Dreams Must Die

by J. M. Porup

  Shade belted out the final chorus. The others applauded. It was so easy. He felt nothing but hope that this nightmare would soon be over and he would return to the welcoming bosom of the Collective once more.

  He wondered at the insane passion that had seized him earlier. He had been curious. He had to know what singing was.

  Now he knew. It was nothing special. He would not miss it.

  Maude looked at him and raised her eyebrows. She wanted an answer. Would he sing for them? He opened his mouth, closed it again. He would need their cooperation to return to the surface. They could keep him here against his will, if he refused. Force him to unplugg, or let his head explode. He would be wise to humor them. After all, with any luck he’d be leading an army down here in a few days’ time to exterminate them all.

  The Collective might decide not to listen to him, as they obviously had in the past. But for the sake of humanity, he could only hope things would be different this time.

  “And when I’m done,” he said, “you’ll give me back my ChemLob? Take me back to paradise?”

  Maude wiped a tear from her scaly blue-green cheek. “If that is your wish.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The ballroom had been reconfigured. The king’s pedestal had been replaced with a large platform. A stage, Maude called it. Like he had seen the actors using before.

  Chairs filled the room, thousands of them, many oddly shaped to accommodate the monstrous bulks they supported.

  Monsters mingled, gossiped. More than Shade had ever seen before. Many stared at Shade. Some waved. The scientists sat together in a group. Ennst held a black case over his head and gave him a thumbs up. Others dreamers sat in their seats, multiple pairs of arms folded across their chests, and waited for the—what was it called again?—the play—to begin.

  Shade sat between Linda and Maude in the front row. He was uncomfortable with all the attention. Thank the Collective he’d be leaving here soon. Going home.

  “Where do they all come from?” he whispered. “There’s so many of them!”

  “All dreamers must attend Decision Time,” Linda said. “To welcome or farewell a new dreamer, as they choose. It is our law.”

  The king entered the ballroom, four legs creeping along the floor, his head thrown back, paper crown aloft, tattered rags trailing behind him.

  The audience fell silent. The king stood over his seat, a stool in the front row. He caught Shade’s eye. Nodded. Shade wondered again how one man’s dream could rule others.

  The king sat.

  The lights dimmed. Dreamers wearing green costumes over their stained and torn jumpsuits climbed onto the stage. The actors. Shade recognized Zune, and Zama, and many of the other players he had met briefly before. They began to talk in loud voices. Shade did not understand the words.

  “What’s going on?” he asked Maude.

  “I told you,” she whispered, “it’s a play.”

  “Yes. I know. But what is it?”

  “A story. This one is by an ancient poet by the name of Shakespeare. It’s called ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’.”

  The monsters continued to prattle on the stage, capering about. Shade turned in his chair. The other monsters sat, transfixed, their attention absorbed by the pantomime on stage. The king rested one hand on each knee, eyes not leaving the actors.

  “But what is the point?” Shade asked.

  “Of what?”

  “The play.” He gestured at the stage. “This!”

  Nearby monsters turned and glared at them. Maude touched a claw to her lips. “We come together to celebrate and to mourn.” She gestured at the actors. The monster with the donkey head put on a fake human head. “This is the way life is. And—”

  “Life is about putting on costumes and pretending to be something you’re not?”

  “Don’t be cute,” she said. “They’re telling a story. A metaphor that helps us understand the world. And we leave refreshed.”

  “Refreshed…?”

  “A chance to put down our burden, our sorrow, for a time. And then we can laugh. Then we can mourn. Then we can go home.”

  Home! “You mean back to the Collective?”

  She chuckled. “No. We come together and as an audience the many become one. One mind. One soul. One people. This is our substitute for the Collective.”

  Shade watched the spectacle with growing frustration. This was their replacement for the Collective? This—this incomprehensible idiocy—was better than living in oneness with the rest of humanity?

  How could he make them see? They could be so happy if only they would just find a way to rejoin the Collective, and conformed to society’s rules!

