"It's a stimulant--a nerve-stimulant. Enhances perception. It's made
from a weed that grows only in dry, arid places--comes from Epsilon
Eridani IV originally, but the galaxy's biggest plantation is in the
Sahara. It's habit-forming--and expensive."
"How much of it do you have to take to--to get the habit?"
Byng's thin lips curled in a cynical scowl. "One sniff. And the drug
takes all your worries away. You're nine feet tall and the world's your
plaything, when you're up on dream dust. Everything you look at has six
different colors." Bitterly Byng said, "Just one catch--after about a
year you stop feeling the effect. But not the craving. That stays with
you forever. Every night, one good sniff--at a hundred credits a sniff.
And there's no cure."
Alan shuddered. He had seen dreamdust addicts in the advanced
state--withered palsied old men of forty, unable to eat, crippled,
drying up and nearing death. All that for a year's pleasure!
"Johnny used to be a starman," Hawkes said suddenly. "That's why I
picked him for our little stunt tonight. I thought it was about time I
introduced you two."