtle dominatrix overlay, as well as a few black-market dupes of popular actresses. There was nothing particularly extreme or unique in those sims--no necrotic orgies or pan-gender scenarios, no mutant genitalia or anthrobotanic scent-fucking. And yet the comm-queue now contained seven recordings from a person called 'Vestal' wearing the stolen features of his virtua lover.

Bey, Matthew. "Pioneers and Indians". Issue #4

"Ah, well. We're both here because of your father. To some extent." She gave him a languid wink. "You see all this out here? The land's empty. Almost all the weaklings have left. They just drained away into the cities or into their media. Your father was one of the first to recognize rural space as a new frontier. Or a recycled one at any rate. A place where the People wouldn't have to work until they died to maintain their illusions and the leisure of the few."

"Anasazi-35". Issue #11.

In front of her stretched a city of mud. The residents called it Anasazi-35, in honor of the ancient pueblo peoples of Aztlán, and in honor of the interstate highway that formed the community's roof. This village within a city stretched two blocks, filling in the underpass between Sixth Street and Eighth Street. Back when everyone had an automobile, it had been a parking lot. But then the squatters took over, tearing up the asphalt and mining the sterile Texas caliche for building clay.

Carpenter, Tom. "Sagan's Law". Issue #11

Her excitement died their first day in the City when she stepped on a rat chewing on a hunk of garbage. Hooked to the Digital Sea, the City vibrated for Jimmy. Without the glasses, she saw the real City beneath. It reminded her of Grandma Adele before she'd died. The wasting sickness had rotted her from the inside, so she caked on the make-up and perfume to cover it up, but the stench couldn't be avoided.

Coupland, Krishan. "Sometime After". Issue #5

Roe goes out on deck again. Some way off the towers and pylons of the submerged financial district are clearly visible. He looks out for things. It is early in the morning when anything seems possible. He has heard stories from other scavengers about underwater ghosts, gilled humans, mermaids; about great oil slicks leached from drowned cars that lie on the surface and burn for months at a time. Roe has seen none of these new wonders for himself, and this morning is no exception. There is only the city, brooding there absurdly like a collection of teeth.

Dianne, Marlo. "Bard's Bones". Issue #1.

I knew I was a Bard. I can't remember not knowing. It was one of those things you know by existing, something you might omit, but others won't let you ignore, like your hair colour or your gender. Our identity is imposed in our genes, and I knew that with the same certainty that I knew that floors were grey.

Hudson, Neil James. "Bad Blood". Issue #10.

Just as I was leaving the clinic, someone spat on me--a young man, a carefully-dressed thug. I was lucky that he ran as soon as the saliva landed on my face. I ran as well, to the nearest cafe where I scrubbed myself clean, far cleaner than was necessary, until my skin was red. I knew I was being daft--it was my saliva that was dangerous, not his. One of the many advantages that HIV2 has over its older brother is that it can get into the bloodstream through the mouth. He couldn't harm me: I could have killed him with a kiss.

Hughes, David E. "Going Blind". Issue #8.

Emily was amazed. Diamo didn't seem nervous, just impatient. The others had waited so they could get more comfortable, she supposed. Then, when the time finally came, they acted like she was about to strip their clothes off and look at them naked. But it was nothing like that—it was much worse. Nobody wanted to feel like they'd been turned inside out, like they were exposing the parts of themselves that no one was ever meant to see. When it was over, some people had become nauseous, some had wept, some screamed. None could look her in the eye.

Jackson, David M. "Reductio ad Absurdum". Issue #8.

Looking back, it's clear this was all Anya's fault. The day my mother fell in love with Jek was the day she fell in love with Anya, too. The parties' mutual affection precluded issues of jealousy, so the only difficulties they faced were logistical. There was only one of each of them to go around, but each of them had two lovers vying for attention. Sharing, Jek often complained, was awkward. Everyone agreed that, if things were going to work, two-thirds of the relationship would need to be reduced. Since Anya had a problem with commitment, it only made sense that it should be the two-thirds including my mother.

Johnstone, Christopher. "Sun King". Issue #6.

Aden talks to himself as he walks, stiffly, down metal corridors. He remembers and he talks and he remembers and it's all the same to him. Sometimes he talks to the whirring and buzzing artificialities that attend to everything. Once, long ago, he used to dance with the cleaning droids for company--only they didn't really dance. They just bobbed and twisted and wove in a tireless effort to avoid running him down.

Leen, Gerri. "Inspected By". Issue #1.

