Reverie
By Milo James Fowler
Every night the dream is the same—implanted into our subconscious as we sleep, fertile soil for it to take root and grow. In the Dreamscape, the nexus of our collective mind's eye, our Protectors guide us, teaching us what to fear, showing us what it means to be safe from all harm.
But some have begun to inject themselves with stimulants to stay awake, to free their minds of the Dream. They are taken to the Protectorate for examination. We never see them again.
You must guard your thoughts, or they will betray you.
We awaken to the sound of an alarm at dawn and rise from our bunks. We prepare for the day’s productivity, consume our morning rations and report to the factory to take our positions on the line.
You glance at me across the conveyor belt and catch my gaze as our hands move with a deft, mindless familiarity.
What does it mean? I hear your thoughts as if they are my own. They have never shown us such a thing before.
I blink at you. I do not wish to consider it.
Why an image of outsiders living under the sun?
It was only a split second in the Dream, a momentary flash of unfamiliar sights and sounds.
Each night as we sleep, the Dreamscape shows us what remains of the outside world: bitter, lonely desolation. In stark contrast, we see the harmony of our Hive minds working in unison, mingling as streams of sweeping, vibrant colors in an endless pool of scintillating light.
But last night—
Our Protectors provide everything we need. Here in the Hive we are secure from the broken remains of generations past, the toxic air that would burn our lungs to ash. Our Protectors give us work to do. They give us purpose. As long as we focus on our quotas—
What the Protectors give, they can just as easily take away, you interject.
There is a pause in my thought process. You sense it.
When our Protectors found us, we were mere apes. They made us what we are. The human species would no longer exist if not for them.
What remains of it. You blink at me. I am going to double my STIM dose. If I do not sleep, I will not dream. And if I do not share in the Dream, I will no longer fear being alone.
We are never alone; our thoughts blend whenever we project them into the mind of another. We share them as one body, and it is horrific even to consider living outside the Hive. We would be so separate, cut off from the others of our kind. We were not designed to live in isolation. We would self-destruct.
You would try to leave the Hive?
Biologically, we are no different from our grandparents' generation. We could live as they did.
It is impossible. The Protectors would not allow it. They have probably already monitored your thoughts and will pull us from the line.
You glance at the female beside you, intent on her work. I will project my thoughts into her mind. She will be taken instead.
You cannot mean this. I should report you for even thinking such a thing.
You will not. You love me.
I look down. Your thoughts are dangerous.
Do not shut me out. Please. Just think: Why would such an image enter the Dream? We have always seen the outside as a barren wasteland, devoid of life. Why would we be shown humans planting fields and thriving in sunlight?
There is nothing left. The Atomic Wars incinerated everything. Humankind was nearly extinct when the Protectors arrived from a distant star to accelerate our evolution, turning us into their efficient, telepathic workforce.
I will lose the fear they have programmed into me. I will not dream.
There is no way it will work. All must sleep.
The Protectors do not.
How would you know such a thing?
I will lose my fear of solitude, and I will find a way out of the Hive.
Your thoughts are no longer welcome.
Please—do not shut me out. Think. We cannot be the only ones contemplating the Dream right now.
No one speaks of it.
No one speaks! When was the last time you heard the voice of another human being?
The Protectors do not tolerate noise from us. We believe they have sensitive ears, but no one knows for certain.
They might as well have cut out our tongues!
We still have them. I stick mine out at you. No one sees. Our productivity rating remains a steady 98.7%.
Last night, someone interfered with the Dreamscape. It had to be one of our kind.
I blink at that. Impossible. Such a thing is beyond our abilities.
You hesitate, forming the thoughts. What if . . . there is one among us who has continued to evolve beyond the Protectors’ design? What if this human now has the ability to interact with the Dream, to mold it anyway she sees fit?
All this you infer from a single image. I shake my head. Humans living outside.
If there are outsiders, how else would they speak to us but in the Dream?
There is no one beyond the walls of the Hive.
I shut you out. I have to. I cannot allow your thoughts to interfere with my calm center of being. You only endanger yourself by continuing down this path. The Protectors will not allow you to leave the Hive.
They are stronger than they appear. Their power is one born of minds altogether different from our own. Despite our advanced state of evolution, we could never hope to interfere with the Dreamscape. We live only to serve our Protectors.
We finish our shift on the line, sorting parts of a machine so complex we cannot even fathom what it will be once completed. We return to our bunks for rations and rest. I close my eyes. The Dreamscape welcomes me as it does every night, and I drift off to sleep amid the hum of a million like-minds. Tonight, all is as it should be. There is no flash of imaginary outsiders to interrupt the beauty and tranquility of this realm. I sense only the presence of our Protectors, hovering over us, guiding our minds, blessing us with peace.
My eyes open. It is a new day.
So much for your outsiders, I project my thought towards you.
But your bunk is already empty.
Instead of assuming my position on the line, I am asked to report to the second sublevel office of the Protectorate. There is a single chair in the center of a dark room, and a light shines down upon it. I sit as the door slides shut behind me.
Are you well, Human 3476? a Protector’s thought enters my mind.
I blink into the darkness but see no one. Yes. I nod.
We are glad.
My head whips backward as they enter it in a rush of static energy, probing my mind, digging, sorting through thoughts and memories, replaying the interchange we had on the line yesterday, thought for thought. I cannot hide anything from them. I cannot shut them out.
They want to know where you are.
This one carries no rebellion.
He is not an instigator.
He will return to the line.
I stumble, swooning as I am released from the interrogation room. I resume my place at the conveyor. Another female now stands across from me. She is nothing like you.
Our productivity rating dips below 96% today. Cautious glances are directed my way, but everyone guards their thoughts. The day’s work is slow, tedious. I have never noticed before how the hours drag on . . . without your mind mingled with mine.
If you are still alive beyond these walls, if you have found those outsiders of yours, then speak to me in the dream. Prove to me that you were right, and add something to the Dreamscape that will show me how to find you. Tonight, when I dream, show me the way.
I will be waiting.
I glance up and clear my throat. The sound of it makes the humans around me stare wide-eyed, petrified for a moment. I smile back.
“Everybody sleep well?” I ask aloud.