Dream thief

9

… I AM HERE, ORTU." Hocking looked at the motionless figure before him. It had been some time since he had been in the palace, and Hocking thought his master appeared even more shrunken and wasted than ever.

"Why are you here?" Ortu did not raise his head; he spoke to Hocking as one asleep. Hocking knew Ortu never slept.

"You said you wanted Reston…" Hocking began.

"Then why is he not here?" The voice was cold, the tone menacing.

"He is coming, Ortu. He is on his way here now."

"How do you know this?" Ortu raised his head slowly. His almost luminous eyes glared out at Hocking with loathing.

"It was not easy, Ortu. I've had to… to make other arrangements."

"Silence! Remember who I am! You have failed again to carry out my commands. What do you have to say for yourself?" "It was my fault. Reston escaped-he tricked us. But-" "Who are the people you have brought with you? Why have you brought them?"

"They are hostages, Ortu. I thought it best to-"

"You thought! I am your master! You act according to my will! Or have you forgotten?"

"No, Ortu. I have not forgotten. But the girl-the girl is Reston's girlfriend. That's how I know he will come. With the tanti we can bring him. That's what you want, isn't it?"

Ortu seemed to consider this and then said, "Fazlul's men are here. Instruct them that the Governor is to intercept Reston on the road and bring him here at once. I will not risk losing him again." Ortu's head sank once more; his eyes closed.

"As you wish, Ortu."

"And the others-your hostages. You will eliminate them at once. It was foolish to bring them here. We have no use for them."

"Yes, Ortu. I will do as you say."

The incense rose in gray billows filling the chamber where Ortu sat like a statue. Hocking, almost choking on the fumes, gazed around the room he knew so well. As always it held a fearful fascination for him. This was the room where his master lived-Ortu had not stirred in forty or fifty years-and from this room he directed his will.

Hocking again regarded the wizened body before him and felt the heat of anger leap up in him. Ortu was patient beyond all human patience; he had waited a thousand years for his plans to begin to grow. He would wait a thousand more for them to bear fruit. I cannot wait that long, thought Hocking to himself. We have a chance now; we must not wait!

Hocking had his own plans for the new world order which Ortu had designed and which would soon commence. It seemed ludicrous that one man, the stubborn Spencer Reston, should single-handedly halt their progress, and so close to the realization of their dreams. What was so important about Reston anyway? He was nothing-a worm to be crushed underfoot.

Someone had to be eliminated; Hocking saw that clearly. But it would not be Ari and her father; they would be needed until the station was secured. It was Reston who should be eliminated.

Hocking withdrew silently; his chair floated out on the clouds of incense and away. It was so simple he did not know why he had not thought of it before. Perhaps he had been afraid, but not now.

Very well, he would give Fazlul's men their instructions: Reston must never reach Kalitiri.

Yes, it was nearly ready. Things were falling together nicely. He went away almost humming to himself. His features had assumed that gruesome death's-head leer. …

PACKER WAS NOT ASLEEP when the intruder entered the darkened cell block. He had been lying on his couch staring up into the inky blankness when he heard the outer door slip open. When the lights remained off he knew something was amiss.

As quietly as he could he slid out of the couch and onto the floor of the cell; he rolled to the far wall and lay there waiting to see what would happen.

He waited so long that he began to think that he had only magined the door opening. He was about to get back in bed hen there came a distinct click followed by the slight rustling and of clothing.

He froze.

Every sense was awake tingling with anticipation. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he peered into the darkness and tried to see any movement at all.

He held his breath.

There came another click and a pencil-thin shaft of blue light jabbed out and seared into the couch. The pulse lasted less than a nanosecond, and was followed by two more in rapid succession. Packer could smell the fumes of the composite fabric and the gel of the cav couch where the laser pulse had incinerated it.

He feared that whoever blasted his couch would now switch on the lights to view their handiwork. For a long agonizing moment Packer lay with his face to the floor, hoping against hope that the would-be assassin would leave.

Then he heard the quiet swish of the outer panel opening, and the intruder went away. A trembling Packer lay motionless and waited for someone to come and rescue him, praying that the killer would not return.

Time seemed to slow. Each minute dragged away painfully. Each second expanded to fill an eternity. He waited.

At last Packer decided that the danger had passed. He stood warily and crept to the couch, fumbling for the light plate near the head. The light winked on and he stared down at the neat charred holes in the couch. Green gel from the support chambers bubbled out onto the orange fabric. The pulses had been calculated to burn through him; no doubt about that: three black rings in the couch-one where his head had been, one at his heart, and one at his midsection-any one of them would have killed him.

He was still standing over the couch, acrid wisps of smoke stinging his nostrils, when he heard a voice behind him. He whirled around, ready to dive for the floor, then recognized Ramm standing there watching him.

"You look a little shook up, friend," said the Chief. "You okay?"

"Oh, it's you. Yeah, I'm all right. Someone tried to kill me." "Tried to what?" He punched in the access code and stepped through the door. "Are you joking?"

"I don't find this very funny," said Packer. He pointed down at the damaged couch.

Ramm let out a low whistle and turned to Packer apologetically. "Man, you're lucky to be alive. If you'd been asleep they would have drilled you."

"I wasn't asleep, thank God." He looked down at the three holes oozing gel from the depression of his body still outlined in the couch. He shivered. "I want out of here, Ramm. The game has changed. These guys, whoever they are, want to play rough. Next time I won't be so lucky, maybe."

Ramm raised a hand and stroked his jaw. "I don't know…"

"What do you mean you don't know? Look, this was supposed to be for my protection, remember? That's what you said. I wasn't protected very much, was I? I want out now!"

"Where will you go? Back to your quarters? To the lab? They'll be waiting for you."

Packer had not thought of that. He threw his hands out to Ramm and said, "What's going on here? This is getting crazy."

"You don't know the half of it. Come with me, we'll talk in my office."

Packer followed the security chief out of the cell block and into his private office. Ramm sat down on the edge of the desk and folded his arms across his chest. Packer sat down in one of the visitor's chairs and ran his hands through his red bush of hair.

"You want some coffee? Something to eat?"

"Thanks, maybe later." He waited for Ramm to begin.

"I found out a few things this afternoon that strike me as extremely odd. I think Kalnikov has disappeared-I can't seem to locate him anywhere. Williams is saying that due to Kalnikov's condition he was shipped out on the shuttle for medical assistance Earthside. I don't buy it. There's been one shuttle down in the past two days and no injured personnel aboard it according to the records."

"Then where is he? What's happened to him?"

"I don't know. I think he's still aboard here somewhere. They could have stashed him anywhere."

Packer got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He seemed to be riding a swift elevator down.

"Trouble is, it would take me a couple hundred man-hours to find him, and then the search would alert whoever it is that has him to move him somewhere else."

"What about the guy who tried to kill me a few minutes ago?"

"It's between shifts. My second-shift crew hasn't signed on yet. No one saw anything, I'm afraid."

"What kind of place do you run here?" Packer was quickly losing his temper. He had been cooped up in his cell for a day and a night and no one was on duty when the assassins struck.

Ramm dismissed his anger with a swipe of his hand. "I don't blame you for getting steamed. But you have to remember, we're not a police force-I mean, in a way we are, but this isn't a high. crime area. It isn't like a real city. Mostly we just make sure that people stay out of construction areas and watch the locks on the restaurant pantries after hours, that sort of thing.

"We weren't expecting a strike. You've got to consider that a place like Gotham isn't exactly equipped to handle an armed insurrection. It isn't in the blueprints. Nobody planned on that ever happening."

"Well," grumbled Packer, "maybe it's time that somebody started planning for it-if it isn't already too late."