"The Watchers must have gotten Ben and the others. The place was a shambles. Everything was destroyed. They probably took the group to Dreamtown. If they did, you know what that means."
"Psychwashing," Professor Corbett muttered. He dropped his head in his hands. "Then you couldn't get the books?" he asked sadly.
"No. They had been burned. And so had Ben's paintings. We can't wait any longer, Alan. We've got to organize and we've got to raid Dreamtown. We can't go on like this anymore!"
Nancy tightened her grip on Dan's hand as Professor Corbett raised his head and nodded. "You're right, Dan," he said. "We can't afford to wait any longer."
With a slight hum the large video panel in the ceiling of Brant's apartment clicked on automatically. To the accompaniment of shrill laughter in the background, the announcer told Brant and the other viewers that they were about to witness the next installment in the adventures of "The Pretty People." Brant stretched in his bed and groaned from the effects of the party the night before. He watched through half closed eyes as The Pretty People in their harlequin costumes chased each other about a meadow filled with artificial flowers. In spite of his discomfort Brant chuckled when Mannequina, with a violent blow, knocked Manequin from a large toadstool on which he had been seated. He laughed again as he watched Manequin roll down a hill and land in a giant mud puddle at the bottom.
Brant eased himself out of bed and walked unsteadily to the cubicle in one corner of the room, stepped in, and closed the plastic door behind him. He rubbed his eyes and stretched as the soothing vigoro-senso rays removed the last traces of the discomfort brought on by too much liquor and too many sensation pills.
Back in his room he switched on the dimensional theater set and watched the wall light up before him. Brant finished dressing to the sounds of laughter coming from The Pretty People on the ceiling video and the sighs and pleadings of two lovers in the dimensional theater set.
On his way to the door Brant selected one of the milder sensation pills from the bowl on the low table, swallowed it, and passed through the sliding door panel into the street.
He glanced at the gigantic clock which was suspended over the city like a cloud in the sky by thin steel cables. Each numeral on the huge face of the clock was composed of a man and a woman locked in an ardent embrace.