For five days Josh felt his nerves getting more and more ragged. Every morning he arose, went out on the streets of Acton, visited stores, shops, talked to the people on the streets—such as would listen.
But absolutely nothing happened. In one meeting with Sarah, he complained, “These people are closer than clams. They don’t talk about anything except the weather.”
Sarah had been equally disappointed. “It’s like they’re here—but they’re not here,” she said. “I try to talk to them, and they answer back, but they never really say anything, if you know what I mean. They seem to be going through the motions. Their minds are someplace else. And at night there’s nothing doing. It’s sort of like a ghost town.”
Josh had noted this also, and it puzzled him. He had considered leaving Acton and striking out cross-country in hope of finding Goél—but in the first place, he didn’t know where Goél was. He did know that Goél had entrusted them with this mission, and there seemed nothing better to do than to stay.
As the days passed, he grew more weary. From time to time, he would see one of the other Sleepers, but they all carefully ignored each other.
One morning Josh woke up feeling terrible. It was like he was coming down with the flu, although he knew the problem was more a mental thing. Getting out of bed slowly, he moved like an old man. He pulled his clothes on, stared at himself in the mirror, and decided to skip brushing his hair or washing his face. “What difference does it make?” he said aloud to his image. “Nobody’s going to pay any attention to me anyway. It’s like living with a bunch of zombies.”
He passed through the inn and did not even stop to eat breakfast. He had lost his appetite and sometimes would forget several meals in a row. He could tell he was losing weight from the way his clothes were beginning to hang on him, but even this did not seem to be important.
All morning Josh walked around the town, slowly, stopping from time to time to sit on a bench in front of a shop. He had stopped striking up conversations, for that seemed futile. All that was left to do was to wait—and he was not good at waiting.
When the sun was high overhead, he felt thirsty and walked toward a pump that was set in the middle of the street. There was a tin cup attached. He pumped up some of the water and found it had a harsh, metallic taste. He swallowed a couple of mouthfuls and spit the rest out.
“That’s the worst water I’ve ever tasted.”
Josh turned quickly. The voice had been cheerful, unlike the voices of most citizens of Acton. He found himself staring at a man of about fifty with a pair of steady gray eyes and a Van Dyke beard. He was wearing khakis and was neat and wiry.
“Yes, it is bad,” Josh said.
“I was just going into that inn over there to have something a little better than this water. Care to join me?”
“Why—I don’t mind if I do.”
“Come along, then. By the way, my name’s Oliver.”
“I’m Josh.” It had been a little risky to use his real name, but Josh had chosen to do so. If he took a name such as Tom and someone called for Tom, he knew he would ignore it.
Walking alongside the newcomer, Josh felt a flash of hope. Here was the first person he had met in Acton who seemed to be alert and open to conversation.
“Well, innkeeper, let’s have some of your best cider,” Oliver said. “Bring us a whole jug. I’m dry as dust.”
“Yes, sir!”
When the innkeeper brought the jug, Oliver paid him and picked up the two glasses. “Let’s sit outside at that table. I like fresh air.”
“So do I.” Josh followed the man outside, the two sat down, and he watched Oliver fill the glasses. Picking his up, he tasted it and said, “This is good.”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it? Are you a stranger here?”
“Yes, just came in from the country, looking for work.”
“Not much work going on in Acton.”
“So I’ve found out. Haven’t been able to find anything.”
Oliver spoke with some assurance of the countryside. He informed Josh that there was not a great deal of work around Acton, except for someone who had a trade. He seemed relaxed as he sat there, and he talked generally about the town, about the crops, and about what was happening in the world. He seemed to be well informed.
Suddenly Oliver looked directly at Josh and said clearly, “The stars are doing their great dance.”
Instantly Josh felt a thrill of recognition. The password! He gave the response, “Yes, and every tree will sing.”
Oliver laughed out loud, then put his hand out. He grasped Josh’s with surprising strength. “That’s some disguise you have on there, Josh.”
“Well, it’s about all I could come up with.” Josh began to talk eagerly. “I’d about given up on finding you, Oliver. Have you been here all the time?”
“I’m in and out. I have to make a living, you know.”
“Have you made any headway on finding out where the missing servants of Goél have gone?”
“Not really, but we’ll find them. Where is the rest of your group?”
“They’re here in Acton. We thought it better not to come in together.”
Oliver nodded approvingly. “Very wise. The Sanhedrin would have spotted seven young visitors instantly. Let’s think of some way that you and I can be together while we’re figuring out how to go about our problem.”
“How could we do that?”
“Oh, I’ve got a little money. Suppose I hire you to do some work for me?”
“What kind of work do you do, Oliver?”
“I’m a scientist.”
“Really? My father was a scientist.”
“You look like a bright young fellow. You probably have some science in you.”
