Escape with the Dream Maker

by Gilbert L. Morris

  “I came out for the same reason as Florence Nightingale,” Sarah said quietly. “To help do what I could for those of you who are serving your country.”

  The soldier gasped. “I’m glad you came, Miss Collingwood. Don’t leave me.”

  “No, I won’t do that. Now, lie quietly until the doctor comes . . .”

  Oliver’s voice was saying, “That was quite a dream you had—going all the way to the Crimea to nurse the English soldiers.”

  Sarah opened her eyes. “That war was awful. I wanted to help so much.”

  “You’ve learned a lot about Miss Florence Nightingale. She was a wonderful woman.”

  “Yes, she was. I’d like to be just like her,” Sarah said.

  “Well, Wash,” Oliver greeted him, “I’ve been wondering when you’d come back.” He opened the door wide and took the boy’s arm. “Come in. I’ve been anxious to see you again. Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

  Wash sat down. He had forced himself to come and now wished that he hadn’t. “I just hadn’t much time, Oliver,” he said.

  “Of course. I understand you are very busy. Tell me some more about it.”

  After the conversation had gone on for some time, Oliver said, “Now that you’re here, perhaps you’d like to take a break. All your friends have been using the Dream Maker pretty regularly.”

  “I—I guess so, Oliver.”

  “Fine. Where would you like to go?”

  “I’d like to go back to New Orleans. I saw a documentary once about Louis Armstrong, how he played the horn back there in the early days.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen that. Put this on.” Oliver adjusted the headset, then turned and added some colorless liquid to a glass of orange juice. “Drink this down.”

  “What is it?” Wash said suspiciously. “I don’t like medicine.”

  “Oh, there’s nothing to this. Just helps you relax. That way you can get into Louis’s music quicker.”

  Wash swallowed the liquid. It had no taste and seemed to have no effect. He was as tense and finely drawn as a wire, and when Oliver sat down opposite him, Wash’s back was straight and his eyes were troubled.

  “Now, don’t worry about this, Wash. You don’t have to go.”

  “No, it’s all right. Let’s try it.”

  Wash was sitting on a bandstand, a trumpet player with a group of black musicians, all dressed in early twentieth-century clothes. The place was small and crowded with people, and the soloist on his right he recognized instantly as the great Louis “Satchmo” Armstrong. Wash listened, filled with admiration for this man who had been his idol back in another time.

  When the solo was over, Satchmo turned to Wash and said, “Hey, it’s your turn now. Let’s hear you toot that horn.”

  Wash looked over the audience and swallowed hard, but Satchmo said kindly, “Don’t be afraid, now. Come on, let’s hear you blow that thing.”

  Wash began to play, and soon the others joined in. He could hear Satchmo sing out, “That’s the way to do it! Now, that’s playing!”

  Wash had never felt anything like it in his life. As others joined in, the syncopation was there, the beat was there, and he found himself carried along with the ecstasy of the music . . .

  And then suddenly he was back in Oliver’s room with the Dream Maker, and Oliver was watching him. “How was it?” he said. “Did you see Satchmo?”

  Wash was still carried away with the moment. He had never heard anything like it. “Yes, sir, Oliver,” he said. “I heard Satchmo, and he was something.”

  “Maybe you ought to go back and listen to him some more. A musician like you can always learn from a master.”

  Wash nodded slowly and said, “I guess I better do that. Yes, sir, I guess I better do it.”

  6

  The Real Thing

  Pilot to gunner—the flak’s getting pretty thick, Frank, but we’ve got to make it.”

  His goggles fitted closely over his eyes, Josh held the Dauntless dive bomber, a torpedo plane, straight on its course. He ignored the black explosive clouds and the shell bursts that flowered around them. He felt the bullets from the guns of the enemy carrier shake the plane violently.

  “Right on target. Go in and get that tin can!”

  Josh held to the controls tightly. The cumbersome aircraft was only thirty feet above the water, which crawled beneath him in green waves. He had taken off from the U.S. aircraft carrier Hornet two hours ago, and, one by one, the members of his flight made a torpedo run at the huge Japanese ship.

