"Well now," said the Superfather, "that means something's wrong. _Very_ wrong." He rubbed his chin, thinking. "Your prescribed dreams show you working faster and faster on the machines, going on month after month year after year, with one hundred percent accuracy. They show you happy in your work, driven by ambition on up to the end of your capabilities. They show you contented there to the end of your working life." He paused. "And you're _doing_ just the opposite ... I suppose your wife is--concerned?" Twenty-three nodded. "After all, the marriage center assured her your index was right for her. _Her_ sleep cards were coordinated with yours. The normal dreams of both of you, without the machine, should be identical.... Yet you come up with this horror--running through the city, alone, falling, dying." Twenty-three's mouth twitched. "Well." The Superfather stood. "If you can't adjust to normal, we'll simply have to send you to the pre-frontal lobotomy men. You wouldn't want that." "Oh no!" "Good!" The Superfather held out another packet of cards. "Use these _tomorrow_ night. It's a concentration pattern which should be dense enough to make you dream of being, well--perhaps even President, eh?" "Yes." Twenty-three hesitated. "Well?" said the Superfather. "I'd--like to ask a question." The Superfather nodded. "What--what use," went on Twenty-three, "is all this--work being put to--that we do--along the machine lines--every day? We don't, seem to really be _making_ anything. Just working." The Superfather's eyes narrowed. "You're kept busy. You get paid. You live. The city is here. That's all. That's enough." "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Twenty-three turned abruptly, marched to the door and stepped into the empty, silent corridor. * * * * * Twenty-three looked up at the glowing dome of the city that curved away to the horizon. He wondered if there really was a white ball beyond it sometimes and tiny dots of light, set in blue black. And at other times did a ball of fire flame up there, giving light and heat and life? And if there was this life and light up there, _why_ the great dome over the city? _Why_ the factories and machine lines replacing it section after section, generation after generation? The slabs that the workers fused together this year and the next and the next, pushing back this life and light and heat. Why not let it pour down into the city and warm all the people? Why not go to the space out there and the depth and freedom? Why this great shell that closed them away? For the sake of the Superfathers maybe? And the Superfathers-plus? For the sake of the ones, like himself maybe who worked and built? For the sake of them, so they wouldn't become dangerous maybe and tear the great wall down and rush out into whatever was beyond? Why else?