by J. M. Porup
He gulped. Machine guns protruded from every cruiser. “They’re going to shoot us down.”
“You’re the only one who can stop them,” Buck said.
“Me? But how?”
“Sing to them,” Buck said. “You’re a Prime. Remember? Infect them with your dream.”
“But that’s—” Infect his fellow officers?
Bullets thunked into the outer lead surface of the food transport.
They killed Linda.
I know.
Don’t you want revenge?
Shade gritted his teeth. I do.
Well, then. What are you waiting for?
“Closing fast,” Ennst called out.
“Sing!” Buck said. He shook Shade by the shoulders. “Sing! You have to sing!”
“But—”
To become what he had always hated. Was there no way out of this? No way at all?
“Sing!” Maude cooed in his ear.
Shade’s throat tightened. “But what shall I sing?”
Bullets thunked against the transport once more. One tore through a far corner, exited the other side.
“Sing for Linda,” she cooed. “Sing of your love for her. But sing!”
A new thought came to Shade, and he knew the situation was hopeless.
“The Dream Police are wearing dream shields,” he explained. “Of course they are. Probably double and triple layers. No dream can penetrate that.”
“The Prime got to you topside, remember?” Buck said.
“Because he sang out loud, not just in my mind.”
More bullets thunked into the outside of the transport.
“But how are they going to hear me?” Shade shouted.
“Try!” Maude said. “If you don’t sing, we’re all going to die, and songs will be extinguished for all eternity!”
I love Linda. I hate the Collective. I love the Collective. I hate dreams. I am a dreamer. I have a song.
A song burst forth from his lips.
He sang out loud, belting the song from every fiber of his being. Bullets hailed against the side of the moving box. Buck kicked a window out, and Shade stood to one side, projecting his voice into the open air.
If only the Collective understood his dream, surely they would not want to kill him? He had to make them understand. He had to.
The transport shook from repeated impact. Bullets penetrated the heavy leaden skin.
Maude cried out in pain. A bullet had pierced the webbing between her blue-green claws.
The monster-woman was in danger. Maude. His mentor. Who had taught him to sing. He loved and mourned Linda with all his heart, but Maude had helped him develop his voice. That too was love, was it not?
He sang again, this time of his love for Maude. He sang out loud, all that he felt, hoping they could hear him somehow over the raging nightmare of gunfire, wondering what she would think. He sang, his eyes squeezed shut, and all that existed in that moment was his song, and if he died right then—which seemed a surety—he could die content.
When he was done, he darted a glance out the window. The Dream Police surrounded them now, a hollow sphere of moving boxes bristling with machine guns. Bullets dented and smashed through the leaden skin. One actor was hurt, another killed. A bullet grazed Shade’s bicep. He cried out in pain, sang one last note, and was still.
He had failed.
He would die now.
But he had sung his song, and he was ready.
So be it.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The gunfire stopped. The sphere of police cruisers came no closer. The cruisers’ spotlights surrounded them in a halo of glaring white light.
“What—what happened?” Shade asked. “What’s going on?”
Buck peeked out the window. “I don’t know, but I suggest we get out of here.”
Ennst guided the food transport away from the skyscrapers and into the jaws of the groundscrapers descending from the Crust.
The sphere of Dream Police followed.
The upper layers of the sphere parted to reveal the loading bay entrance to the Crust. The scientist took them through the gap into the loading bay, turned the transport perpendicular to the opening, blocking it. The box settled with a thud.
Ennst opened the transport door, and Buck galloped out. Shade and the others followed.
“Come on!”
Through the gap in the Crust, Shade could make out the swarm of police cruisers. One broke away from the pack. The others opened fire, and the errant cruiser exploded in mid-air. Two more broke away, and these two were attacked and destroyed by the others. Dozens more left the sphere and headed down toward the surface. Soon a massive firefight was underway, hundreds of Dream Police cruisers firing on each other.
Maude peered over Shade’s shoulder. “It worked.”
“You mean, I—?”
She nodded. “You infected them with your dream. Some of them, anyway.”
Did she like his song? Did she…did she love him too?
Her face remained stony. Her gaze did not leave the window.
Dream Police cruisers exploded in bursts of flame, and all thoughts of love fled. “But all those fellow nodes…dead…because of me…”
Half a dozen police cruisers zoomed toward the loading bay, firing as they approached. Bullets punctured so many holes in the transport that it became almost transparent, before collapsing and sliding out of the loading bay. A police cruiser rose part way into the loading bay, but took a direct hit, and disappeared from view.
“It was them or us,” Buck said. “Now come on, we’ve got to go before your head explodes!”
35:16.
Shade grimaced and stood. “Lead the way.”
Up the Dream Mines they sped.
Shade was exhausted, and knew the others must feel the same. He was so tired he felt he might collapse. But he knew he had no choice but to go on. To sit down now, to rest against a tunnel wall—even just to catch his breath—and he would lose everything.
He would lose his song.
