The Long Sleep

uneasiness.

“Richard,” he said.

“Relax,” Annie-Allison said.

Richard hadn't brought any wine. He was wearing the hypodermic glove.

“You'll only be put to sleep for a short time, darling.”

“Stay away from me.”

They moved in on him.

“Who are you people?”

“Trust us,” Richard said.

“Relax,” the woman said.

He struck out at Richard. The blow connected — but so did the hypodermic glove.

“Please…” Joel said, slipping into the old dream again, that same dream:

He stood at the doorway of a private bath cubicle on the tenth level of the pyramid. The bath was white and yellow tile, mirrors, a shower stall, commode, and disposal pipe built into the wall. The only person in the cubicle was a raven-haired girl. She was squeezing a blue tablet from a plastic medicine coil. Her hands were trembling, and she was flushed.

“Do you really need that?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I wish you wouldn't use it.”

She had it free now.

“If you do all your view duties sedated, you'll need two or three times as many tours to satisfy the psychologists.”

“I don't care.” Even now, her face drawn with fear, she was a stunningly beautiful woman. “I'd simply fall apart if I tried it unsedated.” She swallowed the pill.

He loved her so damned much, and he wished that there were something more for her than this dying world of theirs. A man — or woman, for she surely felt as he did — should be able to give his lover a future. He felt robbed by circumstances, cheated by fate. He was dying inside.

“Better?” he asked.

She waited a moment. Then: “Yes.”

“Good.”

“Let's go.”

“All right, Alicia.”

He woke at the memory of her name. He didn't want to wake up, for he felt that his dream had more reality to it than did Henry Galing's house. Alicia had existed. He'd seen her name on one of those locker doors next to the life support pod chamber on the bottom floor of the building.

An explosion shook the room in which he lay; dust settled down from the stone ceiling. It sifted onto his eyelids and his lips.

He sat up, frightened, his head aching, his heart beating too fast. His mouth was as dry as the dust around him.

Besides him, Allison said: “Another raid.”

“Was I asleep?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “I thought the sirens would wake you, but they didn't.”

She was wearing a dark blouse, dark slacks, no shoes. Her clothes were torn, and a spot of blood stained the collar of her blouse.

Suddenly, a chain of explosions shook them, an endless roar of thunder that made conversation impossible for quite some time. Indeed, it was impossible even to think in that holocaust. The room shook; dust fell; he sat hugging his knees beside her. All he could do was look stupidly around the room, which seemed oddly familiar. The walls and ceiling were constructed from huge blocks of stone, hand mortared. In the center of the floor, a drainage grill was half hidden in shadows. Near the heavy oak door, a candle guttered in a baking pan.

When the bombing ceased, Allison came into his arms. “I can't take much more of this.”

“Do you have any sedatives?”

She looked at him strangely. “Any what?”

“Sedatives.”

“No.”

“What happened to them?”

“I–I used them all.”

“I'll ask Henry to prescribe more for you.”

“Henry who?” she asked. She seemed to be genuinely bewildered. He thought, too, that there was a trace of apprehension behind that bewilderment.

“Your uncle,” he said.

“I don't have an uncle.”

“Sure. Henry Galing.” It was quite odd, Allison not remembering her own uncle…

“I really don't have an Uncle Henry.”

“Allison—”

“My name's Alice, not Allison,” she said. Then she sighed and said: “What the hell.” She patted his cheek. “You aren't keyed in to this one at all, are you?”

“Keyed in?” he asked.

“Well try again,” she said.

As if he had been listening on the other side, Richard opened the oak door and came in. He was wearing the hypodermic glove.

“Don't I know you?” Joel asked.

“I'm the sandman,” Richard said, putting Joel to sleep.

After Alicia took her sedative, they left their small apartment on the tenth level and rode the elevator to the top floor. Neither one of them spoke. This wasn't a time for small talk.

From the elevators, they walked down the corridor to the yellow doors, pushed through those, and went to the pressure hatch which led to the view chamber.

CYCLE FOR ADMITTANCE.

Joel did as it said.

WAIT FOR THE ESTABLISHMENT OF

COMPUTER DATA LINKAGES.

WAIT FOR VERIFICATION OF

VIEW CHAMBER'S SANCTITY.

He took her hand.

“I don't want to go in.”

“You have to,” he said.

The light turned green.

LIGHT BURNING.

PROCEED SAFELY ON GREEN.

As he pulled open the door, she began to cry softly. He put his arm around her, although he could not offer her much support. He was every bit as frightened and demoralized as she was. This was one more thing taken from him by the incredible events of the last few years: his man's strength.

They walked reluctantly into the view chamber …

He woke in the pod chamber observation room. He was sitting in a command chair, staring through a