I awoke from partial estivation with Ven's projection vibrating my
antennae. "Eu! Come quickly! They're awake!"
I groaned. What did she expect? But it might be interesting to see how
they behaved. And if they panicked, someone should be there to assume
control.
I checked the chronometer. I had rested for eight satts which should be
enough. I felt as well as could be expected, so with only a few choice
Low-Thalassic expletives to help me, I managed to clamber out of the
tank and stagger into the control room. Ven already had one of the
helmets on. I picked up the other and flicked the switch to "on." It
was the male's--and he was talking. The words were gibberish, but the
thoughts behind them were easy to read.
I was part of an entity called Donald G. Carlton, a male mammal of
the human species. He was a "writer" and was mated to the female, who
was called Edith and who worked in "motion pictures." They lived in
a place called Hollywood, in a family unit structure faintly similar
to a children's creche. Custom on this world dictated that the female
take one name of her mate, which indicated that the sex was even more
subservient than female Thalassans. The male's body ached, but not
as badly as I would have expected. And, as I expected, there was no
sensitivity in the brain.
"Hey! Edith!" Donald said. "Get up!"
"Leave me alone, Don. I'm miserable," a lighter voice answered from the
lumpy sack beside him. "I had the most awful dream."
"It must be the mountain air," he replied. "I did too."
"Whatever made me think this would be fun!" Edith said. "You and your
meteor-hunting!" The sack heaved and twisted and her head appeared at
one end. "I feel like I've been worked over with a baseball bat. Oh!
My legs!"
"You're not alone," he said. "I guess it's the hard ground and these
strait-jackets they laughingly call sleeping bags."
"About that dream," Edith said. "It was horrible. There was this little
green and yellow thing that looked like a cross between a lizard and a
human being. It was sitting on my shoulders and I was naked--carrying
it around, doing what it wanted me to do! I wanted to throw it off and
stamp on it but I couldn't. I just ran and ran and all the time that
little monster sat with its legs around my neck, hooting like an owl.
Now, wasn't that something?"
Donald was very quiet. "You know," he said slowly, "essentially that
was the same dream I had."
"But that can't be! People don't have the same nightmares."
"We did."
"Then maybe--maybe it wasn't a nightmare!"
"Nonsense. We're here. We're all right. But I think perhaps we'd better
get out of here--oh, Keerist! I'm one solid bruise." He twisted around
until he found the fastenings and opened the bag. With a groan he stood
up.
Edith looked at him, her eyes wide with sudden terror. "Don," she said
in a brittle voice, "didn't you wear pajamas when you went to bed last
night?"
"Yes."
"Well, you're not wearing them now." An expression of horror crossed
her face. "And neither am I," she added in a small voice.
* * * * *
I could feel the shock in Donald's brain as he looked down at himself.
"That's not all I'm not wearing," he said dully. "I'm shaved!"
There was a brief flurry inside the other sleeping bag. "So am I!"
Edith's voice was a whisper of fright. "That was no dream! I remember
this. The lizard gave me something that I rubbed all over myself--and
my hair came off. I didn't want to, but I couldn't help myself." Her
hands went to her head and she sighed, "Well, _that's_ all there. For a
moment I thought--"
"My skin is different," Donald interrupted thoughtfully as he inspected
himself. "It feels thicker. And I don't feel cold, although I'll bet
it's nearly freezing outside."
"Don! Don't you understand? That dream was real!" Edith said.
"Of course it was,--unless _this_ is a dream. We could be having a
nightmare about a nightmare...."