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Orlow watched silently as Troyan gasped and slumped
forward in his seat. while beside him, the warning
indicators connected to Jagger and McKay began to
chime as their vital signs took another, dangerous
plunge. "Mr. Troyan?"

The other man waved him away. He felt tired, but
otherwise fine.

Orlow turned back to his unconscious subjects. Marty
been about the same age as the two men lying so still
on th narrow contoured chairs, before the dream images
had begun to drive him down the long road to suicide.
Memories the year he had spent in the jungles of
Vietnam filled the boy's mind when he slept, making it
almost impossible him to rest. It had been Marty who
had given him the first clues toward the future
development of the "Dream Machine."

Orlow’s theory had been simple - if a psychologist
could enter the dream world of a troubled patient and
help him see the nightmares for the harmless illusions
they were then, perhaps, some, if not all. of these
people might recover instead of resorting to suicide,
as his son had, ten years ago.

Unfortunately, he had needed enormous amounts of
money to continue his research. He had been forced to
lay off most of his helpers and had been about to lay
off the rest when Troyan and his people appeared,
seemingly out of the blue, promising money, lab space,
computers, assistants, in short, everything he might
need.

Orlow sighed as he set about removing the electrodes
from Alex's bare chest. If he had known then what a
madman Troyan was, he would never have agreed to his
proposition.

"Well. Doctor?"

"They've stabilized, sir, but I suggest you wait a
few hours before resuming."

"Very well. Doctor. Miss Dodson, have Caston and
Wauro return them to their cell for the time being."

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Troyan, they will need food and water when they
come around," Orlow said, as the white suited figure
stood and walked away.

Troyan turned, his eyes clouded. "Do whatever you
feel necessary to assure their presence for the next
stage of the test." He raised a gloved finger.
"Within reason," he added, quietly, then walked out
of the room.

Dodson walked over and stroked Alex's bare chest
suggestively with
her fingertips.

The CIC agent moved slightly in his sleep and
groaned, but did not open his eyes.

"Do you think Mr. Troyan will let me have this one
when he's finished with him?" She ran a long nail
along Alex's jaw. "He's a handsome one."

"Go away, Annette, you disgust me.

The blonde looked shocked. "What? Have you suddenly
developed a conscience, Maurice?"

Orlow removed the last of the electrodes from Simon's
body and frowned at her. "Weren't you supposed to get
Wauro and Caston?"

She smiled. "I thought I'd do a little window
shopping first. I didn't get a very good look at him
on the road earlier — all that smoke — he's
very nice."

"That's enough. Annette" Orlow snapped. He lifted
Simon off the chair and laid him gently on a nearby
gurney. "Now, either do your job or get out of my
way."

"You're no fun anymore, Maurice," she pouted,
slinking off.

Caston appeared a moment or so later.

"Where's Wauro?" Orlow asked.

The big man made an expressive gesture and muttered
something in French that left no doubt as to what
Wauro was doing and, since Dodson was nowhere in
sight, who he was doing it with.

Together, Orlow and Caston took the men back to their
little cell. They laid Alex and Simon onto some cots
Orlow had had placed there earlier, despite Caston's
reluctance, draped blankets over them and left.

Orlow returned alone a short time later carrying a
tray. He set it down out of the way and bent to check
Simon's pulse. The toymaker would not be waking for a
while yet, but Jagger would be coming to very soon
and, with all the drugs in his system, he would not be
feeling very well.

"Mr. Jagger, wake up please, I've got to talk to
you."

"No," Alex answered, groggily. "Go 'way." He pulled
the rough blanket tighter. " 's cold."

"Yes, I know it's cold. I can't do anything about
that."

A single hazel eye peered from behind a barely opened
eyelid. It fell on Orlow's face for a moment, then
focused on the barred window behind the scientist.
"Oh, God, No!" he whispered, staring at the painted
bars in horror. "It was an accident.. I swear... it
was an accident!"

Orlow frowned, as the younger man covered his eyes
with his forearm. He had expected a certain amount of
disorientation from the drugs the agent had been
given. He had tried to warn Troyan of the dangers in
mixing the compounds this way. What confused him now.
was Jagger's continued strong reaction to the dream
images. "What was an accident?"

Alex's next words came in short spurts between long
pauses, as he fought to stay in control. "It was dark
... I... I... couldn't see ... he kept coming
toward me ..." he said, his arm still covering his
eyes. "I'd never. . . . "

The scientist put a hand on the agent's shoulder.
What had Troyan forced the agent to experience? He
could tell it is something terrible, but the details
would have to wait. Pushing Jagger too hard just now
could be dangerous.

