Dream Thief (12 page)

He watched in grim fascination as the swirling inner eye of the halo condensed into a glimmering mass of light. He felt a pressure in his chest; his lungs burned and he realized he had been holding his breath. His heart flung itself against his ribs and he could smell the fear rising from him as the reek from the fur of a wet animal. But the thing held him firmly in his place.

The terror seemed merely a physical response. He noted it with scientific curiosity, as one might note the progress of water boiling in a beaker and turning into steam, or chart the stages of a well-known chemical reaction. The horror he felt belonged to another part of him, and that part no longer connected with his mind.

A sound like needles clinking or glass slivers breaking against one another rose in volume. He noted the sound and marked how it seemed to tingle on the surface of his skin. He gazed more deeply into the green halo and saw the forms within weaving themselves into vaguely human shapes. These ghostly features then hardened into the recognizable form of a face—the thin, wasted face of Hocking.

Spence blinked back dully at the leering apparition. His mouth was dry; he could not speak or cry out. The will to do so had left him.

Hocking began speaking to him, saying, “You are becoming accustomed to the stimulus. Spencer. That is good. You are making remarkable progress. Soon we will begin a few simple commands. But one thing is needed yet before you are ready. We must establish a permanent mental link through which my thought impulses can travel to you. Heretofore, I have, been sending suggestions to you through your dreams. When our minds are linked, however, I shall be able to do so in your waking state as well.”

Hocking smiled his skeletal smile and Spence, held in his place, stared impassively ahead.

“This will not harm you,” soothed Hocking. “Relax. Close your eyes. Empty your mind of all thought. Think only of the color blue. Concentrate on the color blue, Spencer. Think of nothing else.”

Spence obeyed the image's commands. He closed his eyes and filled his mindscreen with an intense, vibrant shade of blue. He relaxed his clenched fists and slumped; his head hung forward and his chin rested on his chest.

“In a moment I will tell you to open your eyes and look at me. But not before I tell you—do you understand? Concentrate. Do exactly as I say … concentrate …”

Spence felt his consciousness slipping away. It was as if his soul—all that which he called Spence and recognized as himself—began flowing from him, poured out like liquid from a bottle. The sensation sent a quiver up his spine and through his limbs. Once more the high-pitched tinkling sound increased, boring through the top of his head and into his skull.

Dizziness overcame him, and with it a tough little kernel of resistance formed somewhere deep within. But the powerful forces working on him threatened to steal even that away.

No!
thought Spence.
I cannot let this happen!
Those words echoing inside his brain lacked force. All strength had gone out of him.

No!
he cried again.
Stop it! Stop it!
He did not know whether he spoke the words aloud or whether he merely thought them. It did not matter. He held to the hard kernel of resistance, fighting to hang on to that last tiny shred of himself. He found that as he struggled to grasp it, a remnant of his will returned.

“Relax. Do not fight it. Relax, Spencer. This will not hurt you.” Hocking's voice sounded inside him. Hocking was there
inside
him!

The hideous realization broke upon his shriveled awareness.

“I will not!” shouted Spence, snapping his head up. He opened his eyes and saw the shimmering green halo with Hocking's dreadful face glaring down on him. But he saw something else that shocked him back to his senses.

The quavering fibrils around the edge of the halo were stretched taunt and extending toward him, touching him. He knew that if he did not break the contact at once he would cease to exist. Spence Reston would become a hollow shell inhabited by Hocking's mind and controlled by Hocking's will. He could not let that happen.

Already he felt Hocking's presence seeping into him. He screamed and threw himself onto the floor, forcing his leaden extremities to move. But the tendrils did not release their hold, remained attached to his forehead.

Shaking with the effort, his muscles turning to jelly and his strength flowing away like water, he dragged himself across the floor to the sanibooth. Hand over hand he pulled himself to his feet.

“Sit down. Spencer. Relax. We are nearly finished. Relax. Concentrate…” Hocking's voice chanted inside his head. “Relax … relax… relax …”

He punched the access plate, and the door of the booth slid open. He teetered on the threshold.

“Relax, Spencer. Sit down.”

Spence heard a crack and felt his cheek sliding down the stall's smooth wall. The booth seemed to tilt upside down and he slid to the floor, half in and half out. His head struck the sensor plate in the floor and he heard the whir of the mechanism as the gentle rain of powder began descending upon him like fine snow. The quiet drone of the mechanism was the last thing he heard.

A
R I SAT IN A
white molded plastic chair next to Spence's bed. The nurses had just finished washing the last of the blue sanitizing powder from his hair. One side of his face bore the red poached look of a sunburn. He appeared to have suffered nothing worse than falling asleep on the beach at high noon.

The patient's breathing came slow and regular—the doctor had said that the worst was over. There would be some slight inflammation and pain due to the inhalation of the chemical, but nothing more serious. The physician indicated that it was a wonder Spence had not suffocated in the powder. His skin would be sensitive for a week or so and it would probably peel. Spence was fortunate, remarked Dr. Williams, that he had not fallen face up into the booth. He could have been blinded by the ultraviolet light. All in all, he had escaped unharmed.

“Did he tell you about his first 'accident,' Miss Zanderson?” Dr. Williams had asked.

"No—he mentioned a bump on the head, I believe. He seemed fine. I never dreamed …"

“Oh, it's serious all right. Our young friend is manifesting definite self-destructive tendencies. He was found in the cargo bay with the lock open. He nearly died. I wouldn't tell you this, you understand, but he seems not to have any close friends— except you, of course.”

Ari frowned and bit her lip. “What can I do, doctor?”

The medic shook his head slowly. "Only watch him. Get him to talk about what causes these attacks, if you can. We'll wait and see. It'll be better in the long run if he volunteers the information on his own. If we pry too hard, try to force him to tell us, it could drive the cause deeper.

