Dream Thief (63 page)

With that he threw himself over the edge, much to the chagrin of the onlookers. The crowd rushed forward, most expecting to see his tumbling body smash against the stones. Instead they saw the strange being lightly skittering down the face of the chasm, as deftly as a spider, his long arms and legs spread wide, gripping the rock in impossible handholds. Down and down he went, as easily as a man descending a staircase.

Spence and all the rest marveled at Kyr's swift, sure movements. In no time the Martian reached the bottom of the chasm and began propelling himself across the surface of the thrashing cataract. Like some kind of great gangly waterbug the alien skipped across the churning waves in a manner that defied description. Once across, he raised his head to regard his audience crowded over the edge of the precipice, and then reached up and started climbing the opposite face as swiftly as any lizard scaling his favorite sunning rock.

Then he was standing across from them, weaving his head from side to side, smirking as if to say.
It's easy, just do what I did.

“Well done!” cried Adjani. And immediately the crowd went wild with shouts and cheers. Spence just shook his head in disbelief and grinned.

Kyr proceeded to tie one end of the rope to one of the bridgeposts on the other side of the gorge. He then heaved the coil back across to the other side. It took several attempts, but they finally caught it and made it fast to the opposite bridgepost. The villagers then took over.

Another rope was passed across and tied to the second bridgepost. They then had two parallel lines stretched taut across the chasm. Spence didn't see how that could possibly help them, but he kept quiet and let the men from the region work. He and Gita sat down on a rock nearby and watched the new bridge take shape.

The sun was a murky yellow ball low in the sky when the third rope was tied off. This one was actually made up of four separate lines braided together and slung between the first two. There were workers on both sides of the gorge now, a group having shimmied over on the first lines, pulling themselves across hand over hand with their legs entwining the rope.

Next, more ropes were woven from the two upper strands to the bottom one to form a vee-shaped trough. And though the work went quickly enough, Spence was acutely conscious of the passing of time—the day was almost gone. Night came on quickly in the high hills. Once the sun had slipped behind the curtain of mountains, darkness crawled across the high places and valleys, though the sky might stay light for hours.

The sun's last rays were already shining on the peaks, turning their snowy caps into golden crowns, and Spence felt the night chill seeping into the air when the new bridge was finished. And even though he had witnessed its construction from the first moment to the last, the rope bridge still appeared a thing of miraculous invention, as if it had suddenly appeared and spun itself across the void like a magical spider web.

“Well, who's first?” asked Adjani.

Spence looked at him for a moment, not quite understanding the meaning of his question. Then it struck him—it was time to cross. “Oh, uh—you go first, Adjani. You have more experience in these things.”

“Me?” He looked around. The hillpeople, watching them eagerly, smiled and pointed at him.

“You see, Adjani? They want you to be first to inaugurate the new bridge. You don't want to disappoint them.”

Adjani took a deep breath and said, “I suppose not. All right, here goes.” He fixed his gaze on the bridge and stepped up to it, clutching the parallel ropes, one in either hand. A cheer went up from the crowd. “I feel like a tightrope walker in a circus!” he called back over his shoulder, and with a look of deep concentration on his face he began to walk across, placing one foot carefully in front of the other, gripping the sides and not stopping until he was on the other side, beaming back at his friends. “Come on! It's easy!” he called.

“Gita, you're next,” said Spence. “Let's go.”

“But, sahib! I—”

“Don't worry, I'll be right behind you. Just do what Adjani did. You won't have any trouble.” He led the sputtering Gita to the bridge and placed his hands on the lines.

Gita gulped and gaped and stared into the darkening depths of the chasm below.

“Don't look down, Gita. Keep your eyes on the other side. Watch Adjani; he'll help you.”

Gita, his face ashen and his hands trembling, put one hesitant foot on the footline and tested its strength. He carefully positioned his weight on the rope and then moved out a centimeter at a time.

“Keep coming,” hollered Adjani from the opposite side. “Don't stop and don't look down.”

Gita inched his way across in agonizing slowness, swaying violently from side to side with each step. He reached the middle and then stopped, afraid to go any farther.

“Don't stop!” cried Spence. “Go on, you can do it. You're doing fine. Just keep moving.”

“Dear God in heaven!” cried Gita, helplessly.

“Come on, Gita. You can do it,” coaxed Adjani.

But Gita, eyes shut tight, hands clamped on the swaying rope, could not move.

“Don't panic,” said Spence. “You're doing fine. Stay calm. I'm coming to get you.”

Without a second thought, Spence stepped on the footline and began working his way out to where Gita remained frozen in the center of the bridge. He kept up a reassuring banter as he went, and Adjani offered soothing words from the other side.

“We're going to make it, Gita. Just stay calm. Don't make any sudden moves.”

The bridge swayed and bounced as Spence moved out. The breeze whistled in the rocks below and the ropes creaked with the combined weight of the two men. It was then that Spence knew Gita's fear to be real, for he felt it too. He swallowed hard and willed himself to go on.

Gita was right ahead of him. He had stopped in the center of the bridge, and his weight made the angle of descent somewhat sharper for Spence. This, combined with the natural tendency of the bridge to swing and bounce, made the footing even more hazardous.

“Gita, I'm right behind you. I'm coming up on you now; don't move.”

Spence did not want to frighten him further by surprising him. He could see Gita's hands like claws clutching the handlines, his knuckles white.

“I'm here, Gita. Now, we're going to move together,” soothed Spence when he came within two paces. A sound like a sob drifted back to him from the Indian's throat. Spence realized it was the beginning of the Lord's Prayer repeated rapidly over and over. “I want you to start moving again, Gita. Ready? Move when I tell you. We'll go together. Left hand first. Okay. Move.”