  “Got to get it. We just got one chance.” Josh gritted his teeth and poised his thumb over the release switch for the torpedo. Every gun on the carrier, it seemed, was aimed directly at him. Even as he watched, a piece of lead tore through the plastic windshield so that it spider-webbed. “Can’t see where we’re going, Frank,” he yelled, “but I’m going to ram this tin fish right down where she lives.”

  The world exploded with noise, and Josh felt a bullet rake the top of his right shoulder, numbing his hand. Then he saw the target looming ahead. Desperately he pushed the control that released the torpedo. Instantly the bomber, freed from its heavy weight, roared toward the carrier.

  We’re going to hit it! Josh thought wildly. He could barely see out the shattered canopy. As the bulk of the warship flashed by, he saw streaks of gunfire and could make out small figures running around the flight deck. Then, as he cleared the ship, he heard a tremendous explosion. Looking back, he saw a huge plume of smoke rise into the air, accompanied by fragments of steel.

  “We got it, Frank! We got it!” he yelled. “She’s gonna go down!”

  He pulled the battered aircraft up as quickly as possible. The guns below still hammered, and he felt the plane vibrate as it tried to rise. But then he saw the carrier begin to list to one side. A swell of satisfaction came over him, and he whispered, “We got it. We got a whole aircraft carrier.”

  Then the vessel below started to fade from view. The sea turned from brilliant emerald green to a formless gray shape . . .

  Josh resisted the impulse to awaken, for he longed to stay and finish his dream. But he felt the cockpit of the torpedo bomber melt away and the hard wooden chair take shape under him. He felt the headset of the Dream Maker’s controls on his temples, but he remained sitting with his eyes closed.

  “Come out of it, Josh.”

  Oliver’s voice was soft but insistent. Still, Josh remained in a state of semiconsciousness. It was like those dreams that occur just before you awake, he thought. If they are pleasant dreams, you want to stay there and not come into the reality of morning.

  But Oliver’s hand was on his shoulder, and then Josh felt the headset being removed. Reluctantly he opened his eyes and swept the room with a glance. “Hard to come back,” he muttered. “Just hit an enemy aircraft carrier with a torpedo.”

  “Quite a thrill, I guess, Josh.” Oliver went to the window and looked out. It was early afternoon, and the late sun came through the glass, illuminating half of his face. He was carefully and neatly groomed, as always, and seemed to be lost in thought.

  Curious, Josh pulled his mind back from the excitement of flying a dive bomber during World War Two. He went over to stand beside Oliver. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  Quickly the older man turned, and there was a strange smile on his face. “No, quite the contrary, Josh,” he said, and the excitement in his voice caught Josh’s attention.

  “What is it?” Josh asked. “Have you found one of our missing people? Some kind of a clue maybe?”

  “Well, I’m getting closer to that, but that’s not why I’m excited.”

  Josh had never learned to read Oliver’s moods. He was an outgoing, cheerful man, with a fund of entertaining and humorous stories. Still, at times he fell silent, and his eyes were hooded, concealing something that Josh could never fathom. Now he examined the inventor’s face and saw that his cheeks were tense from some sort of strain.

  “Is it trouble?” Josh ask
ed quietly. “I’m sort of used to that. We haven’t had anything but trouble since we got to this time and this place.”

  Sympathetically, Oliver nodded. He patted Josh on the shoulder. “I know it’s been hard on all of you. It’s hard on everybody on this planet. This war going on between the Dark Lord and Goél—I think everybody’s had about all they can take.”

  He did not like to see Oliver discouraged, for he had found in their friendship a release from the strain that had been tearing him down. “Can you tell me about it?” he asked.

  Oliver seemed to be weighing something in his mind. His eyes narrowed slightly as he scrutinized Josh. “I’m not sure whether I ought to tell you or not.”

  “Does it have anything to do with—with Goél and the battle with the Dark Lord?”

