by J. M. Porup
The Linda-creature took a step backward and rubbed her chin. “You think you’re asleep?” she said at last.
I know I am.
“Then where are you now? I mean, your body, in reality. Where are you sleeping?”
…In my bunk? …In the storm drain? Until the storm drain everything had been real enough.
He shrugged. Where else?
“Tell me something, then,” she said. “Is it possible to dream something you’ve never experienced?”
He flung an arm at the bizarre under-Crust landscape. Obviously.
“I mean,” she said, and pressed herself against him, lifted a thigh until she rested firmly on his leg, “is it possible to dream this?”
He swallowed. Her body burned against him. He could feel every curve and fold of her skin.
Well… he said. It’s possible. I think so. Yes.
She twined an arm around his neck, brought his lips down to hers. “Are you sure?”
Her warmth, her breath, her body…this was nothing like their mental conjugal visits. He gulped. No. I’m not sure.
“Well, then,” she said. “Why don’t we find out?”
Chapter Ten
When they were done, Linda nestled against him, her lips at his ear.
Wow, he said at last.
She giggled. “Yeah, I know.”
That was nothing like I ever imagined it.
“Me neither.”
“Still think you’re dreaming?”
No. No, I— he considered. No. I don’t.
“And if I’m real…and this is real… then—?”
He gulped air. Then all this…must be real, too. The…the City of Dreams. He gestured at the skyline. All of this.
Her warm breath tickled his neck. “I’m glad,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time, my husband. I am so glad you’ve come for me.”
Shade trembled. His wife…a dreamer. This new world. Where everyone was unplugged. Cut off from Collective, every man was an island in an ocean of loneliness. He shuddered, unable to conceal his terror and loathing.
And desire.
He reached for her again. She responded to his touch.
Is this love? he asked her.
“What do you mean?”
The Prime asked me that. If I—I loved you.
She lifted her head up on her elbow. “Well, that depends.”
On what?
“What you mean by love.”
Shade tried to remember the definition the Collective had given him, but she silenced the thought with a kiss.
And then another.
And still another.
The world faded into darkness, and Shade slept. For ages of the world, a dreamless sleep this time, a blissful unconsciousness that ended with a soft kiss on his cheek.
He sat up in bed, panting. Gotta go to work got dreamers to kill where am I what time is it?
He checked his internal clock, but in its place blared the timer: 56:03:21. Then double-checked it. Twelve hours! How could he sleep so long? It was immoral, illegal—unthinkable to sleep for twice his daily six!
Linda was there, at his side. She pressed a gentle hand to his chest, laid him back down on the bed.
“It’s OK,” she said. “You’re here with me.”
This is real. Not a dream. I think.
She giggled. “I think so too.”
She snuggled against him, her third breast drilling a hole in his sternum.
But that means I’m going to die. My head’s going to explode. I can’t stay here!
“Sure you can. We have…ways.”
Unplugg myself, you mean.
“And become a monster. Yes.”
Why in the name of the Collective would I want that?
“All dreamers become monsters in the end. I’m becoming one too, you know.”
He caressed the unexpected mammary.
I can…see that.
“You will too,” she added.
He pulled away. Me??? Why would I become a monster?
“You’re a dreamer,” she said. “Dreamers all become monsters, in the end.”
But I don’t want to be a monster!
She smiled at him sadly. “It’s the price we pay to dream.”
Well I don’t want to dream, he said. That’s why I came down here, to find out how to kill my dream without using ChemLob, without having to leave the Collective. He sat up in bed. Is there, do you know? A way?
The air was suddenly chill. She shook her head, pulled the blanket closer around them. She traced his nose with a long, pale finger. “I wonder what form your dream will take,” she whispered. “I suppose it all depends on your gift.”
My—my gift? What gift? From who? What are you talking about?
“Your dream, silly. The stronger the dream, the more monstrous the physical form.”
But I don’t want to dream! I don’t want to be a monster! He got out of bed, went down on one knee and took her hand in his. Come back with me, he said. Be a useful member of society again. Work to save the human race. What do you say?
She scooted away from him, a look of horror and pity on her face. “I’ll never go back,” she said. “I’d rather die.”
But what if there were a way? To replugg you, kill your dream without the use of ChemLob?
“Unplugging is final, Jimmy Shade,” she said. “And even if I could go back, I wouldn’t. Ever.”
But why not? he insisted.
“Because they’d kill my dream.” She got out of bed, reached for her jumpsuit.
Of course they’ll kill your dream, he said. Let them free us from the terrible burden of our dreams. The Collective needs us. Yes. And we—we need the Collective, too.
She got dressed in sharp, jerky movements. She did not turn to look at him.
“You’re half-right,” she said. “The Collective needs us. They need us down here. Dreaming. But we do not need the Collective. And that infuriates them.”
I don’t understand. How on earth does the Collective need fugitive dreamers living in this radioactive wasteland?
She zipped up her jumpsuit. It was torn and stained, and had been patched in numerous places.
“The Collective needs to dream. Deep down the Collective knows this. That’s why they permit us to live down here.”
