Machine of Death: A Collection of Stories About People Who Know How They Will Die

Machine of Death: A Collection of Stories About People Who Know How They Will Die

Ryan North, Matthew Bennardo, David Malki

Language: English

Pages: 464

ISBN: 0982167121

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

The machine had been invented a few years ago: a machine that could tell, from just a sample of your blood, how you were going to die. No dates, no details. Just a slip of paper with a few words spelling out your ultimate fate -- at once all-too specific and maddeningly vague.

A top ten Amazon Customer Favorite in Science Fiction & Fantasy for 2010, The Machine of Death is an anthology of original stories bound together by a central premise. From the humorous to the adventurous to the mind-bending to the touching, the writers explore what the world would be like if a blood test could predict your death.

But don't think for a moment this is a book entirely composed of stories about people meeting their ironic dooms. There is some of that, of course. But more than that, this is a genre-hopping collection of tales about people who have learned more about themselves then perhaps they should have, and how that knowledge affects their relationships, their perception of the world, and how they feel about themselves.

Features thirty-four stories by Randall Munroe, Ben "Yahtzee" Croshaw, Tom Francis, Camille Alexa, Erin McKean, James L. Sutter, David Malki !, Ryan North, and many others

Features illustrations by Kate Beaton, Kazu Kibuishi, Aaron Diaz, Jeffrey Brown, Scott C., Roger Langridge, Karl Kershl, Cameron Stewart, and many others

The Complete Plays




















means,” Jamison said, staring past France directly at me. France had believed he was talking to him, of course. “We can’t make this decision. We can’t just do this based on our prejudices. That’s how the cards beat us. They use us against ourselves.” He was wrong, of course, but we had to tell France something to 45   Despair make him listen to sense. “There’s only one thing to do,” I told them. I found the box in the waiting room—there’s a little pile of books and toys to keep kids occupied

realized that it was in a bit of a gully and the fences were much higher than I’d assumed—maybe ten feet tall— and covered with chicken wire. We stopped on a small ridge where we had a good view over and inside. Eight people were in the cage. “Like I said,” MJ said in a conversational tone, “we’ve had some problems with traitors recently. These are our current suspects.” Once one noticed us looking in, all of the prisoners began staring. MJ talked about the reasons why each of them might have

been for this hulking man and his tiny kid, and how much worse that final moment must have been. POISON. One of the machine’s bitterest pills. He probably thought it was the worst you could get. I knew better, but I wasn’t in a position to argue. Ah, who knew? Maybe it was. I tried to imagine watching Lisa suckle one of those cold rubber teats I filled Cath’s role with, knowing that any given gulp might be infected with a fatal toxin. He must have known that checking his food beforehand wouldn’t

please. Box 1876.  The Times, 11/1/07 A.M.  Health-minded SWF, 38, seeks same, SM 21–55. Steady employment a must, like outdoors.  No OVERDOSE, ALCO­HOLISM or INFECTIOUS DISEASE readings please.  Send photo. Box 1876.  The Times, 3/12/08 A.M.  Health-minded SWF, 38, seeks same, never married SM 21–60. Steady employment a must. No OVERDOSE, ALCOHOLISM, INFECTIOUS DISEASE, or JEALOUS EX-WIFEs. Send photo and copy of reading. Box 1876. The Times, 10/4/10 A.M.  SWF, 41, seeks SM 18–65. Send photo,

kids filling a bag with jelly beans, and two figures under the Machine sign. One, presumably an employee, had a handful of bills in his hand; the other was a middle-aged woman with her index finger in her mouth. A few moments later her head jerked down, and she stepped a little to her right—giving Rick his first live look at a Death Machine. It was…cute, that was the only word for it. Squat and stout, with stubby little legs. The hole for your finger was larger than he’d expected, and its

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