Dream Thief

by Stephen Lawhead

  His rage burned out in futile ravings and exhausted itself in hurling him against the clear plastic door to his cell. He slid once more to the floor to sit with his back against the door, panting, crying tears of anger and frustration, grinding his fists against the floor.

  The wave of temper left him and he lay dejectedly against the door. It was then that he smelled something burning.

  The smell of melting plastic filled the cell within seconds, throwing him into a fit of coughing. He lay down on the floor to keep from suffocating on the fumes. Smoke from a spot in the center of the floor began to rise, forming a thick black cloud on the ceiling of the cell. He watched the column of smoke, fascinated and appalled at the same time. What the devil is going on? he wondered.

  He did not have long to find out.

  There appeared in the center of the cell first a blackened circle, and then the area dipped and sank as if the floor at that spot was melting—which it was.

  Black fumes rose from the floor trailing black, snaky wisps. Spence feared he would be suffocated very soon; the pocket of clear air diminished rapidly as the cloud pressed down from the ceiling.

  He waited, holding his breath.

  Even as he began choking on the fumes he heard the sound of tearing fabric and then, through the smoke-dark haze, saw a head pop through the hole which had formed in the floor.

  The head, wearing goggles and a breathing apparatus, looked around the room and then saw him. A hand appeared and motioned him closer.

  Tears streaming down his face, Spence wormed his way over to the edge, squirming on his stomach. The floor beneath him was hot like a griddle.

  A mask was thrust into his hand and he blindly fumbled to put it on and drew the oxygen deep into his burning lungs. He was handed a pair of thick gloves and motioned down into the opening in the floor.

  With the gloves on he gripped the still-smoldering sides of the aperture and lowered himself through. He felt hands on him, steadying his descent so that he would not touch the hot metal rim of the hole.

  Once below the floor he cast aside the gloves, tore off the mask, and jumped from the platform that had been erected directly beneath his cell.

  “Packer! What are you doing here?”

  “We must apologize for not meeting you at the gate earlier.” A thickly-Russian accented voice sounded behind him. “We were unavoidably detained.”

  “Kalnikov! You, too?”

  “Are you all right, Reston?” Packer, his mask dangling from his neck, pounded him on the back. “It sure is good to see you.”

  “I didn’t expect this, I—”

  “Don’t thank us yet. We’re not out of the woods by a long shot.”

  “Where are the others?”

  Kalnikov raised his eyes and pointed upward.

  “Still captive?”

  “We’re working on getting them out now. We’ve been very busy these last few hours. I’ll have to tell you all about it—”

  “Some other time,” said Kalnikov. “Please, comrades. We must get away from here at once.”

  With that the Russian stooped and lifted a bulky cylindrical apparatus to which was attached hoses and a sharp nozzle. “This is our latest invention. No space station should be without one.”

  “I’m convinced,” remarked Spence. They all hurried off along the maintenance catwalk crowded with conduits and pipes and vents of various sizes.

  “What’s below all this?” asked Spence.

  “Commissary kitchens,” replied Packer.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  They walked until they came to a ragged-edged opening that had been cut in a huge conduit. “This is our golden highway,” said Packer. “It’s a vent shaft that runs the whole circumference. We’ve had to make a few alterations in design, but it serves its purpose.”

  They stepped inside where a small electric maintenance cart was waiting for them. “Kalnikov will take you to command central. I’ll wait here for the others. They should be coming along any time now. I want to make sure nothing goes wrong.”

  Spence got in the cart and they were off; the single headlight threw its beam into the darkness of the round, seamless tunnel.

  After a journey, which he guessed was at least a quarter of the way around the station, they halted and got out and went into another tube with a ladder inside it. They climbed down the ladder to the next level and continued their way, finally arriving at a tiny room littered with tools and materials and scattered pieces of various machines.

  “What happened here? Explosion in the spare parts bin?”

  “We have not, for obvious reasons, been able to call housekeeping to properly furnish our little nest. We thought you would desire freedom over pleasant surroundings.”

