Slaves of Sleep & the Masters of Sleep

by L. Ron Hubbard

  “You said I was to rule.”

  “But not against my wishes,” said Jan gently. “I advise that you sentence Zongri to ten thousand years of very hard labor and so have done with him.”

  Ramus sighed quiveringly and did as she was ordered.

  Zongri was led, beaten, away and he had no more than gone when a squad of men in naval uniform dashed in at the door, saw Jan up beside the throne and approached. In their midst they had two of Dauda’s jackals and they were a very astonished pair. They quaked with terror as they gazed all about them at this unknown population.

  They saw Alice and recognized her with a start. They looked closely at the tall man beside her and, after a moment, recognized a man who might have been Jan Palmer, but wasn’t the Jan Palmer they had known.

  An instant later another naval patrol came in from another way, dragging a fishmonger’s wife who was all covered with dungeon straw. The young ifrit lieutenant came to a smart stop and addressed Jan. “Sir, we found this one and yet another who was arrested but this morning by the orders of the queen. They both profess to know nothing of this world and so we presume they are the people you require.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Ramus, “I did have brought to me such another one. By Baal, Tiger, have you sentenced all these people? But what’s to be done if they scatter about?”

  “I myself can keep the secret. This lady with me has hers safe enough. And as for these others . . .” He paused and eyed their sorrowful lot. Shannon, Nathaniel Green and the judge of the court which had passed judgment upon him.

  “Spare us!” wept Shannon. “We meant no harm to you! We are almost mad with finding ourselves where we are. What insanity—”

  “Speak not of insanity,” said Jan, wincing. “You find yourselves in the land where your soul goes in sleep. Later you will remember that you have been a fishmonger’s wife and thieves. Just now you are brought before Ramus who holds over you the power of death.”

  Ramus looked at Tiger and there was a certain shine in her eye which Alice did not at all like.

  “Her Majesty,” said Tiger, “might be persuaded to spare your lives and merely imprison you if you undo a great wrong in another world.”

  Aunt Ethel wept and wrung her filthy hands. Green shivered like a tree in a hurricane. And the sweat rolled from Shannon like lard.

  “Your Honor the judge,” said Tiger, “these men and this woman have lied to you and so, in that other world, have done away with me. You can expect execution here if restitution is not made there. Am I making myself clear?”

  “Oh, indeed, indeed!” wailed the judge.

  “Very well,” said Tiger. “Then you will be imprisoned here and not killed. Clear them out, Lieutenant, and post reliable marids over them. I have done.”

  Ramus looked at him and sighed. “You . . . you vanquished them single-handed, Tiger? Ah, God, but I always knew you had it in you. Pity me for having to so abuse you for what I thought was the good of my realm.” She touched his hand and then faced her chamberlain. “You oaf, have the entire apartments of the left wing burnished for His Lordship, Baron Tiger!” She looked at Alice and smiled sweetly. “My dear, have no fear of us. So long as you hold your secret, no jinni will ever raise his hand against you. Lord Boli, you fat fool! Get into town and buy a hundred serving wenches for Her Ladyship. Swiftly now and get rid of some of your fat!”

  Tiger marched his bride-to-be down the steps. There was no ill will anywhere about him now. It had been spread about what the high priests of Rani had meant to do and how Rani herself had gotten her just deserts. And but for Tiger the town would even now be sacked and raped and in flames at the hands of Zongri’s pirates. And so two army majors instantly elected themselves as escort and pushed others courteously aside and with the blue of the royal navy preceding them, the party marched toward the apartments in preparation.

  Alice was beginning to lose some of her fear. She looked searchingly at Jan’s face and then squeezed his arm.

  “Then it’s true,” she whispered. “It’s true, it’s true, it’s true!”

  And Jan gave her Tiger’s swaggering smile and, content, she walked proudly beside him, returning the bows of the multitude through which they passed.

  Back on earth, a few days later, an item ran in a Seattle paper.

  EMBEZZLER COMMITS SUICIDE

  Millionaire Heir Finds Losses

  Nathaniel Green Leaves Confession Note on Deathbed

  SEATTLE, WASH . . . Nathaniel Green, long known in local shipping circles as manager for the Bering Sea Steamship Corporation, committed suicide last night at his home on Queen Anne Hill. . . .

