Broken Dreams (Broken Realms, #5)

CHAPTER 1Ping’s holographic image vanished, and Mara turned to the round Plexiglas table, where Cam sat, looking dubious. She crossed the conference room and slipped into the chair next to him, waited for him to say something. It didn’t take long. “Mr. Ping’s subconscious is playing tricks on him. The people in the receptacles can’t communicate with each other—and they haven’t created a new realm from their dreams,” Cam said. “The whole rationale of the repository system is to keep our biological bodies safe and healthy so we—those of us living out here in the real world—can live the lives our biological selves could not. Our bodies are not living separate lives somewhere in their minds.” Mara placed her hands over Cam’s and said, “Then how did Ping know that I had transported Sam into the receptacle while we were at the transceiver building, that Sam had experienced symptoms of the virus?” “Mr. Ping is in stasis. He is not communing with anyone. Whatever he’s experiencing must be a side effect of his physical body being in a receptacle without linking to a synthetic version of himself out in the real world.” Mara raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t answered my question. We didn’t tell Ping about Sam the last time we talked to him through the holographic interface. Sam told Ping after Sam arrived in this dream realm.” “I don’t know who told what to whom, but I know one thing—my biological body in the repository is not having a separate life from the one I am living. There is no way I could accept that,” he said, jabbing his finger into the tabletop. “The whole notion is antithetical to everything we are.” Mara leaned back in her chair and sighed, hoping to relieve the tension between them. “Okay, I understand what you are saying, and I’m not trying to change your beliefs. On the other hand, I can’t take the chance—even a remote chance—that I have put Ping and my brother in danger, not to mention everyone else, by placing Abby and the Aphotis into one of those receptacles. I need to confirm, at the least, that everyone is okay, that what Ping thinks isn’t real.” “I can’t imagine how you could do that,” Cam said. “What about Dr. Canfield? Could she help us?” Cam shook his head. “She can check on the physical well-being of the receptacle occupants, but she won’t be receptive to this nonsense about our stasis bodies communicating with each other, not to mention how they’re living secret dream lives. It would undermine her entire profession.” “Would you send her a message to ask if she would meet with us?” Mara asked. “I have no problem doing it, but why don’t you? You have a synthetic body now. You are just as capable of reaching out to her as I am.” Mara’s brows furrowed. “Oh. How would I do that?” “Think of the doctor and what you want to communicate. She’ll get the message.” Mara’s eyes slid upward, as if she were considering a tough problem. Once she was satisfied she had done it, she glanced back at Cam. “How will I know when she responds?” “You’ll just know, but, remember, it’s not like placing a phone call or getting a text message. It’s much subtler.” “So you’ve said. More like telepathy. I recall the other night, while dealing with the shimmers, that sometimes I heard voices and, at others, thoughts would just pop into my head. Why did I have both?” “The shimmers were doing two things at once. First, they were communicating via the Sig-net, which you perceived as a thought or idea. Second, they were attempting to share their transfiguration experience—when they turned into living holograms—which you perceived as voices, sounds and even emotions.” That made sense to her. “You’re saying Dr. Canfield’s response will be like a thought popping into my head.” “Exactly.” Cam smiled. Mara’s eyes widened, and she held up a finger. “I think she may have responded. She can’t come to the conference room now, but she can meet me in an hour in the central monitoring lab.” She frowned and asked, “Where is that?” “Access the floor plan of Repository 97210,” Cam said. “How?” “Ponder it, and it should come to you.” Again Mara’s eyes widened. “That is so cool. Like having a search engine built into your brain, connected to the Internet.” Mara’s eyes slid back and forth under her eyelids as she tried to access other bits of information. She contemplated the receptacles’ technical details, and they came to her like a familiar bit of trivia. A fleeting thought on synthetic physiology filled her head with schematics of her new body. “It’s like earning an advanced degree without ever sitting in a class. Amazing.” “Well, that’s true, I suppose, but there’s more to life than just studying and accessing data. Some things can only be learned through experience.” Cam chuckled. “Before you know it, you’ll like your synthetic body