The Status Civilization

"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."