by J. M. Porup
You’re serious? Shade asked. A City of Dreams…you mean a City of Dreamers?
A laugh. “Obviously. As you will soon see.”
Rage filled Shade’s soul. A city of people who do no work? Lazy people who would let humanity die? Fury overcame Shade, and he wrenched free of Buck’s grip. The time for dreaming is over. Now we all must work.
“And to dream is holy work,” the goat-man said.
More like unholy. Because of dreamers like you, the Collective could be destroyed, the world could end!
Buck tapped Shade’s chest. “You mean, dreamers like you?”
I didn’t ask to be infected!
“Neither did I. Neither did any of us.” The monster stepped back, lay a hand on Shade’s shoulder. “We don’t get to choose our dreams, Jimmy Shade. They choose us.”
And, saying nothing more, Buck ambled down the broadening slope of the tunnel, whistling.
Shade followed. After a few minutes, they came to a wide hole in the floor. A faint glow came up from below.
He peered over the edge. A spiral staircase dropped down from a dizzying height. Glass encircled the stairs. A metal pole, anchored to the cavern’s ceiling, descended through the center of the tall thin cylinder, the stairs spiraling around the outside. A small platform, next to the top steps, jutted out to the pole.
Buck motioned him onto the platform.
A City of Dreams, then, Shade said. He ignored the monster’s gesture. Does that mean the Prime was not the last of his kind? That there’s an entire City of Primes? He stared once more into the abyss. Lights twinkled below. A City of Primes? A whole city of Primes the Collective could unplugg and put in the Hall of Dreams? The cop in him drooled at the thought.
Buck laughed. “They’d just wind up down here, anyway. Or what do you think the Hall of Dreams is for?”
For unplugged dreamers, of course, Shade said. What an odd thing for the monster to say. He squinted, trying to count the lights on the surface. If this is a city, it must be big. How many dreamers are we talking about? Thousands? Millions?
“Not that many,” Buck said. “There are never many dreamers. But we have more power than you would ever imagine.” He gestured again at the pole.
Shade stepped onto the platform. He reached out and took hold of the pole, looked down again. The pole ran straight to the ground. How high up was the bottom of the Crust? A kilometer? Two? More?
His jaw dropped open. He was going down to the surface. He was fleeing the Collective. Forever. Or until this nightmare ended, which might as well be forever. No. No. He stepped away from the pole, teetered on the platform.
Buck caught his sleeve.
“We must go, Jimmy Shade,” he said. “The king has asked me to bring you to him. We do not want to keep him waiting.”
The…king?
“The man who rules our world.” Buck pointed to the ground below. “This, right now, is the first of your choices. Do you return to the Collective and let them ChemLob you? Do you stay here in the sewers and die in three days’ time? Or do you travel below, with me, to the City of Dreams?”
Shade’s head throbbed. I—I don’t know.
“No one may come to the City of Dreams by force,” the goat-man continued. “I cannot choose for you. But you must choose, and choose now.”
Buck halted.
It wasn’t much of a choice, Shade reflected. Either he was having a nightmare, in which case nothing he did would make any difference.
Or…
This was really happening.
If this was real, then he had to kill his dream, end his nightmare. He just wanted things to go back the way they were—before. Before that damned Prime had infected him. To go back to being a Dream Policeman doing the will of the Collective.
He could return topside and submit, take his ChemLob…Before his nightmare, he’d have preferred death to the loss of his dream, but now…better to be fry his lobes than be tortured by nightmares.
On the other hand…if he went below, maybe these dreamers, whoever they were, knew more about dreams than the Collective did. A ridiculous idea, true, but—what if? What if they knew of some way to surgically remove an unwanted dream? Maybe he could give them back his dream, or they could cure him, do something…
With a heavy heart, Shade wrapped his arms around the pole and leaped into the air.
And fell.
