A strange and curious story is this, about a banker whose only fear was that he might be buried alive, like his grandfather before him.
What caught Harcourt’s eye almost immediately was a disc recorder standing near the desk, together with stacks of discs, some manifestly used, others clearly not yet touched, ready for anyone who might care to use the recorder.
It was quite impossible for him to believe that Ilalotha had died from a fatal passion: since, in his experience, passion was never fatal.
“So the last fly has obligingly walked into the spider’s parlor,” he murmured, with a laugh.
Eve’s lips parted, showing the even white teeth—those slightly pointed teeth.
“You’re quite sane, my dear,” She said calmly. “You are now one of us; a revenant, even as I, and to live you must feed on the living.”
Was it a trick of tired nerves, the retention of the light-image upon my retina in the dark?
Ellaby’s society was a perfect democracy, where all men were equal. But some still wanted more personal attention, and they got it, like The Dictator.
Minor Planets was the one solid account they had. At first they naturally wanted to hold on to it.
Piracy in the past has acquired the gaudy technicolor of high romance. In the present, piracy is as tawdry as tabloid headlines. But piracy in the far future, when presented as vividly as in this story, can be scary stuff.