Audiobooks narrated by Scott Miller

Inheritance by Edward W. Ludwig - He had been in the cave for only a short time it seemed. But when he finally emerged the world he knew was gone. And it had left him with a strange—Inheritance It shone as a pin-point of silver far away in the midnight-blackness of the cave. It shone as a tiny island of life in a sea of death. It shone as a symbol of His mercy. Martin stood swaying, staring wide-eyed at that wonderful light and letting its image sink deep into his vision. His eyes lidded as consciousness faded for an instant, then opened. 'We've almost made it,' he gasped. 'We've almost made it, Sandy, you and me and the pup!' His hand passed tenderly over the puppy, a soft, hairy ball of living warmth cradled in his arm. And from out of the darkness at his feet came a feeble bark. Martin choked on the ancient, tomb-stale air. 'We can't stop now, Sandy,' he wheezed. 'We're almost there, almost at the entrance!' He shuffled forward over the cold stone floor of the little cave, the thick, dead air a solid thing, a wall that pressed him back, back, back. But the light grew larger, expanding like a balloon, and suddenly there was a skittering of dog-paws over stone and a joyous, frantic barking. 'That's right, Sandy, go ahead. Breathe that air, that fresh air!' Martin staggered once, his lean, tall body thudding against sharp rock in the side of the cave. Then a draft of air blew cool and fresh into his face, and a strength returned to him. Abruptly, he was at the source of the light, at the cave's entrance, a hole barely large enough for him to squeeze through. The blinding light of day fell upon him like a gigantic, crashing sea wave. He closed his aching eyes and fell to the side of the rock-strewn hill, sucking the clean sweet air deep into his lungs.

Edward W. Ludwig (Author), Scott Miller (Narrator)

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Short Snorter

Short Snorter by Charles Einstein - His saucer was parked in the woods, and Mr. Steariot (from Venus) was parked in the lobby.... Three paths led through the woods away from the resort hotel, and of the three two were clearly marked: one with a sign that said it led to the lake, the other pointing toward the golf links. The third pathway was unmarked, and this was the one that inevitably the lovers and the honeymooners took—the path that Alice and Fred Daniels followed today. The sun was unusually warm for this time of year, but only a few yards along the pathway Fred and Alice were swallowed up by the great and near-great trees of the forest. The sunlight was, except for an occasional patch of light here and there, warded away by the foliage above. The forest was very quiet. The pathway bridged a silent brook, and then, perhaps a third of a mile into the woods, turned abruptly to the left and the woods became even more dense, the pathway narrow. Through the trees to the right at this point was a clearing, an unusual grassy circle perhaps sixty yards in diameter. It was not the clearing itself, however, but, instead, the glint of color in the sunlight that caused Fred and Alice to stop and look. Alice said, 'Fred, what is that?' 'Don't know,' he said. 'Something red. Let's look.' The two of them turned off the path and made their way through a dismal barrage of thicket to the clearing that lay beyond. When they got there, they saw the circular object—vehicle might be a better word. It was possibly fifteen yards in diameter. It seemed to be made of three rings, smaller ones bottom and top and the larger one ribbing the center, and to be constructed of some kind of plastic. Between the central and upper rings were set a series of small windows. The entire thing was painted a gaudy red. 'What do you think it is?' Fred said.

Charles Einstein (Author), Scott Miller (Narrator)

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Homecoming

Homecoming by Miguel Hidalgo - What lasts forever? Does love? Does death?... Nothing lasts forever.... Not even forever... When I discovered this story I knew I had to narrate it, and that was before I discovered that it was written by a 15 year old descendant of Simon Bolivar, the Liberator of America. Bolivar led what are currently the countries of Colombia, Venezuela, Ecuador, Peru, Panama and Bolivia to independence from the Spanish Empire. Homecoming appeared in If Worlds of Science Fiction magazine and they had this to say, “It’s a story that might have come from one of America’s more mature and experienced writers. Our assumption at first was that it did. But we were wrong. It’s a “first published” story (in America) by a young man named Miguel Hidalgo who is all of 15 years old. At first we didn't believe it, but it was confirmed and we found ourselves with not only a “first” but one that was written by the youngest writer (to our knowledge) ever to break into science fiction.” Born in Caracas, Venezuela, Miguel came to the United States, in a basket, at the age of two months. Began writing poetry at the age of five and before he was ten he had published numerous short stories as well as poetry. He traveled the world with his mother, who was one of the first women diplomats from Venezuela to the United States.

