Strange, I know I just dialed 1-900-spa-asia...

And then, BANG!

The morning newspaper hit the front door. That was funny. We didn't have a front door. I figured I'd get up and check anyway. Sure enough. Someone installed a front door. Again, I began to question just who I was. Ulysses S. Grant? Naw. I didn't look like the guy on the $50. bill. Then I wondered where I got that $50. bill in my pocket. Last I recall I was in a hospital room. And what happened to the Holmberg hat on the chair next to the bed? I suddenly realized it was on my head. Did I put it there?

Then I heard the name Gabriel. Yes. That was it. My name was Gabriel. And boy, did I ever feel rested. But I had all these questions needing answering.

Before he could say wagon train, he was standing by a bus station. He held a briefcase across his chest, stenciled with ''Secret Information'' in large orange letters. He felt he was being watched. Somehow he sensed his ultimate destiny was about to unfold in the following hour.

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[This message has been edited by Nard Kordell (edited 05-24-2006).]

"Has he woken up yet this cycle?" Technician One asked. "No", Two answered. They sat in deep black chairs in a deep dark cold room surrounding a curved console with computer screens, voice controlled mechanisms of all sorts, and eerily glowing graphs of multiple colors and brightness. "We decided to try next cycle with a mild boost in trizometoid levels", Two said. "After that mishap several years ago, Dr. Jones requested very limited energy flow into the system until all cellelar growth is complete." "Makes sense to me", One responded with a yawn. "When did the poor bastard actually die?" "They think it was about one hundred and fifty years ago, so my guess is, 2010." "Well, if you don't need me, I have to zilpod it back to New York, I'll be back to Berkely in the morning." "Okay", Two answered mildly.

"Dream/memory sequence begin, on my mark. One, two, three, begin now."

Then it all began again! The memories! Oh yeah, that was it! Finding where the remains of the robot called Lincoln may be unearthed.
That smiling face of Sam Parkhill entered my mind like a flashing meteor out of nowhere ...along with Malcolm Drury's. Strange, I never saw what Malcolm Drury looked like before. So, boy, was I glad that a sign, tucked under his chin, had scrawled in large letters his name, Malcolm Drury. But then I thought it may not really be Malcolm Drury after all, but a decoy...so as to throw me off. If so...to where?
I became more nervous thinking that I may actually be loosing grip of reality. I tried to remember my name. My name! Oh, yes, it was... Gabriel!
But then I was too afraid to look for a mirror. Could I peer deep into its reflection? What if it were a spittin' image of Malcolm Drury? And where would that leave me, Gabriel?

If that wasn't enough, I started thinking about that control room where I was supposed to be lying dead. As I peered slowly around with my eyes nearly closed, everything seemed awfully out of place. Wasn't this supposed to be about the year 2160 AD? Then what in blazes were computer screens doing there? Voiced controlled mechanisms like those old IBM boxes? And eerily glowing graphs of multiple colors and brightnesses like those at the boring sales meetings back in 1998 in Chicago?
I closed my eyes in fear! I suddenly realized this was all jammed into my psyche by a suave set of doctors orbiting one of the moons of Mars. I was actually still waiting for a bus. By now the large orange letters stenciled across my chest was drawing a curious crowd. I needed to quickly act like nothing unusual was happening. But what would that be?

__________________



[This message has been edited by Nard Kordell (edited 05-24-2006).]

Standing there in the crowd, Ernie read the letters on the man�s chest: �THE HORN BLOWS AT MIDNIGHT�ALEXANDER BELL�. He hopped a trolley and went home, fed Uncle Elizabeth, put down the ducky, and played some mellow sounds. Uncle Elizabeth began to purr.

Ve had glass of sherry. Ve had TWO glasses of sherry!

Yah, Marta is the thirsty one. Is goot!

"Well, child", said my aunt, when I went downstairs. "And what of Mr. Dick, this morning?"

"If you please, Aunt. He�s writing away feverishly and having the grandest time."

My Aunt stood quickly and turned toward the front window. There were strange sounds. �Janet, quick. Robots! Robots!"

[This message has been edited by Chapter 31 (edited 05-25-2006).]

(electronic robot laughter)

He opened his eyes to the dim gray morning light. Looking around the rustic room he saw log walls and two large windows. The room was fixed in a south western style with Indian designed rugs and prints on the walls. He looked out the window and beheld a misty hilly country with two large lakes visible. A colt and its mother were drinking from one of them. Once again, it was the hand that jolted his attention. For now it was a perfectly human hand flushed with just awakened warmth. Gabriel looked down at his unclad body in awe. Walking to a partially opened door, he found himself in front of a bathroom mirror. Dark eyes stared him back as he pulled black hair with both hands. "I am insane, this can't be...

...Why do I keep waking up anyway? Is this my toothbrush? My tongue feels like the entire Russian army has been marching across it in their stocking feet! I should shave, too. I'm beginning to look like Maynard G. Krebbs!"

I do my best writing when he's asleep.

To sleep, perchance to dream, perchance to write? �Robot Dreams� and robot-tea.

zzZZZZzz zzzZZZZzz
ZZZzzz zzzz

_____________________
........finis........