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Kramer leaned back. "You can see the situation. How can we deal with a factor like this? The perfect variable."  "Perfect? Prediction should still be possible. A living thing still acts from necessity, the same as inanimate material. But the cause-effect chain is more subtle; there are more factors to be considered. The difference is quantitative, I think. The reaction of the living organism parallels natural causation, but with greater complexity."  Gross and Kramer looked up at the board plates, suspended on the wall, still dripping, the images hardening into place. Kramer traced a line with his pencil.  "See that? It's a pseudopodium. They're alive, and so far, a weapon we can't beat. No mechanical system can compete with that, simple or intricate. We'll have to scrap the Johnson Control and find something else."  "Meanwhile the war continues as it is. Stalemate. Checkmate. They can't get to us, and we can't get through their living minefield."  Kramer nodded. "It's a perfect defense, for them. But there still might be one answer."  "What's that?"  "Wait a minute." Kramer turned to his rocket expert, sitting with the charts and files. "The heavy cruiser that returned this week. It didn't actually touch, did it? It came close but there was no contact."  "Correct." The expert nodded. "The mine was twenty miles off. The cruiser was in space-drive, moving directly toward Proxima, line-straight, using the Johnson Control, of course. It had deflected a quarter of an hour earlier for reasons unknown. Later it resumed its course. That was when they got it."  "It shifted," Kramer said. "But not enough. The mine was coming along after it, trailing it. It's the same old story, but I wonder about the contact." --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

“WHAT would you do if you knew that this was the last night of the world?”  “What would I do? You mean seriously?”  “Yes, seriously.”  “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought.”  He poured some coffee. In the background the two girls were playing blocks on the parlor rug in the light of the green hurricane lamps. There was an easy, clean aroma of the brewed coffee in the evening air.  “Well, better start thinking about it,” he said.  “You don’t mean it!”  He nodded.  “A war?”  He shook his head.  “Not the hydrogen or atom bomb?”  “No.”  “Or germ warfare?”  “None of those at all,” he said, stirring his coffee slowly. “But just, let’s say, the closing of a book.” --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

This story by Ernest Hemingway is about two “hit men” (killers who are paid to murder someone) who come to a small town restaurant to shoot a man as a favor to a friend. Some critics go as far as to say that this is one of best short stories of all time. This is all the more impressive given that Hemingway said that he wrote the story in just one morning in a hotel room in Madrid, Spain.  The Killers Ernest Hemingway Audiobook --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

It is three thousand light years to the Vatican. Once, I believed that space could have no power over faith, just as I believed that the heavens declared the glory of God’s handiwork. Now I have seen that handiwork, and my faith is sorely troubled. I stare at the crucifix that hangs on the cabin wall above the Mark VI Computer, and for the first time in my life I wonder if it is no more than an empty symbol.  I have told no one yet, but the truth cannot be concealed. The facts are there for all to read, recorded on the countless miles of magnetic tape and the thousands of photographs we are carrying back to Earth. Other scientists can interpret them as easily as I can, and I am not one who would condone that tampering with the truth which often gave my order a bad name in the olden days. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

The sign on the wall seemed to quaver under a film of sliding warm water. Eckels felt his eyelids blink over his stare, and the sign burned in this momentary darkness:  TIME SAFARI, INC. SAFARIS TO ANY YEAR IN THE PAST. YOU NAME THE ANIMAL. WE TAKE YOU THERE. YOU SHOOT IT.  Warm phlegm gathered in Eckels’ throat; he swallowed and pushed it down. The muscles around his mouth formed a smile as he put his hand slowly out upon the air, and in that hand waved a check for ten thousand dollars to the man behind the desk.  “Does this safari guarantee I come back alive?” --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

