Dream Thief

by Stephen Lawhead

  Someone is home, thought Spence. He was not alone after all. He turned and peered back behind him as if he would see Kyr watching him, urging him to go ahead and rejoin his own. He saw nothing but the dull red rock-strewn pan of the desert.

  In another hour he was stepping into the shadow of the first long greenhouse. He had returned.

  ADJANI HAD FINISHED THE day’s search and returned to the installation dejected and disappointed. The high hopes with which he began the day evaporated like dew in the heat of the sun. He had showered—one of the few genuine luxuries on Mars—and settled down to eat after a quick scan of the daily log. The wafer screen showed no messages from Packer and company since he had been gone. He munched a handful of the tiny, pelletlike nutribiscuits that they all ate and washed it down with cold fresh water.

  He was thinking about tomorrow’s search, the last he would be able to make before leaving Mars. In ten or twelve hours Packer and the rest of the crew would be back, and then they would secure the installation and make ready to leave. There was one more pass he wanted to make along the rift valley to the west. If he found nothing, as he now feared, he would allow that Packer was right and that nothing would ever be found.

  This was his thought when he heard the whoosh of the outer air lock. He turned, expecting to see Packer and a dozen of his cadets standing in the lock. Instead he saw a lone figure without a helmet standing in the shadow at the far end of the glassed-in chamber.

  Adjani moved quickly, his senses pricked like a cat’s on the hunt. A rush of excitement stirred him as he recognized the figure even before his mind could attach the name.

  “Spence!” he gasped as the lock opened and his friend stepped unsteadily into the room.

  “Adjani. It was you …” Spence was assailed by a strong outpouring of emotion. He fell on his friend’s neck and hot tears of relief spattered the green of his jumpsuit in dark splotches.

  Adjani, too, cried and laughed and shouted for joy.

  “Spence, you’re alive! Alive! I knew it—in my heart I knew it! Thank God! You’ve come back!” The lithe Indian fairly danced in circles around him.

  Spence threw off his gloves and wiped at his eyes with the heels of his hands, looking boyish and embarrassed. “You missed me, huh?”

  Adjani threw his head back and laughed as if that were the funniest thing he had ever heard. “Missed you? No, not at all. I can’t believe it. You’re alive.” He laughed again.

  “Where is everybody? I expected a bit more of a welcome than this.”

  “They have all gone to the North Pole—rather they should be on their way back from there now. We are leaving tomorrow. I thought we would have to leave you forever.” Adjani fixed him with a firm look.

  “I know I have some explaining to do. Actually, it’s better that it’s just you and me. You can help me think through what to say to the others. That has been on my mind since I found out I was coming back.”

  “Found out?” asked Adjani with some surprise. “Did you doubt it?”

  “Plenty!” said Spence. “I never thought I’d see this place— or any other—ever again. I was a dead man more times than I care to think about.”

  “Well, come, tell me everything. Are you hungry? I’ll fix you something. Sit down. Rest—you look like you’ve lost weight. You look exhausted. But you look better than I’ve ever seen you.” He paused, standing over Spence and grinning from ear to ear.

  “Welcome back, my friend. Welcome back to the land of the living.”

  12

  I DON’T BELIEVE IT. I don’t believe it.” Packer recited his litany once again. He sat in the chair where he had collapsed upon entering the base, and stared at Spence as if he were seeing a ghost. His mouth hung open and his eyes bulged slightly, making him appear first cousin to a cod. “I just don’t believe it.”

  “You didn’t think you had seen the end of me. Packer? I paid for a round-trip ticket.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  Spence gave Adjani a conspiratorial smile. “That’s Packer, always the keen conversationalist.”

  Packer then leaped up and proceeded to give Spence’s back such a pounding that Spence wished he had stayed quite out of range of the burly giant. “Reston, you old fox. How did you do it? Tell me that. How did you ever do it? Look! Not a nip of frostbite on him! How did you do it?”

