Fearsome Dreamer

by Laure Eve

  ‘Where’s the box? You said you had one,’ she said, as they passed through a corridor much like the one at Red House, except it was coloured a uniform grey. He had promised her another world in that box, and she had not forgotten.

  ‘Patience, Rue,’ said Wren with a grin. ‘We’ll get to it. It’s in my room.’

  His room had turned out to be quite ordinary. The box he had shown her before, or one like it, was there, on a thin side table that looked like it couldn’t carry the weight of a chicken. Wren told her that it was made of one of the strongest materials in World. She’d considered testing his assurance by standing on top of it and jumping up and down, but didn’t have the courage.

  He had insisted she sleep for a while. Though she protested vigorously, it turned out that once she lay down, sleep overtook her almost at once. She didn’t remember if he’d stayed with her or not. She hoped that he had, at least for a little while.

  She shifted on the bed. It was warm in here, but she was much like a cat – a room couldn’t be too hot. She had seen Wren touch the wall to control the temperature, but was too scared to try it herself until she learned the skill of it. Wren called it technology; which was, she supposed, their word for magic. At first she had been so struck with wonder she had wanted to spend hours playing with the things he had shown her so briefly, in just the way she had wanted to spend hours playing with every wonderful thing he had shown her in their dream trips together, all those weeks ago.

  Magic was so commonplace here that it had infiltrated every part of everyone’s lives. They had magic devices set into walls that made food. There were other things, Wren said, that made you almost anything you could think of. There was no skill or understanding to it – you asked for and you got. It was so normal that it had become boring for them. Would it become boring for her, the longer she stayed here? Wren thought so, but Rue didn’t see how that was possible.

  There was a lot she didn’t understand, and Wren didn’t seem able to tell her how things worked. Where, for example, did the food come from? Was the food device like an ordering service? Were there vast kitchens underground every block of houses in the district they lived, who received your order and then sent it up by pulley? But how could that be, because the food arrived hot if you wanted to, and how could they possibly know what you were going to order beforehand, and have it ready to go when you ordered it?

  She knew these were stupid, childish ideas, so never voiced them; but when she quizzed Wren about the food devices, he spouted a lot of words that didn’t translate into Angle Tarain and then became annoyed with her if she pressed.

  That was another thing that had become very clear on coming here. She needed to learn the language they spoke here in World, as quick as she could. Then she could talk to some of the other people who lived in the house with them. They wouldn’t seem so strange and distant from her if she could only talk to them. Wren had said there was a quick way for her to learn the language, but it took time to set up, so she had held tightly onto her patience and waited, meanwhile spending every day surrounded by people who chatted and talked with him and not her for hours and hours while she sat by his side, bored and trying hard not to show it.

  World was a language that sounded both quite musical and a lot like a bad cough at the same time. No one spoke Angle Tarain in World. It was a quaint and pointless thing. So she waited and watched, while Wren laughed and ate and drank and sat her beside him with a protective air, but then mostly forgot she was there. She didn’t blame him. It must be exhausting to spend every day having conversations with people and then translating everything that was said at the same time.

  Wren maintained that he was viewed by his World friends and acquaintances as something of a curiosity, because he spoke two languages. No one in World spoke anything but World. No one in World needed to, because no one else in World spoke anything but World. It was a fundamental part of being a citizen of World. Wren was only allowed to retain his ‘other’ language, Angle Tarain, because of his job, he said. When Rue tried to quiz him on what exactly he did, he merely smiled mysteriously and said that she would find out soon enough.

  In order to learn World, Rue had to jack in, as Wren kept calling it, to Life; that other world inside the box that teased her with its squat, ordinary presence on his desk. Although he had a box, it was not a common thing to be in possession of one, apparently; everyone else in the house could access Life automatically, whenever they wanted, and needed no kind of box at all.

  So first, she had to be taught how to jack in. Second, Wren needed to request and obtain a bio-code pack to buy the language for her so she could learn it; which was apparently what he had been doing the last few days. He said that his employers would pay for her to learn, and were also responsible for obtaining the bio-code pack (in Rue’s mind, she equated bio-code pack with spell) and processing the odd request, in case of any questions asked – because who in World would need to learn World?

  She lifted her feet in the air and examined them, wondering idly if she had the courage to get up and try to find Wren. She had no idea what time it was. Would he even be here?

  Then she realised she was hungry, and that decided it.

  She crept out of Wren’s room. Much like Red House, her old university living quarters, everyone in this building lived in separate rooms but shared the ‘communals’ – the kitchen, bathrooms and the social room, where people ate and held parties. But the doors all looked the same, and everything was exact and placed just so; it made her shrink back from imposing herself so much on this place as to dare to move around in it, as if she belonged here.

  She pressed on a random door, hoping it would open. It did, and beyond it, to her relief, was the social room. Two people looked up as she came in. Neither was Wren, though she recognised them vaguely from the past few days.

  Rue stopped, embarrassed. She did her best to smile at them, though it must have come out crooked. One of them jumped up and returned the smile, opening her mouth as if to say something, then closing it as she remembered. She looked around at the other, who shrugged.

  Pressing a hand to her chest, she said, ‘Sabine.’

  Rue understood well enough. ‘Rue,’ she said, pointing to herself.

  Sabine smiled. She had glittering seawater coloured skin, and her hair was rolled into long, swaying tails, the tips of which grazed her elbows when she walked. She looked magnificent, and completely out of place in this dull grey room. Rue wished, wished she could look like her, and wondered when she might be able to learn how to change her skin and face and hair like that.

