by Adara Quick
Clare exclaimed, “Flynn! You’re bleeding.”
He ignored her and went immediately to his bedroom and locked it. “Leave me alone.” He wiped the blood off on his pants leg and pressed hard on the cuts to stop the bleeding. Then with no one looking, he sank to the hard tile floor and rested his head against his knees. To himself he whispered, “What do you see when you look at me, Dee? If a girl like you could love me...I would feel...I would feel like I could do anything. Blast it. We have to get out of here before they find me.”
Sighing, he got up and climbed into bed. He checked his wristband to see how many dream credits his mother had transferred to his profile. He had a few to spare until their argument died down and he could ask for more. Then reaching for his earbud again, he accessed the cloud. He fell asleep instantly as the data transmission was conveyed wirelessly to his mind. Credits were deleted from his profile by the Dream Administration system and his wristband logged the change.
Dream 156892, White Noise, was one of the handful of dreams he could afford on his mother’s small salary. It was just a set of sounds; no pictures or Matchers were in it. It was composed of the everyday noises of the city; people rushing to and fro, children complaining, and the sound of the lifts opening and closing. For the dreamer, it was like walking invisibly among the city dwellers. The dream was one of his favorites: it was cheap, and it provided a place where he didn’t have to hide.
And so sleeping Flynn listened to their voices and watched their daily life. He even wondered if some of them might be ageing, like him. Different.
Back in the Callaghan living unit, Deirdre was downloading her mother’s dream at the same moment. She rolled over on her creaky mattress, pulled up the covers, and touched her cloud access earbud. In less than a second, she was asleep and entered Red Oak, Dream 482036.
Deirdre stepped into what first seemed like a place on fire. Everything was glowing red and golden yellow. She gasped then brought her arm up across her eyes to shield herself from the blaze. But she felt no heat. So she peered out from behind her arm and saw no flames, only colored leaves dancing on the breeze. Sunlight streamed from the sky, coating each leaf as it turned this way and that on the subtle air currents. She brought her arm down and found herself surrounded by a forest of trees in full autumn bloom. There were hundreds of oaks in every direction she looked, their wide gnarled trunks ending in an explosion of color at the top.
She looked around and waited for the dream to unfold but nothing happened, so she watched the leaves float on the breeze and waited. Then a piece of opaque parchment drifted toward her, mixed in with the red leaves. It floated and twisted on the wind until finally the breeze brought it to Deirdre’s feet. She reached down and picked it up. It was written in a scrawling gold script that she had never seen before. The words read, “What is your favorite color, Dee?”
The color purple flashed in her mind. Looking down, she found herself clothed in a full-length dress, with leather and wood sandals on her feet. Gone were the Skellig City greys. The fabric was a deep violet, embroidered around the neckline and upper arms with a delicate silver thread. The dress felt like it had been made just for her. She brushed her hands across the fabric and the butterfly sleeves fell almost to her knees, even when her arms were outstretched. She could tell at once that this was a special dream, not the usual empty plots of the ones the Ministry made and sold. She felt aware in it, like she could control things more than she ever had before.
Then another piece of parchment drifted toward her. She reached up and grabbed it off the breeze. This one said, “Go anywhere you desire. This world is yours.” The trees started to sway and great oaks bent aside. A tamped earth path opened up through the forest and wound through them. Sunlight hit the path in pools of light and a few fresh red leaves drifted into the light. Deirdre couldn’t see where the path went, but she felt happy just looking at it.
Being careful with her beautiful garments and unfamiliar footwear, she started along the path. She could feel the texture of the cloth on her skin and the light touch of falling, moist leaves on her face and neck. She knew that the dream was her mother’s because the visuals were so beautiful. But Deirdre could also feel Maeve’s presence in the delicate sensations of clothing and leaves on her skin. Now she knew why her mother wanted her to preview this dream after everything that had happened in the Ritual Room. Even with Maeve gone, she could see the whole of her mother’s gift – the ability to find Maeve through dream whenever she wanted.
