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Entra en un mundo infinito de historias

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Hal Clement

Hot Planet by Hal Clement - Mercury had no atmosphere—everyone knew that. Why was it developing one now?

The wind which had nearly turned the Albireo's landing into a disaster instead of a mathematical exercise was still playing tunes about the fins and landing legs as Schlossberg made his way down to Deck Five.

The noise didn't bother him particularly, though the endless seismic tremors made him dislike the ladders. But just now he was able to ignore both. He was curious—though not hopeful.

"Is there anything at all obvious on the last sets of tapes, Joe?"

Mardikian, the geophysicist, shrugged. "Just what you'd expect ... on a planet which has at least one quake in each fifty-mile-square area every five minutes. You know yourself we had a nice seismic program set up, but when we touched down we found we couldn't carry it out. We've done our best with the natural tremors—incidentally stealing most of the record tapes the other projects would have used. We have a lot of nice information for the computers back home; but it will take all of them to make any sense out of it."

Schlossberg nodded; the words had not been necessary. His astronomical program had been one of those sabotaged by the transfer of tapes to the seismic survey.

"I just hoped," he said. "We each have an idea why Mercury developed an atmosphere during the last few decades, but I guess the high school kids on Earth will know whether it's right before we do. I'm resigned to living in a chess-type universe—few and simple rules, but infinite combinations of them. But it would be nice to know an answer sometime."

"So it would. As a matter of fact, I need to know a couple right now. From you. How close to finished are the other programs—or what's left of them?"

"I'm all set," replied Schlossberg. "I have a couple of instruments still monitoring the sun just in case, but everything in the revised program is on tape."

Scott Miller

Lost Sci-Fi

Hot Planet

Paul MacNamara

The Last Man in New York by Paul MacNamara - Joe Dunn and Julie are the sole survivors in a vast city of silence and death! 

There are numerous “last man on earth” stories, but this one stands out for its uniqueness. Written by Paul MacNamara, an author known for publishing only a single science fiction short story, about whom little else is known. The Last Man in New York was featured in the Fall 1944 issue of Thrilling Wonder Stories Magazine.

The Last Man in New York

John Wyndham

Never on Mars by John Wyndham

John Wyndham, born John Wyndham Parkes Lucas Beynon Harris on July 10, 1903, in Knowle, near Birmingham, England, is a pivotal figure in the science fiction genre. Often referred to as the “master of the cozy catastrophe,” Wyndham’s works stand out for their exploration of apocalyptic scenarios grounded in everyday life.

In the 1930s, Wyndham began contributing to American pulp science fiction magazines. His early work, however, didn’t garner much critical or commercial success.Wyndham’s experiences during World War II had a profound influence on his writing. He served as a censor in the Ministry of Information and also participated in the Normandy invasion. Witnessing the devastation of war firsthand deepened his interest in themes of survival, societal collapse, and humanity’s ability to adapt to catastrophic changes—issues that would permeate his later works.

His breakout novel, "The Day of the Triffids" (1951), catapulted Wyndham to fame. The story imagines a world where a spectacular meteor shower renders most of humanity blind, leaving Earth vulnerable to attack by mobile, carnivorous plants called Triffids. The novel is often praised for its combination of speculative science fiction and believable characters, as well as its exploration of humanity’s resilience and moral dilemmas in the face of disaster. "The Day of the Triffids" remains one of his most celebrated works and has been adapted into films, radio dramas, and television series.

Wyndham followed up this success with a string of influential novels, including "The Kraken Wakes" (1953), "The Chrysalids" (1955), and "The Midwich Cuckoos" (1957).

Despite his success, Wyndham was a private and modest individual. He never sought the spotlight and rarely granted interviews. Wyndham passed away on March 11, 1969, at the age of 65, leaving behind a legacy as one of the most influential science fiction writers of the 20th century.

Never on Mars

Fredric Brown

Arena by Fredric Brown - It was a weird sort of battle for survival–not only of individuals, but each, against his will, represented his whole race. And the battle rested on ingenuity, tenacity and courage, not strength alone.

Carson opened his eyes, and found himself looking upwards into a flickering blue dimness. 

It was hot, and he was lying on sand, and a rock embedded in the sand was hurting his back. He rolled over to his side, off the rock, and then pushed himself up to a sitting position. 

"I’m crazy," he thought. "Crazy–or dead–or something." The sand was blue, bright blue. And there wasn’t any such thing as bright blue sand on Earth or any of the planets. 

Blue sand.

Blue sand under a blue dome that wasn’t the sky nor yet a room, but a circumscribed area–somehow he knew it was circumscribed and finite even though he couldn’t see to the top of it. 

