Sometimes, the saints don't let go; they keep riding the moment a little longer and a little longer and they don't let go. There was a mask-wearer that our grandmother told us about, a friend of hers when they were little, who was the Saint of Stones and Answers for thirty-four years.
Editors are shy beasties, though: some of them move a little too fast for us to catch them—and many of them appear more than a little strange when caught.
The beauty of science fiction is that it lets us for a very small investment of money—believe me—hire people who are going to spend an awful lot of time doing a lot of high-level thinking about the consequences of our science and technology.
