Dreamworms Book 1: The Advent of Dreamtech

by Isaac Petrov

  Edda glances back at the drama unfolding on the frozen lake. “What can I possibly do?” Her voice trembles.

  “Do remain calm.”

  “What?” She glares at her mother-thing. “Dad is up there, and you expect me to—?!”

  Her words are cut short by another barrage from the French cannons. The violence of gunpowder rumbles louder than ever, as the cannonballs fly towards Willem and his hapless dragoons with ballistic, death-bringing inevitability.

  “Do detach your emotions, Redeemed van Dolah. Do trust me. Do detach your fear and focus your will on the cannonballs. Do reach out with your senses and feel them.”

  Edda’s eyes flinch over the lake where the cannonballs stand out with sudden vividness, impossibly made visible from that distance in a way that only dreams allow. They move with slow elegance, still rising through the freezing air.

  Edda blinks and her eyes widen with sudden realization. “I’m dreaming!” she says.

  “Very good,” Anika says. “You do control the pace. The cannonballs do slow. This is your dream. You can save your father, Redeemed van Dolah.”

  “But how?” Edda asks, voice drenched in anxiety as the cannonballs keep falling, slowly but inexorably.

  Willem’s cavalry stops their gallop as they realize the futility of their situation. They raise their eyes to meet death head on, with the dignity of warriors of any era. All except Willem, who turns instead to look straight into the desperate eyes of Edda, a sad smile on his face.

  Edda gasps in horror, powerless.

  “You do not will those cannonballs to reach the ice,” Anika’s slow and patient voice says, trying to slip through Edda’s panic. “You do not will the ice to break. You do not will the horses to fall into the lake. You do not will your father to die.”

  Edda gives Anika a desperate look of confusion. “But what can I do?! I’m too weak, Goah’s Mercy! I’m just a stupid girl in a deadly world. I can’t change shit!”

  “Do accumulate power, Redeemed van Dolah. Power to force change. Power to save lives. Power to bend the world to your will. Would you like to wield power that matters?”

  “Yes! Oh Goah, yes!”

  “What would you sacrifice for such power, Redeemed van Dolah? What would you renounce?”

  “Everything!” Tears of desperation and dread run down her cheeks. “My life! Every-fucking-thing!”

  “Do prove it. This is your dream, Redeemed van Dolah. It is yours to do as you desire. Do bend it to your will.”

  Edda squints, trying to grasp the full meaning of Anika’s words. Ximena feels her confusion, her hope—and the raw thirst of her desire.

  But with the unstoppable pacing of nightmares, the cannon balls complete their arc of death, and rain right through the doomed dragoons, disintegrating the ice under their hooves. The crack sound is so loud that it echoes against the auditorium walls.

  “What do you will?” Anika insists.

  Edda is paralyzed with terror. The brave soldiers do not even have time to scream as the icy waters swallow their horses whole. Willem is the last standing, his horse already sliding.

  “What do you will, Redeemed van Dolah? Do detach your mind of emotion, and claim power over your dream.”

  Edda closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

  Willem’s horse frantically tries to maintain equilibrium on the floating ice as Willem pulls the reins left and right, with the skill of a lifelong rider. He does not look scared; he knows he is doomed.

  Edda opens her eyes and looks sharply at her father as his horse begins to fall. Fear slips, and disappears. Anxiety vanishes. Her gaze is void of passion, even as her father dives to his death.

  “Do force your will.”

  Willem’s horse extends its wings. And flies.

  The entire scene slowly fades into darkness, a dream that ends. “Reality is built on top of dreams.” The enigmatic voice of Anika slips through even as the last light disappears. “Do control your dreams, and you shall control your reality.”

  Edda sits drowsily on the arrest cell bed, and rubs her neck. Ximena can see something fresh in her expression that was not there before. As if the dream had set something free that was lurking inside her.

  As Edda gathers her thoughts, Ximena and her fellow students lean forward and observe her with absorbed fascination, as if a dynamic drama was unfolding in the cell.

  Because it does.

  Right under Edda’s skin.

