By Clifford D. Simak, Michael Swanwick, Suzy McKee Charnas, Philip K. Dick, Howard Waldrop, Charles L. Grant, Gregory Benford, Algis Budrys, Visit Amazon's Jerry Pournelle Page, search results, Learn about Author Central, Jerry Pournelle, , John F. Carr
Comprises the Nebula Award profitable tales for 1980, plus a few nominees. contains: Grotto of the Dancing Deer, via Clifford Simak (Winner, 1980 Nebula, 1981 Hugo, 1981 Locus Poll); Ginungagap, by way of Michael Swanwick (nominated, 1980 Nebula); Unicorn Tapestry, by means of Suzy McKee Charnas (winner, 1980 Nebula; nominated, 1981 international fable Award); Rautavaara's Case, via Philip ok. Dick (nominated, 1980 British technology Fiction Award); The gruesome Chickens, by means of Howard Waldrop (winner, 1980 Nebula, 1981 international myth Award; nominated, 1981 Hugo, 1981 Balrog); secrets and techniques of the guts, by way of Charles L. furnish (nominated, 1980 Nebula). additionally incorporated are an essay via the simplest novel winner, Gregory Benford; an essay on motion pictures of 1980 by means of invoice Warren; and essays by way of Michael Glyer and Algis Budrys.
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Additional info for Nebula Award Stories Sixteen (Nebula Awards Showcase)
Meet me at Grandma’s Diner at six, then. I’ll be the one in suspenders,” he said, laughing. He watched her cross the street and disappear around a corner. At the restaurant she called him Arthur. He had 25 as if we were prey cleaned himself up, taken off his suspenders and fedora, and combed his hair, something he admitted to her he had not done in five years of traveling. “Makes me look like Einstein, I think,” he said. “You look like the wind is in your hair all the time,” she replied. She wanted to know things about him.
But I went back down instead, and I grabbed the jaws of the trap with both hands and pulled them apart. He came out of the water like a wet towel, limp and cold, as if he had been showering too long in the locker room and had run out of warm water, caved in by the last in a string of pulverizing losses. He just lay back on the gravelly shore and stretched out his arms. “I give,” he said. ” He smelled like fish. His face was puffed and white, his body close to hypothermia. Together Gail and I lifted him up onto the road and half-carried him to the truck.
We’d cheer and shout, and in all those times we fought, I never heard Carter’s mother say a word. Even though she’s only eight, my daughter knows box- ing. We’ve watched every major fight since she was born: 34 the trees growing up around us Roberto Duran, Sugar Ray, Marvin Hagler. She’s seen old films too: Floyd Patterson, Sonny Liston, the Bear. Even now, when I mention the Bear, she blows up her face and stalks out of corners in the house. But she winces when I recount the details of my fights in Carter’s basement.