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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0d954bd --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64648 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64648) diff --git a/old/64648-0.txt b/old/64648-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 560f24d..0000000 --- a/old/64648-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1006 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Green Dream, by Bryce Walton - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Green Dream - -Author: Bryce Walton - -Release Date: February 27, 2021 [eBook #64648] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREEN DREAM *** - - - - - THE GREEN DREAM - - By BRYCE WALTON - - Owen Baarslag had brought terror to the swamp - people. Joha, the little Venusian maid, was - determined that he should not leave without it. - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Planet Stories Winter 1949. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -Joha, who was part Venusian, twined her translucent fingers through the -Earthman's matted hair. She smiled. Strangely, from her light green -face, red eyes shone with a terrible hatred and a malignant purpose. -But the man asleep on the couch of lizard-skin softened with layers of -wing-feathers from the Kuh-Kuri Swampbird, was unaware of that evil, -almost lustful hate--for it blazed outward from her delicate face only -while he slept. - -The greenish glow from her body seeming to alienate her from anything -human, she squatted cross-legged on the damp tamped-earth floor beside -him. His body was long and gaunt, his face angular with deeply sunken -eyes which were closed in exhausted sleep. Only a slight twitching of -his facial muscles and an occasional jerking of his body signified the -horror of his growing nightmare. - -She withdrew her hand. Her eyes blazed more brightly like evil jewels -into his, piercing the closed lids with invisible beams of malignant -and gloating resolve. Her voice was very soft. - -"You do not sleep well, do you, Owen Baarslag? Every terrible thing you -have done to my people here in the swamps--the torture, the slavery, -the subjection and the terror--it haunts your dreams. Your blighted -conscience crawls, doesn't it, Owen?" - -The sleeping man didn't answer. He was deep, deep down in the dark -fastnesses of his nightmare, trying to escape, trying to awake. - -Outside the synthetic shell of the hut, in the fetid heart of the -Venusian swamp Sector 5, a serpent hissed as it raised its pointed head -from the slime and sank back again. A gigantic flying Gruoon gurgled -overhead as it fell on its prey and flapped upward into the thick mist. -Beyond these more abrupt sounds was the unceasing dreeing of millions -of insects and the loud croaking of the bloated albino tree-toads that -sagged heavily from the five-hundred foot crinoids. - -Now she looked with even greater intensity into his nightmare-twisted -face, probed far behind the lids covering his black Tellurian eyes. -The cold light from the captured still-living Shnug-fly which dangled -from the low raftered ceiling molded a weird shadow on the walls of the -tiny hut. Joha's red eyes blazed brighter, brighter still. Her slightly -webbed hands gripped together with a tremendous tension of mental -effort. - -Owen Baarslag screamed. He sat up with a sudden heaving motion of -agonized fear. His eyes were wide and horror-filled as he stared at -the half breed creature beside him. Sweat streamed from his face made -pallid by five years in the sunless swamp. His hands trembled over his -bearded jaw. - -"Stith!" he choked harshly. "Get me Stith, quickly!" He raised an arm -to strike her, but she weaved away. She brought him a box of the Stith -tablets crystallized from the fermented juices of the Venusian aukweed. -He tremblingly swallowed three of them. He got to his feet and stood -there, shuddering, eyes wild with the memory of the terror-dream. - - * * * * * - -He stared at her for a long time from fear-glazed eyes while the fear -gradually died into clouds of suspicion. He suspected her ability to -probe his mind during sleep and implant the seeds of nightmare there, -she knew that. But it was only an intangible suspicion. He needed her. -She was his only companionship in the vast global rain-forest of Venus. -And he wouldn't let the suspicion grow to the stage where he would have -to kill her or worse. Her hold over him was a strong one. If he lost -her, he would be alone. - -To the Tellurian colonists scattered minutely through the rich area -of Sector 5, Owen Baarslag was an unspeakable obscenity. A degenerate -derelict; an abnormal who had "gone native" and things even more -despicable. A Stith addict who eeked out a precarious existence in the -most polluted occupation known: that of forcing the timid Venusian -swamp natives to harvest the meager crops of aukweed from the lake -bottoms. The vile drug brought fabulous credits when Baarslag managed -to get it into the hands of secret agents on the space liners that -docked at the Vencity spaceport twice a year. - -And the Venusians themselves hated Baarslag with a helpless cowed -fear. He beat, tortured and killed them whenever they refused to obey. -And the necessity of probing the great depths of the lakes after the -aukweed twisted and deformed those it didn't kill, dooming them to a -life of incurable pain. - -Shaking as with dohl-fever, Owen staggered to the door, peering through -the insect-proof netting into the writhing tendrils coming up from the -phosphorescent bogs. He kicked Joha aside as though she were some crude -form of vermin. - -They considered him a despised abnormality, the authorities. There was -a price on his head just the same, he mused proudly. Five thousand -credits for his capture--alive. - -Dead, they wouldn't care for him particularly. His brain was -abnormal in an age when advanced psychometry had made abnormality a -rare exception. They needed his brain for analysis. Five thousand -credits--that was the price they placed on his brain in the massive -Chrome laboratories in Vencity. - -The labs in which his twin, Professor Albert Baarslag, held his exalted -position as Chief of Psychometry! - -The insidious influence of the euphoric stith burned into his mind, -fogged his eye with delusions of grandeur. He saw himself as a martyr, -a persecuted victim, sacrificed on the altars of socialization. He -slumped down on the kuh-kuri couch again, and looked at the sinuous -outline of the Venusian creature who took care of him as though love -could exist between an Earthman and a half Venusian fish. - -"I wasn't always what I am now," he said. "You know that, Joha!" - -She nodded. Yes. She knew. She had heard various phases of Owen's -life history many times. She liked to listen. The more she found out -about his twisted past the more horrible she could make his nightmare -by employing her powers of suggestion. That power was common among -her people--she still considered herself a Venusian in spite of her -Tellurian blood--but the fact that she was part Tellurian enabled her -to exercise that power on the Earthman better than a pure blooded -Venusian could. She knew that Owen had only a slight subconscious -realization of that power which she possessed, and which she had been -using for the past year to sow those insidious seeds of nightmare in -Owen's mind. - -To admit that she held such power over him was to admit that this -green-skinned creature was superior to him--and that Owen Baarslag -could never admit. No one was superior to Owen Baarslag. The whole -world of science had been jealous and envious of him. That was why they -had banned him, made an outlaw of