Dream Thief

by Stephen Lawhead

  Spence was not hearing what he had hoped to hear. Dr. Lloyd, with great enthusiasm, was defending Spence’s own proposal against him.

  “Perhaps there would be a way to restructure the project, maybe—”

  Dr. Lloyd smiled benignly and shook his head from side to side slowly. “You haven’t given it a proper chance. Why not see where it will take you?”

  “I could interpose another subject into the same design—I wouldn’t have to…”

  “No, no. I can understand your anxiety. But you have already done so much. How do you know that you are not even now evincing some of the signs of LTST yourself? Eh? Have you thought of that?”

  “But—”

  “Dr. Reston, believe me, I admire your work. I would hate to see anything augur ill for the progress you’ve already made. Your career is in its ascendancy. You will go far. But as a friend I must warn you. Don’t tinker with your design now. It would not look good to the Board. You would not wish to appear, shall we say, undecided? Wishy-washy?

  “I am afraid the Board would take a dim view of any changes at this late date. And, as a member of the Board, I would have to agree.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Dr. Lloyd. Thank you for your time.” Spence rose reluctantly to his feet and his colleague led him to the door with his hand on Spence’s shoulder.

  “Any time, Dr. Reston. Please feel free to stop by any time. That’s what I’m here for.” Lloyd chuckled, delighted that he could be of help to the legendary young Dr. Reston. “Go back to your work. I should tell you we’re all watching your progress with the greatest interest.”

  “Thank you. Goodbye, sir.”

  “Don’t mention it. Goodbye. Come by any time.”

  Spence had met with a brick wall of his own making. He had not considered it before, but it made sense that GM would want him as much as he had first wanted them. His presence would lend to the overall prestige of the Center, and now that they had him they were not going to let anything happen to him that would lessen his value as a contributor. They were not about to let anything stand in the way of Dr. Reston’s glorious success, not even Dr. Reston himself.

  He walked gloomily back to the lab, feeling trapped. What was happening to him? Was he losing his sanity? Was this how it started?

  The dreams were back, and they were beginning to exert more and more control over his sleep state. He awoke in the morning drained and unrested, his emotions on the ragged edge. The dreams themselves he could not remember. They were shadowy forms which moved barely beyond the edges of consciousness.

  Was Lloyd right? Was he undergoing the strain associated with long-term space travel? If so, how was that possible? He had not been on GM long enough. Was there some mechanism which acted to somehow speed up his own experience—the encephamine injections, perhaps? Or was there some other explanation?

  Only one thing was certain: the dreams had returned to haunt him.

  Perhaps he should do as Dr. Lloyd suggested, simply follow where his mind would take him. Spence shrank from the thought. There was something in him that rebelled at that suggestion. Irrationally rebelled, it seemed, because it was solidly logical advice. Yet something within Spence—his spirit, his conscience, that tiny inner voice—screamed a warning at the thought of abandoning his reason to the design of the project. Even if it was his own project.

  Spence sought to quell this inner mutiny as he walked back to the lab. There was no reason not to continue as planned—no scientifically objective reason.

  He entered the lab with the faint whisper of the sliding partition. The lights were off and Tickler was gone. The lab was quiet. He stepped in and the door slid closed behind him, leaving him in complete darkness and silence.

  He turned to fumble in the blackness for the access plate in order to switch on a lighting panel overhead. As he wheeled around, the faintest trace of a glimmer caught his eye. He stopped and turned back slowly.

  In the darkness of the empty lab he perceived a strange luminescence, a sort of halo, barely visible, hanging in the air in the center of the lab. He closed his eyes and opened them again and the slight, greenish glow remained. As Spence watched, the radiant spot seemed to coalesce, to focus and grow brighter by degrees, and he moved toward the glow as if drawn by a heavy magnetic force.

  The halo was quite visible now; it even threw off a gentle reflection all around. Spence walked slowly around it, his muscles tensed like a cat ready to spring. It was like nothing he had ever seen. Whichever way he moved, the shimmering halo showed always the same face to him: a luminescent wreath of pale green light shining with a gleaming radiance which shifted and danced under his gaze. The center of the halo remained unaffected by the light. Through it he could see the dim outlines of objects on the other side of the room.

  Spence edged cautiously closer, sideways like a crab. He attempted to look away, but his curiosity, or some greater force, held his attention firmly. He could not resist.

  Now he was standing very close to the glowing presence in the center of the lab. So close that he could feel a tingling sensation on his hands and face, a tiny prickling of the flesh as if with extreme cold. He raised one hand toward the aura and saw it surrounded by the greenish cast.

  Gradually he noticed a movement within the halo—a very transparent shimmer of deepest blue, almost beyond human vision. The radiance intensified and cast out beams which glittered gold and silver as they fluoresced within the green aura of the halo.

  Although he stood rooted firmly in his place, he experienced the unnerving sensation of traveling very rapidly into the halo, as if he were being sucked into a swirling vortex of cold blue fire. With this sensation came a quickening of his physical senses. His heart began beating rapidly, his breathing labored, sweat beaded up on his forehead and neck. He was feeling very weak and dizzy, teetering on the brink of consciousness, when he felt a unique sensation: the flesh at the base of his neck began creeping upward in tiny pinpricks over his scalp. For one brief instant he wondered what that could mean. What could it be? The answer hit him like a shock: every hair on his head was standing on end.