He picked up some of the sand in his hand and let it run through his fingers. It trickled down on to his bare leg. Bare? 

Naked. He was stark naked, and already his body was dripping perspiration from the enervating heat, coated blue with sand wherever sand had touched it. 

But elsewhere his body was white. 

He thought: then this sand is really blue. If it seemed blue only because of the blue light, then I’d be blue also. But I’m white, so the sand is blue. Blue sand. There isn’t any blue sand. There isn’t any place like this place I’m in.

Arena

Morrison Colladay

When the Moon Fell by Morrison Colladay - In a world on the brink of catastrophe due to an unknown lunar invader, one man's survival amidst universal apathy reveals the chaos that gripped humanity. As he recounts his extraordinary journey to rescue stranded aviators, the threads of history intertwine with the impending doom facing civilization.

Now that we who survived have reconstructed a civilization on a rational basis, we want to preserve for future generations as many accounts as possible by the actual witnesses of the catastrophe that overtook the world.

In 1929 certain curious aberrations in the motion of the moon were noticed by astronomers, and attempts to explain them were made by suggesting that the solar system had been invaded by an unknown visitor which had not yet been discovered. It is still believed that this is the most likely explanation of what occurred. When this invader approached the earth, it probably passed between it and the moon. Its velocity must have been so great that it continued on its course in spite of the attraction of the earth. However, it disturbed the balance of forces sufficiently to draw the moon from its orbit and start its headlong progress toward us.

I was away in Labrador when all this occurred, and it is due to that fact that I am alive today. The things that happened in the densely inhabited portions of the globe will be recounted by survivors who were eye witnesses. It is sufficient to say that when the news of the impending catastrophe became known a universal apathy seemed to settle over humanity. It was apparently overwhelmed by the hopelessness of any effort to escape. The religious people of the period regarded the coming event as fulfillment of a prophecy of the destruction of the world in the Last Day. People who had never before been religious became so in an hour.

When the Moon Fell

Clifford D. Simak

The Space Beasts

Robert Sheckley

The Perfect Woman by Robert Sheckley - Somebody once came up with a song title we have never forgotten: "For every man there is a woman, so why did I gel stuck with you?” Not that Mr. Morcheck felt that way about Myra. Fie not only believed she was absolutely perfect; you could get a punch in the nose for doubting it! And he was so right —for a while!

Mr. Morcheck awoke with a sour taste in his mouth and a laugh ringing in his ears. It was George Owen-Clark’s laugh, the last thing he remembered from the Triad-Morgan party. And what a party it had been! All Earth had been celebrating the turn of the century. The year Three Thousand! Peace and prosperity to all, and happy life...

“How happy is your life?” Owen-Clark had asked, grinning slyly, more than a little drunk. “I mean, how is life with your sweet wife?” That had been unpleasant. Everyone knew that Owen-Clark was a Primitivist, but what right had he to rub people’s noses in it? Just because he had married a Primitive Woman. . . .

“I love my wife,” Morcheck had said stoutly. “And she’s a hell of a lot nicer and more responsive than that bundle of neuroses you call your wife.” But of course, you can’t get under the thick hide of a Primitivist. Primitivists love the faults in their women as much as their virtues — more, perhaps.

The Perfect Woman

Robert Silverberg

An Enemy of Peace by Robert Silverberg - When enemies of peace threaten the System, they must be eliminated. There are many ways to do this. And if all else fails, you can always go to war with them.

Center City belonged to Lloyd Riddell, and Lloyd Riddell belonged to the city. He had held it together almost single-handed while the white blaze of atomics laid waste the horizon; he had turned panic into determination, defeat into dogged refusal to lie down. He had fought for the city. He had killed for it.

And now the city was threatened again.

"When does Northburg intend to attack us?"

"I—I don't know," Len Colter said. "It all depends on what's going on in David Barr's mind. I lit out for Center City as soon as I heard him making the speech, there in that rubbleheap. The minute I heard him yelling, 'We must wipe out Center City,' I knew I had to come back here and let you know."

Riddell scowled. "I suppose you did the best thing. But you should have waited. You should have found out when they plan to attack."

"I'm sorry, sir, I—"

"Forget it," Riddell said sharply. "Get going. Get back to Northburg, scout around, find out whatever you can about this invasion. And send Ken Naylor in when you leave."

"Yes, sir."

The youthful spy turned and left. Riddell stared at the boy's back as he passed through the door, then studied the gold letters on the glass door that said "Mayor of Center City" in reverse.