  Oh, what a gift, the psych-link. Perhaps the greatest achievement of dreamtech. It takes the breathtaking immersion of the dream sensorial deep into the shores of another mind. An incredible feat of engineering, when you really think about it. Thoughts, memories, even emotions, exquisitely crafted by a dreamtech engineer—Ank, most likely in this case—flow into your brain as if they were your own. And Miyagi’s innovation is to apply this technology to historic dreamsensos. Whoa, it feels like true time travel to Ximena. Better.

  Ximena smiles at Edda’s feelings. The fulfillment, the clarity, the sense of power, the thirst. She feels like she could stop the world spinning if she puts her mind to it.

  Powerful thoughts that attract doubts like porridge attracts flies.

  But… They’ll throw me out of school. My students need me. I need them.

  But… Only if they catch me.

  But… Our family reputation... Dad and Bram don’t deserve… Oh, little Hans, my love. You don’t deserve to grow in a family without a name, without karma.

  But… We will be together. Hans needs his grandfather, perhaps more than I do.

  But… What if I can’t convince Dad?

  But… If I do, I won’t be left parentless—alone in the world.

  Ximena feels it now, unmistakable, growing in the background with every exchange: the raw defiance, the determination, the will.

  But…. What if I can’t? What if I don’t have the strength?

  But… I do.

  But… What can I do?

  But…. Does it matter? Anything!

  Edda stands, and stares at an indistinct point on the wall like there was something—somebody—right there, staring back.

  She smiles, and whispers, “I will save you.”

  Five

  The Joyousday of Rozamond Speese

  “So you see, people, in December 2399 Edda van Dolah was just a young woman desperate to save her father,” Professor Miyagi says as he paces the stage, sunlight on his face. “She wants him to renounce his Joyousday. And we know how she plans to convince him: by dropping a bombshell that, if true,” he pauses for effect, “would destroy the entire society.”

  Ximena absorbs his every word with the same rapt attention as every other student in the auditorium. The professor surely has a sense of drama, she thinks, but then it hits her. The vial! He’s talking about that vial that Edda sneaked out.

  Professor Miyagi continues, “As an educated colonist and teacher, she knows some history, and she believes that the actual force behind the Joyousday ritual is some good ol’ tyrannical repression. Is the Goah’s Imperia government—the Head of Goah—really poisoning every colonist upon reaching twenty-seven years of age?” He chuckles loudly. “Edda is convinced. What better way to retain power than keeping your people in the eternal, happy ignorance of youth?”

  He walks towards Ank, who is sitting on the front bench next to Bob, the wudai machine, and says to the auditorium, “I think you will find the next sequence instructive. It is context at its best, so please pay attention—we will have a little Q&A right after.” He gives Ank a nod.

  The amphitheater—Miyagi, Ank, the students—fades out as a resplendent morning scene materializes over the stage, and expands upwards and outwards over their heads and across the whole auditorium. Ximena is still in awe at the vivid realism of the dreamsenso immersion. Magnificent! It draws her in and engulfs all her senses.

  The scene is static, frozen in time. A pastoral setting. A field of carefully tended grass surrounded by oak trees. It must
be winter since no leaves populate their branches. The sun lies low, throwing long shadows. It is not an empty scene. Quite the contrary—it is teeming with people, none older than, indeed, twenty-seven. They are dressed in fine, bright-colored tunics, ornate belts on some waists. The older men and women wear colorful, large hats made of dry branches, leaves and flowers. These young people seem to be celebrating something—with wide smiles and beaming eyes, many are frozen in mid-dance.

  “Check that out, people,” Miyagi says, barely visible at the edge of the stage. “The colony of Lunteren on the 10th of December 2399.” He turns and points at the happy dancers. “Any guess as to what we are seeing?”

  Many hands shoot up.

  “Yes, Qiao?”

  “Er, it totally looks like a Joyousday celebration right out of Fahey’s Legacy.”

  “Spot on. Let’s watch. Ah, I forgot to say, but you’ll notice that I’ve removed the dramatic effects, symphonic music, camera shifts and all that. That will be all good and fine for the final production, but for us historians, only the naked facts, right? I want you to feel that you’re there, mingling with,” he gestures at the dancers, “our happy ancestors.” With another nod to Ank, the scene comes to life.

