Copolla reddened a bit and almost challenged the tone of the comment, but he had other things to concern him at the moment. He did, however, make a mental note of the impertinence. He waved his hand, dismissing Journo. Journo, understanding that he was done, turned on his heels, replaced the black hood over his face, and left the chambers.
Copolla turned toward his computer and began furiously to enter data. He was smiling smugly as the screen's illumination added eerie shadows about his face.
Chapter Seven
NEXT STOP: THE PLANET ZIRE
Greg opened his eyes with the strangest feeling.
What the hell is a U-C-D-W? He thought as he remembered a strange voice he heard in the dream. He licked his lips and rolled his tongue across his teeth, noting that his mouth had a really bad taste in it, more than just the usual morning breath. It had a metallic type taste.
UCDW, never heard of that one before, he thought as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes.
As his eyes focused on his surroundings, he realized he was not in the bedroom of his apartment, the one with the massive laundry pile in the corner. This room was plain and white and possessed a cold and sterile feeling to it. He felt a lump of fear settle in the pit of his stomach.
"What the hell is going on?" he said, in a loud voice meant to attract someone's attention. "What did I do last night?"
He struggled to recall the events that might have led to his waking up in this strange place. He didn't think it was one of those too many beers from the night before mystery, but right now he wasn't sure of anything as the adrenaline sped up his heart rate. Suddenly his mind conjured up the image of the large refuse truck in the parking lot at work.
"The truck!" he screamed, his voice echoing in the sterile room that was completely empty except for the bed he occupied. He took a survey of his body, moving his eyes up and down the various body parts, looking for any signs of missing or mangled limbs. But he saw none, no bloody bandages or steely stitches oozing all over his body. His body was fine, and it was enclosed within some sort of blue jumpsuit made of a material that reminded him of silk, or something close to it.
"I must be in the hospital," he said, trying to convince himself. "It all looks so clean and sanitary. That must be it. Nurse? Nurse?" he questioned the little room, hoping someone would hear, but there was only silence.
He tried to sit up and, in sudden panic, realized that he could not. He tried to force himself up, but he couldn't budge. There was no sign of any straps or rope of any sort. It was as if hundreds of tiny invisible fingers held him from the neck down. "What the hell is going on? What kind of place is this? Hey!" he continued, the bile rising in his throat, a mixture of both fear and anger. "Is there anyone here? Hey!"
Silence.
He craned his head as far as he could, looking for something, anything that was holding him to the bed. Still, he saw nothing, but he could still feel those non-existent hands holding him, keeping him immobile. The more he tried to get up, the more pressure was exerted to keep him in place. He resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't going anywhere, at least for the moment, anyway. As he ceased his struggles, the pressure became minimal, but was still evident.
He forced his mind and body to return to some kind of calmness. His heart had been beating so quickly with panic that he could still feel his heartbeat throbbing in his head.
"Okay," he began, trying to rationalize. "I need to reason out what is going on here. I need to talk to someone. Someone has to be here. Someone put me in this place to begin with."
Once again, he craned his neck as far as he could and shouted, "Is there anyone here? Hello? I'm in here! Can anyone hear me?" His voice seemed to die in the room. There were no sounds and no one was coming. He laid his head back in despair as the silence engulfed him. Then, suddenly, he heard it, a small sound. His head snapped back up.
"I knew it. There is someone here. Hello?" His voice lifted in hope.
He looked around the room for the source of the noise and didn't see anything. He did it again, this time more slowly, and noticed that a panel in the wall was opening up. He turned his head as far as he could and looked closely. There weren't any seams in the wall or any natural opening, but regardless of this fact, it was opening up just the same. A strange apparatus began coming out of the opening. Coming out might not be the best way to describe it; rather, it was unfolding itself from the wall. He stared at the opening intently as the device revealed itself to his widening eyes.
"What the hell is that?" he asked the empty room.
The device firmly planted its wheels on the ground. Then, what appeared to be the top portion came through the opening and attached itself to the rolling base. This piece-by-piece assembly sort of reminded him of an erector set his dad had bought him for Christmas one year. They'd spent many hours building things, or just putting odd pieces together just to see what they would make when they were done.
Greg's mind came back to the present, but, during those few seconds of memories, the unfolding thing began to take form. It's a robot, he suddenly knew, a robot with some kind of helmet on its head! At first, he was pleased with himself for solving the mystery, but his pleasure soon turned into panic again as his eyes focused on what it carried.
He stared and whispered, "Needles! It has needles attached to its metallic fingers!"
As if the word needle had been a cue, the robot's fingers squirted liquid from the end of one of the syringes. As the robot made its slow yet deliberate way toward him, a new sound came to his ears, a loud click followed by the sound of air pressure being released.
The robot's awkward helmet detached itself from the main body and began to slowly make its way toward the bed. The helmet reminded Greg of one of those virtual reality headgear sets he'd seen at the more expensive arcades or electronic shows. It moved through the air without any apparent mechanism of propulsion that he could see. Then he noticed there was not one, but two sets. They separated, one coming toward him and the other disappearing in the opposite direction right through the wall where he saw no opening.
