Death Dream

by Ben Bova

  She turned off the engine. Susan pushed her door open; it banged against something that toppled to the concrete floor with a dull thud. She made her way out of the dark garage, ducking under a dangling chunk of the door. "Now we're in," she said to Philip as she picked up his car seat. The baby stirred but did not wake up. "Good boy," Susan said. She carried her baby into the battered garage.

  She did not hear any alarms going off, but she thought that maybe the neighbors had heard the crash and would come out to see what had happened. Or phone the security guard at the gate. Maybe they would call the police. Whatever. She knew she only had a few minutes.

  The garage connected directly with Muncrief's kitchen. The ceiling panel lights went on automatically as soon as she entered the room. Susan could see the pool and patio inside, where the party had been.

  She went straight toward the bedrooms, lugging the car seat. Each room lit itself as soon as their body heat tripped dim sensors in the doorways. Nothing. There were two bedrooms, both of them empty. The beds were neatly made, undisturbed. She put Philip's car seat down and yanked open the closet doors, then started checking out all the closets in the other rooms and the attic crawlspace, anywhere that he might have hidden Angie.

  Every moment she expected the police to come screaming up to the house. But outside it was as quiet as before.

  I guess he didn't set his security alarm, Susan told herself. And none of the neighbors is curious enough about the crash to come and look, or phone the security guard. Maybe they didn't even hear the crash; the houses are pretty well separated.

  Still, she felt harried. There was a dim overhead light in attic crawl space. The area was totally bare, not even cardboard box up there.

  She came down and swung the ladder back into the ceiling. Then she noticed a smaller room, down the hall from the bedrooms. A mini-office, with Muncrief's home computer in it. She sat herself at the desk and booted up the machine. No time to even start going through his files. But Susan found Muncrief's communications program and set up his modem to answer her when she phoned. I'll be able to check out all his files from home. There might be something in them and it'll be better than sitting around doing nothing but waiting.

  She heard Phil squawk. Not crying: just a complaining noise that said he was awake and unhappy. Turning off the display screen of Muncrief's computer, she went back to the bedroom. The baby was squirming unhappily. Probably wet, Susan thought. The baby's things were in the wagon.

  Forcing herself to stay calm, Susan changed Phil's diaper in the darkness of the shattered garage, then tucked him back into his car seat and buckled it securely to the passenger chair beside her. The air bags hung limply from the steering column. If she weren't wired so tight she would have giggled; the air bags looked like giant used condoms.

  Grimly she backed the Subaru down Muncrief's driveway. No time to look at the damage to the front end, but she could see a nasty gouge in the teal blue of the hood.

  My beautiful new wagon; what have I done to you? The car seemed to drive all right. No shimmies or rattles. One headlight was out, though.

  Susan drove with exaggerated care toward the development's exit, trying to remember if there was a barrier gate on that side of the security shack or not.

  There was, but it swung up automatically, she saw to her immense relief. If the guard saw the bashed-in hood with only one headlight working she would want to hold them there while she checked out what they had done. But she was bent over her television show and only glanced at the Subaru as Susan drove past.

  I wonder if she took the license plate number when we came in, Susan asked herself. Then she remembered. What difference? What does it matter? Muncrief has taken Angie! And where is Dan? Where in the hell is my husband?

  Dan's chest was tightening as if someone was knotting rawhide thongs across his lungs. The oddly smiling man kept the speedometer near eighty as he roared along the left lane of the highway, passing everything in sight. Dan felt trapped, panicked. This is a nightmare, he told himself. A crazy wild nightmare.

  And then he realized what was going on.

  "This is a simulation," he said aloud. "Jace, you sonofabitch, terminate the program."

  The balding little man shot him a quizzical look from behind the driver's wheel.

  "Goddammit, Jace, this is a helluva thing to do," Dan shouted. "Come on, terminate the program and let me out of this."

  "Who are you talking to?" the driver asked, his pasty smile replaced by an anxious frown.

  "You're not real," Dan told him. "None of this is real. Come on, Jace, end this program."