Miguel Hidalgo (Author), Scott Miller (Narrator)

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The Masked World

The Masked World by Jack Williamson - The planet hid itself from the Earthmen—and what lay behind the mask was fierce and deadly! The planet wore a mask. At ten million miles, it was a sullen yellow eye. At one million, a scarred and evil leer. Outside the smoking circle our landing-jets had sterilized, it was a hideous veil of hairy black tentacles and huge sallow blooms, hiding the riddle of its sinister genes. On most worlds that we astronauts have found, the life is vaguely like our own. Similar nucleotides are linked along similar helical chains of DNA, carrying similar genetic messages. A similar process replicates the chains when the cells divide, to carry the complex blue-prints for a particular root or eye or wing accurately down across ten thousand generations. But even the genes were different here—enormously complicated. Here the simplest-seeming weed had more and longer chains of DNA than anything we had seen before. What was their message? We had come to read it, with our new genetic micro-probe. A hundred precious tons of microscopic electronic gear, it was designed to observe and manipulate the smallest units of life. It could reach even those strange genes. That was our mission. Ours was the seventh survey ship to approach the planet. Six before us had been lost without trace. We were to find out why. Our pilot was Lance Llandark. A lean hard man, silent and cold as the gray-cased micro-probe. We hated him—until someone learned why he had volunteered to come. His wife had been pilot of the ship before us. When we knew that, we began to hear the hidden tension in his tired voice, monotonously calling on every band: 'Come in, Six.... Come in Six....' Six never came in.

Jack Williamson (Author), Scott Miller (Narrator)

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The Small Bears

The Small Bears by Gene L. Henderson - The aliens looked cute as Koalas. But there was a little matter of a graveyard of dead space-ships. Billowy white clouds hid the entire surface of the mystery planet and the space-cruiser cautiously searched, seeking an opening. A wind disturbance momentarily split the misty blanket and like an arrow the ship darted through. The sudden movement had caught some of the men unprepared and Dr. Dick Boyette hurried past fully-manned battle stations to answer a call from the control-room. It required but a couple of minutes to revive a technician who had stumbled into a panel and afterward Boyette stood in the background, watching. Everywhere, as far as the eye could see, the terrain was dotted by patches of woods and green meadows. The perpetual cloud blanket was two miles high, thin enough so that it barely diffused the sunlight. Enough, Boyette thought, so that the planet would have been a mystery even without the disappearance of all ships that had visited it. 'No sign of life,' growled Commander Kellews, breaking the silence. 'I don't like it,' the gunnery officer added uneasily. 'There must be life or what could have happened to all the other ships that vanished here?' 'That's what we're here to find out,' said Commander Kellews. He gazed around with a fighting man's pride in the finest weapons that Earth science had been able to devise. This one ship itself could destroy the entire planet that lay so peacefully beneath them. As Boyette knew, the mystery planet was necessary for further expansion from the solar system, lying as it did between their system and the nearest one. Yet, it had swallowed all ships that had landed. 'Look!' shouted the lookout, 'that plateau's covered with ships.'

Gene L. Henderson (Author), Scott Miller (Narrator)

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Breakfast At Twilight

Breakfast At Twilight by Philip K. Dick - It’s distinctly ungood to wake up in the middle of a war. Anybody knows that. Philip K. Dick, an iconic figure in science fiction literature, captivated readers with his visionary and often mind-bending narratives. Dick explored themes of reality, identity, and perception throughout his prolific career. His works, including 'Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?' (which inspired the film 'Blade Runner'), 'Ubik,' and 'The Man in the High Castle,' challenged conventional notions of existence, blurring the lines between the real and the surreal. Dick's writing was characterized by its philosophical depth, psychological insight, and prophetic vision of a future shaped by technology and societal upheaval. He delved into the nature of consciousness, questioning what it means to be human in a world increasingly dominated by machines. Dick's own tumultuous life, marked by personal struggles and existential crises, often found expression in his fiction, adding layers of complexity to his narratives. Despite struggling with mental health issues, Dick's creative genius continued to shine, earning him a devoted following and posthumous recognition as one of the most imaginative and influential writers of the 20th century. His legacy endures, inspiring readers and writers alike to ponder the mysteries of existence and the boundaries of reality.