He had come to Center City twenty years ago, a frightened, lonely ten-year-old orphan with no place to stay. That had been before the Madness. Center City had taken him in, given him a home, foster parents, all the things denied him so long.

An Enemy of Peace

Isaac Asimov

S as in Zebatinsky

Arthur C. Clarke

Superiority by Arthur C. Clarke - Published in Fantasy and Science Fiction magazine in August 1951. 

“Superiority” is a sharp and cautionary tale about technological overreach and its consequences in warfare. Set in a future space conflict between two rival factions, the story is told from the perspective of a defeated military officer recounting how his side lost the war, despite having superior technology.

The essence of the story revolves around the idea that relying too heavily on cutting-edge, untested advancements can lead to downfall. The side with “superior” technology introduces numerous innovative but unproven weapons systems, believing these advancements will guarantee victory. However, the complexities and issues that arise from implementing these new technologies—delays, breakdowns, and unforeseen complications—ultimately cause their defeat.

Clarke’s tale serves as a critique of the blind faith in technological progress without considering practical limitations and human factors, making it a timeless reflection on hubris, particularly in the context of military and industrial strategy.

Superiority

Fritz Leiber

A Hitch in Space by Fritz Leiber - My Space-partner was a good reliable sidekick—but his partner was something else!

Once when I was doing a hitch with the Shaulan Space Guard out Scorpio way, my partner Jeff Bogart developed just about the most harmless psychosis you could imagine: he got himself an imaginary companion.

And the imaginary companion turned out to be me.

Well, I’m a pretty nice guy and so having two of me in the ship didn’t seem a particularly bad idea. At first. In fact there’d be advantages of it, I thought. For instance, Jeff liked to talk a weary lot ... and the imaginary Joe Hansen could spell me listening to him, while I projected a book or just harkened to the wheels going around in my own head against the faint patter of starlight on the hull.

I met Jeff first at a space-rodeo, oddly enough, but now the two of us were out on a servicing check of the orbital beacons and relays and rescue depots of the five planets of the Shaulan system. A completely routine job, its only drawback that it was lengthy. Our ship was an ionic jeep that looked like a fancy fountain pen, but was very roomy for three men—one of them imaginary.

I caught on to Jeff’s little mania by overhearing him talking to me. I’d be coming back from the head or stores or linear accelerator or my bunk, and I’d hear him yakking at me. It embarrassed me the first time, how to go back into the cabin when the other me was there. But I just swam in, and without any transition-strain at all that I could observe Jeff looked around at me, smiling sort of glaze-eyed, and said warmly, “Joe. My buddy Joe. Am I glad they paired us.”

If Jeff had a major fault, as opposed to a species of nuttiness, it was that he was strictly a speak-only-good, positive-thinking guy who always deferred to me. Even idolized me, if you can imagine that. He’d give me such fulsome praise I’d be irked ten times an orbit.

A Hitch in Space

George O. Smith

Time For Survival by George O. Smith

The storm ruined my plan.

Not by seasickness. I'd come prepared for the worst, knowing how rough it could get on a sailing ship of the Nineteenth Century. I outrode the storm easily, stowed away in the hold. Not even the breakage of some of the 1700 barrels of alcohol carried as a cargo bothered me although the stench was terrific.

But on the morning of 25 November 1872, the first mate, Albert Richardson sent the second mate, Andrew Gilling below with two of the German seamen to assay the storm damage. They found me and I was hauled aloft before Captain Briggs as a stowaway.

Captain Briggs of the Mary Celeste eyed my strange clothing with deep curiosity, but his interest was obviously more concerned with my unauthorized presence. He said sternly, "When did you get aboard?"

I realized that I had to impress him. I smiled. "You delayed your sailing from the Fifth November to the Sixth so that you and Mrs. Briggs could have dinner aboard Die Gratia with Captain Morehouse," I said.

"How can you know so much?" he exclaimed. "How can you live as a stowaway for almost twenty days?"

I held up my chronithon contactor, knowing that now I could impress him indeed. "Captain Briggs," I said, "I am a time-travelling historian from the Twenty-Second Century." I pointed to the big red button on the top. "Until I depress this button and return to my own day and age, every morning I receive my daily ration of food and water. It's about—"

I'd timed it close. I was interrupted by the click of the chronithon as it time-transferred my daily ration. I opened the cabinet and offered a bite of twenty-second century breakfast to the captain.

Time For Survival

Edmond Hamilton

Come Home From Earth by Edmond Hamilton - Psychology professor Fred Ellis volunteers as the subject of a dangerous scientific experiment–never counting the cost!

Come Home From Earth

Lester Del Rey

Spawning Ground by Lester Del Rey - They weren't human. They were something more—and something less—they were, in short, humanity's hopes for survival!