  Jan Palmer, recently absolved from the slaying of Professor Frobish, told police that even after he had noted the missing amounts he had not seen fit to bring charges, but, rather, had been on the point of discharging Green.

  “It was not from any merciful intent,” said Palmer at his home last night, “for the company was almost ruined. But I did not wish to mar my honeymoon or worry my bride.”

  This aftermath of the strange case of Professor Frobish climaxed the most publicized affair of the year. Green, who was mainly responsible for Palmer’s false imprisonment in a local asylum, had evidently sought to cover up his embezzled funds by murdering Professor Frobish and thereby throwing the stigma of the crime upon the young millionaire. Though Judge Dougherty says that this is probably the case, no post-mortem action is to be taken against Green and so the matter has been closed.

  The Masters of Sleep

  Foreword

  The unhappy advent of an ifrit, one of the jinn so ably described in the Arabian Nights, into the workaday world of Seattle, Washington, some time since, gave more adventure to Jan Palmer than his scholarly stomach could quite tolerate. The Jinni, Zongri, had been imprisoned in a copper jar by Sulayman in ancient times and the jar had come into Jan’s hands. As the harassed president of the Bering Sea Steamship Corporation, young Jan did not need the further curse which was laid upon him by Zongri as a “reward’’ for being let out. The Curse of Eternal Wakefulness thrust Jan into the discovery that man, when he sleeps, wanders in far and unknown lands. Jan’s sleep-self proved to be a redoubtable, brave but unconservative sailor named Tiger in the land of the jinn where ifrits were masters and the sleep-souls of humans were the slaves. Tiger, the other self of Jan, thrived on mischief and punishment and made news in a world where sudden death was commonplace. The dismayed Jan found that Tiger was much too much for him.

  Incarcerated for murder because of Zongri and greedy relatives while “awake’’ in Seattle, doomed by the mischief of Tiger while “awake’’ in the land of the jinn, Jan was in serious trouble in both worlds. His only solace was Alice, his secretary who, when she “slept,’’ was actually Wanna, a temple dancer in the world of the jinn.

  At last, mastering the problem of his duality and solving, in a sea action in the world of the jinn, the Curse of Eternal Wakefulness, Jan became, as himself, truly the head of Bering Steam, for in Seattle he was now partly Tiger, and in the world of the jinn, as Tiger, became a Baron of the Realm because he was partly the brainy Jan.

  So matters stood for some time. But Tiger’s nature was unruly and, in the world of the jinn, little by little began to outweigh the good sense of Jan. Escapade after escapade brought Tiger and Wanna, his dancing girl, down the ladder in the favor of the jinn. Humans in the world of sleep were, after all, slaves. At length, after nearly oversetting the government itself, Tiger, as punishment, was returned to the fleet as a common sailor. As Jan in this world, he became more and more immersed in scholarly concerns and became less and less Tiger. Wanna, too, began to separate her natures as time went on and became less the dancing girl of the jinn and more the authoritarian housewife in Seattle.

  At the time our story opens, Tiger had managed promotion up to the rank of gunner’s mate in a man-o’-war in the world of the jinn. His “awake’’ self, Jan, had become more and more timid and desirous of escape from his responsib
ilities with Bering Steam. The gulf had widened until each part of the dual nature was less and less aware of the other each time the border between the worlds was crossed.

  Ramus, ruler of Tarbutón, the principal nation of the jinn, had become old. She dispatched an expedition to the land of Arif-Emir, who owned a strange gem called the Two-World Diamond. Arif-Emir refused to part with his stone, though jinn custom seemed to indicate that it should be lent. A war was declared and Admiral Tombo with a fleet of twenty sail was sent to beat Arif-Emir into submission. Aboard Tombo’s flagship was Tiger. And while Jan slept in Seattle . . .

  Chapter One

  Ahoy Below!

  Tiger, for some time, had been trying to attract the attention of Admiral Tombo. Fifteen enemy ships of the line, under the command of Arif-Emir, had ceased to swing restively to their anchors in Balou Bay and, in a fluttering burst of sails, had begun to turn toward the harbor mouth, obviously bent on sailing out and giving battle to the twenty men-o’-war which so long had dared them.

