Topaz Dreams

by Marilyn Campbell

  Falcon's heart fluttered under the onslaught of Steve's panic. He closed his eyes to see what she saw and reached out to her. Do you want my presence?

  No. Stay there. From the way her heart was racing, Steve had no doubt that he heard her. She carefully set the briefcase down, and let the old man see her hands clearly in front of her and empty. Pasting on a big smile, she took a hesitant step forward.

  "Freeze, girlie. I've got a gun."

  Steve stared at the wavering weapon. Nervous? The man was scared out of his wits. "Look, I'm sorry I frightened you. You scared me, too, sir. I fell asleep upstairs. I had a terrible migraine, and—"

  The guard interrupted her with a grunt and a wave of the gun. "I don't know about you fallin' asleep. I do know you were using the computer in Miss Preston's office, and I know you don't work here, so I figure you're some kind of spy."

  Steve felt like kicking herself. She had remembered elevators and flushing toilets and, like a stupid amateur, turned on the computer. All she could do was keep trying to run her play. "You must be mistaken. I was asleep in the women's lounge on the third floor. Maybe Miss Preston is in her office. Why don't you—" She took another two steps before he yelled.

  "Stop! It was you. And a man. When the alert came up, I turned on the viewer for her office. You're both on film. Where's the man?" He looked past her to the alcove. "Hey, Mister! You there? You may as well come out where I can keep an eye on you, too."

  Steve took advantage of his distraction to move another foot. "There's no man. It was just me. You're right. I am a competitor. But I didn't find anything important." She would try pleading and eyelash fluttering. "Look, you've given me a horrible scare, and taught me a lesson I'll never forget. I swear. This was the first time I tried anything like this, and it will be my last. Just let me get out of here, okay?" She heard a siren in the distance. The guard glanced at the door. He had heard it as well.

  "You'll get out of here all right. With the police. I called them right before you came down." His hands were still shaking, but his voice had gained confidence as the sound of the siren grew louder.

  Police! Steve tried to keep her breathing normal as she watched the guard moving toward the front door. He was fumbling with his cumbersome key ring, obviously trying to select the appropriate key out of the sizable collection without taking his gun or his gaze off her. Falcon. Hide! You can't let the police get hold of you. She heard the beginning of an argument from him and swiftly cut him off. I'll be fine. Go!

  Steve felt the adrenaline pouring into her veins. The siren was close, maybe a block away. The guard fingered a key and separated it from the bunch. Steve poised. She would count on the man's age to have slowed his reflexes. For one split second he shifted his gaze to insert the key into the deadbolt lock. Steve lunged, aiming a chop at his gun hand.

  Falcon stumbled and fell backward under the force that slammed into his stomach. His head cracked against the railing as his body descended the flight of steps he had just run up. The landing stopped his fall a moment before he lost consciousness.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Fear makes us feel our humanity. —Benjamin Disraeli

  Falcon fought against the quicksand that threatened to swallow him up. Gradually, he overcame the devastating pain radiating through his abdomen and sucked a breath of air into his empty lungs. Heart failure? His hand moved to his chest. No, his heart and lungs were returning to their normal level of function. Steve? He struggled to his feet, beating down a wave of dizziness caused by his head injury. He had fallen. How? The pain. Steve? How long had he been unconscious? Minutes.

  Steve! Falcon rationalized that if she were safe, she would not be emotional enough for him to read her. Or was she too far away? He reached out mentally, trying to see through her eyes. Nothing. Perhaps his own distress blinded him now. He had not had time to learn the limitations of these new powers.

  Suddenly he sensed the approach of two people. The door below him opened. He stopped breathing and lowered his eyelids. Male voices interrupted the silence.

  "To hell with it! This stairway is likg a black hole. Get the dog. He'll find the bastard faster than we would anyway."

