Dream War

by Stephen Prosapio

  “So, have you done your homework, Agent Lopez?”

  “Sir, yes sir.”

  After three days of deciphering the scientific reports, Lopez had finally succumbed to his girlfriend Bonnie’s pleas to take her out to a Pacific Beach bar. He’d shocked her by drinking soda, and then going immediately back to studying once they’d returned home.

  “Here’s my office,” Hyde said.

  He opened the door and strode through a laboratory where a few people wearing lab coats fiddled with equipment, typed on computers, or analyzed data. The room reeked of antiseptic and scientist body odor.

  “NOCTURN,” Lopez said. “I need to know more about it.”

  From what Lopez had learned, the most amazing aspect of the device had been developed just months earlier. OIA was able to take a person in an induced dream state and beam his brainwaves into those of the subject, thus linking them. Once joined, the person could participate in the subject’s dreams as long as the subject remained in REM.

  “Dr. Hyde, how can you pinpoint a specific individual you want to link to?” Lopez asked, as he and Hyde made their way toward the laboratory. “It’s a great big world out there.”

  “Often, the initial location of the target subject will have been provided by an agent in the field. Many subjects we’ll wish to link to will have already been detained. Thus, we know their location.”

  “Furthermore, since individuals emit a unique dream-print, much like a fingerprint, once we have cataloged that print, we can with relative facility locate, identify, and link to that subject again and again if need be.”

  “This is incredible,” Lopez muttered. “Having all this technology at our disposal for espionage…”

  Hyde chuckled. “Did you expect that our government, armed with dream-link technology, would be using it to help little children conquer their nightmares?”

  “No, not at all, I just—” He looked around the laboratory where people were working feverishly. “Basically, who would have suspected we were even moving toward the development of something like this?”

  “Well,” began Hyde, “when you consider that we spent the first third of the century exploring the atom, which resulted in nuclear proliferation, then spent the second third ensconced in developing space travel, which resulted in the exploration of our moon and solar system, it may have been inevitable that we focus the final third of this century studying the power of the human mind. Dream linking is merely the culmination of those endeavors.”

  They arrived at a chair that looked as if it could have been stolen from a dentist’s office. Surrounding it, a team of scientists awaited them. Hyde motioned for Lopez to lie down.

  “Are you clear with the process of extracting information?” Hyde asked.

  “It’s like a mental push and pull simultaneously. Whatever that means.” Lopez said.

  “Yes, well, the Marines trained you on extracting information during an interrogation. You know to watch for body signals, eye movements, breathing changes, etcetera.”

  “Sure.”

  “This extraction process is similar, but keep in mind that everyone you encounter in the dream is a symbol for the dreamer himself. Even the surroundings will give you clues as to the subject’s personality and mood. Most importantly, remember that your brainwaves are linked to theirs. What would be considered a rare form of telepathy in the waking world is much more easily accomplished during a dream link. Information you focus on will suddenly present itself to you, much like an intuitive thought.”

  “I get it,” Lopez said.

  “Very well,” Hyde said. “You recall meeting my assistant, Tabatha?”

  “Sure.”

  Tabatha Wellington, one of Hyde’s assistants, had been given information regarding a fictional terrorist plot for Lopez to try and extract. A tall ebony skinned young woman, who Lopez had been introduced to earlier in the week, slept in an adjacent laboratory and would act as the experimental subject. She’d already played the part of subject in several dream experiments. “Even if you cannot extract information on the fictional terrorist plan, practice returning with as many details about her dream as possible,” Hyde instructed.

  “Aye, Captain.” Lopez said, attempting his best imitation at Star Trek’s Scotty.

  As a few scientists began connecting Lopez to various NOCTURN sensors in preparation for his “launch,” Lopez felt a rare wave of nervousness.

  “Doctor Hyde, before I do this, will you make me one promise?” he asked.

  “I will if it’s possible,” Hyde said. “What is it?”

  “Can you promise I won’t turn into Sleeping Beauty?”

