Dreams Must Die

by J. M. Porup

  “Got it,” Shade said, without blinking. “I am ready to die.”

  Buck threw up his arms.

  “Like Shade said, where else can we go?” Maude asked. “If we run, they’ll find us. If we stay here, they’ll find us. Either way we’re dead. What do we do?”

  “Let me go to them,” Shade said.

  Linda gaped. “What for?”

  Shade touched her cheek. “They want me, remember? You aren’t a threat to them. You said so yourself. Once I’m dead, maybe they’ll leave the rest of you alone.” He smiled. “I don’t want them to hurt you.”

  “You forget one thing, Jimmy Shade,” Buck said, and grabbed hold of a sheet covering his latest sculpture.

  “What’s that?”

  “Dreams are contagious. And you have infected us all.” He yanked the sheet free.

  Contrived in bone, two worlds collided. Two earths. Neither destroyed, but crushed together. They merged, fighting for unity.

  “But that means…” Shade faltered.

  Buck nodded. “We are all in this together. We live and die and dream, side by side.”

  Bootsteps echoed far above.

  “So soon?” Zama said. “But how did they—?”

  “It’s a day and a half back to the surface,” Linda said. “How did they get here so quickly? Zune must have been in contact with the police for a while!”

  “Doesn’t matter now,” Buck said. “But we need to hide, and fast. Follow me!”

  He grabbed a crate of food and water pills, and raced toward the opposite end of the cavern, away from the sound of the echoing bootsteps.

  “Where are we going?” Shade asked.

  “To hide, where do you think?” an actor snarked.

  They leaped over a booby-trapped pit, turned a corner, and hid. Panting, Shade peeked around the corner.

  This was his chance. Some cops would have to die, and he didn’t like that, but…if he could convince Ennst to loan him the replugger, maybe he could find a way to grab an implant, become whole again. One with the Collective.

  He might have to fight them off. The other dreamers. Might even have to kill Buck or Ennst. He hoped Linda wouldn’t try to stop him…he had weakened before at her smile, but he would not make the same mistake again. He would do whatever he had to do in order to return the Collective.

  And not as a Prime, either.

  How could they ask me to do that? he thought again. To become the one thing I hate most in the world? To destroy the Collective, whom I love above all else?

  Then he remembered: YOU MUST NOT HATE. YOU MUST NOT LOVE. HATE IS IRRELEVANT. LOVE IS IRRELEVANT.

  His emotions were out of control.

  So Shade’s thoughts ran. Then Kann stepped into the King’s Chamber, his bandoleer of ChemLob darts replaced by one of bullets, his gun drawn—and Shade wondered how he could ever have been like his former partner. Killing other people’s dreams for a living.

  But I love the Collective…don’t I? And dreams threaten the Collective’s existence…therefore dreams must die…Right?

  “Now what do we do?” Maude whispered.

  “We wait,” Buck said.

  Behind Shade, Linda stifled an intake of breath.

  “What?” Buck held a finger to his lips. “Ssh!”

  She pointed. Three more Dream Police entered the cave. Between them walked Zune, a smile on his face.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A score of Dream Police crowded into the King’s Chamber, clad in triple dream shields, squawk boxes around their necks. They panted for breath. A good sign, Shade thought. If they were a suicide squad, they wouldn’t be in such a hurry. He wondered what their internal timers read. How long before they had to turn around and head back to the Crust.

  The police took up positions around the chamber. They spat on the works of art, knocked centuries-old death paintings to the ground. One smashed Buck’s sculpture with his rifle butt, and kicked the remains against a wall.

  Buck tensed at Shade’s side, but said nothing.

  Kann and Zune advanced to the center of the room.

  “Well?” Kann’s squawk box barked. “Where are they?”

  “They were here,” Zune said. “They can’t be far away. Maybe down one of these tunnels.”

  Without a word, the cops spread out, charged down the nearby tunnels in pairs—but not the tunnel where Shade and the others were hidden.

  Kann and half a dozen cops surrounded Zune in the center of the King’s Chamber. The actor fidgeted.

  What is he thinking? Shade wondered. What is he going to do?