him! - -"I could have been the greatest cosmologist ever known," he said. "You -know that, Joha!" - -"Yes," she said in that strange slurred tongue that seemed to hold such -emotion, yet held no tangible meaning. "I know that, Owen." - -Owen's pale face that had been buried in the sunless mist clouded, -darkened. - -"My own brother," he said. "He betrayed me to the Scientific Council. -Think of it, Joha! My own brother--my twin brother! Now it's time for -him to die." - -"You have found a way to kill him?" She backed away, eyes wide. - -"Yes! And it is all perfect. Perfect. One would think Albert had -prepared everything for my benefit, so that I might kill him. -Everything is perfect. His experiment is finished. It is a great -success. And he deserves to die. You know that, don't you, Joha? Don't -you?" - -"Yes. I know it," she said. - - * * * * * - -Owen glared into the mist. "Fifteen years of study. My record was -undeniably the highest in my study section. I might have graduated from -World Tech this year, Joha! I might be in those Labs right now--instead -of rotting here in the slime-pit! I took the final psychotic tests, -weeks of mental probing with those damnable scanners digging into my -brain. And Albert--my own twin brother--with his hypocritical love -for me--he was the one who turned in the negative report! As Chief of -the Psychometric Council he could have passed me. It was because he -was my zygotic twin--because he knew me more intimately than even the -scanners--that he was able to deny me entrance into the Labs! Now, -Joha, doesn't he deserve to die?" - -And Joha, who had heard this countless times before, made the customary -reply. "Yes, Owen." And then added. "You have been waiting five years -for him to perfect his Time-Encystment principle. This--suspended -animation. You have said you would murder him, and take his place -in the encystment chamber. But, Owen, are you sure you can escape -detection long enough to get to him in order to kill him?" - -"Yes, yes! It is all arranged. I can't fail. I must get to him. All -these years of hell in this cesspool--they mustn't be wasted, Joha. -They can't be wasted, can they?" - -"No," she said softly. "They can't be. But--but I love you so much, -Owen. When you leave, I shall be so lonely. I will probably die of -loneliness." - -He laughed. It was a broken, bitter laugh. It was the laughter of a -mad man. The paranoiac who is guided by a strange genius for planned -destruction. - -The laughter died, and he seemed to have forgotten her. He paced back -and forth across the tiny damp hut. "Now. Now it is time. Five years in -hell--then paradise. Albert has perfected his time-encystment chamber. -He has insisted, bless him, on undergoing the experiment himself. He -insists against the will of the Tellurian Government, the Council, -everyone. He is noble. 'It would not be fair,' he says, 'to allow -another to take the chance. It is my experiment; and it is only right -that I must be the guinea pig.' Ah, my brother is so noble, so fair, -as are all hypocrites! How simple it is, Joha! I kill him. I become -Professor Albert Baarslag. I enter the time-encystment chamber as my -illustrious brother. I am put into a state of suspended animation. And -I awake in five hundred years--a free man!" - -Joha knelt down, a look of worship coloring the green of her half-human -face. "You are so clever," she said. "So patient and so thorough, and -so brave." - -"Killing him, that is all that really matters," said Owen. "The -encystment, that is only secondary. But it is ingenious, isn't it--to -become the man I kill? There can be no punishment, no ridiculous -retribution. Revenge is futile; in fact it isn't really revenge at all, -if the avenger is made to suffer for his acts of vengeance." - -Owen grasped Joha's slim arm, spun her around. His mouth twisted with -cruel pleasure as he saw the slight painful writhing of her lips. "You -may begin your slow death from loneliness now, Joha. I'm leaving for -Vencity tonight." - -She looked sadly resigned as she came close to him, slid one hand up -and into the thick matting of his hair. "You need rest, Owen. You were -out there two days in the swamp getting that last three kihn of aukweed -without sleep. You should rest well before you go into danger. You only -slept an hour." - -He lay down with a long sigh. "Yes. That is a good idea. I'll need all -my powers when I go to Vencity. But those--those horrible nightmares." -His face drained, oozing sudden sweat at the memory. "Always the -nightmare. The same one. But each time I dream, the nightmare gets more -horrible! There must be some cause for it. If I could only find its -cause. As soon as I assume Albert's identity, perhaps I can use the -psychiatric scanner on myself and find the basic cause." - -But her cool fingers stroking his brow sent him back into the sleep he -dreaded. Immediately her hands withdrew. "No, Owen, the psychiatric -scanner will never find the cause of this nightmare. It's artificially -endowed, Owen, dear. It has no roots in your twisted childhood, or in -your cruelty. And the scanner could never find its source. Because I am -its source, and I am alien." - -Her hands drew back from his face. Her eyes pierced brighter, brighter, -eating down, down into the dregs, the dreary twisted depths of his mind. - - * * * * * - -He was running, running as before, always as before. But this time -his pursuers were very near. He was running in a sticky bog. With -infinitely slow agony he drew each foot out of the slimy muck, sat it -down, drew up the other foot. Around him was a thick blanket of cold -clammy fog. And he knew it was an endless fog--that if he ran forever -he could never escape it. But he also knew he wouldn't run forever, or -even very long. His pursuers were too close. - -His pursuers! - -He looked back. A sense of profound horror sickened him. He recognized -them now. For the first time they were near enough for him to identify -them. - -He sank down on his knees. He began to crawl through the stinking ooze. -Then he felt their nearness. They were surrounding him. He couldn't -escape. He saw a ring of cold green faces. Hands, innumerable hands, -reached out, tickling him with a branch of small blue nettles. - -[Illustration: _They had caught up with him at last!_] - -He screamed. The poison fangs of the bombi-vine. The final agonies of -the damned. The bombi-vine! Death would be infinitely preferable to -the sting of the bombi-vine. It was unendurable pain, indefinitely -prolonged. It directly effected a mysterious distortion in the nervous -structure. Science had no cure, had never found the cause. Men who -stumbled onto the nettles of the bombi-vine sought a quick and merciful -death as the only escape. - -Without death, the victim lived out a full lifetime of raw, shrieking -pain.... - -His screams as he awoke silenced the giant tree-toads who hung heavily -from the five-hundred foot crinoids. But before he left for Vencity -through the darkness, he had suppressed the stark horror of the dream. - -Once more he had drowned his hell in Stith. - - * * * * * - -He crawled out of the decrepit tractor, on the outskirts of Vencity. -The city's lights glowed eerily through the night-thickened blanket -of fog, as Owen found his way cautiously through rotting vegetation, -then hesitated before entering Swamper Swhin's Dive. Tinny music -came from the native band inside the smoky interior as it played the -incomprehensible "music." A few Earthmen and women sat inside at the -small oblong tables--tourists getting a morbid thrill from Venusian -culture. - -He slipped inside, around the shadowed wall and into a public -audio-booth. He dialed the Vencity Laboratories. "Connect me with the -Psychometric section, please. Urgent information for Chief Albert -Baarslag." - -"Who is calling?" the male secretary's voice said sleepily. - -"Jonathon Graem, kelph farmer, Sector 5. I have highly interesting -information revealing some unknown facts about psychological motivation -of native swampers in my sector." - -The male secretary hesitated. - -"Professor Baarslag knows about me," Owen persisted. "I've submitted -other discoveries of mine to him before. He told me to come back, and -report any new discoveries to him immediately." - -"Just a minute, sir. I'll connect your audio with Professor Baarslag's -study." - -He knew he would get results with that line about new psychological -discoveries concerning native behavior patterns. Their mental processes -were quite a mystery. Not a mystery to Owen any more. As far as he was -concerned, they didn't have any mental processes at all. - -Owen waited for Albert's voice. His twin still had a soft spot in his -heart for him, he was pretty certain of that. A desperate appeal of the -kind he intended to make would move his brother emotionally--get the -sympathetic reaction he needed to complete his rather fantastic plan. - -His brother's voice startled him. It was a perfect replica of his own. -Soft, cultured and low. "Yes?" - -"This is Owen." - -He heard a catch, a pause from the other end of the audio. - -"I--yes--why hello, Owen. Where are you? Wha--what do you want?" - -Owen grinned coldly, but his voice was warm with repentant emotion. -"Albert. I--I'm giving myself up. I've had enough. It's been a noble -and futile life for me anyway. You know that it's always been just -a matter of time before I would give myself up. Well, this is it. -I'm--just outside the City now. At Swamper Swhin's Dive. But Albert--" - -The Chief of Psychometry's voice was low, hoarse. "Yes, Owen." - -"I want to see you first, Albert. I'll probably never get to see you -again. I'll be a completely new personality when they release me from -the reconditioning processes. I'd like to have a good talk with you -before I turn myself in. Just a brother-to-brother talk, like old -times, Albert. With me, it'll be a sort of cathartic, a confession. -I've sinned, sinned terribly. I'd like to get it all out of my system, -and you're the only one who might understand. Can I come up and see you -tonight in your lab, Albert?" - -There was a long pause. "Why--why, I guess so, Owen. Yes, yes of course -you may." - -Gullible fool, thought Owen. - -"How can you get up here without being detected by the Scanner Guard?" - -"I have the identification disks of Jonathon Graem. They'll pass the -Scanner Guard. I--Jonathon Graem died in the swamp two years ago." - -"By accident," said Albert Baarslag pointedly. - -"Naturally," said Owen with apparent sincerity, forgetting to add: -"--after I pushed him into a bog and kept him there too long for his -continued survival." - -"Very well, Owen," said the Professor of Psychometry. Then, "I'm glad, -Owen. So very glad that you're giving yourself up." - -"I'll see you soon then," said Owen, and severed the audio connection. - - * * * * * - -The automatic electronic Scanner Guard passed him freely as the -swamper, Jonathon Graem. Professor Albert Baarslag was in his study, -waiting. The rich luxuriance, the soothing harmonics radiating from the -opaque walls--all rekindled the violent hatred Owen's paranoid mind -felt for his twin. - -Albert Baarslag might have been Owen, only his dress was different. His -matted hair and beard were the same; Owen had been careful to keep that -constant similarity as he waited for this moment when it would be time -to act. A plastilex smock covered Albert, whereas Owen was dressed in -the rubberoidalls of the swamp farmer. - -Albert's face was tense with conflicting strain. His eyes were flooded -with sympathetic emotion, and also with a disgust he could not conceal. -Albert stretched out a firm hand. Owen ignored it. Albert frowned, then -motioned to a chair. Owen kept on standing. - -"Well," said Albert. "So you're repenting?" - -"There's no use drawing out this obvious deception, Albert. I've been -waiting for this opportunity. I'm here for revenge, Albert. To me, you -are the most hated thing in the Universe. For the last five years I've -been waiting only for this chance." - -Albert's face became grey. - -"Owen. Owen, listen. I did it for you. You're inherently unstable. -A life in the labs would have broken you. Without perfect -cortical-thalamic integration, no mind could stand six months in these -Labs." - -"Go on, Albert. Talk. That's what I'm here for. To watch you squirm." - -"Listen to me, Owen! Whatever you do, you'll be apprehended. You can't -escape. If you'll give yourself up, like you said you would do, I can -see that you get special longevity treatment in my specialized Lunarian -Clinics." - -"It's too late for any ridiculous therapy," said Owen. "I know what -happens in those Lunarian Clinics of yours. The result is called a -cure, but the poor devils who are supposed to be cured aren't even the -same personalities any more. Who wants to be a well-integrated but -characterless non-entity?" - -"No, Owen! You're not the extreme case that demands that kind of -treatment. Only a slight lack of integration which can be leveled -off--if you'll only--" - -"That's enough," snapped Owen. "I have a cure, for both of us. A -natural one, time-tested. It's as old as mankind." He revealed suddenly -a small proton gun, issued to the swampers for survival against the -carnivorous flora and fauna of Venus. He brought it out casually from -inside the bib of his rubberoidalls, and directed it at Baarslag's -chest. "Jonathon Graem's," said Owen with a stiff grin. - - * * * * * - -The Chief of Psychometry staggered back from his chair, staring, eyes -wet with fear and mental pain. "Not that, Owen--not from you--my--my -twin." - -"It is grotesque, isn't it?" said Owen. "I thought so too, when you -did something perhaps worse to me. Now listen. I knew you'd finally -persuade the Council and the Government to let you be the victim of -your own experiment in suspended animation. I've been waiting for them -to agree, and for a definite time to be set for the beginning of the -time-encystment experiment. You see, Albert, I wouldn't kill you unless -I knew there was a good chance to get away with it, as the old timers -used to say. And I'm definitely assured of escape. Albert, I'm taking -your place in the time-encystment chamber and I'm the one who's going -to see the future you might have seen." - -Albert Baarslag stared at his twin with incredulous horror. He no -longer seemed to notice the gun. "Owen," he said faintly. "Owen. Listen -to me. It won't work with you. You're unintegrated. You--" - -He finished the admonition with a long bubbling cry, and crumbled on -the plastic mosaic of the floor. A bright, unreal-looking stream of -blood flowed oilily from the blasted chest. - -Owen leaned with a sudden awful weariness against the desk. He had -wondered how it would feel to kill his twin. Now he knew. A strange -mysterious fear filled his heart as he stood there in the silence -looking down at the corpse. Somehow, the revenge wasn't so delectable -as he had anticipated. - -But after that Owen didn't waste any more time. First he dragged -Albert's body into the small but expensively compact and complete -laboratory just off Albert's office. He prepared a large vat which, -thirty minutes after his twin's corpse was lowered into it, revealed -only scant fluid evidence that Albert Baarslag had ever existed. No -one would ever check because Owen was assuming his identity. The -blood-stained clothes he also disposed of in a similar manner. He -cleaned up the blood-stains on