Multivac has problems. It does not respond to commands, and isn’t following its built-in program to self-diagnose the cause. As the global economy depends on Mulitvac, this could result in panic across the world. Teams of technicians have been trying to identify what is wrong for three days. Finally, a scientist discovers the “key item” needed to fix the problem. It is a simple thing that we are all taught to use as children.  Jack Weaver came out of the vitals of Multivac looking utterly worn and disgusted.  From the stool, where the other maintained his own stolid watch, Todd Nemerson said, “Nothing?”  “Nothing,” said Weaver. “Nothing, nothing, nothing. No one can find anything wrong with it.”  “Except that it won’t work, you mean.”  “You’re no help sitting there!”  “I’m thinking.”  “Thinking!” Weaver showed a canine at one side of his mouth.  Nemerson stirred impatiently on his stool. “Why not? There are six teams of computer technologist roaming around in the corridors of Mulitvac. They haven’t come up with anything in three days. Can’t you spare one person to think?”  “It’s not a matter of thinking. We’ve got to look. Somewhere a relay is stuck.”  “It’s not that simple, Jack!”  “Who says it’s simple? You know how many million relays we have there?”  “That doesn’t matter. If it were just a relay, Multivac would have alternate circuits, devices for locating the flaw, and facilities to repair or replace the ailing part. The trouble is, Mulitvac won’t only not answer the original question, it won’t tell us what’s wrong with it… And meanwhile, there’ll be panic in every city if we don’t do something. The world’s economy depends on Mulitvac, and everyone knows that.”  “I know it, too. But what’s there to do?”  “I told you, think. There must be something we’re missing completely. Look, Jack, there isn’t a computer bigwig in a hundred years who hasn’t devoted himself to making Mulitvac more complicated. It can do so much now — it can even talk and listen. It’s practically as complex as the human brain. We can’t understand the human brain, so why should we understand Mulitvac?”  “Aw, come on. Next you’ll be saying Multivac is human.” --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

The celebration had a long way to go and even in the silent depths of Multivac’s underground chambers, it hung in the air. If nothing else, there was the mere fact of isolation and silence. For the first time in a decade, technicians were not scurrying about the vitals of the giant computer, the soft lights did not wink out their erratic patterns, the flow of information in and out had halted. It would not be halted long, of course, for the needs of peace would be pressing. Yet now, for a day, perhaps for a week, even Multivac might celebrate the great time, and rest. Lamar Swift took off the military cap he was wearing and looked down the long and empty main corridor of the enormous computer. He sat down rather wearily in one of the technician’s swing-stools, and his uniform, in which he had never been comfortable, took on a heavy and wrinkled appearance. He said, “I’ll miss it all after a grisly fashion. It’s hard to remember when we weren’t at war with Deneb, and it seems against nature now to be at peace and to look at the stars without anxiety.” The two men with the Executive Director of the Solar Federation were both younger than Swift. Neither was as gray. Neither looked quite as tired. John Henderson, thin-lipped and finding it hard to control the relief he felt in the midst of triumph, said, “They’re destroyed! They’re destroyed! It’s what I keep saying to myself over and over and I still can’t believe it. We all talked so much, over so many years, about the menace hanging over Earth and all its worlds, over every human being, and all the time it was true, every word of it. And now we’re alive and it’s the Denebians who are shattered and destroyed. They’ll be no menace now, ever again.” “Thanks to Multivac,” said Swift, with a quiet glance at the imperturbable Jablonsky, who through all the war had been Chief Interpreter of science’s oracle. “Right, Max?” Jablonsky shrugged. Automatically, he reached for a cigarette and decided against it. He alone, of all the thousands who had lived in the tunnels within Multivac, had been allowed to smoke, but toward the end he had made definite efforts to avoid making use of the privilege. He said, “Well, that’s what they say.” His broad thumb moved in the direction of his right shoulder, aiming upward. “Jealous, Max?” “Because they’re shouting for Multivac? Because Multivac is the big hero of mankind in this war?” Jablonsky’s craggy face took on an air of suitable contempt. “What’s that to me? Let Multivac be the machine that won the war, if it pleases them.” Henderson looked at the other two out of the corners of his eyes. In this short interlude that the three had instinctively sought out in the one peaceful corner of a metropolis gone mad; in this entr’acte between the dangers of war and the difficulties of peace; when, for one moment, they might all find surcease; he was conscious only of his weight of guilt. Suddenly, it was as though that weight were too great to be borne longer. It had to be thrown off, along with the war; now! Henderson said, “Multivac had nothing to do with victory. It’s just a machine.” --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

