Wine of the Dreamers

Ten

Leesa, walking down one of the lower levels, saw Jord Orlan step off the moving ramp, glance at her and look quickly away. She lengthened her stride to catch him.

“I have something to tell you,” she said.

He looked nervously down the corridor.

“It’s all right. Raul has gone up to the unused levels.”

“Come then,” he said. He led the way to his quarters, walked in ahead of her. When he turned around he saw that she was already seated. He frowned. The respectful ones waited to be asked.

“I have been expecting a report, Leesa Kinson.”

“Raul trusts me. Perhaps, too much. It makes me feel uncomfortable.”

“Remember, this is for his own good.”

“I’ve had to pretend to be very contrite for all the damage I’ve caused in the dream worlds to all those precious little people he thinks are actually alive.”

Jord Orlan forgot his annoyance with her. “Very good, child! And have you shared his dreams?”

“Yes. He explained how he found a space ship project by searching the mind of a certain colonel in Washington. He told me how to find the project. We met there, in host bodies. Raul seems very proud of the people who work there. He wants to protect the project against... us. Not long ago the project was damaged by one of us who came across it, probably by accident, and forced a technician to smash delicate equipment. Raul does not want that to happen again.”

“How does he hope to prevent it?”

“He has told two of them about the Watchers, and he has managed to prove to them that we exist.”

Jord Orlan gasped. “That is a paradox! To convince someone who does not exist of existence on the only true plane. Many of us have amused ourselves trying to tell the dream people about the Watchers. They invariably go mad.”

“These two did not. Possibly because the woman is an expert on madness and the man is... strong.”

He stared at her. “Do not fall into the trap in which your brother finds himself. When you spoke of the man you looked as though you might believe him to be real. He is merely a figment of the dream machine. That you know.”

“Then isn’t it pointless, Jord Orlan, to destroy what they build?”

“It is not pointless because it is the Law. You are absurd to argue. Come now. Tell me about the location. I shall organize a group. We will smash the project completely.”

“No,” she said, smiling. “That would spoil my game. I am beginning to find it amusing. Leesa reserves that pleasure for herself, thank you.”

“I can make that an order.”

“And I shall disobey it and you can thrust me out of this world and perhaps never find the project.”

He thought for a few moments. “It would be better were we to do it, a group of us. Then we should dream-kill the dream creatures with the greatest skills so as to lessen the danger of a new project for many years.”

“No!” she said sharply. Then her eyes widened with surprise at the force of her own objection. She raised her fingertips to her lips.

“Now I understand,” Jord Orlan said comfortably. “You find one of the dream creatures amusing, and you do not wish your sport to be denied you. Very well, then, but make certain that the destruction is complete. Report back to me.”

As she reached the doorway he spoke to her again. She turned and waited. He said, “Within the next few days, my dear, Ryd Talleth will seek you out. I have ordered him to. He is the one most inclined to favor you — but he will need encouragement.”

“He is a weak fool,” she said hotly. “Do you not remember your promise, Jord Orlan? If I did as you asked, you would not force me into any such—”

“No one is forcing you. It is merely a suggestion,” he said.

She walked away without answering him. She was restless. She walked down to the corridor lined with the small rooms for games. She stood in the doorway of one of them. Three women, so young that their heads still bore the thinning shadow of their dusty hair, pursued a squat and agile old man who dodged with cat-quick reflexes. They shrieked with laughter. He wore a wide grin. She saw his game. He favored one and it was his purpose to allow her to make the capture, even though the others were quicker. At last she caught him, her hands fast on the shoulder piece of the toga. The others were disconsolate. As they filed out of the room, leaving the two alone, Leesa turned away also. Once again she touched her lips and she thought of a man’s heavy hands, square and bronzed against the whiteness of a hospital bed.

The next few rooms were empty. The following room was one with light controls. A mixed group was performing a stylized dance. They had turned the lights to blood red. It was a slow dance, with measured pauses. She thought of joining, but she knew that in some inexplicable way, her entrance would set up a tension that would remove some of their pleasure.

Restlessness was in her like slow spreading rot. On the next level she heard the sound of the small ones crying. She went and looked at them. Always, before, she had found a small pleasure in watching their unformed movements. She looked at them and their faces were like so many identical ciphers — circles of emptiness, signifying nothing.

She rode up to where the tracks no longer moved. She went halfway up to the twenty-first level, then dropped and curled like a child. She covered her face with her hands and wept. She did not know why she was weeping.