  Zune pointed at a tunnel Shade knew contained a particularly nasty booby trap—a tripwire that sent heavy spikes swinging down from the ceiling.

  “Why don’t we check that tunnel?” the actor asked.

  Kann swivelled his head from side to side. “Is that where they are?”

  Zune shrugged. “They could be in any one of these tunnels. I don’t know. Let’s go check.”

  Two of the cops moved toward the mouth of the tunnel.

  “No really,” Zune said, “We should check. I mean, you and me. Before they get away!”

  Kann remained impassive. “Others will go.”

  “And that tunnel there. What about that one?” Zune pointed at the tunnel where Shade and the others were hidden.

  Shade glanced at Buck. They had chosen this tunnel at random. How had Zune known? Or did he simply guess?

  Kann nodded. Two more cops headed for Shade’s position. The dreamers crept farther back, stepping around the pit and the other booby traps. Then they waited.

  Bootsteps shuffled closer. Shade could hear two people breathing. A yell echoed nearby, trailed off, and vanished.

  One down, Shade thought. Way, way down.

  Then a sharp gasp, and a loud thunk.

  The remaining cop hung upside down, his weapon dangling in one hand. He opened his mouth to scream, but an axe attached to a pole came out of the darkness, severing his neck. The cop’s head dangled by a piece of gristle.

  Ennst leaped over the traps and grabbed the head before it fell. Linda caught the gun as it slid from the man’s hand.

  In the chamber, a commotion. Squawk boxes cried out for help. Shade peeked around the corner again. Kann had his hand around the actor’s throat.

  “You did this on purpose,” every squawk box in the room hissed. “Bring us down here for an ambush? Kill us all, is that it?”

  “I didn’t know the tunnels were booby-trapped!” Zune said. “I just wanted you to replugg me, like you promised!”

  Kann let go. Zune fell to his knees, clutching his throat.

  “We have little time,” Kann said. “We must return to the surface soon.” He drew his gun and pressed it to the actor’s temple. “Where are they? Where is Shade?”

  Zune looked around as though for help, but found none. The booby traps had clearly not killed as many police as he had hoped.

  At Shade’s side, Linda lifted the gun, but Buck held out a hand, shook his head.

  “Take me with you! You promised!” Zune said. “I told you all I know!”

  Kann’s gun did not waver. “Then tell me where they are.”

  “They can’t be far,” Zune whispered. He was performing now every bit as much as when he was on stage. Burning bright, glowing with the energy and truth of his dream. “Hiding behind the booby traps,” the actor said. “Probably eavesdropping on us right now.”

  Linda crouched behind Shade, gun at ready. “What do we do?” she whispered.

  Buck sighed. “Nothing.”

  “You want to be replugged?” Kann asked. “Tell me quick. Time is running out.”

  “You promise?” the actor asked.

  “I promise.”

  Zune pointed at an empty tunnel. “There’s hiding in there.”

  “Thank you,” Kann said, and pulled the trigger. The actor’s brains splashed onto the ground.

  Kann lied. Shade thought. He lied! How could he lie? The C
ollective doesn’t lie! Doesn’t know how to lie! He gasped. Dreams were a corrupting force. Had Kann been corrupted by his short stay in the Dream World—and by extension, the Collective as well?

  A pair of uninjured police crept into the tunnel Zune had indicated. They were gone for a long moment. A handful of bloodied cops staggered from the other tunnels. Their numbers had been reduced. Kann examined each Dream Police officer. Those too badly wounded to transport he shot in the head. The others he sent back to the surface.

  Only a handful of Dream Police now remained.

  The two cops returned from exploring the tunnel. “Lots of booby traps, alright, but no sign of Shade or the others,” their squawk boxes croaked.

  “Prepare to return to the surface,” Kann ordered.

  When they were ready, they came to attention, their backs to the tunnel in which Shade hid. In unison, their squawk boxes shouted:

  JIMMY SHADE WE MISSED YOU THIS TIME JIMMY SHADE WE WILL NOT MISS THE NEXT TIME JIMMY SHADE YOU HAVE BEEN SENTENCED TO DEATH JIMMY SHADE WE WILL—

  An elbow sent Shade sprawling. Linda pushed past him, gun in hand. He grabbed for her, but too late—she darted into the chamber. She tumbled across the room, firing as she did so. Several cops went down.

