torg 03- The Nightmare Dream (11 page)

Then Decker heard nothing at all.

28

Father Christopher Bryce walked beside the Victorian chaplain as the combined group of companions and Victorians marched toward the sea. There had been no further incidents after the skeleton golem was defeated and, for the most part, everyone marched in silence.

Bryce, however, was trying to strike up a conversation with the chaplain. He desperately wanted to ask about miracles and such from a man who seemed to be a Christian — albeit one from a different reality.

"I low do you bless the bullets?" Bryce asked again, hoping to get the chaplain to answer.

Exasperated, the man said, "Through proper ritual, of course." He eyed Bryce's cross. "Are you sure you are a priest?"

"Yes," Bryce answered.

"Then why don't you know how to bless a bullet?"

Bryce started to say something but then stopped. This was getting him nowhere, and if he kept at it he would only become more confused.

Eventually the group emerged at a narrow stretch of sandy beach. Two row boats were resting on the shore, and further out in the water was a steam-powered ship straight out of an old movie — or another world, Bryce corrected.

"That's Her Majesty's best exploration vessel,
Victoria's Eyes,"
General Wellington stated proudly. "It will take us out of these foul waters to the port city called Singapore. But I must caution you, the place is a confused babel at best. The horrors that we Victorians have been facing for countless centuries are new to the natives of Singapore, and they aren't dealing with the situation very well."

The soldiers began to prepare the row boats for travel, pushing them into knee-deep water. Then they held them steady, looking expectantly at their charges.

"Come on," Wellington urged. "Into the boats with all of you."

Bryce and the others started toward the boats when a strange fog drifted onto the beach. It was a thick, gray mist that was cool, damp. It was so dense that as it obscured them it turned the bright day into dusk, cutting off almost all of the sun's glare.

As they stood around gaping at the weird happening,

and as the soldiers made various motions to ward off evil, a voice from behind them called out, "One moment please, General Wellington."

Bryce turned to see a shape standing further back in the fog. It walked closer, and he saw that it was a man in a fine, old-fashioned suit. He had very black hair, which just made his pale complexion even more shallow.

The general paled as well at the sight of the man, and he stammered, "Mr. Manwaring? Is that you?"

The man bowed formally. "I am Victor Manwaring," he stated. "So good of you to remember me, general."

"What," Wellington stumbled over his own words, "what are you doing out here?"

Manwaring smiled, and Bryce's blood chilled at the sight. "I have been sent to perform a service for Lord Salisbury, and for his humble servant, Thratchen."

Bryce and the others stiffened at the mention of the High Lord and his techno-demon, and each moved to grab their weapons.

"Is there a Dr. Hachi in your party?" Manwaring asked.

He wasn't sure why, but every instinct Bryce possessed was screaming to run from this man. He tried to warn Mara, but it was too late. She had already taken a few steps forward.

"I am Dr. Hachi," she said. "What do you want?"

"I bring you a gift," Manwaring proclaimed as he produced a bundled package from behind his back. "It is a final display of appreciation from the masters of Salisbury Manor."

He tossed the package to Mara, and she caught it with her remaining hand. It didn't look too heavy to Bryce, but he couldn't be sure. With Mara's cyber enhancements, she was stronger than she looked.

"Fare you well, travelers," Manwaring offered with a slight wave. "Take with you the master of Salisbury Manor's gratitude, but remember that things will not be the same if you ever decide to return here."

With that, Manwaring faded back into the jungle. The mist followed him, rolling after him like some obedient pet. Though the sun was back in all its intensity, Bryce shivered.

"Let's get out of here, general," the priest said, turning to board one of the row boats.

29

Andrew Jackson Decker opened his eyes to see Julie leaning over him. She wore a worried expression, and he tried to figure out why. Then he remembered the man with the gun, and the sound of shots being fired. He tried to sit up, and even if Julie hadn't placed a restraining hand on his chest, his spinning head forced him back down.

"A bullet grazed the side of your head," Julie told him. "It left a nasty gash over your right ear, but you'll live." She finished bandaging the wound, then helped him to a sitting position.

Decker waited a moment for his head to clear, then he looked around. Everyone was watching him, every face a reflection of the worry that Julie had shown. "I'm all right," he croaked, trying to reassure them. "What happened?"

The second man that appeared was standing nearby. Covent had his weapon trained on the man, but he didn't look dangerous. He spoke. "The Delphi Council has decided to pin the assassination of Jonathan Wells on you, congressman," he explained. "I was sent to bring you in for trial."

"Then why was I shot?" Decker asked.

"Because I was a bit too slow," the man replied, pointing at the other man lying in a pool of blood. "I only realized he was here to kill you at the very last moment. I dropped him, but he still got off his own shot, although it didn't hit where he was aiming."

"I think you should explain this to me," Decker said, "and start by telling me who you are."

The man met his eyes, searching for something in Decker's gaze. With his eyes locked on Decker's, the man asked, "First tell me something, congressman. Did you kill Wells?"

"Will you believe my answer?"

"I'll know if you speak truthfully."

Neither man's gaze faltered. Decker spoke. "Wells was my friend. I did not kill him."

Long seconds ticked by, then the man nodded.

