"You wouldn't," the assistant manager said, with a knowing smile.
"Believe me, once one becomes accustomed to vicarious sex experiences,
the real thing is pallid by comparison."
"Not interested," Barrent said. "What I want is a dream about Earth."
"But you haven't built up a tolerance!" Arkdragen said. "You aren't even
addicted."
"Is addiction necessary?"
"It's important," Arkdragen told him, "as well as being inescapable. All
our drugs are habit-forming, as the law requires. You see, to really
appreciate a drug, you must build up a need for it. It heightens
pleasure enormously, to say nothing of the increase in toleration.
That's why I suggest that you begin with--"
"I want a dream about Earth," Barrent said.
"Very well," Arkdragen said grudgingly. "But we will not be responsible
for any traumas which accrue."
He led Barrent into a long passageway. It was lined with doors, and
behind some of them Barrent could hear dull moans and gasps of pleasure.
"Experiencers," Arkdragen said, without further explanation. He took
Barrent to an open room near the end of the corridor. Within sat a
cheerful-looking bearded man in a white coat reading a book.
"Good evening, Doctor Wayn," Arkdragen said. "This is Citizen Barrent.
First visit. He insists upon an Earth dream." Arkdragen turned and left.
"Well," the doctor said, "I guess we can manage that." He put down his
book. "Just lie down over there, Citizen Barrent."
In the center of the room was a long, adjustable table. Above it hung a
complicated-looking instrument. At the end of the room were glass-sided
cabinets filled with square jars; they reminded Barrent of his
antidotes.
He lay down. Doctor Wayn put him through a general examination, then a
specific check for suggestibility, hypnotic index, reactions to the
eleven basic drug groups, and susceptibility to tetanic and epileptic
seizures. He jotted down his results on a pad, checked his figures, went
to a cabinet, and began mixing drugs.
"Is this likely to be dangerous?" Barrent asked.
"It shouldn't be," Doctor Wayn said. "You appear healthy enough. Quite
healthy, in fact, and with a low suggestibility rating. Of course,
epileptic fits _do_ occur, probably because of cumulative allergic
reactions. Can't help that sort of thing. And then there are the
traumas, which sometimes result in insanity and death. They form an
interesting study in themselves. And some people get stuck in their
dreams and are unable to be extricated. I suppose that could be
classified as a form of insanity, although actually it isn't."
The doctor had finished mixing his drugs. He was loading a hypodermic
with the mixture. Barrent was having serious doubts about the
advisability of the whole thing.
"Perhaps I should postpone this visit," he said. "I'm not sure that I--"
"Don't worry about a thing," the doctor said. "This is the finest Dream
Shop on Omega. Try to relax. Tight muscles can result in tetanic
convulsions."
"I think Mr. Arkdragen was right," Barrent said. "Maybe I shouldn't have
a dream about Earth for my first visit. He said it was dangerous."
"Well, after all," the doctor said, "what's life without a little risk?
Besides, the most common damage is brain lesions and burst blood
vessels. And we have full facilities for taking care of that sort of
thing."
He poised the hypodermic over Barrent's left arm.
"I've changed my mind," Barrent said, and started to get off the bed.
Doctor Wayn deftly slid the needle into Barrent's arm.
"One does not change one's mind," he told Barrent, "inside a Dream Shop.
Try to relax...."
Barrent relaxed. He lay back on the bed, and heard a shrill singing in
his ears. He tried to focus on the doctor's face. But the face had
changed.
The face was old, round, and fleshy. Ridges of fat stood out on the chin
and neck. The face was perspiring, friendly, worried.
It was Barrent's 5th Term Advisor.
"Now, Will," the Advisor said, "you must be careful. You must learn to
restrain that temper of yours. Will, you _must_!"
"I know, sir," Barrent said. "It's just that I get so mad at that--"
"Will!"
"All right," Barrent said. "I'll watch myself."
He left the university office and walked into the city. It was a
fantastic city of skyscrapers and multi-level streets, a brilliant city
of silver and diamond hues, an ambitious city which administered a
far-flung network of countries and planets. Barrent walked along the
third pedestrian level, still angry, thinking about Andrew Therkaler.
