Lab
Library
Journal
Shop
Sign in
to keep
Share image
1
167
The Status Civilization
·
Robert Sheckley
118
Barrent
hurried
down
the
dim,
silent
corridors,
gasping
for
breath.
The
air
was
rapidly
growing
bad.
Perhaps
it
was
being
used
in
the
assembly
room
before
the
ship's
main
air
supply
was
touched.
He
passed
unlocked
doors,
but
the
green
bulbs
above
them
were
unlighted.
He
had
a
pounding
headache,
and
his
legs
felt
as
if
they
were
turning
to
jelly.
He
tried
to
figure
out
a
course
of
action.
The
crew's
section
seemed
to
offer
him
the
best
chance.
Ship's
personnel
might
not
be
armed.
Even
if
they
were,
they
would
be
less
ready
for
trouble
than
the
guards.
Perhaps
he
could
hold
one
of
the
officers
at
gunpoint;
perhaps
he
could
take
over
the
ship.
It
was
worth
trying.
It
had
to
be
tried.
At
the
end
of
the
corridor
he
came
to
a
staircase.
He
climbed
past
a
dozen
deserted
levels,
and
came
at
last
to
a
stenciled
sign
on
one
of
the
walls.
It
read
CONTROL
SECTION,
and
an
arrow
pointed
the
way.
Barrent
took
the
plastic
needlebeam
out
of
his
pocket
and
staggered
down
the
corridor.
He
was
beginning
to
lose
consciousness.
Black
shadows
formed
and
dissipated
on
the
edges
of
his
vision.
He
was
experiencing
vague
hallucinations,
flashes
of
horror
in
which
he
felt
the
corridor
walls
falling
in
on
him.
He
found
that
he
was
on
his
hands
and
knees,
crawling
toward
a
door
marked
CONTROL
ROOM--No
Admittance
except
to
Ship's
Officers.
The
corridor
seemed
to
be
filled
with
gray
fog.
It
cleared
momentarily,
and
Barrent
realized
that
his
eyes
were
not
focusing
properly.
He
pulled
himself
to
his
feet
and
turned
the
door
handle.
It
began
to
open.
He
took
a
firm
grip
on
the
needlebeam
and
tried
to
prepare
himself
for
action.
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
