Stephen Lawhead: Dream thief

Another bolt hit him and he felt a weakness in his arms and legs. His breathing was becoming labored. The repeated blasts were draining vital energy and clouding his mind with pain. He felt his strength ebbing. The tanti, he thought. If he could get to the control and disable it, there might be a chance.

Slowly, straining every nerve and fiber, he rose, placing his hands on his knees. He raised his head and looked at Hocking who bobbed nearer, his face twisted into a grotesque mask of hate.

"You can't kill me, Hocking." The words came slowly and with difficulty. His tormentor loomed nearer. "And you can't make me bow to you."

"No? In a few moments you will beg for death. You will acknowledge me!" Hocking tilted his head back and laughed; his head shook wobbily on his thin neck.

Spence heard again the cracking sound and instantly another bolt struck him. It staggered him back a few paces, but he did not go down. Though he might die, he would not allow himself to go down again.

Hocking propelled himself closer, coming in range to deliver the killing blow. The kastak shone like a beacon on his head. Spence let him come.

Now he could hear Hocking's breathing. It seemed to fill the whole room. He moved toward the console. The crackling sound was building again. Hocking drew closer. Spence tottered forward slowly with his head down.

Spence did not look at him but continued on.

"Stop!" cried Hocking. "You'll never live to reach those controls. "

Just as Hocking closed on him Spence jerked his head up and looked to the side. "Ari!" he cried.

Hocking awkwardly turned his head toward the couch where the young woman lay. She was there, asleep as before; she had not moved.

"You won't-" he began, but was cut off as Spence leaped toward him, snatching at the thin tangle of wires that emerged from the base of his skull. "Ahhk!" he screamed.

Hocking squirmed and the chair dodged to the side. Spence grabbed the wires and hung with all his might.

There was a tremendous snap. Spence's arm was wrenched from his shoulder; he felt it leave the socket.

He looked and saw he held a handful of loose wires.

In the same instant Hocking's chair crashed to the floor and its occupant was tossed out like a rag doll as its circuits sputtered and fused, sending gray smoke and sparks into the air. Hocking rocked on the floor helplessly, emaciated limbs splayed-a pathetic puppet without strings. The kastak slipped from his head and rolled across the floor out of reach. He jerked and twitched and then lay still, moaning, eyelids fluttering.

Spence, grasping his arm at the shoulder, stood over the crumpled figure for a moment and then turned away. It was over, but he felt no joy at winning.

He went to Ari's couch. The awful stillness of her body made the breath catch in his throat.

"She is not dead." Spence swiveled to see Kyr standing over Hocking's body behind him. "But this one is." A long hand indicated the skeletal body. A small pool of blood was spreading beneath Hocking's skull. He stopped to pick up the kastak at his feet. It still pulsed with its strange power.

"Kyr, you're all right." Spence sank down beside the couch.

The Martian bent his long frame over Ari's bed. He studied her face for a moment and then touched the rim of the kastak to her forehead. "You have released me from the hold of that one. I will release her from the sleep of the Dream Thief."

Kyr closed his eyes and a deep thrumming sound filled the room. Spence sensed a warming flow of energy moving around him. It lasted only a moment and then Kyr stopped. There was a long sigh. Kyr removed the band, but Ari's features still bore the deathlike traces of her sleep.

Spence blinked back hot tears. He clutched one of her cold hands to him as his mouth seemed to fill with bitter ashes. "Oh, Ari," he cried. "Ari!"

He felt Kyr's hand on him. "Let your tears be of joy, Earth friend. The Dream Thief's power is broken."

Spence raised his head slowly, hesitantly, and found himself looking into the loveliest blue eyes he had ever seen.

…

THE PARTY BUBBLED AROUND him like a pot beginning to boil. Spence stood to one side with his arm in a sling, nursing a glass of apricot-colored champagne, watching the bubbles rise and burst as knots of guests crowded this or the other hero and the stories were told and retold to ever-eager listeners. Of all the figures in the drama of the moment only Spence remained aloof and alone, as much by choice as by chance.

The party had been Director Zanderson's idea-a way to reward in part the loyalty of the faithful and to thank his rescuers. After a lavish dinner the long tables had been removed and what the director called an "intimate" reception commenced, which seemed to include the whole of the station's population.

Kyr, of course, was the main attraction. Every eye in the room strayed constantly in his direction. Even Spence found himself from time to time watching the Martian, towering head and shoulders over the throng pressed around him. The room sparkled with energy, as if high-voltage live wires were pumping electricity into the air. Spence could almost guess what the headlines would read like back on Earth.

Kalnikov, sporting a bandaged wrist, and Packer, his left eye blackened by a blow he had received in the tangle with Ramm and his men, wore their wounds like badges of courage as they held forth to a mixed audience of MIRA technicians and third -year men and others of the sort who were mesmerized by the intricacies of the computer-cracking caper. Adjani was besieged by a crowd who hung on his every word and murmured amazement as they plied him with questions concerning the adventure.

Gita, whose natural innocence and charm made him an immediate celebrity among the Gothamites, kept a large coterie of well-wishers laughing with tales of adventures real and imagined, all told in his inimitable fashion.

August Zanderson, in top form, directed what amounted to a roving press conference as he visited each group in turn to extol in ringing platitudes the bravery and fortitude of all concerned.

Spence had heard the stories, too. The quick-thinking Ramm and his men, combing the air shafts, searching out the loyalists' hideout, were hit along with everyone else by the tanti's pulse. Upon recovery they continued the search, stumbling into the hideout, still dazed. Luckily, most of the loyalists had awakened by the time Ramm reached them. A quick combat ensued in which several cadets got darted by sluggish security men, and in which Kalnikov distinguished himself as a pugilist of the first magnitude-laying out Ramm and three of the more obstinate of his men in as many swipes of his great fists. Packer, too, used his fists to good account, and the remaining rebels offered no further resistance.

Dr. Williams, alone and confused, barricaded himself in his office where he was collected in due course, surrendering peace fully in exchange for consideration in the prosecution of his case by GM attorneys.

Zanderson and Gita recaptured AdSec, having little difficulty subduing the sleeping Wermeyer. The director was back at the helm by the time the effects of the tanti had worn off-much to the chagrin of his former assistant. The director had then gone on the air, broadcasting over the loudspeaker system of Gotham, to reassure a groggy and bewildered populace. After the initial shock, the space station had slowly gone back to business.

It was all over, but the retelling.

Spence sighed and glanced around. He had not seen Ari but for a brief moment before dinner. He craned his neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of her-last seen, she had been surrounded by a flock of her friends and a gaggle of doe-eyed young functionaries from the AdSec pool.

"Looking for someone?"