Dream thief

6

… ThEY WERE WALKING BACK to their respective places: Spence to his lab, the director to his office, and Ari to the cultural arts center. It had been one of the most enjoyable lunches Spence could remember. They had eaten not in the commissary as he expected, but in one of Gotham's four excellent restaurants the Belles Esprit, a very commendable copy of a French cafe.

Spence had not previously visited any of the restaurants an(was surprised and pleased to find them quite different from the commissaries. He was less surprised to find that, like exclusive restaurants on Earth, they were quite expensive. The commissaries were free; the restaurants were not.

They had dined on hearts of palm and artichoke vinaigrette and quiche lorraine. And Spence had come away feeling soothes and refreshed-as much by the company as by the food an(atmosphere. The Zandersons, father and daughter, proved them selves very convivial hosts. They had so drawn him out that he talked a great deal more about himself than he ever did as a rule but he had enjoyed it. And more than once during the meal he had looked up to discover Ari's bright blue eyes watching him with a curious expression.

Now they were nearing the junction tube where he would leave them to go back to the lab. For one who had inwardly shud dered at the luncheon invitation he was honestly sorry to se(their short time together end.

"I hope you'll consider my offer," Director Zanderson was saying. "I think you'd find the experience rewarding. It would even help in your research, I dare say. A smart young man like yourself-I imagine you could devise a few experiments that would make the trip quite worthwhile."

Spence was only half listening to the director's proposition "I'm afraid that with my review coming up…" he started to object "Oh, that's just a formality," grinned the director. "Besides should you decide to lead one of the research teams on the trip the review could be postponed, or perhaps waived altogether.

Terraforming is the future-very exciting business. I wish I could go back myself; but… duties, you know."

He looked a little awkwardly at the director. Ari noticed his discomfort and came to his aid. "Oh, Daddy. Terraforming is your great mania, it isn't everyone's. Quit badgering him about it. I'm sure Spencer has better things to do than to go roaming about on a dusty old rock. I know I do."

The director clucked his tongue. "Such a worrisome girl. Well, I won't press you for an answer, Dr. Reston. But I hope you'll think it over. The Martian experience is truly fantastic."

"I will think it over. And thank you both for a most enjoyable lunch. It was really very nice."

"I'm glad you could join us. I always like to get better acquainted with my colleagues. Well, good-bye."

"Good afternoon," said Ari. They turned and strolled arm-inarm off along the main axial. Spence watched them go and then started back along the tube to the lab.

Tickler was waiting for him when he returned. The fussy assistant appeared miffed about something; he gave Spence a series of sideways glances which Spence figured were supposed to represent disapproval. Spence happily ignored the vague reproofs-after all, he had just eaten lunch with the director. There was nothing which could even remotely threaten his selfesteem at that moment.

"Well, Tickler, how are we coming along this afternoon? Are we ready for tonight's session? I plan to increase the electroencephamine quotient by another five percent. I would like to test the scanner before we run the experiment."

"I haven't forgotten," Tickler said. He nodded toward the control room and Spence saw that they had a visitor. "Perhaps you will remember assigning me to secure our new assistant."

"So soon? You certainly didn't waste a minute. Very well, let's meet him." He motioned to the cadet who sat watching them through the control window. The young man got up and came to stand beside Tickler.

Spence offered his hand to the short young assistant. "I see that you have already met Dr. Tickler. If I know him he's probably put you to work already. I'm Dr. Reston."

"Yes-we've already met," replied the stranger as they shook hands. Spence looked at him a little closer; though the cadet seemed familiar, he could not place him.

"I'm sorry…"

"I don't expect you'd remember," said the cadet. "I bumped into you in the garden concourse one day a week or so ago."

"Kurt, wasn't it?" He did remember the incident.

"That's right. Kurt Millen. First year. D-level; sector 1."

"Well, very good to have you aboard. I hope we can make this an interesting assignment for you."

"I take it you approve of my choice?" asked Tickler. Spence did not see the queer smirk which accompanied the question or he might have had second thoughts.

Instead he said, "Yes, yes. I think Kurt will do just fine. He can begin by helping you ready the scanner test while I prepare the encephamine."