What are you talking about? Shade thought. The Collective doesn’t dream. The Collective was created to prevent dreams. Dreams are what almost destroyed humanity in the first place!
“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe not. How do we know that?”
He was flabbergasted. Because the Collective told us!
She tapped his nose with a long forefinger. “Without us, there’d be nowhere for dreamers to go. No vent, no safety valve. The world above would go insane and kill each other, wipe humanity from the face of the Earth, this time successfully.”
That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.
“Then answer me this,” she said, and lay a hand on his chest. “Why does the Collective unplugg the most powerful dreamers and put them in the Hall of Dreams? Why do they look away when we raid the Hall and free dreamers to come down here?” She shrugged. “They could ChemLob all dreamers if they wanted to. But they don’t. And why,” she continued, “in all these thousands of years, has the Collective never once sent Dream Police down here? There are Cities of Dreams under every major city on the planet.”
That’s not the Collective’s fault, he retorted. You dreamers are criminals. If you’ve found a place to hide, how you blame that on us?
“You mean ‘We dreamers are the criminals.’ You are one now too.”
No, Shade thought. Not for much longer. He buckled his boots. I’ve seen enough. I’m going home.
She laughed. “Home? Where? You mean topside?”
Where else? He stood.
“But they’ll ChemLob you for sure!”
Better to be ChemLobbed and a useful member of society than an unplugged dreamer trapped dow
n here. He moved to the door.
She grabbed hold of his arm. “Forty-eight hours,” she whispered. “Two days. Spend them with me.”
Shade checked his timer again:
55:57:13.
He continued toward the door.
“It only takes a couple of hours to get back topside,” she said. “You’ve got plenty of time to go back to the Collective, if you still want to. Let me show you the City of Dreams. Show you what this place is really like.”
He stopped, and she let go.
“Then, if you still want to leave,” she said, “that is your choice. I won’t ask you to stay.”
He shook his head. Stay and let these monsters infect me with even worse dreams?
“But they’ve been unplugged. They aren’t Primes. They can’t infect you.”
But I thought—
“Primes are partially-unplugged dreamers. They can transmit but not receive.”
Yes, he said. I know.
“Of course you do.” She grinned. “But I assure you no Primes are here at the moment.”
Even if that’s true, he thought, and it might not be, I can’t take the chance. He lifted a hand to indicate the Crust far above them, silent, foreboding. If I come back with my mind diseased from too many dreams, the Collective might kill me.
“No, they’d just put you in the Hall of Dreams and you’d wind up back down here again.”
Now there’s a nightmare.
He reached for the door, but she grabbed hold of his arm. “But what about your dream?” she asked.
The time for dreaming is over, he thought. Now we all must work.
“The time for dreaming is now, Jimmy,” she said. “Now more than ever. And dreaming is more work than you think.”
Shade kissed her forehead. Goodbye, my love.
He shook her free, flung open the door and nearly crashed into Buck. The goat-man stood there, arms crossed.
“Leaving so soon?” he asked.
Out of my way, Shade ordered. But Buck did not move.
Shade turned to Linda. So I’m a prisoner here now, is that it? You won’t let me leave until I’m a monster like you? He pushed her away. Is that what you call love?
Buck held up a hand. “Every dreamer has a choice,” he said. “If you wish to leave us, we won’t stop you. But first we ask you to take the tour, see our City for what it truly is.”
A nest of vipers? Shade snarled. Just enough time for the infection to take hold, poison me, make sure I don’t want to leave?
Buck’s face remained expressionless. “To stay. Or to return. We will respect your decision. But our law demands you make an informed decision.”
Your law? Shade turned to Linda. Why didn’t you say that before?
She bit her lip. “I didn’t want you to do it under obligation. I wanted you to do it for me.”
I won’t become a dreamer, for you or anybody! He raised his fist, caught himself, took an embarrassed step backward.
“If, after you’ve seen our City,” Buck said, “you insist on leaving, we will not stop you. We will even aid you in your return to the surface, if you wish.”
Shade scratched his nose. How many dreamers actually go back? he asked. ’Cause I can’t remember any such thing ever happening.
“When they go back, the ChemLob erases their memories,” Linda explained.
How convenient, Shade thought.
Buck shifted his weight on his hooves. “More leave than we would like to see go,” he said. “Many are unable to cope with the power of their dreams. The experience can be overwhelming—as you yourself already know. They prefer the comforting senselessness of being ChemLobbed and living as part of the Collective.”
Shade looked at him sideways. So it is a real choice, then.
“Oh yes,” Linda said. “It is a real choice.” She caressed the back of his neck. “Just give me a chance,” she murmured. “Give us a chance. That’s all I ask.”
Shade stood rigid, cold to her touch. If that is your law, he said, then I obey. Tomorrow I shall return to the surface and rejoin the Collective.
Buck stood aside.
Linda tugged on Shade’s sleeve. “Let me show you my world,” she whispered.
Shade sighed. As you wish.
