Stolen Dreams

A
TOPAZ BOOK

 

TOPAZ

 

Published by the Penguin Group

 

Penguin
Books USA Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

 

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U.S.A. Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane,

 

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Penguin Books
Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England

 

First
published by Topaz, an imprint of Dutton Signet, a division of Penguin
Books USA Inc.

 

First Printing, June, 1994

 

Copyright ©
Marilyn Campbell, 1994

 

All rights reserved

 

Topaz Man
photo © Charles William Bush, 1994

 

Topaz is a trademark of New
American Library, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc.

 

Printed
in the United States of America

 

Without
limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this
publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval
system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic,
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of this book.

 

PUBLISHER'S NOTE

 

This is a work of
fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.

 

BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE AT QUANTITY DISCOUNTS WHEN
USED TO
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If you purchased this book without a
cover you
should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as
"unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the
publisher has received payment for this "stripped" book.

 

 

 

Shara
slid her tall frame a little lower in the chair and pretended to
concentrate on the food in front of her. A practiced dip of her head
made her straight, shoulder-length hair fall forward, creating an
effective, sable-brown veil to shield her expressive eyes. This was one
time her kid brother would not get her support. She was going to stay
out of this family discussion if it killed her.

 

"Drekl But
that's unfair."

 

"Mackenzie
Locke!" Aster glared at her son, whose sullen face had taken on a tinge
of pink when he realized his slip. "I will not have that language in
our home. In fact, I don't care for your attitude at all this evening,
young man."

 

Shara watched Mack sneak a look at their father.
He
should have known better than to expect sympathy from that corner.
Aster and Romulus never disagreed in front of their two children, at
least not out loud. Beneath the table, Shara gently tapped her
brother's shin with the toe of her shoe to warn him to give it up. He
was spoiling their weekly family dinner ... again. She wasn't surprised
when he continued his argument.

 

"Shara has her own residence.
All I want—"

 

"Shara," Romulus interrupted, "is a grown woman
with an established career. You aren't even out of school yet."

 

Mack's
rebuttal was cut short by a sound similar to the whisper of distant
wind chimes.

 

Shara
gasped as thousands of sparks of white light exploded in the corner of
the room where the sound seemed to originate. A second later the sparks
consolidated into the shape of a person. As the lights flickered out,
Shara discerned that their intruder was a very old, bald-headed man.
His lavish attire compounded the shock of his abrupt appearance. The
long-sleeved, floor-length caftan he wore was striped with a dozen
brilliant colors and gathered at the waist by a wide belt decorated
with large, rectangular crystals, which glowed with a light of their
own. As Shara collected her wits, the man swayed and collapsed on the
floor.

 

Romulus reached the still figure first, but Shara was
right
behind him. Quickly kneeling and pressing her finger to the side of the
man's neck, she said, "He has a pulse, but it's very weak." She moved
her hand so that her fingertips hovered above his temple. Since they
both knew her abilities to mind-touch were the strongest of the Locke
family, she looked to her father for the required approval.

 

Before
Romulus could decide if the circumstances justified such an invasion of
privacy, the man's eyes twitched and slowly opened. Moving his watery
gaze over each of the group around him, he settled on Shara. In a
strained, halting whisper, he asked, "Where . . . am . . . I?"

 

"You
are in my home," Romulus answered in a terse voice before Shara could
speak. "More precisely, you have trespassed into the residence of
Romulus and Aster Locke. We are the Co-Governor of
the Noronian colony of Innerworld, in the inner core of the planet
Terra, known to the Outerworld natives as Earth. Who are you and why
are you here?"

 

The stranger's eyes closed and a smile deepened
the
lines in his leathery face. "I made it. Thank the Supreme Being." When
he reopened his eyes, he spoke to Shara again. "Please ... if you will
. . . help me to rise a bit ... I could breathe more easily. I have so
much to tell. And so very little time."

 

Shara placed an arm
under
his shoulders and gently lifted him. He was so thin, she could feel his
frail bones beneath the silky caftan. When she saw how much effort it
took him to remain upright, she continued to support him as he began to
explain.

 

"My name is Lantana. I have come from . . . the
future."

 

The Locke family's shock was unanimous, and their
questions came faster than Lantana could respond.

 

"Time travel
experimentation is prohibited here," stated Romulus.

 

"Why have
you come here, now?" Aster queried.

 

Lantana paused to take a
wheezy breath. Raising a trembling hand to Aster, he continued. "I
wanted to meet you before I died."

