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the antidote into her veins. You stuck another into your own shoulder, felt the sudden coolness run through your flesh and your bloodstream.
    You sank down beside her, breathing heavily and closing your eyes. The violence of activity had exhausted you. You felt as though you would have to rest a month after this. And, of course, you would.
    She groaned. You opened your eyes and looked at her. Your heavy breathing began again, but this time you knew where the excitement was coming from. You kept looking at her. A warm heat lapped at your limbs, caressed your heart. Her eyes were on you.
    â€œI …” you said.
    Then all holding back was ended, all doubt undone. The city, the Rustons, the machines—the danger was over and forgotten. She ran a caressing hand over your cheek.

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    â€œAnd when next you opened your eyes,” finished the doctor, “you were back in this room.”
    Rackley laughed, his head quivering on the pillow, his hands twitching in glee.
    â€œBut my dear doctor,” he laughed, “how fantastically clever of you to know everything. How ever do you do it, naughty man?”
    The doctor looked down at the tall handsome man who lay on the bed, still shaking with breathless laughter.
    â€œYou forget,” he said, “I inject you. Quite natural that I should know what happens then.”
    â€œOh, quite! Quite!” cried Justin Rackley. “Oh, it was utterly, utterly fantastic. Imagine, me!” He ran strong fingers over the swelling biceps of his arm. “ Me, a hero!”
    He clapped his hands together and deep laughter rumbled in his chest, his white teeth flashed against the glowing tan of his face. The sheet slipped, revealing the broad suppleness of his chest, the tightly ridged stomach muscles.
    â€œOh, dear me,” he sighed. “Dear me, what would this dull existence be without your blessed injections to case our endless boredom?”
    The doctor looked coldly at him, his strong white fingers tightening into a bloodless fist. The thought plunged a cruel knife into his brain—this is the end of our race, the sorry peak of Man’s evolution. This is the final corruption.
    Rackley yawned and stretched his arms. “I must rest.” He peered up at the doctor. “It was such a fatiguing dream.”
    He began to giggle, his great blond head lolling on the pillow. His hands striking at the sheet as though he would die of amusement.
    â€œDo tell me,” he gasped, “what on earth have you in those utterly delightful injections? I’ve asked you so often.”
    The doctor picked up his plastic bag. “Merely a combination of chemicals designed to exacerbate the adrenals on one hand and, on the
other, to inhibit the higher brain centers. In short,” he finished, “a potpourri of intensification and reduction.”
    â€œOh, you always say that,” said Justin Rackley. “But it is delightful. Utterly, charmingly delightful. You will be back in a month for my next dream and my dream playback?”
    The doctor blew out a weary gust of breath. “Yes,” he said, making no effort to veil his disgust. “I’ll be back next month.”
    â€œThank heavens,” said Rackley. “I’m done with that awful Ruston dream for another five months. Ugh! It’s so frightfully vile! I like the pleasanter dreams about mining and transporting ores from Mars and the Moon, and the adventures in food centers. They’re so much nicer. But …” His lips twitched. “ Do have more of those pretty young girls in them.”
    His strong, weary body twisted in delight.
    â€œOh, do ,” he murmured, his eyes shutting.
    He sighed and turned slowly and exhaustedly onto his broad, muscular side.
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    The doctor walked through the deserted streets, his face tight with the old frustration. Why? Why? His mind kept repeating the word.
    Why must we continue to sustain life in the cities? For