by Greg Bear
“Thanks for telling me.”
The Hawk looked at his watch. “Well. Good-bye.” I thought he was going to leave finally. But he glanced up again. “Have you got the new Word?”
“That’s right,” I said. “It went out tonight. What is it?”
The Hawk waited till the people coming down the steps were gone. He looked hastily about, then leaned toward me with hands cupped at his mouth, rasped, “Pyrite,” and winked hugely. “I just got it from a gal who got it direct from Colette,” (one of the three Singers of Triton). Arty turned, jounced down the steps, and shouldered his way into the crowds passing on the strip.
I sat there mulling through the year till I had to get up and walk. All walking does to my depressive moods is add the reinforcing rhythm of paranoia. By the time I was coming back, I had worked out a dilly of a delusional system: The Hawk had already begun to weave some security-ridden plot about me, which ended when we were all trapped in some dead-end alley, and trying to get aid I called out, “Pyrite!” which would turn out not to be the Word at all but served to identify me for the man in the dark gloves with the gun/grenade/gas.
There was a cafeteria on the corner. In the light from the window, clustered over the wreck by the curb was a bunch of nastygrimies (à la Triton: chains around the wrist, bumblebee tattoo on cheek, high-heel boots on those who could afford them). Straddling the smashed headlight was the little morph-head I had ejected earlier from The Glacier.
On a whim I went up to her. “Hey . . . ?”
She looked at me from under hair like trampled straw, eyes all pupil.
“You get the new Word yet?”
She rubbed her nose, already scratch red. “Pyrite,” she said. “It just came down about an hour ago.”
“Who told you?”
She considered my question. “I got it from a guy, who says he got it from a guy, who came in this evening from New York, who picked it up there from a Singer named Hawk.”
The three grimies nearest made a point of not looking at me.
Those farther away let themselves glance. “Oh,” I said. “Oh. Thanks.”
Occam’s Razor, along with any real information on how security works, hones away most such paranoia. Pyrite. At a certain level in my line of work, paranoia’s just an occupational disease. At least I was certain that Arty (and Maud) probably suffered from it as much as I did.
The lights were out on The Glacier’s marquee. Then I remembered what I had left inside and ran up the stairs.
The door was locked. I pounded on the glass a couple of times, but everyone had gone home. And the thing that made it worse was that I could see it sitting on the counter of the coat-check alcove under the orange bulb. The steward had probably put it there, thinking I might arrive before everybody left. Tomorrow at noon Ho Chi Eng had to pick up his reservation for the Marigold Suite on the Interplanetary Liner The Platinum Swan, which left at one-thirty for Bellona. And there behind the glass doors of The Glacier, it waited with the proper wig, as well as the epicanthic folds that would halve Mr. Eng’s sloe eyes of jet.
I actually thought of breaking in. But the more practical solution was to get the hotel to wake me at nine and come in with the cleaning man. I turned around and started down the steps; and the thought struck me, and made me terribly sad, so that I blinked and smiled just from reflex; it was probably just as well to leave it there till morning, because there was nothing in it that wasn’t mine anyway.
—Milford
July 1968
ABOUT THE RHYSLING AND DWARF STARS AWARDS
The Rhysling Awards are given each year by the Science Fiction Poetry Association (SFPA), in recognition of the best science fiction, fantasy, or horror poems of the year. Each year, members of SFPA nominate works that are compiled into an annual anthology; members then vote to select winners from the anthology’s contents. The award is given in two categories: works of fifty or more lines are eligible for Best Long Poem, and works shorter than that are eligible for Best Short Poem. Additionally, SFPA gives the Dwarf Stars Award to a poem of ten or fewer lines.
2013 RHYSLING AWARD WINNER
BEST SHORT POEM
THE CAT STAR
TERRY A. GAREY
if there is a Dog Star there should be
one for cats
not lion, not leopard
although they are deserving
but a Domestic Shorthaired Cat Star
firm in the heavens
burning like a green-gold eye
shedding a few photons
on a prowl through the galaxies
(I have hidden your body
in among ground-down shale
powdered clam shell and centuries of leaf mold
bright leaves feed small trees, here,
twigs grow and crumble
squirrels leave husks
from summer grass
in the winter birds will come
scattering seeds across the snow where you lie
and I will know
you are safe
your molecules are migrating out
into the movements of the years, swirling
in sun, storm, bitter cold
you are singing the disintegrating cat song
a whisker song
a clawed paw song
a silent cat song that spreads out to the stars
hums through the universe
then falls back gently
teaching the old carbon and iron and calcium compounds
what it is to be a component of earth
dancing in the drifted leaves
and what it is to be
a part of all you loved)
if there is a Dog Star
there should be one for cats
2013 DWARF STARS AWARD WINNER
BASHŌ AFTER CINDERELLA (III)
DEBORAH P KOLODJI
pumpkin vine
a mouse remembers
how to neigh
2013 RHYSLING AWARD WINNER
BEST LONG POEM
INTO FLIGHT
ANDREW ROBERT SUTTON
It was just one zero too many,
one gadget too far.
