The Rose Witch by James Patrick Kelly (Fantasy)
Most in that country called Tzigana a witch, though never to her face. Now that she was dead, you would expect that the girls who had lived in her tumbledown house might say whatever they wished. But none dared speak against the old woman.
Real Artists by Ken Liu (Science Fiction)
More than seven thousand processors were wired together into a computing grid in the basement of the Semaphore campus. This was where Big Semi — the “semi” was short for either “semiotics” or “semantics,” no one knew for sure any more — lived. Big Semi was The Algorithm, Semaphore’s real secret.
Let’s All Sing Like the Birdies Sing by Paul Di Filippo (Science Fiction)
Nearly all biohackers agree on one thing concerning the infamous Twaddle virus: it was elegantly scripted. Contagious via mere touch or aerosol dispersal (a sneeze, a cough), the synthetic infection was able to cross the blood-brain barrier within hours of contact with a human host.
Arvies by Adam-Troy Castro (Horror)
This is the story of a mother, and a daughter, and the right to life, and the dignity of all living things, and of some souls granted great destinies at the moment of their conception, and of others damned to remain society’s useful idiots.
Powerless by John Kessel (Science Fiction)
The problem with an engine powered by the rotation of the Earth is that you cannot turn it off. If you built enough of them, they would gradually steal all of the Earth’s angular momentum and the day would lengthen until the sun stood still in the sky, and then eventually start going backward.
One Sister, Two Sisters, Three by James Patrick Kelly (Science Fiction)
Zana had the precise beauty that only Moya can bestow. Her ratios were near the 1.618 of the Divine’s perfection, her curls tight, and her skin had a dark luster, like the midnight of the Jagged Spike. Her high forehead set off molten brown eyes.
Many Mansions by Robert Silverberg (Science Fiction)
She hurries down the dirty street toward the tall brick building. This is the place. Upstairs. Fifth floor, apartment 5-J. As she starts to ring the doorbell, a tall, lean man steps out of the shadows and clamps his hand powerfully around her wrist. “Time Patrol,” he says crisply, flashing an identification badge. “You’re under arrest for contemplated temponautic murder, Mrs. Porter.”
Gulliver At Home by John Kessel (Fantasy)
Lemuel carefully balanced the box he carried on his knees. He peeked inside, to assure himself for the hundreth time that the tiny cattle and sheep it held were all right. We were on our way to the country estate of the Earl of Kent, who had summoned Lemuel when the rumors of the miniature creatures he’d brought back from Lilliput spread throughout the county.