  Kann did not flinch. He tracked her with his gun, fired once, and Linda collapsed in a pile of ancient bones.

  Squawk boxes belched the same tune: “DREAMER. UNPLUGGED. GUILTY AS CHARGED. SENTENCE: DEATH.”

  Kann fired again and she lay still.

  “Anyone else?” Kann called out. “No? Well then. Pity there’s no time. Until next we meet.”

  Kann bent over the three cops Linda had shot. One was dead, two were dying. He shot them all in the head, including the dead one.

  “Double check the tunnels, quick, before we leave,” he barked. “Any dead Dream Police, put a pair of bullets in their skulls. Make sure no implants remain.” He stood up. “I’m coming for you, Shade!” he called out. “You hear me? The time for dreaming is over, Jimmy Shade. Now we all must work!”

  Shade and the others crept deeper into the tunnel. Ennst cradled the dead cop’s skull in his lap. Buck squeezed Shade’s shoulder, but he brushed the hand away.

  Kann killed Linda. Kann killed Linda. The Collective killed Linda. Killed my Linda. Killed my wife. Killed my Linda.

  They killed my Linda!

  He had only know her for how long? A few short weeks. He had hated dreamers for killing his wife. Vowed revenge on her murderer. Done everything he could to kill dreamers…

  Only to find out that she was a dreamer.

  And now…

  Now the Collective had murdered his wife.

  The Collective killed my Linda!

  How could they do that? Why would they do that?

  He knew the how and the why, of course. He’d done it himself hundreds of times—no, thousands of times. His whole career. His whole life.

  Shade ground his teeth. Someone would pay. Kann would pay.

  Two cops approached his hiding place. Their head lamps flickered off the headless body, the pit, the tunnel walls, then disappeared.

  Kill.

  Shade jumped up, seized the axe from the booby trap over their heads, and stepped around the pit.

  Buck and Zama grabbed his elbows just as he reached the tunnel entrance. They clamped their hands over his mouth, dragged him back into the darkness.

  Kann and the others departed, moving swiftly. Shade struggled, but they held him tight.

  After few minutes, they let him go.

  “Why didn’t you let me go after them?” Shade exploded. “Why didn’t you let me kill them?”

  “What good is that going to do?” Buck demanded.

  “Go after them! Harry them on their way topside. Kill as many as we can.”

  “Killing a handful of nodes does nothing,” Buck said. “You know this. We must attack the heart of the Collective. Stab it with a dream. Your dream.”

  “But Kann—” Shade said. “He killed my wife.”

  “Your dream is more powerful than any weapon,” said a weak voice amidst the bones.

  “Linda!”

  Shade went to her. Blood frothed at her lips, soaked her jumpsuit.

  “Buck is right,” she said. “You cannot…out-violence…the Collective. If you try…they will crush you. Infecting them…with your dream…is the only way.”

  He fumbled with her jumpsuit. Her wounds pulsed with each beat of her heart. “We’ve got to fix you,” he said. “We’ve got to—”

  “You can’t…save me,” she said. “But…you can save…yourself. You can save…the world.”

  “But they’ve killed you!”

  “You must not hate.”

  Shade choked back a sob. “You sound like the Collective now.”

  “You must not…hate,” she repeated. “You must love. You must love your dream…more than me.”

  He nodded.

  “Hate will destroy your dream. Love…will give it power. You must…love your dream. Must…love your audience. Love…the Collective.”

  Shade put a hand to her lips to silence her, but she pushed him away.

  “Be true…to your dream. Share it…with the world,” she said. “That is all that matters.”

  “Linda,” he said, cradling her head in his arms, “I—”

  But her eyes rolled up in her head, she arched her back, and lay still.

  Linda. Dead.

  Dead!

