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167
The Status Civilization
·
Robert Sheckley
50
"I
see,"
Barrent
said.
"Then
you
sell
drugs."
"Not
at
all!"
Arkdragen
said.
"Nothing
so
simple,
nothing
so
crude.
In
ancient
times
on
Earth,
men
administered
drugs
to
themselves.
The
dreams
which
resulted
were
necessarily
random
in
nature.
You
never
knew
what
you
would
dream
about,
or
for
how
long.
You
never
knew
if
you
would
have
a
dream
or
a
nightmare,
a
horror
or
a
delight.
This
uncertainty
has
been
removed
from
the
modern
Dream
Shop.
Nowadays,
our
drugs
are
carefully
measured,
mixed,
and
metered
for
each
individual.
There
is
an
absolute
precision
in
dream-making,
ranging
from
the
Nirvana-like
calm
of
Black
Slipper
through
the
multicolored
hallucinations
of
peyotl
and
tri-narcotine,
to
the
sexual
fantasies
induced
by
nace
and
morphine,
and
at
last
to
the
memory-resurrecting
dreams
of
the
carmoid
group."
"It's
the
memory-resurrecting
dreams
I'm
interested
in,"
Barrent
said.
Arkdragen
frowned.
"I
wouldn't
recommend
it
for
a
first
visit."
"Why
not?"
"Dreams
of
Earth
are
apt
to
be
more
unsettling
than
any
imaginary
productions.
It's
usually
advisable
to
build
up
a
tolerance
for
them.
I
would
advise
a
nice
little
sexual
fantasy
for
your
first
visit.
We
have
a
special
sale
on
sexual
fantasies
this
week."
Barrent
shook
his
head.
"I
think
I'd
prefer
the
real
thing."
"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."
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