The shift proceeded uninterrupted, and as he worked Spence thought again of his talk with Ari and embarrassed himself with the warm feelings which accompanied those thoughts. There is something about that girl, he told himself. Be careful, his cautious inner voice replied. …

THE GOLDEN MIST HAD vanished in the empty howl of frigid winds roaring down from untold heights. The lush, green valley withered and turned brown. The whitened wisps of dried grass and the petals of tiny yellow flowers flurried around him in the savagely gusting wind.

He shivered and wrapped his arms tightly across his chest in an effort to keep warm. He stared down at his feet and saw that he stood upon hard, barren ground. Around him he saw the sparkling glint of diamonds glittering in the icy glare of a harsh, violent moon.

They were his tears-frozen where they had fallen. The hard earth would not receive them.

Spence turned and lurched away, and he was instantly standing on a vast open plain under a great windswept sky where thin clouds raced overhead to disappear beyond the horizon. As he watched he was overcome by the urge to follow those feathery clouds, to see where they went.

He began to run, lifting his feet and leaning ahead. But his legs did not obey properly. Each step dragged more slowly than the last, as if his strength were being mysteriously sapped away.

Soon his legs had grown too heavy to move. He felt himself sinking into the arid soil, sucked down as by quicksand.

He struggled to move as the dry red sand rose above his knees, but his weight pulled him down and down by centimeters, He screamed and his voice rang hollow in his ears. He looked around and saw that he was trapped in a great glass bubble and the sand continued to rise.

Now it seemed to be falling out of the sky, burying him alive. He felt the gritty sting and heard the dry, bristling hiss as it pelted down on him. It filled his hair and eyes. He looked up and saw the glass bubble narrow far above him and sand pouring through a tiny opening to come trickling down. As the sand rose to his chest he pushed it away with his arms, but it fell relentlessly and soon he was deeper than before.

He screamed again and heard the ring of silence, knowing that his cries could not be heard beyond the glass. As the sand closed over his head he realized that he was trapped in an hourglass, and the sand had just run out. …

SPENCE AWOKE WITH A gasp and sat bolt upright on the couch. The sleep chamber was perfectly dark-a black, velvety darkness which pressed in on him with an oppressive weight. He could feel it enfolding him, covering him, smothering him.

He wanted to get up, to run away and escape the awful presence of the dream. But an unseen force held him in his place. He lay back down slowly and as he did so he saw something in the heavy darkness which made his breath catch in his throat.

Directly above him, midway between the couch and where he judged the chamber ceiling to be, a very faint, greenish glow hovered, shimmering in the dark. He sank back into the cav couch and watched as the glow intensified and took the shape of a luminous wreath with tiny tendrils of light radiating out from it. The center of the wreath was dim and unformed, but he sensed that something dark and mysterious boiled within the radiant halo.

There was a familiarity about the glowing green halo which puzzled him. He felt as if he had seen or experienced it before somewhere-but where? He could not remember. Still, the sense of recognition persisted, and with it mounting fear.

His body began to tremble.

In the center of the halo the dim outlines of amorphous shapes could be seen weaving themselves of blue light. Subtle and indistinct, they flared and subsided; shifting, roiling, synapsing inside the green aura. The transparent, blue fibrils sparked silver flashes that glittered when they touched the green halo.

The thing seemed to tug at him, drawing him up and into it. He had the sensation of falling. He reached out a trembling hand to ward off the fall. Fear arced through him like a high-voltage shock. His heart seized in his chest, clamped tightly in an unseen fist. Blood drummed in his ears.

The swirling inner eye of the shining wreath distilled into a translucent core, a round, glimmering mass made up of tiny, pinpoint flecks of pure light. The ovoid shape spun slowly on its axis. Spence dug his fingernails into the fabric of the couch as his flesh began prickling to the thin, needle-like tinkling of a sound felt rather than heard. The sound of his dreams.

Spence fought a wave of nausea rising in him. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. He struggled weakly to look away, but the force of the shining thing held him fast. His mouth opened in a silent scream of terror; his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth.

Still the shimmering mass rotated slowly and Spence sank even further into the depths of the nightmare. He watched itturning, turning, refining itself, pulling together, creating itself out of atoms of light. With eyes wide and horror-filled Spence at last recognized the solidifying shape. It was a face. And a face he knew too well to feel anything but the utmost dread and repulsion.

Staring out at him from the blazing halo were the skeletal features of Hocking.