  "I don't know what you're talking about, friend, but this is real, believe me."

  Dan stared at him. How the hell can I tell the difference? He lifted his hands to his face; he could not feel a helmet or gloves. But then I wouldn't, not if Jace has programmed it with as much detail as the baseball sim.

  "It won't do you any good to act crazy, you know," said the balding man.

  Is this reality or a simulation? Am I still in the VR chamber? Was the hospital real? Sue's phone call—

  "Somebody's kidnapped my daughter," he said. "Somebody's really kidnapped her!"

  "Wasn't us."

  "Who the hell are you? What do you want? I don't have any money—"

  Peterson shook his head the barest fraction of an inch.

  "Money's not a factor. They just want to talk to you, ask you about your work."

  "Who?"

  No answer. Just that pasted-on grin as he stared straight ahead, both hands on the steering wheel.

  "Let me find my daughter first. After I get her back—"

  "No way," said Peterson. "My friends want to talk to you now. My job is to deliver you to them."

  The highway was blurring past, big semi rigs with their glaring lights, a pickup truck packed with beer-drinking kids. Not a cop in sight when you need one. It's a simulation, Dan told himself. It's got to be. Who would kidnap Angie? Why?

  Turning in his seat, Dan saw that the back of the car was filled with cameras and electronic gear. "Okay, Jace," he yelled, "if you want to play games we'll play games."

  He leaned back and picked up one of the cameras.

  "That's an expensive piece you've got there," Peterson said, glancing out of the corner of his eye.

  "Yeah." Dan forced himself to take a deep, painful breath. His lungs were burning. If this is a sim then I can't get hurt. If it's not, if this is reality, then I've got to stop this clown and find Angie.

  Dan smashed the camera against the windshield with every ounce of his strength. The glass starred but did not break and the camera slipped out of his hands.

  "Are you crazy?" Peterson screeched.

  Dan twisted in his seat and grabbed for a bigger black electronic box. He bashed that against the windshield.

  Peterson pawed at him with one hand, ineffectually. The car swerved wildly across the highway. Holding the black box in both his hands Dan smashed it again and again at the windshield. It finally shattered into a blizzard of tiny frosted pieces as Peterson skidded off the highway and up onto the shoulder of the median strip, plowing heavily into the grassy uneven ground.

  Dan's seat belt cut into him as Peterson braked the car to a bumping, lurching stop. He turned toward Dan with wide, frightened eyes as he fumbled with one hand for the gun kept beneath his seat.

  Dan bashed him in his bald head with the electronics box once, twice. His eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed onto the steering wheel, his scalp bleeding. The horn blared.

  Tossing the black box through the shattered remains of the windshield, Dan yanked Peterson's unconscious body off the wheel. The horn stopped and the black box slid along the Cutlass's hood and off onto the grass of the median. Peterson's head was bloody, his eyes half-closed. But he was moaning. He was alive. Dan unbuckled both seat belts, leaned across him, opened the driver's door and pushed him out. Then he clambered over the console, slid behind the wheel and drove off, leavin
g him sprawled on the grass.

  Christ, this isn't a sim, he said to himself. It's real. It must be real.

  He did not head for the police station. Not even for home. He drove as fast as he dared, squinting into the night wind, straight to the ParaReality building. Jace will be there, he knew. Either there or at his bungalow.

  Muncrief has kidnapped Angie and if anybody knows where Muncrief is, it'll be Jace.

  He'll tell me, Dan said to himself. I'll get it out of him if I have to kill him.

  CHAPTER 45

  At first Angela had been afraid, especially when her prince spoke to her in Uncle Kyle's adult voice. But before she could ask, his voice became brighter, younger, and he began to show Angela the lovely kingdom that would be theirs.

  Through leafy woods and across sparkling streams they traveled, sometimes on magnificent horses decked in colorful trappings and jingling leather harnesses, sometimes walking across sunny warm meadows rich with the fragrance of new flowers.

