The Hugo- and Nebula-nominated story "Hong's Bluff" leads this new collection of science fiction stories by longtime writer William F. Wu. Some stories are light-hearted and others dramatic, about alternate worlds, cyborgs, clones, nanotech, war-games, and life in space, often with subjects involving Americans of Chinese descent. A new introduction and afterword to each story enhance this book.~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~In the glare of the spotlight, Daniel Zisuey Eng stood on the high dais in the Temple of Eng Zisuey, wearing his traditional black Chinese robe of embroidered silk and a white undertunic. Now at the end of the ritual, he watched the crowd standing far below him. The sweet smoke of incense wafted past, mixed with acrid smoke left by firecrackers set off earlier.“Farewell,” Daniel’s voice boomed in English over the speakers.From the traditional Chinese orchestra, the fast banging of a light-weight gong built to a crescendo. Those below gazed up at Daniel in awe, curiosity, or skepticism, the majority of them also surnamed Eng. A few shouted insults; others called entreaties, even prayers. He calmly remained behind the altar of carved teak that was now covered with sacrifices of cash, pledges, jewelry, even children’s toys.“Yi lu ping an,” Daniel intoned in Mandarin, wishing the crowd a peaceful journey. “Yet lu ping on,” he repeated in Cantonese.As always, Daniel waited for a line of acolytes to form below the dais so no one could jump the rail and climb up to him. At the gong’s final crash, the spotlight went out, signaling the end of the ritual. In the sudden darkness, he whirled and strode off the dais, stage right.Twenty-eight years old, Daniel had been worshipped as a spirit reborn for nearly all of his adult life.*****“’Nother day, ’nother dollar, Danny-boy.” At Daniel’s dressing-room door, Eric Leitch, the tall, brawny Chief of Personal Security, smirked at Daniel as he spoke in his Aussie-accented English, his sun-bleached flat-top standing stiff over his broad, square-jawed face. “The acolytes are escortin’ the crowd out in order; A-Okay, green lights all ’round.”“Good,” Daniel muttered in annoyance, palming the doorplate to slip inside and close it again. He had no liking for his blue-uniformed Personal Security bodyguards. Even the acolytes were guards who wore traditional robes over their uniforms during the rituals.Chief Leitch spent most of his shift watching the temple grounds on monitors in his office. His unit worked for Mr. Eng Sen, as Daniel did–his nominal grandfather, a tycoon whose business empire owned Eng Zhouxian Do, this island near Hong Kong.The light came on in Daniel’s lavish dressing room at the rear of the temple—“backstage,” in the jargon of his UCLA major in Theater Arts.A man’s voice, dry with age, came on the room’s speakers in Cantonese. “Ah Suey, are you there? Keep your stage makeup on.”“I’m here,” Daniel answered in the same language, recognizing Eng Sen’s voice. “Screen on.” He flopped down in a tan leather-covered recliner, tired as always from the evening’s effort.The far wall brightened with the video image of the man he called “Grandfather.” Seventy-two years old, Eng Sen wore his white hair short and had age spots removed by laser treatment. His bland, roundish face smiled with cold courtesy from a high, black leather chair; sunlight backlit him like a halo. “I’m calling from my London office, Ah Suey. Remain in costume; I’ve instructed a new assistant of mine to bring visitors to you even as we speak.”

This collection by longtime fantasy and science fiction writer William F. Wu includes triple-award finalist “Wong’s Lost and Found Emporium,” which was adapted into a Twilight Zone episode in 1985, and eight more stories of magical places, events, and spirits. Many of the stories involve issues regarding Americans of Chinese descent, and all involve universal concerns.~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~“What’s wrong with you?” she demanded. “I want to know! Why are you so callous?” She snatched up the metal container from the floor in front of me and held it wrapped in her shawl. “Tell me now!” she screamed, right in front of me.I leaned forward and spoke, glaring into her eyes. “I came in here looking for my compassion. I lost it years ago, bit by bit. I lost it when I was eight, and other kids chased me around the playground for no visible reason—and they weren’t playing. When I started junior high and got beat up in gym class because the rest of the school was white, like my grade school. When I ran for student congress and had my posters covered with swastikas and KKK symbols. And that was before I got out into the world on my own. You want to hear about my adult life?”I paused to catch my breath. She backed away from me.“I’ve lost more of my compassion every year of my life for every year I can remember, until I don’t have any more. Well, it’s here, but I can’t find it.”She stood speechless in front of me. Letting her have it all at once accomplished that much, at least.“Maybe you were in the wrong town,” she muttered.“You think I like being like this? Hating the memories of my life and not caring what happens to anybody? I said I’ve lost my compassion, not my conscience.”She walked back and put the metal bottle back in its place on the shelf. “I can find it,” she said quietly.“What?”“I’ve been watching you. When you get something for someone, you follow the little white light that appears.”“You can see that?”“Of course I can—anybody can. You think you’re special? We just can’t see our own. I figured that out.”“Well…so did I,” I said lamely.“So, I could get your compassion for you.”“Yeah?” I didn’t think she would, considering all she’d said.“Only you have to get what I want, first.”“You don’t trust me, remember?”She smiled smugly. It looked grotesque, as though she hadn’t smiled in ages. “I can trust you. Because you know that if you don’t give me what I want, I won’t give you your compassion. Besides, if all goes well, your lack of compassion won’t make any difference.”“Well, yeah. I guess so.” I hadn’t considered a deal with another customer before. Until now, I had just been waiting for the no-show proprietor, and then had given up even on that.“Well?” she demanded, still with that weird forced smile.“Uh—yeah, okay.” It was my last chance. I glanced around and found her spot of white light behind me on a lower shelf. “This way.”

