The Stuff of Dreams: 4/?
by Nancy Smith and Linda Garrick
8
"Think hard," Melbourne said. "Where have they all been that they could have contacted the drug?" He glanced at Bronson, smiling faintly. "In case you're interested, Captain, I've completely scrapped the notion that any of this was deliberate. It's obvious that all of them have somewhere come in contact with it -- probably a common source. It's too much of a coincidence, otherwise."
Bronson wracked his brain, trying to think of a connection. "Well, we all ate dinner together at the Angels' Motel Restaurant, but, damn! We've already been through that! Lyn an' Ron were the only ones that had the white wine. Lemme see ... Ron had spaghetti. Lyn had fried fish with fries an' cole slaw; Mark had steak an' baked potato --" Slowly, he catalogued what each individual had eaten for dinner. Wolenski's eyes widened slightly. "Man! You have one helluva memory!"
"Burke says it's 'cause I'm a psychic, even though m'talents ain't functional. Mark's is better'n mine." Bronson dismissed the talent impatiently. "Honest, Doc, I can't think o' nothin' that makes sense."
The doctor shook his head. "All right. Maybe tomorrow, after you've rested, you'll be able to think of something. Look, Captain, I want you and Captain Wolenski to get your bags from the motel and return here. At this point, two more people aren't going to make much difference and I want the two of you here, just in case. Neither of you show any symptoms but I don't want to assume unreservedly that you haven't been exposed. You can bed down on the floor in the living room."
"Makes sense," Wolenski agreed. "I've got to admit I'll feel safer with a doctor nearby. But, listen, can't you run a check on us with that analyzer of yours and tell if we've been exposed?"
Melbourne shook his head. "The stuff doesn't show up in the bloodstream until just before the symptoms appear."
"Terrific." Bronson got to his feet. "Let's make tracks, Wol."
The doctor handed him a set of keys. "Here, Captain. I moved the car closer to the building for you before I came in. Colonel Westover sort of left it sitting in the middle of nowhere after the cops pulled him over." He grinned. "The kind of lives you people lead. I have to envy you, sometimes, but in the end, I'm glad I'm only a doctor." He sobered. "I think I'll accompany you to the motel. Then, if either of you show symptoms, I'll be right there. Judith can take care of the situation here until I get back."
"Sounds good." Bronson turned toward the door, flanked by Wolenski and Melbourne.
In the aircar once more, Bronson headed toward the Angels Motel at a speed just under the local limit. The doctor went with Wolenski to bring out the bags and miscellaneous articles while Bronson checked them out, explaining that, no, there was nothing wrong with the rooms -- an emergency had arisen, requiring their presence in Florida by morning. He added a large sum for the damage to their motel room, caused by Griffen. As he exited into the parking lot, Wolenski went past him, still accompanied by Melbourne, both of them carrying bags. Wolenski deposited his bags in the open trunk of the aircar and trotted back toward their motel room.
As Kevin approached the aircar and triggered the remote that opened the driver's door, the doctor made a sound that caused Kevin to turn quickly back toward him, the hair rising on the back of his neck. The little man was standing in the brilliantly lighted lot, his feet wide apart, the suitcase raised above his head. As Bronson gaped, Melbourne flung the piece of luggage straight at him.
It struck him full in the chest, knocking him to the pavement. Melbourne rushed toward him, voiced a wild laugh and leaped clear over him, landing with a thud beside the aircar.
"Trenchcrawler!" he screeched. "Shallockian trenchcrawler!" With another leap, he achieved the hood of the car.
"Wol!" Kevin bellowed. He staggered to his feet. Melbourne leaped nimbly to the roof, giving a loud, gurgling shriek and beating his chest with both fists. Several pedestrians were standing beside another car a short distance away, watching the scene with wide eyes. Bronson barely noticed them.
"I can fly!" Melbourne shouted at the top of his lungs. "I can fly! Watch me!" He leaped.
Kevin caught him as he landed and bore him to the pavement. Wolenski came sprinting across the lot, a final suitcase in his hand, pushing a gawking bystander summarily aside. "What's going on?"
"Help me get him in the car!" Bronson gasped.
