The Dream Protocol: Descent (Book I) Read online

  Seven minutes left on the clock.

  As if receiving some unspoken command, the two red-dressed Dream Drones stepped forward to grab Maeve’s arms. Called Drones for short, these men and women were selected at age 16 to give up their free will and serve at the pleasure of the state. They were the Minister’s personal army. It was whispered that they lived in a semi-conscious awareness, half in and half out of the dreams projected to them from the Ministry’s computer infrastructure. Watching them, Deirdre could see the small device at the base of the neck that marked the site of the connectivity device that every adult in Skellig City carried.

  Called a weaver, the eight-legged device was fashioned after the spider symbol of the Ministry. During the implant procedure, the mechanical legs dug into the skin while the fangs delivered a bundle of neurotendrils that would grow into the brain of the host. It even glowed with two red lights for eyes so the Drones could be sure it was working at a glance. Through the implant, the citizens were wirelessly connected to the cloud, the network of applications and data archives that ran the city. It also ensured the implementation of the Dream Protocol. Like a spider wove a web, the weaver wove the dreams for every adult.

  But not me. Not the arachnoid…not yet.

  The Drones walked Maeve toward a large glass cylinder attached to the grey wall at the back of the room. It flashed in the uneven light like it had been recently cleaned for Maeve’s descent. At the center of the tube was a glass door that was sized for an adult human. The Cylinder of Descent was open and waiting for its Offering. Deirdre’s skin felt prickly all over as the Dream Drones angled Maeve toward it. Maeve, please don’t go.

  But as she got closer, Maeve began to struggle, writhing in the grip of the Minister’s soldiers. Taking the Drones off-guard, she somehow tore herself out of the grasp of her sentinels. Pushing past the Medical Director, she staggered toward the crowd and stumbled right into Deirdre and Flynn.

  Maeve fell into Deirdre and grabbed onto her taut body. Her fingers pushed into the thick locks of Deirdre’s hair and got tangled there. As her arms wrapped more tightly around her young friend, they caught on the Flynn’s cloak, trapping the loose edge. Maeve and Deirdre fell onto the floor, taking Flynn’s cloak with them. When the cloak was ripped away, a series of gasps went up through the crowd. Suddenly Flynn found himself standing at the center of the crowd with no protection. He was seen. Exposed. The Medical Director was staring right at him.

  The people nearest to Flynn backed away, raising their arms as if to protect themselves from whatever ailed the boy. Without the cloak to cover his face, everyone could see the wrinkles around his eyes and the stubble from the full beard recently shaved. Flynn looked unnaturally old. Ruined. And no one wanted to catch it. No one even wanted to be near it.

  He reached down into the jumble that was Maeve and Deirdre and yanked his cloak out from under them. With a flourish, he swung it around himself and furtively looked in the direction of the Medical Director. But the scientist still hadn’t looked away, and Flynn knew that it was too late.

  On the floor, a different drama was taking place. Deirdre struggled to stand up and Maeve held her tight. She pulled Deirdre close and in a raw whisper only Deirdre could hear she said, “Dee. Tell no one of Roenin!”

  No one in the crowd registered the quick message given to the Maker’s daughter, they were too focused on backing away from Flynn. Before Deirdre could respond, Maeve pulled away and pushed to her feet. Making a run for the doorway, she broke through the crowd of startled people. Suddenly, no one was looking at Flynn, all eyes returned to the ruined.

  She screamed, “You won’t take me! I won’t go down!”

  In the chaos of her run for the door, Flynn disappeared into the crowd and worked his way toward the back row. Maeve had almost made it to the door, but the Dream Drones were too fast for her. One of them raised his arm, pointing his LUD-band toward the fleeing woman. Out of his arm flowed a pulse of data, a transmission of nightmarish dream content. A sickening beam of light, it entered Maeve’s skull through the weaver. The ‘Mares of Dream Justice were the ultimate weapon of control; no one could outrun them and no one knew how to stop them. Her escape attempt was over, the transmission was complete.