The books gave up and,
in a flurry, took flight.
How? Scientists couldn’t say.
Where to? Only the mystic,
crystal-toting, tarot-reading,
lunatic fringe would even conjecture.
Hell, most kids didn’t even notice,
cocooned in their networks, awash
in empty streams of bits and bytes.
That in itself might have accounted for the Why.
The little ones took to wing first—
the homilies and pocket Bibles.
They darted away quietly
between one glance and the next.
Then, the paperbacks,
Bradbury’s stuff leading the way,
winging off to Mars, pulps in tow.
A few thought this a wonder.
Soon though, the Oxford dictionary,
Norton’s anthology, and Shakespeare
(Riverside editions) were aloft.
Then came the law books. Lord! The law books.
That’s when it became impossible
not to notice. Only then did anyone care—
when it was too much,
when it became inconvenient.
They interfered with things—
the beautiful, fluttering books.
They brought air traffic to a standstill,
and that was just for starters.
They frightened pets and startled drivers.
They smashed into windows
and had a predilection for power lines
that could very nearly be called vendetta.
Some of the volumes, in their vigor,
shed pages, showering the world
with poetry and cliffhangers
and little snippets of wonder.
Office districts w
ere soon buried in white
like Narnia beneath its perpetual winter.
After a few damps nights, entire city blocks
were entombed in paper machê.
Antique districts swirled into yellowed autumns,
while Washington was transformed into a Hitchcock-ian hell,
books of tax code circling slowly overhead
like buzzards awaiting their prey.
Some lonely readers thought to lure
their loved ones home. Other readers plotted
to recapture them by trickery—
their methods as varied as their genre.
Poetry lovers were seen sprinting
through meadows with butterfly nets,
or canary cages baited with binder’s glue,
singing line and verse.
Mystery fans sleuthed while suspense
fans waited on tenterhooks. Horror
fans gathered to scribe ISBN numbers
into elaborate pentagrams of red ink.
Baristas advised wafting cappuccinos
out windows while lawyers filed injunctions
against authors, ordering them to cease
their trickery or face consequences.
Some readers even tried to signal them
with book lights from the rooftops,
and, for a single night, the world lit up
like a great ocean reflecting the night sky.
But, as difficult as they were to pen, the words
were ten times more elusive on the wing.
Try as readers might, the books wouldn’t listen
to reason and they couldn’t be caught.
Certain people had the temerity to shoot
at them, drunk and cocksure,
thinking the entire thing some grand sport.
That proved to be unwise.
Hemingway, Twain, and, surprisingly, Dickens
wouldn’t stand for such impudence,
and the men with guns
suddenly couldn’t run fast enough.
Once it was clear the books wouldn’t come down,
citizens demanded solutions.
Officials the world over took steps—
convened in capitols, passed resolutions.
They evicted the molly-coddling librarians,
chained shut the library doors
boarded up the busted windows,
posted guards.
Briefly, it was poetic.
All the books fluttering
like exotic butterflies in gardens
or snowflakes in enormous globes.
The books didn’t tire, though,
and soon the libraries, too, were aloft,
hovering like giant zeppelins, plunging
cities, then entire states, into twilight.
And then one night, just like that,
without any ceremony or fanfare,
they left the world, ascending,
never to return.
Yes, the text was still there:
digitized, sanitized, organized.
But it wasn’t the same,
and it wasn’t long before people knew it.
Like salt without savor,
like flowers without scent,
the text was without soul
and offered nothing to its readers.
There were no more sanctuaries of silence,
no temples of free thought.
There was only a gaping void
where no one had expected one.
The world had become a darker place.
Soon, men began fashioning themselves
paper wings scribed with wild tales,
their eyes fixed heavenward.