“Of course, if the bottom drops out we'll intervene. I would rather it never came to that. And so would he, I'm sure. As with a lot of men in his position, one incident like that on his record and he would be ruined professionally.”

Ari had listened to Dr. Williams intently, and her features reflected the turmoil of her emotions. She looked so forlorn when he finished speaking that he felt compelled to comfort her and discount his dire predictions. “Forgive me for speaking frankly,” Dr. Williams said apologetically. “I tend to function on a 'worst case' basis. I may have overdramatized things a bit. He'll be all right. Your Dr. Reston is a strong-willed chap. He'll snap out of it, I daresay.”

Ari thanked the doctor then and he had gone away, leaving her to wait beside the bed. She occupied her time puzzling over the physician's parting words:
Your
Dr. Reston. Was it really so obvious then? she wondered.

After a while a nurse brought in a cup of coffee for her and stayed to chat a little. There were no other patients in that particular wing at present, so Ari was free to stay as long as she wished. “You can even stretch out on one of the other beds if you like,” the nurse suggested.

“I'm not tired, and I don't mind waiting. Thank you for the coffee, though.”

The nurse left again, dimming the lights and immersing the rigidly efficient and scrupulously spotless hospital room into cool, soothing shadow. Ari heard the door sigh shut and, folding her hands in her lap and bowing her head, began to pray.

The golden crown of her bowed head was the first thing Spence saw when he woke up.

“I seem always to be waking up here.” His voice was a hoarse whisper. His lungs burned and his throat felt as if it had been stripped raw.

Her head came up smiling. “It's because you fall asleep in such funny places.”

“You heard about that, huh?”

She nodded her head, regarding him with eyes which seemed a deeper shade of blue, darkening out of sympathy for him. “You could have told me yourself,” she said.

Spence shrugged. “There wasn't much to tell.”

“How do you feel?”

“Okay.”

“You
sound
terrible.”

“Thanks.” Spence was suddenly convulsed by a fit of coughing. The flames in his lungs leapt up and he felt as if his throat was on fire.

Ari stood quickly and grabbed a plastic cup of ice water from the tray beside his bed. “Here, sip some of this.” She held the cup for him and guided the straw to his mouth. “Better?”

“Much.” They looked at one another without speaking for a moment, then Spence turned his head away.

“Was it that bad this time?” His voice sounded small and faraway.

Ari sat down on the edge of his bed. She placed a hand on his arm. “Don't you remember?”

“I don't remember anything.”

She placed a cool hand on the side of his face and turned his head toward her. “It's all right, Spence. It's going to be all right.”

In the soft light falling from recessed panels overhead Ari was transformed in his eyes into a ministering angel who had come to succor him in his hour of need. Her fair hair shone with a soft luster and her eyes glimmered with calm assurance. Her lips curved upward in a smile and the shadows caressed the gentle curve of her smooth cheek.

He lifted a hand to her face and gazed into her eyes. She took the hand in hers and kissed it gently. Spence felt revived. He squeezed her hand and pulled it to him.

“How long will I be here this time?” he asked at length.

“The doctor said at least twenty-four hours, but it's up to you, really. How do you feel?”

“Tired.”

“I'll leave you to get some rest.” She stood up from the bed and placed his hand back on his chest, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“No. I didn't mean—”

“Shh. Don't worry. I'll come back. Get some sleep now.” She smiled again as she turned to leave. “You had me worried—for a moment I thought it was the mousse.”

“I didn't eat it, remember?” He smiled faintly.

“Good night. Spencer.”

He closed his eyes and drifted off into deep, untroubled sleep.

“HE RESISTED THE ATTEMPTED
mindlink,” said Hocking flatly. He did not like admitting failure, especially to Ortu. Often the repercussions were unpleasant.

Ortu's yellow eyes narrowed as he glared coldly out of the shimmering halo. “So?”

“He is a strong-willed subject, Ortu. I don't know where he found the strength to resist. It did not seem possible that this time he could withstand.”

“There seem to be a great many things you do not know, and far too many impossibilities. It does not suit me at all. I am displeased with you, Hocking.” The metallic band on his brow pulsed more quickly.

Hocking fought to keep his voice under control. “A minor setback. A small delay. We are nearly there. Next time—”

“Next time!” The wizened countenance suddenly contorted in a snarl of venomous rage. The thin-lipped mouth gaped open, revealing a row of sharp, even brown teeth. The yellow eyes flashed fire, and the gleaming circlet quivered. “Next time! You speak to me of next time? I, Ortu, say what is to be. Or have you forgotten?”

Hocking drew back into his chair as if it were a shell he could hide in. His fingers jerked spasmodically on the tray before him.

“I have not forgotten. How am I ever to forget?” There was an icy tinge of hate in the underling's voice.

Ortu's eyes narrowed once more. “I made you what you are. I can unmake you. You came to me a pathetic mass of misshapen flesh. I saved you, fed your intellect, increased the power of your mind. Do not now pretend that you are sorry. It is too late for that, crippled one. Much too late.”

“I meant nothing by it, Ortu. I ask your forgiveness for my error.” Hocking swallowed hard and looked steadily into the glowing blue wreath of light. His answer seemed to appease his unpredictable mentor. Ortu drew back and his twisted features went slack, becoming once more blank and remote as if he were carved of cold stone.

“What would you have me do?” asked Hocking. His breath came easier.

“We are in dangerous territory at present. One more projection could break him and he would be ruined for our purposes. It could kill him. Either outcome would be unfortunate. It would mean starting over yet again. I do not wish to begin again. Besides, his ability to resist interests me. We will continue.”