"He's alive. There's no question about it," Cassiopia cried. "He's managed to leave us a message, first in my dream and then on the Drack."
Markman shook his head wearily and sat down at the station. "It does seem, ...possible. What am I saying? Nothing that has happened since I met you has seemed possible...."
Cassiopia began to mumble to herself. "I should never have interfered with the SCIP door operational periods. No, that's not true, I shouldn't have reduced any of the operating times. It should have been kept on as much as possible. I'll need to work out a schedule."
"Cass, this is real trouble. Don't you get it? You did actually see your father! Doesn't that mean people have been seeing us somewhere else while we're in there? Doesn't it?"
Cassiopia looked spellbound, staring right through him.
"Cass?"
She came out of her trance. "What? I don't know about that. I mean I'll have to think about it."
Markman placed an elbow on the workstation, covered his eyes and shook his head. Finally, he squinted up at her. “Listen, I need to tell you what I know about Dreamland or at least the place you seem to be calling Dreamland.”
“What are you talking about?”
Markman sighed. “Brother, how do I go about this?” He looked at her thoughtfully. “Okay, what I have been taught, by the eastern masters. These guys can do things you can’t imagine. They know things. They don’t have to keep secrets. Most people in the modern world don’t want to know about the spiritual side of life. It just interrupts their preoccupation with worldly desires. These guys know all about life and death. They can go places you and I can’t.”
“Scott, are you going to try to start telling me about magic carpets, or something.”
“Funny you should mention magic carpets. You know how that legend came about? Not because Gurus were flying around on magic carpets. What happens is they meditate in the lotus position sitting on a carpet, and are able to mentally appear somewhere else. People see them and think that the carpet they’re sitting on has somehow carried them there when the truth was they had simply willed themselves there. They really can do that. I’ve seen it myself.”
“All debate potential aside, what has that got to do with Dreamland.”
“These guys know things. They have ancient knowledge. I’ve seen the scrolls passed down from thousands of years ago. They taught us about Heaven. They visit Heaven.”
“What!”
Markman shook his head once more. “How do I tell this without looking like I’m crazy? Okay here goes. What you call Heaven is the place most people go when they die, right?”
Cassiopia tried to look supportive.
“Well, when you sleep at night, you go to the same place.”
“What!”
Markman raised one hand in defense. “Hold on now, just stay with me on this a minute. The way it has been taught to me is this; we do not live here on Earth—I mean the physical Earth, the physical world. Our real lives take place in that realm you call Heaven. Heaven has several different levels. We visit the physical Earth every day to learn, and evolve, and improve ourselves, but we withdraw to our real lives every night when we sleep. When our lives on the physical Earth are over, we withdraw again to our real lives in that place you call Heaven, bringing with us all we have gained from our experiences visiting the physical Earth.”
“Wow. That takes a leap of faith!”
“And it’s like this; the place you call Heaven, its lowest level, exists in the same space as the physical Earth. But, all the stuff in Heaven is made up of a much higher frequency or higher vibration than the stuff in the physical Earth. And because the things in Heaven are so much finer or higher in vibration, we cannot see or feel them even when they are right next to us. Ever felt like someone was looking over your shoulder, but no one was there? In fact, a person or object in Heaven can occupy the very same space as something on the physical Earth, but they don’t bother each other in any way because the stuff in Heaven is on such a higher plane. Just like when you said you saw your father, but when you reached out to him, your hand went right through him. Occasionally the circumstances are just right that we can see people or objects in Heaven, that’s why you hear about ghosts and things like that. It’s kind of like infrared goggles. Our eyes can’t see infrared. So does that mean infrared images are not real? You look out into the darkness and there’s nothing there. You put on a pair of infrared goggles and suddenly you see someone standing in the distance. It’s the same with the realm we call Heaven. Our five simple senses do not see or feel things in the Heavenly realm. They are not made to.”
“So you are suggesting that when someone dies, he goes into the dream state indefinitely?”
“No one dies. They withdraw to their real life. Heaven is not like the places we see in our dreams, at least usually. It’s an incredibly beautiful place. I’ve seen just a tiny bit of it from the influence of the masters. Everything there kind of glimmers like gold. But, our physical brains can’t store memories of what happens in the realm of Heaven. Memories are made of vibration also, and the physical brain is not designed to process them. What we get from our nighttime visits to Heaven is a mish-mash of symbols from what may have happened there, altered by the emotional state we’re in, along with effects from our daily lives and memories on Earth. That’s why dreams usually seem so erratic.”
“And are you saying that when we lose a loved one, we can rejoin them at night when we sleep.”
“Yes, but of course we don’t remember it, although our souls do, but that doesn’t lessen how much we miss having them here on the physical Earth. Most family and friends usually stay together here and there. They stay together from life to life as well. Their roles change from life to life, but their love for each other doesn’t.”
“Scott, how can anyone possibly know such things.”
