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All the characters and events ¬portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. How much do you think you could score, say, on one big event like the Series, if you hustled all the books you could get to?
Copyright © 2001 by Spider Robinson All stories copyright by Spider Robinson: Melancholy Elephants © 1984, Half An Oaf © 1976, Antinomy © 1980, Satan’s Children © 1979, Apogee © 1980, No Renewal © 1980, Tin Ear ©, 1980, In the Olden Days © 1984, Silly Weapons © 1980, Nobody Likes to Be Lonely © 1980, “If This Goes On—” © 1991, True Minds © 1984, Common Sense © 1985, Chronic Offender © 1984, High Infidelity © 1984, Rubber Soul © 1984, The Crazy Years was originally published in parts in the Toronto Globe and Mail © 1996–2000, By Any Other Name © 1976. ” Twenty thousand, Spud thought, but he said ¬nothing.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. BAEN BOOKS by Spider Robinson By Any Other Name The Star Dancers (with Jeanne Robinson) Starmind (with Jeanne Robinson) (forthcoming) Deathkiller Lifehouse User Friendly Telempath (forthcoming) FOREWORD Perhaps a story collection should be allowed to speak for itself. Joe had been right: the sight of half a fat man being dragged across the sidewalk by a twelve-year-old with ashes on his upper lip aroused no reaction at all in midtown Manhattan on a Friday night.
A Baen Books Original Baen Publishing Enterprises P. Box 1403 Riverdale, NY 10471 com ISBN: 0-671-31974-4 Cover art by Richard Martin Interior art by Rocky Coffin First printing, February 2001 Distributed by Simon & Schuster 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020 Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH Printed in the United States of America For my friends Ted and Diana Powell —and for Ben Bova, without whom all this would not have been necessary . That was my original intention; I submitted this book to Toni Weisskopf without a foreword. One out-of-towner on his way to the theater blinked a few times, but his attention was distracted almost immediately by a midget in a gorilla suit, wearing a sandwich sign advertising an off-off-off-Broadway play about bestiality.
I only live here because on the summit the air is a little cleaner and I have enough room to raise dogs.
Dick Wood ([email protected]) Friday, March 22, 1996 at Hello, and Welcome to "The COM"... If you have suggestions of a general nature, please include them here.
I have not written short fiction for some time now. Seeing his reaction, Vitelli looked down at the trunk, noticing for the first time the odd nature of its fastening. The air filled with the sound of screeching brakes. Seeing their expressions, the girl raised up onto her knees and peered around the trunk lid, completing the task of converting what had been three lanes of rushing traffic into a goggle-eyed parking lot. Koziack stood beside the Buick a little uncertainly, searching for words in all the likely places. ” “Spud, there is no way in the world a twelve-year-old kid is gonna take fifty grand from the bookies and keep it.” Joe shrugged apologetically. “I guess I thought I’d find some guy I could trust. Spud left Joe at the foot of the stairs and went to fetch assistance.
Novels pay so much better that, without consciously planning to, I just stopped getting short story ideas a few years back. He tugged experimentally, flimsy fabric parted, and the trunk lid rose. Vitelli staggered back as if he’d been slapped with a sandbag. “Look, officer, I can explain,” Spud said without the least shred of conviction. “Oh shit,” he said at last, and began to pull the dress over his head, removing the derby. The gun dropped from his nerveless fingers; the hand stayed before him, index finger crooked. “I’m sorry, but you know I’m right.” Spud grimaced and banged the wheel with his fist. “Spud, Spud, you get into that bracket, at your age, the word has just gotta spread. Shortly he came back down with a moronic-looking pimply teen-ager in dirty green coveralls, “Dinny” written in red lace on his breast pocket. Come on, let’s go.” Chuckling to himself, he helped Spud haul Joe ¬upstairs to the shop.
An unadorned, perfect, white porcelain bowl, over a thousand years old, on a rough cherrywood pedestal. I hate guessing.” “I am heavily and publicly committed to the ¬defeat of S.4217896.” “Yes, but for all I know you might have come here to sell out.” “Oh.” She tried not to show her surprise. ” “Your organization is large and well-financed and fairly efficient, Mrs. I mean, I’ll see that you make out on this.” Spud smiled suddenly. You’re too fat, and you’re not very bright, but for some reason I like you. “Hi, Mom,” he said cheerfully as he entered the living room, and braced himself. Flynn lurched from her chair and began to close on him.Or you can talk about articles written in the local news or anything else you want.By Any Other Name Spider Robinson This is a work of fiction.I was determined to make no retroactive improvements to these stories—to let them stand as they first came into the world, flaws and all. I was rather startled to realize how many of these stories are now chronologically outdated. Spud met him halfway, and a certain lengthy ritual dialogue was held. “Honest to God, it’s all I got.” “How about your friend? Spud was thoroughly spooked, but he relaxed a good deal when the toll-booth attendant at the Brooklyn Bridge failed to show any interest in a twelve-year-old driving a car with the trunk wide open. How’re we gonna get you from the car into the place? “Hey, Spud—this may be 1976, but Manhattan is Manhattan. “Joe, I think you’re a good guy and I’m your pal, but if you didn’t have a roof on your mouth, you’d blow your derby off every time you hiccuped. He chewed gum and picked at his pimples as he thumbed through it, as though to demonstrate that he could do all three at once. At last he looked up, shreds of gum decorating his grin, and nodded to Joe.Written, in some cases, in the early 1970s, they tended to be set in the “distant future” of twenty or thirty years later. The Globe and Mail was Canada’s national newspaper, its journal of record, the Grey Lady of the North. Twenty feet behind them, Patrolman Vitelli turned to his partner. ” Vitelli said, and started for the Buick, which sat clearly illuminated in the pool of light beneath the arc light. “I’m takin’ him to Bellevue—he thinks he may have leprosy.” Vitelli pulled up short with one hand on the truck. Joe had the dress folded over where his lap should have been, and the attendant only changed the five and went back to his egg salad sandwich without comment. ” Spud asked, speaking for the first time since they had left the two policemen and the girl behind. Nobody’ll notice a thing.” “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Look, it’s simple: you get the belt fixed, you get both halves of you back together, and it’s maybe ten o’clock, right? “If it’s what I t’ink it is,” he pronounced, “I c’n fix it. ” Joe nodded briefly, retrieved them from a ¬compartment in the time-belt and handed them over. ” “Take it easy,” Dinny said unresponsively, and began studying the papers like an orangutan inspecting the Magna Carta.