move over, ghyslain

It is difficult to get excited about Star Wars lately. The prequels have not lived up to the standard set by the first three movies. Star Wars: Galaxies allows players to engage in epic waiting battles, or to sew sweaters for other players to wear while they wait through their fights. I'll pass. Star Wars games shouldn't be a spreadsheet-like contest of player HP versus the NPCs HP; it should be about skill. I want action! Walkers, gun turrets, stormtroopers, and all kinds of gorgeous havoc. Now it seems like that will happen, in Star Wars: Battlefront! 1-32 players! Star Wars flavored mayhem! Time to get my geek on, this fall.

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dan simmons’ fiction

“I came back for my own purposes,” said the Time Traveler, looking around my booklined study. “I chose you to talk to because it was . . . convenient. And I don’t want you to do a goddamned thing. There’s nothing you can do. But relax . . . we’re not going to be talking about personal things. Such as, say, the year, day, and hour of your death. I don’t even know that sort of trivial information, although I could look it up quickly enough. You can release that white-knuckled grip you have on the edge of your desk.” I tried to relax. “What do you want to talk about?” I said. “The Century War,” said the Time Traveler. I blinked and tried to remember some history. “You mean the Hundred Year War? Fifteenth Century? Fourteenth? Sometime around there. Between . . . France and England? Henry V? Kenneth Branagh? Or was it . . .” “I mean the Century War with Islam,” interrupted the Time Traveler. “Your future. Everyone’s.” He was no longer smiling. Without asking, or offering to pour me any, he

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