  “I’m not complaining, believe me. It looks great. Small, but great.”

  “We thought you’d like it.”

  “What happens now?”

  “That we will have to see about. Our first objective was to get you prisoners free. Nothing has been decided beyond that.”

  “Have they taken over then?”

  “No—not yet. Not officially, anyway. There has been no announcement, no overt actions. For most citizens everything continues as normal.”

  “Most?”

  Kalnikov smiled proudly. “There is a small but efficient cadre of enlightened individuals.” He favored Spence with one of his bone-rattling back slaps. “Welcome to the underground, Dr. Reston!”

  WITHIN THE HOUR THE little room under the docking bay was crowded with people talking excitedly and loudly.

  Adjani had joined them first, followed by Gita and Director Zanderson. “Where’s Kyr?” Spence asked. The cadets who had brought the last of the prisoners just shook their heads.

  “You got someone else with you?” asked Packer.

  “Yes,” said Spence. “A … uh, friend.”

  Packer regarded Spence suspiciously, but did not press for details. “Then they’ve taken him somewhere else.” He turned to his cadets. “All right, you shuttle jumpers, clear out. Keep your eyes open and watch your exits, and scramble your trail. We can’t be too careful. Now get going; I’ll be in contact as soon as we figure out what to do next.”

  The cadets, grinning with high spirits at the adventure they were on, left silently and swiftly. “Now then,” said Kalnikov. “To business.”

  “Right,” agreed Packer, looking at Spence and Adjani. “But first I think you two have some explaining to do.”

  They all sat down at a conference table that had been hastily set up in the cramped service area. Kalnikov took the head chair and Packer sat at his right hand. Spence, Adjani, Gita, and Zanderson filled in around the table. Director Zanderson, when an offer was made to allow him to resume command of the station, replied, “As long as those maniacs are in power, I have nothing to control. I’m not a guerrilla fighter, gentlemen. Please, let’s not stand on false ceremony. You, Kalnikov and Packer, are in charge—we’ll keep it that way.”

  “We accept your recommendation. Director,” said Kalnikov. “Now I would like one of you to tell us exactly what we’re up against. We have been working at somewhat of a disadvantage up to now.”

  All eyes turned toward Spence and Adjani, and they began to relate all they knew of the Dream Thief and his plans of world domination. The others sat spellbound as the incredible tale unfolded.

  “… Dream Thief is dead,” Spence concluded. “We saw him die. Apparently, Hocking has usurped power from his master and is now bent on carrying out his own schemes here aboard the station.”

  “That makes sense,” agreed Kalnikov at length. “We suspected the rebels on Gotham were receiving orders from someone on Earth. We had no idea who it was. Who is this Hocking?”

  “A madman.”

  “And a twisted genius,” added Adjani. “He will stop at nothing to achieve his aims, and he has in his possession a machine to make those aims a reality.”

  “What s
ort of machine?” asked Packer.

  “It’s called a tanti. Most simply described, it is a consciousness-altering device once used in psychiatric medicine,” explained Spence. To Packer and Kalnikov he added, “You won’t have heard of it. In fact, Adjani and I have never actually seen it, but it exists and it is somewhere here on Gotham.”

  “And we believe,” continued Adjani, “that it has been modified into a machine capable of broadcasting to entire sections of the globe, or to the whole world through the use of satellites. That is why this station is so important to Hocking. It gives him a permanent base of operation beyond reach of the world’s powers.”

  Packer rubbed his chin and frowned. “Granting what you say is true, preposterous as it sounds, what exactly does this machine, this tanti thing—what does it do?”

  “I suspect,” began Spence, choosing his words carefully, “that it interacts in some way with electrical impulses in the brain. It stimulates certain cortical bodies—those normally associated with subconscious activity, for example—and imprints its own predesignated pattern of wave impulses.”

  “In other words?”

  “In other words it shapes thought, induces dreams, manipulates the mind itself.”

