This Novel Is Fiction, Except For The

Although Knowledge Of How Things Work Is Sufficient To Allow Manipulation Of Nature, What Humans Really Want To Know Is Why Things Work. Children Don't Ask How The Sky Is Blue. They Ask Why The Sky Is Blue.

In A Media-saturated World, Persistent Hype Lends Unwarranted Credulity To The Wildest Claims.

Having Wallowed In A Delightful Orgy Of Anti-french Sentiment, Having Deplored And Applauded The Villains Themselves, Having Relished The Foibles Of Bankers, Railwaymen, Diplomats, And Police, The Public Was Now Ready To See Its Faith Restored In The Basic Soundness Of Banks, Railroads, Government, And Police.

A Hundred Years From Now, People Will Look Back On Us And Laugh. They'll Say, 'you Know What People Used To Believe? They Believed In Photons And Electrons. Can You Imagine Anything So Silly?' They'll Have A Good Laugh, Because By Then There Will Be Newer Better Fantasies... And Meanwhile, You Feel The Way The Boat Moves? That's The Sea. That's Real. You Smell The Salt In The Air? You Feel The Sunlight On Your Skin? That's All Real. Life Is Wonderful. It's A Gift To Be Alive, To See The Sun And Breathe The Air. And There Isn't Really Anything Else.

I Was Certain That Some People, Whether By Accident Of Birth Or Some Pecularity Of Training, Could Tune In To Another Source Of Information And Could Know Things About People We Didn't Think Were Possible To Know.