Gita slid his hand along the rope and took a step.

“Good. That's it. Now the right.”

They moved a few more steps together and then Spence stopped to help steady the bouncing bridge. Gita went on and reached the other side. There was a burst of acclaim as Gita's feet touched solid ground once more.

Spence made to follow Gita, but was watching Gita's reception rather than attending to his feet. He lifted his foot, the bridge swung, and Spence, his eyes still on the scene before him, felt the awful sensation of treading out into empty air.

Unbalanced, the bridge pitched further, and Spence felt his other foot slip off the footlines. His right hand lost its grasp and scratched for a hold. He saw the darkness below him and heard the rush of the river below. It all seemed to come flying up toward him to pull him down and swallow him. He heard someone yell his name.

Even as it was happening Spence knew that it had happened once before. In a dream. The thin line between his dream and the terrible reality that now engulfed him blurred in that instant and melted together. That he would fall, he knew. Knew it with rock-solid certainty. He would be crushed on the rocks below and his body swept away in the river. It was all foretold in the dream.

The world spun around him. The sky above, the bridge, his friends, the villagers, the greedy darkness below—all revolved in kaleidoscopic fashion. He felt his grip on the handline slipping and a fuzzy confusion passed over him. He shook his head to clear it and cried out for help. The echo of his own voice rang sharply in his ears and died away in peals of laughter.

His fingers, burning with pain, slackened and he felt the rope twist in his hands as it slipped away.

“I
DON'T LIKE IT.
It's getting too dangerous.” Packer stood with his arms folded across his chest and his back to his listener. His red hair, uncombed for many days, stood out in all directions like a shaken red mop. His normally fresh jumpsuit was rumpled and sweat-stained, and his face, gray with fatigue, bristled with long red stubble.

“What would you have us do about it, friend? It is dangerous, yes. We are not playing a child's game.” Kalnikov slumped back round-shouldered in his chair and frowned at the ceiling. He, too, showed the strain of the passing days.

“We could try to get him out,” suggested Packer.

"Too risky. Besides, just the attempt would tell them they have captured an important prisoner. It would also tell them that we have a good network of spies reporting their every move. In cases like this, unfortunately, it is better to wait and do nothing. We must not endanger the network.

“Just leave him? It's my chief assistant we're talking about, you know; head of our glorious network.”

“All the more reason to remain calm. He must not be made to appear at all valuable. Otherwise, they will think they are in a position to bargain with us. They must never think that! They must remain uncertain on that score. We must keep them guessing. Silence is better. And it is better for Jones, too. You will see.”

Packer ran his hands through his hair and sat down with a flop in a chair opposite the Russian pilot. A deep frown creased his unhappy face. “I suppose you're right. But I still hate it!”

“I know. It is most unfortunate. But there is yet hope. We do not know what he may have told them. He may have convinced them he knows nothing of our whereabouts. And unless they are very desperate, they will have to believe him. I don't imagine even Ramm is bold enough to begin arresting people wholesale. The mutineers must still maintain
some
semblance of order—at least for a little longer. So, perhaps they will release Jones, eh?”

Packer nodded slowly. Kalnikov continued. “Now, then, how are we coming on the breakin?”

“MERA's shields tumbled a few hours ago.”

“That's good news! Yes? Fantastic! That is something to cheer about at least.”

“Well, yes and no. Without getting too technical, let's just say we're only sixty per cent home. There's still a long way to go. MIRA's a tricky gal. She's state of the art and her data blanks are all biochip components. They're a lot tougher to manipulate at arm's length. More complex. We can roam around inside her circuits and sample bits and pieces of stuff we run across, but that way it would take years to find what we're looking for. And there's a good chance that we'd stumble over an internal tripwire of some kind and give ourselves away—they'd know they had a worm. They'd start shuffling the stuff around and we'd never find it. We need to know where the information we want is stored, and we also have to find which lines they're using for communication. In short, we need a master key to the system layout. A road map. We're working on it now.”

“Well, keep working on it. Let me know as soon as we have something.” Kalnikov got up and brushed the bags out of his uniform. “I've got to go and pick up the last shift report from my second-in-command.”

“There is one thing, though,” Packer called after him. “We could order a shutdown of certain onboard systems throughout Gotham.”

“Oh? How would we do that?”

“It's simple. We merely introduce false information into the matrix—say, splice in a signal for a faulty blower fan or something. MIRA would shut down the ventilator in order to check it out, or she'd signal someone to go fix it. Anyway, it would be shut down while all that was taking place. It might be useful.”

“Oh, yes,” Kalnikov smiled broadly. “You never know what might be useful.”

RAMM PACED BACK AND
forth in front of the director's desk. Wermeyer sat watching him, drumming his fingers on the wooden desktop.

“It's not good. I have to let him go soon; I can't keep him indefinitely—we haven't charged him with anything. People are asking questions.”

“Well then, charge him. Think up something. If we let him loose now he'll know we don't have a clue where they are. And if he
is
in contact with the others, they'll know it, too.”

“Any word from Hocking?”

“For the third time—no, not yet! Relax, will you? Getting nervous won't help. Everything's going as planned. The takeover is right on schedule.”

Ramm shook his head and glared at Wermeyer. “I won't relax until this place is buttoned down tight. Right now there are too many variables. Too much can go wrong.”

“You're a worrier, Ramm. I've already told you, nothing can go wrong. Why don't you stay here and have a drink with me? You look as if you could use one.”

“No, thanks. I'm still on duty,” replied Ramm coldly. He turned to walk out of the room. “Still, I wonder what can be keeping Hocking. He was supposed to have been here by now.”