  "Nothing dies here," said the prince as they drifted lazily in a golden sailboat across a crystal blue lake, lying on silken pillows and watching the soft white clouds gliding across the gilded sky. "It's always springtime, always as warm and beautiful as you are, my Angel."

  "Always?" Angela asked dreamily, watching a pair of swallows flit overhead.

  "Always," said her prince. "Unless you want it otherwise. "If you would prefer winter and snow and palaces of ice—"

  "No, no!" Angela laughed. "I like the springtime much better."

  Kyle Muncrief watched Angela carefully as she reclined on the pillows in the stern of the little sailboat. He had dressed her in a gown of pink and white, jeweled her and curled her blonde hair just so. He had even removed her braces and made her teeth white and straight and perfectly even.

  This is how Crystal would look, he told himself. This is what Crystal deserves, to be a princess, to be happy and loving and without a care. Beyond pain, beyond fear and hunger and everything that the world can do to us. This is what we deserve, Crystal. This is what I bring to you.

  Angela saw a shadow pass over the prince's youthful face. His smile faded. He looked solemn, almost somber.

  "What is it?" she asked gently. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing is wrong," he said. "Now that you're here with me, my love, the whole world is fine and right."

  "But you look sad."

  "I was thinking of all the years I spent searching for you. That's all." He brightened, smiled. "Now those dark years are over. You're here and we'll be together forever."

  "Forever," Angela agreed. In the back of her mind she wondered what her mother was thinking, what her father might be doing. How long have I been here? But it didn't matter. Time had no meaning in this enchanted world. She wished she truly could stay in it forever.

  And yet . . . "I'm getting hungry," she said. "Aren't you?"

  "Of course," said the prince. "I should have thought of that."

  He got up from the cushions and moved forward in the boat, ducking low beneath the boom. Angela could not quite make out what he was doing, but when he turned around and started back toward her, he was carrying a magnificent ebony tray inlaid with ivory, with a feast set out upon it.

  He placed the tray at her feet. "Pheasant, pomegranates, sweetmeats from Arabia, the finest wine of France."

  Angela gaped. "I've never eaten pheasant. Is it good?"

  "Try it and see."

  "And the only time I've had wine was at special dinners, Like birthdays, and then my Daddy would only let me have a little sip of it."

  The prince smiled at her. "You can drink all you want here. It's delicious and it won't harm you in any way."

  Angela smiled back as she accepted a goblet from his hand.

  Muncrief watched her sip the wine and then taste the dishes he had laid out for her. If Lowrey told me the truth, he thought, the system will stimulate the appetite centers of her brain and she'll feel as if she's really eaten a meal.

  Angela thought that the food was quite bland. Almost tasteless. And the wine didn't fizz in her nose the way grandpop's champagne did at Christmas dinner. She nibbled at this and that, taking precisely what she wanted and no more, without a parent at her elbow to tell her to finish her plate.

  "Do you like it?"

  "Oh yes," she said. It was not exactly a lie. She did like all of it, even if it was rather tasteless. And it seemed to fill her up. Her hunger was gone.

  The sun was setting behind the hills on the far shore of the lake. The boat turned around all by itself, as if guided by magic, and pointed its prow back toward the castle. Angela saw its proud towers jutting high against the reddening sky.

  "It will be night soon," said the prince.

  "I'll have to go home," Angela said.

  "Not yet. Time doesn't matter here, you know. It's not the same as in that other world."

  "No, I suppose it isn't."

  "This is a much better world, isn't it?"

  "Much," she agreed."

  The tray had disappeared, with all the dishes and goblets and everything. Nobody has to clean up after dinner, Angela said to herself. This is a much better world!

  "Crystal," said the prince.

  "Crystal?"

  "Do you mind if I call you Crystal?" he asked. In the deepening shadows of twilight his face seemed to change slightly.

  "My name's Angela."

  "Yes, but Crystal is a pretty name too, don't you think?"

  "I like my own name."

  He made a smile. "Very well, Angela dearest." A breeze blew across the water, rippling the placid lake, making the sail strain, chilling her.