  Spence opened his mouth to cry out, but no sound came. He was held in the steely grip of a terror he could not name, a fear which came swimming at him from the darkened corners of the room—of his mind. He could not move or scream or look away. Only endure.

  Some small part of his mind withdrew from the horror which now twisted his features. It watched with dread fascination as the green aura flared brilliantly and the whirling blue lightning slowed and began to take shape. To his rational inner eye it appeared that a scene was taking place behind a filmy curtain of light, but the movements were too indistinct and too remote to be understood.

  Gradually he became aware of a sound which perhaps had been there all along, but had gone unnoticed. It was the thin, needlelike tinkling of tiny bells. This he heard not with his ears, but inside his head and on the surface of his skin. And hearing it now, in this way, turned his blood to ice water in his veins. For up to this moment it was a sound heard only in his dreams.

  With an effort he raised his hands and clamped them over his ears and screamed with every fiber of will left in him. Then he toppled insensible to the floor.

  5

  HERE HE IS.” THE flashlight beam played over the slumped figure on the floor. “Passed out.”

  “I’ll get the lights,” said a second, slightly higher pitched voice.

  “No, leave them off. He might wake up,” replied the first.

  “What shall we do with him? We can’t just leave him on the floor…”

  “Why not? We can come back later.”

  “He might remember.”

  “Right. Let’s put him in the sleep lab.”

  “Good idea. Hook up the scanner, too. That way he won’t be sure. Even if he remembers he won’t be sure.”

  “I’ll take his feet. Careful, don’t wake him up.”

  TO SPENCE IT SEEMED as if his mind returned like a rock
dropped into a lake. He felt his awareness returning, falling slowly through the void of darkness, while he himself waited floating to receive it.

  The floating sensation continued for some time. When he tried to move his head he was overcome by a powerful dizziness and the feeling that he was falling in slow motion into a vast, bottomless pit.

  So he lay motionless and tried to collect the fragments of his thoughts—what was left of them. He remembered talking to Dr. Lloyd and then returning to the lab. That was all—only darkness after that. And yet there must be something more. For here he was, if his guess was correct, in the sleep lab lying on the scanner’s cav couch. How he had gotten there he could not say.

  From the control room he heard the soft chime of the session clock. Then Tickler’s voice sounded over the speaker, drifting down from above like snow. “The session is terminated. Dr. Reston. Shall I bring up the lights?”

  “Yes,” he heard himself say, “bring up the lights.”

  The overhead panels began to glow, faintly at first but steadily until he could make out the ordinary cylindrical dimensions of the room. He sat up slowly as the last waves of dizziness rolled over him. He gripped the sides of the cav couch and started awkwardly to his feet, aware that Tickler was watching him closely from the control booth.

  He felt a tug and realized that he was wearing the scanning cap. He slipped it off and tossed it back onto the couch in the depression his head had made, and then moved slowly, as in a dream, toward the booth.

  “Good scan this session, doctor,” Tickler said happily.

  “Bring it to me after breakfast.” Spence shook his head groggily.

  “Anything wrong?”

  “No. I, uh, didn’t sleep very well, that’s all.”

  “You remember, of course, that you have scheduled to interview cadets for the assistantships today.”

  “Tickler, do we really need an assistant? I mean, the project is just myself and you. It isn’t as if we were in HiEn—those guys want thirty people for every experiment.”

  “Each department is required to take a cadet.”

  “Well, couldn’t Simmons take an extra one? I don’t really see where we need to…”

  “BioPsych is a small department, yes,” Tickler sniffed. “But it will hardly expand if those of us in a position to encourage the interest of bright young minds fail to take full advantage of the assistantship program.”

  Spence hated Tickler’s testimonials; so to prevent further aggravation he replied as evenly as he knew how, “You are right, of course. In fact, I think it would be a good idea for you to interview the cadets yourself.”

  “Me? But, Dr. Reston, I—”

  “I don’t see why not. You have a good feel for that sort of thing. I will, however, want to approve your choice. When you’ve found the right candidate for the job, bring him to me.”

  Spence ducked quickly out of the control booth, bringing an end to the matter. He stepped into the corridor and began threading his way to the commissary. Once free from Tickler’s annoying presence his mind returned to the mysterious problem of his blackout.

  In the jumble of the crowded cafeteria he found seclusion to properly mull it over in his mind. Noise, considered Spence, was just as good an insulator as perfect quiet. Maybe better. With a proper level of random sound the mind turned naturally inward, completely shutting out the rest of the world.

  The clash and clatter of trays and utensils, the din of voices, and the unrelenting drone of insipid background music which filled the busy commissary raised the noise factor to the perfect volume for contemplation. With his tray of scrambled eggs, grapefruit, and coffee he made his way to an empty table in the corner past others dining on an assortment of foods. He saw spaghetti, roast beef, tomato cups, chicken salad, pancakes, omelets, and hot dogs—breakfast, lunch, and dinner served simultaneously to accommodate the schedules of various shifts. The sight of roast beef and gravy sitting next to scrambled eggs and toast always threw him; it did not look right somehow.

