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"[Science fiction] has become big business, where books are merchandised and promoted and distributed and placed on sale like slabs of bacon or cans of soup."
- Frederik Pohl

  An establishment wherein one could find the finest dream adventures placed in his own mind.  

“The Dream Palace!” screamed a scarlet xenon-sign on its facade. “Biggest dream-house on Venus!"

Stanton strode inside. He found himself in a big, quiet, dimly-lighted hall across the front of the place. A dull-faced attendant touched a button as Stanton entered.

Presently, out of a small office at the side, came a foppish, effeminate Venusian in elegant silks, who greeted the Earthman warmly.

“Welcome to our little house of dreams,” he said suavely. “I am Slih Drin, the proprietor.” He smiled thinly. “You wear the necessary electrodes, of course?”

“Of course,” Stanton told him. “This isn’t my first dream.”

He parted the thick black hair behind his ears. Two tiny metal electrodes which had been surgically inserted into his skull to connect with nerve-endings came into view...

“Ah, yes,” breathed Slih Drin, beaming. “And what kind of dream would you pre- fer tonight, sir? Would you like to visit an imaginary world of living colors, a kaleido- scopic universe such as one can only see in dreams? Or perhaps you would like to have the experience of being an animal, or bird, or fish?

“Or perhaps,” the Venusian went on to retail his dream-wares, “you would like a charming love story, in which you woo and win a girl more beautiful than any real girl could be?”

...SLIH DRIN motioned to the attendant, who went to a cabinet filled with flat spools of metal tape. He brought back one of the spools to the proprietor, who then led Stanton along one of the dimly lit corridors, Stanton’s eyes searched the place keenly. Some of the doors along the corridor were open, and he looked through them into little dusky cubicles. In each cubicle was a couch, on which a man or woman lay in deep sleep. To the skull-electrodes of each sleeper were attached two wires that led to a squat, humming machine at the head of the couch.

Technovelgy from Doom Over Venus, by Edmond Hamilton.
Published by Thrilling Wonder Stories in 1940
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