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I am very doubtful whether history shows us one example of a man who, having stepped outside traditional morality and attained power, has used that power benevolently. —C. S. LEWIS, The Abolition of Man
Half past a windless midnight, rain cantered out of the Gulf, across the shore and the levees: parades of phantom horses striking hoof rhythms from roofs of tarpaper, tin, tile, shingles, slate, counting cadence along the avenues.
Generally speaking, the New Race was not good at faking grief, and any statue of the Virgin Mary was more likely to produce tears than were those born in the creation tanks.
In this game, the rules were not clear; besides, all the rules applied to her, none to her husband.
Victor had not loved Elizabeth. Love and God were myths he rejected with equal contempt. But Elizabeth had belonged to him. Even after more than two hundred years, he still bitterly resented the loss of her, as he would have resented losing an exquisite antique porcelain vase if Deucalion had smashed that instead of the bride.
When she caught the phone and as he put up the window in his door, she said, “That settles it. We’ll get married.” He said, “Obviously.” Remembering the dog, she said, “How’s Duke?” “Sitting on the backseat, grinning.” “He is so our dog.”
Victor had no sympathy for the antifur movement, as he was engaged in the much more important antihuman movement.
Be not afraid.
“Busting bad guys is easy,” Carson said, “compared to fighting bad ideas. Fighting ideas … that’s a life’s work.”
This world is a world of stories, of mystery and enchantment. Everywhere you look, if you look close enough, a tale of wonder is unfolding, for every life is a narrative and everyone a character in his or her own drama.
This trilogy is dedicated to the late Mr. Lewis, who long ago realized that science was being politicized, that its primary goal was changing from knowledge to power, that it was also becoming scientism, and that in the ism
is the end of humanity.