Further down the path, she heard the clash of wood against wood. Following the sound, she came to a break in the trees where crumbling stone ruins marked a long-abandoned residence. The structure was open on two sides where the stones had fallen away, and ivy curled through the stones that remained. The entrance wall was intact and through a stone archway she saw two warriors in short capes (one black, one grey) dueling back and forth across the plank flooring. The man in black looked like part of the forest with his flaming red hair. They swung their wooden staffs with precision and ferocity, each trying to land a strike on the other’s body.
A slight woman in a cream and gold full-length gown kneeled in the entrance facing Deirdre and the forest. She had her back to the warriors behind her, and she seemed to give no thought to the fight or her own safety. She looked stoically out into the forest, her hair pulled into a ponytail behind her. She looked right through Deirdre, as if she wasn’t there.
Entranced, Deirdre stepped closer. Each attack rang out with the crack of wood connecting. The fighters moved back and forth across the platform, exchanging blows with deadly speed. They were evenly matched, and every new attack was deflected by the other. Deirdre wanted to run forward and stop the fight, but she hesitated, not sure how she could.
With contempt in his voice, the warrior wearing grey called out, “I could run you through without even flinching.”
Again their two staffs clashed together. The warrior in grey pushed against the warrior in black, repelling him a few steps backwards. Then the black warrior slipped on the leaves that had collected on the plank floor. The grey warrior pressed his advantage, pulled out a knife, and sliced into the arm of the other. His blood flowed freely. Stumbling back and trying to regain balance, the black-robed man returned a blow. Though misaimed, it was enough to force his opponent back and foil the glint of the knife.
Again their two staffs rang out with the piercing snap of wood on wood. The black warrior was losing more and more blood. The leaves swirling across the floor of the amphitheater were now coated in the slick red of his life force, red on red. Then abruptly, the fighter in black kneeled on the hardwood floor, laid down his staff, and offered his chest to the other man. He flung his arms wide and said, “Grey warrior! Perhaps you could run me through without flinching, without a thought for the life of another. And I now say, do it. Slice me in half. I won’t flinch, for I am prepared for the Otherworld. If you can say the same, then take my life.” The words of the black warrior were like an electric shock for young Deirdre. She felt something stirring inside herself, like one petal of a long dormant flower bud that was finally free to open.
A new and even deadlier battle of wills now raged in the stone ruins. The grey warrior was poised with his knife in the air, ready to take the last slice that would end the black-robed man’s life. The black warrior kneeled on the floor with his chest bared. Both men held themselves there, motionless. Each man considered who was stronger, the physical warrior or the spiritual one. Just at the breaking point, the grey warrior lowered his knife and fell to one knee before the man in the black cloak.
The grey warrior said, “You are the higher master. I yield.” Then he took his staff and broke it across his knee. He laid it before the other man and walked off into the forest.
Suddenly, the scene shifted. Deirdre looked down and found herself kneeling on the wooden floor of the amphitheater covered in the cream and gold dress. She murmured, “Now I am her.”
She rose to her fe
et as the black warrior walked toward her. The knife from the battle was in one hand and he placed it in hers. Deirdre felt the cold metal against her skin. The warrior curled her fingers up around the blade, drawing tiny droplets of blood as the knife bit into flesh. He said, “It belongs to you now, lady. As do I. My name is Roenin. And I shall prepare you for what is to come.”
The last thing Deirdre remembered was the swirling sensation of autumn leaves on the back of her neck.
Deep inside Skellig Michael, the citizens of the city slept with wild abandon. Each minute spent in dream was release from a life lived in the dark and under concrete. The dreamers in the city could all be found in their cots, some with peaceful smiles on their lips, while others’ fingers twitched with excitement. As long as you followed the rules, earned your credits, and spent them on dreams produced by the Makers, you could find your escape in the night. But without the dreams there was no sleep and each dream download came at a price. If you didn’t work, your credits ran out quickly.