  Spence then proceeded to give Packer a version of the story he and Adjani had carefully constructed between them. He said that he had stumbled into a warm-air shaft which kept him from freezing to death and also allowed him to distill a small amount of water vapor—enough to keep him from dehydration—by using his helmet.

  He told how he had walked every day to try and find his way back, the trail having been obliterated by the storm. He could only walk as far as he could return in the same day. That way he could be back in his warm air vent by nightfall. Each day he had gone out a different way and on the last day had been fortunate enough to have been spotted by Adjani and picked up.

  “Adjani, why didn’t you radio us when you found him?”

  “I started to, but you were already on your way back. We decided to let it be a surprise.”

  “Surprise! Well, I’ll say it is! Spence, I sure am glad to see you. I thought you’d bought your ticket that first night. I was sure of it. And then the storm and everything. I don’t believe it.”

  “I never thought I’d see this place again, either. I had almost given up hope of finding it.”

  Packer grew serious; his eyes, still twinkling, regarded Spence sharply. “What made you do it, Spence? What made you run out into that sandblaster out there? I can’t figure it.”

  Spence lowered his voice; there were others gathered around that he did not wish to involve in his private affairs. “I think you’re entitled to a full reading on that score, Packer. I think I’d like to wait until we can sit down and talk it over.”

  “I understand. No pressure—just curious.”

  “Adjani tells me I’m back in time to help close up.”

  “Yes, indeed. You made it back just in time. We’re leaving as soon as we can seal up this compound. Shouldn’t take but a few hours. You are fit to travel, aren’t you? You look like you’ve lost twenty pounds—”

  “I’m fit enough. I’ll have nothing to do but rest once we’re aboard.”

  “That’s another thing! I have to radio back to Gotham and let them know we found you. I’m afraid I gave up on you, Spencer. I told ComCen you were missing, presumed dead. That’s one mistake I’ll gladly correct pronto.”

  “No! I mean, couldn’t we let it wait for a few days?”

  Packer’s eyes narrowed. “There’s some trouble, isn’t there? I’m dense, but not that dense. You want to tell me about it?”

  Adjani spoke up. “Again that would be better discussed in private between friends. All right?”

  Packer shrugged. “I’ll hold off sending the report, but you two are going to have some explaining to do as soon as we’re under way.” He smiled, his features relaxing into their normal benign smirk. “I don’t care if you’ve nipped the Crown Jewels, I’m just glad you’re back.”

  Olmstead Packer turned to those gathered around and yelled, “Let’s get this show on the road! I want everything stashed, stowed, and shipshape in three hours. Kalnikov is bringing the transport into alignment now. Personally, I don’t want to spend another night in this chicken coop. Let’s go!”

  The cadets let out a whoop and the place swung into a ferment of activity. Adjani settled himself at a nearby computer terminal and reactivated the drone program which ran the installation in the absence of human caretakers. Spence went back to his bunk in the team leader’s quarters and picked up his still-packed frame from the bed he had never slept in.

  It seemed like ages ago that he had wandered half-crazed out into the cruel Simoom. And everything that had happened after

  that seemed like a dream. But now, as he stood looking at his belongings, he was once more
acutely aware that he was still vulnerable to the mysterious blackouts, and still no closer to solving the enigma of their cause—his flight had been futile from that respect. His sanity dangled by an all-too-slender thread. He did not know how much more he could take before that tenuous thread snapped.

  ARI SAT UP IN bed with a start. The dull ache that had driven her, after weeks of dogged endurance, at last to bed had finally disappeared. The churning emptiness had gone and she felt almost herself once more.

  The awful news about Spence had been a shattering blow. For days she had done nothing but sit in her room while the cruel words “presumed dead” tore at her heart. She cried until tears refused to come, and then entered a state of benumbed indifference to life. Her father, at wits’ end, summoned doctors who advised sedatives which she would not take.

