Dream Thief (6 page)

“Good scan this session, doctor,” Tickler said happily.

“Bring it to me after breakfast.” Spence shook his head groggily.

“Anything wrong?”

“No. I, uh, didn't sleep very well, that's all.”

“You remember, of course, that you have scheduled to interview cadets for the assistantships today.”

“Tickler, do we really need an assistant? I mean, the project is just myself and you. It isn't as if we were in HiEn—those guys want thirty people for every experiment.”

“Each department is required to take a cadet.”

“Well, couldn't Simmons take an extra one? I don't really see where we need to…”

“BioPsych is a small department, yes,” Tickler sniffed. “But it will hardly expand if those of us in a position to encourage the interest of bright young minds fail to take full advantage of the assistantship program.”

Spence hated Tickler's testimonials; so to prevent further aggravation he replied as evenly as he knew how, “You are right, of course. In fact, I think it would be a good idea for
you
to interview the cadets yourself.”

“Me? But, Dr. Reston, I—”

“I don't see why not. You have a good feel for that sort of thing. I will, however, want to approve your choice. When you've found the right candidate for the job, bring him to me.”

Spence ducked quickly out of the control booth, bringing an end to the matter. He stepped into the corridor and began threading his way to the commissary. Once free from Tickler's annoying presence his mind returned to the mysterious problem of his blackout.

In the jumble of the crowded cafeteria he found seclusion to properly mull it over in his mind. Noise, considered Spence, was just as good an insulator as perfect quiet. Maybe better. With a proper level of random sound the mind turned naturally inward, completely shutting out the rest of the world.

The clash and clatter of trays and utensils, the din of voices, and the unrelenting drone of insipid background music which filled the busy commissary raised the noise factor to the perfect volume for contemplation. With his tray of scrambled eggs, grapefruit, and coffee he made his way to an empty table in the corner past others dining on an assortment of foods. He saw spaghetti, roast beef, tomato cups, chicken salad, pancakes, omelets, and hot dogs—breakfast, lunch, and dinner served simultaneously to accommodate the schedules of various shifts. The sight of roast beef and gravy sitting next to scrambled eggs and toast always threw him; it did not look right somehow.

Spence chewed thoughtfully and at the end of his meal was no closer to an answer than before. The missing hours were simply gone. Ten hours—maybe twelve—could not be accounted for. Not by his own memory, at any rate. He gulped the last of his tepid coffee and determined to check the scan in the lab—the scan tape would show a moment-by-moment account of his mental whereabouts on its four red wavy lines.

He entered the lab and saw that Tickler had gone. He went to the control booth and found the spool where Tickler had left it, duly cataloged and ready for filing after his inspection.

Spence snapped the seal and unrolled the strip to the beginning, watching the yards and yards of wavy lines unravel through" his fingers. At the start of the tape he saw the date and time notation: EST 5/15/42 10:17 GM. The scan continued for nine-and-a-quarter hours without interruption. Each peak and valley, every blip of an alpha spark or beta flash was duly recorded. He saw the even, rhythmic progress of his night's sleep. His presence was accounted for.

But what about
before
the scan? Where had he been? What had he done? Why couldn't he remember?

Spence rolled up the tape and resealed the spool. He had to get out of the lab and think—or not think. He decided on Central Park.

THE HUMIDITY INCREASED NOTICEABLY
as he approached the concourse entrance to the park. It was only when he smelled the slightly musty fragrance of the garden's atmosphere that he realized how flat was the carefully controlled and filtered air of the rest of the center.

He stepped down onto the turf and threw a hand up to protect his eyes from the dazzling brightness which engulfed him instantly. The solar shields, those immense louvered slats which could be opened or closed to regulate the amount of light allowed in upon the garden, were open wide in an approximation of high noon. Spence stood blinking for some moments until his eyes became used to the brilliant light, then struck along one of the many meandering pathways. He followed the path toward the center of the garden and the greensward, hoping to find an empty bench in one of the secluded nooks formed by the trees and hedges which were landscaped to provide privacy.

A quick survey of the perimeter showed that all the benches were taken, mostly by young women soaking up the sun's beneficial rays. He had just about completed the circuit when he stopped in front of the last bench. It, too, was occupied. He was about to turn away when he realized he knew the owner of the upturned face and closed eyes.

“Mind if I sit down?” he asked. The blue eyes fluttered open and a hand rose to shade them.

“Oh, Dr. Reston—Spence, I mean. Please, do sit down. I'm taking up far more than my fair share of space.”

He sat down at the extreme end of the bench and looked at •the young lady, realizing that he had nothing at all to say to her. He smiled. She smiled back.

Idiot!
Spence shrieked to himself.
Say something!
The smile lingered, evaporating at the edges.

“Did you have a successful meeting?” Ari saved him by starting the conversation.

“Meeting?”
Oh, no!
he thought,
I'm babbling again!

“You've forgotten already? You had a meeting with my father—or was that some other Dr. Reston?”

“Is he back then?”

“You mean Mr. Wermeyer hasn't called you yet? I could say something to him, if you like. Daddy's been busy since he got back, but you should have been called. I'll see what I can do; I have a certain amount of pull, you know.”

“No, I wouldn't think of asking you. I'll wait my turn.”

“Maybe it
was
another Dr. Reston, then. The one I had in mind was quite insistent. Very urgent—matter of life and death.”

“Apparently the crisis has passed—I had time to cool off. Thanks for the offer, though. I still do want to see him.”

“Well, you may be in luck if you care to wait for a little while. My father's coming down to get me when his meeting's over. We're going to lunch together. You could talk to him then.”

