PERCHANCE TO DREAM
By Richard Stockham
Illustrated by Kelly Freas
[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from IF Worlds of ScienceFiction May 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence thatthe U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
All along the line of machines, the men's hands and arms worked like thelegs of spiders spinning a web. They wound wire and hammered bolts, tiedknots and welded pieces of steel and fitted gears. They did not look ateach other or sing or whistle or talk or laugh.
And then—he made a mistake.
Instantly he stepped back and a trouble shooter moved into his place.The trouble shooter's hands flew over the controls.
The trouble shooter finished and the workman took his place. His armsmoved ceaselessly again.
He was a tall man, slim and wiry, his dress identical to that of theothers—grey coveralls that fit like tights.
Suddenly a red light flashed in his eyes and he began to tremble. Hetook two steps backward. The trouble shooter moved into the empty space.
The man stood for a moment, like a soldier at attention, turned andwalked smartly toward the mouth of a corridor.
The silence was like a motion picture with a dead sound track. There wasonly motion—and him walking down the line of machines where the handsreached out, working, working.
In the corridor now, he looked straight ahead, marching. The wallsglowed like water beneath a shallow sea.
He raised his arm, felt the door strike and the heel of his hand; feltit swing open; saw the desk suspended from the ceiling by luminous,silver chains.
A man with a massive, white-maned head and a pink, smiling face rosefrom behind the desk. His suit was like that of a general.
"Well, Twenty-three." The Superfather stared down at the dossier on hisdesk. "Two mistakes in three months. Too bad. Just when you were on yourway to the head of the machine room."
"I don't know what's the matter with me," said Twenty-three.
"I'm afraid we'll have to drop you back to a less responsible position."
"Of course."
The Superfather looked up quickly. "You accept this? No depression? Nothreat of suicide?... You are in bad shape." He handed a packet ofcards to Twenty-three. "Put these in your dream machine tonight. Go toyour new job tomorrow."
Twenty-three stood motionless, staring over the other man's shoulder.
The Superfather sat down. "Tell me about the dreams you have when youdon't use the machine."
Twenty-three made a quick decision. He couldn't tell him he didn't usethe standard dream cards anymore. And he certainly couldn't tell aboutthe other dream cards he'd been getting from the little man he'd meton the street. He'd simply answer the factual truth to the question thathad been asked.
"Well," he said, as though he were confessing a crime. "I dream I'mwalking in the city. It's dark. I feel like I've got to find something.I don't know what. But the feeling's very strong. All of a sudden Inotice the city's empty. There're just buildings and streets and a faintglow of light. And it comes to me that everybody's dead and buried. ThenI know what I'm looking for. I've got to find something alive or I'lldie too. So I start running around, in and out buildings, up and downstreets. But there's nothing. I'm breathing so hard I think my heart'sgoing to burst. Finally I fall down. I feel myself beginning to die. Itry