you--and at a
surprisingly low cost. We specialize in memory-resurrecting
dreams of Earth. You can be assured that your neighborhood
Dream Shop offers you only the finest in vicarious living.

As a Free Citizen, you will surely wish to avail yourself of
these services. May we hope that you do so within the week?

The Proprietors.

Barrent put down the letter. He had no idea what a Dream Shop was, or
how the dreams were produced. He would have to find out. Even though the
invitation was graciously worded, it had a peremptory tone to it. Past a
doubt, a visit to a Dream Shop was one of the obligations of a Free
Citizen.

But of course, an obligation could be a pleasure, too. The Dream Shop
sounded interesting. And a genuine memory-resurrection dream of Earth
would be worth almost any price the proprietors wished to ask.

But that would have to wait. Tonight was Black Mass, and his attendance
there was definitely required.

Barrent left his store at eleven o'clock in the evening. He wanted time
for a stroll around Tetrahyde before going to the service, which began
at midnight.

He started his walk with a definite sense of well-being. And yet,
because of the irrational and unexpecting nature of Omega, he almost
died before reaching the Wee Coven on Kirkwood Drive.

Chapter Seven

It had turned into a hot, almost suffocatingly humid night when Barrent
began his walk. Not the faintest breath of air stirred along the
darkened streets. Although he was wearing only a black mesh shirt,
shorts, gunbelt, and sandals, Barrent felt as if he were wrapped in a
thick blanket. Most of the people of Tetrahyde, except for those already
at the Covens, had retired to the coolness of their cellars. The dark
streets were nearly deserted.

Barrent walked on, more slowly. The few people he met were running to
their homes. There was a sense of panic in that silent, dogged sprint
through heat which made walking difficult. Barrent tried to find out
what the matter was, but no one would stop. One old man shouted over his
shoulder, "Get off the street, idiot!"

"Why?" Barrent asked him.

The old man snarled something unintelligible and hurried on.

Barrent kept on walking, nervously fingering the butt of his
needlebeam. Something was certainly wrong, but he had no idea what it
was. His nearest shelter now was the Wee Coven, about half a mile away.
It seemed best to keep on moving in that directio