  "Ill get the old guy to switch on the—"

  The sentence was cut off by the click of the stairwell door. Falcon heard another whining sound outside, slightly different from the first. Were those men the police the guard had called? What about the dog? He thought of Mr. Spock. Animals held no threat for him. It was only humans carrying antique weapons and the fact that Innerworld's Medical Department was out of reach that fed his fear. Swiftly, he leapt up the next several flights of stairs and exited into a hallway much like the executive floor.

  Falcon entered the first open office on the street side and looked down. The scene was a chaotic melee of vehicles of different shapes and sizes, many with spinning red lights on top. Traffic and pedestrians were being headed off by uniformed men. Like the two men who had opened the stairway door, these men were tensed for battle, some anxious, some frightened. The gathering crowd was curious and emanated another hideous emotion Falcon could not register as they vied for positions and craned their necks to see. A group of men in white shirts rolled a stretcher toward one of the larger, box-like vehicles.

  At first all he saw between the huddle of men was a glimpse of a white sheet splattered with red. In unison they turned and lifted the stretcher into the rear opening. Steve! His mind screamed a denial in spite of what his eyes clearly saw. Her deathly pale face was visible above a sheet so soaked with blood that it clung wetly to her form. The pain had been hers! The severity of it had almost taken him with her into oblivion. His memory replayed the loud report that had occurred simultaneously with the pain.

  Why had he obeyed her? He had run like a coward. No! Not true! He trusted her to know what she was doing. Now he was safe, and she was ... Aggressive barking reminded him he was not safe at all. The stretcher disappeared behind double doors, and a few seconds later, the vehicle's siren started up again. Amidst the screeching noise and whirling red lights, Steve was whisked away.

  Falcon had no idea how to deal with such turmoil. He could not even begin to identify all the emotions roiling to the surface at one time. He was furious, angry, frightened, worried, frustrated, and he desperately wanted to sit down and cry—something he had never done in his life. He blinked, and the moisture in his eyes pooled in the corners. A distant voice told him Steve would not approve, and he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes until he controlled the momentary weakness. The sound of the stairwell door opening brought an end to his vacillating. Falcon's senses read one man, one dog. He felt the animal's excitement and tremendous restraint.

  "Duke! Seek!" the man ordered.

  Falcon countered. Duke. Slowly. Come to me.

  Duke came to falcon. Slowly. Then he obeyed the command to mislead his master.

  As soon as the man and dog continued to the next floor, Falcon went back down the stairs to wait by the door to the lobby. The lights had been turned on and he was prepared to stop anyone who might enter the stairway, but no one chose that route. Far above him, he heard Duke's frantic barking.

  There were four men and a woman milling around the lobby when a distorted voice shouted. "He must be on the roof! Duke's going crazy." Falcon heard amplified barking as the man spoke. There was a horrid crackling sound, then another voice close by answered, "Okay, let him loose. We're coming up. Collins, stay here, and make sure none of those people try to come in." One man left.

  Falcon eased out of the stairwell and peeked around the corner of the alcove. The man sat with his hip resting on the edge of the desk, alternately watching the activity in the street and writing on a clipboard. Noiselessly, remaining outside of the officer's line of peripheral vision, Falcon maneuvered into position. The policeman reacted to a blurry movement by his face, but was asleep an instant later. Falcon removed his fingers from the man's temple only after he learned what he required and erased the
memory of his touch.

  Somewhere on the roof the dog continued his ferocious barking as he led the squad on a search for the intruder. Falcon dragged the sleeping man back into the alcove and exchanged clothes with him. Attired in police regalia, including the man's heavy vest, weapon belt, and helmet, Falcon picked up the clipboard and hand-held communicator, and headed out the door.

  From the man's mind he had gleaned where Steve had been taken, how to get there, and which of the officer's many keys operated which vehicle. As Falcon intended, no one thought to question the briskly striding police officer who wore dark sunglasses at night. He got into the car and tuned into the routine the officer performed when he had last been in this seat. Using the key, he turned on the engine, then the lights and siren, and hoped the vehicle was as easy to drive as Steve made it look.