Philip K. Dick (Author), Scott Miller (Narrator)

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Happy Ending

Happy Ending by Fredric Brown and Mack Reynolds - A world had collapsed around this man—a world that would never shout his praises again. The burned-out cities were still and dead, the twisted bodies and twisted souls giving him their last salute in death. And now he was alone, alone surrounded by memories, alone and waiting... There were four men in the lifeboat that came down from the space-cruiser. Three of them were still in the uniform of the Galactic Guards. The fourth sat in the prow of the small craft looking down at their goal, hunched and silent, bundled up in a greatcoat against the coolness of space—a greatcoat which he would never need again after this morning. The brim of his hat was pulled down far over his forehead, and he studied the nearing shore through dark-lensed glasses. Bandages, as though for a broken jaw, covered most of the lower part of his face. He realized suddenly that the dark glasses, now that they had left the cruiser, were unnecessary. He slipped them off. After the cinematographic grays his eyes had seen through these lenses for so long, the brilliance of the color below him was almost like a blow. He blinked, and looked again. They were rapidly settling toward a shoreline, a beach. The sand was a dazzling, unbelievable white such as had never been on his home planet. Blue the sky and water, and green the edge of the fantastic jungle. There was a flash of red in the green, as they came still closer, and he realized suddenly that it must be a marigee, the semi-intelligent Venusian parrot once so popular as pets throughout the solar system. Throughout the system blood and steel had fallen from the sky and ravished the planets, but now it fell no more. And now this. Here in this forgotten portion of an almost completely destroyed world it had not fallen at all.

Fredric Brown, Mack Reynolds (Author), Scott Miller (Narrator)

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Never Trust A Thief!

Never Trust A Thief! by Robert Silverberg - Kiley felt all-powerful with the alien guiding him in the looting of a world. Now the whole galaxy was his if he could remember to—Never Trust A Thief! Kiley took one last, fond look at the glittering heap of jewels in the back of the spaceship, nodded happily to himself, and began to set up a blastoff orbit. Somewhere down on the field far below, he could see dot-like figures—spaceport attendants, all firmly convinced that this was an authorized flight. He chuckled. This is the right way to pull a job, he thought contentedly. Hypnotize 'em silly and then walk in and take what you want. His fingers skipped lightly over the control panel as he readied the ship for blastoff. For the first time in his life he felt truly happy. Two million stellors of rare gems in the back of the ship, and even after cutting Thaklaru in for his share, that still left a million. A million stellors! Lord, that sounded good! Well, Kiley, are you going to spend all day dreaming? I'm waiting for you! The rolling thunder of Thaklaru's voice in Kiley's mind jolted him back to reality. 'I'm on my way,' he said out loud, knowing that the alien was listening. 'I've got the stuff, and I'll be there before you know it.' Good. I'm anxious to see those jewels. 'Don't worry about it, Thaklaru.'

Robert Silverberg (Author), Scott Miller (Narrator)

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Encounter in the Dawn

Encounter in the Dawn by Arthur C. Clarke - A lot of glib fiction has been written about life on other planets, with space ships dropping down among alien races, zap guns decimating the enemy, while Our Hero goes batting off after a Beautiful Princess, who is about to be ravaged by the hairy-nosed glumpfx of Pluto. But Mr. Clarke, whose book, Exploration of Space, was a Book of-the-Month choice, takes the realistic approach and gets better results than anything by the boom-boom boys. It was in the last days of the Empire. The tiny ship was far from home, and almost a hundred light-years from the great parent vessel searching through the loosely packed stars at the rim of the Milky Way. But even here it could not escape from the shadow that lay across civilization: beneath that shadow, pausing ever and again in their work to wonder how their distant homes were faring, the scientists of the Galactic Survey still labored at their never-ending task. The ship held only three occupants, but between them they carried knowledge of many sciences, and the experience of half a lifetime in space. After the long interstellar night, the star ahead was warming their spirits as they dropped down towards its fires. A little more golden, a trifle more brilliant than the sun that now seemed a legend of their childhood. They knew from past experience that the chance of locating planets here was more than ninety per cent, and for the moment they forgot all else in the excitement of discovery