The Starship Pandora creaked and groaned as her landing pads settled unevenly in the mucky surface of the ugly world outside. She seemed to be restless to end her fool's errand here, two hundred light years from the waiting hordes on Earth. Straining metal plates twanged and echoed through her hallways.

Captain Gwayne cursed and rolled over, reaching for his boots. He was a big, rawboned man, barely forty; but ten years of responsibility had pressed down his shoulders and put age-feigning hollows under his reddened eyes. The starlanes between Earth and her potential colonies were rough on the men who traveled them now. He shuffled toward the control room, grumbling at the heavy gravity.

Lieutenant Jane Corey looked up, nodding a blonde head at him as he moved toward the ever-waiting pot of murky coffee. "Morning, Bob. You need a shave."

"Yeah." He swallowed the hot coffee without tasting it, then ran a hand across the dark stubble on his chin. It could wait. "Anything new during the night?"

"About a dozen blobs held something like a convention a little ways north of us. They broke up about an hour ago and streaked off into the clouds." The blobs were a peculiarity of this planet about which nobody knew anything. They looked like overgrown fireballs, but seemed to have an almost sentient curiosity about anything moving on the ground. "And our two cadets sneaked out again. Barker followed them, but lost them in the murk. I've kept a signal going to guide them back."

Spawning Ground

Murray F. Yaco

Membership Drive by Murray F. Yaco - Want to join our secret organization? Well, first you have to pass the tests.

Thirty million miles out, Keeter began monitoring the planet's radio and television networks. He kept the vigil for two sleepless days and nights, then turned off the receivers and began a systematic study of the notes he had taken on English idioms and irregular verbs. Twelve hours later, convinced that there would be no language difficulty, he left the control room, went into his cabin and fell into bed. He remained there for sixteen hours.

When he awoke, he walked to a locker at the end of his cabin, opened the door and carefully selected clothing from a wardrobe that was astonishing both for its size and variety. For headdress, he selected a helmet that was not too different in design from the "space helmets" he had viewed on a number of television programs. It would disappoint no one, Keeter reflected happily, as he took a deep breath and blew an almost imperceptible film of dust from the helmet's iridescent finish.

Trousers and blouse were a little more of a problem, but finally he compromised on items of a distinct military cut; both were black and unembellished, providing, he hoped, an ascetic, spiritual tone to temper the military aura.

Membership Drive

Ray Bradbury

It Burns Me Up! by Ray Bradbury - “Don’t knock a man when he’s down,” they say.… But my cold blooded visitors paid no heed, as they laughed and wondered how I could talk to Saint Peter–with my throat cut from ear to ear!

It Burns Me Up!

Frederik Pohl

Double-Cross by Frederik Pohl - Revolt was brewing on Venus, led by the descendant of the first Earthmen to land. Svan was the leader making the final plans—plotting them a bit too well.

The Officer of the Deck was pleased as he returned to the main lock. There was no reason why everything shouldn't have been functioning perfectly, of course, but he was pleased to have it confirmed, all the same. The Executive Officer was moodily smoking a cigarette in the open lock, staring out over the dank Venusian terrain at the native town. He turned.

"Everything shipshape, I take it!" he commented.

The OD nodded. "I'll have a blank log if this keeps up," he said. "Every man accounted for except the delegation, cargo stowed, drivers ready to lift as soon as they come back."

The Exec tossed away his cigarette. "If they come back."

"Is there any question?"

The Exec shrugged. "I don't know, Lowry," he said. "This is a funny place. I don't trust the natives."

Lowry lifted his eyebrows. "Oh? But after all, they're human beings, just like us—"

"Not any more. Four or five generations ago they were. Lord, they don't even look human any more. Those white, flabby skins—I don't like them."

"Acclimation," Lowry said scientifically. "They had to acclimate themselves to Venus's climate. They're friendly enough."

Double-Cross

Henry Slesar

The Stuff by Henry Slesar - Would it work? Yes. How would it work? Exactly like this.

The Stuff

J. F. Bone

Quarantined Species by J. F. Bone - The Venusian horgels were cute, clever, intelligent. They made perfect pets. They were lovable. – But that was the big trouble. They were much, much too lovable!

Quarantined Species

Harlan Ellison

Yellow Streak Hero by Harlan Ellison - All your life you’ve crouched, waiting, in the path of impending disaster. That has been your job–what you were trained for. But you can’t help visualizing its arrival–prophesying what form it will take. So how could you be blamed for not recognizing it on arrival?

Lost Sci-Fi - La serie de libros

Lost Sci-Fi - La serie de libros

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