ery other night?"

Twenty-three lied. "Yes."

"And the nights you don't use them, you have a dream like the one you
just told me."

"That's right."

"Incredible." The Superfather shook his head. "It just doesn't add up.
As you know, you get the prescribed dreams every other night and that's
supposed to condition your mind to dreaming those same dreams, by
itself, on the nights you don't use the machine. The prescribed dreams
merely show you the true way of life. And when you're on your own you're
supposed to follow that way of life whether you're asleep or awake.
That's what the dream machine is for. I'm sure you're aware of all
this?"

"Yes," said Twenty-three. "Yes."

"Now we Superfathers _never_ have to use the dream machines. We're so
filled with the way of life they advocate and it's become such an
integral part of us, we simply _are_ what our prescribed dreams are. And
the more successful a person is in the city, the less he has to use the
dream machine. Now you have to use it every other night. That's entirely
too much for a man of your potential. You realize this, of course.

"Oh I do," said Twenty-three shaking his head sadly.

"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.