By Clifford D. Simak
This award-winning technology fiction vintage explores a far-future international inhabited via clever canine who move down the stories in their human forefathers.
millions of years have handed due to the fact humankind deserted the city—first for the nation-state, then for the celebrities, and finally for oblivion—leaving their such a lot unswerving animal partners on my own in the world. Granted the ability of speech centuries prior by way of the respected Bruce Webster, the clever, pacifist canine are the final keepers of human historical past, elevating their puppies with bedtime tales, handed down via generations, of the misplaced “websters” who gave them rather a lot yet won't ever go back. through Jenkins, an ageless carrier robotic, the canine reside in an international of concord and peace. yet they now face critical threats from their very own and different dimensions, probably the main risky of all being the reawakened remnants of a warlike race known as “Man.”
within the Golden Age of Isaac Asimov and Robert A. Heinlein, Clifford D. Simak’s writing blazed as brightly as anyone’s within the technology fiction firmament. Winner of the foreign myth Award, City is an impressive literary city packed with an extraordinary array of interlinked tales and structures—at as soon as dystopian, transcendent, compassionate, and visionary.
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His eyes closed as he savored the scent. Thomas glanced around the clearing, willing his mind to remember. Odd how he could remember some things but not others. He knew that these tall black things were called trees, that the material on his body was called clothing, that the organ pumping in his chest was a heart. He even knew that this kind of selective memory loss was consistent with amnesia. But he couldn’t remember any history. Couldn’t remember how he got here. Didn’t know why Bill was so mesmerized by the water.
He would be able to see if his skin was stripped off or if his arm was broken, but since when did dreams reflect reality? He’d broken his arm in the black forest, but here in this dream of Denver, he could be totally healthy. In dreams, the condition of one’s body didn’t necessarily correlate. Thomas moved his arm. No broken bone. He had to find a way to push past this dream and wake up on the riverbank before he died there, lying on the grass. The door opened and Thomas reacted without thinking.
The room began to spin, so he closed his eyes. He had an hour to think of something. Anything. But nothing came. Except sleep. 4 THOMAS WASN’T sure if it was the heat or the buzzing that woke him, but he woke with a start, snapped his eyes open, and squinted. Impressions registered in his mind like falling dominoes. The blue sky. The sun. The black trees. A lone bat perched high above him, like a deformed vulture. Thomas held perfectly still and stared up through slits, determined to make sense of what was happening.