Escape with the Dream Maker (4 page)

And then it happened!

“Make way for the cart. Look, 'e won't be keeping that head long, will 'e now?”

Josh was walking alongside a cart pulled by two gray horses. Inside the cart was a prisoner. He had a pale face but did not look like a man who was worried. He was wearing a dark gray suit with a frilly shirt collar, and he appeared not to hear those who were yelling at him from the streets.

Josh found himself jostled by the people who were accompanying the cart. Most of them were wearing baggy trousers, and many of them had rags tied around their heads. They were speaking French, and Josh discovered that he could speak French as well.

Somebody nudged him, “Who is that in there?”

Josh said at once, “Sydney Carton.”

“No, that ain't his name. It's something else,” the Frenchman said.

Josh edged closer to the cart.

The condemned man looked at him and smiled.

Josh said in French, “Can I get you away? I'll help you make your escape.”

“No, my boy. That's a kind thought. You're not one of these, even though you're dressed like them.”

Josh looked down to see that he himself was wearing baggy breeches. He saw that his hands were tanned very brown. Still he was Josh Adams—but somehow on the way to the scaffold with Sydney Carton!

It was all just like in the book! The death carts rumbled along the Paris streets. Ridges of faces looked upward as they plowed through the crowds. A guard of horsemen rode abreast of the procession. The crowd made way for them, then came closer to stare at the condemned people who huddled in the wagons.

Josh stumbled along, noting that Sidney Carton was holding the hand of a frightened young woman,
perhaps trying to give her courage. A smile was on his face, and he seemed to have no thought at all for the scene about him.

The clocks of the city began to strike three, and then the carts were in front of the guillotine. Before it, seated in chairs, were a number of women, busily knitting. They had come to see the “entertainment,” Josh knew, and he despised them!

And then Carton descended from the cart, still holding the hand of the young woman.

Josh heard her say, “But for you, dear stranger, I should not be so composed, for I am naturally a poor little thing, faint of heart; nor should I have been able to raise my thought to Him who was put to death, that we might have hope and comfort here today. I think you were sent to me by heaven.”

“Keep your eyes on me, dear child . . .” Sidney Carton said.

“I mind nothing while I hold your hand.”

“They will be rapid. Fear not!”

Josh listened as the two spoke quietly, and then the girl asked Carton if he thought she would feel grief in heaven, and if she would miss her dear sister whom she must leave.

“It cannot be, my child; there is no Time there, and no trouble there.”

Finally the time of execution came, and Sydney Carton looked out at the crowd, saying, “It is a far, far better thing that I do now than I have ever done. It is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”

Josh could not bear to see the man die. He turned away and shoved his way through the crowd, but he heard the blade strike the block, and a wild cry went up from the crowd that marked the death of a brave man.

“All right, Josh. Come out of it.”

Josh suddenly blinked his eyes, startled. He looked around. There was no death cart, no guillotine, no Sydney Carton—he was back in Oliver's room. Oliver had taken the headpiece and was grinning at him. “Well, now you know what innervision does. How do you like it?”

Josh rubbed his temples. He could still feel the imprint of the headpiece, and it seemed his head was humming a little. He felt sleepy and oddly relaxed.

“Why—it's marvelous!” he said.

“Actually, it's just another form of entertainment. Does make you feel relaxed though, doesn't it?”

Josh discovered that this was indeed true. He felt more relaxed than he had felt in weeks. “It does!” he exclaimed with surprise. “Why, I've never seen anything like it!”

“I guess that's all I need to hear, as an artist and an inventor.” Oliver did not seem terribly excited. “As I say, Josh, it's just a small thing. Most of the villagers come in and enjoy it. They like relaxation too, you know.”

Josh was still amazed. “But it was so—so
real,”
he whispered. “Oliver, it was just like I was there in the book. Can you do that with other books?”

“Oh, yes. Books—and some old television videos that were left. You could be back with John Wayne in
Red River,
that old cowboy movie. I've got that one, I think.”