PAST NEBULA AWARD WINNERS
1965
Novel: Dune by Frank Herbert
Novella: “He Who Shapes” by Roger Zelazny and “The Saliva Tree” by Brian Aldiss (tie)
Novelette: “The Doors of His Face, the Lamps of His Mouth” by Roger Zelazny
Short Story: “‘Repent, Harlequin!’ Said the Ticktockman” by Harlan Ellison
1966
Novel: Babel-17 by Samuel R. Delany and Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes (tie)
Novella: “The Last Castle” by Jack Vance
Novelette: “Call Him Lord” by Gordon R. Dickson
Short Story: “The Secret Place” by Richard McKenna
1967
Novel: The Einstein Intersection by Samuel R. Delany
Novella: “Behold the Man” by Michael Moorcock
Novelette: “Gonna Roll the Bones” by Fritz Leiber
Short Story: “Aye, and Gomorrah” by Samuel R. Delany
1968
Novel: Rite of Passage by Alexei Panshin
Novella: “Dragonrider” by Anne McCaffrey
Novelette: “Mother to the World” by Richard Wilson
Short Story: “The Planners” by Kate Wilhelm
1969
Novel: The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin
Novella: “A Boy and His Dog” by Harlan Ellison
Novelette: “Time Considered as a Helix of Semi-Precious Stones” by Samuel R. Delany
Short Story: “Passengers” by Robert Silverberg
1970
Novel: Ringworld by Larry Niven
Novella: “Ill Met in Lankhmar” by Fritz Leiber
Novelette: “Slow Sculpture” by Theodore Sturgeon
Short Story: No Award
1971
Novel: A Time of Changes by Robert Silverberg
Novella: “The Missing Man” by Katherine MacLean
Novelette: “The Queen of Air and Darkness” by Poul Anderson
Short Story: “Good News from the Vatican” by Robert Silverberg
1972
Novel: The Gods Themselves by Isaac Asimov
Novella: “A Meeting with Medusa” by Arthur C. Clarke
Novelette: “Goat Song” by Poul Anderson
Short Story: “When It Changed” by Joanna Russ
1973
Novel: Rendezvous with Rama by Arthur C. Clarke
Novella: “The Death of Doctor Island” by Gene Wolfe
Novelette: “Of Mist, and Grass, and Sand” by Vonda N. McIntyre
Short Story: “Love Is the Plan, the Plan Is Death” by James Tiptree Jr.
Dramatic Presentation: Soylent Green
1974
Novel: The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin
Novella: “Born with the Dead” by Robert Silverberg
Novelette: “If the Stars Are Gods” by Gordon Eklund and Gregory Benford
Short Story: “The Day before the Revolution” by Ursula K. Le Guin
Dramatic Presentation: Sleeper by Woody Allen
Grand Master: Robert Heinlein
1975
Novel: The Forever War by Joe Haldeman
Novella: “Home Is the Hangman” by Roger Zelazny
Novelette: “San Diego Lightfoot Sue” by Tom Reamy
Short Story: “Catch That Zeppelin” by Fritz Leiber
Dramatic Presentation: Young Frankenstein by Mel Brooks and Gene Wilder
Grand Master: Jack Williamson
1976
Novel: Man Plus by Frederik Pohl
Novella: “Houston, Houston, Do You Read?” by James Tiptree Jr.
Novelette: “The Bicentennial Man” by Isaac Asimov
Short Story: “A Crowd of Shadows” by C. L. Grant
Grand Master: Clifford D. Simak
1977
Novel: Gateway by Frederik Pohl
Novella: “Stardance” by Spider and Jeanne Robinson
Novelette: “The Screwfly Solution” by Raccoona Sheldon
Short Story: “Jeffty Is Five” by Harlan Ellison
1978
Novel: Dreamsnake by Vonda N. McIntyre
Novella: “The Persistence of Vision” by John Varley
Novelette: “A Glow of Candles, A Unicorn’s Eye” by C. L. Grant
Short Stor
y: “Stone” by Edward Bryant
Grand Master: L. Sprague de Camp
1979
Novel: The Fountains of Paradise by Arthur C. Clarke
Novella: “Enemy Mine” by Barry B. Longyear
Novelette: “Sandkings” by George R. R. Martin
Short Story: “GiANTS” by Edward Bryant
1980
Novel: Timescape by Gregory Benford
Novella: “Unicorn Tapestry” by Suzy McKee Charnas
Novelette: “The Ugly Chickens” by Howard Waldrop
Short Story: “Grotto of the Dancing Deer” by Clifford D. Simak
Grand Master: Fritz Leiber
1981
Novel: The Claw of the Conciliator by Gene Wolfe
Novella: “The Saturn Game” by Poul Anderson
Novelette: “The Quickening” by Michael Bishop
Short Story: “The Bone Flute” by Lisa Tuttle [declined by author]
1982
Novel: No Enemy but Time by Michael Bishop
Novella: “Another Orphan” by John Kessel
Novelette: “Fire Watch” by Connie Willis
Short Story: “A Letter from the Clearys” by Connie Willis
1983
Novel: Startide Rising by David Brin
Novella: “Hardfought” by Greg Bear
Novelette: “Blood Music” by Greg Bear
Short Story: “The Peacemaker” by Gardner Dozois
Grand Master: Andre Norton
1984
Novel: Neuromancer by William Gibson
Novella: “Press Enter []” by John Varley
