The War for the Waking World

by Wayne Thomas Batson

  “Archer Percival Keaton,” Master Gabriel said. “By the power vested in me—”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Archer cried out. “What . . . what are you doing? People are dying out there . . . and they don’t even see it!”

  “Archer!” Master Gabriel thundered. His armor lit up the room like the flash of a lightning bolt. “I am well aware of the plight of this world. Now, be silent.”

  Archer had never seen Master Gabriel in so severe a mood. What was he talking about? Archer’s mind reeled. That’s when Master Gabriel turned to one of the strangers and grabbed a pair of dull metal shackles joined by a thick chain. In one swift motion, he placed them on Archer’s wrists. The shackles clicked and turned fiery white.

  “Aaah!” Archer cried out. “Aaah, that hurts! What is this? Master Gabriel? What are you doing to me?”

  “It is not what I am doing to you,” the master Dreamtreader snapped. “It is what you have done to yourself. I say once more, be silent, Archer! You stand accused of violating Dreamtreader law. Though it grieves me to do so, I hereby place you under arrest.”

  DREAMTREADER CREED, CONCEPTUS 11

  Anchor first. Anchor deep.

  The Dreamtreader Anchor deep. must secure himself to truth at all costs. You must remain grounded and perform your duties, not just to the best of your abilities, but beyond simple effort to . . . ultimate success. For yours is not a mundane occupation. Yours is no routine in which from time to time you might just go through the motions or simply . . . get by.

  For you, success is the only acceptable outcome. For to fail would mean the destruction of lives . . . and worlds.

  EIGHT

  CORPORATE TAKEOVER

  KARA WINDCHIL FINISHED WRITING, PUT DOWN HER pen, and gazed at her flourished signature.

  “That,” Frederick said, “makes it official.”

  Kara smiled and gazed at the Baltimore city skyline. The Dream Inc. Building, often called the Dream Tower, was the tallest in Baltimore, of course. She had based the design on several skyscrapers she’d seen in her research. It had been months in the planning, and then, the moment the Rift became a reality, Kara had spent a tremendous amount of will to build the Dream Tower from the ground up . . . in a matter of a few hours. The view of the surrounding world from just more than 660 feet suited Kara perfectly.

  It’s my world now,she thought, not gloating but rather a pondering of fact.

  Frederick adjusted his ever-present dark glasses, and then made the knot on his black tie a little bit tighter. “It’s a shame about Mr. Thames,” he said.

  Kara stood and waltzed to the window. “A loss for all of us,” she whispered, staring at the dual image in the glass: the city and her own reflection. She wore a smart business suit, custom tailored so the suit sleeves stretched beyond their usual length into decorative cuffs that reached her knuckles. She raised a hand to her frozen-plum lips and continued to ruin a perfect manicure by nibbling at her pinky nail.

  “A greater loss for some,” Frederick said dryly. “Doctor Scoville won’t be easy to pacify.”

  “Just make sure the restraining orders keep Scoville a hundred miles away from me at all times.”

  “Of course,” Frederick replied. “But the man has assets.”

  “Not like ours,” Kara said.

  The room went utterly quiet until Frederick popped the clasps on his briefcase and said, “There’s one more form to sign.”

  “Oh?” Kara asked without turning around. She flung back a silky black curtain of hair and tilted her head so the setting sunlight reflected in her pale blue—almost turquoise—eyes. “And what’s that? I thought you just said my sole ownership is official.”

  “I did, and it is,” Frederick replied curtly. “This form has nothing to do with your ownership of Dream Inc. and everything to do with your self-ownership. You still wish to be an emancipated minor, I trust?”

  Kara broke eye contact with her reflection and said, “Oh, that. Yes, of course.” Kara spun on a high heel and returned to the table. She snatched up the pen and signed her name once more. “I’m due every privilege of adulthood without fear that my mother would meddle in my affairs. She’s not of sound mind, you know.”

  “So I’ve come to understand,” Frederick replied, tucking the newly signed document into his briefcase. “And, if I may say so, it is quite kind of you to create a fund for her. She’ll never want for another thing in her life.”