  “Mind control,” said Kalnikov.

  “Precisely,” replied Adjani. “Spence here can vouch for its effectiveness. We almost lost him to it.”

  The others regarded Spence carefully, as if trying to detect any sudden changes in him. Spence smiled grimly. “On a purely personal basis I can say that the effects are devastating. What will happen when the tanti is loosed upon the Earth … well, consider a world where half the population is driven to end its insanity in tortured self-destruction and the survivors become mindless drones serving a warped master.”

  The room was silent. Director Zanderson, his voice steady but tense, spoke next. “It’s up to us, gentlemen. Hocking is to be stopped at once and that machine destroyed. Every moment he is allowed to continue his schemes, we are that much closer to universal chaos.”

  Kalnikov put his hands flat on the table. “The pieces are fitting together, yes? We will now entertain ideas for stopping this monster and his nightmare-making machine.” He looked around the table at the tight ring of intense faces. “What are your suggestions, comrades?”

  Hours later, the plan that was finally hammered together lacked several key elements toward making it completely foolproof. But whatever it lacked, was more than made up in barefaced audacity.

  30

  WHY WASN’T IT READY? I gave orders for everything to be ready on my arrival!” Hocking’s pneumochair buzzed ominously across the floor. Ramm, Wermeyer, Tickler, and several others watched him silently, unwilling to upset him further.

  “You failed—that is, we failed to anticipate your coming so soon. We were waiting for your signal. We had only a few hours’ notice—there wasn’t enough time,” explained Wermeyer.

  Hocking frowned. “My plans were, shall we say, compromised. It won’t happen again! But nothing has changed. Get your men on it at once. I want the platform completed and the machine installed and ready for operation as soon as possible. Do you hear?”

  “I already have men on it—they should be finished within the hour,” said Wermeyer.

  “Excellent! And the engines?”

  “Ready for testing—also within the hour.”

  “That’s better! See what you can do when you follow instructions and stop whining? Very well, we will begin projection as soon as the tanti is calibrated to our new orbit.”

  There was a slight commotion in the antechamber and one of Ramm’s security men came white-faced into the room. He went straight to his chief and handed him a note. Ramm glanced at the note and his hand trembled.

  Hocking’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

  “The prisoners—Reston and the others…” He looked to Wermeyer for support. “They’ve escaped.”

  “You idiots! You bumbling idiots!” Hocking exploded. “I’ll have you—”

  “We’re on their trail now. They will be apprehended,” Ramm was quick to add.

  Hocking appeared ready to pursue the subject further, but then abruptly changed his mind. He looked at each of his crew in turn as if weighing their fates individually. The others watched and waited nervously, aware that some decision hung in the balance.

  “It won’t matter,” Hocking said finally, so softly that some had trouble hearing. An awkward jerk of the head dismissed them. “You can go now.” The floating chair showed its back.

  There was the swish of an opening portal and the group filed out. Hocking turned and saw Ramm still standing there. “Well? What is it?”

  “I, uh, nothing.” His nerve failed him at the last second. “I was just wondering why Reston is so important to you.”

  Hocking’s features tightened in a mocking sneer. “He is not important to me!”

  “Then why do you want him so bad?” Ramm knew he was on shaky ground. “I mean, why don’t you just let me kill him and be done with him once and for all?”

  Hocking squirmed in his chair and grimaced. “Oh, I will kill him. Eventually.” He went on, speaking more to himself than to Ramm. “But first he must be made to suffer as I have suffered. He must bow to me! He must acknowledge my superiority! Yes, yes. He must curse his weakness…” He glanced up and shot an angry look to the security chief. “You’re dismissed.”

  Ramm dipped his head and left without another word. Time was running out. The prisoners had to be recaptured. He joined Wermeyer who was waiting for him in the next room.

  “Well? What did you expect?”

  “I don’t know,” Ramm said angrily. “What did he mean—‘It won’t matter’?”