What would he do when he got back topside? Confront the Collective? Share with them his song, his joy, his dream… What other choice did he have?
And then he would die. He knew that, somehow. The Collective could not let him live. Well, he would die, then. Die unafraid, with his song on his lips, his dream in his heart, and so would end the brief unhappy life of Jimmy Shade.
On several occasions they encountered squads of Dream Police in the tunnels. They took one look at Shade, stuck their fingers in their ears and ran back to the surface.
Maybe I have a chance after all.
Buoyed by this thought, Shade began to whistle.
The sound was infectious, and soon they were all whistling, and they continued their upward climb in the darkness.
Another thought disturbed him, though, and he fell silent. How had the Collective known where he was? Had they been able to tap into his brain? Or was he unconsciously broadcasting, as Ennst suggested?
Was it possible that he wanted to fail? That he was somehow—sabotaging his own efforts?
Shade thought back to the Prime he’d captured when this whole thing started. He’d probed the man’s mind, but found nothing there, just a blank wall.
Now he, Jimmy Shade, Dream Police Officer, was the Prime. And he needed to be sure he wasn’t broadcasting. He had to figure it out, and soon.
The Dream Police were running from him now…but how long would it take for the cops to figure out how to put earplugs in their ears? Then what was he going to do?
The sooner he got to back topside, the better.
The time for working is over, he thought. Now we all must dream.
Dream. Or die.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Shade raced against time, against the clock inside his head, and the bomb that would soon shred his brain to pulp.
“If we can just get you topside, there is hope,” Maude panted.
He squeezed her claw in reply, b
ut her pincers felt cold and limp.
“Your dream is more powerful than I thought,” Zama said, and slapped him on the back. “I’m sorry I doubted you before.”
Shade nodded, but said nothing. He scrambled through a drainage pipe, crossed a platform and and waded a deep trench of radioactive rainwater that left him soaked and tingling from the waist down.
The end was in sight. 7:06 left on the clock. If only he could just get there in time.
That was all that mattered.
2:43.
Shade panted for breath. They crawled up a steep incline, and Buck called a halt.
They paused, catching their breath.
“Here we say goodbye,” Buck said, and pointed with a hairy hand. A street grate floated over head, just out of reach.
“How do we know the Collective isn’t waiting for me?” Shade asked. “They’ve got the manpower. They could post nodes at every possible exit point.”
Buck nodded. “Every pair of eyes in the city will be looking for you. Every IF worker on the planet will be processing that data.”
Shade gulped. “So what am I going to?”
The goat-man shrugged. “Sing before they shoot you.”
Weak light shone down from the grating. He was going back. Up there—the Collective. His family, his people, his home—
Were they his home?
“I don’t know I can do this,” Shade said, and covered his head with his arms.
“Stage fright,” Zama said. “It’s normal. Get out there. What’s the worst thing that can happen?”
Shade blinked. “They can kill me, and dreams will die forever.”
The actor shrugged. “Like I said. Don’t take it too seriously. If you let the pressure get to you, you’re doomed. Have some fun with it, you know?”
The timer inside Shade’s head began to blare. TWO MINUTES TO SELF-DESTRUCT.
The numbers 1:59 appeared superimposed over his eyeballs, and counted down.
“Time to go,” Shade said. “Only two minutes left.”
The others backed away from him.
“What?” he stammered. “You’re coming with me, aren’t you?”
“Look at us,” Zama said. He stroked his donkey ears. “Dreams have made monsters of us all.” He raised a hand in salute. “We have been a long time in the City of Dreams, Jimmy Shade. There is no place for us in the World of Work.”
“But I thought you could walk the streets without them seeing you,” Shade said. “Linda said you could. Said you did it all the time.”
“We were invisible,” Buck said, “because the Collective did not want to see us. But now they want to see us. They want to destroy us. We can no longer go topside, Jimmy Shade. Our place is here.”
“So what makes you think I can do anything you can’t?”
“Your dream is powerful,” Buck said, “and it has not yet begun to twist and change you, as it twists and changes all those who dream.” He linked his hands together. “No time to waste. I’ll boost you up.”
“But wait!” Shade said. “Can’t I just go topside, reset the clock and come back down here again?”
Ennst pulled his hair. “Did you, by any chance, pop your head topside several weeks ago? When you spoke to Boss?”
Shade closed his eyes. Of course. He could run the clock back, but it would take three days to do so. At which point he would either be dead or—less likely—successful.
Buck gestured with his hands. “You’ve got to go, and go now!”
“But what—” Shade said, and took a step toward Maude. “What will happen to you?”
She smiled. “We’ll be fine,” she said, and clutched her wounded claw.
“Give us a minute, will you?” Shade asked.
“How much time do you have left?”
He checked. 1:34. “Thirty seconds, then!”
Buck looked at the two of them. He nodded. “For your own good,” he said, and laid a hairy hand on Shade’s elbow, “make it quick.”
The others drew off to one side, leaving Shade and Maude alone together.