  Spence chewed thoughtfully and at the end of his meal was no closer to an answer than before. The missing hours were simply gone. Ten hours—maybe twelve—could not be accounted for. Not by his own memory, at any rate. He gulped the last of his tepid coffee and determined to check the scan in the lab—the scan tape would show a moment-by-moment account of his mental whereabouts on its four red wavy lines.

  He entered the lab and saw that Tickler had gone. He went to the control booth and found the spool where Tickler had left it, duly cataloged and ready for filing after his inspection.

  Spence snapped the seal and unrolled the strip to the beginning, watching the yards and yards of wavy lines unravel through” his fingers. At the start of the tape he saw the date and time notation: EST 5/15/42 10:17 GM. The scan continued for nine-and-a-quarter hours without interruption. Each peak and valley, every blip of an alpha spark or beta flash was duly recorded. He saw the even, rhythmic progress of his night’s sleep. His presence was accounted for.

  But what about before the scan? Where had he been? What had he done? Why couldn’t he remember?

  Spence rolled up the tape and resealed the spool. He had to get out of the lab and think—or not think. He decided on Central Park.

  THE HUMIDITY INCREASED NOTICEABLY as he approached the concourse entrance to the park. It was only when he smelled the slightly musty fragrance of the garden’s atmosphere that he realized how flat was the carefully controlled and filtered air of the rest of the center.

  He stepped down onto the turf and threw a hand up to protect his eyes from the dazzling brightness which engulfed him instantly. The solar shields, those immense louvered slats which could be opened or closed to regulate the amount of light allowed in upon the garden, were open wide in an approximation of high noon. Spence stood blinking for some moments until his eyes became used to the brilliant light, then struck along one of the many meandering pathways. He followed the path toward the center of the garden and the greensward, hoping to find an empty bench in one of the secluded nooks formed by the trees and hedges which were landscaped to provide privacy.

  A quick survey of the perimeter showed that all the benches were taken, mostly by young women soaking up the sun’s beneficial rays. He had just about completed the circuit when he stopped in front of the last bench. It, too, was occupied. He was about to turn away when he realized he knew the owner of the upturned face and closed eyes.

  “Mind if I sit down?” he asked. The blue eyes fluttered open and a hand rose to shade them.

  “Oh, Dr. Reston—Spence, I mean. Please, do sit down. I’m taking up far more than my fair share of space.”

  He sat down at the extreme end of the bench and looked at •the young lady, realizing that he had nothing at all to say to her. He smiled. She smiled back.

  Idiot! Spence shrieked to himself. Say something! The smile lingered, evaporating at the edges.

  “Did you have a successful meeting?” Ari saved him by starting the conversation.

  “Meeting?” Oh, no! he thought, I’m babbling again!

  “You’ve forgotten already? You had a meeting with my father—or was that some other Dr. Reston?”

  “Is he back then?”

  “You mean Mr. Wermeyer hasn’t called you yet? I could say something to him, if you like. Daddy’s been busy since he got back, but you should have been called. I’ll see what I can do; I have a certain amount of pull, you know.”

  “No, I wouldn’t think of asking you. I’ll wait my turn.”

  “Maybe it was another Dr. Reston, then. The one I had in mind was quite insistent. Very urgent—matter of life and death.”

  “Apparently the crisis has passed—I had time to cool off. Thanks for the offer, though. I still do want to see him.”

  “Well, you may be in luck if you care to wait for a little while. My father’s coming down to get me when his meeting’s over. We’re going to lunch together. You could talk to him then.”

  “I wouldn�
��t intrude—”

  “Don’t be silly. I don’t mind. Anyway, I wouldn’t have offered if I still didn’t feel a little guilty about treating you so disgracefully.”

  “I’ve forgotten all about it. Believe me.”

  “You’re nice.” She smiled again, and Spence felt the warmth of it touch his face like the rays of the sun.

  And in that moment, without either one of them thinking very much about it, without desiring it at all, they became friends. It was a natural thing for Ari; she had many friends, and made friends easily. For Spence, though, it was quite a different thing. He did not make friends easily—especially with women. He didn’t know how to talk to them and never felt comfortable around them. So it was with a shock that he realized some time later that he had spent over an hour talking with Ari without for a moment feeling ill at ease.

  And it was with a pang of genuine regret that Spence saw the portly, though dignified, form of the GM director approaching from across the lawn.

  “Oh, Daddy!” shouted Ari, jumping up. Spence stood as well. “Daddy, you’ll remember Dr. Reston—”

  “Yes, indeed!” The man called “Daddy” held out a wide, firm hand which Spence took in his own and received vigorous shaking.

  “It is good to see you again. Director Zanderson.” The last time Spence had seen the director had been at a reception for the new grant winners a few days prior to making the jump.

  “I am always pleased to see one of our brightest new colleagues. In fact, I believe you have your first review coming up, do you not? Yes, I believe so. I saw it on my calendar. How do you like it here, Dr. Reston? You’re finding it all you hoped it would be?”