  Maeve fell to the floor at the door, stunned and twitching. Her face was as white as her jumper. Deirdre pulled herself to her feet but was pushed aside by the two Drones. They picked Maeve up and dragged her back to the glass cylinder. Flynn inched toward the exit, and with the flick of his grey cape around the doorway, he was gone.

  Deirdre looked around for Flynn but couldn’t see him in the crowd. Who is Roenin? And why risk Dream Justice to tell me? Deirdre wrapped her arms tight around her middle to still the trembling. She had never witnessed anyone try to flee the ritual before. Isn’t there anything anyone can do to stop this? Her stomach heaved like a ship on troubled waters, and she felt like she was going to be sick. Placed inside the cylinder, Maeve slowly returned to consciousness.

  The Minister went on with the ritual as if nothing had happened. He said, “Who knows that the ruined must go?”

  The crowd replied, “We do.”

  Again, the Minister asked, “Who dreams of the next world?”

  In unison, the people responded, “We do.”

  The man in red asked the final question, “Who has a wish for this woman?”

  The crowd replied, “We do.”

  Deirdre looked around the room as, one by one, the people thought of their hopes for Maeve’s journey to Tír na nÓg. Three minutes left on the clock. What can I wish for her, when all I want is for her to stay here with me?

  Deirdre’s mother Siobhan broke the silence and spoke the first wish, “May your Da and Ma be awaiting for ya.”

  Deirdre’s best friend Antrim gave the next one, “Sunlight on your face all the morning.”

  Someone else in the crowd cried out, “Laughter to cheer you.”

  And another, “May troubles ignore you.”

  A man from the back spoke up, “A full belly you’ll have in Tír na nÓg.”

  Lastly one of the Spinners called out, “May your jumper lead you home.”

  The Dream Drones and the Minister stepped away from the cylinder. Then the door swung shut, closing Maeve inside with the hiss of an airlock seal. Maeve placed her hands on the clear door, as if trying to push it open once more. Her eyes locked on Deirdre and started to water.

  Sixty seconds left on the clock.

  Raising her voice above the crowd Deirdre exclaimed, “Wait. I have a wish.” Everyone turned toward the Maker’s daughter. I don’t believe in Tír na nÓg, but I’m going to sing it for her anyway. Deirdre took a deep breath and began to sing. It was a song of comfort for the ruined, often performed by family members at the ritual. The rest of the crowd joined in, humming along with the tune. Deirdre’s voice drifted over the crowd, soft but true.

  “Hurry up I say!

  Hurry up I say!

  Take me to Tír na nÓg one day.

  Where am I you say?

  Where am I you say?

  Gone to Tír na nÓg this day.

  Wait for thee, I do.

  Wait for thee, I do.

  Three hundred years of youth for you.”

  She finished and dropped her head, feeling the sadness in the tune for the first time. The drum stopped and loud alarm blasts counted down the last five seconds. Maeve crossed her trembling arms across her heart and looked upward. Then the floor opened up below her and she was gone, sucked down through the Cylinder of Descent to the sound of rushing wind. The ritual was complete.

  The crowd dispersed from the ritual in tight-knit groups. The Medical Director stepped away from the Minister and looked out through the people for the boy, but Flynn wasn’t to be found. The Medical Director’s lips pressed tight in anger and he stomped his foot. Just then a short, portly man bumped into him. He was the Block Manager for the living unit levels of the city. He mumbled some apologies and tried to walk on, but
the Medical Director’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Block Manager, I wish to speak with you. My name is Odran Shea, but you may address me as Director. What is your name?”

  “Ah, Director, sir. The name’s Blimey Burk. Been manager of the living levels for a few years. Not a lot of thank-yous in this division but I get by. My my. A descent with a twist at the end, yes, yes? Good that she was caught quickly. But they always are, yes? How can I be of service?” His belly hung over his belt and his face was red from too many broken capillaries.

  Odran released the man’s shoulder and motioned him to an empty corner of the room. “It’s about that boy in the cloak. You supervise the living levels. What do you know of him?”