  “It’s the least I can do,” Kara said, turning to leave the conference room. She paused at the door. “And, Frederick?”

  “Yes, Ms. Windchil?”

  “Once the ownership portfolio has been ratified by the board of directors, please send me a few copies.”

  “I’ll have them delivered within the hour,” he said. “Where will you be?”

  “I have . . . a few errands to run,” she replied cryptically. “Send the digital files to my tablet; put the master copies in my personal vault.”

  Kara didn’t wait for his answer but waltzed to the lobby and slapped the fleet elevator’s down button. If she’d stayed, Frederick might have given her an earful about taking orders. They’d had a business relationship for some time, longer than most suspected, but that didn’t mean he liked being bossed around.

  Tapping her feet impatiently, Kara glared at the floor symbols and willed the fleet elevator to get to her floor faster. She looked at her watch, and then nibbled on her bottom lip. The meeting with Frederick had gone overlong, and time was running short for her errands.

  The doors opened at last. Kara stepped in, sighed, and decided she needn’t be worried about the time. After all, Dream Inc. operated according to her schedule—not the other way around. Moments later, the fleet elevator came to a stop at the medical clinic. She didn’t smile or wave at any of the employees. She quickly bypassed the public section, stopped to punch in a door code at her private suite, and then rushed inside.

  The pressure-sealed door closed behind her, and she was talking before she was halfway down the corridor. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, “but it couldn’t be helped. And, no, I don’t want to reschedule. I’m worn-out. And I need a recharge.”

  Something flashed from around the corner as a being transported itself into the room. It was followed by a gleam of chrome . . . and a voice. “Things do not always go as we have planned,” it said. “For the queen of the world has many demands, but fortunately for you, Kara, your wish is my command.”

  An hour later, feeling completely refreshed and energized, Kara left the medical clinic. She checked her tablet computer, saw the message waiting, and read that her ownership documents had been approved, of course. As per her instructions, Frederick had attached the digital files and put the master documents in her private vault. He’d even had the presence of mind to make a copy and sent it via—

  “Courier for Ms. Windchil,” said the young man who’d just appeared at her side. He wore the gray Dream Inc. uniform and held out a translucent plastic mailing tube.

  “Thank you,” Kara said, taking the mailing tube. She eyed the courier for a moment. He must have been in his mid-twenties. How happy he looked. How content. Not to mention efficient. She glanced at his name tag. “Hartsfield, is it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, Hartsfield,” she said, “you didn’t disturb me with this delivery but made sure I received it the moment I left the clinic. Consider your salary doubled.”

  The courier’s eyes lit up. “Thank you, Ms. Windchil. Thank you. And if I may say, you’re a joy to work for. I mean, it doesn’t feel like a job at all but—”

  Kara held up a hand. “Duly noted,” she said, turning her back on the courier and heading for the fleet elevator. She stepped inside and hurriedly typed a code into the keypad.

  “Floor please?” an automated voice demanded.

  “Beneath,” Kara said, tearing open the mailing tube.

  “Floor restriction,” the voice replied, “initiate recognitio
n protocol or choose another floor.”

  Kara put her palm to the screen. “Protocol Wind Maiden One,” she said. The screen flashed several colors, and the elevator began its long descent. Beneath was the code name of the lowest subterranean floor. The Dream Inc. Building went slightly deeper below the surface than its 660-foot height above. The Research and Development labs were on the bottom floor, but Kara’s private section was even farther down and completely unknown to all but her—hence the name.

  As the high-speed elevator hummed along, Kara found her reflection again, this time in the chrome doors. She loved the way the fluorescent light danced in her eyes. She gave a thought, spending just the tiniest measure of will, and her eyes began to glow, phasing blue, green, and purple. She gazed down at her fingernails and watched the now-scrolling colors for the most attractive hue, settling at last on opalescent plum. With barely a thought, she highlighted her silky, black hair with streaks of white blonde.

  She took in the new look and muttered, “So easy.”

  “Nearing Research and Development,” the digital voice announced. “Do you wish to notify?”

