October/November 2015

Welcome to Asimov’s Science Fiction! Discover the Who’s Who of award-winning authors, stories, editorial insights, news, reviews, events… Come tour our universe!

The Citadel of Weeping Pearls
Aliette de Bodard

English Wildlife
Alan Smale

October Leaves
Suzanne Palmer

Twenty-Ninth Annual Readers' Awards' Results
Sheila Williams

Star (Psi Cassiopeia)
Robert Silverberg 


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You’ll find a brilliant new novella from Hugo-Award–winning author Greg Egan in our December 2015 issue. The tale combines awesome concepts for putting the asteroid belt’s orbital mechanics to work for humanity with the staggering cost of a civil war on Vesta. ...

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Over 35 Years of Awards

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Welcome to Asimov’s Science Fiction. Fulfilling a lifelong goal, I started my career with Asimov’s in 1982 believing it was the best magazine on earth. I still do.

Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine continues to bring together celebrated authors, new talent, and award-winning stories, poems, and articles as it has for over 35 years. The premier literary magazine in the genre, Asimov’s rewards readers with an exciting new trove of adventures each month that transport them on journeys examining the human experience across the Universe.

The perfect gathering place to meet the Who’s Who of Asimov’s Science Fiction authors! We feature posts, articles, and podcasts from our writers. Come by frequently – you never know what you’ll discover! 

Aliette de Bodard’s October/November 2015 cover story is an enormous new novella that plunges us into a far future where various factions struggle to find the lost “Citadel of Weeping Pearls.” Success will require travel through time and space. The journey could result in death, or it could give the empire the weapon it needs in a war against archenemies. Plus so much more!

A potpourri of resources both practical and whimsical – from Writer’s Submission Guidelines, the Calendar of Science Fiction events, and Asimov’s editorial archives to News you can use, the Asimov’s Index, Podcasts, and Cartoons.

More From Dell Magazines!




The Citadel of Weeping Pearls

by Aliette de Bodard

There was a sound on the edge of sleep: Suu Nuoc wasn’t sure if it was a bell and a drum calling for enlightenment, or the tactics-master sounding the call to arms in that breathless instant—hanging like a bead of blood from a sword’s blade—that marked the boundary between the stylized life of the court and the confused, lawless fury of the battlefield.

“Book of Heaven, Book of Heaven.”

The soft, reedy voice echoed under the dome of the ceiling, but the room itself had changed—receding, taking on the shape of the mindship—curved metal corridors with scrolling columns of memorial excerpts, the oily sheen of the Mind’s presence spread over the watercolors of starscapes and the carved longevity character at the head of the bed. For a confused, terrible moment as Suu Nuoc woke up, he wasn’t sure if he was still in his bedroom in the Purple Forbidden City on the First Planet or hanging, weightless, in the void of space.

It wasn’t a dream. It was the mindship: The Turtle’s Golden Claw, the only one addressing Suu Nuoc with that peculiar form of his title, the one that the empress had conferred on him half out of awe, half out of jest.

The Turtle’s Golden Claw wasn’t there in his bedroom, of course: she was a Mind, an artificial intelligence encased in the heartroom of a ship, and she was too heavy to leave orbit. But she was good at things; and one of those was hacking his comms and using the communal network to project new surroundings over his bedroom. READ MORE


English Wildlife

by Alan Smale

The stone head grimaced down at them, darkened by shadow and encrusted with the grime of centuries. With its fierce, protruding eyes, and its heavy-toothed mouth forced wide into a snarl by the twin branches of hawthorn and oak that threaded its jaws, it was the face of a wild soul in eternal torment.

Disoriented, Richard gripped the dark wood frame of the box pew. Corinne took the opportunity to place her hand on their guide’s arm. “That’s very . . . striking,” she said.

“Striking indeed,” said the guide, an elderly specimen in a too-large cardigan whose name Richard had forgotten immediately. If they’d been in America, he would have been properly labeled. “Although the connection between foliate faces such as this, found in churches throughout England, and the Jack-in-the-Green of popular folklore is, to say the least, tenuous.”

“Is that right?” asked Corinne, blue eyes wide.

The Green Man was jammed uncomfortably into the corner of the ceiling, squeezed between the oaken roof beams. Glancing away in unease, Richard was startled anew to see another Green Man—foliate head—on the other side of the chancel, directly above the lectern. This one was very different in appearance, with slanted eyes and a pug nose barely visible through the leaves that smothered it. READ MORE


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