 

Aster raised her eyebrows
in confusion. "Me?"

 

Giving
her a small smile, he let his hand drop limply onto his lap. "Yes, you,
the Mother of the Transition, the woman who did so much to bring the
cultures of Norona and Outerworld Earth into the Cooperative Age. Aster
Mackenzie Locke, the first Terran woman to join with a Noronian man and
bear children of the future." With those words he nodded at Romulus,
Shara, and Mack, then returned his gaze to Aster. "What Earth year did
I arrive in?"

 

"Two thousand thirty," Aster answered. "What
year are you from?"

 

Lantana
sighed. "Then the Transition has not yet begun. I was trying for a
later date. I come from a desperate time for both Innerworld and
Outerworld, a tragic result of events that never should have happened.
But I escaped ... to meet you . . . and seek your help."

 

"Escaped?"
Romulus asked. "Are you a criminal?"

 

A
dry laugh turned into a hacking cough as Lantana tried to answer him.
"Yes, I suppose I am. You see, in the future, time travel is still
against the law." He ran his index finger over the beveled edges of the
crystal rectangle on the front of his belt, and it sprung open like a
miniature drawbridge. All four heads leaned closer to inspect the
workings inside. "This is the culmination of a lifetime of labor: my
tempometer. I began designing it to prove time travel was possible. In
spite of the law, I always intended to use it myself before I died. I
have admired you for so long, Aster. Your petitions to the Ruling
Tribunal of Norona are in every child's history book."

 

Aster's
face flushed with shock and pride. "My petitions were recorded? For
history?"

 

"And
your speeches, like the one you made to convince the Tribunal that you
and Romulus should be joined." Lantana's expression contorted as he
seemed to be searching his memory. "By this time, have you not already
delivered your petition requesting permission for Innerworld's people
to begin making contact with certain Terran leaders of Outerworld?"

 

"Yes,
I have, but that was over a year ago, and they never responded."

 

"Aah,
then it is yet to come. You will hear soon. And do not be discouraged
by the Tribunal's caution. When they review your suggestions for a
universal trade agreement, they'll come around."

 

Aster
stuttered in confusion. "But I haven't even . . . that is, I was only
thinking of—"

 

Romulus touched her shoulder. "I don't think
it's wise to know too much of our own future."

 

Lantana
grabbed Romulus's arm and pulled himself closer. "You're wrong. It's
vital that I tell you, and you must help. I don't have the strength or
the time left to find someone else. My life will end before this day is
through."

 

Shara automatically renewed her support of him when
he
slumped backward once more. His show of defiance obviously drained what
little energy he had. For a moment he was deathly still; then he drew
in a ragged breath and spoke again.

 

"In my time, there is an
evil
Terran leader in Outerworld, Khameira Chang Sung. Everyone thought he
was just another religious zealot. No one realized until it was too
late that he possesses tremendous mental powers. His followers are
mindless in their devotion to him. One day he was merely a Chinese
farmer. Ten years later he controls all of the Asian continent.

 

"Because
of Khameira's ambition, there was a third great war on Outerworld.
Powerful weapons were used which ravaged the surface and decimated the
population. Khameira still lives, but he rules a dead planet from a
protective underground shelter. It will be thousands of years before
the atmosphere will be cleared of all poisons. And in the meantime our
people are trapped." Exhausted, Lantana closed his eyes.

 

Shara
gave him a slight shake to rouse him again and demanded, "What do you
mean, trapped?"

 

Romulus
added his own question. "Why wasn't he stopped? Surely the Tribunal
would have approved of interfering with Terran culture in the face of
such a threat."

 

Lantana's body trembled as he attempted to
summon
enough strength to continue. "There wasn't time. You see, Khameira's
powers blinded the Noronian emissaries in place on Outerworld as
effectively as he had hidden the truth from the Terrans. By the time
Norona was notified, the tunnels to Innerworld were already destroyed,
sealing us inside the planet. Even after the atmosphere stabilizes,
there are so many live bombs buried in the surface, it will be
impossible for Norona to safely rescue us for centuries."

 

Shara
observed her parents communicating mentally and guessed by the
expression on Aster's face what was being discussed. As a Terran, Aster
was skeptical of strangers and was obviously questioning the veracity
of what they were being told. But Romulus would be reminding her that
Noronians lived by a code of honesty. Lantana's words should be
accepted as truth.