the floor with the immaculate care of -his kind. - -After that, dressed in Albert's clothes, no one could possibly have -known that it was not really Albert Baarslag, but the hated, despised, -obscenity known as Owen Baarslag, who sat behind his desk. - -And it was the next afternoon that Professor Albert Baarslag was -supposed to submit himself to the time-encystment experiments. The -Professor, Owen Baarslag, was right on time as he dropped his gyro-car -down on the vast roof-landing of the great Solar Museum which contained -the deeply-buried encystment chamber inside its massively thick and -many-layered vault. - -The teleo-electronic robot attendant wheeled the gyro onto an elevator -while Owen, stifling a growing feeling of dusty desperation, dropped -downward toward the deeply-buried rendezvous. - -Professor Kaufman, one of the Chiefs from the Cosmology Section, -greeted Owen with frank and open concern. From his earlier -acquaintanceship with his brother, Owen knew that Kaufman had been -Albert's closest associate. Others greeted Owen with formal, though -terrific enthusiasm. This was one of the most dramatic experiments of -the past five eras--eras which had been obsessed with social sciences -and not sensational pastimes. - -There weren't many there besides the Teleaudio Ethercast -Representatives. They were busy broadcasting to Earth, Mars and the -rest of Venus, the details of the experiment in suspended animation. - -Owen was the center of the stage. The central actor in one of history's -most sensational dramas. And it was being witnessed by a bigger -audience than had ever been commanded by the greatest dramatist in -solar history. - -A soft-spoken interviewer from Solar Broadcasters questioned him. -Owen's voice in his perfectly acted role was being broadcast and -telescreened everywhere on Earth, Mars and Venus. For the benefit of -the teleaudience, a microfilm was projecting a complete scientific -explanation, while the smooth-voiced announcer read it aloud for those -who demanded visual and audial transition. - -And while the announcer explained for the fascinated audience, mostly -laymen, Owen, two medics, and Kaufman, entered the many-doored -thickness of the chamber, and into the very small interior where -the encystment reservatory machine waited. To Owen, it resembled a -streamlined coffin, barely large enough for his gaunt length ... -frightfully small, and confining. - -The thick series of interlocking doors were still open and Owen could -hear the announcer's voice: - - * * * * * - -"And, as you perhaps already know, the principle of Professor -Baarslag's time-encystment process involves phenomena we're all -familiar with. The stasis developed by Professor Albert Baarslag, -and to which in exactly fifteen minutes he will subject himself, -incorporates a kind of super-sleep principle. The synaptic connections -will be broken through amoeboid contraction--and this disconnection -will exist until that future time, five hundred years hence, when -Professor Baarslag will awaken. Five hundred years is only the opening -experiment, says Professor Baarslag. The next experiment can possibly -be for any definite period of time. - -"This awakening is also interestingly arranged for by leaving one -awaking threshold at its normal waking level. When this is activated by -automatic relays--" - -Owen was stripped now, and his body was outstretched in the soft, deep -depths of the reservatory. The sliding panel that exposed his upper -torso was slid open and he was looking up into Kaufman's red face, and -the intent professional faces of the two medics. But Kaufman's face was -serious now as he reached inside the reservatory and gripped Owen's -damp hand. - -"Goodby, Al," he said. "You're curious about man's destiny. I'm not. I -wonder if you'll really be able to bear the knowledge of where we're -going." - -Owen's mouth was dry. He licked sticky lips. He didn't say anything. - -They were preparing his arm for an injection of hypnotosin. - -Owen twitched. He wanted to cry out his guilt. Surrender. He knew now -that he had made a horrible mistake. - -But things blurred fast. He couldn't speak. There was a dull, pleasant -haze, a feeling of utter relaxation. Not utterly. It should be that -way, but it wasn't. - -Because he knew, now! - -Voices came from a very far distance, slow, soft and rhythmical. After -the anaesthesia, they would sink slender electrodes through the brain -tissue of the cerebrum's third ventricle. Chemical reaction would -destroy the substance of the electrodes gradually, a process of slow -disintegration carefully gauged. And the lesions in the posterior -region of the floor and walls of the third ventricle would heal, so -that he might awaken-- - -_No! Anything would be better than this! He wanted to tell them. But he -couldn't. It was too late. He was going under--deep down and far under._ - -He had been terribly misled by all the scientific jargon. Why couldn't -they have been simple and direct? All this principle really was, was a -complete mastery and understanding of the oldest phenomenon in man--the -most common and the most persistent mystery. - -Synapsis severed. Each cellular unit self-feeding through synthetic, -inexhaustible sources. Oxygen intake lowered to an incredibly low -level. But it was really nothing other than-- - -_SLEEP! Sleep! Pure, prolonged, unblemished, unsullied sleep!_ - -And so.... - -Owen Baarslag was again running through the endless gray mist. His feet -were again rising and falling with a terrifying, agonizing slowness -from the thick, oozing bog. - -He was down on his knees again, crawling with a futile frantic -desperation. They ringed him in. He was trapped again. He saw the -cordon of silent, emotionless green fishmen. Venusian native fishmen -and in their hands reaching out, were branches of the bombi-vine! - -He screamed. He kept on screaming as the nettles slashed his flesh with -a burning hideous fire. It crept like molten liquid flame into his -nerves, into his brain. - -Unendurable pain, indefinitely prolonged. His only escape from the -nightmare had been his ability to wake. But now he was doomed to go on -sleeping, sleeping and dreaming and knowing the infinite, implacable -pain-- - ---for five hundred years! - - * * * * * - -Joha, who was part Venusian, dove easily and silently into the swamp -lake. She swam to the other side and stood poised on the bank. She met -them there. The green fish faces gazed at her with unblinking eyes and -one of them said: - -"It has been done, as you planned it, Joha?" - -"It is done," she said softly. "For two years I prepared him for -fulfillment of the dream. There is no escape for him now. The dream -is planted too deeply. He will suffer torture greater than any he -inflicted on our people. And he will suffer them for half a thousand of -his years." - -"Then your redemption is complete," said the little green fishman. -"What you have done entitles you to enter our tribe again. Even though -you are part Tellurian, you are again considered one of us. Come, my -daughter. Shall we go back?" - -Joha dropped down, bowed her head twice before him. "I am ready," she -said. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREEN DREAM *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Green Dream</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Bryce Walton</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 27, 2021 [eBook #64648]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREEN DREAM ***</div> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>THE GREEN DREAM</h1> - -<h2>By BRYCE WALTON</h2> - -<p>Owen Baarslag had brought terror to the swamp<br /> -people. Joha, the little Venusian maid, was<br /> -determined that he should not leave without it.