Dream Thief by Stephen Lawhead Page B

itself, pulling together, creating itself out of atoms of light. With eyes wide and horror-filled Spence at last recognized the solidifying shape. It was a face. And a face he knew too well to feel anything but the utmost dread and repulsion.
    Staring out at him from the blazing halo were the skeletal features of Hocking.
7
    H ELLO, DAD. LISTEN, THANKS for coming down to the center…" The image on the screen peered back at him apprehensively. “Can you see me okay? Fine. I said, 'Thanks for coming down to the base.' I know it isn't easy for you.”
    “Are you all right. Spencer? When they said you wanted to talk to me I was afraid something had happened to you. I hurried over as fast as I could. The lady here said you were ill.”
    “Not ill—I had an accident. A
minor
accident. I fell down and hit my head, that's all. But when I went in for an aspirin they popped me into the med bay.” Spence had stuck with his story about falling down and saw no reason to change it now. He did not want to worry his father any more than he already had.
    “You're sure you're all right?” The face in the vidphone screen did not look reassured.
    “Of course I'm all right; it was nothing. But since they wanted to keep me in here for a few hours I thought I'd have them patch in a signal to the base for me. You get to do that when you're sick.”
    “Oh,” was all his father said.
    “Anyway, I haven't been able to write or anything so I thought it might be fun if we could phone each other—almost as good as being there.”
    “Is your work going all right?”
    “Fine, Dad. Everything's fine. Listen, I wanted to tell you that I won't be able to call you again for a while. I'm going to be pretty busy. I may be going out with one of the research teams on a field assignment.”
    “How long would that last. Spencer? You wouldn't be gone too long?”
    “No, not too long,” Spence lied. “A couple months, that's all. I'll vidphone you when I get back.” He could see that his father did not understand what he was talking about. He looked worn and worried, and was apparently struggling to accept the fact that his son would be away longer than anticipated. Spence wished he had not called; his breaking-the-news-gently strategy was not working. “How have you been, Dad? Is Kate taking care of you?”
    “Kate is very busy with the boys. She has her hands full, you know. I don't like to bother her.”
    “The boys are in fourth form, Dad. They're in school all day. You won't bother her. Call her if you need anything. Will you do that?”
    “I suppose so,” Mr. Reston said doubtfully.
    “Listen, I have to go now. I can leave here in a few minutes. I only wanted to tell you not to worry about me if you don't hear from me for a while. I'll be working, that's all.” He hated to tell his father like this, but there was no way of telling him directly. He would not have understood.
    In all of Spence's growing-up years his parents had never understood. They did not comprehend his work, nor could they follow his explanations when he tried to describe it to them. He was simply too far beyond them. He had eventually given up trying to make them understand; he stopped trying to bridge the gap.
    The image on the vidphone screen licked its lips nervously and leaned into the picture. “You'll call when you get back?”
    “Yes, it's the first thing I'll do.”
    “I miss you. Spencer.”
    “I miss you, too, Dad. Goodbye.”
    “Goodbye, Son. Take care of yourself” The screen went blank.
    Spence sat staring at the blank, flickering screen for several moments, then pushed the unit away. It retracted back into a nook in a panel beside the bed. He looked up just in time to see his physician approaching.
    “Feeling better, Dr. Reston?” The medic came to stand at the head of his bed. He entered a code on the data screen above the bed and read Spence's chart.
    “Feeling fine. Dr. Williams. With a good word from you I'll be on my way,” said Spence as