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ORACLES Robert Reed For his latest tale, the author tried to write a science fiction story about a future that he could believe in-one where humans figure out how to hear alien chatter, but don't make contact in any conversational way. "We're suddenly in the middle of a loud party, picking up useful bits of other guests' conversation." Of course, the business about the role of a mid-list author in this near-future world may prove that the tale is actually a fantasy. They ambushed Rheingold at the elevator. Maybe a dozen high-and-mighties were representing the convention, with at least twice as many underlings and tag-alongs standing nearby. Everyone wore luminous nametags, and they smiled in the gushing, overdone way that people use when they're in the presence of real fame. It was a strange, sweet moment. A heavyset man swallowed conspicuously, then shambled forward to offer a sweaty hand. "Mr. Rheingold," he said with a nervous wet gasp. Then he muttered his own name before declaring, Tm thrilled to finally |
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