</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Planet Stories Winter 1949.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Joha, who was part Venusian, twined her translucent fingers through the -Earthman's matted hair. She smiled. Strangely, from her light green -face, red eyes shone with a terrible hatred and a malignant purpose. -But the man asleep on the couch of lizard-skin softened with layers of -wing-feathers from the Kuh-Kuri Swampbird, was unaware of that evil, -almost lustful hate—for it blazed outward from her delicate face only -while he slept.</p> - -<p>The greenish glow from her body seeming to alienate her from anything -human, she squatted cross-legged on the damp tamped-earth floor beside -him. His body was long and gaunt, his face angular with deeply sunken -eyes which were closed in exhausted sleep. Only a slight twitching of -his facial muscles and an occasional jerking of his body signified the -horror of his growing nightmare.</p> - -<p>She withdrew her hand. Her eyes blazed more brightly like evil jewels -into his, piercing the closed lids with invisible beams of malignant -and gloating resolve. Her voice was very soft.</p> - -<p>"You do not sleep well, do you, Owen Baarslag? Every terrible thing you -have done to my people here in the swamps—the torture, the slavery, -the subjection and the terror—it haunts your dreams. Your blighted -conscience crawls, doesn't it, Owen?"</p> - -<p>The sleeping man didn't answer. He was deep, deep down in the dark -fastnesses of his nightmare, trying to escape, trying to awake.</p> - -<p>Outside the synthetic shell of the hut, in the fetid heart of the -Venusian swamp Sector 5, a serpent hissed as it raised its pointed head -from the slime and sank back again. A gigantic flying Gruoon gurgled -overhead as it fell on its prey and flapped upward into the thick mist. -Beyond these more abrupt sounds was the unceasing dreeing of millions -of insects and the loud croaking of the bloated albino tree-toads that -sagged heavily from the five-hundred foot crinoids.</p> - -<p>Now she looked with even greater intensity into his nightmare-twisted -face, probed far behind the lids covering his black Tellurian eyes. -The cold light from the captured still-living Shnug-fly which dangled -from the low raftered ceiling molded a weird shadow on the walls of the -tiny hut. Joha's red eyes blazed brighter, brighter still. Her slightly -webbed hands gripped together with a tremendous tension of mental -effort.</p> - -<p>Owen Baarslag screamed. He sat up with a sudden heaving motion of -agonized fear. His eyes were wide and horror-filled as he stared at -the half breed creature beside him. Sweat streamed from his face made -pallid by five years in the sunless swamp. His hands trembled over his -bearded jaw.</p> - -<p>"Stith!" he choked harshly. "Get me Stith, quickly!" He raised an arm -to strike her, but she weaved away. She brought him a box of the Stith -tablets crystallized from the fermented juices of the Venusian aukweed. -He tremblingly swallowed three of them. He got to his feet and stood -there, shuddering, eyes wild with the memory of the terror-dream.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He stared at her for a long time from fear-glazed eyes while the fear -gradually died into clouds of suspicion. He suspected her ability to -probe his mind during sleep and implant the seeds of nightmare there, -she knew that. But it was only an intangible suspicion. He needed her. -She was his only companionship in the vast global rain-forest of Venus. -And he wouldn't let the suspicion grow to the stage where he would have -to kill her or worse. Her hold over him was a strong one. If he lost -her, he would be alone.</p> - -<p>To the Tellurian colonists scattered minutely through the rich area -of Sector 5, Owen Baarslag was an unspeakable obscenity. A degenerate -derelict; an abnormal who had "gone native" and things even more -despicable. A Stith addict who eeked out a precarious existence in the -most polluted occupation known: that of forcing the timid Venusian -swamp natives to harvest the meager crops of aukweed from the lake -bottoms. The vile drug brought fabulous credits when Baarslag managed -to get it into the hands of secret agents on the space liners that -docked at the Vencity spaceport twice a year.</p> - -<p>And the Venusians themselves hated Baarslag with a helpless cowed -fear. He beat, tortured and killed them whenever they refused to obey. -And the necessity of probing the great depths of the lakes after the -aukweed twisted and deformed those it didn't kill, dooming them to a -life of incurable pain.</p> - -<p>Shaking as with dohl-fever, Owen staggered to the door, peering through -the insect-proof netting into the writhing tendrils coming up from the -phosphorescent bogs. He kicked Joha aside as though she were some crude -form of vermin.</p> - -<p>They considered him a despised abnormality, the authorities. There was -a price on his head just the same, he mused proudly. Five thousand -credits for his capture—alive.</p> - -<p>Dead, they wouldn't care for him particularly. His brain was -abnormal in an age when advanced psychometry had made abnormality a -rare exception. They needed his brain for analysis. Five thousand -credits—that was the price they placed on his brain in the massive -Chrome laboratories in Vencity.</p> - -<p>The labs in which his twin, Professor Albert Baarslag, held his exalted -position as Chief of Psychometry!</p> - -<p>The insidious influence of the euphoric stith burned into his mind, -fogged his eye with delusions of grandeur. He saw himself as a martyr, -a persecuted victim, sacrificed on the altars of socialization. He -slumped down on the kuh-kuri couch again, and looked at the sinuous -outline of the Venusian creature who took care of him as though love -could exist between an Earthman and a half Venusian fish.</p> - -<p>"I wasn't always what I am now," he said. "You know that, Joha!"</p> - -<p>She nodded. Yes. She knew. She had heard various phases of Owen's -life history many times. She liked to listen. The more she found out -about his twisted past the more horrible she could make his nightmare -by employing her powers of suggestion. That power was common among -her people—she still considered herself a Venusian in spite of her -Tellurian blood—but the fact that she was part Tellurian enabled her -to exercise that power on the Earthman better than a pure blooded -Venusian could. She knew that Owen had only a slight subconscious -realization of that power which she possessed, and which she had been -using for the past year to sow those insidious seeds of nightmare in -Owen's mind.</p> - -<p>To admit that she held such power over him was to admit that this -green-skinned creature was superior to him—and that Owen Baarslag -could never admit. No one was superior to Owen Baarslag. The whole -world of science had been jealous and envious of him. That was why they -had banned him, made an outlaw of him!</p> - -<p>"I could have been the greatest cosmologist ever known," he said. "You -know that, Joha!"</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said in that strange slurred tongue that seemed to hold such -emotion, yet held no tangible meaning. "I know that, Owen."</p> - -<p>Owen's pale face that had been buried in the sunless mist clouded, -darkened.</p> - -<p>"My own brother," he said. "He betrayed me to the Scientific Council. -Think of it, Joha! My own brother—my twin brother! Now it's time for -him to die."</p> - -<p>"You have found a way to kill him?" She backed away, eyes wide.