“No, not very much, I’m afraid,” Josh said ruefully. “I guess I take after my mother.”
“That’s probably just as well. Actually, I’m an inventor. Most of my inventions don’t work, however.” He laughed cheerfully at his own remark. “They all work except for one little flaw, which makes them useless,” he added.
“What are you working on now?”
“I’ve found something that I think could be quite potent. It’s not fully developed yet, but it’s quite an invention, if I do say so myself.” His eyes glowed, and he leaned back, sipping the cider. “Yes,” he said, “I could hire you, and that way we can spend a great deal of time together without looking suspicious. Let everybody know that you are working for me.”
“That sounds good to me. Tell me more about your invention.”
Oliver leaned forward, and his gray eyes gleamed. “I’m working on something really big, Josh. If it works—” He broke off and laughed at himself again. “I sound like every wild-eyed inventor in the world, don’t I?” Then he sobered and said, “But if it works, Josh, it’ll change the whole world as we know it.”
“Can’t you tell me about it?”
“Oh, no. Not good luck to talk about things like that—things you’re going to do. But I can tell you about my smaller invention.”
“All right, let’s hear it.”
“Well, back in Oldworld they had things called television.”
“Why, of course, I remember that. We had a television.”
Oliver blinked with surprise. “Of course. I forgot you came from Oldworld in the sleep capsules. As you know, there hasn’t been anything like television for a long time—most technology was wiped out. I’d like to hear about television. I never actually saw one. Tell me about it.”
Josh told about television and about some of the programs that he had liked.
Oliver listened carefully. When Josh ended, he said, “Well, if you can imagine a combination book, television, and docudrama, that would be sort of what my invention is like.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Come along. I’ll give you a demonstration. We’ll take the rest of this cider with us.”
Ten minutes later Josh was inside a large room in a house on the outskirts of town. The room was filled with all sorts of equipment, wires, and blinking bulbs, all of it incomprehensible to him. “Jake would love this,” he said. “He’s quite an inventor himself.”
“Is he now? Perhaps we can use him.” Oliver smiled. “Come over here, and I’ll give you a quick demonstration.”
Josh stepped to the chair that Oliver motioned him to and sat down at his command.
Oliver picked up something that looked like headphones, except that it had rods instead of earpieces.
“This fits over the head, you see? We’ll take it very easy.”
Josh sat there as Oliver put the headpiece over his head. He noticed that the wires ran to a complicated-looking black machine.
Seeing his eyes, Oliver said, “That’s what does the work, right there.”
“How does it work?”
Oliver adjusted the headset, then snapped his fingers. “Oh, yes, I found out this helps.” He went over to a cabinet mounted on the wall, took out a bottle of clear liquid, and poured a few drops into a glass of cider. “Here.” Stirring it with a wooden spoon, he handed it to Josh. “Just sip some of that.”
“What is it?”
“Actually it makes your mind very active, but you probably won’t feel a thing. It helps with the Dream Maker.”
“Is that what this is called? The Dream Maker?” Josh sniffed at the contents of the glass, then drank it down. It seemed to have no effect, and he said, “How does the machine work?”
Oliver sat in front of him. His eyes were bright as he explained his invention. “The Dream Maker, as I told you, Josh, is somewhat like television, but it’s like being in a play instead of just watching. The box there is like a computer. It has all sorts of things in it on disk. Books, for example. Did you ever read a book called A Tale of Two Cities?”
“Why, yes. That’s by Dickens. I’ve read that book.”
“Well, it’s on the hard drive there. So you’ve got the book there, you’ve got your mind here, and the innervision takes the information—the book, that is—and you become a part of it. It’s like you’re in the book itself. Like you’re in a dramatized, television version of the book. For example, if I set these dials, suddenly you’re living in A Tale of Two Cities.”
Josh listened closely, and it all sounded fantastic. Oliver’s eyes appeared even brighter, and the drink seemed to have made him a little sleepy. He asked a few questions, and then Oliver said, “Would you like a sample?”
“Why, sure. Can I go to the last part of the book where Sydney Carton dies on the scaffold?”
“I don’t see why not,” Oliver said cheerfully. “Sit there and concentrate on me while I set the dials.”
Josh never knew exactly how it happened. He just watched Oliver for a moment as he turned certain dials and pushed certain buttons.
Then Oliver said, “Now, think about A Tale of Two Cities. Think about Sydney Carton.”
Suddenly Josh found himself drifting away. His vision was becoming blurred. He could still see Oliver’s bright gray eyes, and he could hear Oliver speaking, but it was as if he were far away.
And then it happened!
“Make way for the cart. Look, ’e won’t be keeping that head long, will ’e now?”
Josh was walking alongside a cart pulled by two gray horses. Inside the cart was a prisoner. He had a pale face but did not look like a man who was worried. He was wearing a dark gray suit with a frilly shirt collar, and he appeared not to hear those who were yelling at him from the streets.
