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"If you cannot find words for them, we cannot find answers. PTA disbanded." Medicine of flesh and for flesh. Medicine to make vegetables grow. Medicine to fill squaw belly with kicking sons. Medicine to rip the enemy. Medicine to chase blood-drinking ghosts. Medicine for fire, for water, for sunrise. Medicine for resurrection. Think back to the time of magic. Back, back, back. Let your brains be the land in a world ofWakonda. He snorted.The—uh—uncle who gave you that mink? Ive seen him. He’s too fat, and he added in a growl that dissolved her, “I’ll be at your place at eight.” It dont matter, said the second man. The wind tore away the sound of the second shot and the noise Melchior made when he went down. The two walked a block and hailed a cab. Over the last two years, certain patterns began to appear in what I did know about the backgrounds and special interests of the new names. (Comparatively few werenew young writers in the usual sense; a good many were journalists, teachers, and writers already established in other fields.) It occurred to me that the motivations and objectives of writers newly attracted to the field might offer some insights into the overall direction and form of (what used to be “science fiction” and is now) whatever it is to which we apply the loose label S-F. "Oh. My God." Arnie says and I know what its come to, even before he begins to choke, and his muscles leap although I hold him in my arms. I know his heart is choking on massive doses of blood; the brilliance fades from his eyes and they begin to go dark while I tightly hold him. If he doesnt see me as he dies, will I be here? No. It was just there. Ma, Jed thought, you busy?” Now look— OLD HUNDREDTH Karls whisper came, smooth and terrifying, in her ear: "Go forward!" The last traveler or travelers to use the ferry had been headed west; the barge was moored on the opposite bank of the slough. Quincannon yanked the bell rope on the landing stage and the bells sharp notes brought the ferryman, a muscular gent of some fifty years, from his shack. He seemed none too happy to be summoned out once again into the chill afternoon; he answered Quincannon’s questions about the identity of recent travelers with nothing more than a series of grunts and monosyllables as he winched the scow across. It was held by grease-blackened cables made fast to pilings on a spit of north-side land a hundred yards upslough. The current would push the ferry across from shore to shore, guided by a centerboard attached to its bottom and by the ferryman’s windlass. A lot more than a dollar, Vandervell said. Hes waiting for me.” The stories and poems and essays here have been selected from as wide a range as I could cover of books and periodicals published here and in England last year. About half the entries are from the genre magazines. The rest are from books and from such diverse sources asMademoiselle andEscapade, The Colorado Quarterly and theWashington Post, Playboy and theSaturday Review (andAmbit andKing in England). The youngest author is an eighteen-year-old college freshman; the oldest a ninety-three-year-old (if still alive) Parisian legend. Very soon he would lose that first fortune of the evening. The secret of Basil Bagelbaker is that he enjoyed losing money spectacularly after he was full of it to the bursting point.·· · · · traven: Then may I ask why you came here, Doctor? Someone else said hesitantly,A conference, perhaps?.