</p> - -<p>"Yes! And it is all perfect. Perfect. One would think Albert had -prepared everything for my benefit, so that I might kill him. -Everything is perfect. His experiment is finished. It is a great -success. And he deserves to die. You know that, don't you, Joha? Don't -you?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. I know it," she said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Owen glared into the mist. "Fifteen years of study. My record was -undeniably the highest in my study section. I might have graduated from -World Tech this year, Joha! I might be in those Labs right now—instead -of rotting here in the slime-pit! I took the final psychotic tests, -weeks of mental probing with those damnable scanners digging into my -brain. And Albert—my own twin brother—with his hypocritical love -for me—he was the one who turned in the negative report! As Chief of -the Psychometric Council he could have passed me. It was because he -was my zygotic twin—because he knew me more intimately than even the -scanners—that he was able to deny me entrance into the Labs! Now, -Joha, doesn't he deserve to die?"</p> - -<p>And Joha, who had heard this countless times before, made the customary -reply. "Yes, Owen." And then added. "You have been waiting five years -for him to perfect his Time-Encystment principle. This—suspended -animation. You have said you would murder him, and take his place -in the encystment chamber. But, Owen, are you sure you can escape -detection long enough to get to him in order to kill him?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes! It is all arranged. I can't fail. I must get to him. All -these years of hell in this cesspool—they mustn't be wasted, Joha. -They can't be wasted, can they?"</p> - -<p>"No," she said softly. "They can't be. But—but I love you so much, -Owen. When you leave, I shall be so lonely. I will probably die of -loneliness."</p> - -<p>He laughed. It was a broken, bitter laugh. It was the laughter of a -mad man. The paranoiac who is guided by a strange genius for planned -destruction.</p> - -<p>The laughter died, and he seemed to have forgotten her. He paced back -and forth across the tiny damp hut. "Now. Now it is time. Five years in -hell—then paradise. Albert has perfected his time-encystment chamber. -He has insisted, bless him, on undergoing the experiment himself. He -insists against the will of the Tellurian Government, the Council, -everyone. He is noble. 'It would not be fair,' he says, 'to allow -another to take the chance. It is my experiment; and it is only right -that I must be the guinea pig.' Ah, my brother is so noble, so fair, -as are all hypocrites! How simple it is, Joha! I kill him. I become -Professor Albert Baarslag. I enter the time-encystment chamber as my -illustrious brother. I am put into a state of suspended animation. And -I awake in five hundred years—a free man!"</p> - -<p>Joha knelt down, a look of worship coloring the green of her half-human -face. "You are so clever," she said. "So patient and so thorough, and -so brave."</p> - -<p>"Killing him, that is all that really matters," said Owen. "The -encystment, that is only secondary. But it is ingenious, isn't it—to -become the man I kill? There can be no punishment, no ridiculous -retribution. Revenge is futile; in fact it isn't really revenge at all, -if the avenger is made to suffer for his acts of vengeance."</p> - -<p>Owen grasped Joha's slim arm, spun her around. His mouth twisted with -cruel pleasure as he saw the slight painful writhing of her lips. "You -may begin your slow death from loneliness now, Joha. I'm leaving for -Vencity tonight."</p> - -<p>She looked sadly resigned as she came close to him, slid one hand up -and into the thick matting of his hair. "You need rest, Owen. You were -out there two days in the swamp getting that last three kihn of aukweed -without sleep. You should rest well before you go into danger. You only -slept an hour."</p> - -<p>He lay down with a long sigh. "Yes. That is a good idea. I'll need all -my powers when I go to Vencity. But those—those horrible nightmares." -His face drained, oozing sudden sweat at the memory. "Always the -nightmare. The same one. But each time I dream, the nightmare gets more -horrible! There must be some cause for it. If I could only find its -cause. As soon as I assume Albert's identity, perhaps I can use the -psychiatric scanner on myself and find the basic cause."</p> - -<p>But her cool fingers stroking his brow sent him back into the sleep he -dreaded. Immediately her hands withdrew. "No, Owen, the psychiatric -scanner will never find the cause of this nightmare. It's artificially -endowed, Owen, dear. It has no roots in your twisted childhood, or in -your cruelty. And the scanner could never find its source. Because I am -its source, and I am alien."</p> - -<p>Her hands drew back from his face. Her eyes pierced brighter, brighter, -eating down, down into the dregs, the dreary twisted depths of his mind.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He was running, running as before, always as before. But this time -his pursuers were very near. He was running in a sticky bog. With -infinitely slow agony he drew each foot out of the slimy muck, sat it -down, drew up the other foot. Around him was a thick blanket of cold -clammy fog. And he knew it was an endless fog—that if he ran forever -he could never escape it. But he also knew he wouldn't run forever, or -even very long. His pursuers were too close.</p> - -<p>His pursuers!</p> - -<p>He looked back. A sense of profound horror sickened him. He recognized -them now. For the first time they were near enough for him to identify -them.</p> - -<p>He sank down on his knees. He began to crawl through the stinking ooze. -Then he felt their nearness. They were surrounding him. He couldn't -escape. He saw a ring of cold green faces. Hands, innumerable hands, -reached out, tickling him with a branch of small blue nettles.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> - <div class="caption"> - <p><i>They had caught up with him at last!</i></p> - </div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>He screamed. The poison fangs of the bombi-vine. The final agonies of -the damned. The bombi-vine! Death would be infinitely preferable to -the sting of the bombi-vine. It was unendurable pain, indefinitely -prolonged. It directly effected a mysterious distortion in the nervous -structure. Science had no cure, had never found the cause. Men who -stumbled onto the nettles of the bombi-vine sought a quick and merciful -death as the only escape.</p> - -<p>Without death, the victim lived out a full lifetime of raw, shrieking -pain....</p> - -<p>His screams as he awoke silenced the giant tree-toads who hung heavily -from the five-hundred foot crinoids. But before he left for Vencity -through the darkness, he had suppressed the stark horror of the dream.</p> - -<p>Once more he had drowned his hell in Stith.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He crawled out of the decrepit tractor, on the outskirts of Vencity. -The city's lights glowed eerily through the night-thickened blanket -of fog, as Owen found his way cautiously through rotting vegetation, -then hesitated before entering Swamper Swhin's Dive. Tinny music -came from the native band inside the smoky interior as it played the -incomprehensible "music." A few Earthmen and women sat inside at the -small oblong tables—tourists getting a morbid thrill from Venusian -culture.</p> - -<p>He slipped inside, around the shadowed wall and into a public -audio-booth. He dialed the Vencity Laboratories. "Connect me with the -Psychometric section, please. Urgent information for Chief Albert -Baarslag."</p> - -<p>"Who is calling?" the male secretary's voice said sleepily.