Chapter Eleven
“Would you like to see my dream?” Linda asked him. She led him through warrens of tunnels beneath the ballroom.
What? he asked. I’m not it?
She chuckled and patted him on the cheek. “I love you, Jimmy Shade. Perhaps more than you will ever know. But you are not my dream. Any more than I am yours.”
But—but you are, he thought, as forcefully as he dared. That’s why I have to leave. The feeling—it’s too strong. It scares me.
Linda shook her head. “Other people aren’t dreams. True dreams come from within yourself.”
But dreams are a contagious disease!
“A seed needs fertile soil to take root.”
Shade considered this. And if other people aren’t dreams— He remembered the dream he’d had of Linda, then the nightmare.
“It’s a common mistake.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him along. “Perhaps we’ll find your dream today. Come on!”
They walked—almost ran—down a long passageway. Peculiar sounds emanated from behind various closed doors.
But I don’t want to find my dream! he said. I don’t want a dream at all! I just want to get back to the surface. An idea surfaced in his brain. That’s it, he added. My dream is to return to the Collective and work to save humanity. See?
Linda studied him. Her lips twitched in a smile. “We do not pick our dreams,” she said. “Our dreams pick us. It is not for you to reject that sacred trust.”
“And a dream,” Buck added, coming up behind them, “is a slave-driving taskmaster.”
Shade laughed inside his head, and the squawk box crackled. Dreaming isn’t work, he thought. Dreams are for lazy people who don’t want to help save the world. Because of you good-for-nothing bums, humanity could go extinct.
“On the contrary,” Buck said, “without us ‘lazy good-for-nothing bums,’ as you put it, the entire human race would go insane and kill each other.”
Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You said that before.
“More to the point,” Linda said, “Without your dream you could go insane and kill yourself.”
But that makes no sense! he thought. You just said I can choose not to dream.
“Sure.” Linda stopped, her hand on a doorknob. “It is possible. But there are only two ways to kill a dream.”
ChemLob and… Shade paused. Not unplugging. Unplugg just sends a dreamer down here. So that means—
“Death,” Linda said. “The other choice is death.”
Shade sighed.
Gloom settled on his shoulders, an oppressive cloud. He had no desire to die, not while he could still serve the Collective, anyway. Nor did he wish to be unplugged—what would the Collective do if they knew how ineffective unplugg was!
Which left ChemLob. To become instead a drooling halfwit who couldn’t even remember his own name, stumbling through life…serving the Collective, it’s true, being a useful member of society, but still…he remembered the glazed, dull look in the eyes of ChemLobbed dreamers, like drugged animals…
All his options were bad. ChemLob, death…
“There’s another option,” Linda said.
Yeah? he said. What’s that?
She touched his elbow. “To dream.”
Without waiting for a reply, she stopped before a pair of double doors and led the way inside.
The vast space, even bigger than the ballroom, swarmed with life—monsters in all stages of transformation, some still human-looking, others great hulks of once-human flesh, lumps and oozing pustules covering their bodies.
How ugly!
Linda laughed, and slid an arm through his. “Where you see a monster,” she said. “I see beauty.”
“Normal is all a matter of
perspective,” Buck said, twitching his tail.
Shade studied the creatures. Some stood in front of big rectangles of white supported on wooden legs. They applied colors—and such colors!—to the rectangles, creating images that sometimes represented real objects—a caffeine pill, a flying train, a ChemLob jabber—and other shapes, real or imagined, that he did not recognize.
Graven images are forbidden by the Collective!
“Well,” Linda said, “it’s a good thing I’m no longer part of the Collective, then, isn’t it?”
She led him over to an unoccupied rectangle and removed a cloth. Shade stared into a mirror, and winced.
Or not a mirror. It was a graven image of himself, half-finished.
What—what is it? he asked.
Linda giggled. “It’s called painting, silly. Isn’t it marvelous?”
She picked up a brush and began filling in Shade’s cheekbones.
It was a remarkable likeness, he decided. But not like a mirror. More a reflection, perhaps, of how she saw him, how she remembered him, than how he actually was.
Another thought struck him. Linda looked nothing like he had imagined.
You’ve never seen me in person before today, he said. How did you know what I look like?
Linda exchanged glances with Buck. The goat-man nodded.
“I have crept into your dormitory and watched you while you slept,” she said.
What? Shade said. And the Dream Police—I mean, no one caught you? No Information Factory workers raised the alarm?
“I am unplugged,” she said. “To the Collective, I don’t exist.”
Shade thought of the way he had fooled the Collective, the vision of him sleeping in his bunk.
“Something like that,” Linda said. “We are able to prevent the Collective from seeing us.”
Shade gasped. Like…you’re invisible?
Buck shook his head. “The Collective can see us whenever they want to. All they have to do is open their eyes.”
But how can we not see you? Shade looked around. The twisted shapes of dreamers surrounded them on all sides. Invisible monsters walking the streets, and we don’t know you’re there? How does that work, exactly?
“Simple,” Linda said with a shrug. “The Collective sees what it wants to see, and nothing that it doesn’t.”