  Blimey leaned in, and Odran could smell his sour breath a little too well. “You noticed it too? There’s something strange about that Flynn Brennan. When I took over as Block Manager, I confronted his mother. Clare Brennan, I said, you are hiding an unregistered child and withholding him from Selection. 'Cause to me, that kid looked way older than 16 and he carries no weaver.”

  Odran asked, “And what did she say about the boy?”

  Blimey sniffed and replied, “She said he was only 13. I didn’t believe her, but she brought up his birth records on the cloud and I had nothing else to argue at the time. Yes, yes. The boy was 13. The archive never lies, yes?”

  Odran crossed one arm under the other and put a hand under his chin. “Alright, that is what she said. But what do you think, Block Manager?”

  The portly man gestured wildly with his arms; this was the moment he had been waiting for. “That Maker told me not to say anything. But since you asked me direct, I will speak. There’s something not right with that boy. He looks ruined. He doesn’t belong here. And that’s that,” he concluded, wrinkling up his face in disgust.

  The Medical Director gave a curt nod and said, “Which Maker?”

  “Why Maker Callaghan, sir. He examined the birth record. But if you really want my opinion, his daughter is sweet on that boy for some senseless reason. And that’s why he told me to keep quiet.”

  “Thank you, Burk. You have been very helpful. The Ministry provides.”

  “The Ministry provides,” replied the Block Manager.

  Odran turned on one heel and strode from the Ritual Room, lost in thought. The Minister and his party were leaving as well, so Odran was easily swept up in their exit. The black boots of the Drones clicked across the floor in unison.

  The Ritual Room continued emptying, with only a few citizens hanging back in quiet conversation. But no one ever talked about what might be happening to Maeve’s physical body. Such talk was forbidden, even to Dream Makers. Secretly, some thought the bodies were sent out to sea while their spirits made their way to Tír na nÓg. Others believed that the bodies themselves made the journey to the Land of Eternal Youth. Regardless, Maeve O’Brian was gone, and she would be quickly forgotten by everyone but Deirdre and her mother.

  The crowd thinned some more and Deirdre spotted her mother and younger sister waiting against the left wall of the room. Her mother, Siobhan Callaghan, had always been noticed for her unusual coloring. Siobhan was a woman with fair skin, black hair, and even darker eyes. Deirdre was a blend of her parents, with her mother’s dark eyes and father’s blond hair. Breck, two years Deirdre’s junior, favored her father more with fine, auburn hair falling in ringlet curls. She was a more delicate version of her father, with freckles sprinkled across her nose and bright blue eyes that were the envy of every girl in her class.

  Deirdre’s father was waiting there too. Both of her parents were dressed in the formal orange robes of their station and wore their gold Maker’s amulets. With hands tucked neatly inside oversized sleeves, the medallions were the focus of attention, the gold metal glinting in the low light. Sean turned to Deirdre and threw the dangling edge of his Maker’s robe across his shoulder. His face was pinched as he said, “Everyone noticed that you barely got here in time, Deirdre. Attendance is voluntary but you know that the Ministry expects anyone closely associated with the Offering to attend. The descent must be witnessed. Absences are noted, and I don’t want you on anyone’s list.”

  Deirdre raised her chin and threw back her long hair. “I want to choose my own way, Da. Let Dream Justice put me on their list. I wanted them to know that I’m against this. It isn’t right. Maeve shouldn’t have to leave yet.”

  Sean reached out and pulled his daughter into what looked like a close hug. But in her ear he hissed in anger and held her tight in a grip that was almost painful. “Quiet down, Deirdre! You have no idea what it means to be put on the watch list. There are people here. Important people. The Ministry of Dream Justice provides us with everything. Without them, there is nothing. You will silence yourself and show your respect for what you have been given.”

  Deirdre twisted herself out of her father’s grasp. She looked to her mother for help, but Siobhan kept her eyes averted. She never stands up for me. Deirdre had questions about what had happened with Maeve, but she wasn’t going to ask them with the Minister and his team a few yards away. Or in front of her father. Breck gave her sister an angry look, but Deirdre ignored it.

