Interplanetary voyages -- Fiction; Science fiction; Space and time -- Fiction
Yet in the faces of the gathered few there was apparent a wisdom and
a penetrating understanding and a leisurely efficiency in action that
it would have been hard to find the equal of, in any similar group
in earlier times. And a good thing, thought Clawly, for what he was
trying to convince them of was something not calculated to appeal to
the intelligence of practical administrators--it was doubtful if any
earlier culture would have granted him and Thorn any hearing at all.
He surveyed the faces unobtrusively, his dark glance flitting like a
shadow, and was relieved to note that only in Conjerly's and perhaps
Tempelmar's was a completely unfavorable reaction apparent. Firemoor,
on the contrary, registered feverish and unquestioning belief, but
that was to be expected in the volatile, easily-swayed chief of the
Extraterrestrial Service--and a man who was Clawly's admiring friend.
Firemoor was alone in this open expression of credulity. Chairman
Shielding, whose opinion mattered most, looked on the whole skeptical
and perhaps a shade disapproving; though that, fortunately, was the
heavy-set man's normal expression.
The rest, reserving judgment, were watchful and attentive. With the
unexpected exception of Thorn, who seemed scarcely to be listening,
lost in some strange fatigued abstraction since he had finished making
his report.
* * * * *
A still-wavering audience, Clawly decided. What he said now, and how he
said it, would count heavily.
He touched a small box. Instantly some tens of thousands of pinpricks
of green light twinkled from the World Map.
He said, "The nightmare-frequency for an average night a hundred years
ago, as extrapolated from random samplings. Each dot--a bad dream. A
dream bad enough to make the dreamer wake in fright."
Again he touched the box. The twinkling pattern changed slightly--there
were different clusterings--but the total number of pinpricks seemed
not to change.
"The same, for fifty years ago," he said. "Next--forty." Again there
was merely a slight alteration in the grouping.
"And now--thirty." This time the total number of pinpricks seemed
slightly to increase.
Clawly paused. He said, "I'd like to remind you, gentlemen, that Thorn
proved conclusively that his method of sampling was not responsible
for any changes in the frequency. He met all the objections you
raised--that his subjects were reporting their dreams more fully,
that he wasn't switching subjects often enough to avoid cultivating a
nightmare-dreaming tendency, and so on."
Once more his hand moved toward the box. "Twenty-five." This time there
was no arguing about the increase.
"Twenty."
"Fifteen."
"Ten."
"Five."
Each time the total greenness jumped, until now it was a general glow
emanating from all the continental areas. Only the seas still showed
widely scattered points, where men dreamed in supra- or sub-surface
craft, and a few heavy clusters, where ocean-based skylons rose through
the waves.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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