  In the fighting top of the Graceful Jinnia, Tiger had long since spotted the turbulence on the decks of the enemy in Balou Bay and had long since begun to make said intelligence clear to the quarterdeck below. He had begun in a very naval manner, saying, “Ahoy, the quarterdeck! Enemy standing by to get under weigh!” He had progressed through “Ahoy below! Enemy vessels slipping cables!” And now he cried, “Hey, you fatheads! Arif-Emir is comin’ out to eat us alive!”

  Admiral Tombo looked like a fat scarlet doll, mostly hat, from Tiger’s height of a hundred and thirty feet of mast. He was in a fevered discussion with his staff and the captains of his ships, here assembled in the bright morning. The rage in their voices rose and fell, the click of their fangs punctuating their angry speech. ifrits, when angry, can cause a considerable stir. There was no penetrating their din; three duels had been challenged in a hot ten minutes and one face had been slapped loudly enough for the sound to reach the fighting top where Tiger stood the watch.

  Tiger, big, brawny and human, sprawled against the lip of the basket and looked around at the waiting fleet. The ships of Ramus the Magnificent, ruler of the jinn, stood to hand, few sails set, sun flashes on their brass cannon, fresh spray upon their gilt scrolling. It was a brisk morning and a chop sea was running in a fifteen-knot wind. Every man-o’-war present had spotted the sudden activity of the bottled enemy and a laundry bag of signal flags stood stiffly and urgently quivering from the halyards of each.

  Landward the cream-sailed ships of Arif-Emir were falling into battle station behind their pennoned leader, making an increasing line of battle. The flagship, probably with Arif-Emir on her quarterdeck, was opposite Gallows Point already and her bow was beginning to lift to the chop sea which extended just within the harbor mouth. There they came, fifteen ships, five first-raters of eighty guns and ten frigates of twenty-four.

  Tiger looked down at the wrangling captains and their angry admiral. Bored, Tiger put a brass trumpet to his mouth and tried again: “Hey, fatso! Your pal Arif is going to dine on you for dinner.”

  Still none looked up from below. Tiger had his orders. He was a gunner’s mate, sent up here to take a lookout because of some words he had had with the gunnery officer the day before, gunners’ mates not ordinarily being required to perform such duties. A lookout was supposed to stick to his post. But following orders was no long habit with Tiger. He put the trumpet in its clips, swung over the side of the basket, wrapped his cap around the topping lift which led down to the quarterdeck and, with this to protect his hands, swung his heels into space and swooped down like a meteorite to the quarterdeck. He dropped to the planking, knocked out a spark which had generated with the friction of the passage downward, and put his cap on the back of his head. He advanced toward Tombo.

  “I won’t have it! I won’t have it!” Admiral Tombo was screaming. “My orders are to stay on station here! I’ll not go away without the diamond! I won’t leave until the transports come with marines! I won’t!”

  “Condemn you!” howled a big ifrit. “Your ship isn’t out of food! You don’t have a mutinous crew! We can’t maintain this blockade and we won’t! Ramus is dead! You heard the dispatch. How do we know what’s going on at home? Who’ll fight for our preference at court? She’s dead and that cancels her orders! Arif-Emir is never going to come out. I say sail for home and Ahriman take the diamond!”

  Tiger shouldered through them. He was a human, they were ifrits. He could not become an officer in this land, being human, but he couldn’t be severely punished either, being valuable. He tapped Admiral Tombo on the shoulder.

  “If you’re going to sail for home, you better get under weigh. Arif-Emir is standing out of the harbor with all sails drawing.”

  One captain had been about to thrust him aside but his news struck them into motionless statues for an instant. Then they scrambled for the landward shrouds and the first one who reached twenty feet from the deck sung out: “It’s Arif-Emir!”

  The captains below him were confused but still ugly. They turned back on Tombo. “Your commission is from Ramus. She’s dead! I don’t recognize your commission. Whatever the value of the diamond, I’m sailing for home!” He dropped over the rail, balanced his eight feet of bulk on the boat boom and then slid down into his gig. With mutters and glares, the other captains followed him. The marid boat crews one by one presented oars, took aboard each one his captain, let fall and swept away across the choppy brilliant sea.