  "Angela," asked the prince, "do you truly love me?"

  "Yes," she said without an instant's hesitation.

  "Would you like to stay here in this world with me forever?"

  "Yes." Angela knew that she would have to go back home to her parents and her brother sometime. But not now. Not yet. This game was too wonderful to leave so soon.

  The prince saw that she was cold and put his arm around her shoulders. "Do you know how long forever is?" he asked.

  She nestled close to his warmth. "Forever is forever."

  "We'll grow old, you know."

  "You said nothing ever dies in this kingdom."

  "Yes, that's true. But we will grow old."

  "That's all right."

  "Would you love me if I were old, Angela? If I were old and ugly and fat?"

  She laughed. "But you're not. you're young and slim and handsome."

  Muncrief decided not to press the issue any farther. He did not want to alarm her. Not yet. Not before night had fallen and it was time for bed.

  It took a concentrated effort of will for him to slide the visor of his helmet up. He looked through the doorway into the motel bedroom. yes, the sensor net was draped across the bed, waiting for him to put it on her.

  It was tough to drive with the windshield gone. Dan pulled off the highway as soon as he could. His eyes felt raw with grit and he imagined he looked like one of those old-time open-cockpit fliers, face caked with dirt and windburn.

  Once he got his bearings, Dan realized that he was closer to Jace's house than the lab. He decided to try the bungalow first. As he stopped at a red light a car full of kids pulled up beside him.

  "Hey, whyn't you trade that junker in?" called one of the boy, grinning at him.

  Dan grimaced, hoping that the police did not find him before he found Jace. He glanced down at the telephone between the seats. pulling over to a dark, tree-lined curb, he dialed home.

  "Yes?" Susan's voice was quivering.

  "It's me, honey. "

  "Dan! Where's you been? I've—"

  "No time to talk now," he said. "I'm okay and I'm going after Jace. He should know where Muncrief is. "

  "Oh."

  "Have you heard anything?"

  "No."

  "I'll get Jace to tell me where Kyle is. And if he's got Angie I'll get her back."
/>   "He's got her." There was not a shred of doubt in Susan's voice.

  "Then I'll get him," Dan said.

  "Dan, I—"

  "What do you say when I use words like testosterone or coitus?"

  "What? What are you talking about?"

  "I've got to hear it from you, Sue. I've got to know this is reality and I'm not stuck in one of Jace's simulations."

  "This is no time—"

  "Sue, I don't know if you're real or not! I don't know if I'm really here or if I'm still in the VR chamber at the lab."

  She hesitated, then replied, "Well, I usually say something like . . . uh, I love it when you talk scientific."

  Dan felt his breath gush out of him "Yeah. Right. Jace wouldn't know that." This is reality, Dan told himself. Not a sim.

  "Thanks honey. Now I'm going to find Muncrief." He hung up before Susan could reply. I've got to find Jace first, he thought. He'll know where Muncrief is. Then I'll get them both.

  It took a bit of hide-and-seek before Dan found the street where Jace's bungalow was located. He nosed the Cutlass slowly down the unpaved driveway behind the houses on the street itself, then stopped in front of the place. It was hard to tell if Jace was home or not. Dan turned off the car lights and studied Jace's bungalow for a few moments. With all the windows painted black and the front door shut, the place would look abandoned even if had a party going on inside.

  He turned off the ignition and got out of the car, gravel crunching underfoot as he went to the door. It was locked. He rapped on it once, twice, and then suddenly banged on it with both fists as if he wanted to tear it apart.

  Great! he raged at himself. Take it out on a door. Break your stupid hands on a goddamned door when what you really want to do is break Muncrief's neck.

  He stood puffing, glaring at the unyielding door. No, he told himself. What you really want to do is find Angie. Find her and get her home safe. Then I'll break his fucking neck.

  If Jace was home he wasn't answering Dan's pounding. Or maybe he can't hear it. Maybe he's caught up in one of his own sims. Or he's sleeping. Drugged, drunk, whatever.