Of all the pupils at the knight school Gawaine le Coeur-Hardy was among the least promising. ‘He was tall and sturdy, but his instructors soon discovered that he lacked spirit. He would hide in the woods when the jousting class was called, although his companions and members of the faculty sought to appeal to his better nature by shouting to him to come out and break his neck like a man. Even when they told him that the lances were padded, the horses no more than ponies, and the field unusually soft for late autumn, Gawaine refused to grow enthusiastic. The Headmaster and Assistant Professor of Pleasaunce were discussing the case one spring afternoon, and the Assistant Professor could see no remedy but expulsion. “No,” said the Headmaster, as he looked out at the purple hills which ringed the school, “I think I’ll train him to slay dragons.” “He might be killed,” objected the Assistant Professor. “So he might,” replied the Headmaster, brightly; but he added, more soberly, “we must consider the greater good. We are responsible for the formation of this lad’s character.” “Are the dragons particularly bad this year?” interrupted the Assistant Professor. This was characteristic. He always seemed restive when the head of the school began to talk ethics and the ideals of the institution. “I’ve never known them worse,” replied the Headmaster. “Up in the hills to the south last week they killed a number of peasants, two cows, and a prize pig. And if this dry spell holds there’s no telling when they may start a forest fire simply by breathing around indiscriminately.” “Would any refund on the tuition fee be necessary in case of an accident to young Coeur-Hardy?” --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

Alan Austen, as nervous as a kitten, went up certain dark and creaky stairs in the neighborhood of Pell Street, and peered about for a long time on the dim landing before he found the name he wanted written obscurely on one of the doors. He pushed open this door, as he had been told to do, and found himself in a tiny room, which contained no furniture but a plain kitchen table, a rocking-chair, and an ordinary chair. On one of the dirty buff-coloured walls were a couple of shelves, containing in all perhaps a dozen bottles and jars. An old man sat in the rocking-chair, reading a newspaper. Alan, without a word, handed him the card he had been given. “Sit down, Mr. Austen,” said the old man very politely. “I am glad to make your acquaintance.” “Is it true,” asked Alan, “that you have a certain mixture that has-er-quite extraordinary effects?” “My dear sir,” replied the old man, “my stock in trade is not very large-I don’t deal in laxatives and teething mixtures-but such as it is, it is varied. I think nothing I sell has effects which could be precisely described as ordinary.” --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

As his second term came to a close four years later, Washington prepared a revision of the original letter with the help of Hamilton to write a new farewell address to announce his intention to decline a third term in office. He reflects on the emerging issues of the American political landscape in 1796, expresses his support for the government eight years after the adoption of the Constitution, defends his administration's record and gives valedictory advice to the American people. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

Hector Hugh Munro (18 December 1870 – 14 November 1916), better known by the pen name Saki and also frequently as H. H. Munro, was a British writer whose witty, mischievous and sometimes macabre stories satirize Edwardian society and culture. He is considered by English teachers and scholars as a master of the short story, and often compared to O. Henry and Dorothy Parker. Influenced by Oscar Wilde, Lewis Carroll and Rudyard Kipling, he himself influenced A. A. Milne, Noël Coward and P. G. Wodehouse. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

The story is about the birth of a baby boy in a 19th-century gold prospecting camp. The boy's mother, Cherokee Sal, dies in childbirth, so the men of Roaring Camp must raise it themselves. Believing the child to be a good luck charm, the miners christen the boy Thomas Luck. Afterwards, they decide to refine their behavior and refrain from gambling and fighting.  Roaring Camp was a real place. It was a goldmining settlement on the Mokelumne River in Amador County, California. It was home to forty-niners seeking gold in and around the river. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

The Antique Ring is a fanciful story-within-a-story, a legend about the ring composed by an aspiring author/lawyer as a prize for his fiancé. It was published in Hawthorne's collection, The Dolliver Romance and Other Pieces (1876). --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

lost during a walk along the coast of Wales and sought shelter in what looked like a ruined tower, thanks to the hospitality of its housekeeper. He is surprised at the comfortable furnishings within the tower, and is intrigued by a painting of a lovely young woman hung above the fireplace, entitled The Invisible Girl. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

