by Sarah Noffke
When I’m comfortable, his grin fades from his lips and resurfaces in his eyes where it shines brighter. “You’ll do great! I’ll be waiting when you return.” He turns and I watch him walk away, missing the expression in his eyes immediately. Closing my lids I refocus and within seconds I whirl through a tunnel, hopefully headed for the room four levels up.
When I arrive I expect a rush to generate my body. Amber, Aiden’s “lovely assistant,” explains that isn’t necessary this time because my body isn’t hanging out at the bottom of a lake, but rather resting comfortably on the cot in Aiden’s lab. Then something odd occurs to me.
“How can you see me? How can you hear me? I’m dream traveling and you aren’t, right?” I ask, confused.
Amber gives a knowing look. She’s tall and willowy, making me feel like a child as I stand beside her. “You’re correct, I’m not dream traveling. An exceptional technology allows us to interact. It’s a screen on the GAD-Cs Aiden has built. Most GAD-Cs can’t do this, but he invented a device that enables it on the ones in the Institute. This is crucial because otherwise how would we know when to operate the machine to generate people’s bodies? It really is amazing technology and on its own could be quite an incredible device.” Remorse or maybe envy dances in her eyes briefly. She refocuses on me. “Well, you ready to do this?”
“Yes,” I say.
She instructs me on the procedure for operating the machine to generate my body from its current position to where my consciousness is located. It consists of pushing a series of buttons, checking a few readings, and aligning some dials. Although it’s scientific, it seems easy.
“If you misread something and make any misalignments then the results could be disastrous.” Her pinched nose draws up a bit into the air cautiously.
This gets my attention and I have her run me through the process three more times. When I’m confident I take the measurements, align the dials, lie down on the table inside the blue lights, and tug the button attached to the long wire beside me. I press the button and the magic happens. Since I’m not drowning, the experience is way less intense. It still burns and there’s definitely a jolt and a shock that occurs when consciousness rejoins with my body. The weirdest part is when I take the first breath. I hadn’t noticed it the first time, because my lungs had been aching. This time I observe my breath move in reverse. Just as I breathe in I forget how and expect the air to breathe me. I inhale and my lungs are somehow outside myself. This has to be more of a mind game than anything and now I understand why Aiden wants us to practice this.
Once I’m stable, Amber tells me to relax and dream travel back to Aiden’s lab. This is the part that makes me nervous. After I dream travel to Aiden’s lab then I’ll have to generate my body using the brand new, untested GAD-C, which seemingly has some bugs. What if it doesn’t work? What if it deforms my body in the process?
Since I know I don’t have a choice, I try to push these thoughts out of my mind and think of something to bolster my confidence. Before closing my eyes I tell myself I can trust Aiden and his device. That doesn’t work. I tell myself, if you can’t trust the Head Scientist for the Institute, who can you trust? That doesn’t work either. I remind myself that this man built a machine that sees pure consciousness. This also has no real effect.
Truth be told, in the end it all comes down to odds. Aiden saved my life once. I don’t think he’d make me a guinea pig for this experiment just to kill me off. He has a reputation to protect and from everything I’ve discerned he’s gained this super scientist reputation by being incredibly competent. Logic is what tells me to trust him, and so I do. I close my eyes, feeling the fear subside, and focus on his lab. I hear the music, see the messy piles of gadgets, the posters covering the walls, and then I see him. Seconds later I push through the tunnel and then quite suddenly I stand in the lab next to the GAD-C.
Aiden’s leaning against a nearby wall eyeing me with a clever smile. “Glad you could join us, Ms. Stark. I must say that was awful fast.”
My body is hot and cold at the same time, although I know I don’t really have a body at this point. Still I look down, wondering if I’m wearing clothes or if they’ve stayed behind waiting to be generated. Thankfully it isn’t like one of those strange dreams.