  “Do not notify,” Kara commanded. She’d meant to fix that feature. If she were getting off at R&D, fine, but if she were heading Beneath, she didn’t want anyone to know she was even in the area.

  As the elevator slowed, Kara removed the ownership documents from the tube and skimmed them for a few moments. It was all there. Frederick had been very thorough.

  Kara watched the monitor and readied herself. Sublevel after sublevel went by, then Research and Development, and then . . . it happened. She willed her new appearance customizations not to change in the least, but she felt the boundary.

  As soon as the elevator slipped below R&D’s floor and over the threshold of Beneath, the air itself changed. It felt to Kara like the peeling away of a fuzzy layer. Not fuzzy like cute stuffed animals and cuddly kittens, but rather like the feel of static electricity. She felt it crawl up her body, her neck, her chin. She closed her eyes. It always stung the eyes a little.

  And, then, it was done. Kara breathed out relief.

  Her personal floor, Beneath, was the only place left on earth where her will-driven, dream-vision of reality—what she called the Harlequin Veil—did not penetrate. The elevator doors opened. Kara stepped out into the world as it really was and breathed the fresh air. It was cold air, barely regulated by the machines she’d installed, but its crisp, clean nature was superior to veiled air.

  Kara stepped off the elevator into a long cavern carved from slabs of blue-gray granite. At the far end of the cavern was a throne. It had once belonged to the Nightmare Lord. And, for a brief time, another had occupied the chair.

  “But it’s mine now,” Kara whispered. Summoning a little will, her feet left the ground. She hovered across the long floor until dropping lightly into the seat. She crossed her legs, placed her arms upon the rests and, with a glance, lit the torches all around the cavern.

  Then, pouring as much smugness into her smile as possible, she decided it was time to visit with an old friend. She nodded, and a sixty-foot section of the floor began to rise. There had been no visible crease or mark to show this hidden chamber, but it rose smoothly and came to rest as if it had been there an eternity. Kara flexed her will. A place in the air right before her eyes went pitch-black, and a very old key emerged from the darkness. Made of bronze, now weathered, pitted, and streaked with patina, the Shadow Key hovered for a moment, and then streaked off to the waiting keyhole in the massive chamber that had risen from the floor.

  With her mind, Kara turned the key in the lock, and a huge slab door slid open. And there, wrists manacled, top hat dangling limply from one hand, stood Rigby Thames. But he was not alone. Shadows swirled around him.

  NINE

  BENEATH

  “YESSS, MY QUEEEEEN? ” ONE OF THE SHADOWS HISSED.

  “Need us for mischief?” rasped another. There was a glimmer of furtive, darting eyes. The Scath were humanoid, possessing a head, torso, limbs, but they were also fluid: pouring, spilling, and swirling like liquid darkness. They could move like cats or spiders or bats, whatever type of locomotion suited the moment, and their voices slithered with a raspy, stumbling cadence.

  “Growing weary of taunting this one.”

  “Little left of the fleshling but a shell.”

  “We’ve done as you asked.”

  “Might we go free?”

  Kara leered at the Scath. “Be patient,” she said. “I’ll have errands for you soon. Now, hide yourselves away for now. I wish to speak to Rigby . . . alone.”

  The Scath hissed but obeyed. They whirled between Rigby’s legs, around his torso, his neck . . . and then departed. Rigby stood in the threshold of the chamber. He smiled, but his shoulders drooped, and very dark circles hung beneath his bloodshot eyes. Slowly, with chains jangling, Rigby lifted his top hat and placed it upon his head.

  “Why don’t you just get rid of me?” Rigby said, his English accent not so charming with such a weak, raspy voice. “Those beastly Scath won’t let me sleep.”

  “Awww,” Kara said. “Poor Rigby. Maybe you’d sleep better with some reading material.” She reached into her coat and removed the courier’s mailing tube. “Here.” She tossed it in the air, and then willed it to Rigby’s hands.

  “What’s this, then?” he asked, popping the cap off of the tube and shaking it until the document slid out. “Your last will and testament, I ’ope?”

  “Last will?” Kara laughed. “No, Rigby, I’ve only just begun to will things into being.”