  Tombo was at the rail. All the while they were leaving he was shaking his fist. “Damn you! By the Seven Sheiks, come back here! You’ll stand to and fight! I’ll fight. I’ll whip them with one ship! You’re mutineers!”

  Tiger watched it passionlessly. Finally, he tapped Tombo on the shoulder again. “Sir, if you’re going to make good that promise, we better be getting some sails set and some guns run out. Arif’s last frigate has cleared Gallows Point.”

  The admiral took one last look at the departing gigs and then spat into the sea. He turned around, hitched up his pants, pushed his cocked hat into a more solid position and ran his eye along the main deck battery.

  “Mr. Malek,” he said to his waiting lieutenant. “Beat to quarters!”

  Tombo looked at Tiger. “What are you doing with your hat on on the quarterdeck?”

  Tiger shrugged and compromised. He took himself off the quarterdeck, dropped down to the port battery and began to tally off his gun crews as his men poured up to the frantic roll of drums.

  Sailing commands rang out from the sailing master and topmen dropped billows of canvas down into the sunlight. With thunderings to match the drums, the sails were sheeted home. The helm came up, the braces sang and creaked to the strain, the buck of the vessel grew short and businesslike. The Graceful Jinnia stood up to meet the enemy, one ship against fifteen.

  Two hours later she was a bloodied and shuddering ruin, her every spar gone, her sheets trailing in the sea, her sodden hulk lifting less and less to the running sea. More and more her castle lifted, less and less of her bow was shown, and then she plunged with a bubbling sigh into the littered water. The tangled flag of Ramus, twisted about a staff, was black against the frothing maelstrom for an instant and then the ship was gone.

  Admiral Tombo, the sailing master, Tiger and twenty men, the remainder of her crew, were prisoners aboard the Tong-Malou, flagship of Arif.

  Chapter Two

  Fog

  Jan Palmer awoke with an aching head and gazed out of his windows at a fog-whitened Seattle. All and he were distinctly not well.

  He felt his temples and confusedly looked at his hands. But they were not covered with blood as he had supposed, oddly enough, they would be. Here he was in his own bedroom; there was his wife, Alice, sleeping prettily with tousled hair flowing across the pillow; there was the harbor and the low-tufted fog from out of which came the snores of perturbed shipping—perhaps one or two of his own ships, since he was the sole owner of the Bering Sea Steamship Corporation. He
was sure he should not be here and yet he was here. He was certain he should be half dead and yet he was alive. What had happened?

  Dimly, he felt memories slipping away from him. Gropingly he tried to capture them and examine them. For an instant he recalled a long-gone time when he had been present at the opening of a strange and ancient copper jar of Arabian design. For a moment he heard and felt the breath of a Jinni which had flowed swiftly from the jar, snarling threats and growing hugely. For a moment he saw the man who had opened that mysterious jar and saw the man fall dead and heard himself being cursed with the “Curse of Eternal Wakefulness.” Then there were blurred recollections of never sleeping, of passing from this land to a land of sleep, a land where the jinn ruled and all humans were slaves and where all humans went when they slept. And he recalled himself as Tiger, a redoubtable and mischievous sailor in that strange land of sleep and how, as Tiger, he had become strong and how, as himself, Tiger had become wise. But the recall of that meeting of self in the Land of Awake and self in the Land of Sleep faded and grew tangled like some nightmare one cannot quite grasp. He felt like a man whose vitality was ebbing from him. He felt as though some necessary portion of him were slipping away and he could not tell how or why.

  For many years now he had not slept but, transferring from the Land of Awake where he was Jan Palmer into the Land of Sleep where he was Tiger, he had lived a dual and highly fascinating life. In the Land of Awake he ruled the Bering Sea Steamship Corporation with a vigor which had never manifested itself before the opening of that jar and the subsequent adventures had made him Tiger. Asleep, he was awake again in the land of the jinn where, as Tiger, he carried out an amusing role. It had been a highly satisfactory continuance of a beginning which had seemed harshly adventurous. The jinn ruled humanity when humanity slept, for the soul wandered far in sleep. But Jan was suddenly unaware that his soul had ever wandered anywhere. One last datum tried to penetrate his wits: The soul of Alice, his wife, was Wanna in the land of the jinn and Wanna was waiting for Tiger somewhere in the world of sleep. And then that fact too was gone.