  The dreamsenso immediately floods Ximena’s senses with a distinct feel of the fresh winter air, her nostrils filling with the smell of wet grass and wooden stoves.

  Hundreds of young women and men dance and chatter happily on the grass field. Pop music from the golden age erupts from two large loudspeakers discreetly installed inside the only building at the edge of the field—the Joyousday House, Ximena recognizes. The same house Edda assaulted a few days ago, same walls carved with geometric reliefs. And in the daylight, from a distance, Ximena can now appreciate the roof is made of intricately braided tree branches.

  A woman dressed in white—the only person in the celebration who is not wearing colorful robes—is the undisputed center of attention. She is pretty, the youth of twenty-seven years of life tinting her white cheeks. Her long, black hair and eyes contrast beautifully with her dress. When she approaches any group of people, they stop dancing and greet her warmly, exchange some words, and conclude with deep, honest hugs before she moves on to the next group.

  The scene view begins to slide sideways, across a myriad of laughs and dances, until it stops at the edge of the gathering where a girl glimpses nervously at every new arrival. She is obviously waiting for somebody. And she looks very upset.

  Aline Speese, Ximena recognizes her immediately, the fallen angel. Oh so young still, sixteen—the same age as Edda. She looks splendid in that yellow-and-orange robe—what is that, silk?—that wraps her feminine shape. Ximena squints as she studies Aline’s face. It’s as if she had just seen her somewhere else… That white skin and long, black hair… Oh, she looks just like the younger sister of the woman in white. And as pretty, except that her face shows traces of tears. Oh, Ximena gasps in understanding. That woman is Aline’s mother! And this is her Joyousday.

  “Wow.” Mark beside her is staring at Aline with a look close to reverence. “Speese-Marai,” he says the words like he is praying.

  Aline shifts from one foot to another, scanning the colony path impatiently, when she sees a tall, black girl with short, curly hair approaching slowly. Aline exhales a breath of relief—or is it distress?—and runs towards her.

  “Fucking Mercy, Edda,” Aline says, wide-eyed and voice drenched in distress. “Where in Goah’s Name were you?!”

  Edda’s eyes are wet and red, and her colorful tunic is worn carelessly, wrinkled in places. Even her intricate broad belt sits too loose above her hips. She says nothing. She just meets Aline’s eyes, lips pressed together, and drops her chin.

  “No,” Aline covers her mouth with a hand and begins to cry. “No, no.”

  Edda embraces Aline as tears well up in her own eyes. So they stay, in solidary silence, for a long while, oblivious to the party behind them. The psych-link seems to kick in as Ximena begins to feel Edda’s sorrow and pity. Poor Aline, comes the thought. Followed by a Goahdamn you, Dad. Her rage comes out of nowhere, spilling over the sadness like ocean surf over beach sand, wiping everything in its path. She’s angry. No, she is furious. At her father, of course. He is going to do it, doesn’t matter what she says. How can he be so… stubborn? But mainly she is angry at herself. For failing. It was all for nothing. She feels so powerless. So alone.

  “Congratulations, Woman Speese.” An imposing woman—mid-twenties—dressed in the finest robe Ximena has ever seen, approaches from the field. It’s Colony Elder van Kley, Ximena gathers from the psych-link. “Oh, are you all right, dear?”

  Aline takes a step back and wipes her tears with the back of her hand. “Yes, yes, sorry, Colder van Kley.” She tries to smile. “Thank you.”

  “Are you sure nothing is upsetting you? You look—”

  “No, no. It’s nothing. Just the emotions, you know?” Aline forces a smile. “Such an eventful day. So happy.”

  Colony Elder van Kley smiles radiantly at her. “And we are so delighted for you. A great day for the Speese Family—for those that left us, and for those that remain.”

  “Yes, thank you so much, Colder van Kley. If you’ll excuse us, there is something…”

  Aline takes Edda by the elbow and pushes her off the path on a discreet route towards the party. “So, what was in that bottle?” Aline asks, voice still wavering.

  Edda snorts. “According to Isabella, just some sleeping herbs.”

  “Sleeping herbs? Like for insomnia?”