“Because life is eternal. The masters I spoke of can visit the realm we call Heaven. They have developed their higher senses that they can bring this knowledge back to us. There are advanced people, not very many actually, who have evolved ahead of everyone else. They’ve reached the realm of Heaven with their waking consciousness and don’t need to return to the physical Earth except for special purposes. Most people worship and respect Christ. Do you think he ran off and left us, or is he still around, watching and caring for his flock?”
“What about the people who don’t make it to Heaven?”
“Everybody makes it, eventually. God’s plan is perfect. God is perfect. But, there are different levels in Heaven. You’ve heard stories about angels earning their wings in Heaven? If someone lives a bad life on Earth, they can be heavily burdened by it in the lower realm of Heaven. And that can make it a long wait until their next visits to the physical Earth where they can redeem themselves much more quickly than in Heaven. As we move into the future, the idea is that we build better and better civilizations to live within. We become a more spiritual people. And, there comes a point where persistently bad people must be held back so that they do not hinder the good people and their desire to make a more spiritual world. So when a society reaches a certain point, the bad people are not allowed to continue on with the good people. The bad have to stay behind and repeat in the less evolved societies before they can go on to a better world. Some people call that damnation; others call it the aeonian condemnation.”
“When does that happen?”
“It supposedly happens around when a civilization has reached its halfway point in development, which is roughly where Earth is now. That’s part of the reason Christ came to Earth—to prepare for that.”
“Well that’s scary enough. And do you believe you’ve visited these higher places through meditation yourself?”
“When you are in close physical proximity to a true master, their aura is so strong it lifts you up. It gives you a boost. I’ve seen a tiny bit during the few meditation exercises I’ve been allowed in with the high masters. But I can’t do
much. You see, I’m not so good at the spiritual stuff. I’m pretty good at the physical disciplines, but when it comes to trying to focus my inner self, I can’t get there too good. That’s why the masters sent me to the outer world. They said my physical abilities were too far ahead of my inner development. They said I needed to learn from life.”
Markman leaned against the console beside him. He looked at Cassiopia with affection. “I’ve only told you a small piece of the real truth. There’s so much more. We don’t get to speak to the average person about these things. Most aren’t interested. Others don’t want their view of the universe messed with, and scientists, they want hard physical-world proof of these things that are not of the physical world.”
Cassiopia folded her arms. “I must say, you’ve taken me aback somewhat.”
“Why?”
“There is some late science that might fit what you are describing. I’m sure you’ve heard of dark matter.”
“Yes.”
“They say we see only 20% of the actual universe. We still don’t understand where the unaccounted mass we call dark matter fits it. But lately some even more disruptive theorems have come forth. Have you heard of string theory?”
“No.”
“We’ve been racing neutrons around in our accelerators and smashing them into photographic plates for years. They break up into these wonderfully curious little particles. At least we thought they were particles. We thought we were seeing the smallest particulate matter in existence. We even gave them names like ‘up-ness’, and ‘down-ness’ and strangeness, based on their characteristics. And just about the time we were all getting really comfortable with these little particle friends of ours, we found out they weren’t particles at all. They were kind of like bands of energy, or better yet, strings of energy, vibrating in this wonderful concert to create matter. Now here’s the part you might like; the math for this ‘string theory’ wasn’t working out at all. It was very upsetting. Then one day out came this beautiful formula that showed just how wonderful string theory actually was, except for one thing. The formula demanded that a whole bunch of unknown dimensions must exist for it to work. Dimensions we can’t see, or touch, or measure from the confinement of the few dimensions we ourselves exist in.”
“God, that’s incredible.”
“The scientific community thinks so.”
"So what do we do now?"
"I don't know. I'm not sure. By your description of the ancient knowledge you speak of, you’re suggesting we could possibly enter Dreamland and run into someone who is deceased, are you not?”
“That’s the problem; I don’t get any of this. From what I was taught, no physical matter could interact on that plane of existence. So if we were in your friend’s dream like you said, how could we be there?”
“Well, you said that both physical matter and dream matter occupy the same space. It seemed like Brenda was not aware of us when we were in the mansion. Maybe the SCIP is somehow just allowing us to see that world, but we can only actually participate with our own thought-creations, like your friends the Cardoni brothers. Let’s face it; we are exploring the unknown. We don’t understand what’s going on here. But, I have no choice. I want my father back. I’ll consider everything you’ve said. Very often ancient knowledge turns out to be fact, though often embellished by time. I know enough not to dismiss it out of hand. I need to organize all the data we've gathered and collect my thoughts. We've learned so much, but I still believe my father's alive." She turned and began walking around the room, picking up computer printouts and sifting through them. "I'm going to work at my desk upstairs. Just give me a little time. It won't take long." From a drawer in the Drack station, she withdrew a laptop computer. With a nod of reassurance to Markman, she retreated upstairs to her bedroom, an armload of printouts under one arm, and the laptop computer under the other.
The robot returned to its analytical duties on the mysterious box, leaving Markman to stalk impatiently around the house, drinking coffee and peering out windows. Markman wandered aimlessly, making repeated trips to the lab to check on the robot's progress, unnecessary intrusions which it paid no attention to.