  Hyde visibly struggled to keep a straight face, but couldn’t manage it. He chuckled, instigating a brief round of merriment from a few of the other scientists and technicians. The moment clearly warmed them to Lopez, their newest guinea pig.

  “All right, Mr. Comedian,” Hyde said after composing himself, “first, we will give you drugs which stimulate specific brain waves so that we can harvest them. Then, you will receive a sedative designed to enable sleep without negatively affecting the brain’s ability to focus. We’ve found that it’s rather difficult to dream link to the subject while in a natural sleep without awakening. It severs the connection.”

  Once instruments indicated that Tabatha had entered REM, Hyde clapped his hands together and signaled his scientists to transport Lopez. They double-checked each of Lopez’s connections to NOCTURN. Electrodes on his temples and sensors on his chest would monitor his vital signs. He was injected with the necessary drugs. Lopez plunged into an induced sleep state.

  Enveloped in darkness, a high-pitched buzz rang in his ears. At the point it became painful, a light appeared in the distance. As he moved toward it, Lopez became aware of the sensation that he was moving at incredible speeds. The buzzing noise subsided as he collided with and penetrated the golden light. His entire body felt wet for a second, as if he’d jumped fully clothed into a pool. Then he was bone dry.

  He was in.

  Lopez stood in a small park with gentle, rolling hills. Evergreen trees were scattered throughout the park, but they looked odd and deformed—gnarled limbs sprouting up from the ground with life growing on only one half. He inspected one of the trees. It appeared normal, with needles protruding out of the branches, but as he circled around it, the other side consisted of barren limbs devoid of growth.

  Several paths crisscrossed the park, some red brick, others paved stone. At the far end of the park, a girl sat on a wooden bench. She appeared to be a teenaged version of Tabatha. She was slightly thinner and her hair was pulled back in a pony tail.

  Lopez approached. From nowhere, a fifty-foot high wall of water rose at the horizon. The turquoise tsunami rumbled towards them and crashed down one hundred yards away, the liquid palisade vanishing but leaving behind a navy blue ocean.

  He looked down on the choppy expanse of water. The park now sat at the edge of a cliff, a stone’s throw from the mysterious new sea.

  This is pretty cool.

  “This is pretty cool…COOL!” Even though he hadn’t spoken aloud, his words echoed back from somewhere far in the distance.

  Tabatha looked up.

  “Hello there!” She shouted, smiled, and waved like a girl on a float in a parade. “Nice outfit!” She started to giggle.

  Lopez looked down to discover he was wearing a black tuxedo complete with tails.

  “I just got engaged!” she said. “Are you getting married, too?”

  He’d been dating his girlfriend Bonnie for over a year, but they hadn’t yet talked of marriage. Still, unsure of dream protocol, he didn’t want to dampen Tabatha’s enthusiasm.

  “Well, I imagine I will someday.”

  Her pony tail was gone, her jet-black hair blew in the breeze. Lopez tried the push-pull thing to extract information, but it didn’t seem to work. Maybe the telepathy just hadn’t kicked in yet.

  “How did you find this park?” he asked.
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  “Well, I just came from the bridal shop and,” she paused, looking confused, “to be honest, I cannot remember how I got here.” She laughed and waved her hand in the air.

  She looked sexier with her hair down than pulled back flat against her head, as she had when he had first seen her in the OIA lab.

  “We should walk.” Her tone was insistent. “We never walk anymore! Hey, I forgot your name already!”

  “Hector.”

  She grabbed his arm with both of hers, pulling herself up. “That’s right. Hector!”

  Tabatha giggled again; it had a tinny echo. As they strolled along arm-in-arm up a gradual hill in the opposite direction of the sea, Tabatha grew older. By the time they reached the edge of the park, she’d progressed to her current biological age.

  He tried again to push-pull information, to focus intently as though attempting to read her mind. Nothing came to him.

  A charming town square materialized a hundred yards in the distance. They walked toward it passing a series of orange trees. Lopez looked up at one, and it suddenly changed into an avocado tree. He looked back in the direction of the town, but realized that they now stood in the middle of a huge orange grove.

