Dream Thief (14 page)

“But, Spence,” Ari gasped, “who or what would want to harm you?”

“I don't know—yet. But I mean to find out.” He glanced at Ari's worried face; she was chewing her lower lip and scowling furiously. “I know how fantastic this all sounds. You must think I'm a raving madman. Why invent invisible enemies? Why concoct outrageous theories when the same facts can be explained more simply with known principles? I've asked myself those questions a thousand times in the last twenty-four hours. But there's something inside me that won't let me accept the other alternative. And right now that's all I have.”

Ari leaned across the table and placed her hands on his. She looked him full in the face and said, “I believe you. Spencer.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I do. For one thing, no one could talk the way you do— so objectively, so logically—who was suffering the kind of mental distress you describe. So I believe you.”

“I didn't think it would be that easy. I mean, there's every reason to lock me away before I hurt myself or someone else. But… you don't think I'm going crazy?”

“No, I don't. Whatever it is that's causing these—these seizures, it must be something outside yourself.”

“That's it, Ari. You've said it. Something outside of me. I've felt it hovering over me. A presence … I can't describe what it's like.”

“How can it be, though?”

Spence clenched his fist. “I don't know. I scarcely believe it's possible. But that's the feeling I get sometimes.”

“Did you enjoy your meal, sir?” the waiter asked. How long he had been standing there Spence wasn't sure. He was surprized to see the table cleared of the dishes; he had been so wrapped up in his story he had not noticed them being taken away.

“The meal was fine, thank you.”

“Very good, sir. I will bring your check.”

“Thank you, Spence. It was a lovely meal.”

“If somewhat gruesome.”

“No, I mean it. I can't say I enjoyed the conversation—knowing what you have been through. But I've enjoyed being with you.”

The waiter brought the check on a silver tray and placed it before Spence, handing him a silver fountain pen at the same time. He signed his name and personal accounting code.

“Thank you very much. Monsieur. Join us again very soon. Adieu.” The waiter turned and snapped his fingers and a white-coated young man appeared with a silver coffeepot and filled their china cups. He placed between them a tiny silver bowl which contained four delicate pink rosebud mints.

Spence sipped his coffee thoughtfully. Ari could see him weighing his next words carefully.

“Ari, I've told you all this because I want to ask a favor of you.”

“Go ahead.”

“It's a small thing, but it's important to me. You'll probably think it's silly.”

“No, I won't. Not after all you've told me today. I don't think any of this is silly. I think it's extremely serious.”

“Well, your father asked me to join the research trip to the terraforming project on Mars.”

“I remember. I was there when he asked you.”

“Right. The thing is, I've decided to take up his offer. I'm going to go on the trip. Only no one can know. That's where you come in. I want you to fix it for me so that all the necessary arrangements are made without anyone beyond your father and his staff knowing about it. Can you do that?”

“I think so; I can try. But, Spence, do you think that's wise? You'll be away a long time—anything could happen. You could have blackouts again, and out there no one would be able to take care of you, no medical facilities.”

“I have to get away, don't you see? The blackouts started here, and if I stay they'll continue. They may happen out there, too, I realize that. But I have to take that risk.”

Ari was not convinced. She frowned. “I don't like it—it's too dangerous. Why don't you stay here and arrange to have someone monitor your activities—your assistant maybe. Or, let Dr. Williams check you over. That would be the sane thing to do.”

“The
sane
thing?” he snapped.

“Sorry. Unfortunate choice of words. But you know what I mean. He offered to let you come in for a complete physical and psychological. And he'd keep it off the record.”

“He told you about that? What else did he tell you? What have you two got cooked up?”

“Nothing, Spence. I didn't mean anything—”

“What was the idea? Keep me talking until I convinced myself to check in as a psycho? Was that what you had in mind?”

The sudden shift in Spence's mood frightened Ari. She did not know what to do, so she said, “Listen, Spencer, I'll do as you say. I'll get your trip cleared and I'll arrange it so no one will know. But I want a favor from you. Let Dr. Williams look you over before you go. It couldn't hurt.”

He leaned back in his chair and fought to regain control of his temper. He still glared at her, and the look on his face scared her. “I'll think about it,” he snapped.

The next moment he was on his feet, jumping up so quickly that he sent his chair crashing to the floor. Heads turned as he stormed out of the restaurant, and diners at the tables all around stared at Ari and talked behind their hands. She colored under their scrutiny. The waiter leaped forward instantly and righted the chair.

“No trouble. Mademoiselle,” he said and graciously helped her from her seat.

She hurried from the cafe, her cheeks turning scarlet.

B
Y THE TIME SPENCE
reached the lab he was in a foul mood. Ari had betrayed him. He had trusted her, confided in her, only to find that she was working for Dr. Williams. The two of them ganging up on him he did not need, he argued. He did not need anybody.

In his present state he was ready to bite the heads off nails. The unlucky Tickler discovered this to his dismay when he met Spence at the portal as the panel slid open. “Where have you been, Dr. Reston? We've been worried about you.”

“You have, huh?” Spence threw him a nasty look. “Not worried enough to check the sick bay.”

“I was just on my way down there,” said Tickler. He wrung his hands as if to wipe off something distasteful. “When you didn't show up for the session I… well, I didn't know what to do.”

“Well, you can stop worrying. I'm all right. I just had a little accident, that's all.”

“Your voice … your face. What happened?”

“Maybe I'll tell you about it someday. Right now I want to go over those averages I asked you to get for me.”