  Her friend was a young man (or old, Rue reminded herself – augmentation made everyone look young) with fairly ordinary-coloured skin. He had chosen instead to change the texture of it – ridges and bumps had been carefully constructed to run the length of his face and neck, and presumably the rest of his body, in various patterns. He had a starburst of little bulbous ridges on his cheek. He also had a small set of six horns protruding from his forehead; five smaller ringed around a large one in the middle. He looked her up and down quite openly, and inside she rolled her eyes. Wren had warned her of it – every Worlder would find her simple, unaltered appearance strange, but for some it might even border on the offensive. Only Technophobes proudly displayed no augmentation whatsoever, and stuck out like a sore thumb.

  ‘Technophobes are intensely annoying,’ said Wren, when Rue pressed him about the word. ‘They’re a group of idiots who think Life is evil, or something. They have their implants removed illegally and go off-grid. They attack people for no reason. All kinds of strange things.’

  In the meantime, Rue would have to endure the stares. She returned the young man’s gaze directly until he dropped his eyes. Let him think she was rude – it was only a mirror of himself.

  Sabine spoke. ‘Lars,’ she said, pointing at the man, who managed a cross between a nod and a shrug.

  Rue ventured in a little further, then looked around.

  In
the study at Red House they had a huge array of books on shelves, a games cupboard, a wicker chest full of art materials. But this room was as bare as could be, much like everything she had seen so far in World. She looked around at the walls for the black square shape of a food device, but couldn’t see one, and stood uncertainly. Even if she found it she wouldn’t know how to work it; but she didn’t want to ask these two strangers for help. How would she even get them to understand what she wanted?

  Sabine was looking at her, as if trying to work out what she was thinking.

  Lars said something, speaking unintelligible World with a bored sounding voice. Sabine answered him, and they talked for a moment. Rue slid awkwardly onto a seat near the door, not quite knowing what to do with herself.

  Being around Worlders was strange – more often than not they seemed elsewhere. She knew that it was because they spent most of the time hooked into the invisible, tantalising world of Life, a world she wouldn’t be able to see until she’d learned how to use the box.

  As Talented, it was easy enough for her to understand that Worlders could see a place inside their head where they didn’t physically exist. She wondered how easily non-Talented Angle Tarain would take to such a concept, and decided that most of them would probably find it impossible. But here, an entire culture revolved around the way her head worked. People would understand her without even knowing her. Rue loved that about World; more than the technology, more than the unfathomable things they did to their bodies, more than the incredible machines they liked so much to create that made their lives an effortless glide.

  Sabine kept throwing Rue a glance, as if she was repeatedly considering trying to talk to her. Rue hoped she didn’t. It was hard enough having to sit and listen without being able to join in, but when mime was resorted to, things became plain strange.

  So there they sat.

  She wondered if they both had a day off today, and where they worked, and what they did, and whether their parents looked as young as they did with all this augmentation floating around, and whether that bothered them. She was sure it would have bothered her if Fernie, her old hedgewitch mistress, had looked young and pretty. But thinking about Fernie and Angle Tar squashed her heart and gave her pain, so she moved on.

  What did people do for fun in World? What would she do? Wren had said he would introduce her to his superior, a woman called Greta Hammond, who sounded much like Frith. She supposed if this Greta Hammond liked the look of her she might be enrolled in a school or training programme here, too, and meet another Talented group she would have to get used to. At least here she would have Wren, and she wouldn’t have to make a start in this place all alone.

  As she was thinking of him, he walked into the room, searched for her, and grinned when he found her. She squealed and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

  ‘Really,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I wasn’t gone very long.’

  ‘Wren, I can’t wait to learn the language here.’

  ‘Won’t be long now, I promise you.’

  Sabine asked him something, her eyes flicking between them. He answered, and they laughed. Wren moved out of Rue’s arms and wandered over to the seats.

  ‘What did she say?’ Rue said.

  ‘That Angle Tarain sounds like trying to gargle with water when your mouth is filled with glass balls.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Don’t take offence – we like to joke with each other. I told her that to us, World sounds like pigs mating.’

  Rue barked a laugh and then covered her mouth in mock outrage. ‘You’re so mean.’

  ‘I am, indeed,’ he agreed.

  ‘Where’ve you been? I woke and you were gone,’ she said. It had meant to come out playful but sounded whiny, and she immediately regretted it. Wren shrugged evasively.

  ‘Out, meeting people,’ he said. ‘Work. You’ll understand, when you start yourself.’

  ‘You mean when I start training. I can’t work yet, I’m not old enough.’

  Wren laughed, and draped an arm over her.

  ‘Hungry?’ he said.

  LAURE EVE

  Laure Eve is a French–British hybrid who grew up in Cornwall, a place saturated with myth and fantasy. Being a child of two cultures taught her everything she needed to know about trying to fit in at the same time as trying to stand out. She speaks English and French and can hold a vague conversation, usually about food, in Greek.

  She has worked as a bookseller, a waitress and, for one memorable summer, a costumed bear for children’s parties. She now lives and works in London in the publishing industry. Follow Laure at www.laureeve.co.uk or on Twitter: @LaureEve

  First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Hot Key Books

  Northburgh House, 10 Northburgh Street, London EC1V 0AT

  Copyright © 2013 Laure Pernette

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN: 9-781-4714-0082-7

  This eBook was produced using Atomik ePublisher

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