  But this morning she told herself that her vigil of grief was over, that she would face the day with resolve and put her life back together. The effect was like a cool wind rising in the night to blow away a long, sultry hot spell. This weather change in her brought with it renewed hope that somehow, some way her life would resume, even flourish.

  It was this change, so fresh, so startling in its suddenness, that brought her awake out of a leaden sleep. And she had a feeling of waking to unfinished business—knowledge which seemed to dance just out of memory. Like a butterfly it flitted close, but when she tried to capture it, to hold it and remember, it darted away again.

  Ari hummed with the feeling that she knew something very important, though she could not remember what it was. The feeling hounded her all day.

  She rose and went about the morning routine with a lightness and cheer that would have delighted any who had seen her. She filled her small room with a sunny radiance that splashed against the walls and chased the shadows—as if a window had been opened on a new spring morning full of golden sunlight and glowing promise.

  She wondered what the change could mean. An answer to prayer? Thankfully, she accepted it as such and launched into her day relieved, refreshed, and revived.

  “Daughter, you look absolutely reborn!” her father shouted when she met him for breakfast. The director always took breakfast in his own dining room while he skimmed the news of the world which ComCen gathered from various satellite news services and patched together for him in a special vid-disc edition of the Gotham Times.

  “I feel much better today, Daddy.”

  “You look marvelous, my dear. Simply wonderful. Oh, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you like this. I was beginning to think that… Well, never mind. Breakfast?”

  “I’m starved!”

  “I daresay. You haven’t eaten a mouthful in two weeks!”

  “Not that it has hurt me any.” She laughed and her father watched the light sparkle in her deep blue eyes once more.

  “Nonsense, my dear. You’re but a whisper of a girl already.” He reached for her hand and kissed it gallantly. “I am glad you have come back, Ari. I was deeply afraid I’d lose you.”

  She smiled and clasped his hand in both of hers. “I won’t ever leave you. Daddy. Not like that.”

  Both of them knew what lay behind the veiled reference: Mrs. Zanderson; his wife, her mother. It was simply too painful a subject to be spoken about in open terms; they had invented a code language to help them speak about it without stirring up old, unwanted memories.

  “So! Sit down. I’ll ring you up some breakfast. What will it be?”

  “I’ll have some of whatever you’re having, please. And the sooner the better.”

  “Orange juice?”

  “Gallons.” She settled into her chair next to her father’s. “And some of those scrumptious croissants—if there are any left.”

  Director Zanderson rang the silver bell at his elbow and a pink jumpsuited kitchen attendant swished into the room with the crisp, formal movements of a military conscript. The director was the only person on GM to have his own serving staff and kitchen; everyone else ate at the commissary. He gave the man their breakfast order and sent him away.

  “Oh, and Henry, no croissants for me. I’m meeting with the AgDiv heads this morning.” He turned back to his daughter. “They say they have invented a new protein potato or some such thing and they want me to pass judgment on it. I’ll probably have to eat my weight in potato steaks. Would you care to accompany me, dearest?”

  “I thought I’d go for a swim. I haven’t been near the pool for ages. I could use a little sun, too.”

  “Quite right. Just the thing to put the roses back in your lovely cheeks.”

  “But enjoy your new potato. Sounds promising.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s fantastic. It’s just that every other week or so they seem to come up with something bigger and better than the week before. A bigger carrot, better rabbits—I don’t know what. I’m afraid it’s getting harder and harder for me to work up enthusiasm like I used to. And the smell down there would knock you over.”

  She smiled cheerily. “It’s the price of progress, Daddy. Just keep thinking maybe they’ll come up with a way to make your nutristeak taste like real beef.”

  “Now that’s something I’ll crow about. By the way”—he paused, his manner growing serious. “I meant to tell you before, but—”

  “What is it. Daddy” The smile faded.

  “The Gyrfalcon is due in sometime today or tomorrow. I think that’s what Wermeyer told me yesterday. I thought you should know so that if you heard it somewhere else it wouldn’t come as a shock.” He patted her shoulder and gave her a kind, fatherly look. “I hope I haven’t ruined your day.”