"What the hell is this place? This can't be real!" he said aloud, pasting a not-so-convincing smile on his face.
"Okay, very funny. It's a good joke, but enough is enough already," he said, chuckling nervously. But instead of the joke ending as he'd hoped, the nightmare continued.
The object continued its unwavering trip and the closer it came, the more he had a sinking feeling that he was not going to have any choice of whether or not he wanted to wear this thing. Then again, he thought, he was able to move his head; perhaps he could confuse it or something. But the momentary hope waned as he knew he could only move his head for so long. He wondered where the other headset had gone. Could there be someone else here? Were they going to go through the same thing?
The device now hovered precariously over his head. He craned his neck backward as he tried to discern the features of the object more closely.
"Ouch!" he yelled, as he felt a mild pin prick in the back of his arm. The robot backed away as if it feared some form of retaliation, even though the extent of Greg's capacity for movement was raising his head.
"You little son of a…" he winced as a burning sensation from the injection erupted. "Great. At least with real nurses you have a warning about this kind of thing, and they have better legs." Almost immediately, he felt his eyelids become heavy. Whatever was in that needle worked quickly.
"Must have…been…some…kind…of…drug," he slowly gasped as his eyes tried to close while he fought to remain conscious. The device landed softly on his head, making a snug custom fit. He felt a curious feeling on his head followed by a sudden warmth, and then he fell fast asleep.
* * * *
Greg never felt the small incisions that allowed the sensory input device to stimulate his brain directly. As the device began to stimulate parts of his brain, a chain reaction occurred in a region of the human cerebrum that was not part of the planned stimulus. This sect
ion of the brain was not used by most humans and was little understood by modern medicine. It was as if a door had been opened, a door into a new frontier waiting to be explored.
He could smell perfume and recognized it immediately, which caused a small smile to appear on his sleeping face, as he saw the woman again.
* * * *
In another chamber, Sarah's eyes fluttered as they opened to the brightness of the white room.
"The UCDW? What is that? I don't remember doing any work for them. Uhm…no, can't say that I…wait a minute! Where am I?" She glanced around the sterile room.
All at once, her brain showed her images of the wrinkle remover and then the sudden jolt that had raced through her entire body. She remembered her body jerking about, almost like she was dancing a weird dance, as the current forced its way through her. Her brain began to analyze the situation.
"First, I have to figure out where I am now," she said.
She lifted her head up from the pillow and carefully surveyed the plain room, trying to find something that would give her a clue as to her whereabouts. All she saw were plain white walls.
"Hospital, I must be in a hospital," her analytical brain informed her, and then she said, "Thank God, I'm alive, at least. I didn't die."
As the initial realization passed, she saw that she was wearing something that didn't belong to her. It must be a hospital garment of some sort, but, if so, they sure had changed from those exposing gowns with the simple ties at the back.
She was wearing a one-piece blue jump suit but didn't recognize the type of fabric, silk maybe, but the thought vanished quickly when she attempted to touch the material. Sudden panic rose in her throat when she realized she couldn't move. It was as if invisible fingers were holding her body hostage.
"Why am I restrained?" she said. Then louder, "Excuse me, I want to speak to someone. Doctor? Nurse? Can someone please help me?"
She struggled harder to move, but to no avail. Her brain told her it was futile, so she stopped and just laid still. Time to analyze. Unwanted tears began to emerge, but she knew this was neither the time nor the place, and she scolded herself for the moment of weakness and fought them back.
"Whoever or whatever has control of this place wants to be sure that I am not going anywhere," she said, almost becoming angry. She thought about yelling again for help, but hesitated as a small movement caught her eye.
At first, she thought that maybe someone had come in to check on her now that she was awake. Then she wasn't sure what to think when she saw what was heading toward her. First there was a thing floating in the air that seemed to come from nowhere. She recognized it immediately as something similar to a helmet used as a virtual reality device, because she had handled a client who manufactured them. Then there was another thing, except this one was on wheels moving more quickly toward her. It looked like a robot. A robot with a handful of hypodermic needles!
"I must be dreaming," she said calmly. "This can't be real."
She continued to watch the apparatus as it moved toward her. She repeated her thoughts over and over in her head. Her heartbeat became the only sound she heard as the device moved closer.
"Ouch!" she said, as she felt a pin prick in her arm. "So much for the dream theory. You don't feel…pain…in…a…dream."
Her heartbeat began to slow as a sense of calm enveloped her. Drifting, she soon found her eyes closing, not caring about the device that hovered over her head, or anything else for that matter. She gave in to the encompassing darkness as the device situated itself exactly where it needed to be on her head and inserted its pointed probes into her brain.
Sarah suddenly felt him. He was leaning on the back of her chair with his hands. She could hear him inhaling deeply.
* * * *
Greg heard music in the background, a soft tranquil music as the images became sharper and more distinct. He was in the nightclub again, standing next to the woman, who was sitting on a barstool. His hands were on the back of the stool, and he leaned over toward her and inhaled the wonderfully fragrant perfume she wore.