  Impelled by a madness he had never before experienced, Shade got up from his chair, walked to the stage and leaped onto the platform. He turned to face the audience, held his hands above his head, and shouted:

  “Stop!”

  The actors stopped. Several swore. The audience murmured in surprise. The king coughed once, twice, as though expecting the sound to drive Shade from the stage, and when it failed to do so, the king got to his feet.

  “Get down from there!” Linda hissed, grabbing his ankle.

  “What are you doing?” Maude whispered.

  What in the name of the Collective was he doing up there? He could not afford to offend these—monsters, people, former nodes, disgraced and banished dreamers, whatever they were. They held his life in their hands.

  He opened his mouth to apologize—to the king, to Maude, to Linda, the actors, everyone—when much to his surprise, song sprang forth.

  The song controlled him, as though he were merely the tool of a higher power, and the music unfurled from his lips unbidden.

  The sound took shape and grew into words. He searched the archive of his mind—no such song had ever been sung before. This was his song, and no one else’s, and the audience listened.

  He sang of the Collective, of humanity, of his sorrow and longing and loss. He sang of the great We, from which they had all been sundered. He sang of the glory of the world topside, and his loneliness down here in the deep, and it seemed to Shade the most glorious pain he had ever experienced. His chest burst with violent passions he had never known. An unknown composer worked him like an instrument and, when he was finished, left him a crumpled, empty shell upon the stage.

  Jimmy Shade lay there, cheek against the rough wooden boards, panting for breath. A long moment passed. He fought for air, his breathing loud in his ears. The ballroom was silent.

  What had he done? What would they say? They would be angry, he knew. He had interrupted their silly pantomime, They might even refuse to let him go back to the surface, and he would be trapped down here forever. But what else could he have done? He had to tell them what he saw, what he felt.

  Shade pushed himself to his knees. He would have to apologize, and quick. He opened his mouth this time to form words, spoken words, words of regret, when a thunder unlike anything he had ever heard crashed against his ears.

  The monsters hit their hands and claws and hooves together. They stood, in patches at first, then in waves, until not a single dreamer remained seated. Cheers and cries pierced the air. The actors clustered around Shade, and hands pounded his back so hard his chest rang.

  What did it mean? Why were they making so much noise? It was not in his data banks. He had just insulted them, interrupted their celebration. Was this how they showed their disapproval?

  The king held his four hands in the air. The noise subsided.

  “Jimmy Shade,” the king said, “that was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. Thank you for sharing your song with us.”

  The crowd held its breath, waiting for Shade’s reply. Linda and Maude glowed up at him.

  “I don’t understand,” he stammered. “I sang of my love for the Collective.”

  The king nodded. “You shared your soul with us, Jimmy Shade,” he said. “Your dream. And that is the greatest gift a man may give anoth
er.”

  Is that what ‘soul’ means?

  Shade swallowed. “Then you won’t stop me if I wish to return topside?”

  The king lifted his broad shoulders, let them fall. “Your dream is powerful, Jimmy Shade. A gift such as yours comes along once in a thousand years. If that. If ever. Would you ChemLob such a precious thing?”

  “I would,” Shade said without hesitation.

  The king hung his head. He scratched his cheek. “My dream was wrong, then,” he muttered. “Or perhaps he simply isn’t the one?”

  No one responded to this odd statement. The king looked up at Shade. “You have the right to choose, and you have earned it.” He held out Shade’s ChemLob jabber in one hand, the unplugger in the other. “What is your choice?”

  Time check: 6:06:06.

  Just enough time to get back topside.

  Shade drew himself up straight. His terror waned. He was going home.

  Home.

  Linda would not meet his eyes. I’m sorry, he thought, knowing she could not hear him. I guess this is goodbye.

