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Dick Francis
Dick Francis was a British author renowned for his mystery novels centered around horse racing, reflecting his own experience as a former champion jockey. His debut novel, "Dead Cert" (1962), set the tone for his prolific career, producing over 40 bestsellers often featuring strong, resourceful protagonists and intricate plots. Francis's work earned him numerous accolades, including three Edgar Awards from the Mystery Writers of America and a CBE (Commander of the Order of the British Empire) for his services to literature.
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Dick Francis
avir gingerly fitted the round opening in the bottom of the silvery globe over the top of his hairless blue skull. He pulled the globe down until he felt tiny filaments touching his scalp. The tips of the wires were cold. The moderator then said, "Dreaming Through the Universe tonight brings you the first native Martian to appear on the dreamwaves—Gavir of the Desert Men. With him is his...
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Dick Francis
Although as brash as any other ace newspaper reporter for a high school weekly—and there is no one brasher—Garth was scared. His head crest lifted spasmodically and the rudimentary webbing between his fingers twitched. To answer a dare, Garth was about to attempt something that had never been dared before: a newspaper interview with The Visitor. There had been questions enough asked and answered...
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Dick Francis
One thing Man never counted on to take along into space with him was the Eternal Triangle—especially a true-blue triangle like this! "What's the matter, darling?" James asked anxiously. "Don't you like the planet?" "Oh, I love the planet," Phyllis said. "It's beautiful." It was. The blue—really blue—grass, blue-violet shrubbery and, loveliest of all,...
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Dick Francis
Standing braced—or, as it seemed to him, crucified—against the length of the blackboard, John Ward tried to calculate his chances of heading off the impending riot. It didn't seem likely that anything he could do would stop it. "Say something," he told himself. "Continue the lecture, talk!" But against the background of hysterical voices from the school yard, against the brass...
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Dick Francis
Ludovick Eversole sat in the golden sunshine outside his house, writing a poem as he watched the street flow gently past him. There were very few people on it, for he lived in a slow part of town, and those who went in for travel generally preferred streets where the pace was quicker. Moreover, on a sultry spring afternoon like this one, there would be few people wandering abroad. Most would be lying...
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Dick Francis
"Space life expectancy has been increased to twenty-five months and six days," said Marlowe, the training director. "That's a gain of a full month." Millions of miles from Earth, Ethan also looked discontentedly proud. "A mighty healthy-looking boy," he declared. Demarest bent a paperweight ship until it snapped. "It's something. You're gaining on the heredity...
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Dick Francis
With so much at stake, Charles Dennison should not have been careless. An inventor cannot afford carelessness, particularly when his invention is extremely valuable and obviously patentable. There are too many grasping hands ready to seize what belongs to someone else, too many men who feast upon the creativity of the innocent. A touch of paranoia would have served Dennison well; but he was lacking in...
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Dick Francis
I guess I'm just a stickler, a perfectionist, but if you do a thing, I always say, you might as well do it right. Everything satisfied me about the security measures on our assignment except one—the official Army designation. Project Hush. I don't know who thought it up, and I certainly would never ask, but whoever it was, he should have known better. Damn it, when you want a project kept...
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Dick Francis
The bar didn't have a name. No name of any kind. Not even an indication that it had ever had one. All it said on the outside was: CafeEAT Cocktails which doesn't make a lot of sense. But it was a bar. It had a big TV set going ya-ta-ta ya-ta-ta in three glorious colors, and a jukebox that tried to drown out the TV with that lousy music they play. Anyway, it wasn't a kid hangout. I kind...
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Dick Francis
y name is Andrews, third assistant vice president in charge of maintenance for Cybernetic Publishers. It is not generally known that all the periodical publications for the world were put out by Cybernetics. We did not conceal the monopoly deliberately, but we found that using the names of other publishing houses helped to give our magazines an impression of variety. Of course, we didn't want too...
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