  “What is it then?”

  “Open it.”

  Rigby sighed. He tore open the envelope and removed the document within. With a flaming glance at Kara, he began to read. His grip on the document tightened, and tiny streaks of red lightning flickered around his eyes. “You revolting, backstabbing letch! You’ve stolen the company!”

  “Stolen is hardly the appropriate word, Rigby,” she said. “This is business. Call it a hostile takeover.”

  “You can’t do this,” Rigby growled. “I founded Dream Inc. Without me, there is no company. Frederick will—”

  “Frederick helped me put this document together,” Kara replied curtly. “And it’s a done deal, I’m afraid. You’re out. I’m in.”

  Rigby let the documents fall from his hands and, for a moment, Kara thought he might try once more to use his mental will. After all, he had been a formidable Dream Walker once upon a time. But Rigby tried no such thing. Pain from the cobalt manacles made for a pretty intense teacher. He’d learned, apparently. A shame,she thought.

  When Rigby spoke, his words were quiet, reserved. “Why’d you do it?” he asked. “Why, Kara? We ’ad a good thing going. We ’ad plans.”

  Kara shot up from the throne, her eyes ablaze. “Wehad a good thing going?” she spat. “You wouldn’t even let me sit in your chair! You were always about yourself . . . you and your beloved Uncle Scovy. And, after the Rift was complete, I suppose you and your uncle wouldn’t have just cut me right out?”

  “Of course not,” Rigby shot back. “I knew I needed you. I knew we’d need each other to ’elp the world adjust . . . to a new reality.”

  “You were always an awful liar, Rigby Thames,” Kara said dismissively. “Turns out, helping the world adjust isn’t so terribly hard. I’ve already done it.”

  “What exactly ’ave you done?”

  “The Harlequin Veil.”

  Rigby straightened so abruptly that his top hat fell off. “The . . . the Veil?” he scoffed. “It never worked. That’s why we dubbed it the ’arlequinVeil—a fool’s veil, right? It was a nice theory, but a broken one.”

  “Not so broken,” she said, once more taking her seat. “The Harlequin Veil works. It’s working right now as a matter of fact. The entire world believes it has awakened from the worst nightmare, awakened to find life far better than they ever dreamed it could be.”

  Rigby shook his head. “I don’
t for a minute believe you’ve pulled it off, Kara,” he said. “But even if by some miracle you did manage to get the Veil up and running, it wouldn’t last. People would see through it eventually. The intelligent ones would, anyway. Our species is far too analytical. They won’t accept it. It—it’ll be like the body rejecting a transplanted organ.”

  “I’ve already got that covered,” Kara said, nibbling on her pinky nail. “As we speak, under Frederick’s supervision, Dream Inc. clinics will be opening all over the world. Five thousand clinics so far, and then double that in three months.”

  “Clinics?” Rigby chuckled. “Clinics for what?”

  “Reorientation,” she replied. “For people who don’t accept the new reality. Dream Inc. will help them adjust.”

  “Impossible,” Rigby replied. “That’s why Uncle Scovy and I gave up on the Veil concept.”

  “You gave up on it because you lacked the resources to see it through,” she said. “But I’ve learned from the Masters Bindings. You forget; I spent quite a bit of time with the Nightmare Lord. He taught me a thing or two as well.”

  Rigby bent down to retrieve his top hat. He didn’t put it on, but stared inside.

  “Thinking you’ll pull a rabbit out of your hat?” Kara jeered. “It won’t work. Those manacles won’t let you use your will.”

  If Kara’s dig had stricken a nerve, Rigby didn’t show it by his expression. He shook his head, and when he looked up, he wore a hint of a smile. “What ’ave you done with the Masters Bindings?” he asked. “They used to be ’ere in the chamber with the Scath.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she mused. “I can only imagine how much you must be longing to get another peek at them. Pity you didn’t think to make yourself copies.”

  “I did think of it, Kara,” he growled. “I’m not an idiot. The Masters Bindings cannot be copied. No amount of mental will can do it.”

  “You’re certain?” she asked coyly. “Even a superior mental will?”