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Our December issue again offers an unusual combination of a story and a closely associated fact article. The story is Shane Tourtellotte’s “The Man from Downstream,” about a time traveler who does what he does for an unusual reason, and then faces an unexpected challenge about what to do next. The fact article is Tourtellotte’s “Tips for the Budget Time-Traveler,” which takes a quantitative look at some of the very practical problems such a traveler would inevitably face. Fact article, you say? No, we don’t think it’s likely that you’ll actually take such a trip anytime soon—but if the opportunity should unexpectedly arise, this is an important part of what you’d be up against.
While “The Man from Downstream” is not part of Tourtellotte’s “First Impressions” series, we also have a couple of stories that are parts of series you’ll likely remember—Christopher L. Bennett’s “Home Is Where the Hub Is,” and Brian C. Coad’s “A Placebo Effect,” in which long-suffering patent attorney Wally Mason is temporarily coaxed out of retirement—as well as some that aren’t. One of those, H. G. Stratmann’s “Primum Non Nocere,” could easily be considered a seasonal special, in a sneaky sort of way—though it could also be considered several other things, too.
Analog is Up In Space!
Chosen for the library
on the International Space Station.
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Is quitting ever the wisest course?
Marcia Balbi tapped the shoulder of her freedman, just as the wagon rolled through the Porta Superior town gate. “I’ll get off here, Alastor,” Marcia said. “You collect the new plough and drive it home. I’ll walk back.”
“Yes, domina,” said Alastor, unruffled; he was used to this arrangement. He reined in the oxen long enough for Marcia to step down, then drove straight ahead. Marcia cinched up her stola to keep its hem out of the dust and mire and made a right turn toward the familiar workshop, the clang of metal already reaching her ears.
Nobody greeted her at the door, as everyone was at the main worktable, hammering away at a perplexing gridiron of metal bars. A smaller table near her held a collection of gears and a clock face, so there was little doubt about today’s project. Remnants of earlier work stood on shelves along the walls: a crank and boiling chamber for the steam-driven mill that ground out his fire-powders, pots of binding glue, and a few discarded hand molds for printing type. In the far corner, a pendulum clock marked the time, unheard over the din.
She took a step closer and finally caught one laborer’s eye. He lowered the hammer he had been about to swing, and leaned toward the older man nearby who had still not noticed. “Quintus Julius, you have a visitor.”
“You mean a customer? Then—aah.”
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