“No,” he said. “Never. They died in the Dream. Their brains will reject Lucid Dreaming for the rest of their lives.”
The doorbell rang.
“Bet that’s him,” Rigby said, standing. He went to the front door with Kara trailing just behind.
When he opened the door, a man in a dark suit stood there. “Are you Rigby Thames?” he asked. “Nephew of Dr. Ebenezer Scoville?”
“That’s me,” Rigby said. “And this is my . . . uh, associate, Kara Windchil. Why don’t you come in and sit down.”
“Thank you,” he said.
Rigby and Kara led the man to the table. They sat.
“I’ve come because I understand you’ve taken up your uncle’s mantle.”
“That’s right,” Rigby said. “I’ve made several . . . breakthroughs.”
“I have questions,” the man said. “Is Lucid Dreaming possible? And . . . can anyone do it?”
“Yes, it’s real,” Rigby said. “And most anyone can do it . . . with the training I provide, that is.”
The man nodded. “Only one more question.” He leaned forward. “Can you bring things back?”
“Why don’t you come with us?” Rigby said. He stood and looked at Kara.
“Now?” she asked.
“I think we have to,” Rigby replied.
“If you say so,” Kara said. She stood.
Rigby led Kara and their visitor down the basement stairs. They ignored the zoo, turned left, and Rigby went to work on the keypad. A hiss of air, and the door opened. Rigby and Kara led the man inside.
“Great Scott!” the visitor exclaimed. “Is this . . . ?”
“My Uncle Scoville,” Rigby said.
“Is he . . . ?”
“In the Dream, yes,” Rigby said. “He stayed too long.”
“This is what happens,” the man said, his voice a bit higher now. “This is what happens to people who stay too long? I don’t know if my investors will be too keen—”
“We didn’t bring you down here for Uncle Scovy,” Rigby said. He turned to a bank of monitors, leaned over the highest unit, and said, “He wants to know if we can bring things back. Bezeal, do you want to show ’im?”
The man took three steps backward and eyed the doorway as a hooded figure stepped out from behind the computers.
“Who . . . what is that?” the man stammered.
“A friend,” Rigby said. “Someone who knows how to get things done.”
“Go on, Bezeal,” Kara said. “Show the man what we can bring back.”
Bezeal reached into the bottom pockets of his robe and pulled out two handfuls of slimy, wriggling creatures. Scurions. He dropped them to the floor to feed. Slowly, a softball-sized breach opened across the dimensions. Bezeal swatted the scurions away and reached a hand into the small breach.
One at a time, Bezeal took three objects out of the breach. He showed them to the man.
The man took off his dark sunglasses, pocketed them, and set a black briefcase on the table.
“I have a Lucid Walking club started at school,” Rigby said. “But school’s out. And I have bigger plans. But to go any bigger with this . . . will require funding.”
The man, still blinking from what Bezeal had showed him, asked, “Will this do for starters?” He popped the lid on the case. Kara gasped as they looked inside. She had never seen a thousand-dollar bill, much less bundles of thousand-dollar bills. Rigby simply nodded.
“That’s four million,” the man said, “for start-up costs.”
Rigby smiled his sly, sideways grin and said, “I think that will do nicely.”
Wayne Thomas Batson, Dreamtreaders
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