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250 pages, Paperback
First published March 1, 1953
... and here's the source:
are think fun
A great new treatment… Patient goes into catatonia. It's an escape. Flight from reality. The conscious mind cannot face the conflict between the external world and its own unconscious. It wishes it had never been born. It attempts to revert back to the foetal stage.
Eight, sir; seven, sir; six, sir; five, sir; four, sir; three, sir; two, sir; one! Tenser, said the Tensor. Tension, apprehension, And dissension have begun.
The stars!" Reich cried. "Look up at the sky. The stars are gone. The constellations are gone! The Great Bear... The Little Bear... Cassiopeia... Draco… Pegasus... They're all gone! There's nothing but the moon! Look!"
"It's the way it always is," Duffy said.
"It is not! Where are the stars?"
"I don't know their names... Polaris and... Vegä... and… How the hell should I know their names? I'm not an astronomer. What's happened to us? What's happened to the stars?"
"What are stars?" Duffy asked.
Reich seized her savagely. "Suns... Boiling and blazing with light. Thousands of them. Billions of them... shining through the night. What the hell's the matter with you? Don't you understand? There's been a catastrophe in space, the stars are gone!"
Duffy shook her head. Her face was terrified. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ben. I don't know
what you're talking about."
. . . "Wait here for me," he growled. "I'm going to find out."
"Find out about what?"
"About the stars!" he yelled. "The Christ almighty missing stars!"
Number 99 was an eviscerated ceramics plant. During the war a succession of blazing explosions had burst among the stock of thousands of chemical glazes, fused them, and splashed them into a wild rainbow reproduction of a lunar crater. Great splotches of magenta, violet, bice green, burnt umber, and chrome yellow were burned into the stone walls. Long streams of orange, crimson, and imperial purple had erupted through windows and doors to streak the streets and surrounding ruins with splashing brush streets....
A molten conglomerate had oozed down through the floors to settle on the floor of the lowest vault and harden into shimmering pavement, crystal in texture, phosphorescent in color, strangely vibrant and singing."
“But man is not made for defeat," he said. "A man can be destroyed but not defeated.” (Hemingway, 1952)
“First, the background, Mr. Reich: There are approximately one hundred thousand (100,000) 3rd Class Espers in the Esper Guild. An Esper 3 can peep the conscious level of a mind---can discover what a subject is thinking at the moment of thought. A 3rd is the lowest class of telepath. Most of Monarch's security positions are held by 3rds. We employ over five hundred...” (15)
“You don't understand. We're born in the Guild. We live with the Guild. We die in the Guild. We have the right to elect Guild officers, and that's all. The Guild runs our professional lives. It trains us, grades us, sets ethical standards, and sees that we stick to them. It protects us by protecting the layman, the same as medical associations. We have the equivalent of the Hippocratic Oath. It's called the Esper Pledge. God help any of us if we break it... as I judge you're suggesting I should.”(19)