  “Stronger, way stronger. A powerful sedative, but not lethal, apparently. Isabella knew what it was because aws Eye orders it in her pharmacy regularly. They even have a name for it: Joyousday infusion.”

  “Can we… can we trust her? Isabella Zegers, I mean.”

  Edda sighs, and nods. “Unfortunately, she’s telling the truth. She’s going to be my dowry sister, Aline. Yeah, she’s solid. My dad gave the vial to her straight away. She was the obvious choice.”

  “Oh, Goah, that means—”

  “That means that I fucked up, Aline. I took the wrong flask—the sedative—and left the poison on the counter. Pure sin!”

  “What am I going to tell my mom?” Aline’s voice increases in tone and pitch, close to tears. “How can I convince her with no evidence?”

  “I’m so sorry, sister. But you have to try. What else? Look, there she is.” Edda points at the resplendent woman in white surrounded by the crowd of well-wishers. “Talk to her.”

  “Fuck, Edda,” Aline says, her voice barely under control. “This is so much harder than I thought.”

  Edda takes her friend’s hands into her own. “No shit.” Edda looks into her eyes. “I don’t know how you feel. Honest to Goah, I don’t want to know. But in two months I most certainly will,” she says sourly. “Get a hold of yourself. This is it. What you don’t say today, remains unsaid.”

  “Yes.” Aline takes a deep breath. “I know.”

  “And about this monstrosity, this… ritual,” Edda gestures at the dancing crowd, disgusted. “We are moving to plan B, sister. I can guarantee you nobody will ever forget your mom’s Joyousday.”

  “About that—I’ve been thinking…” Aline says in a weakened voice.

  “What?! You promised!”

  “I know. But it is hard enough as it is… I don’t want Mom’s Joyousday to be, I don’t know,” she shrugs, “desecrated.”

  “Well, it’s not up to you anyway,” Edda says, defiance rising in her voice. “You cannot stop me.”

  Aline’s rosy cheeks lose some color. “No way, Edda. You can’t do this without my consent.”

  Edda regards her in silence. Sure I can, her eyes seem to say.

  “Edda, I forbid it.” Aline drops her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “But you promised!” Edda purses her lips, but only for an instant before her tongue lashes. “This is bigger than us! It’s bigger than your mom’s goahdamn Joyousday!” The
fury is followed by instant regret, and then by pride, and then by fury again. Oh, it is so exhilarating for Ximena to ride Edda’s emotional roller coaster.

  Aline steps back as if physically assaulted. She shakes her head slowly and points a finger at Edda’s face, serious and cold as a marble statue.

  “Don’t. You. Dare. I forbid it! You do this, you’re dead to me.”

  Edda holds her gaze for a few seconds before lowering her eyes. Oh, her fury is still there, all right. Ximena feels it burning inside. But fear—fear of loss, fear of being left alone—that is… unbearable. “Fine,” Edda whispers. “But promise me something.” She looks up at Aline.

  “What?”

  “Talk your mom out of this.”

  “I won’t be able to.” Aline shakes her long hair and clenches her jaws. “I know her.”

  “What else can we do?” Edda’s voice is sharper now. “Begging is our only power, sister. Go talk to your mom.”

  Aline turns and looks at the beaming white figure with hesitant eyes. Edda gives her a gentle push. “You got this.”

  “Aline! Come here, my love.” The woman takes her daughter in her arms and kisses both her cheeks. “I wasn’t expecting you until after the prayers. Quaestor Mathus hasn’t even arrived yet.”

  “Sorry, Mom, I just wanted to talk to you in private, without, er, the rest of the family.”

  “We will have plenty of time to talk when you join me in Goah’s Embrace, in eleven years!” She laughs, happy.

  “Please don’t make jokes, Mom.”

  “Oh, come on, love. Cheer up! Can you please excuse us?” she asks the surrounding group.

  “Of course, Roz,” a tall woman says, smiling. “But don’t forget to say goodbye to us next, it’s our turn!”

  Rozamond takes her daughter aside.

  “You look pretty today, Aline.” Rozamond gently pulls back a strand of hair from her daughter’s face. “A smile would make you look even more beautiful, love. What’s in your heart?”