He opened his mouth. Closed it again. He couldn’t look her in the eye. He took her injured claw in his.
“I wonder,” he said.
“Wonder what?”
“What might have been.”
Their eyes met, and something inside Shade’s head quivered.
The words tumbled out of him.”I love—” he began, but she lay a blue-green pincer to his lips.
“You don’t have to say it,” she said. “You already put it in song.”
“Yes,” he said. “I do have to say it.”
She nodded and sighed. “Alright then.”
The clock was ticking down inside Shade’s head. A minute to go. “I love you,” he said. He stepped closer to her, but paused, noting the alarm in her eyes. “I thought I loved Linda but now I see I was mistaken. When you were in danger I realized I’ve never loved anyone like I love you.”
“Jimmy Shade,” she said, and stroked his face, “your love is strong, but not for me.”
“What do you mean?” he said. “How can you—”
“You think you love me, but you don’t.”
He pulled away. “I know what love is,” he said, “it’s—”
But he stopped, unsure of himself. What was the Collective’s definition again? He could not remember.
“You love your dream,” she said. “You love your song. I merely helped you give voice to that dream.”
“But how can you say that?”
Her lips twitched. “I love nothing and no one more than my dream, my art, my song,” she said. “It is the same with you. For all dreamers. Your song will consume you until it is all you have left. In time, you too will become a monster.” She shrugged. “You confused Linda, and now me, for the true object of your desire.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “I am flattered, of course,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek.
Impulsively he slid his hands around her scale-covered neck and pulled her green lips down to his. But they were cold and wet and unresponsive.
Maude pulled away. “Remember,” she said. “Pitch perfect.”
Shade nodded. An immense sadness welled inside him.
“Alright,” he said.
YOUR BRAIN WILL SELF-DESTRUCT IN TEN SECONDS, said a voice inside Shade’s head. Ten. Nine.
He raced to the wall beneath the grate. “About to blow!” he shouted. “Help me up!”
Eight. Seven.
Buck boosted him up, but Shade still couldn’t reach the grate. Damn. He should have planned more time for this.
Six. Five. Four.
Two actors grabbed Shade by the legs and threw him into the air.
Three. Two.
Shade grabbed the bottom rung of a short ladder on the wall, pulled himself up hand over hand, punched his other palm up against the grate. It shot open.
One.
He grabbed the ledge and pulled himself up. His head rose above ground level, and the voice inside his head disappeared. The timer reversed.
Chapter Thirty
Panting for breath, he sat on the edge of the grate opening.
No welcoming committee, so far as he could see. Buck had chosen the entry point well. The grate opened into a dark alley. Ten meters away, foot traffic passed, plus the occasional moving box. Compared to the street, the light here was weak. No one looked his way—and even if they did, what would they see? Darkness, that was all.
That is, assuming they couldn’t hear his thoughts. He would have to focus on not broadcasting, not betraying himself. At least, not until he was ready.
But would he ever be ready?
How would the Collective receive him? Would they run from him screaming, like the Dream Police in the sewers, with their fingers in their ears? Would they gun him down on sight, like the police cruisers had tried to do? How was he going to get a word or thought in edgewise—much less a song—before they ran or killed him?
Shade swung his legs
out of the hole. He peered down at the others, to wave, to bid them a final farewell—but they had vanished, like they had never been there.
He replaced the grate as silently as he could, and got to his feet. He must look filthy. Covered in lead dust from the mines, soaked in radioactive sewage, and splattered with blood from his dead and wounded companions. Self-cleaning jumpsuits were not built for this kind of abuse.
Shade pressed himself against the wall, crept toward the street, then stopped, still in darkness. What the hell was he going to do? Dressed like this, he would be spotted as soon as he stepped into the street. Was he ready for a final confrontation? Right now? He gulped. What was he going to sing? Would it be enough to resist the power of the Collective?
If only he could get some clean clothes. Then maybe he could blend in with his surroundings, have a chance to think things through. But how? Every Dream Police officer on the planet was looking for him. And there was a limited radius in which he could have emerged from below. A cordon would form. So his next task was to get as far away from his entry point as possible.
But that meant a moving box or flying train, perhaps both—and dressed like this? He shook his head in the darkness. Maybe he had no choice but to step into the street and burst into song. Better to be the aggressor than the hunted. Better to—
Something twitched against his shin, and he jerked away. A wild-eyed Information Factory worker lay on the ground, curled into a fetal ball.
A dreamer.
A dreamer on the run.
Shade targetted his thoughts at the man, hoping no one else could hear. He began to sing in the dreamer’s mind.
He sang a song of joy and truth, of the world to come, when slavery to Work was at an end, the Crust dismantled, and all dreamers roamed freely about the earth.
The man’s jaw sagged. His white teeth glittered in the darkness.
The song was getting through, then. Good.
Shade sang of his own dream, and of the world below, of the City of Dreams. Of his need to flee from the Dream Police, his need for fresh clothing, a place to hide.
The man made eye contact, a question on his face.