A breeze whirled around him. He was thousands of meters above the ground, and falling fast. He tightened his legs around the pole to slow his fall. His speed dropped. Below in the darkness the lights trembled, seemed to grow. He could make out the shapes of hundreds—no, thousands—of melted glass towers, steel jutting out like broken ribs.
And there—the groundscrapers of the Crust, enormous black inverted pyramids descending from above, filling the gaps between the glass towers, like black teeth descending to make a meal of the world.
The spiral staircase swirled around them, and as he plummeted earthward through that transparent vertical tunnel, monstrous shadows on the staircase waved, pickaxes and shovels resting on their shoulders as they climbed upward.
Buck squeaked along the pole above him, getting closer, and Shade was forced to loosen his grip to avoid a collision. He fell now with ever-increasing speed.
The ground got closer. A giant crater yawned open in the middle of the melted city. Buck was directly above him now. The pole ended in mid-air. Before he could scream, a blast of air pushed Shade to one side, and he landed in a pile of sand.
Buck landed a few meters away.
Without breaking stride, Buck offered Shade his hand, pulled him to his feet, and led him up the side of the crater. Stairs had been hewn out of the glass surface of the bowl, and doused with sand to improve the footing, but even so it was slippery going, and twice Shade lost his balance, and would have fallen, if Buck had not caught him.
From halfway up the side of the crater they could see to the edge of the blast radius, the bomb or explosion, whatever had destroyed the city. The ground was flattened for several kilometers in every direction, followed by stubble of twisted buildings, rising to towers that were merely melted, to glass and steel behemoths on the horizon that stood undamaged.
Lights twinkled in many of the more distant towers—those that were not hidden by the looming black groundscrapers, anyway.
Just below the lip of the crater, Buck led them into a tunnel that had been punched through the glass. Shade took one last look behind him. The spindle of stairs hung like a needle in the sky, an impossibly thin column rising to the Crust, which hung, far above, like an inky, impenetrable sky.
“There will be time for exploring later,” Buck said. “Now we must go. The king wishes to see you. Come.”
Am I still dreaming? Shade asked. Is this real?
“More real than the world above,” Buck said. “Down here dreams flow like blood in our veins. In the world you left, death masquerades as life.”
But that makes no sense. You don’t need dreams to live. In fact, dreams will kill you!
But Buck turned and set off down the tunnel.
Shade struggled to keep up. And who is this ‘king’ we are going to go see?
“He is the king of dreams,” Buck said. “Are you ready?”
I still don’t understand the concept, Shade said. One man to rule over others? Or over dreams? Or both? How is that even possible?
Buck stopped, and Shade crashed into him. “I asked you, are you ready?”
Shade stared up at the hairy goat-monster. He took a step backward. “No,” he said. “I’m not.”
Buck clapped him on the shoulder. “An honest answer. Come. Many dreamers who want to meet you. Some of whom I think you know.”
Without another word, and ignoring all of Shade’s questions, he led them through a maze of corridors away from the crater. After a long while, they climbed several flights of stairs and came to a high double door.
From inside came the sounds of laughter, and music…we
re those flashing colors coming through the crack, from under the door…?
Buck turned to him. “Prepare yourself to meet the king of dreams.”
Shade could not take his eyes off the door. The music, the lights…it was just like in his dream. He jerked his head, straightened his bandoleer. He still carried his unplugger and jabber, plus a hundred rounds of ChemLob. Maybe they would come in handy.
Buck pushed open the door, and they entered.
Shade stood in a huge chamber filled with people. Molten glass and steel rose to a towering height. Twisted girders marked where floors and roof had once been. Far above loomed the Crust, its blackness filling the entire sky.
Colorful rectangles hung on the walls, and he goggled. The Collective permitted only black and white. Except in his dreams, Shade had never seen colors before.
What a strange nightmare, he thought. So different from the scaly Linda-monster from before.