When he finally could no longer stand the monotony, he went to Cassiopia's bedroom and stuck his head in the door. She appeared much more collected and her mood had become upbeat. He leaned against the door frame and tried to appear casual. "So, do you plan to turn that thing on again anytime soon?"
"At eight o'clock this evening. That will cover a new time frame. Then, I'll rotate each power up to a new time so that all parts of the day get covered--to give my father every possible chance to find his way out--at least until I come up with a better plan." She turned in her seat to face him. "There is something else. Something I think we should do when the SCIP door is powered up. That is, if you're willing."
Markman folded his arms in front of him. "You want me to go through the mirror alone so you can watch to see if anything is coming out of it, right?"
"If you could go through for just a moment. This is starting to worry me. If there are by-products from Dreamland appearing on our side of the SCIP door, that would be very dangerous. We'd have to stop using it immediately. I can't explain how the vision of my father could have used a computer keyboard to leave me a message. It's spooky and it implies that whatever these apparitions are, they are probably some part of us!"
"And if that's the case then it means some part of me has been visiting the men's club across town and some part of you has been dancing at the Forum."
"Not a thought I find comforting," she replied with a strained look.
"And it would also mean a part of your father somehow embarrassed the hell out of the university, or at least some of the faculty there."
"It does suggest some completely uninhibited part of us goes off doing just whatever it pleases. But the fact that there are effected results means the situation is very dangerous. I mean there's more danger to our world here, than to us when we're in there."
"Obviously."
"So will you do it?"
"Yes, and I will hope we are wrong about this."
"I, more than you," she said.
"So, you want to go at eight. Will the robot be done with my little silver box by then?"
"Yes, I think so."
Markman said half-jokingly, "You know I still say that blasted contraption makes fun of me."
Cassiopia laughed loudly, as though she needed to. "Trust me on this, Scott. There's no such thing as a machine that understands humor. Think about it; there's quite a few people who can't even grasp it! There's been some pretty good programs written to emulate laughter, but even they are lacking. There's no way Tel could be laughing at you."
"You wait, he'll wind up saying that box is my powder pack or something, I'll bet you."
Cassiopia continued to giggle. "I'll talk to him about it and by the way, that's great, Scott…."
"What?"
"That's the first time I've heard you address Tel as 'he' instead of 'it'!"
"He, it, whatever, it can make fun of me all it wants to if it comes up with something good on that box. That box should have been turned in a long time ago. I’m starting to feel guilty about having that thing."
Markman waved his hand in a gesture of frustration and started to leave. Cassiopia was still laughing to herself at his social distrust of the robot. She called to him teasingly, "Well, don't get feeling too guilty now. I don’t want you throwing your nice ring in the river or anythi...."
Markman froze in his tracks. So revealing was the statement he had just heard that for a second his mind was unable to grasp its full meaning. He turned slowly in astonishment and went back to the open bedroom door. Cassiopia was leaning over her paperwork motionless, as though she wished dearly that she could cover herself in it, or at least take refuge somewhere out of sight.
Markman's tone was pointed.
"What did you just say?"
She did not respond, nor did she look up at him. She stared silently downward.
"I've never told anyone the story of the ring," he added sharply. He paused for an answer and got none.
"Why you little high IQ brat," he said sternly and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her roughly from her seat so that she stood facing him, just inches away. She kept her hands raised as though afraid he would strike her, and stared down and away still unable to look him in the eye.
"That was you in that saloon, wasn't it? You let me think I made love to a ghost when it was you all the time."
Silence.
"What a little genius you are," he continued, "but let me tell you what I know about Cassiopia Cassell. I'm quite good about figuring people you know; it's part of my job."
"Ms. Cassell is a bit faster than everyone else at picking things up. So fast, in fact, that she's never had the time to learn about the less important things, like people, for instance. People have always been a blur alongside the learning curve to her. We hide from things that scare us, Ms. Cassell, and that's what you've been doing, haven't you?"
Markman held her firmly by her raised wrists so that she was forced to listen. "Wow, not only were you able to use me to prove your theory about Dreamland control, you were simultaneously able to be at the right place at the right time to make love to someone without any responsibility for it, and even without him knowing it was you!"
"It's incredible--let me guess. You wore a lab smock to cover the western-style clothes, and you went right in after me, using the direction finder to find your way to the saloon before I got there. But you knew I'd be coming, of course. And then you conveniently became Miss Ann."
"Ms. Cassell, I am so glad you're not a criminal. I would not relish trying to second guess someone like you. I concede you're too much for me."
And with that, he turned her face toward him and kissed her without seeking consent. She stood without moving, wanting terribly to tell him that their erotic rendezvous in a musty old bedroom above a make-believe saloon had not been planned. She had intended only to test his ability to distinguish real people from Dreamland imposters. The passionate touching had been inadvertent--and heatedly irresistible. But he had been more right than not, for when it was over, she had run away.
He released his hold on her wrists but there was no escape for her this time. She had been found out. Someone who knew her now held the real Cassiopia, and it was too late to find excuses. Her mind became dizzy with sensuality, and suddenly the old spell was broken. They grabbed at each other and found the bed--all bad dreams left behind.
Chapter 29