  The group of officers in the street moved aside the barricades and people to let him pass. Falcon shifted the stick in front of his right hand, so that the line moved from P to D, pushed his foot down on the pedal on the right, and gripped the steering mechanism. The car lurched forward with spinning tires and a squealing engine. Hopefully, such a display was valid for an officer in a great hurry.

  By the end of the second block, Falcon figured out how much pressure was needed to move the car at a reasonably safe speed. In his experience as Steve's passenger, he had noted that vehicles with sirens and red lights did not need to abide by the various signs and signals along the roadways. He followed their example as he recalled the series of directions that would take him to the hospital.

  Falcon knew he had only driven a short distance, but it was the longest minutes of his life. Hold on, Steve. He pulled into the area denoted by a large Emergency sign and parked the policeman's car next to the vehicle in which Steve had traveled. With a burst of energy, he ran to the entrance way and then had to wait until the slow-moving glass doors opened for him. He took two steps into the large room beyond and was assailed by a wave of emotions that knocked him back a step before he had a chance to block them.

  The enormous room was packed with bodies. Sitting, standing, lying bodies; suffering, tormented bodies. He staggered under the weight of their combined pain and illness. Sorting the emotions bombarding him proved impossible. From every angle came anger, frustration, hostility, fear, but stronger than any other came the awful, limitless pain. And the noise of a thousand voices and the stench of sickness and chemicals.

  He had to fight the paralysis setting into his limbs. Steve needed him. He needed Steve. Section by section, he reduced his empathic reactions to the horde of sufferers, blocked out his awareness of the crying and screaming, ignored the horrendous odors. Falcon searched for Steve's aura. She had to be here. The numbers on the vehicle outside matched those of the one she had been in, and he had envisioned the stretcher being removed and brought in here. He could see no further. All of his control was occupied with remaining sane in this room. But why could he not pick up her aura?

  His scan stopped at a row of official-looking windows with lines of people standing in front of each one. He trusted the uniform he wore to grant him certain privileges. Walking to the front of one line was all he needed to get the attention of the small Oriental woman behind the window. She smiled up at him.

  Falcon did his best to return her smile before impatiently asking, "The injured woman who came in the vehicle marked Rescue 6.Where was she taken?"

  "Straight to surgery. Doesn't look good. A major artery was hit."

  He paused long enough to get directions, then took off at a run for the stairs. When he reached the surgical area, he had to stop a woman in a white uniform to ask for directions again. His mind was surrounded by a red fog that her answer barely penetrated.

  The woman pointed to the door behind him with a strange look on her face. "You're standing in front of it."

  Falcon turned abruptly and pushed on the door, but nothing happened.

  With a cluck of her tongue, the woman spoke to him again, "You have to push the button to get the doors open, but you can't go in there now. It's sterile. You should know that!"

  Falcon looked back at her and made himself relax. She obviously did not trust him to obey the rules. She had crossed her arms over her chest, and her expression had become very stern.

  "Of course. I am sorry. I forgot for a moment." He moved away from the door and smiled. Apparently satisfied, the woman went on her way.

  Moving back to the door, Falcon placed his hand on the metal. The density meant nothing. He could see into the room quite clearly. People and equipment obstructed his view of the patient. If that was Steve, why could he not get a reading of her?

  "She won't make it. Not a gut shot like that."

  Falcon jerked his head toward the voice. A man in a uniform like his own stood next to him, holding a paper cup. He crushed the urge to make the officer retract his careless words. Instead he asked, "What happened?"

  The officer began running through the details of the call that had brought him here with the woman he referred to as Jane Doe. Falcon could not hear the policeman's words above the blood pounding in his head.

  Turning his head back to the door, Falcon realized he could still see the scene inside the room without touching the barrier. The continuous movements of the frenzied medical team allowed him to confirm that the gruesome figure on the table was Steve. Her legs were encased in inflated rubber pants, but what he saw above made him gag. The flesh of her abdomen was severed up to her throat. Tubes and needles connected various parts of her body and head to the machines and bags hanging around the bed. A man had his hands deeply inserted in her torso. The room was chilly, but that man was sweating profusely. A woman wiped his forehead for him.

