The Sirens of Titan

Pleasure in Depth! said the headline on the ad. The picture that went with it was the picture of the three sirens of Titan.

Brackman didn’t take his own suggestion seriously—that the Space Wanderer was a fraud. The concessionaires knew all too well about Rumfoord’s penchant for realism. When Rumfoord staged a passion play, he used nothing but real people in real hells.

And this is how the sermon went:

For another thing,

“Why thank God?” said Redwine. “He doesn’t care what happens to you. He didn’t go to any trouble to get you here safe and sound, any more than He would go to the trouble to kill you.”

The reports implied that Mrs. Rumfoord’s husband could see the past and the future clearly, but they neglected to give examples of sights in either direction.

“You—you really can see into the future?” said Constant. The skin of his face tightened, felt parched. His palms perspired. “In a punctual way of speaking—yes,”

For another thing,

“Mr. Constant,” he said, “right now you’re as easy for the Bureau of Internal Revenue to watch as a man on a street corner selling apples and pears. But just imagine how hard you would be to watch if you had a whole office building jammed to the rafters with industrial bureaucrats—men who lose things and use the wrong forms and create new forms and