  “It has something to do with everything,” Oliver said. He smiled mysteriously, then laughed aloud. “I know that sounds odd, but it’s really true, Josh.” He hesitated for only one fraction of a moment, then he threw both hands out, palms upward. “Josh! You remember I told you that I was working on something big—something really big?”

  Josh straightened up. Oliver’s excitement caused him to feel some excitement too. “You mean you found how to do it?”

  “I think I’ve got a piece of it,” Oliver said slowly, almost in awe. “Josh, this is so big—it’s bigger than I even dreamed it would be!”

  Josh smiled. “You warned me once not to believe anything inventors said. Does that still go?”

  “I may be overestimating what I found.” Oliver began to walk around the room rapidly, slapping his hands together, bobbing his head, and muttering to himself. It was as if he had forgotten that Josh was there.

  The young man stood watching, afraid to interrupt.

  At last Oliver turned and came toward him, a determined set to his features. “It’s something really big, though, Josh. The biggest thing I ever dreamed of, and it’s going to happen. I just know it is! I can feel it in my bones.” He took a deep breath. “I’m going to try to tell you about it, but I warn you—you’ve got to think big.”

  “Let her rip, Oliver,” Josh said. “What is it?”

  “Did you ever read any science fiction, Josh?”

  “No, not very much. Just a little when I was twelve or thirteen, and most of it was over my head.”

  “Well, science fiction isn’t really about science,” Oliver said. “There’s all kinds of talk about ‘science,’ but it isn’t. For instance, in one of Edgar Allan Poe’s stories he wrote about a man who traveled in a rocket-ship. When someone asked him how it worked, he just said, ‘You wouldn’t understand it.’” Oliver laughed. “They went to the moon, and the reader just accepted that there was a ship at that time that could do that. Well, you’re just going to have to accept what I’m going to tell you, without a scientific explanation. It’s something I’ve worked on all my life, and now I found it. In a way, it’s all tied up with the work I’ve done with the Dream Maker.”

  “What does your new invention do?”

  “Those fellows who write science fiction talk about what’s called a parallel universe.”

  “I’ve heard of that. I read a story about it once. No, let’s see. I saw it on a television program. It was about this man who discovered that there was another universe almost exactly like the one we’re in.”

  “That’s it!” Oliver said excitedly. “There’re a lot of books about that for sci-fi readers, and I’ve found out that, in a way, it’s true.”

  “But how could you find out about that?” Josh demanded.

  “You see, you want scientific explanations. I can’t give you any. Come, sit down, Josh, and listen. I think it’s more a matter of philosophy than anything else. In any case, through the Dream Maker I’ve done a lot of roaming through old books. And somehow, some time ago, I broke through into what I knew wasn’t anything on this planet. Most everything was the same, but some things were different. For example, I went back in time to 1994. At that time, Bill Clinton was president of the United States; but in that universe—the one I’d stumbled into—he lost the election to George Bush.”

  “But Clinton was elected.”

  “In this universe, yes. But not in universe number two.” Oliver smiled, “It’s out there, Josh, with just a few changes.”

  Josh sat and listened with growing excitement while Oliver talked. But he could not understand all of what was being said.

  Finally Oliver cocked his head. “You don’t really understand the significance of this, do you?”

  “I guess I don’t. What if it is out there? What would that have to do with us?”

  “Why, don’t you see?” Oliver asked, his eyes almost glaring with excitement. “Josh, we can go there. You could go home again. Back to the way things were.”

  The words seemed to hang in the air, echoing hollowly. Josh stared at Oliver. Over the man’s shoulder, a beam of golden sunlight illuminated his silvery hair. Tiny dust motes swam by the millions in that beam, and suddenly Josh thought, Why, every one of those motes could be a separate world, just like ours. I read a story about that too. Aloud he said, “You mean we can use the Dream Maker and go into that parallel world like you did?”

  “You’re not thinking right, Josh.” Oliver’s face grew terribly serious. “What’s your life been like since you came to Nuworld? You’ve told me about it. Danger and doubt, losing friends to death, dangerous missions. It’s been nothing but hard times.”

  “Not all of it’s been hard,” Josh said defensively. “I’ve met some good people. I met you for one, Oliver, and a few others.”