as much as your old biological one.” “With you here to teach me.” A serious look crossed his face, and he looked away, avoiding Mara’s eyes. She caught his change in demeanor. “What? What is it?” “I planned to tell you after we visited your biological body in the morgue, but then we talked to Ping, and I haven’t had a chance to say anything.” “Say what?” “I’m being discharged from the repository today. The doctor says I’m back to normal and it’s time to get on with my life,” he said. “Besides, I must fly to St. Louis and calm down my parents. They couldn’t get in touch with me for weeks—and there’s no way I can explain everything over the Sig-net. I’m not sure I should explain it at all. They’ll never believe it. Maybe I can chalk it all up to the craziness with the transceiver node.” Mara looked crestfallen before recovering. “You should see your family. It’s been a long time.” She smiled, a little too forced, and added, “Besides, I’ll be busy getting familiar with my new body. The staff plans to put me through some kind of accelerated training. I’m not sure how often we would see each other anyway.” He nodded. “Friends and family aren’t allowed during orientation after someone transitions to a synthetic body.” They fell into an awkward silence for a few moments. “Will we ever talk again? I’m only supposed to be here two more weeks,” she said. “That’s up to you. I’m just a signal away, even if I am in St. Louis.” “When are you leaving?” “Soon. Before you talk to Dr. Canfield.” Mara leaned over and gave him a hug. “I wish we’d had more time together, more good time without the death, dismemberment and destruction.” “There’s no one I’d rather face those things with than you. Thanks for coming back for me, for risking and losing so much to help me,” he said. She held on to him until it was time for him to go. * * * Mara entered the central monitoring lab of the repository, not knowing what to expect. She found a large room with two screens covering the front wall, floor to ceiling. The one on the left appeared to be video, panning past row after row of dimly lit receptacles and—judging by the silhouettes inside the tubes—all were occupied. On the right screen, several graphs were updated—lines jagged up and down while bars grew and shrank. In front of the screens, four attendants sat at a bank of monitors that reminded Mara of NASA’s Mission Control Center in Houston, though on a smaller scale. Dr. Celeste Canfield, the director of the repository facility, who had treated Mara during her recent near-death experience and subsequent transition to her synthetic body, paced behind the attendants. The doctor glanced between the monitors and the graphs shifting on the wall screen. “Okay, now show me the levels of adrenaline, cortisol and norepinephrine,” Dr. Canfield said. The attendant before her asked, “For what range?” “Everyone. Give me the mean levels, and show the highs and lows,” she said. Mara didn’t know the doctor well but had seen her several times under pressure, and the crinkled skin at the corners of her eyes, the deepened furrows of her brows, all told Mara something was wrong. She stayed by the door, out of the way. “No, that can’t be right!” the doctor yelled. “How can their hormone levels be so elevated? You’d have to be chased by a tiger to get that much adrenaline coursing through your body.” “Levels are confirmed, Doctor,” a female attendant called from across the room. “Why aren’t the receptacles counteracting?” the doctor asked. “The spike isn’t due to any known pathology. The system is registering the increased levels as a normal response to stimuli,” the first attendant said. “Stimuli! What stimuli? These people are in stasis, in receptacles. What kind of stimuli could they be experiencing?” A deep tone reverberated in the room. From the tension in the doctor’s stance, Mara took it to be an alarm. The doctor ran over to another attendant and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Report,” she ordered. “Several occupants are experiencing cardiac stress. Eight—no, nine—of them. More moving in that direction.” The doctor raised her voice to everyone in the room. “Let’s override and administer gaseous Reopram to calm down these folks. Shoot it right into their air supply. Ten milligrams to start. Do it!” The attendants worked at their consoles, and Dr. Canfield turned around, seeing Mara for the first time. She walked over and said, “I’m sorry. I forgot all about you stopping by. Things have taken a turn for the worse. Can we reschedule? I’m a little bogged down here.” Mara glanced at the screen and back to the doctor. “Are some of the occupants in the receptacles having problems?” The doctor shook her head. “Not some of them—all of them. Every person in every repository around the world. They appear to be scared to death of something.”