Together, they boosted the wildly struggling figure of the doctor into the rear seat. Wolenski scrambled in after him while Kevin tossed the stray suitcases into the trunk, slammed it closed and sprinted around the car to fling himself into the driver's seat. An instant later, they were lifting off with more speed than grace. He saw one of the bystanders come to life as they soared into the sky. The man waved a hand frantically after them and then turned and ran toward a videophone booth on the opposite side of the lot. Great, Bronson thought. If the cops show up now, this is going to be real hard to explain.
Wolenski spoke from the back seat, sounding harried. "Now where the hell did he run into it? I guess this proves it couldn't have been the food."
"That's for sure. Where the devil have they all been that we haven't?"
"They only places we've all been," Wolenski said, his words accompanied by little grunts of effort as he bound the doctor's hands with his own belt and then gagged him with a handkerchief, "is the station, the aircar, and the motel room. And you and I have been in all those places too, and yet so far we're clear. I've got to confess, I'm at a dead end."
"Me too." Bronson was scarcely listening. He was scared, every nerve in his body jumping, as Alan would have put it, like a flea on a hot griddle.
"You okay?" Wolenski demanded.
"Yeah, so far," Bronson said grimly. "But I got a nasty feelin' we're short on time."
"Oh." Wolenski fell silent. Bronson hit the accelerator, careful to stay in the low, uncontrolled traffic levels. Something was nagging at his consciousness -- some fact that he had somehow, somewhere, overlooked was the key to this whole puzzle. The doctor! Where had the doctor contacted the stuff, too?
Try as he might, he couldn't lay his finger on it. But his subconscious had figured it out. It was telling him to hurry ... hurry!
Over the strangled screams of Melbourne in the rear seat came Wolenski's voice, sounding strained. "Kev --"
Bronson turned quickly to look at his companion. Wolenski's face was stark white in the dimness. "What's the matter?"
"I feel -- odd. Stun me! Now!" Wolenski's voice was urgent. "Hurry!"
Bronson had not become a Patrol subcommander at the age of twenty-six through indecisiveness. In the shoulder holster beneath his light jacket was a blaster. He drew it and stunned Wolenski and then the writhing form of the doctor as well, and as he did so, the last piece of the puzzle fell sharply into place. He knew what his companions had in common: where they had contacted the drug. And he knew that he was no longer immune. His time was running out -- was, in fact, almost gone.
The station was below him. A strange dizziness seemed to be creeping over his brain, a sense of disorientation. The first symptoms of the drug? No! Not yet! He couldn't give in to it!
He brought the car down to a rough landing on the paved surface of the parking lot. It bounced once, lunged forward and buried its nose in an ornamental hedge that grew beside the building. Kevin pushed the door open and staggered toward the entrance. An odd sense of exhilaration filled him -- limitless power! He could do *anything*!
No! First he had to warn -- to warn who? The major, that was it. Major Cross.
His steps seemed to carry him kilometers at a time. He was soaring, flying high into the starry sky. Then, somehow, his feet were on the stairs. The door loomed before him and he flung himself against it, expecting it to buckle beneath his mighty strength.
Sure enough, it was opening and somebody was gripping him by the arm. Through the fast-encroaching cobwebs of the drug, he recognized Major Cross.
"Captain Bronson!"
"No!" Kevin croaked. "The others in the car -- stunned! I've got it ..."
Somewhere nearby, a stunner hummed. He felt the tingling shock wash over him and was aware that he was falling. Then the floor hit him.
**********
9
Waldorf Cross broke Bronson's fall as the former patrolman sagged to the floor. He looked down at the other man with a sort of awe. Judith put down the small stunner and came to kneel beside him. She looked up at Cross.
"He said the others were stunned in the car. Do you suppose --"
"Sounds like it," Cross agreed morosely. "But how the devil could Melbourne have come across it? He didn't leave the station, except to go with them to their motel."
"Well, we'd better go get them." Judith stood up. "Come on, Eileen."
"I'll go," Cross said. "You'd better sedate Captain Bronson first."
Judith did so, and then followed the others out of the small apartment and down the stairs.
