Tomorrow’s World

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Van Brant pulled Pelazi’s review out of the communication, read it quickly, and then sat back to enjoy a quiet chuckle. He held the review out at arm’s length, read it over again, and nearly choked laughing. It was getting so that Brant could predict just what Pelazi was going to say even before the latest paperback hit the stands. He pulled his chair closer to the desk and punched Lizbeth’s buzzer.

“Yes, sir?” Her voice was soft, well-modulated.

“Honey,” he said, “see if you can get Clark for me, will you?”

“Yes, sir.” She clicked off, and he leaned back, still smiling. He thought of something else and buzzed her again. “Sir?”

“And see if you can get me copies of all the papers carrying reviews of Stolen Desire, will you?”

“Yes, sir.”

He sat back again, and shook his head in wonder at Dino Pelazi and all the other Realists. They’d never learn; they’d sit in their high porcelain bathtubs until the Vicarion tide reached up past their nostrils and drowned them. Clark Talbot’s book had been a masterpiece of Vicarion literature. So Pelazi had dipped his pen deep in Realist blood and tom it to pieces with archaic language. Typical. Typical, and doomed, because the Vikes were...

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