“Now,” Aiden continues, “if you wouldn’t mind, please demonstrate to the spectators exactly how to generate your body.”
I hit exactly six buttons. Take readings on thirteen different instruments. Align three dials. Lie down. Hit one button. And then there’s a stall, like a car engine gives before it decides to turn over. It ambles on until I gasp and realize it’s oxygen I’m pulling into my lungs. It’s worked. I’m here, in body form—sweating, excited, and relieved.
“And that’s how it’s done,” Aiden chirps with excitement. “Roya, since you seem to have mastered that after only one turn, I dare say you’re officially done for the day and can go. Who’s next?” the Head Scientist asks like a game show host.
I scoot off the platform and take a few breaths. They feel like kindling in my throat at first, jagged and sharp. The voices around me are distant, indistinct. All I hear is the music and my own thoughts as they pour through my consciousness. I float off in the direction of the exit.
“Oh, and Roya,” Aiden calls to me.
I turn, feeling victorious.
“Nice job,” he says with eyes full of meaning, no grin present.
“Thanks.” I smile, lingering one second too long on his expression before leaving.
♦
For the first time in my life I finally understand the expression “puffed up with pride.” My chest leads the way with an exuberant force as I march through the halls. Jitters run from my fingertips all the way to my belly, which feels full and like it will never be hungry again. Adrenaline pulses through my veins and I like it, but it also makes me nervous, like at any moment it will overpower me.
I round the corner toward the elevators and meet a familiar face. “Hello, Roya,” Trey says, throwing his hand through his silver hair. I imagine in another life he was a surfer, but I’m guessing in the Institute he has little opportunity to catch waves.
“Hey.” I immediately reel in the energy that has me skipping on my toes.
Trey smiles slightly, seeming to be infected by my good mood. “So how have the last few days treated you? Everything been all right?”
I nod, unsure exactly how to elaborate on this.
“Look,” he says, taking up the conversation, “I know there are a lot of unanswered questions for you. I don’t want you to be in the dark or confused. Believe me.” Sincerity etches at the corner of his eyes and I do, I believe him.
“I’ve been overwhelmed with a particular task,” he explains. “But soon I’d like the opportunity to sit down and explain a few things to you.”
I don’t have the faintest clue as to what he’s referring, but I’m immediately curious.
Trey continues, “You should know that if you have a question, then I’d like you to feel free to ask it. And I will answer the questions I can.”
For a second I concentrate on his protective charm—the talisman around his neck. I’m mesmerized by how the blue and yellow seem to swirl for miles into each other, but always stay separate.
Behind me I hear a noise and turn. The lady in the purple scrubs, the one with the waves of soft brown hair, wrinkles, and young eyes, exits her room. She sees us and retreats in the opposite direction.
My mouth asks the question before I can stop it. “What’s in there?”
Trey draws in a breath. He seems to wrestle internally for a few seconds. His eyes focus intently on me and then on the ground. This happens several times. Then he gently grabs my arm and pulls me around a corner, away from the elevators.
“It’s Flynn,” he says his face suddenly grave, like a wilted plant on a blistering day. “He was…He is the Head of the Institute. He always has been. This is his place. A little less than a week ago he decided to hunt
down Zhuang. He thought he could end this whole thing. It was never Flynn’s intention to send a young person into a dreamscape to battle Zhuang. He refused to believe the news reporters. Anyway, he thought he could at least weaken Zhuang. At this point he might be a hundred layers deep.”
I’m not sure I understand half of what’s he’s said. “Layers? What do you mean by those?”
Trey nods, seeming to understand my gap in dream travel knowledge. “Each location you dream travel to represents a layer. As a person moves from location to location, the layers stack on top of each other, like that of cake—hence the reason for the term.”
“Oh,” I say, still overwhelmed by the conversation.
