Rock On by Bruce Sterling, Poppy Z. Brite, Norman Spinrad, Elizabeth Hand, Lucius Shepard, Graham Joyce, Michael Swanwick, Charles De Lint, John Shirley, F. Paul Wilson, Howard Waldrop, Alastair Reynolds, Graham Masterton, Caitlin R. Kiernan, David J. Schow, Elizabeth Bear, Edward Bryan, Lawrence C. Connolly, Bradley Denton, Greg Kihn, Pat Cadigan, Marc Laidlaw, Del James, Lewis Shiner Page A
Authors: Bruce Sterling, Poppy Z. Brite, Norman Spinrad, Elizabeth Hand, Lucius Shepard, Graham Joyce, Michael Swanwick, Charles De Lint, John Shirley, F. Paul Wilson, Howard Waldrop, Alastair Reynolds, Graham Masterton, Caitlin R. Kiernan, David J. Schow, Elizabeth Bear, Edward Bryan, Lawrence C. Connolly, Bradley Denton, Greg Kihn, Pat Cadigan, Marc Laidlaw, Del James, Lewis Shiner
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of the night is a blur. As soon as I’m done, I’m out of there, running.
I find Perry Street full of cops and flashing red lights. I don’t have to ask why. The self-loathing wells up in me until I want to be sick again. I promise myself to get those records into a safety-deposit box first thing tomorrow so that something like this can never happen again.
I don’t look at anybody as I pass the alley, afraid they’ll see the guilt screaming in my eyes, but I’m surprised to find my landlord, Charlie, standing on the front steps to the apartment house.
“Hey, Jonson!” he says. “Where da hell ya been? Da cops is lookin’ all ova for ya!”
I freeze on the bottom step.
“I’ve been working—all night.”
“Sheesh, whatta night. First dat broad overdoses an’ dies right downa street, and now dis! Anyway, da cops is in your place. Better go talk to ’em.”
As much as I want to run, I don’t. I can get out of this. Somebody probably saw us together, that’s all. I can get out of this.
“I don’t know anything about an overdose,” I say. It’s a form of practice. I figure I’m going to have to say it a lot of times before the cops leave.
“Not dat!” Charlie says. “About your apartment. You was broken into a few hours ago. I t’ought I heard glass break so’s I come downstairs to check. Dey got in t’rough your back window, but I scared ’em off afore dey got much.” He grins and slaps me on the shoulder. “You owe me one, kid. How many landlords is security guards, too?”
I’m starting to relax. I force a smile as I walk up the steps past him.
“You’re the best, Charlie.”
“Don’t I know it. Dey did manage to make off wit your hi-fl an’ your records but, hey, you can replace dose wit’out too much trouble.”
I turn toward Charlie. I feel the whole world, all the weight of time itself crashing down on me. I can’t help it. It comes unbidden, without warning. Charlie’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head as I scream a laugh in his face.
F. Paul Wilson (www.repairmanjack.com) is the award-winning, New York Times bestselling author of forty-plus books and many short stories spanning horror, adventure, medical thrillers, science fiction, and virtually everything between. More than nine million copies of his books are in print in the U.S. and his work has been translated into twenty-four foreign languages. He also has written for the stage, screen, and interactive media. His latest thrillers, Nightworld and Cold City, feature his urban mercenary, Repairman Jack. The author resides at the REAL Jersey Shore. Wilson’s referenced rock in other stories such as “Nyro Fiddles,” “The Last Oldies Revival,” and “The Years the Music Died.” He even touches on disco in “When He Was Fab.”
Stone
Edward Bryant
1
Up above the burning city, a woman wails the blues. How she cries out, how she moans. Flames fed by tears rake fingers across the sky.
It is an old, old song:
Fill me like the mountains
Fill me like the sea
Writhing in the heat, she stands where there is no support.
The fire licks her body.
All of me
So finely drawn, and with the glitter of ice, the manipulating wires radiate outward. Taut bonds between her body and the flickering darkness, all wires lead to the intangible overshadowing figure behind her. Without expression, Atropos gazes down at the woman.
Face contorting, she looks into the hearts of a million fires and cries out.