“Reb would love that!”

“Reb? Oh, one of the other Sleepers. Yes, of course. Well—” Oliver seemed to make little of his wonderful invention “—it
is
rather fun. I go into it myself pretty often. It keeps a man from going crazy
with boredom. But we've got to talk about finding those who are lost. Goél is expecting that. I think we'd better have a meeting of all the Sleepers—or one at a time, perhaps. Why don't you send them by here, and let me talk to each of them about our mission? This could be a focal gathering point for the group.”

“Do you really think we can find Goél's servants, Oliver?”

“I'm sure we can, Josh. Now then, what shall we do next?”

Josh hesitated. “Could I try the innervision again?”

“Why, nothing simpler. What would you like?”

Josh thought for a moment and said, “Do you have a book on the machine called
The Call of the Wild?”

“As it happens, I do. It's about the North, isn't it? Wolves, sled dogs, and all of that?”

“Yes.”

“Well, just sit right down here.” Oliver turned and went to the cabinet again, where he added drops to a fresh glass of cider. “Take that, and you're off running through the frozen North behind a pack of sled dogs. Here you go, Josh . . .”

T
he quest for the disappearing members of the House of Goél seemed absolutely hopeless. Two more weeks went by, and not a single clue turned up that led to any discoveries. Josh spent hours every day thinking of some way to get at the problem, but nothing came to mind—nor to any of the other Sleepers.

The most profitable—or at least the most pleasant—times of Josh's life came during those hours that he spent with Oliver. He had gotten very close to the older man, and every night the two would sit and talk. Oliver had led an exciting life, and he kept Josh spellbound with tales of his adventures all over the globe. He was an excellent cook too, so that Josh seemed to be gaining back some of the weight that he had lost. He also felt a great deal calmer.

After they had cooked supper and talked for some time, sooner or later Josh would say, “I'd like to try the Dream Maker again, Oliver. If you don't mind.”

“Mind, my boy? Why should I mind?” Oliver would instantly put the headset onto Josh's temples, offer him some of the colorless tranquilizer, usually in a glass of fruit juice, then would inquire as to which dream he would like to have.

Night after night this went on, and Josh learned to quickly allow the machine to take over so that he could plunge almost immediately into whatever book or television series or documentary or movie that he wished.

It seemed that Oliver had almost everything on
tape. Josh experienced sailing with Sir Francis Drake in the fight against the great Spanish Armada; he rode with General Sheridan's cavalry in the Civil War. He even went into some of the Hardy Boys' adventures that he had read over and over again while back in Oldworld.

After these sessions, Josh always noticed that he would feel completely relaxed and slept like a log all night. Once he asked Oliver, “Do you think doing this is dangerous?”

Oliver's eyes opened wide. “Why, of course not, Josh. You don't think I'd subject you to these dreams if they were. After all,” he added, putting a hand on Josh's shoulder in kindly fashion, “a fellow needs a lift. You've been under tremendous pressure, and anything that can give you relief from that will be of help to the general cause. After all, you're the leader, and your mind needs to be clear. Don't worry about anything.”

Oliver and Josh were sitting around one evening, and the inventor had been talking about the difficulty of their mission. His brow furrowed, and his lips drew tight as he said, “This is a terribly difficult task, and we seem to be getting nowhere. But that's the way it is sometimes.”

“You're right,” Josh said, “and I don't know how long we can hold out.”

“That's the question. I'm getting rather edgy myself.”

Josh stared at him with amazement. “Why, you never show the least sign of strain. I envy you, Oliver.”

“Well, perhaps I keep it covered better than most. I've learned to do that.” Oliver shrugged. He set his gray eyes on Josh and seemed to think hard. “I've been thinking about something, but I've hesitated to mention it.”

“What is it?” Josh asked quickly.

“You're the leader—I'm just sent to help you—but have you ever thought that some of the other Sleepers may be in danger?”

“Well, of course, there's always danger of the Sanhedrin finding us.”

