The few road vehicles in New York run off the new powercast system. The air is dustless and smokeless. Mid-week feels like Sunday. It is "...like being in the country." (p. 150) The city is dying.
Ten year olds play in an empty shop, then run down the street but do not shout and are no longer like children.
A long noiseless metallic flying shape might mean that gravity has been mastered. An overheard conversation is gibberish to the viewpoint character and to the reader. In the Institute lobby, there is only a blinking, glowing machine. In the building, light is diffused through the air without bulbs.
There is more but it is getting late here. Poul Anderson generates the impression that the changes will continue indefinitely.
1 comment:
Kaor, Paul!
Many of these changes are unconvincing, but I don't mind as long as the writer is able to visualize them with verve and imagination.
Ad astra! Sean
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