The car was half in the parking lot and half in the bushes, leaning drunkenly against the curb, one door wide open just as Bronson had left it. Wolenski was sprawled in the rear seat, slack across the much smaller, tightly bound form of George Melbourne. Cross hauled Wolenski out, grunting under the man's weight, and bore him across the lot toward the apartment. Although not as large as either Bronson or Linley, Wolenski was still a big man and admirably well-muscled. He stood half a head taller than Cross and the dead weight of his unconscious body was a considerable load. Somehow, Cross made it up the stairs with him and staggered through the door. The two women followed, half-carrying, half-dragging George Melbourne. Cross lowered Wolenski to the carpet as gently as possible and glanced at the nurse.
"Judith, you'd better sedate 'em. When you've finished, come help Eileen and me bring up their gear."
It took them three trips to get all the things out of the aircar and up into the apartment. When they finished, the place looked like a luggage store and there was barely room to move between bodies and suitcases. Judith dropped the last parcel on the floor of the apartment with a sigh. Eileen Cross set down the paper bag she had brought on her last trip and glanced at the contents. "Beer!" she exclaimed in outrage. "Men!"
Judith knelt beside the young doctor, her hands moving with skill and gentleness as she drew another sample of blood. Cross watched as she dropped it in the analyzer. "Same thing?"
"Yes." The nurse indicated the now familiar readings on the display. "This is crazy, isn't it? Seven of them, all exposed, and as far as we can tell, not one of them has the vaguest idea where they encountered the stuff." She drew a sample of Wolenski's blood, dropped it into the analyzer and nodded. "Dream dust."
"This is scary," Cross said. "If Melbourne contacted it, then it's quite conceivable that we could, too."
Eileen sighed. "Let's go back to bed, dear. Judith --"
"I'll stay here with them," the nurse said. "They should be all right in the morning."
It was well after one o'clock in the morning, then, and all those awake in the apartment were tired. Perhaps that was why it didn't occur to any of them that no one had bothered to lock the car when they had left it the last time. Judith had even left the key in the ignition.
**********
10
"What I can't figure out," Ronald Griffen said, slowly, "is where the devil we could have run into it." He glanced sideways at the forms of Kevin Bronson and Andrei Wolenski still curled up on the rug. Beside the two big men was the small, much slighter form of the doctor.
Wolenski opened his eyes, blinking drowsily. Alan grinned wanly at him from his place on the sofa, a cup of coffee in his hand. "Hi, Wolly."
"Huh?" Wolenski's eyes focused abruptly. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," Alan assured him. "How about you? They tell me Kevin apparently stunned you in the aircar."
Wolenski rubbed his face. "I don't remember."
"I know the feeling," Griffen said. "Last I remember is sitting in the restaurant, feeling a little woozy and wondering if I'd drunk too much."
Mark laughed hoarsely, rubbing his chin. "Alan says Kev socked me one. I sure as hell don't remember it, but man is my jaw sore! He must pack a wallop like a mule."
Wolenski grinned wryly. "He had to. You were making like a stunt pilot with that poor little aircar. Nearly smeared us all over the motel parking lot."
Linley shook his head. "Sorry."
The doctor groaned and muttered to himself. Judith knelt beside him. "George?"
Melbourne's eyes opened, focusing instantly on her face. He frowned in puzzlement. "Judith?"
She smiled. "How do you feel?"
"All right. A little muzzy ..." He sat up and glanced around. "Oh no! Don't tell me I --"
"Yup," Wolenski said. "You called Captain Bronson some names and then tried to fly off the top of the aircar."
For the first time since meeting him, Alan saw the doctor blush.
"Very sorry," he murmured.
"No worse than Alan trying to jump out the window and nearly maiming us all in the process," Wolenski said.
Alan made a face. "The last I remember is Dr. Melbourne checking out Mark's blood. After that, it's all a blank."
"Well, Doc?" Wolenski persisted. "Any idea where you could have picked it up? We'd only been away from the station about fifteen minutes when you flipped out."
"Dear me!" The doctor's voice was subdued. "I'm afraid I didn't do anything. I helped Captain Wolenski carry out the luggage, and of course I rode in the aircar, but --"
Kevin Bronson opened his eyes, blinking sleepily at his companions, and then jerked upright. "Holy --!"
"Easy, Kev," Alan said. "We're all fine."