They should appreciate her, too. She tested these babies, after all. Quality assurance by Inspector Twenty-Five. Damon was evasive whenever she asked who the other twenty-four testers were, and if there were more than twenty-five. But she thought they were probably like her. Not doing this for the money. Just bored and rich with a taste for the exotic.

"Life Without Crows". Issue #5.

They say all the smart folk died off when the world ended. I don't hold that as the full truth, but it's certain there's no one left to measure a body's intelligence. I've heard that there was once a living in that: wandering around the country and giving tests to young folk. But that's all ended. There's nobody left to give such tests, much less write 'em. And people up this way never held with that nonsense.

Lei, D.H. "Fugu". Issue #4.

Marty loaded the software module into the player and fidgeted into a mound of blankets trying to get comfortable. The recessed lighting in the room retreated into a dull glow. His right thumb found the "Play" button, and after a few moments of quiet static, his leg jerked in a myoclonic twitch. That happened with the best headware programs, but not so early in the routine. This one had to be good.

McDaniel, Tim. "Signatures". Issue #7.

The whole thing looked so natural, so right, when it was done, almost like it was not the work of hands at all, and yet it stood out against the lunar surface anyway, as something new, something somehow important. And it belonged here. It could have existed nowhere else but here, on the surface of the moon, still as a photograph. This garden was not like a traditional Zen rock garden; it was not a garden that people would rake again and again, as a meditation. Movement was alien to the moon. Dead? Sterile? Maybe so.

"The Best Path". Issue #12.

The wind screamed past her, rippling over Spant’s skimship in tiny, flashing waves. She shot between two Andean mountain peaks at Mach four. One of her telescopic eyes swept the sloping grey and brown foothills below for anything unexpected, and an ear slid through the crackling radio bands. Another ear listened to the wind. There was no particular reason to do that; Spant just enjoyed it.

Thirteen-year-olds don't need any more reason than that.

Moj, Pacze. "Vista". Issue #3.

Heinrich studied his watch feverishly, dreading the moment that he knew was coming. Sweat dripped down his face, while all around him people were calm, cool, enjoying themselves. The feeling was of paranoia descending into madness. He knew he couldn't stop it, that it wasn't real, that it had already happened, that it was dangerous to deviate too much from the natural path.

Morehead, Mark Patrick. "'56". Issue #9.

The '56 gleamed in the afternoon sun, a vision of a happier time when cities didn't burn and children weren't hunted for food.

Norum, Don. "The Dutch Couple". Issue #10.

Mori found her dead the next morning, again, and once more called the ambulance which once more failed to come. When it did not, he rose and set breakfast cooking on the two-burner stove before nudging her awake.

"Overclocked". Issue #12.

I noticed that my watch had frozen at 7:43:47. As I watched, the crystals flickered over into :48 before freezing once more. I saw the black line of my eyelids fall like a solar eclipse, and when I opened them again my watch was running, my dinner was burning, and my head was splitting.

Obermeyer, Fredrick. "Tense Caste". Issue #7.

As Alejandro Auchardae rode the elevator down to the bank, he wondered how he could save his family from being evicted. Over the past few weeks, he had already mortgaged off a lung, a kidney and part of his liver. And it still wasn't enough. If he defaulted on this month's payments, then he would lose his job, his apartment and his present tense speech ability.

Peterson, J.F. "My Bonny". Issue #2.

She took my hand. Her skin pulsed with heat, as if she were feverish. "Vision lies. All the senses, no matter how they are stimulated, can lie to us: pictures, books, memories, words, touch, taste. But here," she leaned back and traced the fingers of her other hand up her cheek, up past her temple, "in the mind, in the moment, the only lies we see are the ones we tell ourselves. When that's what you see of a person, the exterior doesn't matter anymore. Can you understand that?"

Poniatowski, Nick. "We Were Born With Blue Eyes". Issue #11.

Gamboge won't even see it coming. And why should he? Since Jade went cipher, I'd been given two months leave. As far as Gamboge knows, I'm in some flesh bar on a beach in Brazil, slamming cachaça and doing lines of coke off beautiful men and women's six-packs, or God and genetics willing, eight packs. Not here, ready to turn his face into a Picasso.

Reagan, David. "No Eye Patch For Me". Issue #3.

Iron Maggie wiped the tears from her eye and looked out the viewport. She loved to watch the specks of light slowly wheel by, cycling through once every few minutes. She knew the brightest one was called The Sun, and the blue one Earth, but the red one called Mars fascinated her the most.