</p> - -<p>"Jonathon Graem, kelph farmer, Sector 5. I have highly interesting -information revealing some unknown facts about psychological motivation -of native swampers in my sector."</p> - -<p>The male secretary hesitated.</p> - -<p>"Professor Baarslag knows about me," Owen persisted. "I've submitted -other discoveries of mine to him before. He told me to come back, and -report any new discoveries to him immediately."</p> - -<p>"Just a minute, sir. I'll connect your audio with Professor Baarslag's -study."</p> - -<p>He knew he would get results with that line about new psychological -discoveries concerning native behavior patterns. Their mental processes -were quite a mystery. Not a mystery to Owen any more. As far as he was -concerned, they didn't have any mental processes at all.</p> - -<p>Owen waited for Albert's voice. His twin still had a soft spot in his -heart for him, he was pretty certain of that. A desperate appeal of the -kind he intended to make would move his brother emotionally—get the -sympathetic reaction he needed to complete his rather fantastic plan.</p> - -<p>His brother's voice startled him. It was a perfect replica of his own. -Soft, cultured and low. "Yes?"</p> - -<p>"This is Owen."</p> - -<p>He heard a catch, a pause from the other end of the audio.</p> - -<p>"I—yes—why hello, Owen. Where are you? Wha—what do you want?"</p> - -<p>Owen grinned coldly, but his voice was warm with repentant emotion. -"Albert. I—I'm giving myself up. I've had enough. It's been a noble -and futile life for me anyway. You know that it's always been just -a matter of time before I would give myself up. Well, this is it. -I'm—just outside the City now. At Swamper Swhin's Dive. But Albert—"</p> - -<p>The Chief of Psychometry's voice was low, hoarse. "Yes, Owen."</p> - -<p>"I want to see you first, Albert. I'll probably never get to see you -again. I'll be a completely new personality when they release me from -the reconditioning processes. I'd like to have a good talk with you -before I turn myself in. Just a brother-to-brother talk, like old -times, Albert. With me, it'll be a sort of cathartic, a confession. -I've sinned, sinned terribly. I'd like to get it all out of my system, -and you're the only one who might understand. Can I come up and see you -tonight in your lab, Albert?"</p> - -<p>There was a long pause. "Why—why, I guess so, Owen. Yes, yes of course -you may."</p> - -<p>Gullible fool, thought Owen.</p> - -<p>"How can you get up here without being detected by the Scanner Guard?"</p> - -<p>"I have the identification disks of Jonathon Graem. They'll pass the -Scanner Guard. I—Jonathon Graem died in the swamp two years ago."</p> - -<p>"By accident," said Albert Baarslag pointedly.</p> - -<p>"Naturally," said Owen with apparent sincerity, forgetting to add: -"—after I pushed him into a bog and kept him there too long for his -continued survival."</p> - -<p>"Very well, Owen," said the Professor of Psychometry. Then, "I'm glad, -Owen. So very glad that you're giving yourself up."</p> - -<p>"I'll see you soon then," said Owen, and severed the audio connection.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The automatic electronic Scanner Guard passed him freely as the -swamper, Jonathon Graem. Professor Albert Baarslag was in his study, -waiting. The rich luxuriance, the soothing harmonics radiating from the -opaque walls—all rekindled the violent hatred Owen's paranoid mind -felt for his twin.</p> - -<p>Albert Baarslag might have been Owen, only his dress was different. His -matted hair and beard were the same; Owen had been careful to keep that -constant similarity as he waited for this moment when it would be time -to act. A plastilex smock covered Albert, whereas Owen was dressed in -the rubberoidalls of the swamp farmer.</p> - -<p>Albert's face was tense with conflicting strain. His eyes were flooded -with sympathetic emotion, and also with a disgust he could not conceal. -Albert stretched out a firm hand. Owen ignored it. Albert frowned, then -motioned to a chair. Owen kept on standing.</p> - -<p>"Well," said Albert. "So you're repenting?"</p> - -<p>"There's no use drawing out this obvious deception, Albert. I've been -waiting for this opportunity. I'm here for revenge, Albert. To me, you -are the most hated thing in the Universe. For the last five years I've -been waiting only for this chance."</p> - -<p>Albert's face became grey.</p> - -<p>"Owen. Owen, listen. I did it for you. You're inherently unstable. -A life in the labs would have broken you. Without perfect -cortical-thalamic integration, no mind could stand six months in these -Labs."</p> - -<p>"Go on, Albert. Talk. That's what I'm here for. To watch you squirm."</p> - -<p>"Listen to me, Owen! Whatever you do, you'll be apprehended. You can't -escape. If you'll give yourself up, like you said you would do, I can -see that you get special longevity treatment in my specialized Lunarian -Clinics."</p> - -<p>"It's too late for any ridiculous therapy," said Owen. "I know what -happens in those Lunarian Clinics of yours. The result is called a -cure, but the poor devils who are supposed to be cured aren't even the -same personalities any more. Who wants to be a well-integrated but -characterless non-entity?"</p> - -<p>"No, Owen! You're not the extreme case that demands that kind of -treatment. Only a slight lack of integration which can be leveled -off—if you'll only—"</p> - -<p>"That's enough," snapped Owen. "I have a cure, for both of us. A -natural one, time-tested. It's as old as mankind." He revealed suddenly -a small proton gun, issued to the swampers for survival against the -carnivorous flora and fauna of Venus. He brought it out casually from -inside the bib of his rubberoidalls, and directed it at Baarslag's -chest. "Jonathon Graem's," said Owen with a stiff grin.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The Chief of Psychometry staggered back from his chair, staring, eyes -wet with fear and mental pain. "Not that, Owen—not from you—my—my -twin."</p> - -<p>"It is grotesque, isn't it?" said Owen. "I thought so too, when you -did something perhaps worse to me. Now listen. I knew you'd finally -persuade the Council and the Government to let you be the victim of -your own experiment in suspended animation. I've been waiting for them -to agree, and for a definite time to be set for the beginning of the -time-encystment experiment. You see, Albert, I wouldn't kill you unless -I knew there was a good chance to get away with it, as the old timers -used to say. And I'm definitely assured of escape. Albert, I'm taking -your place in the time-encystment chamber and I'm the one who's going -to see the future you might have seen."</p> - -<p>Albert Baarslag stared at his twin with incredulous horror. He no -longer seemed to notice the gun. "Owen," he said faintly. "Owen. Listen -to me. It won't work with you. You're unintegrated. You—"</p> - -<p>He finished the admonition with a long bubbling cry, and crumbled on -the plastic mosaic of the floor. A bright, unreal-looking stream of -blood flowed oilily from the blasted chest.</p> - -<p>Owen leaned with a sudden awful weariness against the desk. He had -wondered how it would feel to kill his twin. Now he knew. A strange -mysterious fear filled his heart as he stood there in the silence -looking down at the corpse. Somehow, the revenge wasn't so delectable -as he had anticipated.</p> - -<p>But after that Owen didn't waste any more time. First he dragged -Albert's body into the small but expensively compact and complete -laboratory just off Albert's office. He prepared a large vat which, -thirty minutes after his twin's corpse was lowered into it, revealed -only scant fluid evidence that Albert Baarslag had ever existed. No -one would ever check because Owen was assuming his identity. The -blood-stained clothes he also disposed of in a similar manner. He -cleaned up the blood-stains on the floor with the immaculate care of -his kind.