  He straightened his spine. In a loud clear voice he declared, “I choose—”

  But at that moment, a crash far above their heads made everyone look up. A dozen moving boxes erupted through the windows, sending shards of glass raining down on the gathering below. Shade ducked. Hundreds of dreamers cried out in pain, many impaled by meter-length spikes of glass. The moving boxes descended until they hovered just overhead. Machine guns bristled from every cruiser. On their sides were painted the words, “Dream Police.”

  “You are all under arrest,” boomed a squawk box. “The charge: Dreaming. How say We, Collective?”

  The briefest of pauses, then the verdict:

  “Guilty as charged. The sentence is death.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ten billion minds swarmed into Shade’s head, and he nearly collapsed with joy. Now this was what Beethoven was talking about, he thought.

  A familiar voice spoke in the back of his head.

  Don’t worry, Kann thought. We’ll save you from these monsters!

  Monsters! Shade looked around the ballroom. Where?

  But he saw only friendly faces. Maude. Linda. Buck. The king. He head-hopped into Kann’s head, looked down at them through his old partner’s eyes.

  Well, yes. He supposed they were monsters. He scratched his head. How could his point of view have changed so much in just a few days?

  Save me? he thought. But didn’t you just sentence me to death?

  Except for you, Kann thought. You haven’t been unplugged like the others. Just think—soon you’ll be a useful member of society once again!

  This interaction had taken less than a millisecond.

  Shade whispered, both out loud and in his head, “But…my song…”

  It’s cool! We’ll kill it for you!”

  “But my song is for the Collective!”

  Kann chuckled inside Shade’s head. They’ve been fucking with you, man. Don’t worry. We’re here to cure you. ChemLob ought to do the trick.

  ChemLob? Why? Waking dreamers always get unplugged!

  The Collective made an exception in your case. What can I say? Get you out of here in a jiffy.

  Bursts of flame bulged from the ends of the machine guns. The noise of gunfire shattered the air.

  Dreamers screamed and died. The machine guns raked the crowd, and the moans of the wounded were quickly cut off. The king’s head exploded, and his paper crown collapsed.

  Why are you killing them? Shade screamed.

  They are unplugged dreamers, Buck thought. You can still be part of society once you’re ChemLobbed. But these? He made a rude noise inside Shade’s head. Human cockroaches. Nothing more.

  Shade looked around for Linda. Where was she? But before he could move, actors dragged him down to the stage. Bullets splattered around them, punching holes in the wood.

  “Through here,” an actor shouted.

  A trap door beneath the stage opened, and Shade found himself on all fours beneath the boards. Maude and Buck appeared behind him, pushed him along. Ennst, the crazy-haired scientist, crowded after them, his black case tucked under one arm.

  “Wait!” Shade stopped and turned.

  “For what?” Buck demanded. “They’re killing us!”

  Two opposing forces twisted Shade’s insides. His rational being wanted to return topside, to return to the Collective, to return to the life he had known and worshipped for so long. But some unknown force, even more powerful than the Collective, one he had never known before—the same force that had impelled him to sing—now demanded that he flee.

  What’s this unknown ‘force’ you’re talking about? Kann asked. You know there’s no force more powerful or beneficial or just plain good in this world than the Collective.

  The comforting roar of humanity echoed inside his skull:

  I AM WE. WE ARE ALL. WE ARE THE COLLECTIVE.

  The stage above them collapsed in a shower of splinters.

  The actors dashed for cover under the remaining portion of the platform. An arm snaked through Shade’s. A trio of breasts pressed against his bicep.

  “Linda! You’re alright!”

  “Come on,” she said, “we got to move!”

  Shade found himself carried along in this tide of fleeing bodies.

  Why am I running? he asked himself. I want to go home. The Collective is my home.

  But his feet possessed a will of their own.

  They brainwash you, buddy? Kann thought. Give you some kind of a drug? Or is it just the dream infection talking?

