Chapter Four: In Motion
Nothing had ever affected the famous Dr. Andonuts quite like the loss of his son. Though in his seventies, the old doctor seemed as one nearing a century in age: wisps of white hair clung to his scalp, his glasses were thicker than ever, and the hiss of his hydraulic cane accented his slow walk up the path to the Fourside brownstone.
His health had deteriorated so much of late that he'd had to give up his teaching position at Winters University- though that hadn't managed to stop him from keeping up with his favorite students in their progress as scientists, innovators, and inventors.
Picky Minch and Patrick Orange were two such remarkable students. Dr. Andonuts had always sensed the two were destined for great things. A bit quirky, perhaps, but quirk with the right teaching could easily turn to genius. They had been roommates freshman year and had immediately become inseparable, always challenging the theories, working for extra credit, coming up with new concepts and ideas all the time. Picky and Patrick. Ricky and Picky. Now both working on their own doctorate degrees, the two had contacted Dr. Andonuts on an invention they were seeking to prototype.
Dr. Andonuts reached the door at last, and rang the buzzer for the first floor apartment. Thank goodness the boys didn't live any higher than that. Stairs did not agree with him.
- - -
Patrick Orange almost fell over himself when the buzzer sounded, announcing the arrival of their guest. Over six feet with skinny arms and legs, he was a young man unfortunately caught forever in the awkwardness of adolescence- complete with freckles and a consistently mussy mop of mousy hair, darkened a bit from the blonde color of his youth. "He's here!" he exclaimed in the direction of the living room, where Picky was still napping next to the model of their invention.
"I heard him," came the bleary answer. "You get the door."
Ricky quickly obeyed, rushing out to the front door of the building and opening it. "Dr. Andonuts!" He reached out to shake the inventor's hand. "Real pleasure to have you visit us, sir. Real pleasure."
"Ricky, you're already one of my favorite students, you don't have to suck up to me anymore," Dr. Andonuts said with a twinkle in his elderly eye. "It's good to be here. Now... what about this invention of yours?"
- - -
"We call it--"
"--the DM. Or Dream Machine." Ricky cut off Picky mid-sentence. He'd always been the more talkative of the two- and a far greater show-off. "It's going to revolutionize psychiatric practice in this country."
Dr. Andonuts contemplated the dome- made of silver-painted styrofoam and covered in Christmas lights-sitting on the table before him. "What does it do?" he asked simply.
"Well, it reads people's dreams." Picky answered before Ricky could say anything. "At least, that's what we hope it'll do..." He pushed some sketches across the table to Dr. Andonuts, who began to look them over thoughtfully.
"Over 75 of psychiatrists these days agree that dreams offer a window of insight into patients' subconscious," Ricky offered up excitedly, gesturing at the sketches. "And a majority of studies show that most details of a dream are lost once the patient wakes up. Not to mention some things are bound to be interpreted wrong if the patient describes them a certain way."
"We've extrapolated the technology of the machine from your own theories of mind transference, Dr. Andonuts."
That comment from Picky made Dr. Andonuts look up. That theory had been the driving force behind the invention that had allowed Jeff and his friends' minds to be transferred into robots, all those years ago. He wondered how such a theory could be applied to watching a person's dreams. "...And the patient would wear this?" he asked, flipping through the papers.
Ricky shook his head. "The doctor would. See, in order to read the patient's dreams, the doctor's consciousness literally goes inside the patient's mind."
So that was it. Dr. Andonuts nodded, slowly poring over the sketches, notes and equations.
"You may just have something here, boys," he muttered with a smile, looking up at their bright young faces.
- - -
At the next Tigers practice, Ness met his co-coach.
"Phil Spec," said the man, offering his hand with a hearty shake. He was Ness' height, with broad shoulders, longish blonde hair and friendly green eyes.
"Good to meet you at last, Phil." Ness smiled, shaking the man's hand gladly. "Too bad about the flu." He looked at Phil closer. He didn't recognize him. "You from around here?"
"Just moved in, actually." Phil adjusted the cap on his head. "Short while ago. Figured I'd get myself involved in the Little League as fast as I could. My boy just loves baseball."
"Oh yeah?" Ness smiled, covering up his slight embarrassment. He couldn't recall a Spec on the team. "Which one is your son?"
"Hey coach, sorry I'm late!" A chubby boy, his uniform in disarray, rushed past Ness toward the diamond.
"That's okay, Bobby!" Ness called after him. He turned to his co-coach with a smile. "That's everyone. Better get started, then." He jogged toward the diamond, clapping his hands for attention. "C'mon, boys! We got that first game comin' up in a few weeks! Let's get moving!"