  “I’m glad to hear you feel that way, Josh.” Oliver smiled. “I feel that way about you too. But just think about your life in Oldworld. You had parents there. You’ve told me about them.”

  “They’re both dead now,” Josh said shortly. The pain from the loss of his parents still hurt him, and he did not want to talk about it.

  Oliver, however, said, “But they’re not dead in that world. You can go back and be a boy again. Your parents will be there. Your grandparents will be there. Remember the fun you used to have with them on the farm every summer?”

  Memories came floating back to Josh, and he nodded slowly. “Yes, I remember.”

  “And you had a dog, didn’t you? What was his name?”

  “His name was Jock. He was the best dog a kid ever had.”

  “Well, Jock will be there. It’ll be just like it was, Josh. How would you like that?”

  Suddenly Josh thought he would give anything to go back to what life was like when he was twelve or thirteen. He had had problems then, too, but nothing like the terrible things that he’d encountered in Nuworld. Slowly he nodded again. “It would be all right. It would be great. You mean I use the Dream Maker and dream about all that?”

  “No, it just doesn’t seem to work like that,” Oliver said. “Somehow there’s a difference. You can go into books and come right back out again, or into movies, or TV, but there’s something different about going into this parallel universe. Once you get there, it’s not as easy to get back. I had a horrible time, and I’ve been afraid to go back ever since. I think, Josh, that at least usually the choice is either to go back and stay or you stay here.”

  Josh could not think clearly. “But I couldn’t go away and leave my friends. And leave Goél. He’s depending on us to fight. There’s a big battle coming up.”

  “I know there is. But in that other world, that wouldn’t matter. Nuworld would be a dream world. You would be living in reality, Josh, don’t you see? All this here would be just a dream, a bad dream.”

  Something tugged at Josh. He was torn two ways. He longed to be back in those golden years in Oldworld—but he was still disturbed at the thought of leaving his friends. “I’d hate to leave my friends.”

  “You mean Jake and Sarah. Especially Sarah, I’ll bet.”

  “Well, yes, Sarah. I’d hate to leave her. And the others too.”

  “Josh, you’
re still not thinking right,” Oliver insisted. “They’ll go back too. Sarah will be going back, and Jake and Reb. They’ll all go back again. If you want to find them in Oldworld, you can go find Reb in Arkansas. You won’t lose your friends. I’ll bet you’ll be better friends than ever.”

  “What about Goél? Will he be there?”

  “It’s hard to say about Goél. He’s not like you or me, but if he wants to be there, he will.”

  “Say, that’s right, isn’t it?” The idea began to grow on Josh, and he got up and paced the floor excitedly. “I just don’t know. It’s a big decision. Are you sure we can’t come back here? You did.”

  “With great difficulty. I don’t think it’s like trying on a suit. If you don’t like a suit, you can put it back. Somehow, when you shift to that other universe, that’s it, Josh. Look,” he said, “why don’t you go talk to your friends? See what they say.”

  “I’ll do that. I could always talk with Sarah. She’s got a level head.”

  “You do that. Come back and tell me. Maybe bring her here. We can all talk it over together, if you like.” Oliver smiled. “I’d sure like to see that dog of yours myself.”

  Josh thought of the sable-and-gold collie that he had loved as much as he had loved anything in Oldworld beside people, and he whispered, “I’d sure like to see Jock again.”

  “Let me explain Oliver’s new invention . . .”

  Josh was meeting with Wash and Sarah. The other Sleepers were all scattered. “We can get to them later,” Josh had said.

  Sarah and Wash stood listening as he talked about Oliver’s latest discovery.

  “I tell you, Oliver says it can be done,” Josh protested.

  Sarah could see that Josh was more excited than she had ever seen him before. His eyes were bright, and he was animated and filled with enthusiasm.

  “Don’t you see?” he said. “We can leave all this trouble, and who knows whether we’ll live another day in this place or not? We could go home again.”

  Wash bit his lip thoughtfully. “But what about Goél? What about the battle that’s coming up?”