Was or was not Coleman telling the truth when he said this life of mine
was itself only a Dream? If it was, did I want to finish my last day
with the right decision so I could return to some alien reality? Or did
I deliberately want to make a mistake so I could continue living the
opiate of my Dream?
Then, as I touched the door, I knew the only decision that could have
any meaning for me.
Councilman Coleman didn't look as if he had moved since I had left him.
He was unwrinkled, unperspiring, his eyes and mustache crisp as ever.
He smiled at me briefly in supreme confidence.
I changed my decision then, in that moment. And, in the next, changed
it back to my original choice.
"Coleman," I said, "you can get out of here. As warden, I'm granting
you a five-year probation."
The councilman stood up swiftly, his eyes catching little sparks
of yellow light. "I don't approve of your decision, Warden. Not at
all. Unless you alter it, I'll be forced to convince the rest of the
Committee that your decisions are becoming faulty, that you are losing
your grip just as all your predecessors did."
My muscles relaxed in a spasm and it took the fresh flow of adrenalin
to get me to the chair behind my desk. I took a pill. I took two pills.
"Tell me, Councilman, what happened to the offer to release me from
this phony Dream? Now you are talking as if _this_ world was the _real_
one."
Coleman parted his lips, but then the planes of his face shifted into
another pattern. "You never believed me."
"Almost, but not quite. You knew I was on the narrow edge in this kind
of job, but I'm not as far out as you seemed to have thought."
"I can still wreck your career, you know."
"I don't think so. That would constitute a misuse of authority, and
the next time you turn up before me, I'm going to give you _life_ in
Dreamland."
Coleman sat back down suddenly.
"You don't want life as a Sleeper, do you?" I pursued. "You did want
a relatively _short_ sentence of a few months or a few years. I can
think of two reasons why. The answer is probably a combination of
both. In the first place, you are a joy-popper with Dreams--you don't
want to live out your life in one, but you like a brief Dream every
few years like an occasional dose of a narcotic. In the second place,
you probably have political reasons for wanting to hide out somewhere
in safety for the next few years. The world isn't as placid as the
newscasts sometimes make it seem."
* * * * *
He didn't say anything. I didn't think he had to.
"You wanted to make sure I made a painfully scrupulous decision in
your case," I went on. "You didn't want me to pardon you completely
because of your high position, but at the same time you didn't want too
long a sentence. But I'm doing you no favors. You get no time from me,
Coleman."
"How did you decide to do this?" he asked. "Don't tell me you never
doubted. We've all doubted since we found out about the machines: which
was real and which was the Dream? How did you decide to risk this?"
"I acted the only way I could act," I said. "I decided I had to act as
if my life was real and that you were lying. I decided that because, if
all this were false, if I could have no more confidence in my own mind
and my own senses than that, I didn't give a damn if it _were_ all a
Dream."
Coleman stood up and walked out of my office.
The clock told me it was after five. I began clearing my desk.
Captain Keller stuck his head in, unannounced. "Hey, Warden, there's an
active one out here. He claims that Dreamland compromises His plan for
the Free Will of the Universe."
"Well, escort him inside, Captain," I said.
I put away my pills. Solving simple problems such as the new visitor
presented always helped me to relax.