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Barney Mayerson woke to find himself in an unfamiliar bedroom in an unfamiliar conapt building.
And there in the next room by the sofa a familiar suitcase, that of his psychiatrist Dr. Smile.
“This girl in the bed is Miss Rondinella Fugate. Roni, as she asked you to call her.”
In the miserably high-number conapt building 492 on the outskirts of Marilyn Monroe, New Jersey, Richard Hnatt ate breakfast indifferently while, with something greater than indifference,
The sight of Emily at work recalled to him the task that lay before him, today: one which he did not relish.
“Werner handwrought ties are part of the Perky Pat layouts,” the man informed him. “Her boyfriend Walt has a closetful of them.”
the ship believed to have returned from Proxima only to crash on Pluto’s frozen wastes—an understatement! Already it was conjectured that this might be the well-known interplan industrialist Palmer Eldritch,
IN HIS OFFICE at ten that morning Leo Bulero, chairman of the board of directors of P.P. Layouts, received a vid-call—which
“The homeopape conjectures were correct,” Felix Blau, boss of the police agency, was saying on the vidscreen.
crafty Indian politician who last year had become UN Secretary. “Ah, Mr. Bulero.” Hepburn-Gilbert smiled slyly.
Ned Lark was chief of the UN Narcotics Bureau and the man responsible for the seizure of this last shipment of Can-D;
At ten in the morning a terrific horn, familiar to him, hooted Sam Regan out of his sleep, and he cursed the UN ship upstairs; he knew the racket was deliberate.
“But your own life was at—” “It always is,” he pointed out. “When you do anything. That’s the name of the comedy we’re stuck in.”
“You know,” Anne said, “it takes courage to let people down.”
“Yes,” she said. “The cat was not the steak. But the cat might be a manifestation which the steak was taking at that moment. The key word happens to be is. Don’t tell us, Barney, that whatever entered Palmer Eldritch is God, because you don’t know that much about Him; no one can. But that living entity from intersystem space may, like us, be shaped in His image. A way He selected of showing Himself to us.
If the map is not the territory, the pot is not the potter.
“It meant that you were seeing into absolute reality. The essence beyond the mere appearance.” In your terminology, he thought, what you saw is called—stigmata.
All three stigmata—the dead, artificial hand, the Jensen eyes, and the radically deranged jaw.”