Memories of Marty's bad nights flashed into his mind
again. The blond head moving restlessly on the sweat-
dampened pillow and the screams of pure terror that
echoed in the darkened bedroom. "Take it easy, son."
he muttered, squeezing the agent's well-muscled
shoulder. "Would you like something to drink?"

The dark head shook. "No, I've got to think this
through...try to find a way to explain this mess to
Linden. God...Ti1ly!...she'll never believe this...."

Orlow glared angrily up at the camera lens, though he
was certain Troyan wasn't watching just now. He was
quite probably off somewhere, gloating over his
"triumph".

"Listen to me, Alex," he whispered, his lips close to
the agent's ear. "It was a dream — that's all — a
very bad, very painful, dream."

Alex took a shuddering breath. "No...it was real...I
killed Simon!"

Orlow's heart fell in sympathy for the younger man.
So, that explained the reaction. He had warned that
rotting maniac early on, that any dream involving
death could be particularly traumatic, but Troyan had,
as usual, ignored his advice. "Alex, please listen to
me. Simon is not dead. Simon is fine, do you hear?
He's okay."

"No!" The single word was drawn out and filled with
pain. Tears rolled down Alex’s cheeks to dampen the
pillow beneath his head.

Orlow frowned and glanced over to where Simon was
beginning to stir. "Alex, look over here, please."
He could tel1 the agent's mind was teetering
dangerously close to shock and it would not take much
to push him over the edge.

"Go away...I've got to think,"

On the other cot, Simon groaned as he came around.
He sat up and cradled his head in his tiny hands. "Oh,
my head!"

Alex lowered his arm and looked over in confusion.
‘Simon?" he whispered, in disbelief. "How the....
You're alive!" he stammered, as he scrambled off the
cot to kneel beside his friend. "Oh, thank God!"

"Of course, I'm okay! Aside from a terrible
headache. How about you?"

"Feels like an elephant's doing a tap dance, but I'm
okay. God, I thought I’d killed you." He let his head
drop to his chest and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Alex?" Simon asked worriedly

"I guess I'm still a little dizzy. What's been
happening to us?"

Simon looked over at Orlow. "Some sort of electronic
dream monitor. Am I right?"

Orlow nodded. "I'm glad to see you're both all
right."

"No thanks to you!" Alex snapped, angrily, his hand
already clenching into a fist. He wasn't very clear
on the events of the last few hours, but this man had
to be the cause of at least part of it.

Simon put a hand on the taller man's arm. "No,
Alex," he warned. He gestured toward the small hole
in the ceiling and the glint of a camera lens behind
it.

"I told Troyan you two would be asleep another hour
yet. They aren't monitoring this room, at the moment."


"You took a hell of a risk. Why?" Alex asked.

"I needed time to talk to you," the scientist
answered, then went on to explain his reasons for
inventing the "Dream Machine," how Troyan had gotten
control of it, and his plans for it. "I need your
help."

Alex threw up his hands. "What do you expect us to
do? You invented the damn thing."

"Alex is right. We're not exactly in an ideal
position, at the moment."

"I can get you out of here, but we've got to move
quickly while Troyan is resting. And we've got to
destroy my machine. I can't allow Troyan to hurt
anyone else."

"Fine time to worry about that."

"Alex, I swear I didn't know what Troyan was
planning. Now that I do, I can't let it go any
farther."

The toymaker and his friend exchanged "What do you
think?" glances.

"How do we know it isn't some sort of trap?" Alex
asked.

"I have only my word."

"That's enough for me," Simon stated, his eyes on
those of the scientist.

"All right," Alex agreed. He still didn't trust the
older man completely but if Simon trusted him, he
would go along, at least temporarily. He’d keep his
eye on the older man though. He’d switched sides far
too quickly for Alex’s comfort. "What about those
trained gorillas?"

"Caston is upstairs working."

"What about the others."

"Katie has orders to stay with Troyan at all times.
Wauro and Annette are..busy," Orlow answered, with a
meaningful clearing of his throat. "There are only
the six of us here."

"Okay, let's go then."

Orlow opened the door to dimly lit passage "This is
the fastest route to the lab,” he explained.

They slipped through a door that opened into the
large room with its three contoured chairs and humming
bulk of Doctor Orlow’s "Dream Machine".

Simon looked it over, curiosity in his dark eyes.
"It's a fascinating concept. Doctor. It's a pity
we've got to destroy it. It could..."

"It's also a pity you won't get that chance, McKay,"
Troyan interrupted.