“I wouldn't intrude—”

“Don't be silly. I don't mind. Anyway, I wouldn't have offered if I still didn't feel a little guilty about treating you so disgracefully.”

“I've forgotten all about it. Believe me.”

“You're nice.” She smiled again, and Spence felt the warmth of it touch his face like the rays of the sun.

And in that moment, without either one of them thinking very much about it, without desiring it at all, they became friends. It was a natural thing for Ari; she had many friends, and made friends easily. For Spence, though, it was quite a different thing. He did not make friends easily—especially with women. He didn't know how to talk to them and never felt comfortable around them. So it was with a shock that he realized some time later that he had spent over an hour talking with Ari without for a moment feeling ill at ease.

And it was with a pang of genuine regret that Spence saw the portly, though dignified, form of the GM director approaching from across the lawn.

“Oh, Daddy!” shouted Ari, jumping up. Spence stood as well. “Daddy, you'll remember Dr. Reston—”

“Yes, indeed!” The man called “Daddy” held out a wide, firm hand which Spence took in his own and received vigorous shaking.

“It is good to see you again. Director Zanderson.” The last time Spence had seen the director had been at a reception for the new grant winners a few days prior to making the jump.

“I am always pleased to see one of our brightest new colleagues. In fact, I believe you have your first review coming up, do you not? Yes, I believe so. I saw it on my calendar. How do you like it here, Dr. Reston? You're finding it all you hoped it would be?”

“Yes, and much more,” Spence said truthfully.

“Daddy, I've asked Spence to join us for lunch. I know how you love a new audience.” Ari put her arm around her father, who looked amused.

“Daughter, the decorum of my office!” She kissed him on the cheek. “What will Dr. Reston think? Tell me, did you ever see such an impertinent young lady?”

Spence was saved from having to answer by Ari who announced, “I'm starving. Let's go to lunch this instant, or you will both have to carry my limp and languishing body through the garden to the commissary. How would that suit your precious decorum?”

“Dr. Reston, I regret my daughter's shocking manners.” His eyes twinkled at the sight of her. “But I reiterate her invitation. Would you join us?”

There seemed to be no graceful way out, so he said, “I'd be delighted.”

T
HEY WERE WALKING BACK
to their respective places:

Spence to his lab, the director to his office, and Ari to the cultural arts center. It had been one of the most enjoyable lunches Spence could remember. They had eaten not in the commissary, as he expected, but in one of Gotham's four excellent restaurants, the
Belles Esprit,
a very commendable copy of a French cafe.

Spence had not previously visited any of the restaurants and was surprised and pleased to find them quite different from the commissaries. He was less surprised to find that, like exclusive restaurants on Earth, they were quite expensive. The commissaries were free; the restaurants were not.

They had dined on hearts of palm and artichoke vinaigrette and quiche lorraine. And Spence had come away feeling soothed and refreshed—as much by the company as by the food and atmosphere. The Zandersons, father and daughter, proved themselves very convivial hosts. They had so drawn him out that he talked a great deal more about himself than he ever did as a rule, but he had enjoyed it. And more than once during the meal he had looked up to discover Ari's bright blue eyes watching him with a curious expression.

Now they were nearing the junction tube where he would leave them to go back to the lab. For one who had inwardly shuddered at the luncheon invitation he was honestly sorry to see their short time together end.

“I hope you'll consider my offer,” Director Zanderson was saying. “I think you'd find the experience rewarding. It would even help in your research, I dare say. A smart young man like yourself—I imagine you could devise a few experiments that would make the trip quite worthwhile.”

Spence was only half listening to the director's proposition. “I'm afraid that with my review coming up…” he started to object.

“Oh, that's just a formality,” grinned the director. "Besides, should you decide to lead one of the research teams on the trip the review could be postponed, or perhaps waived altogether.

Terraforming is the future—very exciting business. I wish I could go back myself; but … duties, you know."

He looked a little awkwardly at the director. Ari noticed his discomfort and came to his aid. “Oh, Daddy. Terraforming is
your
great mania, it isn't everyone's. Quit badgering him about it. I'm sure Spencer has better things to do than to go roaming about on a dusty old rock. I know I do.”

The director clucked his tongue. “Such a worrisome girl. Well, I won't press you for an answer. Dr. Reston. But I hope you'll think it over. The Martian experience
is
truly fantastic.”

“I will think it over. And thank you both for a most enjoyable lunch. It was really very nice.”

“I'm glad you could join us. I always like to get better acquainted with my colleagues. Well, good-bye.”

“Good afternoon,” said Ari. They turned and strolled arm-in-arm off along the main axial. Spence watched them go and then started back along the tube to the lab.

Tickler was waiting for him when he returned. The fussy assistant appeared miffed about something; he gave Spence a series of sideways glances which Spence figured were supposed to represent disapproval. Spence happily ignored the vague reproofs—after all, he had just eaten lunch with the director. There was nothing which could even remotely threaten his self-esteem at that moment.

“Well, Tickler, how are we coming along this afternoon? Are we ready for tonight's session? I plan to increase the electroencephamine quotient by another five percent. I would like to test the scanner before we run the experiment.”

“I haven't forgotten,” Tickler said. He nodded toward the control room and Spence saw that they had a visitor. “Perhaps you will remember assigning me to secure our new assistant.”

“So soon? You certainly didn't waste a minute. Very well, let's meet him.” He motioned to the cadet who sat watching them through the control window. The young man got up and came to stand beside Tickler.

Spence offered his hand to the short young assistant. “I see that you have already met Dr. Tickler. If I know him he's probably put you to work already. I'm Dr. Reston.”