  “Ice cream!” Acting like a little kid, she tugged on his sleeve and pointed to the Dairy Queen in a small clearing in the middle of the orange grove.

  One last time, Lopez tried to extract information from her.

  Nothing.

  “But Daddy,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I am working hard!”

  Lopez realized he was suddenly wearing a blue hospital gown.

  “Hey!” Tabatha shrieked—then laughed. “This is a dream!”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Everything went black.

  Lopez heard a loud beep and opened his eyes. He blinked repeatedly and wiped across his face; it felt as though his eyes were strewn with cobwebs.

  “How do you feel?” asked a beaming Dr. Hyde.

  “Tired, and I’ve got a bit of a headache.”

  “Well, that’s perfectly normal. Remember, you have exercised unfamiliar territories of the brain. The effects of your headache should not linger long and with additional experience, they will cease to occur altogether.”

  Rubbing his temples, Lopez nodded.

  Hyde appeared impatient. “Come, tell me everything you remember about the dream link while we walk. Let’s find Tabatha.”

  As they retraced their steps through the lab, Lopez described his experience, recalling every detail he could remember, including his inability to extract the fictional terrorist plan. When Lopez described how the link ended, Hyde looked pensive.

  “I see. Well, despite participating in these dream experiments, Tabatha is not an accomplished lucid dreamer. Likely, she literally woke up at the realization she was dreaming, which automatically returned your brainwaves to NOCTURN.”

  “I read about it, but what exactly is lucid dreaming?” Lopez asked.

  They turned a corner and stopped just outside the other laboratory.

  “While dreaming, each individual has unique events, locations, situations, colors and even certain people which act as dream indicators. Pay attention to your dream indicators, Hector, because they provide clues that you’re asleep. Becoming aware of the fact that you’re sleeping and continuing the experience, is called ‘Lucid Dreaming.’“

  “So basically, it’s becoming aware, or waking up inside of your own dream, without waking up physically,” Lopez said.

  “Precisely,” Hyde said. “The more proficient you can become at controlling your own dreams, the more adept you’ll be at garnering information from others’ dreams.” He slid a key card through the lock and they entered a lab similar to the one they’d just come from. Tabatha sat on a chair much like the one Lopez had just come from. She appeared taller than she had in her dream.

  “There she is,” Hyde called out.

  Tabatha looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Dr. Hyde.”

  “Tabatha, Tabatha.” He shook his head in mock disapproval. “What’s this I hear that you’ve gotten engaged and didn’t tell me?”

  She smiled wryly. “You know me. I’m married only to my work.” She looked away, then down at her hands. “Should we fill out our report now, Dr. Hyde?”

  “Yes, by all means. Hector, after each dream link, we need a written report. For this particular one, write out everything you remember. It will do us no good for you to link to a terrorist’s dream, unless you can recall the information you extract from him.”

  Lopez dutifully transcribed his interaction with Tabatha. After she finished her report, Hyde compared the two.

  “Hector, you don’t recall a tsunami?”

  The mention of the word brought back visions of the sea, but Lopez remembered nothing of a tsumami.

  “Do you recall trees that grew only from one side?” Hyde asked.

  Lopez felt betrayed by his memory, or lack thereof.

  “I’m not alarmed,” Hyde said. “Extracting and returning with information from others’ dreams requires extensive training and practice. Before using this technology in an espionage, or rescue situation, however, you’ll need to get to the point of complete recall. We can’t have an agent retrieve information, but forget significant portions of it.”

  “Otherwise,” Lopez said with a smile, “I may be out of a job?”

  “No,” Hyde said. “Otherwise, with false or incomplete information, agents in the field may die.”

  - Chapter Two -

  March 28, 1981 - OIA Headquarters, Carlsbad, CA

  “Read this while we walk,” Hyde said, handing Lopez a fax.

  Garuda Indonesian Airlines Flight 206, a DC-9, from Jakarta, Indonesia headed for Palembang has been hijacked by five armed men.

  The first line on the slick, curled paper made Lopez’s heart skip a beat. After a moment, he realized his legs hadn’t started moving yet. He almost had to jog to catch up to Hyde, whose squat legs were quickly churning toward the laboratory.