"Damn! I knew it was a trap!" Alex yelled.

You are partially correct, Jagger." Troyan stepped
from the shadows. "Annette told me you might try
something foolish. Doctor."

"Sneaky little trollop," Orlow mumbled.

"What happens now?" Simon asked.

"You will be taken back to your cell, along with your
newfound friend, until I am ready to continue testing
the device." Troyan didn't seem to notice Alex's
slowly moving form until it was almost too late.
"Wauro, stop him!"

Alex dove toward Troyan as the big Frenchman drew his
gun and fired,

"No!" Orlow yelled, throwing himself forward. Wauro's
bullet caught the older man high in the chest, the
impact knocking him backward into Alex.

The CIC agent's shoulder slammed into the corner of
the machine with a sickening crunch.

The second and third bullets tore into the machine.
Sparks flew in all directions as flames shot out of
the back. The room began to fill quickly with choking
smoke.

Alex, nearly blinded by pain, ducked instinctively
and bolted for the door. "Run, Simon!"

"What about Orlow?"

Alex glanced at the older man. Judging by the size
of the wound and its location. Orlow was either
already dead or very close to it.

"We can't help him. We've got to get out of here."
He turned to give the lumbering Wauro a hard shove and
ducked out of the room only a few steps behind the
toymaker.

There was a bright flash and a loud echoing boom, as
the machine destroyed itself from within. The blast
blew the swinging doors outward and knocked the
escaping men to their knees. They burst through the
door to the garage, surprising Caston, who was busy
making repairs under the beat-up, old ambulance.

Before the larger man could roll clear, Alex lowered
the jack enough to trap him, then went to the driver's
side and ripped a handful of wires out from under the
dash. He ran. wincing at the growing pain in his
shoulder, over to the passenger side of the Bronco

“You'd better drive, Simon," he suggested.

"What's the matter?"

"I think my shoulder's broken." He winced again, as
they slammed the car doors. "I don't want to risk
blacking out while I'm driving."

Simon nodded, raised the driver's seat and snapped
the pedal extensions into place. "Hold on." he
warned. The Bronco made a satisfying screech as Simon
raced out of the garage and into the darkness beyond.

The sun had gone down and dusk was falling as the
Bronco sped down the dirt road.

Simon glanced at his watch. It was almost
seven-thirty; more than eight hours had gone by since
they'd stopped to give the "helpless" young woman a
hand with her "broken-down" truck.

The first order of business, Simon decided, was to
get as far from Troyan's headquarters as possible, and
the second was to get Alex to a doctor. He didn't
know whether Troyan or any of his people had survived
the explosion, but he wasn't going to waste time
worrying about it right now.

He glanced over at the taller man with concern.
Every bump in the rough dirt road seemed to send
another wave of pain through him.

"Where are we going?"

"Orlow told me there is only one road leading from
Troyan's base. I'm hoping he was right and it'll take
us back the way we came. I remember seeing a doctor's
office in the last town we passed. Can you make it?"

Alex shifted in his seat, trying unsuccessfully to
find a more comfortable position. He winced as his
shoulder banged against the seat. "I hope so."

In less than an hour, the Bronco pulled up to a
pleasant looking house
in the middle of a small town.

"Alex, we're here." Simon announced, quietly. He
opened his door and slid out onto the pavement.
"Alex?" he called, opening the passenger door.

The CIC agent was slumped in the seat. Simon gently
touched the other man's injured arm — it was hot and
badly swollen. Simon stepped back out of the vehicle
and ran to the house. A sign hung from ng house

in the middle of a small town.



"Alex, we're here." Simon announced, quietly. He

opened his door and slid out onto the pavement.

"Alex?" he called, opening the passenger door.



The CIC agent was slumped in the seat. Simon gently

touched the other man's injured arm — it was hot and

badly swollen. Simon stepped back out of the vehicle

and ran to the house. A sign hung from a post in the

lawn, identified the building as the office and

residence of a Doctor S. Porter.



A long series of knocks brought a tall, sturdy looking woman in a terrycloth bathrobe to the door. He had obviously gotten her out of bed, her long black hair was tousled from sleep. "Yeah?"



"Are you Doctor Porter?" Simon asked, pointing to the

sign.



She yawned. "Yeah. What can I do for you?"



"I'm sorry to disturb you. Doctor, but my friend's been badly hurt. He needs help."



She peered out into the darkness, suspiciously. "What's the matter with him?"



"He...fell. I think his shoulder may be broken."



"Okay, tell him to come on in."



"He's unconscious. I can't move him alone."



The doctor turned away from the door. "I'll be right

out."