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The Trumpet is mounted under the Dragon drives, so that everything else is above it, along the axis of motion, as a futile attempt at ballast. All of the old bronco-busters load up with rocks all around, as well, except in front of the horn. You're probably used to seeing planet-crashers, so you think of a spaceship as something sleek, streamlined. Stripped, a Snowballer looks like a stack of bricks. With boost and ballast mass strapped on, she looks like a pile of rocks. Strapped to a shipment of trade goods, she looks like a moon dragging a planet.

 A War of Perceptions
His eyes still held prisoner by the image in the monitor, Morczyk's mind fought a losing battle for stability, for certainty, for confirmation. He watched in raw terror as his face seemed to grow larger, enormously, hideously larger, until it seemed to fill the screen, leaving nothing for him to see but a haunted spectre he could neither endure to look at nor compel himself to turn from, a reality no image could deflect. "But what...," he said, trying desperately to make contact. "But how have you done this...?"

 Descent of the Mourningstar
"But they weren't gods, not even close. They were just ordinary men, some still boys, and they didn't want to have to live up to her greatness for the sake of a quick kiss between football games. It was no fault of theirs, really. We are each of us what we make ourselves, and they didn't feel any strong pull to make more of their lives. Some tried to live up to her expectations, but there was no real hope of success. Hercules himself could not have lived up to what she would have demanded of him."

Or maybe there was... It almost made him smile to think about teaching a five-year-old self-defense, but he knew he could do it. He knew he could teach her how to turn her size into an advantage, how to make use of anything that came to hand, how to make a weapon of anything. It scared him, a little, to think that he had to teach such things to a child. But he knew he did have to, and he knew he would...

 Crash and burn
But he didn't go to the office of the publisher. Instead he grabbed his jacket and the bag of personal effects he had put together Monday morning and left the building. Left it for the last time. He had gotten himself fired. He had crashed and burned. And he agreed with Vinnie Junior, god love him: it was the best way to go...

 News I can use...
"But literature is art, and if all printed matter were rendered as sound, real literature would be music and all the news and advertising would be no more than noise. But literature is the news, in a sense, the on-going chronicle of the culture. Good art of any kind is the record of the life of the mind, and good literature is the real news."

 Weddingsong--A Matthew Story
Matthew hugged him tight under the arms and Greg watched the sun and the water against the mistiness in his own eyes. He smelled the water in the air and the sun in Matthew's hair. For a moment he sang with the tape until Matthew pulled back his head and said, "You sing like a duck."

 The Great Lizard Hunt...
Meri led the way. She was very careful and surefooted. She knew to walk only on the dirt and rocks, never on the plants. She knew to watch where her feet were going to make sure she didn't slip--or step on something dangerous. And she knew to make sure she could get out of a rough place before she went in.

 How Grey scatted the cat
One day Grey was playing outside by herself. She and Mommy had been playing together, but Mommy had to go inside to fix lunch. Grey was singing softly to herself and smiling in the sun when all at once a big, mean cat sauntered up the walk.

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