“I think Flynn is trapped in one of the layers,” Trey says, his voice distant. He appears lost, like a shadow of himself. “Flynn hasn’t returned to his body in a while. We have him hooked up to life support. He’s very close to being away from his body for too long. The consciousness can’t live without the body and vice versa. We must report back or we’ll die. Zhuang can sustain dream travel the longest, for sure, but even he must return at some point. Consciousness will only last for a short period without the body. I believe Zhuang is killing Flynn. It’s all been a trick to lure him in, confuse him, and most likely finish him off. I can’t find him to stop this. Honestly, I’m worried about trying because I don’t know what I’m facing. News reporters offer little on the subject, but that’s typical for Zhuang. Besides from the Day of the Duel, there are no real forecasts, that’s always been the way. He’s impossible to get a read on.”
A shiver shoots down my back. Cold. Painful. I’m speechless. This is more than I asked for. More than I expected to hear. Why did he share this much with me? Me? Roya? What obligation does he have to share anything with me? A part of me feels a charge from knowing this information and then the rest wants to run and hide.
We walk back to the elevator in silence. Trey finally says, “I tell you this because you need to know two vital things.” He taps the buttons for the second and third level and then the elevator moves. “The first is, I will always tell you the truth and give you the information you seek when I can.” He stops, eyeing me, and then adds, “I want you to trust me.” Suddenly it’s difficult to maintain eye contact with him, but I force myself. “The second is we’re up against something very real and dangerous. Zhuang wants to win this, but it isn’t a game. There are real lives at stake. It’s understandable that you’ve struggled with your commitment to the Lucidites and this mission, but I hope that this puts the task in front of you into perspective.”
I nod, although I’m hesitant. I want Trey to think I understand, but it’s a lie. More than ever I’m confused and scared.
“I hope to talk with you again soon,” Trey says intently as the elevator doors open on his level.
I nod again, feeling heavy as he exits.
Chapter Twenty
The next several days pass in a blur. I awake from traveling the globe, put on my sneakers, and sweat like hell. Mario, our sensei, has us do yoga, weightlifting, core exercises, and way too much running.
Meal times are actually enjoyable, especially since the team and I are finally finding a rhythm. George spends most of his time with the white coats and Goat Girl is always delayed or absent. This gives the rest of us ample opportunity to share stories. We soon realize each of us grew up feeling like or labeled as outcasts. Well, all of us except Joseph. He admits to being different, but hid it better than the rest of us. He has a certain knack with people, a gift with which the rest of us aren’t blessed. It’s good to hear others tell stories of feeling different from everyone at school, of hiding their abilities to prevent being ostracized.
Some of the group, like Trent and Whitney, were born into Dream Traveler families, ones who supported the Lucidites. I found the idea of living in a family who fostered my unique abilities and traveled with me around space and time appealing. Joseph shared my sentiment and confessed his parents had no special abilities. Samara, on the other hand, admitted that although she knew her mother was a Dream Traveler, her mother refused to speak about it or allow Samara to. This had been the case ever since Samara was five and her mother married a Middling.
From everything we gathered, there wasn’t a logical order or reason for how Dream Travelers came to be. Were we born this way? Was it a syndrome we came down with late in childhood? The only thing the group decided upon was the ability to dream travel rarely came to an individual until they were over the age of fifteen. There were rare cases where children could dream travel as young as five, but the Lucidite laws forbade anyone under the age of eight from doing so. My mind flashed to Aiden. He’d spent more of his life traveling the globe and through history than he had being normal. This thought sparked something in a hidden passageway within me, but I quickly buried the feeling, the curiosity.
Within no time the team of alternates and I began to interact seamlessly. I had never been a part of a team. The camaraderie, the friendship, was all new for me. Even if Samara could read my thoughts, at times I was certain she hadn’t and still knew what I was thinking. It only took one look from Trent for me to double over with laughter, knowing he was about to tease Joseph in his demonstrative way. And there was nothing I enjoyed more than to see Whitney’s eyes light up when Joseph tickled her and called her our little fairy. “You’re the only one who can save us for sure,” he’d always say. Her look, the one where she was on the brink of laughter and tears at the same time, brought a subtle tenderness to my throat. Nothing felt so good as to see that expression on her angelic face. She’s the youngest of the group, but I suspect she’ll always look sweet, innocent.