With their dreams, the people pretended that the Dream Drones’ boot steps and the ‘Mare punishments weren’t happening. And they tried not to think about what would happen if the dream credits ran out. They could be young forever in fantasies supplied by the Makers. Because the dreams created by them were so real, so enticing, everyone labored so that they could buy more. Whatever sensory pleasure you wanted, you could find it in dream. The people were grateful for the scratchy clothes and meager Nutripaks, as long as the dreams kept pouring forth from the Makers. The phrase “The Ministry provides,” passed across their lips as easily as breath or food. They were dependent. Hooked.
The marketing masters of the Dream Administration sold each dream on the holo screens as the answer to whatever ailed you. “Feeling lonely? Find new romance in Dream 203486. Is the age of descent approaching? Be young again as Maura, our Dream Match winner from 3075. Want a little luxury from head to toe? Win a spa package in Dream 821677.” So the people kept working and buying and working and buying. But the more that they dreamt, the emptier they felt. And the more they dreamt, the harder it was to rest without a download.
Late that same night while the rest of the city was in dream, one man sat awake in his office. He tapped his finger on the table and looked at a yellowing medical illustration hanging on the wall. The framed picture showed the human brain and where the neurotendrils of the weaver grew into it. He felt a feeling of pride looking at it.
Medical Director Odran Shea was perched over his desk, a bird-like quality to his face. The work table was standard-issue for the Minister’s top administrators, and projected a hologram of file icons onto the surface of the table. Odran reached out to the file labeled Flynn Brennan Medical File and tapped it twice to open it. Out of the icon spewed pages of documents, and they arranged themselves in a grid-like pattern across the display.
Odran tapped on each document in sequence, enlarging it so the type could be read. But page after page was empty except for a stamp that gave a date and read, ‘Deleted.’ Odran’s fist tightened and he whispered, “Gone. Every medical note on Flynn Brennan has been erased.” He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. He sat that way for some time, his mind searching for a way around the barrier of the missing records.
“Hmm,” he said. “How to find what has been hidden?” Then he spoke to the cloud’s voice interface. “Computer. Cross-reference the date-of-service stamps in the Flynn Brennan file against dates of all lab tests ordered. Execute.” Odran steepled his fingers and put his elbows on the desk while he waited for a response.
A brassy female voice filled the room. It said, “Findings returned. On the days Flynn Brennan was seen in clinic, 57 tests were ordered by the prior Medical Director.”
Odran said, “Cross-reference those 57 tests with keywords genetic defect, biological markers, aging. Execute.”
The female voice came on again. “One match. Name of test: Aging Genetic Marker Panel.”
“And the results of the test?” Odran asked.
“Deleted.”
“Got ya,” he whispered, a tight smile curling across his teeth.
3
VOICE 1: “LOOK, PEOPLE. WE NEED A SLOGAN, AND IT NEEDS TO BE GOOD. I’M NOT GOING UP THERE WITH WHAT WE HAVE SO FAR.”
VOICE 2: “WELL, WHAT ARE WE PITCHING THE CUSTOMER? DREAMS, FANTASIES, WHAT?”
VOICE 3: “HOW ABOUT BOOK A WEEK AT SKELLIG CITY RESORT. LIVE AN ENTIRE LIFETIME IN ONE NIGHT?”
VOICE 4: “DREAM WITH IDREAM - A DIFFERENT FANTASY EVERY NIGHT.”
VOICE 5: “NO, NO. I’VE GOT IT. BE YOUNG AGAIN, WITH IDREAM.”
VOICE 2: “THAT’S IT, TEAM. BUY BACK WHAT YOU LOST. BE YOUNG AGAIN WITH IDREAM.”
VOICE 1: “WE’RE GOING TO MAKE A KILLING.”
- Meeting Transcript, Marketing Team, Dream cloud archive
March 1, 2043
The next morning, Deirdre woke up to the sound of her usual wake-up call through her earbud device. She groaned inwardly; she didn’t want to leave the world of Red Oak. As she lay in bed, she tried to remember the events in the dream: the staff fight, the fire-red trees, and how Roenin had won his battle by offering himself up. Roenin. Who are you really? Why were you so important to Maeve? Deirdre listened to Breck’s breathing from the bunk below her and closed her eyes again. She brought back the feeling of the dream and imagined her bedroom swirling with whirlpools of red leaves. Opening her eyes again to the drab grey walls and stark furniture was a disappointment. Blast. Why can’t our classes start late like Breck’s?