Bronson sank back, rubbing his face. "Man! For a moment, I thought --" He grinned a little shakily. "So I did make it after all. Didn't think I was gonna once I realized I'd been exposed, too."
"Once you realized --" They were all staring at him. Alan swallowed. "You mean you *know* where we ran into the stuff?"
"Uh huh. At least --" Bronson hesitated. "At least I'm ninety-nine percent sure. I figured it out right after it hit Wol -- but it was Dr. Melbourne that gave me the best hint."
"Where the devil was it?" Linley demanded.
"On the controls o' the aircar. It was the only thing we all touched. Ron drove us from the spaceport an' came down with it after dinner. Lyn drove us to the station an' it hit her when we were leavin'. Wol was drivin' then. After we took Lyn back, Wol sprained his wrist wrestlin' with Lyn an' handed the keys to Mark an' then, when he went off the deep end, Alan grabbed the controls. It hit him here at the station, an', when those friendly cops waylaid us, Dr. Melbourne kindly got rid of them an' moved the car closer to the apartment for us. Then I drove us back to the motel with Wol an' Dr. Melbourne t'get the bags, an' it hit the doc in the parkin' lot. Right after that, Wolly felt the first symptoms an' told me to stun him. I felt the stuff hittin' me just as I was comin' in for a landin'. I don't remember nothin' after that."
Alan was shaking his head. "It can't be, Kev. The time sequence is all wrong. It was nearly two hours from the time Ron drove the car until it hit him, and Wolly was driving when it hit Lyn, but he was one of the last to --" He broke off. "Oh-oh."
"Yeah," Bronson said grimly. "That's the other part o' the mystery. Are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"
"What?" Wolenski demanded. "Quit talking in riddles!"
"It took you an' Ron nearly two hours to show the effects," Bronson said, "But it took the rest of us, includin' Dr. Melbourne, a little under half an hour apiece. See the connection?"
"Oh hell!" Griffen said. "Yeah, I see it, all right. Suspicious, too."
"Maybe I'm dense," Major Cross said, "but I'm afraid I don't."
"Lyn, Dr. Melbourne and I are all psychics," Alan said, "but what people tend to forget is that Mark and Kevin are psychics, too -- they're psychic power packs. The dream dust affected all the psychics a lot faster than the nons in the group. You know, I have a real bad feeling about this. We've got to find out how that stuff got on the controls of the aircar."
"I see what you mean," Melbourne agreed, "but at least part of the problem is solved."
"Uh-uh; it just got more complicated," Mark contradicted. He started to stand up and staggered suddenly, gripping the chair arm. Major Cross grabbed his arm and helped him back into the seat. Melbourne spoke from his position on the rug.
"Sit still a few more minutes, Colonel, until you have something to eat. Dream dust is hard on the system. That goes for the rest of us, too."
Eileen Cross appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, balancing a tray in each hand. Behind her, Alan could see Judith, similarly burdened. "Anybody for bacon and eggs?"
"Give some to Lyn," Griffen said, glancing at her. "She looks like she could stand it."
"I called Fred," Major Cross said, from the bedroom door. "They're going to put off starting the film until tomorrow."
"Good idea," Mark commented. "We all look like refugees from a barroom brawl." He accepted a tray from Judith. "Thanks, honey. Where'd you pick up that mouse, Kev?"
"Ran into a door, tryin' t'catch Alan," Bronson told him, grumpily.
"Oh my," Alan said in an undertone.
Bronson scowled at him and then grinned. "The only ones here that look half-decent are Wol, Ron an' Lyn."
"Alan doesn't look so bad," Linley said.
"Bet his arm don't feel so good, though. He put it through the window last night." Bronson nodded at a boarded-up window. "You stopped him from jumpin' out, remember?"
Linley looked confused. "Nope."
"Well, you did. Smashed Mrs. Cross's priceless antique rooster, too."
"Oh *no*!" Alan said, horrified.
Eileen Cross laughed. "I hated that piece of cheap crockery, Captain. You quit ribbing that poor boy right now!"
Bronson laughed too. "How's the bump on your head, kid?"
Alan felt the spot above and behind his ear, wincing slightly. "It's sore. Where did I pick that up?"
"Mark threw you into a wall. Like I said, he was tryin' t'stop you from jumpin' out the window."
