Dream Thief Read Online Free PDF

grant and could not chart his own course beyond the narrowly defined limits of the grant. He had no money of his own, at least not the kind needed to pay for a berth aboard even the smallest space lab, let alone GM. By sheer brainpower alone he was here; that and the goodwill of the GM Advancement Board.
    “I can assure you that there will be no further misunderstandings. Now, we will begin where we should have last evening.”
    As they worked together, readying the lab for the next battery of experiments, the happy inner glow rekindled Spence's spirits. He did feel better than he had in weeks. And, after all, it could have been worse for him: Tickler could have requested reassignment. That would have really bollixed up the works and made him look bad before the Board.
    In the end he came around to feeling fairly grateful to Tickler for the reprimand. He had it coming, maybe even needed it to settle his mind on his work once more. And he felt a little sorry for Tickler—an older man, himself a C-level Ph.D., reduced to playing lab assistant and watching younger men advance in his place. One had to feel sorry.
    As he passed by the control booth with its huge reading board he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the half-silvered window. He saw a young man leaving his twenties, lean, slightly above average in height, straight of limb and steady of hand. Large dark eyes looked out from under a brown thatch of hair which, no matter how it was combed, always appeared rebellious. The face showed a quick intelligence and by the thrust of a firm jaw a decisive resolve almost bordering on stubbornness. It was a face which did not easily show emotion, but one which was saved from being completely cold and aloof by a full, sensitive mouth perched above a deeply cleft chin.
    THE SHIFT WORE AWAY and by the end of it he was ready to begin the next round of sleep experiments. He celebrated the return of his will to work by treating himself to an hour in Gotham's arcade playing
Rat Race,
his favorite hologame. It was one of the latest generation of hologames featuring a biofeedback variable that homed in on the player's mental and emotional reflexes. In his present good spirits Spence racked up half-a-million points before the rats caught him and he turned the game over to a group of impatient cadets. He left the noisy arcade and was soon strolling idly along his favorite path among the great green ferns of Central Park.
    He had stopped to steep himself in the damp, earthy atmosphere of the place—eyes closed, face tilted upward to receive shield-reflected sunlight, drawing great gulps of air deep into his lungs—when he heard a rustle behind him. Reluctantly he turned to allow the other to pass, and as he opened his eyes discovered himself blinking into two liquid orbs of china blue fringed with long dark lashes.
    “You!”
Spence jumped back involuntarily.
    The disarming intruder laughed and replied gaily, “I thought it was you; I see I was right. I never forget a face.”
    “You startled me. I didn't mean to shout at you.”
    “You are forgiven. I've been following you. You certainly wander around an awful lot. I almost lost you several times.”
    “You were following
me?”
    “How else was I going to apologize? I happened to see you in the concourse—I always come down to the park, every day.”
    “Apologize?” Spence kicked himself for babbling like an imbecile. “For what?” he added.
    “For my shocking behavior yesterday. I'm sorry, really. I had no right to treat you that way. Very unprofessional of me.”
    “Oh, that's all right,” he muttered.
    The young lady chattered on. “It's just that it was close to the end of the shift and I was getting a little giddy. I do that when I get tired. And anyway, Daddy has been gone so long I'm afraid I've kind of let the decorum of his office disintegrate.”
    “Daddy?” Another inner kick.
    “Oh, there I go again. I'm always getting ahead of myself