Josh found himself jostled by the people who were accompanying the cart. Most of them were wearing baggy trousers, and many of them had rags tied around their heads. They were speaking French, and Josh discovered that he could speak French as well.
Somebody nudged him, “Who is that in there?”
Josh said at once, “Sydney Carton.”
“No, that ain’t his name. It’s something else,” the Frenchman said.
Josh edged closer to the cart.
The condemned man looked at him and smiled.
Josh said in French, “Can I get you away? I’ll help you make your escape.”
“No, my boy. That’s a kind thought. You’re not one of these, even though you’re dressed like them.”
Josh looked down to see that he himself was wearing baggy breeches. He saw that his hands were tanned very brown. Still he was Josh Adams—but somehow on the way to the scaffold with Sydney Carton!
It was all just like in the book! The death carts rumbled along the Paris streets. Ridges of faces looked upward as they plowed through the crowds. A guard of horsemen rode abreast of the procession. The crowd made way for them, then came closer to stare at the condemned people who huddled in the wagons.
Josh stumbled along, noting that Sidney Carton was holding the hand of a frightened young woman, perhaps trying to give her courage. A smile was on his face, and he seemed to have no thought at all for the scene about him.
The clocks of the city began to strike three, and then the carts were in front of the guillotine. Before it, seated in chairs, were a number of women, busily knitting. They had come to see the “entertainment,” Josh knew, and he despised them!
And then Carton descended from the cart, still holding the hand of the young woman.
Josh heard her say, “But for you, dear stranger, I should not be so composed, for I am naturally a poor little thing, faint of heart; nor should I have been able to raise my thought to Him who was put to death, that we might have hope and comfort here today. I think you were sent to me by heaven.”
“Keep your eyes on me, dear child . . .” Sidney Carton said.
“I mind nothing while I hold your hand.”
“They will be rapid. Fear not!”
Josh listened as the two spoke quietly, and then the girl asked Carton if he thought she would feel grief in heaven, and if she would miss her dear sister whom she must leave.
“It cannot be, my child; there is no Time there, and no trouble there.”
Finally the time of execution came, and Sydney Carton looked out at the crowd, saying, “It is a far, far better thing that I do now than I have ever done. It is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”
Josh could not bear to see the man die. He turned away and shoved his way through the crowd, but he heard the blade strike the block, and a wild cry went up from the crowd that marked the death of a brave man.
“All right, Josh. Come out of it.”
Josh suddenly blinked his eyes, startled. He looked around. There was no death cart, no guillotine, no Sydney Carton—he was back in Oliver’s room. Oliver had taken the headpiece and was grinning at him. “Well, now you know what innervision does. How do you like it?”
Josh rubbed his temples. He could still feel the imprint of the headpiece, and it seemed his head was humming a little. He felt sleepy and oddly relaxed.
“Why—it’s marvelous!” he said.
“Actually, it’s just another form of entertainment. Does make you feel relaxed though, doesn’t it?”
Josh discovered that this was indeed true. He felt more relaxed than he had felt in weeks. “It does!” he exclaimed with surprise. “Why, I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“I guess that’s all I need to hear, as an artist and an inventor.” Oliver did not seem terribly excited. “As I say, Josh, it’s just a small thing. Most of the villagers come in and enjoy it. They like relaxation too, you know.”
Josh was still amazed. “But it was so—so real,” he whispered. “Oliver, it was just like I was there in the book. Can you do that with other books?”
“Oh, yes. Books—and some old television videos that were left. You could be back with John Wayne in Red River, that old cowboy movie. I’ve got that one, I think.”
“Reb would love that!”
“Reb? Oh, one of the other Sleepers. Yes, of course. Well—” Oliver seemed to make little of his wonderful invention “—it is rather fun. I go into it myself pretty often. It keeps a man from going crazy with boredom. But we’ve got to talk about finding those who are lost. Goél is expecting that. I think we’d better have a meeting of all the Sleepers—or one at a time, perhaps. Why don’t you send them by here, and let me talk to each of them about our mission? This could be a focal gathering point for the group.”
“Do you really think we can find Goél’s servants, Oliver?”
“I’m sure we can, Josh. Now then, what shall we do next?”
Josh hesitated. “Could I try the innervision again?”
“Why, nothing simpler. What would you like?”
Josh thought for a moment and said, “Do you have a book on the machine called The Call of the Wild?”
“As it happens, I do. It’s about the North, isn’t it? Wolves, sled dogs, and all of that?”
“Yes.”
“Well, just sit right down here.” Oliver turned and went to the cabinet again, where he added drops to a fresh glass of cider. “Take that, and you’re off running through the frozen North behind a pack of sled dogs. Here you go, Josh . . .”