November/December 2007
Steve Fever
Countless tiny machines hijack the living, borrowing their hands, eyes, and ears, as the machines strive to resurrect just one man.
By Greg Egan
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| Credit: Justin Wood |
A few weeks after his 14th birthday, with the soybean harvest fast approaching, Lincoln began having vivid dreams of leaving the farm and heading for the city. Night after night, he pictured himself gathering supplies, trudging down to the highway, and hitching his way to Atlanta. There were problems with the way things got done in the dream, though, and each night in his sleep he struggled to resolve them. The larder would be locked, of course, so he dreamed up a side plot about collecting a stash of suitable tools for breaking in. There were sensors all along the farm's perimeter, so he dreamed about different ways of avoiding or disabling them.
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