Engineering Infinity by Jonathan Strahan Read Free Book Online

Gramps holds her when he reads to her before bed, and
Grams makes good food, and Daddy smiles sometimes.
    She wishes she could show him the
music. She knows he can’t see it. He doesn’t even understand it.
    She knows that.
    But he knows she doesn’t feel
good without it.
    So he brought it from the old
house. The big house. He found it and gave it back to her.
    It makes her happy in a way she
can’t explain.
    He says he likes seeing her
happy.
    So now that the music’s back, she
plays only happy songs. For him, for her. For Grams and Gramps. For the family.
    She plays only happy songs.
    And she watches the music dance.
     

Laika’s Ghost
    Karl Schroeder
     
    Karl
Schroeder was born in Manitoba, Canada, in 1962. He started writing at age
fourteen, following in the footsteps of A. E. van Vogt, who came from the same
Mennonite community. He moved to Toronto in 1986, and became a founding member
of SF Canada (he was president from 1996 - 97). He sold early stories to
Canadian magazines, and his first novel, The Claus Effect (with David Nickle) appeared in 1997. His first solo novel, Ventus , was published in 2000, and was followed by Permanence and Lady of Mazes . His most recent
work is the Virga series of science fiction novels ( Sun
of Suns , Queen of Candesce , Pirate
Sun , and The Sunless Countries ).
He also collaborated with Cory Doctorow on The Complete Idiot’s Guide to
Writing Science Fiction . Schroeder lives in East Toronto
with his wife and daughter.
     
    The flight had been bumpy; the
landing was equally so, to the point where Gennady was sure the old Tupolev
would blow a tire. Yet his seat-mate hadn’t even shifted position in two hours.
That was fine with Gennady, who had spent the whole trip trying to pretend he
wasn’t there at all.
    The young American been a bit
more active during the flight across the Atlantic: at least, his eyes had been
open and Gennady could see coloured lights flickering across them from his
augmented reality glasses. But he had exchanged less than twenty words with
Gennady since they’d left Washington.
    In short, he’d been the ideal
travelling companion.
    The other four passengers were
stretching and groaning. Gennady poked Ambrose in the side and said, “Wake up.
Welcome to the ninth biggest country in the world.”
    Ambrose snorted and sat up. “Brazil?”
he said hopefully. Then he looked out his window. “What the hell?”
    The little municipal airport had
a single gate, which as the only plane on the field, they were taxiing up to
uncontested. Over the entrance to the single-story building was the word ‘???????????.’
“Welcome to Stepnogorsk,” said Gennady as he stood to retrieve his luggage from
the overhead rack. He travelled light by habit. Ambrose, he gathered, had done
so from necessity.
    “Stepnogorsk...?” Ambrose
shambled after him, a mass of wrinkled clothing leavened with old sweat. “Secret
Soviet town,” he mumbled as they reached the plane’s hatch and a burst of hot
dry air lifted his hair. “Population sixty-thousand,” Ambrose added as he put
his left foot on the metal steps. Halfway down he said, “Manufactured anthrax
bombs in the cold war!” And as he set foot on the tarmac he finished with, “Where
the hell is Kazakhstan...? Oh.”
    “Bigger than Western Europe,”
said Gennady. “Ever heard of it?”
    “Of course I’ve heard of it,” said the youth testily - but Gennady could
see from how he kept his eyes fixed in front of him that he was still
frantically reading about the town from some website or other. In the wan
August sunlight he was taller than Gennady, pale, with stringy hair, and
everything about him soft - a sculpture done in rounded corners. He had a wide
face, though; he might pass for Russian. Gennady clapped him on the shoulder. “Let
me do the talking,” he said as they dragged themselves across the blistering
tarmac to the terminal building.
    “So,” said Ambrose, scratching
his neck. “Why are we