A young guy named Jack Hong hitchhikes throughout America following the keilin, a mystical unicorn out of Chinese mythology. The keilin leads him to ten adventures with ghosts and other supernatural figures. These experiences reveal to him not only parts of American history he never knew, but also his own identity and the role he will choose for his life.~~~~~ Description ~~~~~The moonlight was still strong, and Lo Man Gong still sat up on the overhead window, where few people and no old men could ever get.“Feel better, Chinaman?” he asked mildly.The night before, my resistance had been low, and his presence had somehow seemed tolerable, if not rational. Now I was more clear-headed ... yet he was still here. I didn’t like him as much.I let my eyes drop closed again. Once I was cured of malaria, I’d be free of him. I had eaten twice today; now, if I slept well, I’d be in sound shape pretty soon.“You know the keilin, Chinaman Jack?”That was the Chinese unicorn, a mystical animal whose rare appearances were highly auspicious. In the Cantonese I normally heard, it was pronounced “keilun.” It wasn’t like European ones, though. This unicorn had the body of a deer, the hooves of a horse, the tail of an ox, and a fleshy horn. I knew that much.“The unicorn?” I opened my eyes and looked at him. As before, the moonlight glowed through his shape.“Ah, you know the keilin. He smiled and nodded thoughtfully. “The keilin means good things happen. It’s very powerful.”I watched him silently.After a while, he looked into my eyes again. “Nobody remember me, Jack. Some people remember, some of my frien’. A few of them. Most, nobody remember at all. No children, no relative. You, Jack. You like me. Unless you change.”Yes, I knew that. I had already come to understand that. And I knew that he had come for me, here in the middle of the country, away from his home as longtime Californ’. But I didn’t know why.

Longtime science fiction writers Rob Chilson and William F. Wu collaborated on these ten stories, all of which first appeared in Analog Science Fiction and Fact magazine. Chilson is especially known for his work in Analog, as is Wu, a finalist for multiple Hugo and Nebula awards. This collection is enhanced by their light-hearted, informative introduction and afterwords to each story.~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~Roger was dozing in his seat when he felt the familiar small hands and bony knees of his daughter climbing into his lap. He opened his eyes and put one arm around her; she, in turn, had one firm arm around Buffalo Bill’s neck. “Hi, sweetie,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Something the matter?”Marta looked solemnly out into the starry night. The car seemed to be hovering motionless in the sky. A strange black sky, with no ground visible. Earth was invisible far below them; it could not be seen through any of their windows.They had flown out of the shadow of Earth, thrown by their retained rotational velocity. Now Roger would keep the sun under them, charge the hull with electricity to ward off the solar wind, and pray. The thermo-electric elements kept the car cool enough, but the floor and walls were warm to the touch. The windows were edged with flame from the sunlight below.“Where are we?” Marta asked.Roger cleared his throat. “We’re nearly halfway to the moon, sweetie.” Luna was visible off to the right, as if on the horizon.“Oh.” She considered the stars thoughtfully. Finally, unexpectedly, she asked, “Are we going to be like the tigers?”Startled, Roger laughed. “Sure. You like that one?” He used a light tone, to see if she would turn playful.Marta nodded, meeting his gaze solemnly.Marta said sleepily, “It’s always night out here,” and touched her nose to his. He kissed her cheek.“Do you know one about buffaloes?” she asked, cuddling.“Uh, yeah, I know a song about where buffalo roam. Or used to, at least. Shall I teach it to you?”“Yeah!”“Okay.” Roger paused to get the lyrics straight and as he did, he reflected that buffaloes had been confined to zoos and parks even longer than tigers. “Oh, give me a home….”As he sang and cuddled his daughter, Roger brooded over his position and course. He had been brooding over the course for days. They were approaching turnover time for travel to the Moon or Ell Clusters, and still piling on gee. Luna, of course, was nowhere near his line of flight. He would pass near the L-4 Cluster as space distances go, but it would scarcely be visible.The transponder had beeped occasionally— it sounded off audibly when tweaked by questing beams, even as it responded. Now Roger shut off its responses. To have come out without filing a flight plan or with a silent transponder would have been a giveaway; the Patrol would have been all over him at once. Now, though, maybe he had left it on too long.As it was, the transponder had beeped every fifteen minutes or so since he had first been warned of his deviation from his LEO destination. They knew where he was, how fast he was accelerating, and in what direction. Where were they?Roger hugged his daughter, sang louder as she joined in the chorus. He couldn’t help glancing around at all the windows, expecting to see the prow of a CisLunar Patrol ship, evil menace incarnate, loom near them. If they caught him, he would lose his daughter.He could think of nothing else to do. He could only run.