… SUPNo KAA CHOR," SAID Adjani. The afternoon light slanting in through the woven screen over the window cast a diamond-studded shadow on the walls. Gita sat nodding on the bed like a Buddha. He leaned forward and Spence saw his dark face glistening with perspiration.

"Ah, the Dream Thief," whispered the little man. "It has been a long time since I heard of him."

"We believe," said Adjani, carefully choosing his words, "that he exists. The Dream Thief is real."

Gita did not burst out laughing, nor did he show any outward signs of disbelief-like throwing up his hands or rolling on the floor, which was what Spence expected. Instead, the linguist – dentist flicked his quick eyes from Adjani to Spence and back again in an expression that said he was prepared to suspend all judgment until the facts were heard.

Spence decided then and there that they had come to the right man; he liked Gita from that moment on.

"I see." The Indian smoothed the folds of his trousers. "I suspect you are prepared to support that assertion."

"We are," said Spence. "Kyr told me that their race fled Mars as soon as their technology made starships possible. The Martians went in search of new worlds to colonize, finding none within our own solar system which could sustain life."

"What about the Earth?"

"I asked that, too. Kyr said that they have known of Earth's life-sustaining capabilities for thousands of years. Some of them even visited our planet in times back, but found it already inhabited by sentient creatures well on their way toward domination of the planet. They elected not to interfere with human development. Their mere presence would have drastically changed the course of our history."

"Remarkable."

"Yes, quite. Considering that they could have come and taken control of the entire planet at any time and no one could have stopped them, I think they showed uncommon restraint. It took them several thousand years to perfect interstellar travel; meanwhile they lived in their underground cities and watched the wind and sand erode their planet to a dry red powder.

"But what if all the Martians did not leave the solar system as planned?" Spence underscored his point with the thrust of his finger. "What if some of them came back to Earth and established a colony here? What form would it take? How would their presence impact on the local civilization?"

"All very good questions, Spencer Reston." Gita watched him through narrowed eyes, his head thrown back. "Do you have answers?"

"No answers-suppositions. Theories." Spence stood and began pacing as he talked.

"The air of the Himalayas is very thin-much like the atmosphere of Mars must have been before the Martians left. Also those mountains are perhaps the most remote part of the whole planet, except for the poles and ocean bottoms. A colony settling there would never be bothered by curious Homo sapiens.

"But as the Earth became more populated they perhaps would be noticed. Suppose also that as they came and went they encountered various tribes of human beings with which they developed some sort of commerce. Over time these interactions, although rare, would become the subject of speculation and wonderment among the primitive human beings they encountered. And since the Martians lived apart in places inaccessible to normal men, and their ways were far above the ways of men, they would be looked upon as godlike, and their advanced technology would be regarded as magic."

"We have seen this in the last century," added Adjani. "The aborigines of Borneo considered airplanes magic and the white men who flew them were called gods. Any technology very far advanced beyond the accepted explanations of science is viewed as sorcery by the unenlightened."

"True, true," replied Gita. "Most of my patients still believe my drill is a magic serpent whose bite is only too real."

Spence stopped his pacing and came to stand in the center of the room in front of Gita. "Exactly. You would expect all sorts of stories and legends to grow up regarding these gods and their civilization-and all with at least a grain of truth to them."

"Yes, but after all these years… surely you don't think there can be any left? Do you? Either they would have died out, or become intermingled with human races. Or they would still be present and in such numbers that we would have known of them from long ago."

"I can't answer that," said Spence. "I don't know. But Martians have incredibly long life spans-thousands of our years. Suppose one is still alive and living here on Earth?

"I reawakened one of them. What if another never slept?"

Gita sat very still for a long time. Only the rise and fall of his full round belly showed he was still with them physically. Then as one starting from a spell he said, "Supno Kaa Chor, eh? The great thief of dreams still among us. Well, why not? It makes sense." He fixed twinkling black eyes on Spence. "I believe you. What do you think of that?"

Spence wanted to hug the man.

"What is more, I'll help you all I can-though I can see that will be far from easy."

"Good!" shouted Spence. "That's terrific."

"Maybe not so terrific," muttered Gita. "Before we are through you may well have reason to curse the day you ever set eyes on me." …

OLMSTEAD PACKER SAT WITH folded hands in the director's outer office. He was well into his rehearsed speech when a tall, stringbean of a fellow came out of the director's den.

"I'm terribly sorry, Dr. Packer, but the director has asked me to convey his regrets. He has canceled your meeting for this afternoon,"

"I don't understand. I talked with him only yesterday."

"Yes, I know. He was suddenly called away on an important matter. He may be gone several days. Is there anything I can do until he returns?" Wermeyer gazed officiously at the big physicist.

"No, I can wait." Olmstead turned to leave. "I only wish he'd have let me know. That's all."

"Accept my apologies. He sometimes forgets these things." The way he said it gave the impression that Wermeyer was used to covering up for the director. With a shrug Packer walked out of the office.

This is strange, he thought as he walked along Gotham's trafficways. First Adjani and Spence disappearing and now the director. A strong hunch told him the two incidents were connected, but how? As he walked along he became more and more determined to get to the bottom of things as he saw them.

"And I know just where to start," Packer said to himself, making an abrupt about-face in the center of the trafficway. "Kalnikov."

He arrived at the infirmary and stood tapping his fingers on the spotless white counter until the young woman looked up. "Yes, may I help you?"

"I'd like to see Captain Kalnikov, please. I understand he's still here."

"Yes, of course." The white-clad nurse disappeared into another room behind the nurse's station. She was back in a moment looking at a chart of some sort. "I'm sorry"-she smiled up at Packer-"but your friend cannot receive visitors at this time."

"When, then? Can I come back later?"

"I'm sorry. We don't discuss our patients' cases with outsiders," she said. Packer felt a touch of frost in the air. "You'll have to ask the doctor."

"Bring the doctor," said Packer flatly. He was starting to resent the woman's tone.

"I'm sorry, he's not in at the moment." She gave him an icy smile. "Was there anything else?"

Packer increased his drumming on the counter. "No, you've been a world of help," he said and stepped away from the station. He walked to the door and then paused. His hand reached out for the access plate, but he suddenly grabbed his side and moaned.

"Oh, no!" Packer groaned. "Help!" He toppled to the floor in a heap "What's wrong?" cried the nurse, rushing out from behind the counter. "Are you having an attack?"