  They were all wearing masks over their lower faces that muffled their words, but Falcon heard them. Abdominal aorta. Clamp. Sponge. Negative pressure, positive pulse. Losing her. Chest retractors fast! In spite of his own overwhelming fear, Falcon sensed a mounting desperation coming from the man he assumed was the doctor. The thick tension in the room made it almost impossible for Falcon to concentrate on the proceedings.

  The officer next to him was still talking, and Falcon nodded from time to time, but kept his eyes riveted on the barbarism being executed inside. These people were the equivalent to Innerworld's medical team. They must know how to heal their own kind.

  The doctor inserted what looked like a giant pair of scissors through Steve's rib cage. With a sickening crunch, the bones gave way. Frantically, the doctor massaged the heart muscles. Falcon got the impression the man was trying to will Steve back to health.

  Then the doctor stopped working. As one, the people in the room immobilized, looked from the body, to the doctor, to the machines. When the doctor removed his hands and began to suture Steve's chest closed, another man began turning off machines, and a woman removed all the tubes and the strange pant legs. Still, Falcon could not or would not comprehend what it all meant. Until the doctor finished stitching Steve and the woman spread a sheet over Steve's body and pulled one end over her face.

  "No-o-o!" Falcon roared. He waved his arm and the door crashed open. The shock of his entrance froze the medical personnel for the split second Falcon needed to reach Steve and pick her up. One man yelled at him and grabbed his arm, but Falcon flicked him off as if he were a gnat. The officer tried to prevent his exit from the room, and again Falcon waved his hand and the officer's body hurled backward across the corridor.

  Falcon was beyond rational thought. They let her die! He should destroy them all—and he discovered he had the power to do just that. Through his blinding rage, he sensed people moving, preparing to attack. He had no choice. With Steve's lifeless body in his arms, he ran down the hallway and into the first vacant room. Protecting her life was no longer an element to be considered. Nor could he worry about the impression he would leave with these Terrans. In a corner of his mind lingered the fact that he was about to break another serious law of Innerworld. His fingers moved over his
ring.

  "Good work, Miss Preston. Keep me advised." Underwood smiled broadly as he hung up the phone. Circumstances could not have worked out better had he arranged them himself. The Barbanell woman was undoubtedly dead by now. The paramedic that had taken her away had bet she would not even last the trip to the hospital. The elderly security guard had shot her by accident, but she had tried to burglarize his property. No one could possibly make the connection to him, except the two people who had broken into his offices, and one of them was no longer a threat.

  It was that other one whom Underwood thought of now. Falcon and Barbanell had accessed Miss Preston's computer. He had to take the guard's word for the fact that they seemed pleased about whatever they had discovered, for he had ordered Miss Preston to burn the tape of their visit immediately.

  Had the two detectives been bright enough to figure out where he was hiding? Where had Falcon gone while Barbanell was getting herself killed? Was he on his way to Alaska at this moment? Underwood knew the aliens had a way of disappearing at will. Perhaps that is what Falcon had done this evening in San Francisco.

  Underwood's heart was pumping rapidly, his stomach fluttering excitedly, as he went into the parlor to speak with Delphina. She rose as soon as he entered and held her hands out to him. Without explanation, he yanked her hard against his powerful body and hugged her until he reorganized his thoughts. He backed into an overstuffed chair and pulled her down onto his lap as he captured her mouth in a passionate kiss.

  Gradually, his lips softened on hers, and he nibbled his way to her ear. He sucked on her perfect lobe as his large hand moved smoothly up her thigh, caressed her hip, and then her delicate breast. When she breathed, he felt the small, hardened bud rub sensuously against his palm, and he knew she was his alone.

  "Delphina?"

  "Yes, Gordon?"

  "You know I love you above all things. Do you love me just a little?"