Anne McCaffreyIntroductionOurs not to ponder what were fair in Life,But, finding what may be,Make it fair up to our means.　　When mankind first discovered Pern, third planet of the sun Rukbat, in the Sagittarian Sector, they paid little attention to the eccentric orbit of another satellite in the system.　　Settling the new planet, adjusting to its differences, the colonists spread out across the southern, most hospitable continent. Then disaster struck in the form of a rain of mycorrhizoid organisms, which voraciously devoured all but stone, metal, and water. The initial losses were staggering. But fortunately for the young colony, "Thread," as the settlers called the devastating showers, was　

The Old Masters: how well they understoodIts human position; how it takes placeWhile someone else is eating or opening a window orMt walking dully along ...W. H. AUDEN, "Musee des Beaux Arts"Old Blue died and he died so hard He shook the ground in my back yard. I dug his grave with a silver spade And I lowered him down with a golden chain. Every link you know I did call his name, I called, "Here, Blue, you good dog, you.FOLK SONG"Nope, nothing wrong here.THE SHARP CEREAL PROFESSORONCE UPON A TIME, not so long ago, a monster came to the small town of Castle Rock, Maine. He killed. a waitress named Alma Frechette in 1970; a woman named Pauline Toothaker and a junior high school student named 　

　　ACKNOWLEDGMENTS　A debt of gratitude to Emily Bestler, Jason Kaufman, Ben Kaplan, and everyone at Pocket Books for their belief in this project.　To my friend and agent, Jake Elwell, for his enthusiasm and unflagging effort.　To the legendary George Wieser, for convincing me to write novels.　To my dear friend Irv Sittler, for facilitating my audience with the Pope, secreting me into parts of Vatican City few ever see, and making my time in Rome unforgettable.　To one of the most ingenious and gifted artists alive, John Langdon, who rose brilliantly to my impossible challenge and created the ambigrams for this novel.　To Stan Planton, head librarian, Ohio University-Chillicothe, for being my nu　

　　His mind absorbed the scene before him, so quiet and calm and . . . normal. It was the life he had always wanted, a gathering of family and friends-he knew that they were just that, though the only one he recognized was his dear mother.　　This was the way it was supposed to be. The warmth and the love, the laughter and the quiet times. This was how he had always dreamed it would be, how he had always prayed it would be. The warm, inviting smiles. The pleasant conversation. The gentle pats on shoulders.　　But most of all there was the smile of his beloved mother, so happy now, no more a slave. When she looked at him, he saw all of that and more, saw how proud she was of him, how joyful her l　

　BY THE TIME they have finished this book, many readers will be uneasy, frightened, perhaps even horrified. Once entertained, however, they will be tempted to dismiss Night Chills as quickly as they might a novel about demonic possession or reincarnation. Although this story is intended primarily to be a "good read," I cannot stress strongly enough that the basic subject matter is more than merely a fantasy of mine; it is a reality and already a major influence on all our lives.　Subliminal and subaudial advertising, carefully planned manipulation of our subconscious minds, became a serious threat to individual privacy and freedom at least as long ago as 1957. In that year Mr. James Vicary g　

　　IT WAS THE PIVOTAL TEACHING of Pluthero Quexos, the most celebrated dramatist of the Second Dominion, that in any fiction, no matter how ambitious its scope or profound its theme, there was only ever room for three players. Between warring kings, a peacemaker; between adoring spouses, a seducer or a child. Between twins, the spirit of the womb. Between lovers, Death. Greater numbers might drift through the drama, of course-thousands in fact-but they could only ever be phantoms, agents, or, on rare occasions, reflections of the three real and self-willed beings who stood at the center. And even this essential trio would not remain intact; or so he taught. It would steadily diminish as the 　

To Carolyn Conger"What really interests me is whether God had any choice in the creation of the world."ALBERT EINSTEIN"Deep in the chaotic regime, slight changes in structure almost always cause vast changes in behavior. plex controllable behavior seems precluded."STUART KAUFFMAN"Sequelae are inherently unpredictable."IAN MALCOLMIntroduction:"Extinction at the K-T Boundary"The late twentieth century has witnessed a remarkable growth in scientific interest in the subject of extinction.It is hardly a new subject - Baron Georges Cuvier had first demonstrated that species became extinct back in 1786, not long after the American Revolution. Thus the fact of extinction had been accepted by scient　

　　　　　　PERRY MASON-fighting attorney, who preferred being paid off as a sheep to being double-crossed like a lamb　　DELLA STREET-who was a faithful Girl Friday (also Sunday and Monday, if not quite always)　　EVA GRIFFIN-well groomed and well heeled, who was a phony　　HARRISON BURKE-Congressman, whose Duty to the People was to keep them from knowing he was mixed up in murder　　FRANK LOCKE-editor of Spicy Bits, who was Southern, but no gentleman　　PAUL DRAKE-who turned up some interesting information on Georgia peaches and sons of same　　SIDNEY DRUMM-who put himself out on a limb of the tree Perry Mason was up　　GEORGE C. BELTER-who got his money by blackmail, and who-naturally-got his...　

　DREAD　　THERE IS NO delight the equal of dread. If it were possible to sit, invisible, between two people on any train, in any waiting room or office, the conversation overheard would time and again circle on that subject. Certainly the debate might appear to be about something entirely different; the state of the nation, idle chat about death on the roads, the rising price of dental care; but strip away the metaphor, the innuendo, and there, nestling at the heart of the discourse, is dread. While the nature of God, and the possibility of eternal life go undiscussed, we happily chew over the minutiae of misery. The syndrome recognizes no boundaries; in bath-house and seminar-room alike, the　

　　I would like to thank everyone who encouraged or tolerated me during this project. Thanks to Mark, who gave me the initial push to get started, Carol McCleary for seeing the potential, Bob Gleason and Greg Cox for many good suggestions and for pushing me to a new level, and to my wife, Gale, for hours of reading and rereading.　Abby, Katie, and Bethany-this is why Dad sat at the puter all those hours.　　DRAMATIS PERSONAE　　OREGON　　Kenny Randall-Student at Oregon Institute of Technology, and a member of the group.　Dr. George Coombs-Former professor of anthropology, now a chiropractor.　Dr. Chester Piltcher-Professor of system science at Oregon Institute of Technology, and the leader of the gro　

　To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates　From its own wreck the thing it contemplates.　Percy Bysshe Shelley,　Prometheus Unbound　Prologue　False Angels　　JERUSALEM　The wound was their path.　Nathan Lee Swift sat strapped in the belly of the cargo helicopter with a dozen assorted archangels, looking down upon what little remained. The earthquake was visible mostly by what was no longer visible. Cities and villages had simply vanished in puffs of dust. Even his ruins were gone. The map had gone blank.　The air was hot. It was summer. There was no horizon. The sands stretched into haze. He felt chained to the giant beside him, his former professor David Ochs. He had not wanted to leave, now he　

THE RIDDLE HOUSEThe villagers of Little Hangleron still called it "the Riddle House," even though it had been many years since the Riddle family had lived there. It stood on a hill overlooking the village, some of its windows boarded, tiles missing from its roof, and ivy spreading unchecked over its face. Once a fine-looking manor, and easily the largest and grandest building for miles around, the Riddle House was now damp, derelict, and unoccupied.The Little Hagletons all agreed that the old house was "creepy." Half a century ago, something strange and horrible had happened there, something that the older inhabitants of the village still liked to discuss when topics for gossip were scar