</p> - -<p>After that, dressed in Albert's clothes, no one could possibly have -known that it was not really Albert Baarslag, but the hated, despised, -obscenity known as Owen Baarslag, who sat behind his desk.</p> - -<p>And it was the next afternoon that Professor Albert Baarslag was -supposed to submit himself to the time-encystment experiments. The -Professor, Owen Baarslag, was right on time as he dropped his gyro-car -down on the vast roof-landing of the great Solar Museum which contained -the deeply-buried encystment chamber inside its massively thick and -many-layered vault.</p> - -<p>The teleo-electronic robot attendant wheeled the gyro onto an elevator -while Owen, stifling a growing feeling of dusty desperation, dropped -downward toward the deeply-buried rendezvous.</p> - -<p>Professor Kaufman, one of the Chiefs from the Cosmology Section, -greeted Owen with frank and open concern. From his earlier -acquaintanceship with his brother, Owen knew that Kaufman had been -Albert's closest associate. Others greeted Owen with formal, though -terrific enthusiasm. This was one of the most dramatic experiments of -the past five eras—eras which had been obsessed with social sciences -and not sensational pastimes.</p> - -<p>There weren't many there besides the Teleaudio Ethercast -Representatives. They were busy broadcasting to Earth, Mars and the -rest of Venus, the details of the experiment in suspended animation.</p> - -<p>Owen was the center of the stage. The central actor in one of history's -most sensational dramas. And it was being witnessed by a bigger -audience than had ever been commanded by the greatest dramatist in -solar history.</p> - -<p>A soft-spoken interviewer from Solar Broadcasters questioned him. -Owen's voice in his perfectly acted role was being broadcast and -telescreened everywhere on Earth, Mars and Venus. For the benefit of -the teleaudience, a microfilm was projecting a complete scientific -explanation, while the smooth-voiced announcer read it aloud for those -who demanded visual and audial transition.</p> - -<p>And while the announcer explained for the fascinated audience, mostly -laymen, Owen, two medics, and Kaufman, entered the many-doored -thickness of the chamber, and into the very small interior where -the encystment reservatory machine waited. To Owen, it resembled a -streamlined coffin, barely large enough for his gaunt length ... -frightfully small, and confining.</p> - -<p>The thick series of interlocking doors were still open and Owen could -hear the announcer's voice:</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"And, as you perhaps already know, the principle of Professor -Baarslag's time-encystment process involves phenomena we're all -familiar with. The stasis developed by Professor Albert Baarslag, -and to which in exactly fifteen minutes he will subject himself, -incorporates a kind of super-sleep principle. The synaptic connections -will be broken through amoeboid contraction—and this disconnection -will exist until that future time, five hundred years hence, when -Professor Baarslag will awaken. Five hundred years is only the opening -experiment, says Professor Baarslag. The next experiment can possibly -be for any definite period of time.</p> - -<p>"This awakening is also interestingly arranged for by leaving one -awaking threshold at its normal waking level. When this is activated by -automatic relays—"</p> - -<p>Owen was stripped now, and his body was outstretched in the soft, deep -depths of the reservatory. The sliding panel that exposed his upper -torso was slid open and he was looking up into Kaufman's red face, and -the intent professional faces of the two medics. But Kaufman's face was -serious now as he reached inside the reservatory and gripped Owen's -damp hand.</p> - -<p>"Goodby, Al," he said. "You're curious about man's destiny. I'm not. I -wonder if you'll really be able to bear the knowledge of where we're -going."</p> - -<p>Owen's mouth was dry. He licked sticky lips. He didn't say anything.</p> - -<p>They were preparing his arm for an injection of hypnotosin.</p> - -<p>Owen twitched. He wanted to cry out his guilt. Surrender. He knew now -that he had made a horrible mistake.</p> - -<p>But things blurred fast. He couldn't speak. There was a dull, pleasant -haze, a feeling of utter relaxation. Not utterly. It should be that -way, but it wasn't.</p> - -<p>Because he knew, now!</p> - -<p>Voices came from a very far distance, slow, soft and rhythmical. After -the anaesthesia, they would sink slender electrodes through the brain -tissue of the cerebrum's third ventricle. Chemical reaction would -destroy the substance of the electrodes gradually, a process of slow -disintegration carefully gauged. And the lesions in the posterior -region of the floor and walls of the third ventricle would heal, so -that he might awaken—</p> - -<p><i>No! Anything would be better than this! He wanted to tell them. But he -couldn't. It was too late. He was going under—deep down and far under.</i></p> - -<p>He had been terribly misled by all the scientific jargon. Why couldn't -they have been simple and direct? All this principle really was, was a -complete mastery and understanding of the oldest phenomenon in man—the -most common and the most persistent mystery.</p> - -<p>Synapsis severed. Each cellular unit self-feeding through synthetic, -inexhaustible sources. Oxygen intake lowered to an incredibly low -level. But it was really nothing other than—</p> - -<p><i>SLEEP! Sleep! Pure, prolonged, unblemished, unsullied sleep!</i></p> - -<p>And so....</p> - -<p>Owen Baarslag was again running through the endless gray mist. His feet -were again rising and falling with a terrifying, agonizing slowness -from the thick, oozing bog.</p> - -<p>He was down on his knees again, crawling with a futile frantic -desperation. They ringed him in. He was trapped again. He saw the -cordon of silent, emotionless green fishmen. Venusian native fishmen -and in their hands reaching out, were branches of the bombi-vine!</p> - -<p>He screamed. He kept on screaming as the nettles slashed his flesh with -a burning hideous fire. It crept like molten liquid flame into his -nerves, into his brain.</p> - -<p>Unendurable pain, indefinitely prolonged. His only escape from the -nightmare had been his ability to wake. But now he was doomed to go on -sleeping, sleeping and dreaming and knowing the infinite, implacable -pain—</p> - -<p>—for five hundred years!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Joha, who was part Venusian, dove easily and silently into the swamp -lake. She swam to the other side and stood poised on the bank. She met -them there. The green fish faces gazed at her with unblinking eyes and -one of them said:</p> - -<p>"It has been done, as you planned it, Joha?"</p> - -<p>"It is done," she said softly. "For two years I prepared him for -fulfillment of the dream. There is no escape for him now. The dream -is planted too deeply. He will suffer torture greater than any he -inflicted on our people. And he will suffer them for half a thousand of -his years."</p> - -<p>"Then your redemption is complete," said the little green fishman. -"What you have done entitles you to enter our tribe again. Even though -you are part Tellurian, you are again considered one of us. Come, my -daughter. Shall we go back?"</p> - -<p>Joha dropped down, bowed her head twice before him. "I am ready," she -said.</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREEN DREAM ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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