Tickler spun completely around in a circle before heading off to the datafile at the opposite end of the lab. Spence smiled darkly; he had really upset the finicky Tickler this time.

He crossed the lab and went to his place in the booth. He flopped into his chair and took up the log book, fully intending to bleed off his anger with a few hours of furious work. But as soon as he settled himself in his chair the ComCen screen on the wall next to him began flashing and the beeper shrilled its tone code.

The tone stopped after one sequence and the flasher stopped too, leaving a red bar across the screen. Evidently the message was not of particular urgency; he felt at first inclined to ignore it, but instead he punched the display key on the panel beneath the screen.

He watched as it spelled out his name and ID number and the characters INOF-CLS-A-RDYRD. In computerspeak this meant that the message was of interoffice origin of the lowest grade and was ready to read by simply tapping the display key once more. Several of the higher grade levels required that a personal access code be entered before the message could be received, and some would not be displayed at all but would only be dispensed on paper through the ComCen printer lest anyone unauthorized accidentally view the screen when an important message was transmitted.

Spence tapped the display key and read the following:

Spence, Come see me when you get a chance.

I'd like to talk to you. Adjani.

This was an unexpected development; he was being invited to drop in on the genius just as if they were old friends. He was flattered in spite of himself and wondered what Adjani wanted to talk to him about.
Only one way to find out. Go see him.

He rose just as Tickler entered the control booth. “Here are the averages, Dr. Reston,” sniffed his assistant, waving a sheaf of printouts at him.

“Thanks, Tickler. I'll see to them later. Something's come up. I'll be back soon. Ready the presets for the next battery of experiments. We'll start those tonight. And Tickler,
please
be careful with the encephamine. Another spill like last time and you could put the whole station to sleep. Besides, the stuff is expensive!”

Spence ducked out leaving the miffed Tickler sputtering. He left the lab feeling much better than when he had entered it, and moved out onto the trafficway heading for the main axial. For some reason he received perverse pleasure in befuddling the stuffy Tickler. The realization gave him a momentary pang of guilt which he rejected without a second thought.

He paused on his way to view a directory. He had never been to the HiEn section before and knew only vaguely how to get there. He tapped HiEn into a ComCen screen below the directory and instantly received a route suggestion, and hurried along. He took Fifth Avenue where it branched off from the main, and then made for the Belt Line tube tram. That saved him from having to meander through the complex inner core of Gotham. He got out of the tube in the blue section and took the nearest lift up four levels to his destination.

Adjani's quarters were two cramped cubicles overflowing with electronic gear, magcarts, and bubbleplates. The rooms were barely larger than sanibooths and Spence could see they had been hastily partitioned off from one of the larger labs. In one cubicle was a bed and a chair, on which were stacked a multicolored tower of magcarts; in the other room was a desk and a data base with three wafer screens and keyboards.

“I am afraid one of us will have to sit on the bed,” explained Adjani apologetically as he ushered Spence in. “My arrival has caused some hardship among the housekeepers, I believe. Olmstead was kind enough to divide his quarters with me until a more suitable arrangement can be found. Come in, come in, please.”

“Thank you.” Spence glanced around the cluttered interior. Every square centimeter of space, except for a tentative pathway through the rooms, was crammed with data in its various disguises—on paper, disc, tape, and sealed cartridge. It reminded Spence of his own study cube back at the university years ago. “I will never complain about my miniature quarters again. Compared to these, mine are cavernous.”

“I don't mind, really. I'm not here very much. Mostly I'm in one of the labs or hotrooms. They keep me pretty busy, you know. Personally, I'm beginning to think the only reason Packer wanted me here was so he wouldn't have to think anymore.” The slim brown man paused, then added deviously, “I'm fixing him, though. I make him and his shuttle bums think
twice
as hard!”

He turned and threaded his way carefully into the adjoining cubicle. Spence followed lightly, careful not to start an avalanche. Adjani plopped the multicolored cartridges onto a knee-high stack of disc cartons and waved Spence to the chair. He curled up on the bed in lotus position. Spence wondered if his host was Hindu.

“Where are you from, Adjani?”

“San Francisco.” He laughed at Spence's expression, rocking back and forth on the bed. “I know, everyone makes the same mistake. My people are from Nagaland. My father was from Imphal; my mother from Manipur. They met in London when my father was teaching at the Royal Academy. He is at Oxford now.”

Adjani spoke with pride of his parents; Spence sensed they were close. Somewhat wistfully he found himself envying Adjani's relationship with his family—though he knew nothing at all about them—and regretting his own.

Adjani continued: “They waited eight years to bring me to the United States. We came under the Necessary Skills Program just after the war, and it cost my father over twelve thousand dollars to buy our entrance visas. I was eight years old when we came—I remember because I was in seventh form and everyone made fun of me for being so small.”

“You were in seventh form when you were only eight?” Spence's eyes grew wide in disbelief.

“It was all they could do to keep me in printout paper,” laughed Adjani.

“You stayed in California then?”

"Yes, for the most part. When I finished school we went back to India and I spent some time in my father's homeland—a very enlightening experience. Every son should have the chance to see his father as a young man. That's what I saw in Nagaland.

“Anyway, we could not go back to the United States because our visas had expired. Father went back to Great Britain. I would have joined him, I believe, but Cal Tech summoned me for their Think Tank.”

“What about your visa?”

“The government waived the regulations. Olmstead arranged it, though he won't admit it. We had become friends at Stanford. And he was afraid that if he did not find me a job he would never see me again. Quite possibly it was true.” Adjani spread his hands wide. “Now you know my whole life's story—but for one or two important details.”