Wolenski didn't comment. He was clearing his plate in record time. Griffen downed half a cup of coffee in one swallow and reached out to flip on the videoscreen. "Let's see what's been going on in the world while we've been out of it," he suggested, instructing the machine to find a news station.
The screen flickered over several channels and steadied, framing the handsome young features of a news broadcaster.
"... In New Brunswick, Bellian," he was saying. "Six persons were killed when a building collapsed, trapping them below the flood level. A seventh was rescued, suffering from shock and exposure --"
"New Brunswick is my old hometown," Wolenski said, sitting up straight. "Sounds like the dam gave way. I always thought it --"
"Listen," Griffen said.
"... Other news, a diamond necklace, belonging to Lord Mrevolthvar, fifth son of Lord Revolthvor, Speaker for the Viceroy's Cabinet, has been recovered from a pawnshop on the east side of Scaifen, the capital city of Shallock. The necklace was reported by the owner of the shop, one Grannar, a native of Ceregon. The necklace is part of the collection of jewels for which His Lordship's family is famous. The necklace was stolen, along with His Lordship's other formal jewelry, during the hijacking of the Jilectan battlecruiser, 'Guardian', three weeks ago, from the Patrol mining station on Borantia. Lord Mrevolthvar was unavailable for comment, being presently in mourning for his elder brother, Lord Strevolthvar, who was killed in that incident by the notorious outlaw, Julia Austell, sometimes called the 'Giant Killer' by more romantic and irresponsible Terrans --"
"Sounds like the guys we turned loose are havin' a good time," Linley remarked. "Hope they keep outta the way o' the local 'trols."
The scene on the videoscreen switched, showing a smoking building and firefighters in full gear swarming around it.
"In local news," the announcer's voice continued, "a seventeen year old Terran male was taken into custody by the Los Angeles Police at six thirty this morning after a high speed chase across the city. The aircar he was piloting crashed into the 45th Street Police Station, causing extensive damage and setting fire to the building. The youth, who was not identified because of his age, is a three-time offender, according to police spokesman Adrian Younger, presently on probation for auto theft. He was rescued from the vehicle before it exploded in a state of extreme disorientation and taken immediately to Greater Los Angeles Central Hospital, where he was treated for drug over dosage and injuries received in the crash. The stolen vehicle is a rental from Reynold's Rent-a-Car Service --"
Griffen choked on his coffee.
"... Hired yesterday afternoon by a Captain Joshua Griffeth. Captain Griffeth has not at this time reported the car missing, and is presumed to be unaware of its fate ..."
"Holy --" Mark stared at Alan across his breakfast tray. Major Cross left the room at a run, to return moments later, panting.
"It's gone, all right. Now what?"
"Sounds like the thief got more than he bargained for," Alan said whimsically. "I guess that clinches Kevin's theory. Ron, you'd better call and report the aircar missing. If it exploded, there's no way they're going to pick our prints out of it, or find out what was on the controls ..." He frowned. "As a matter of fact, I think we should definitely check that out."
"I'm with you there," Wolenski said unexpectedly. "We owe somebody something for that. Besides, dream dust is nasty stuff. I hate drug dealers."
"How do you suppose it got on the aircar's controls?" Lyn asked in a small voice.
"Probably on somebody's gloves after handlin' the stuff," Mark said, looking grim. "The guy oughtta be flayed alive. I will, too, if I can get my hands on him. There's enough ways for a guy t'go to hell in this galaxy without trenchcrawlers like that helpin' him along."
"I'm with you there, big brother," Bronson said emphatically. "We got a bunch o' psychics in this batch, and a real sharp organization behind us. I say we go after 'em."
"Sounds good to me," Griffen said. "I'll make that call, now, Major, and then we'll need some I.D.s."
When Griffen had gone into the kitchen to phone the police, Mark glanced at Alan. "What's wrong, kid? You're havin' a premonition, ain'tcha?"
Alan shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't know. It's not really strong enough for a premonition. Just a *feeling* that there's more to this than it looks like."
"We'll find out what," Bronson said. "I gotta score to settle with somebody, for sure."
"We all do," Wolenski said. "Where should we start?"
"Where else?" Lyn spoke up. "Reynold's Rent-a-Car."
**********
tbc