Peculiar noises emanated from a corner, where oddly-dressed figures were banging, hitting and scraping funny-looking objects together. The giant vertical tunnel echoed with noise. In the empty space above their heads, a large mirrored sphere spun, reflecting colored lights on the people below, who whirled and jumped and flailed their limbs in a rhythmic pattern to the music. In the center of the mob a single figure whirled so fast, in such a chaotic yet regular pattern, that it seemed to Shade the man had four legs and four arms.
On a raised platform at the end of the room, a stool sat empty. The whirling figure slowed. The man did, indeed, have four arms and four legs. Panting, the many-limbed creature climbed up onto the pedestal and sat down on the stool, legs splayed to all corners of the compass. Shreds of a Collective-issued jumpsuit hung in rags from his chest. A circle of golden paper perched atop his head.
The lights and the music and the jumping ceased.
Buck led Shade through the crowd toward the man—the king, he supposed. A monster, by the looks of him. He studied the crowd as they passed. They were all monsters! Twisted into deformed shapes, some more than others…where did they come from? And worse—they were all pointing at Shade, and speaking to each other—out loud!
A couple of days ago, he thought he’d captured the last Dreamer Prime on Earth. And here were thousands of monsters, dreamers, all of them, and probably Primes as well. How could the Collective not know about this place? Why were they permitted to live?
The obvious answer, of course—they weren’t alive. They were figments of Shade’s diseased imagination. And the sooner he ChemLobbed himself, the sooner they would go away.
But what if the obvious answer was wrong?
Some, like Buck, had horns like a goat. Others sported three eyes, an extra arm or leg, or a hunched back.
Buck approached the pedestal and knelt. He pulled Shade down beside him.
“All hail the King of Dreams!” the goat-man cried.
“Hail the King of Dreams!” the others roared.
Chapter Nine
Shade stared at the monsters. He clutched his hair, tore it out in tufts. Why won’t this nightmare end? he screamed inside his head, and the squawk box blasted the words at the crowd. They cringed at the noise, their many eyes wide. Why can’t you go away and let me die in peace? he sobbed, and fell to his knees. He covered his face with his hands.
A gentle finger touched his shoulder. “You are not dreaming,” the king said. “This is real. We are all real.” He clapped his hands and laughed. “Welcome to the City of Dreams!”
Welcome to Hell, you mean. Rage took hold of Shade. How could he make these monsters go away? This had to be a dream, a nightmare, and it was high time he ended it.
He grabbed a jabber, raised it to his neck, but before he could depress the plunger Buck had stripped him of the weapon.
“Your bandoleer and unplugger too, if you please,” the goat-man said.
Shade sighed. Let the nightmare continue. He shrugged the bandoleer over his shoulders and handed his unplugger to Buck.
“Not that your unplugger would do you much good down here, Jimmy Shade,” the king said with a smile. “We are all of us unplugged.”
What? Shade thought. Did you unplugg yourselves?
The king nodded. “In some cases. Yes.” He waved a hand at the crowd, who stood silent, listening to the conversation. “We seek out dreamers and help them escape. But most of us were unplugged by the Collective.”
Now he knew he was dreaming. He sighed. Might as well play along.
But then what are you doing down here? Shade demanded. Shouldn’t you all be in the Hall of Dreams? And how is it that the Collective has no knowledge of this place?
The king leaned back on his stool, inclined his head upward at the Crust so far above them. “The Collective, my dear Shade, sees everything it wants to see, and nothing that it does not.”
No, Shade said, and shook his head. This can’t be real. I’m still dreaming. I’m having a nightmare. He backed away from the monsters. Oh why can’t I wake up?
“You are awake, Jimmy Shade,” said a new voice at his elbow, female this time. “And this is all real, I assure you.”
She had short brown hair, green eyes, and a third breast that bobbled just below her chin. Her voice sounded…familiar.
If this is real, he thought, then how did you all get down here?
“We have all been unplugged,” the woman repeated. “In my case, I escaped from the Hall of Dreams.”
Shade stared at her. You escaped from the Hall of Dreams? But that’s impossible! It’s the most secure detention facility in the City!