  I—I’m not sure. Kann, I—

  The platform above him collapsed once more. No more stage remained to protect them. An actor flung open a door. They jumped down half a dozen flights of stairs and emerged onto a concrete level with a low ceiling. In every direction Shade saw rusty moving boxes with wheels, like the ones in the street on the surface.

  They came to a gaping hole in the floor. A jagged opening had been cut through the ancient concrete. A ladder led down into the darkness. Buck gestured Shade forward.

  “No!” an actor said. Zune, the one with two mouths. “They can track us because of him. He has to unplugg, and now!”

  Shade backed away from the man in horror. “But if I unplugg, they won’t be able to cure me, and I’ll never be able to go back to the Collective!”

  “You can’t go back topside anyway,” Zune said. “The sentence was death. Remember?”

  “No,” Shade said. “They talked to me. In my head.”

  Both of Zune’s mouths opened in surprise. “What did they say?”

  Shade shrugged, looked at the ground. “The sentence for me was ChemLob.”

  “Odd,” Buck mused. “For a self-aware dreamer? Sentence is always unplugg.”

  “Whatever,” said another actor, Zama this time. “Unplugg or ChemLob. Pick one. Makes no difference to me.”

  “But why is this even happening?” Maude demanded. “They’ve never come down here before. Not in thousands of years. The Collective is forbidden to invade the Dream Space.”

  Apparently not, Kann thought inside Shade’s head, and chuckled. A dangerous dream has arisen. It threatens the existence of the Collective. We must exterminate it at all costs.

  I know, Shade thought.

  Of course you know! Kann thought, and chuckled again. You’re the one who told us. Told Boss. Remember?

  “That was part of the king’s dream,” Buck said to Maude, oblivious to the conversation going on inside Shade’s head. “A breaking and joining of worlds.”

  Bootsteps sounded on the stairs behind them.

  “Go!” Buck shouted. “We can’t discuss this here!”

  They dropped down the crude ladder, one by one. Buck pulled it after them.

  “That ought to slow them down for a little while,” he said.

  They continued deeper into the earth, down a long concrete tunnel. Shade counted heads. Around twen
ty or so dreamers had survived. Out of thousands of dreamers who had been alive not fifteen minutes ago. He felt sick to his stomach.

  Unable to stop himself, he lurched away from the others and vomited against some exposed pipes.

  Linda caressed his shoulder. “You alright?”

  Shade wiped his lips. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m fine.”

  “Just a little bit farther,” she whispered. “Come on.”

  They jogged to catch up to the others. After many long minutes, they came to a juncture, where the tunnel branched off in three directions.

  Buck turned and faced them.

  “We can go no farther with the Collective watching everything we do.” He held up Shade’s tools, the jabber and the unplugger.

  Maude laid a hand on Shade’s shoulder. “It is time for you to choose.”

  Shade checked his internal clock: 5:30:32.

  Barely enough time to get back topside…although he could always hitch a lift in a Dream Police cruiser. Just think—the Collective tunneled through a kilometer of Crust in less than forty-eight hours to get those cruisers down here!

  The tools lay in Buck’s open palm. Shade reached out a hand, stopped.

  “If you don’t choose now,” Linda said, biting a fingernail, “you’ll die.”

  “That’s also a choice,” Shade said, trying to delay the decision as long as possible.

  Good work, partner! Kann shouted. Stall for time. We’ll be there in just a few minutes.

  “Any delay means we all die,” Zune said. “Choose now or we’ll decide for you.”

  Shade looked at the others in turn. He hung his head. He did not want to hurt them. His duty was to the Collective.

  “Give me the ChemLob,” he said quietly. “You can tie me up and leave me here, if you like. The Collective will find me, take me back topside.”

  Buck lifted his hairy shoulders, let them fall. “If that is your choice, so be it.” He held the jabber out to Shade.

  Maude leaned in close, her scales brushing his ear, and sang a lullaby so softly that no one else could hear. The hair stood up on the back of Shade’s neck. She cupped a claw to her lips and the warts on her cheek drilled into his soft flesh.