Arthur C. Clarke (Author), Scott Miller (Narrator)

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Jokester

Jokester by Isaac Asimov - What really happened to the traveling salesman and the farmer’s daughter–and why? Here’s the ultimate, horrifying answer… Noel Meyerhof consulted the list he had prepared and chose which item was to be first. As usual, he relied mainly on intuition. He was dwarfed by the machine he faced, though only the smallest portion of the latter was in view. That didn’t matter. He spoke with the offhand confidence of one who thoroughly knew he was master. 'Johnson,” he said, 'came home' unexpectedly from a business trip to find his wife in the arms of his best friend. He staggered back and said, ’Max! I’m married to the lady so I have to. But why you?’” Meyerhof thought: Okay, let that trickle down into its guts and gurgle about a bit. And a voice behind him said, 'Hey.” Meyerhof erased the sound of that monosyllable and put the circuit he was using into neutral. He whirled and said, 'I’m working. Don’t you knock?”

Isaac Asimov (Author), Scott Miller (Narrator)

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The First Man on the Moon

The First Man on the Moon by Alfred Coppel - John Thurmon swore he'd be the first man on the moon. But he wasn't. He was only the first murderer. The ship lay at a crazy angle on the stark whiteness of the pumice plain. The rocket nozzles were a fused lump of slag; the fire-darkened hull crumpled and warped by the impact of landing. And there was silence ... complete and utter silence. There could be no return. Thurmon realized this. At first the thought had brought panic, but, as the scope of his achievement dawned on him, the fear retreated. Bruised, giddy, half-crazed ... the certainty of death held no terrors. Not yet. And it was worth it! Fame ... immortality! Glory ... in return for the last few years of a blighted, embittered, over-shadowed life. Yes, it was well worth it. And, except for the crash-landing and the certainty of no return, it had all come to pass just as he had planned it for so long. On his knees he caressed the gritty soil. He lifted his arms toward the Day Star flaming in the day-night of space and knew completion. Tears streaked his stubbled face, and strange noises came from his slack mouth. The ecstasy of success was almost unbearable. For this, he had labored a lifetime. For this, he had murdered a friend.... Across the abyss, the whole world waited for word. The transmitter in the rocket had survived the crash. The word would come, thought Thurmon ... when he was ready to send it. And sending it, he would place the official seal of immortality on his brow. The book would close. But wonderfully, satisfyingly. There would be no other to steal his rightful glory. Only Wayne could have done that ... and Wayne was dead. He laughed weirdly within his helmet. So simply done!

Alfred Coppel (Author), Scott Miller (Narrator)

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I Bring Fresh Flowers

I Bring Fresh Flowers by Robert F. Young - A touching tale of an Astronette—and why the gentle rain from Heaven has the quality of mercy. You know Rosemary Brooks. You have known her for many years. It is said that when she was a little girl her favorite poem was Barbara Frietchie, and it is told how she would sometimes poke her pretty head out of her bedroom window, survey the suburban street with her blue-sky eyes, and cry, 'Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, but spare your country's flag!' Yes, you know Rosemary. You know her very well. Like all little girls, Rosemary grew up. But Rosemary did not change. This is not to say that she did not turn into an attractive young lady. She turned into a most attractive one indeed. Fragilely beautiful, airy of tread, she should have been the reigning rose of every dance she went to, but she was not. Rarely did the young men of her acquaintance ask her to dance, and never did one of them approach her and say, 'Come into the garden, Rosemary, for the black bat, night, has flown.' She did not go to very many dances in any event, and looking back, one realizes that the few she did attend, she attended primarily to please her mother. The reason behind Rosemary's wallflowerhood is simple: the young men of her acquaintance knew that with her, God and the United States of America came first, and that accompanying her through life, or even accompanying her home from a dance for that matter, meant being relegated to a back seat. It is alright for little girls to be Barbara Frietchies, you see, but not for big ones.

Robert F. Young (Author), Scott Miller (Narrator)

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Audiobooks Narrated by Scott Miller