  He’d mourned her for years when she was unplugged. But now…she was really dead. He lay a hand over her heart. His fingers came away wet. Blood streaked his palm and trickled down his wrist.

  Linda. Dead.

  The love of his life. Taken from him—by the Collective!

  Ennst stood before him now, the replugger in one hand, the bloody head in the other. The dead cop leered at them, upside down.

  “It’s time,” the scientist said.

  Shade looked around at their desperate faces. “You mean—?”

  Ennst nodded. “It’s now or never, I’m afraid. The implant has already been without oxygen for five minutes. Any longer and we lose our only chance to challenge the Collective.”

  “To—” Shade faltered.

  Maude went down on her knees at his side. “To bring your song to the Collective.”

  “Your only chance. Our only chance,” Buck said. “To live. To dream.”

  The Collective killed Linda.

  That was all he needed to know. He lifted his head.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Hold this,” Ennst said. He handed Shade the dead man’s head. A flap of bloody skin slapped against Shade’s wrist.

  The scientist applied the replugger to the base of the bodiless skull. The saw chewed a circle of bone and spat it out sideways. Ennst pulled the suction trigger, and the gelatinous, many-tentacled implant oozed into the clear tube. The explosive charge pulsed red and angry in the middle of the writhing organ.

  “Kneel.”

  Shade lay the head on the ground, and knelt.

  “This may hurt.”

  Shade felt the barrel of the replugger against the base of his own skull, against the hole in the bone the unplugger had made, and before he could cry out, a writhing mass of furious flesh pushed into his head, tentacles curling and spiralling into the deepest recesses of his brain.

  It was an extraordinary—and unpleasant—feeling. Like he was being violated. Mentally raped. How had this ever seemed normal to him?

  Ennst withdrew the replugger and stepped back. The implant hugged Shade’s brain.

  A voice thundered inside Shade’s head. I AM WE. WE ARE ALL. WE ARE THE COLLECTIVE.

  Oh, shut up, Shade thought.

  A brief pause, then, WHAT WAS THAT?

  Ten billion voices boomed inside his head. Or so it seemed to him at first. But there could be no more than a couple dozen Dream Police below the Crust, and thus within broadcasting range. The Crust
blocked mental transmission. And if so few could cause such pain…the truth was he had gotten used to being alone inside his head, and this massive intrusion into his thoughts made him angry.

  Why are you hurting me? he whimpered. I’ve done nothing to harm the Collective.

  JIMMY SHADE. YOU DARE TO DREAM. YOU MUST DIE.

  Then…you will have to kill me.

  You threaten the Collective, Kann thought inside Shade’s head. You give me no choice.

  Kann! Shade thought. This is a surprise.

  For me as well, his partner thought.

  Dreaming is amazing. Wait until you hear my song, it’s—

  The Collective exploded in a frenzy, their rage filling Shade’s head with white noise, shouting him down, screaming at him in every register at once, the ugliest sound he’d ever heard.

  Shade grovelled on his knees, clutched his head. It was the worst pain he had ever felt, worse than when he was first unplugged, worse than his worst nightmare, even worse than—

  The pain stopped.

  He sat there for a long moment, his face in his hands, body trembling. Ennst stood there, replugger at port arms. A single tentacle flopped about in the clear tube.

  Shade groped for other minds and found them. Kann and the other cops, running toward the surface. He entered their minds, one by one, saw what they saw, listened to their chatter. They threw Shade out of their minds, and attempted to enter his own—but they could not.

  He felt numb. Cut off. Alone in a crowd.

  “What—” Shade said, and tried again. “What did you do?”

  “I Primed you,” the scientist said. “Just as we planned.”

  “You—”

  “I cut the reception tentacle. They tried to shout you down, did they not?”

  Shade swallowed. “I—”

  Buck patted his shoulder. “It’s alright. Without the reception tentacle, you can still share your dream with the Collective.”

  “I’m—I’m a Prime?” The words escaped Shade’s lips like some foul oath.

  “Yes,” Ennst said. He lay the replugger on the ground. “And may I suggest you consult your internal clock?”

  “What for?”

  Ennst tapped his temple. “The explosive charge.”

  Oh no.