"When at last he turned the machines off and began to detach electrodes, the serenity Orr had felt did not lapse, like the induced mood of a drug or alcohol. It remained. Without premeditation and without timidity Orr said, 'Dr. Haber, I can't let you use my effective dreams any more.'
'Eh?' Haber said, his mind still on Orr's brain, not on Orr.
'I can't let you use my dreams any more.'
'"Use" them?'
'Use them.'
'Call it what you like,' Haber said. He had straightened up and towered over Orr, who was still sitting down. He was gray, large, broad, curly bearded, deep-chested, frowning. Your God is a jealous God. 'I'm sorry, George, but you're not in a position to say that.'
Orr's gods were nameless and unenvious, asking neither worship nor obedience.
'Yet I do say it,' he replied mildly."
-- Ursula K. Le Guin, The Lathe of Heaven
No comments:
Post a Comment