“No, I don't mean that,” Oliver interrupted. “I mean—Josh, when we first met, your nerves were like a fine wire drawn so tight that one touch would make it snap. And now look at you.” He smiled broadly and waved a hand at him. “You're calm, you're collected, you think clearly.”

“Well, I guess I can thank you for that.” Josh looked over at the dream machine. “It helps a lot, these evenings spent with the Dream Maker.”

Oliver leaned forward and nodded eagerly. “That's exactly what I mean.
You're
calm—what about the others?”

Josh blinked, then said with some embarrassment, “You know, I never thought about them. You must be right, though. Yes, you
are
right.” He stood and walked around the room, running his hand through his hair. “You
are
right,” he repeated.

“I don't see any real problem. Why don't you just start sending them by—at different times, of course—and let them enjoy the Dream Maker too?”

“That's a great idea!” Josh smiled. “I don't know why I didn't think of it.”

“Oh, you would have in time, I'm sure.” Then Oliver slapped his thighs and said, “Well, how would you like to visit, oh, say, Robinson Crusoe on a desert island?”

Josh's eyes gleamed. “I've always loved that book. Won't he be surprised to see me, though? Him and Friday . . .”

Josh met with Sarah secretly a few days later.

“What do you think, Sarah?” He knew from Oliver that she had already visited him twice and had been introduced to the Dream Maker techniques.

“It was so
strange,”
she said slowly. “I couldn't believe it at first, but it's actually like being there.” Her face had a look of wonder, and she shook her head slightly. “But I just don't know. It's kind of weird!”

“I guess all new inventions are that way. Think how odd television was to people that had never seen one. New things like this always take a little getting used to. But the Dream Maker is better than any book I ever read or than any movie I ever saw. Why, it's more fun than
anything
else.”

“I suppose,” Sarah said doubtfully, “but you know, a person could get addicted to that thing.”

Josh grinned and shrugged his shoulders. “I know—it's just like people became couch potatoes back in Oldworld and sat and watched television all day long. I can see how that could happen, but we'll just have to be careful.”

Finally Sarah said, “I think everybody has had at least one experience on the Dream Maker—and they all seemed to like it. Except Wash.”

“What about Wash?”

“Oh, I don't know. He was really funny when he came back yesterday. I knew he had been to Oliver's and tried out the Dream Maker, but he wouldn't say much about it. The rest of us were all excited, talking about what we were going to do and where we were going in the future, which books and so forth—but Wash just didn't say much of anything.”

Later on, Josh cautiously made his way to the room that Wash occupied. He gave their secret signal,
a combination of short and long knocks, and the door opened.

“Come on in, Josh.” Wash stepped back, and when Josh had slipped through, he shut the door. “It's good to see you. Here, sit down. I got some fresh cake that I bought from the bakery today.”

Josh sat, and the two ate cake and talked.

After the cake was finished, Josh said eagerly, “So what do you think of Oliver's invention?”

“The Dream Maker, he calls it.” Wash rolled his eyes. “I just don't know, Josh.”

“Well, I think it's great. Everybody else does too. What's wrong with it?”

“Nothing, I guess. It's just not my kind of thing.”

“It's just something to relax with. We've got a hard job here, and we don't know how long it will go on.”

Wash appeared embarrassed. He was an easygoing young man. He had the greatest respect for Josh Adams. He trusted Josh as the leader—always had. Josh knew all that. But now he seemed hesitant to speak.

“Come on, I can see it's bothering you, but I don't understand why.”

“Oh, it's just the way I am, I guess. I always was easy to get hooked on things,” Wash said slowly. “Back when I was just a kid I got a trumpet, and I just didn't do anything but play the trumpet for the next two years. I mean, no sports, didn't study for school, flunked out on everything. All I did was play that trumpet.”

“But you got good at it. I've heard you.”

“I guess so. But that two years—it's kind of taken out of my life. I didn't make any friends. I didn't spend time with my family. They all tried to tell me I was becoming a regular fanatic.”