Dream Thief Read Online Free PDF Page A

flitted across his skeletal features. Now, at last, all was ready. The final test could begin.
    SPENCE STEPPED FROM HIS sanibooth actually whistling. He felt better than he had in weeks. Rested, alert, and happy. He had slept the whole night long, the sleep of the dead. And not one dream had intruded upon his slumber—at least not the dreams he had learned to fear of late: those without color, without form, which seemed born of some alien, sterile intelligence, which came into his mind and left him shaking and drained, but without memory.
    Whatever had been bothering him was now gone, or so he hoped. Perhaps it had only been the strain of adapting to the confines of the station. GM was the largest of the orbiting advancement centers; it was also the highest. Actually, it was the world's first self-sustaining space colony, maintaining an orbit three hundred and twenty thousand kilometers above the earth around a point astrophysicists called libration five. That distance, or rather the
thought
of that distance, sometimes had a strange effect on newcomers. Some experienced symptoms of claustrophobia; others became nervous and irritable and had difficulty sleeping, or had bad dreams. Often these problems were not immediately apparent; they developed slowly over the first weeks and months of the rookie jumpyear and had very little in common with the allied problem of space fatigue, which only seasoned veterans— those in their fifth or sixth jumpyear—seemed to contract. That was something else entirely.
    So Spence, feeling very pleased with himself that he had weathered the worst and had come through, rubbed his body with a hot, moist towel to remove the fine, blue powder of the personal sanitizer and then tossed the towel into the laundry port. He dressed in a fresh blue and gold jumpsuit and made his way into the lab to reweave the dangling threads of his project.
    He slipped into the lab quietly and found Dr. Tickler hunched over a worktable with an array of electronic gear and testing equipment spread out around him.
    “Good morning,” said Spence amiably. There was no real day or night, but the Gothamites maintained the illusion, and the station flipped slowly over on its axis on a twelve-hour cycle to help in the deception.
    “Oh, there you are! Yes, good morning.” Tickler bent his head around to observe Spence closely. He wore a magnifying hood which made his eyes bug out absurdly, like two glassy doorknobs splotched with paint.
    “Anything serious?”
    “One of the scanners is fritzing. Nothing serious. I thought I would take the opportunity to set it in order.”
    Spence detected a slight rebuff in Tickler's clipped tone. Then he remembered he had missed the work assignment he made for last night.
    “I'm sorry. I—I wasn't feeling very well yesterday.” That was true enough. “I fell asleep. I should have let you know.”
    “And the days before that?” Tickler tilted his head forward and raised the hood to look at him sharply. Before Spence could think of a suitable reply, his assistant shrugged and said, "It makes no difference to me, Dr. Reston. I can always get another assignment—not with so prestigious a colleague, perhaps, but one where my services will be taken seriously.
    “You, on the other hand, I suspect, would find it somewhat difficult to secure an assistant at this late date. You would be forced to postpone your project, would you not?”
    Spence nodded mutely.
    “Yes, I thought so. Well, the choice is yours, but I will put up with no more of this. I respect your work. Dr. Reston, and I will have mine so respected. Now"—he smiled a stiff little smile devoid of any warmth—"now that we understand one another I am sure there will be no further problems.”
    “You are correct,” returned Spence woodenly. He felt like a schoolboy who had been tardy once too often and now had been properly scolded. That was bad enough, but he hated being reminded that he was only on GM by way of a generous