  “I’m not going to let anything ruin my day. Yes, the wound is still tender, but I thank you for telling me. Don’t worry. I’ll be all right.”

  The servant brought in two large trays and set them before the diners. Ari, true to her word, tackled a cream cheese omelet with vigor; her father drifted back to his perusal of the morning’s news.

  After seeing her father off to his office, she went to her room and slipped on her bathing suit and made her way down to the garden level to walk in green solitude before going to the noisy, kid-ridden pool.

  The quiet pathways wending among the growing things and the clear unobstructed view of the garden sweeping before her in the distance to vanish around the curve of the station lifted her spirits once more to their previous level; soon she was soaring again.

  Something is about to happen, she told herself. Something good, I know it.

  13

  I HATED LYING TO him like that. I don’t enjoy this at all,” moaned Spence. He and Adjani sat face-to-face in the empty galley over half-full cups of cold coffee. Kalnikov was making his final burn for home.

  “There was no other way. You know that. We’ve been over and over it. Why do you keep bringing it up?”

  “I’m sorry, Adjani.” Spence looked at his friend’s usually fresh, untroubled face. Now he saw dark circles of fatigue under the black eyes and lines of concern pulling the edges of his mouth into a perpetual frown. “And I’m sorry for mixing you up in this. I had no right—”

  “I gave you the right when I asked you to be my friend. Don’t ever question it, Spence. Never. Understand?” Adjani lowered his voice—it seemed that they had talked in lowered voices the whole of the trip back. “I know what you think, but you could not have held such a secret inside you for long. It is too great for one man to bear.”

  “You think Packer is satisfied with the explanation I gave him? He seemed skeptical.”

  “Leave Packer to me. I’ve known him for a long time. I’ll talk to him again, but don’t you say any more. Stick by your story— at least until we figure out what to do next. Will you promise me that much?”

  Spence sighed and nodded slowly. “I promise. I won’t do anything rash or stupid—at least not without asking you first. But I didn’t expect it to be this hard. Really, I—”

  “Did you think you had returned from a Sunday picnic? Your life has been changed. Y
ou will never be the same, Spence. You have seen things no man has ever seen and you know things now that can … well, change the world. And you can’t tell anyone.”

  Spence stared dully ahead, eyes unfocused, remembering the long sessions he and Adjani had put in during the five-week journey back to Gotham. Now, only a few hours more before docking, they were rehearsing it all again.

  He had told Packer a story about his having a fight with Adjani and how he had wanted only to get out of the installation for a few minutes to cool off. He hadn’t known Adjani was hurt, and hadn’t meant to hurt him. The storm blew up and he became disoriented and couldn’t find his way back. Spence admitted to having violent spells of anger and frustration lately—probably due to overwork— and that something had touched him off. Adjani had had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Packer accepted this version of the events in much the same way he accepted Spence’s version of his miraculous survival on the surface of an extremely hostile planet—he nodded a good deal and puffed out his cheeks and rubbed his hand through his wiry thatch of copper-colored hair and at last said, “I see. Very interesting.” And that had been that.

  Packer had not questioned him further about either incident, and that is why Spence felt he had not been believed—Packer had seen through the shabby lie and been too hurt to press the matter further. He wanted to come clean and explain everything just the way it happened. Adjani counseled against this and was still of the same opinion: wait and see.

  “You’re right, of course,” said Spence at length. “It’s just that I, ah …”

  “I know, I know. You feel very alone right now. Don’t worry. I’m with you. Together we’ll work this out.”

  Spence wondered if Adjani knew or guessed there was more to his story than tunnels and a lost city. He had not told him about Kyr—partly out of obligation to the Martian, and partly out of fear that he would not have been believed. This, too, was eating at him. He wondered if he should tell Adjani about Kyr now, or wait for a better time. He decided reluctantly to wait.