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A missionary from the Mau Mau told me.There are spores blowing from space.He has himself seen an amazing botanyspringing the jungle. Fruit with a bearded facethat howls at the picker. Mushrooms that bleed.A tree of enormous roots that sends no traceabove ground; not a leaf. And he showed me the seedof strange lettuces that inducelanguages. The Jungle has come loose,is changing purposes.Nor are these vegetationsof the new continuum the only sign.New eyes have observed the constellations.And what does not change when looked at?—coastline?sea? sky? The propaganda of the wind reaches.Set watches on your gardens. What spring teachesseed shall make new verbs. A root is a tongue.I repeat it as he spoke it. I do not interpretwhat I do not understand. He comes amongmany who have come to us. He speaks and we forgetand are slow to be reminded. But he does come,signs do appear.There are poisoned islands far over:fish from their reefs come to table, and someglow in the dark not of candlelight. A windhoverchatters in the counters of our polar camps.A lectern burns. Geese jam the radar. The red phonerings. Is there an answer? Planes from black rampshowl to the edge of sound. The unknownair breaks from them. They crash through.What time is it in orbit? Israeli teamsreport they have found the body, but Easter seemssymbolically secure. What more is true?How many megatons of idea is a man? What islandlies beyond his saying? I have heard, and saywhat I heard said, and believe. I do not understand.But I have seen him change water to blood, and call awaythe Lion from its Empire. He speaks that tongue.I have seen white bird and black bird follow him, hunglike one cloud over his head. His hand,when he wills it, bursts into flame. The white birdand the black divide and circle it. At his wordthey enter the fire and glow like metal. A rayreaches from him to the top of the air,and in it the figures of a vision playthese things I believe whose meaning I cannot say.Then he closes his fist and there is nothing there.* * * * Where was Jerome?* * * * Quincannon Get home, woman. Moping does not become you. I want to hear no more of your swan song, for Ive given you my final word on that. Use a theme of your own, not of man’s. I’ve said it a million times and I say it again.’ You arent used to it. 4.The trend curve for controllable energy is rising rapidly. The richest baron of feudal times did not control the same amount of energy in his human serfs and slaves as you have at your command beneath the hood of your automobile. The advent of controlled nuclear energy has boosted that curve evenmore. It is highly probable that controlled fusion has been achieved in the laboratory and will become commercial within a matter of years, thereby kicking the curve up to an even higher level. By 1981, this trend curve shows that a single man will have available under his control the amount of energy equivalent to that generated by the entire sun. To use an energy source, you must have an energy sink; you must have some place to dissipate the energy in performing work. What are we going to do with this much energy? How are we going to use it? How will this alter our way of life? What can we do then that we cant do now because we don’t have the energy sources? Unless a man has the proper training, we presently deny him the use of certain forms of packaged high energy such as explosives, nuclear reactors, and highspeed vehicles; what kind of training must a man have before he is allowed to use the energy of a star? You can assume that your problem will be given all the attention it warrants, said the therapist. I must be getting on to my next patient.” Itwas working! 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Last night Joe Carp and Frank Reilly invited me to a party. There were lots of girls and some men from the factory. I remembered how sick I got last time I drank too much, so I told Joe I didnt want anything to drink. He gave me a plain Coke instead. It tasted funny, but I thought it was just a bad taste in my mouth. Tonight, Sergeant Lazeer said, we get him for sure.” "If Im coming with you I dont want any slip-ups. If we're caught you'll risk an unpleasant little telling-off. And I'll be in a camp before you can say Abie Goldberg." Youre sure of that? Reese asked. It was more than he dared to believe..