"So tell me…" he began to say, but stopped in mid-sentence. He looked around the bar and realized he was back in the dream again. But this time, there was hardness to everything, instead of the dream haze he had associated with it before. He gave himself a quick jab in the gut to ensure he was awake. The sharp wince of pain that came to his abdomen confirmed his suspicion. It was real, all right.
"What the hell is going on?" he asked himself, his mind racing. "One minute I'm being run down by a truck, and then I'm in a strange room with little robots using me for a pincushion. Now I'm awake in my dream?" His solo conversation came to an abrupt end as the woman spoke.
"What am I doing here?" she questioned him, anger flashing in her eyes. "Who are you?" She pointed at him.
He opened his mouth to answer, but her tirade continued on as her voice began to rise in alarm.
"This dress! I don't even own a dress like this! I wouldn't even consider wearing a dress like this!" she said, eyeing her black sequins and revealing neckline.
Greg couldn't help perusing the same territory.
She appeared to not notice his scrutiny as she continued to speak, frustration growing in her voice. "This place, I don't belong in a, well, a bar of all places, and I certainly don't know you!" Her voice broke as her eyes began to shimmer with tears. "I was in a hospital…or that's where I thought I was."
Greg could only stand there, hoping her tirade was over. He wasn't sure what he was going to say anyway and, in her current emotional state, he would have to be careful. Heck, I don't even know what's going on myself.
Looking away from him, she turned her barstool in a complete circle to get a good look around the place. Greg could see the same awareness on her face that he had when he first saw the images; it was exactly as it had been in the dream. But if that was a dream—then this is a dream—then why do I feel like I am awake?
She swiveled on her stool toward Greg so quickly that he instinctively ducked.
"Excuse me," she said in an angry and sarcastic tone. "Am I awake? What's going on here?"
"Hey, let's take it easy and slow down," Greg said. He raised his hands, palms up, to indicate his own confusion. "I know exactly where you're coming from. I was in the hospital, too. You remember all this, don't you? From a dream?"
"Yes," she said, perplexed, nodding in agreement.
He stared into her dark eyes in that moment of her confusion. He'd never really had a chance to see her close up before, so he took a few moments to study her features. Even though she was stressed, she looked gorgeous.
"What's going on here?" she asked in a trembling voice.
Before Greg could answer, she poured out her story. "One minute I am almost run over by a truck, and then, in my office, I'm shocked by my wrinkle remover. Next, I'm in a hospital, or at least that was where I thought I was, and there's this airborne thing, which is a robot with needles for fingers, coming towards me. To top it all off, there are these dreams I don't understand. I'm in a bar in a slinky black dress. I'm going crazy!" She finished by putting her hands over her face in utter confusion and frustration.
"Hey, you're not any crazier than I am," Greg offered, seeing her look of skepticism. He cleared his throat and continued. "And don't worry. What's your name, by the way?" he asked, surprised at his boldness.
"Sarah," she whispered in a low voice as she moved her hands away from her face.
Greg could see that her eyes were still darting wildly about as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. He held out his hand to her, and she hesitantly took it. The warmth of her hand felt wonderful, and he saw a moment of calm come over her. It was as if the touching had relieved some of the tension. He was also savoring every moment of it; her fingers were so smooth and warm. It had been a long time since he had felt that kind of warmth.
"I'm scared, too, you know," he said in a low voice, looking into her eyes. He thought for a moment, then
decided maybe a little humor might help. "I know this is going to sound strange, but I guess we're having a dream together. I've never heard of it happening before, but I guess it is possible, because here we are. One dream for the price of two. Get it, one dream…"
Greg stopped, and immediately felt awkward about what he'd just said. Although it was not uncharacteristic for him to say something like that, it felt out of place for him now. His eyes moved to where their hands were still joined. It was then that he realized that, even after all this, he still had not introduced myself.
"Well…how do you do, Sarah," he said, smiling nervously. "I'm Greg." He performed the quick act of shaking hands again, and then they mutually parted their grasp, much to his chagrin.
"Hey, I know this is all real strange, but…ah…it looks like we're somehow tied together in this thing, so I guess we'll have to figure it out together," he said, trying his best to sound as calm as possible.
She looked up and gently smiled at him, and this made Greg melt into his sneakers. He thought to himself, as he savored her smile, You sure are beautiful, Sarah.
"Well, that appears to be the best part of this…whatever is happening to us so far," she said, as she turned around on the rotating bar stool to gaze at the people in the room. Obviously possessing more confidence now, she appeared to become curious about their surroundings. She turned back to him. "Greg, who are all these people, anyway? Do you know them? Maybe they can help us." The new thought lit up her face.
Greg looked around, shrugging. He hadn't been paying attention to any of the other people because his full attention had been centered on her.
"I don't recognize anyone. Let's see if they recognize us." Greg walked up to the nearest person, a man wearing a plain black tuxedo, holding a cigarette loosely in his right hand and a drink in his left. The man was actively involved in a conversation with a small group of people, all dressed in appropriate evening attire.
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