  From the opposite direction, Agents Henderson and Prie approached them in the hallway. They had joined OIA in February. Ronald Reagan had beaten Carter in the November election and Operation Credible Sport was tabled, but never completely shelved. Carter had wanted those hostages released on his watch so badly that he’d kept the crew on alert right up until the day he left office. Moments after Reagan’s inauguration, the hostages had been released.

  Now, OIA was primarily fighting for dollars in Reagan’s defense spending increases.

  Bob Henderson, always the nonconformist, couldn’t leave the Corps fast enough. His sidekick, Vic Prie, joined OIA immediately as well. Apparently, Imbo and Silverman were not as eager. Rumor had it that they had dragged their feet as long as they could, but they’d be joining the OIA in the next week or two.

  “Lieutenant Lopez, are we still meeting at 1400 today?” Henderson asked.

  At only five feet, six inches, he was the shortest member of the team. He had sandy blond hair and wore it as long as he could get away with. He was the type of guy that liked to test limits. During his second week at OIA, he’d gone three consecutive days claiming he forgot to shave. Lopez threatened to send him home the following day if he violated the rule barring agents from having facial hair. The next day Henderson came in having shaved, not only his face, but his head, along with his arms. Thankfully, Henderson had left unknown the state of his legs and chest. His hair was slowly growing back.

  “Yeah, Bob,” Lopez replied.

  “Actually, no.” Hyde called after them. “Hector will be working on something with me until further notice.”

  They nodded, glanced at each other, and continued down the hallway.

  “Read the fax, Hector.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lopez had a hard time not bumping into the wall as he read it.

  To: Bernard Hyde

  From: X98504 Z2334

  Garuda Indonesian Airlines Flight 206, a DC-9, from Jakarta
, Indonesia headed for Palembang has been hijacked by five armed men. The terrorists are members of the radical Moslem group called ‘Jihad Commando’ and claim to have a bomb. This group has claimed responsibility for raids on police stations, military bases, and for other acts of sabotage in Indonesia since 1977. The hijackers have taken the plane to the Don Muang International Airport in Bangkok, Thailand, and the aircraft has been isolated to an area near a remote runway.

  Be advised that Indonesia has never dealt with a hijacking. They are willing to follow advice from our commando units. In an effort to become familiar with the layout of the hijacked aircraft, the Indonesian Special Forces Group, Kophasanda, has commandeered a DC-9 aircraft from another airline and are using it for combat training.

  Lopez knew the fax could only have come from CIA headquarters.

  “We are going in,” Hyde said, determination in his voice like Lopez hadn’t heard before. “Hopefully, we will have better results than last time.”

  Lopez knew his boss really meant “Hopefully you’ll have better results than last time.”

  OIA had spent money as though Bernard Hyde was extorting President Reagan with naked pictures of the First Lady. They had secured experts in lucid dreaming to guide and train him and the other agents. Not being detected by the subject as an outside force was critical; subjects were prone to wake up, thus ending the session. Once inside a dream, he needed to control the landscape, alter his dream image, and instinctively know how to manipulate the subject. These techniques required practice, and Lopez had improved quickly, but learning to extract information from another person’s dream was proving more difficult than anyone had thought.

  Earlier that month, they’d attempted a similar operation when terrorists hijacked a Pakistani airliner with five Americans onboard. After murdering one of the hostages, a Pakistani diplomat, the terrorists took the plane to Damascus, Syria. Lopez tried repeatedly, but could not return with extracted information helpful in the storming of the plane.

  He had failed.

  After thirteen days of negotiations, and as a terrorist-set deadline approached in which they threatened to kill each American hostage, a deal was struck. Fifty-four criminals, who the terrorists claimed were ‘political prisoners,’ were released from jail by the Pakistani government. The remaining hostages had been freed unharmed, but the compromise frustrated Lopez and his colleagues all the more when the Syrians, welcoming people coming off the plane, had presented carnations not only to the hostages but to their captors, the hijackers.