Dream thief

19

… THE SKY WAS PINK long before the sun rose above Kanchenjunga to banish night from the city. But Spence had been up before sunrise. He had not slept much of the night, lying in bed thinking about the creature with the glowing green eyes. Finally, as the night lifted her dark veil and morning showed dull iron in the east, he rose and went to Adjani's room.

"We've got to get out of here," he said. Adjani was not asleep either.

"That's just what I was thinking. We should make some excuse and leave after breakfast."

"No, I mean right away. Now."

Adjani cocked his head to one side and looked at Spence closely. "Really? You expect some trouble?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I've been awake all night thinking about what happened-the dogs and that creature, the idol and everything. And Fazlul's knowing that we would go there." He paused. "Adjani, we weren't meant to return last night."

Adjani sat cross-legged in bed nodding gently, staring at a point just above Spence's head. Spence recognized his friend's manner of concentration and let him turn over the facts in his mind.

"Yes, perhaps you are right," Adjani said at last. "We will go. Get dressed; I'll fetch Gita. We'll leave at once."

Spence returned to his room and donned his newly cleaned and pressed jumpsuit and stuffed his feet into his boots. When he returned to Adjani's room a very sleepy Gita was rubbing his sleepswollen eyes and scratching his belly as he finished dressing.

"To miss breakfast in this house would be a crime!" Gita lamented.

"I wonder if you would feel that way if it were your last breakfast on this earth?"

"So?" Gita's eyes grew round as grapefruits. "Then there was trouble last night. I knew it, though you never tell Gita anythingI must always find out for myself."

"Stop pouting and put your turban on," said Spence. "We didn't tell you because, well, because there was no time. We didn't want you to worry, and anyway, we weren't too sure about what happened last night ourselves."

"You think I wouldn't understand," said Gita dolefully, winding the long strip of thin blue muslin around his head.

"I don't think I understand," snapped Spence.

"We weren't keeping anything from you," explained Adjani. "We will tell you everything as soon as we are away from here. We must go now."

"I'm ready," Gita sniffed. "Let us fly if fly we must."

Spence crept to the door and opened it, looked both ways, and motioned for the others to follow. They stole down a long corridor and down the wide marble staircase to the great entrance hall of the palace. Not a sound could be heard in all the palace; not a soul was seen stirring in the gray morning half-light.

Moving as quickly and stealthily as burglars they crossed the cool marble hall, darting between the great green spiral pillars. Just as they reached the big bronze outer doors a voice, bold and clear and challenging in the silent hall, said, "Leaving so soon, my guests? I had hoped you would have deigned to stay a little longer."

The three froze and out from behind a pillar stepped Fazlul. He was accompanied by palace guards with old-style combat rifles which looked in excellent condition despite their age. The governor approached, wearing that same crafty smirk they had seen at their first meeting. "How ironic that you should choose to leave just as I was about to arrange a journey for you into the hills."

"We have done nothing, Governor," said Adjani. "Let us go in peace."

"Oh, I have no intention of keeping you. None at all." He turned to Spence. "I believe you asked about seeing some of the local architecture-temples, palaces, and such. My instructions state that you shall have your wish."

Fazlul raised his hand and snapped his fingers and the guards stepped forward and took them by the arms. "Take them to Kalitiri. And make sure our visitors have a pleasant journey."

They were hustled out of the palace and into an antiquated troop carrier of a bygone era. The truck's engine coughed to life as they were bundled roughly in. Two guards sat at the end of the benches with them and two others inside the cab. They sputtered down the broad avenue to the gates.

Spence looked back at the palace and saw the governor standing on the steps watching after them. He felt betrayed and used-a dupe and a fool-and outraged by the sly ruler's easy way with them. He watched the tall white figure of Fazlul 1 until they were out of the gate and past the walls where it gradually came to him that they were at any rate speeding on their way to meet the Dream Thief.

"I would have preferred our visit to be more of a surprise, but at least we won't have to walk," he mumbled to Adjani.

"For that we can be thankful. It would have been an arduous trip on foot. Who knows? Perhaps this is God's way of smoothing the path for us."

"In that case," said Spence, settling back for the trip, " would hate to think what it would be like if it were rough." …

OLMSTEAD PACKER TRIED TO send a message to his wife and almost lost his life, and at the same time jeopardized all the carefully woven plans of the Gotham underground. Knowing that she was expecting to hear from him, and that she had probably been trying to reach him herself with news of her return to Gotham, he coded a message and sent it to her, little thinking that the mutineers might have put a bloodhound program into the system.