Her father, Leather Face Jock, claimed they were more than a lifetime's travel distant from their home on the Royal Fortune, but Maggie thought he was wrong. The motes of light spoke to her, reached out to her, drew her toward them. They didn't feel distant.

Roberts, Christian. "Redemption". Issue #6.

My stomach, empty from fasting all day, grumbles as I take my seat again. The stone bench feels harder and colder than ever. Like the Way of the Creator.

Everyone turns to the entrance hall. Two columns of robed, hooded figures, one in white, the other in brown, walk side by side into the arena. The white figures are much smaller than their brown partners. I count seven white-brown pairs before the first wheelchair emerges.

Rustad, Abby. "To Market". Issue #7.

Today my sister is finally human.

I bought Kelly's permit just a few hours ago, and she's awed: wide eyes, mouth open, hand trembling. Of course, now I'm broke. Hell, it's almost worth it, seeing her hold the plastic card in front of her face. Almost. The craving's stronger, a sharp pang under my tongue, in my gut. I struggle to hide the twitching. Don't want to spoil her moment.

Salyards, Brian. "Forgotten". Issue #12.

Even in such an advanced age of man, there were still those who looked forward, and the apparatus had all the trappings of a science fiction writer's cold-sweat nightmare. It looked like a demonic cyborg that had been enticed from its own sinister plane and bound against its will. Everything about it screamed terrible, terrible wrongness.

Sanborn Smith, Matthew. "For the Love of Ceelie". Issue #9.

"There's a virus giving hell to our systems," I said, avoiding the guards' eyes. "The Meatnet, the hardware, even our indroids. People are dying of artificial organ failure faster than we can keep up. My ship – My ship almost fell out of the sky coming here. I think the virus must have something to do with Ceelie's growth. She's a hub, it's too much of a coincidence. I've got a mandate from the Council for your release if you can help us."

"So now they want me to save them," she said, leaning forward. "Yesterday I threatened humanity but today I'm all right because something worse has come along."

Stanchfield, Justin. "Harvest". Issue #4.

His hand brushed the top of the nearest sarcophagus, the surface mirror smooth. Warmth spread outward from his palm as the stasis-field brightened. Now, a figure could be seen inside, a naked, screaming man suspended in the luminous matrix. Dalton let his mind reach into the field until he felt the slumbering thoughts trapped there.

"Not yet," he muttered. "Not ripe yet."

Thorne, Todd. "Chaperone". Issue #10.

Before bed, he tucked the training necksets into their charging bay and contemplated the winking LEDs. Red collar. Blue collar. Controller. Controllee. Hard to say who hated their neckset the most, him or Tiberius.

Voorhis, Callie. "The Longest Strip". Issue #9.

Was the ship going to eat all of her?

She'd taken the skin from her left leg all the way up to her thigh and the calf on the right--even her feet. The skin around the toes had taken time but the nanobots inside had been enough to fix the second relay switch.

She'd flayed both arms, except for her hands. That skin had gone into the recycle unit and now air circulated, carrying the tang of sweat and metal: salt from her skin, copper from her blood.

Whates, Ian. "One Night in London". Issue #2.

Ideally the authorities would have loved to remove every trace of the costly hardware when he resigned his commission. In practice, the alterations were too extensive. Removal would have killed him. So instead inhibitors were put in place - designed to block access to the upgrades and so prevent a veteran from becoming a 'menace to society'. The army would have you believe that such inhibitors were state-of-the-art and impossible to circumvent.

Not for the first time, the army was full of shit.

White, John A. "Aesir Tea". Issue #8.

As Moses took the stairs, he heard the clerk grab the phone. The clerk whispered a warning that the cop from T.V. was on his way up. "The cop from T.V." was a polite metaphor for "the guy who killed his wife." Murder makes headlines. Busting a slave trade conspiracy gets page 41. No one reads page 41.

Whiteley, Aliya. "For Rosebud". Issue #6.

He took one hand from his sopping raincoat and gestured at London, laid out beneath him like a butterfly under glass, dead and fragile and beautiful, all at the same time. Then he stared up, through the roof of the capsule, at the night sky and the clusters of kaleidoscopic lights that had become visible the day before yesterday. He hadn't made a decision as to what he thought about them yet. Blind panic had taken everybody else on the planet and somehow passed him by.

Workman, Athena. "Atomic Runner". Issue #1.

The baby was fresh. Most of those rotting in the overflowing dumpsters were not, but this one wasn't stuffed under all the grunge and grit, laid to rest beneath six feet of pungent, corrosive waste.