Charlie Stross’s Hugo-nominated story, “Lobsters,” is online. This is some powerful extropian singularity stuff, right here. Best read I’ve had online all week.
It�s a hot summer Tuesday and he�s standing in the plaza in front of the Centraal Station with his eyeballs powered up and the sunlight jangling off the canal, motor scooters and kamikaze cyclists whizzing past and tourists chattering on every side. The square smells of water and dirt and hot metal and the fart-laden exhaust fumes of cold catalytic converters; the bells of trams ding in the background and birds flock overhead. He glances up and grabs a pigeon, crops it and squirts at his website to show he�s arrived. The bandwidth is good here, he realizes; and it�s not just the bandwidth, it�s the whole scene. Amsterdam is making him feel wanted already, even though he�s fresh off the train from Schiphol: he�s infected with the dynamic optimism of another time zone, another city. If the mood holds, someone out there is going to become very rich indeed.