Chief Ramm's men were waiting for him as he stepped fro the public booth on the Broadway axial.

"Are you Olmstead Packer?"

"Who?" Packer asked, feigning stupidity.

"Come with us, please. We'd like to ask you some questions." One of the men stepped forward and took his arm.

Since the axial was crowded with shift traffic, the guards had no doubt counted on the full cooperation of their prisoner-most people do not care to make a scene of their public disgrace. But Packer, having imposed upon the benefits of Ramm's protective custody once already, did not relish the thought of another stay. He shook off the guard's hand and yelled that he was being accosted. Immediately they were surrounded by curious onlookers.

The confused guards told the crowd to move along, and when they refused the guards got angry. Somebody said something and someone else yelled-all the while Packer was hollering that his rights were being violated-and when the guards; went for their tasers Packer dived through the crowd and ran.

The security men followed him, but lost him in the crush around one of the radial tubes. A breathless Packer described the scene to a gravely nodding Kalnikov when he reached the safety of their hidden nest. Kalnikov then informed him that the guards had orders to kill.

"Are you certain?" Packer asked incredulously. His eyes showed white all around.

The big Russian chuckled mirthlessly. "We are both considered dangerous. We are marked men. You, my friend, will not be so stupid next time. You can tell your wife all about it when it is over. Until then-"

"Don't worry. There won't be any next time. I'm not that much of a fool to get caught in the same trap twice."

"You're learning, friend. Soon I'll make a real freedom fighter out of you." A big hand clapped the physicist on the back. "Did I ever tell you that my great-grandfather fought with Vyenkotrovitch in the War of the Commissars? He was one of the original Moscow Saboteurs. There was a real freedom fighter."

"You've mentioned him only about fifty times."

"Well, then, how about Grandfather Nikko and how he saved the President's life on the eve of the first election? Did I tell you that one?" Packer was not quick enough to pretend he had heard it. "No? Ahh, now there's a story."

Packer had grown used to Kalnikov's interminable stories, and was even beginning to enjoy them. They had, after all, a lot of time on their hands while waiting for this or that corridor to clear, or for one or another contact to appear with information. The two men had become very good friends and wily conspirators.

As Kalnikov warmed to his tale, Packer sat thinking of their future as fugitives. Their cramped hideout beneath the docking bay in the hydraulics service area had become a prison; Packer longed for the run of his lab again and vowed that he would never complain about his small office again.

"When are we getting out of here?"

"Eh? What's that?" Kalnikov was lost in his narrative.

"When is all this going to be over?"

"You are getting anxious, my friend."

"Who wouldn't be? I'm tired of all this sneaking around."

"Do not be impatient. We will find out more at the second shift meeting. I am expecting a report from our contact inside the director's office."

"We already have all these reports. They tell us nothing." "I disagree. They tell us a great deal. They tell us that the mutineers are doing nothing. They are waiting. In the meantime they are trying to maintain the illusion that everything is running smoothly and normally. Though of course we know differently,"We could disrupt that illusion." "We could-and we will. But not yet. The time is not ripe,,, "When?" moaned Packer. He did not have Kalnikov's disposition for waiting.

"Soon.. Very soon. When the mutineers openly make their bid for taking control of the station-then we act. The citizens of Gotham will know which side to come in on. We will let the momentum of their own actions fuel their undoing."

"A lot of people could get hurt."

Kalnikov lifted his great shoulders. "Yes, some may be hurt. Freedom is a costly thing; it exacts a heavy toll always. But fewer will be hurt this way than if we acted too soon. We must not let the mutineers think there is any reason to act sooner than they wish to. Let their plans harden with certainty of success. Then when we arise to oppose them, they will have to abandon their plans and improvise. That is always a great disadvantage in struggles such as this."

"And in the meantime?"

"In the meantime there is always MIRA."

"Yes, always MIRA. But that is a long shot. We need proper equipment to even begin."

"The equipment is coming. It is coming. Trust me."

Packer sometimes feared that Kalnikov mouthed his revolutionary rhetoric the way a parrot mouthed saucy endearments -full of the bravado and dash, but utterly lacking in the ability to follow through. That the Russian pilot was a romantic dreamer he already knew; whether Kalnikov could back up what he so ardently espoused remained to be seen. Still, Packer had no better plan himself, so he clung to Kalnikov's ideas like a man dangling from a tightrope and prayed the drop wouldn't kill him.