All of me
As Atropos raises the terrible, cold-shining blades of the Nornshears and with only the barest hesitation cuts the wires. Limbs spread-eagled to the compass points, the woman plunges into the flames. She is instantly and utterly consumed.
The face of Atropos remains shrouded in shadows.
2
ALPERTRON PRESENTS
IN CONCERT
JAIN SNOW
with
MOOG INDIGO
Sixty-track stim by RobCal
June 23, 24
One show nightly at 2100
Tickets $30, $26, $22.
Available from all Alpertron
outlets or at the door.
ROCKY
I find Perry Street full of cops and flashing red lights. I don’t have to ask why. The self-loathing wells up in me until I want to be sick again. I promise myself to get those records into a safety-deposit box first thing tomorrow so that something like this can never happen again.
I don’t look at anybody as I pass the alley, afraid they’ll see the guilt screaming in my eyes, but I’m surprised to find my landlord, Charlie, standing on the front steps to the apartment house.
“Hey, Jonson!” he says. “Where da hell ya been? Da cops is lookin’ all ova for ya!”
I freeze on the bottom step.
“I’ve been working—all night.”
“Sheesh, whatta night. First dat broad overdoses an’ dies right downa street, and now dis! Anyway, da cops is in your place. Better go talk to ’em.”
As much as I want to run, I don’t. I can get out of this. Somebody probably saw us together, that’s all. I can get out of this.
“I don’t know anything about an overdose,” I say. It’s a form of practice. I figure I’m going to have to say it a lot of times before the cops leave.
“Not dat!” Charlie says. “About your apartment. You was broken into a few hours ago. I t’ought I heard glass break so’s I come downstairs to check. Dey got in t’rough your back window, but I scared ’em off afore dey got much.” He grins and slaps me on the shoulder. “You owe me one, kid. How many landlords is security guards, too?”
I’m starting to relax. I force a smile as I walk up the steps past him.
“You’re the best, Charlie.”
“Don’t I know it. Dey did manage to make off wit your hi-fl an’ your records but, hey, you can replace dose wit’out too much trouble.”
I turn toward Charlie. I feel the whole world, all the weight of time itself crashing down on me. I can’t help it. It comes unbidden, without warning. Charlie’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head as I scream a laugh in his face.
F. Paul Wilson (www.repairmanjack.com) is the award-winning, New York Times bestselling author of forty-plus books and many short stories spanning horror, adventure, medical thrillers, science fiction, and virtually everything between. More than nine million copies of his books are in print in the U.S. and his work has been translated into twenty-four foreign languages. He also has written for the stage, screen, and interactive media. His latest thrillers, Nightworld and Cold City, feature his urban mercenary, Repairman Jack. The author resides at the REAL Jersey Shore. Wilson’s referenced rock in other stories such as “Nyro Fiddles,” “The Last Oldies Revival,” and “The Years the Music Died.” He even touches on disco in “When He Was Fab.”
Stone
Edward Bryant
1
Up above the burning city, a woman wails the blues. How she cries out, how she moans. Flames fed by tears rake fingers across the sky.
It is an old, old song:
Fill me like the mountains
Fill me like the sea
Writhing in the heat, she stands where there is no support.
The fire licks her body.
All of me
So finely drawn, and with the glitter of ice, the manipulating wires radiate outward. Taut bonds between her body and the flickering darkness, all wires lead to the intangible overshadowing figure behind her. Without expression, Atropos gazes down at the woman.
Face contorting, she looks into the hearts of a million fires and cries out.
All of me
As Atropos raises the terrible, cold-shining blades of the Nornshears and with only the barest hesitation cuts the wires. Limbs spread-eagled to the compass points, the woman plunges into the flames. She is instantly and utterly consumed.
The face of Atropos remains shrouded in shadows.
2
ALPERTRON PRESENTS
IN CONCERT
JAIN SNOW
with
MOOG INDIGO
Sixty-track stim by RobCal
June 23, 24
One show nightly at 2100
Tickets $30, $26, $22.
Available from all Alpertron
outlets or at the door.
ROCKY
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