At the end of every day, in the last quiet hour before dream travel, I found myself confiding in Joseph. His natural style with people was like the interpreter I’d been lacking my whole life. And maybe there was a part of me that offered him an introspective perspective, one that explained to him why the world didn’t open on a hinge.
All in all we were proving to be a cohesive team and it was definitely to our benefit.
“Very good,” Shuman remarked one day during training. She was referring to Trent’s ability to pull a spear from a hundred feet, through an obstacle course to her outstretched hand. And Samara was now proficient enough with her telepathy she could just about breach Shuman’s thoughts without a trace. “I felt you,” Shuman remarked bluntly, “but only at the end. I knew you were there because you lingered too long. You already had what you were seeking. Go when you have retrieved it.”
Ren, on the other hand, didn’t really think it’s so cute that we’ve formed such a healthy “tribe.”
“Don’t get distracted,” he remarked one day. “That’s what familiarity will do for you. It will distract you. Make you comfortable. Once you’re comfortable then you might as well light the fire and spear yourself, because you’re about to get roasted.”
We all looked sideways at each other trying to suppress our laughter.
“Crikey!” Ren yelled. “This isn’t a joke!”
He then spent every other lesson throwing projections at us and when we didn’t recognize them for what they were they’d attack us. Luckily they couldn’t do any real harm, except make us pee in our pants.
This is when group dream travels started. I’m hardboiled. That’s how I’m made. I’m a hard-cased being, covering a softness I hope never to reveal. Still these travels opened me up, like a yolk, soft and runny on buttered toast.
We were told at night to all travel to the same location. The point was to learn to travel together. We’d meet, then move through the dreamscape, learning how to stay together. When cued, we’d travel to a new layer. Together. If someone got lost then we had to find them before moving forward. This would go on for three or four dozen layers. Never before had I felt that fluid movement of traveling beside someone. We’d travel and move, exploring real buildings, real waters, and a real moon. Then in unison we’d shut our eyes, like a fleet of ships
and spiral to a new location, with new buildings, new waters, and the same moon. If there was one moment, aside from all the rest, this was the one where I came alive.
This is when I learned the rules governing dream traveling interactions. Apparently, I’d been right that only Dream Travelers can see one another. People in the physical realm can’t see Dream Travelers, although the reverse isn’t true. Those who have a consciousness like a person, dog, or bull will pass through a Dream Traveler like a ghost. This is in contrast to objects without a consciousness. As a Dream Traveler we can pick up objects, hold onto solid forms, or feel materials under our seemingly transparent skin. However, the law dictates that we’re never to interact with an object, just as Steve had explained. This means we can walk on the bridges or wrap our fingers around monkey bars, but we’re never to pick up or move an object in the physical plane.
The only downside to this life is trainings with Aiden have been suspended for an unknown amount of time. He’s working on something important and can’t take any time away from the project. This meant we’ve picked up extra lessons with Shuman. She spent this time explaining to us how dream interpretation could be used.
“My people have long known the importance of interpreting one’s dreams,” she explained. “This is a tool you can use to gain insight from your subconscious. By exploring the symbols and stories your dreams offer, you can discover special information. If you are stuck, need direction, or want to be made aware of something then turn to your dreams. The Institute offers a safe place to do this. You can dream freely here, allowing your subconscious mind to take you on a journey. It is not safe to do this anywhere else in the world, under the current circumstances.”
Two nights a week we are required to record our dreams in a journal. In class we work in pairs to interpret what we’ve recorded. I spend most of this time working with Joseph. Shuman thinks he shows a special ability for dream interpretation.