The Story of George Washington was published in Baldwin's book for young Americans, Four Great Americans: Washington, Franklin, Webster, Lincoln (1897). --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

The Story of Abraham Lincoln by James Baldwin The Story of Abraham Lincoln was published in Baldwin's book for young Americans, Four Great Americans: Washington, Franklin, Webster, Lincoln (1897). As a young boy, Lincoln wrote this in his schoolbook: "Abraham Lincoln, his hand and pen, he will be good, but God knows when." --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

An Angel in Disguise (1851) was featured in Arthur's collection, After a Shadow and Other Stories. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

Mrs. Bargrave, who is visited by Mrs. Veal, an old friend and former neighbour who says that she would like to catch up before departing for a journey. Mrs. Bargrave's kiss of greeting is declined by Mrs. Veal who protests that she is not very well. The pair discuss books on death and friendship before Mrs. Veal asks for her friend to write a letter to her brother concerning a number of gifts she would like him to make. She also discloses that her locked cabinet contains a purse filled with gold. Mrs. Bargrave admires the distinctive dress worn by Mrs. Veal. Mrs. Bargrave steps out to call her daughter, and when she returns she finds that Mrs. Veal has already left the house and is standing in the street ready to leave. Mrs. Veal says that she must be going and walks away, watched by Mrs. Bargrave until she is out of sight.  Mrs. Bargrave subsequently looks for Mrs. Veal, but is told by one of her friend's relatives that she had died the day before the visit. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

a government agent and his fiancée who are members of a government agency tasked with tracking down and sterilizing or eliminating mutants – individuals with physical abnormalities and superhuman powers (such as the mind reading or telekinesis) that make them a threat to normal humans. The eponymous "Golden Man" is a beautiful yet feral young man named Cris with gold-colored skin and the proportions of a greek god. He possesses no language but has the ability to see into the future (specifically, the ability to see all possible outcomes from any single action, described in the story as similar to a chess player with the ability to see all possible moves 5 steps ahead). The agency manages to capture Cris after surrounding him so completely that his precognition tells him there's no way out, at which point he simply surrenders himself. The agency takes him back to their fortified laboratory to study his abilities, and then execute him. Unknown to the agency, Cris's physical perfection and noble-looking countenance influences the fiancée into freeing him. He then impregnates her and makes his escape as she provides a distraction to aid him. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support

The story describes a world in which most of the human population has lost the ability to live on the surface of the Earth. Each individual now lives in isolation below ground in a standard room, with all bodily and spiritual needs met by the omnipotent, global Machine. Travel is permitted, but is unpopular and rarely necessary. Communication is made via a kind of instant messaging/video conferencing machine with which people conduct their only activity: the sharing of ideas and what passes for knowledge.  The two main characters, Vashti and her son Kuno, live on opposite sides of the world. Vashti is content with her life, which, like most inhabitants of the world, she spends producing and endlessly discussing secondhand 'ideas'. Her son Kuno, however, is a sensualist and a rebel. He persuades a reluctant Vashti to endure the journey (and the resultant unwelcome personal interaction) to his room. There, he tells her of his disenchantment with the sanitised, mechanical world.  He confides to her that he has visited the surface of the Earth without permission and that he saw other humans living outside the world of the Machine. However, the Machine recaptures him, and he is threatened with 'Homelessness': expulsion from the underground environment and presumed death. Vashti, however, dismisses her son's concerns as dangerous madness and returns to her part of the world.  As time passes, and Vashti continues the routine of her daily life, there are two important developments. First, the life-support apparatus required to visit the outer world is abolished. Most welcome this development, as they are sceptical and fearful of first-hand experience and of those who desire it. Secondly, "Technopoly", a kind of religion, is re-established, in which the Machine is the object of worship. People forget that humans created the Machine, and treat it as a mystical entity whose needs supersede their own.  Those who do not accept the deity of the Machine are viewed as 'unmechanical' and threatened with Homelessness. The Mending Apparatus – the system charged with repairing defects that appear in the Machine proper – has also failed by this time, but concerns about this are dismissed in the context of the supposed omnipotence of the Machine itself. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/hmphaudiobooks/support