  Wermeyer shrugged. “Who can tell? Obviously it isn’t important. He’s got some scheme, that’s all. I suggest you find the prisoners before anything happens.”

  “Getting worried, Wermeyer?”

  “It’s you I’m worried about. You know how he gets.” He jerked his head toward the room they had just left and its occupant within.

  “I’m beginning to wonder why I ever let you talk me into this.”

  “You’ve got the director of this station locked in your cell and you’re starting to second-guess your involvement?”

  “Had. I had the director locked up.”

  “Just get him back and it’ll be smooth sailing from here on, I promise you.”

  “It seems to me you promise too much.” With that Ramm marched off. Wermeyer watched him go and then hurried away to check on the mounting of the tanti and the alignment of the newly installed engines; both projects were now in their final stages. Soon the station would be pushed from its orbit to travel wherever they willed. He could not help smiling to himself: everything was going according to plan.

  WEARING THE GREEN JUMPSUITS of housekeepers— which Packer’s cadets had filched from the laundry—Gotham’s loyal defenders stood stiffly, glancing at their digitons and avoiding one another’s eyes. “It’s almost time,” said Packer. “Want to go over it again?”

  “No need,” replied Zanderson. “We all know what to do.” He looked at Spence. “Got the drug?”

  “The encephamine is ready.” He looked at Kalnikov and Packer and said, “I’ve made up the three vials. There isn’t much, but dropped into the venting system it should be enough to sleep the entire station for two, maybe three minutes. It’s potent stuff.”

  Kalnikov held up his arm. “I’m marking 16:43 … ready … mark!”

  Spence looked at his digiton. “Right.” The affirmation was echoed around the circle.

  “Well,” Packer took a deep breath, “this is it. Let’s go.”

  “God go with us,” said Zanderson.

  Spence looked at Adjani standing next to him. “Once more into the fray, eh?” Adjani smiled and nodded. He opened his mouth to speak and then hesitated. “What is it? Forget something?”

  Adjani’s eyes went hard; his features tensed. “Adjani!” Spenc
e touched his shoulder and felt the muscles rigid. His eyes darted to the others—they were stopped in their tracks, too.

  Then he heard it, the high-pitched, prickling sound—the sound of his nightmares. His mind squirmed as a curtain of darkness descended around him. “Hocking!” he gasped. “The tanti!” He felt his fists ball up and grind themselves into his eyesockets. He screamed, a painful pinched cry issued from his throat, and he slumped to the floor.

  A LEAF FELL, SWIRLING from a great height. It twisted and spun and rode eddies in the air as it slid down and down, spinning and spinning. Spence watched it with fascination and saw that the leaf was really a face—tissue-thin and nearly transparent, with holes for eyes, nostrils, and mouth. It was, in fact, his face.

  This thin skin had been torn from him and released, set free on the wind to float where it would. Spence watched it fly, hoping that someone would catch his face and return it to him. He saw a sea of hands spring up, reaching for the tumbling face, waving, straining to snag it.

  And then it was in the hands of someone he could not see. The hands held the fluttering object gently and carried it toward him. He could only make out the outstretched hands holding the semi-transparent tissue between them. The person with his face stopped in front of him and held it up to him. He took it and put it on.

  Instantly he could see more clearly. Before him a beautiful young woman with golden hair and eyes of china blue smiled prettily and said, “That’s much better.” She held out her arms toward him and he stepped hesitantly toward her. As his arms closed about the girl, she faded from view and he was left standing alone once more.

  “Ari!” he shouted. He heard the echo of her laughter receding from him and then silence. “Ari!” He started running toward the place where he last heard the sound.

  “I’VE GOT TO FIND her,” Spence whispered. “I’ve got to find Ari!” He struggled up groggily, like an exhausted diver spending the last of his strength stroking toward the surface. He could feel the pull of the tanti, like the pull of the strong undercurrent on a diver. Part of him longed to give in and let the current take him, to float peacefully into oblivion, into the gentle darkness. Give in, the current insinuated. Don’t fight me anymore. Give in.