Because of Therkaler and his ridiculous jealousy, Barrent's application
for the Space Exploration Corps had been turned down. There was nothing
his Advisor could do about the matter; Therkaler had too much influence
on the Selection Board. It would be a full three years before Barrent
could apply again. In the meantime he was Earth-bound and unemployable.
All his studies had been for extraterrestrial exploration. There was no
place for him on Earth; and now he was barred from space.
Therkaler!
Barrent left the pedestrian level and took the highspeed ramp into the
Sante district. As the ramp moved, he fingered the small weapon in his
pocket. Handguns were illegal on Earth. He had procured his through
untraceable means.
He was determined to kill Therkaler.
There was a wash of grotesque faces. The dream blurred. When it cleared,
Barrent found himself aiming his handgun at a thin, cross-eyed fellow
whose scream for mercy was abruptly cut short.
The informer, blank-faced and stern, noted the crime and informed the
police.
The police, in uniforms of gray, took him into custody and brought him
before the judge.
The judge, with his vague parchment face, sentenced him to perpetual
servitude upon the planet Omega, and handed down the obligatory decree
that Barrent be cleansed of memory.
Then the dream turned into a kaleidoscope of horror. Barrent was
climbing a slippery pole, a sheer mountainside, a smooth-sided well.
Behind him, gaining on him, was Therkaler's corpse with its chest ripped
open. Supporting the corpse on either side were the blank-faced informer
and the parchment-faced judge.
Barrent ran down a hill, a street, a rooftop. His pursuers were close
behind him. He entered a dim yellow room, closed and locked the door.
When he turned around, he saw that he had locked himself in with
Therkaler's corpse. Fungus was blossoming in the open wound in the
chest, and the scarred head was crowned with red and purple mold. The
corpse advanced, reached for him, and Barrent dived headfirst through
the window.
"_Come out of it, Barrent. You're overdoing it. Come out of the dream._"
Barrent had no time to listen. The window turned into a chute, and he
slid down its polished sides into an amphitheatre. There, across gray
sand, the corpse crept toward him on the stubs of arms and legs. The
enormous grandstand was empty except for the judge and the informer, who
sat side by side, watching.
"_He's stuck._"
"Well, I warned him...."
"_Come out of the dream, Barrent. This is Doctor Wayn. You're on Omega,
in the Dream Shop. Come out of the dream. There's still time if you pull
yourself out immediately._"
Omega? Dream? There was no time to think about it. Barrent was swimming
across a dark, evil-smelling lake. The judge and the informer were
swimming just behind him, flanking the corpse, whose skin was slowly
peeling away.
"_Barrent!_"
And now the lake was turning into a thick jelly which clung to his arms
and legs and filled his mouth, while the judge and the informer--
"_Barrent!_"
Barrent opened his eyes and found himself on the adjustable bed in the
Dream Shop. Doctor Wayn, looking somewhat shaken, was standing over him.
A nurse was near by with a tray of hypodermics and an oxygen mask.
Behind her was Arkdragen, wiping perspiration from his forehead.
"I didn't think you were going to make it," Doctor Wayn said. "I really
didn't."
"He pulled out just in time," the nurse said.
"I warned him," Arkdragen said, and left the room.
Barrent sat up. "What happened?" he asked.
Doctor Wayn shrugged his shoulders. "It's hard to tell. Perhaps you were
prone to circular reaction; and sometimes the drugs aren't absolutely
pure. But these things usually don't happen more than once. Believe me,
Citizen Barrent, the drug experience is very pleasant. I'm sure you'll
enjoy it the second time."
Still shaken by his experience, Barrent was certain there would be no
second time for him. Whatever the cost, he was not going to risk a
repetition of that nightmare.
"Am I addicted now?" he asked.
"Oh, no," Doctor Wayn said. "Addiction occurs with the third or fourth
visit."
Barrent thanked him and left. He passed Arkdragen's desk and asked how
much he owed.
"Nothing," Arkdragen said. "The first visit is always on the house." He
gave Barrent a knowing smile.
Barrent left the Dream Shop and hurried home to his apartment. He had a
lot to think about. Now, for the first time, he had proof that he was a
willful and premeditated murderer.