"My name is Quin Sebastian," he said. "Let's talk."

30

Djil was discovering how little he liked riding on the vast sea. It was much different than being on a river or a lake. The ocean was violent, restless. It tossed the ship from side to side and up and down, shaking up his insides in very unnatural ways. The deck swayed under his feet when he moved, and he could never quite anticipate the next buckling, diving drop of the wood on which he so precariously stood. The pit of his stomach would not sit still. The pulse of his blood rolled and dropped with the deck, making it hard to concentrate.

With the still-tentative steps of a landsmen's legs, Djil walked softly to the front of the deck, and squatted there. He dropped the blanket from his shoulders, forming a nest against the wind and fine spray. It was better out here in the wild air than in the close, warm atmosphere below decks.

Though it fetched off the long sweeping flatness of the ocean, this was a desert wind, moving in some small dance or scurry, scented with one pervading odor. Here it was the tang of brine. It was a balancing scent; a cleansing one. It reminded Djil of the vastness of the ocean and his own insignificance before it.

Djil could feel the spirits of the sea pushing and prodding at him here, tasting this new intruder among so many intruders, running deft fingers over his bones and heart. When they were satisfied, they withdrew, pleased. The aborigine wished he could be so pleased with the shape of his journey, but there were still so many things he was unsure of.

He sat quietly for a time, letting the air whip around him and clear his mind. The soldiers had joined the sailors already on this boat when they arrived, and they were all busy doing the chores that kept the boat moving. He ignored them. He looked around, catching sight of young Mara. She was sitting against the wall of the vessel, agonizing over two objects. One was the still-unopened package the strange man had given her. The other was too small for Djil to see. So, despite the troubles he was having, Djil got back to his feet and wandered over to Mara.

"What troubles you, Mara?" Djil asked, seeking to bring her out of her funk.

Mara held up a small metal plate, about the size of a credit card. She turned it over and over in her hand, revealing the intricate designs that covered its shiny surface.

'This is the virtual reality data plate I've been working on," she said, holding the piece of metal so that he could see it. "It contains all of my memories of Kadandra, of my home."

"What do you do with it?" Djil asked curiously.

Mara smiled. "I plug it into this slot behind my ear and it lets me relive my memories. If I had access to the Net, then I'd be able to jack in and actually interact with my memories. While in the Net, my memories would be virtually real."

"In some ways it sounds like the Dream Time," Djil said.

"You've spoken about the Dream Time a lot. What is it?" Mara asked.

Djil laughed, forgetting the discomforts of the rocking boat as he spoke to the girl. "What is the Dream Time? The Dream Time is the true world. When you dream, you are seeing shadows of something real, projecting out of the Dream Time and into the natural world."

"It does sound like the Net," Mara agreed.

"Similar, but not the same," Djil continued. "Every land, every people, has their own Dream Time. They are all connected, but they remain apart from each other. I guess you would say there are two forms of time, two parallel streams of activity. One is the world of our daily objectives, this world. The other is the Dream Time."

Mara let her own laughter join the aborigine's. "Sometimes you don't sound like a primitive native."

"I'll have you know I attended college in Sydney at the request of a missionary. It was an interesting experience, but I was glad to get back to the Outback when my studies were complete."

"Tell me more about the Dream Time," Mara urged.

"My people look after the country," Djil explained. "We are the custodians of the land. But there are so few of us now. The young ones do not learn the ceremonies, looking instead to the big cities for their lives. But I remember. I guess that is why I heard the world's frightened call for help."

He paused, shifting into a more comfortable sitting position. Then he continued. "The world has always existed, but before the Dream Time it had no shape. When the creator beings came out of the sea, they formed the land and created life. This was the beginning of the Dream Time."

"So the Dream Time was a period of history?" Mara asked.

"Yes, although it was long before history as you mean it. But it is also a parallel place. The Dream Time still is, and through its power the world is kept whole."

"The Dream Time allows you to change the land?"

"If I wanted to, but that is not the way of the aborigines. When the great hunter Mirragan drove his spear through mountains in the Dream Time, the rivers, caves and waterholes of the Blue Mountains were formed on Earth. Now we simply seek to preserve."

"How?"

"So many'questions, Mara! Through our art and ceremonies," he said, fingering the intricate design of circuitry etched into Mara's data plate. "The act of painting, for example, connects us to the Dream Time. If I perform the action correctly, it assures that what I paint will always be in the Dream Time in abundance."

"And whatever is in the Dream Time is reflected in the real world," Mara finished.

Djil nodded. "I would surely like to see your Dream Time, Mara."

She held up her data plate. "I guess this is connected to the Dream Time of my world."

"I believe that it is," Djil assured her.

"If nothing else, it's connected to my dream," Mara said wistfully. "Triple damn, it is my dreams! There was more I wanted to do to it, but without my hand ..." Her voice trailed off, and Djil saw her depression returning.

"Mara, do not dwell on the loss. Instead look to the future."

"We're on our way to battle another High Lord," Mara scorned. "What do you think I'll lose this time?"

The aborigine scratched his head, trying to think of another tact to take in this conversation. Then it occurred to him. "Open your gift, Mara."