Deirdre made her way out of bed, dressed in grey tunic and pants, grabbed her day sack, and headed to the kitchen for a Nutripak. Will it be A, B, C, or D today? She grabbed Flavor A of the Type II food and headed out the door for school without waking anyone. Deirdre sucked down the remainder of breakfast and stepped into the lift to Level 25. Still distracted by thoughts of Red Oak, she absentmindedly wound through the hallways to section P. At the four-way intersection, she saw Antrim, smiling and waving to her.
“Morning, cutie,” said Deirdre.
“Hey you,” replied Antrim, tucking a red wave of hair behind her ears. Antrim was standing with her back against the wall, her day sack at her feet. Deirdre joined her and placed her own sack on the floor next to Antrim’s.
To pass the time while they waited for Flynn, Deirdre asked, “What did you dream last night?”
Antrim replied, “Dream 223719, Lazy Beach. It’s pretty simple; you just laze around on a beach blanket in the tropics. Some pretty island, whatever. Totally boring, so you wake up ready for something interesting.”
Antrim made Deirdre smile. Tiny, with a high-pitched, lilting voice and small stature, Antrim could charm anyone.
Deirdre said, “Sounds relaxing. And dull.”
Antrim asked, “How about you? What did you dream?”
Deirdre replied, “A new dream that my Ma is working on. Antrim, it was amazing. I opened my eyes and first I thought that the place was on fire. But it wasn’t. It was filled with trees, as far as I could see. And the leaves were like red films, shaped like your hand but thin, so you could see the light through them. That was what made it look like fire, because the light from the sky showed through all of them. And lots of them were coming away from the branches and drifting through the air, almost like it was their time or something. But how would a plant know to do that? Can you imagine it? My Ma really worked hard on this one. It’s not like any of the other dreams I’ve been in.”
Antrim’s eyes were wide. “That sounds incredible! I wonder if my uncle will spring for it when it’s released to the catalog.” Then Antrim reached out and put a hand on Deirdre’s shoulder. “Oh glitch, Dee. I forgot to ask you about Maeve. Are you ok?”
Dee’s eyes got a little red. “I was feeling pretty low afterwards, thinking about her standing in the cylinder. Afraid. Antrim, what do you think is really waiting for us at the bottom of that thing?”
Antrim hesitated and looked up the hall an
d back again. “Gosh, Dee. I don’t want to even think about it or I get all creeped out. I just tell myself it’s the way to Tír na nÓg and try to think of something else.”
Deirdre said, “Yeah. I know what you mean. And that dream I told you about? Well, Maeve worked on it with my mother. So I felt like maybe she’s not totally gone.”
Antrim leaned in and whispered, “That’s good, Dee. But have you talked to Flynn since yesterday? Are you sure he should be going to school today? After...you know...at the ritual?”
Deirdre said, “I did holo him last night before dream. I told him he has to be more careful. He doesn’t seem too worried about it though. But that’s Flynn. Pinch him and he smiles, just so you know you didn’t get to him. Anyway, what’s taking him so long this morning?”
Flynn rounded the corner just then. “Morning, beauties,” he called out in his flirtatious but harmless manner. Deirdre felt her face get a little flushed at the sight of him, but then the color drained right out of it.
Even though he was a full section length away, Flynn could see her face clearly. He faltered as her face read, “Be careful. They’re here.” So he wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself and kept walking.
Looking up the hallway beyond Flynn, Deirdre had spotted two red-uniformed Dream Drones rounding the corner behind him. Antrim saw them too and she pulled in close to Deirdre, half hiding behind her. Drones always patrolled in pairs, their black boots clicking in unison with every step. Flynn brought the cloak up across his face and continued walking. They were right behind him. He was exposed. He could be noticed.