  Then Siobhan placed a gentle hand on her husband’s arm and said, “Even Makers’ daughters are not excused from the ritual, Dee. But you made it for the wishing, so let’s all focus on that.” Her father grunted in sullen agreement and motioned for the family to get moving.

  As the Callaghans made their way out of the Ritual Room, Deirdre saw Antrim standing by the door. Like only best friends can, Antrim could tell Deirdre was upset without even talking. Deirdre waved at her, then hurried to catch up with her parents. Antrim waved back, her red hair bouncing from the effort. She had a narrow chin and green eyes. But under the sweetness of her features, Antrim was a ball of nerves. Her favorite thing in all Skellig City was her skateboard and the only time she felt sure of herself was when she was on it.

  The Callaghan family wandered through dimly lit walkways of Level 48, set deep into the bedrock of Skellig Michael. All of the living and working quarters were underground, and the Ritual Room was on the lowest level. There was no natural light in the city, only the sickening greenish glow of fluorescent bulbs. The only place natural light could be found was above ground, where the Ministry of Dream Justice and Dream Maker Academy had been built on the surface. For everyone else, the dreams produced at the Academy were the only relief from cramped hallways and concrete. Only the Makers, Dream Match winners, the Minister’s top aides, and the students attending Dream Maker Academy were allowed passage beyond the Dream Drone guards to the surface.

  Sean walked on ahead, pulling apart from the rest of them and Breck trailed behind. Deirdre slowed down to walk next to her mother and said, “Ma. How can you be so calm about this? Maeve is gone. Your friend for a decade. And your descent is happening in a week.”

  Siobhan looked behind them to see if anyone had heard her daughter. Then she replied, “Deirdre, keep your voice down. Others could hear you. It was Maeve’s time, and my time is coming soon. There isn’t anything anyone can do about it.”

  Deirdre wasn’t satisfied. “But what if there was, Ma? On my 16th birthday, I’ll be selected into some service line for the state. Then I’ll slave until my own descent. Everything just feels wrong, like it shouldn’t be this way. And what if I wanted to dream on my own, without the Ministry? Is it possible?”

  Siobhan said, “It’s the year 3077, and no one has their own dreams. The city has always been here and it has always been this way. There is no dreaming without the Academy because there is no sleep without a transmission from the cloud to put us under. Our dreams provide in life what Tír na nÓg provides in death. Please promise me you won’t do anything rash, daughter. Strange things have happened to the people who have tried it.”

  Deirdre grabbed her mother’s hand and said, “Haven’t you ever felt that a different way to live could be out there? Somewhere?”

  Siobhan
said, “It’s better just to accept our life as it is. We maintain the city for credits and purchase what we desire in dream. Everyone benefits. The Dream Protocol ensures that the city goes on. Who would make the food if no one was forced to? It’s whispered at the Academy that this has been our way for a thousand years.”

  “Benefits! Now you sound just like them. We’re all trapped here. What do we even know about our own history, besides what has been whispered? Who are we? Where did we come from?” said Deirdre, a tone of longing in her voice. “If no one was forced to make the food I think people would do it anyway, to help each other.”

  Siobhan replied, “I don’t know. So many questions, child. What was life like before Skellig City? There’s no way to know. The state controls all the records on the cloud archive. So the best thing is to follow the rules and don’t get noticed. Find what happiness you can, in the small things.”

  “Like a rat in a trap enjoys its treat before the end? I don’t want a small kind of happiness, Ma. Stolen in little moments when they aren’t looking. I want to be truly happy and live by my own choices. Out in the open. I want to love whoever I choose, no matter what anyone thinks. Don’t you want something more too, before it’s too late?”

  They reached an intersection of two hallways and Siobhan put her arm around Deirdre’s shoulders. There was a mother’s knowing smile on her lips. “Sean is as good a husband as he can be. His position at the Academy is demanding; you must try to remember that. You speak of love, my daughter. Is there something that you need to tell me? Dee, you know that you must marry someone within your own division after Selection. Someone of your same rank.”