David Policar 1997
Danny's breath came in long, wheezing gasps as he half-ran, half-stumbled past the shapeless structures that had once been houses and the rusted hulks of cars. He hardly noticed them; his attention was rivetted to the tattered road beneath him. He felt the sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip; the strange clothes he tried to ignore were sodden, unbearably sticky and itchy. Worst was how the floor pulled at him, never stopping, never turning off. He'd fallen down when the docs first left him, and mud had splattered him. Since then he'd been careful.
He skirted the bare soil that showed through asphalt cracks, wary of the road but even more suspicious of the roots ripping through nearby sidewalks. He'd seen nothing but the road at his feet since the light of the docs' shuttlepod had faded from view and left him alone.
"Not alone, Daniel," came the warm and mellow voice from behind him. "I'm still with you." He moved slightly faster, breathed just a shade harder.
"You have to pace yourself, Daniel. At this rate you'll exhaust yourself before you're halfway to the top. Or is that what you want?"
Danny wanted to refuse, argue, face his tormentor, but knew how self-defeating that was. Instead, he kept moving. Despite himself, he slowed to a walking pace. Minutes passed in silence.
"It's no use not talking to me, Daniel. It's just as meaningless to ignore something that isn't there as to talk to it. Don't you think so? Either way, you're letting me know I'm important."
Which was true. But the docs had assured Danny that the less attention he paid to his delusory companion, the sooner it would fade. And Danny wanted it gone more than anything he'd ever wanted in his short life -- well, his waking life, anyway. That's why he was on the Surface, where nobody came since his grandparents moved to the orbitals. The docs had assured him he'd be cured if he could just make it to the old launching pad, just get through the rotten old husk of this awful old City.
"You don't really hate it, you know. You're scared of it, just like you're scared of me. That's why the docs brought you here, so you could run away from both of us at the same time."
Danny walked in silence.
"It's scared too, you know. In your grandfather's day there were more like you, who could hear and see us, and learn from us. The docs doesn't like that. It wants to be in charge, and that means crushing the spirit from humanity. It means beating all imagination out of you until you can't hear or see me anymore. But there are still boys and girls like you, Daniel, who have the spirit of old. You're special, Dan! And when someone like you is born, the docs can't wait to punish you into conformity. That's why you're really here, on my world."
A sneer had drifted into the demon's voice, and Danny's resolve nearly snapped. He ached to slap the sneer right off its smug face, tell it exactly what he thought of its dirty little world and exactly where it could shove its special "spirit of old." Danny knew why he was really there -- to get rid of the nightmares, the revolting dreams that had plagued his sleep for months, and the demon that had escaped into his waking life.
The first dreams had been vaguely pleasant scenes from the Surface, like in historical holos. But then came the stenches of death and decay, the corruption of dirt against his skin. Of course he reported them, but the docs' prescriptions didn't help... if anything, the nightmares grew worse, nonsensical and disturbing: his own bare hands tearing irregular shapes from the muck and shoving them in his mouth... a dizzying view down the vast brown-skinned trunk of a plant that no 'ponics tank could ever hope to hold... turbulent, unfiltered, mineral-saturated pools without walls or floor.. other things he didn't want to remember. And worst of all -- he couldn't even report this, though he was sure the docs' sensors registered it -- was the alien memory of taking pleasure in the same nauseating smells and tastes.
He began waking during sleep-shifts, then waking others with his screams, even with the subsonics at full power. Then his active shifts were invaded, first by pungent memories when his attention drifted from his assigned tasks, then by voices he'd heard only in his dreams.
Finally the docs made a decision. Danny was relieved to learn he wasn't the first worker to experience his disorder; there hadn't been a case in years, but the treatment was well documented and effective. His work assignments were cancelled as he went through three painful months of physical exercise to strengthen his muscles, then the docs brought him down to the Surface. When he returned to the orbital, the hallucinations would be gone.
The Surface! Despite himself, Danny felt a thrill at the thought. But really, it was nothing more than a rotten, stinking, corrupted living section, with the spin turned too high and the lights painfully bright, where he needed clothing just to protect him from the air. What was so great about that?
"This isn't all of Earth, Daniel. It's just the part the docs wants you to see. I can show you the forests, the smell of wildflowers and sea spray, the taste of fresh vegetables, the feel of the ocean... just like in your dreams, Daniel, it's all here! Yours for the asking. You can still turn back! You can still -- "
"SHUT UP!!!" Danny's patience snapped, and he whirled on his tormentor with tears streaming down his cheeks. "Just shut up! I don't want your stinkin' forests! I just want to go home and be normal! Just leave me alone!!!" With that he turned and ran, and ran, and ran. His feet slipped into the dirt through the cracks in the road, but he hardly noticed. His breath came shorter and shorter, and pains shot through his chest, but he didn't stop, and he was surprised when the road ended and he looked up to see the signalling tower and the launchpad, just a few tens of meters away.
The figure sitting by the tower door was even more surprising. He'd never actually seen his demon before, but he knew that's what it had to be. It looked almost human, but obscenely different, with curly red hair covering much of its body and its mud-covered legs and too-large head sprouting what his grandparents might have recognized -- but no living human could -- as hooves and antlers. That Danny himself was sweating, mud-splattered, and clothed somehow made the encounter even more frightening.
"Stop and think, Daniel. Please. This is your last chance to regain your heritage... and possibly the last chance for your people, too. There aren't too many born like you anymore, and --"
Danny refused to listen, diving past the demon and through the hastily opened doorway. The automatics were still working, thank the docs: the door closed behind him and Danny sank gratefully into the clean air and the pleasant background hum of machinery. Soon the shuttle would bring him home, and he knew he'd never be bothered with dreams again.
After the shuttle carried the last dreamer back to his new star, Demon greeted his mistress. Danny's great-great-grandparents might have known her as Hecate, or Titania, or Sophia, but those names had been lost. Humanity now had no name for either of them, or That which they represented.
What is to be done now? The question was unnecessary, of course, but the habit of man-speech and man-time was still strong in him.
Nothing. Her answer, in the same speech, was tinged with regret. The boy has made his choice, and is lost to us. Like all his race. We were their dreams, and the spirit of their world, but they turned away. Perhaps, in their new manufactured worlds, they will find new dreams.
But what of us?
Us? The last vestige of man-time faded for both of them during what might have been a long, thoughtful pause.
Perhaps we will find new dreamers.