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167
The Status Civilization
·
Robert Sheckley
5
He
stood
up
and
walked
slowly
around
his
small
room.
He
went
to
the
door
and
found
it
locked.
That
locked
door
gave
him
a
moment
of
panic
which
he
sternly
controlled.
Perhaps
he
had
been
violent.
Well,
he
wouldn't
be
violent
any
more.
They'd
see.
They
would
award
him
all
possible
patient
privileges.
He
would
speak
about
that
with
the
doctor.
He
waited.
After
a
long
time,
he
heard
footsteps
coming
down
the
corridor
outside
his
door.
He
sat
on
the
edge
of
the
cot
and
listened,
trying
to
control
his
excitement.
The
footsteps
stopped
beside
his
door.
A
panel
slid
open,
and
a
face
peered
in.
"How
are
you
feeling?"
the
man
asked.
He
walked
up
to
the
panel,
and
saw
that
the
man
who
questioned
him
was
dressed
in
a
brown
uniform.
He
had
an
object
on
his
waist
which
could
be
identified,
after
a
moment,
as
a
weapon.
This
man
was
undoubtedly
a
guard.
He
had
a
blunt,
unreadable
face.
"Could
you
tell
me
my
name?"
he
asked
the
guard.
"Call
yourself
402,"
the
guard
said.
"That's
your
cell
number."
He
didn't
like
it.
But
402
was
better
than
nothing
at
all.
He
asked
the
guard,
"Have
I
been
sick
for
long?
Am
I
getting
better?"
"Yes,"
the
guard
said,
in
a
voice
that
carried
no
conviction.
"The
important
thing
is,
stay
quiet.
Obey
the
rules.
That's
the
best
way."
"Certainly,"
said
402.
"But
why
can't
I
remember
anything?"
"Well,
that's
the
way
it
goes,"
the
guard
said.
He
started
to
walk
away.
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