“Why do you think the doors have no locks?” Buck asked. “Why you saw no guards, no doctors? No one?”
But the locks prevent prisoners from leaving… He blinked. You mean you send raiding parties topside to release dreamers?
Buck nodded. “Bingo.”
Shade stared around him. Could it be? Was it possible? Is that what happened to Linda? he wondered. Did she escape too?
The woman blushed and touched his cheek. “You don’t recognize me, do you.”
He turned to her. Should I?
She leaned close to him, her third breast scraping his chest. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” she whispered, then added, “my Jimmy Shade.”
His eyes narrowed. Do I know you? he asked, pulling away. Have we met?
She laughed. “You should,” she said. “I’m your wife. Linda. Remember?”
Shade stared at her. Blinked. His mouth fell open. She lifted his chin and closed it for him, then kissed him on the lips.
The kiss sent electric shock trickling along every crevice of his body. He pulled away, stared at her in shock.
Was it possible? This woman?…his wife?
She squeezed his hand. “This is real, Jimmy,” she said. “This is happening. Me. Your Linda. Together at last.” Her smile was like the sun after a month of the nuclear winter blues.
But I— he thought. I don’t understand. How is this possible?
Buck cleared his throat. “My King,” he said, “perhaps we should let the two of them be alone for a while to get…reacquainted. There will be time for questions—and answers—later.”
The king plucked at his lower lip. “Not as much time, perhaps, as you think.” He studied Shade. “But let it be as you say. They may go. For now.”
“May we use the viewing platform?” Linda asked.
The king nodded his assent, and Buck led the two lovers—her hand now in his—across the ballroom, through the crowd of furry multiple-eyed things pressing tight against them, up some stairs and out a door.
Behind them, the king bellowed, “The time for work is over. Now we all must play!”
Behind Shade, the music and the lights and dancing resumed, even louder this time, and the king moved once more in the center of the crowd, a blur of arms and legs and feet and hands, a frenzied painting in motion, enveloped in a fuzzy halo of madness.
Buck shut the door and led Shade and Linda up a second flight of
stairs. The noise faded. Another door, and they stood on a wide terrace. In the distance, the crystal staircase shone like a burning white thread in the darkness.
It was so dark Shade could barely see her face. She whispered in his ear, “Let me show you something.”
She flicked a switch, and the world blazed with light. On the platform, tables and chairs lined the walls. A bed lay in the middle of the floor. Far above them, on top of the golden spire Shade had seen before, a bright circle flared, brighter than the sun.
“Normally we turn it on for twelve hours a day,” she said. “But the king made an exception for us.”
Shade rubbed his eyes. He’d had a glimpse of this world on the pole coming down. Now he could see every detail.
All around them melted glass towers hulked skyward, the black, windowless groundscrapers of the Collective descending to fill the gaps, almost touching the ground.
What is this place? he asked.
She squeezed his hand. “This is the world from before,” she said. “What is left is the City of Dreams.”
Her fingers felt warm in his.
Do you love her?
Who said that? He spun around, but Buck had disappeared.
“Said what?” she asked, and lay her hands on his chest.
Shade pulled away. Now I get it. He shook his head. Had me fooled there for a moment.
“What do you mean?” she asked, leaning closer still.
The detail of this nightmare is extraordinary, he thought, studying her face. And this? He reached up and tweaked her third nipple.
She winced, and covered her chest with one hand. “The king said your transition would not be an easy one.”
What are you talking about? he demanded. What transition? I’m dreaming, for the Collective’s sake. Soon you’ll grow fifty meters tall and start spouting fire and torturing me again, telling me how much—how much…” He stuttered, turned away. How much you hate me.
“Oh Jimmy,” she said, and stroked his cheek. “You’ve been having a nightmare. I’m so sorry.”
He laughed despite himself. A nightmare that knows it’s a nightmare! That apologizes for hurting me! He scraped his scalp with his fingernails. Why can’t I wake up already?