Dream Thief
lips. He raised a hand to his face and saw that it was covered with a fine blue powder. The grit fell down upon him in a gentle rain, drifting like fine snow, covering his clothing and hair.
    Then he was standing on the brink of a vast chasm which split the cavern floor. The rumble had grown to thunder, deafening him as raking light flashed blue lightning around him. The gritty powder rose like smoke from a pit as he gazed into the chasm.
    Something was moving in the churning depths of the hole— as if some enormous beast were thrashing out its life in agony. In the darkness he made out a roiling black mass heaving and subsiding, groaning and shuddering amidst the roar.
    Now jagged flashes of blue lightning tore through the darkness, illuminating the pit. Clinging to the rocks he lowered himself to peer over the edge deep into the chaos below. In the piercing glare of the lightning bolts he saw strange shapes tumbling and tumbling, grinding against one another, crushing each other and sending up an endless cloud of powdery blue grit like a velvet mist.
    Another flash peeled away the darkness and he saw clearly into the tumbling mass below. Some of the shapes were elongated and curved, others round and bulky as boulders, still others long and thin. In that instant he realized what it was that filled the huge stone caldron: bones. The gigantic bones of prehistoric monsters whirled below him in perpetual motion—a disjointed
danse macabre.
    In that instant of recognition he felt his grip on the rocks give way and he fell. He twisted in the air and his hands clawed for a scrabbling hold on the smooth rock face, but it was too late. He plunged screaming into the grinding, churning dance of the bones.
    SPENCE CAME TO HIMSELF sitting upright on the couch. The trailing echo of his scream still rang in the darkened chamber like a fading memory. But the dream had vanished like a vapor. It was gone and he could remember nothing but the terror that had awakened him.
    Presently the lights began to come up faintly. He guessed that Tickler stood behind the glass and heard the scream.
    “Tickler,” he called.
    “Yes, sir?” His assistant's voice grated metallically through the overhead speakers.
    “Did I scream just now?”
    “I'm sorry?”
    “Did you hear anything unusual—a scream, a yell? Anything like that?”
    “When, Dr. Reston?”
    “Just now. When I woke up.”
    “No, sir. The alarm went off in the control booth, so I turned on the lights. That is the procedure.”
    “You're quite right. Thank you.” His heart was still beating rapidly. He could feel the tension in his shoulders and neck. His hands still clutched the sides of the cav couch in a death grip. He felt certain the scream had been real, that it was not merely part of his dream.
    But why would Tickler lie about a thing like that? Perhaps he had not been in the booth when Spence screamed, or perhaps he was covering up the fact that he had himself dozed off at his post. Possibly. But it was not like Tickler.
    Spence rose and stretched and made his way into the control room. Tickler was just winding the scan onto a spool. Spence watched him finish and place a seal on the loose end.
    “Will that be all for now?” Tickler asked.
    “Yes; you may go. I won't be needing anything further this shift, but tell Kurt when he comes in that I'd like the log posted and I'd like to see the averages for the last three sessions.”
    “The averages?”
    “Yes. Just as soon as he gets them finished.”
    “But we have never—”
    “Don't argue. Tickler. Please, just do as I say. I know it's a little extra work. But that's what we have an assistant for, isn't it?”
    “Very well, I'll tell him.”
    Tickler turned brusquely and went out.
I wonder what's eating him this time?
With Tickler it was always something.
    Spence brushed the thought from his mind and left the control booth, crossed the lab, and entered his quarters. Despite the night's sleep he did not feel at all

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