PREFACE: Change of plan! “Yellow Sky” is taking longer to finish than I expected. So, in the meantime, I offer you this. I started writing this one in 2007 but only completed it in 2020. I was unhappy with it at the time. Rereading it now though I think it’s pretty good. I guess I just had something different in mind and didn’t like that it went in another direction. That’s writing for you! I had to split it in two because of length (close to 10k words total). Enjoy.
Quietly spinning, the architect fell.
The world around him was ablaze. The fumes were choking him.
He coughed. Blood.
Soon it would all be over. There was no way out. He had accepted this.
...
The man blinked. Through the soot and tears, a blurry vision—that of a dreamy landscape, of lush blue valleys and streams of molten gold.
And he could feel ground under his feet! Solid ground. He looked down, just to make sure... but sure enough, there it was.
This assignment was proving more complex and puzzling than he had initially anticipated. Dreamstuff was always tricky, of course, but this went far beyond expectations.
In a gesture of languid desperation, he reached for a floating strand of ebony breeze and willed it to shape into the form of a key. Once he held it, he pictured a door in his back. When he turned... it was not there.
He walked up to the river. The grass changed under his feet—from silvery green to opaline blue. The wind rushed against his face, slowing him down, but he persisted.
In one last arduous attempt, he closed his eyes and focused on the task. As he advanced to the water, he reached out a hand, intent on grabbing a doorknob.
For a brief flickering moment, he met only air. But then, it was there.
Opening his eyes, he slid the key into the keyhole and opened the door...
***
Jack Swann woke in a sweat. He found himself lying on a damp, worn mattress. The room was dimly lit and furnished. It reeked of piss and mold.
On the other bed was the man whose nightmare he had tried to control. Thomas Curtweill, a sixty-three-year-old businessman, sat up slowly, rubbing his forehead.
“I have one hell of a headache,” he said.
The dreamcatcher—for that was his official designation—pointed to the glass on a nearby table.
“That’s why I brought that. It’ll help.”
Curtweill reached for the drink and downed it. “It was a mess in there,” he said. “I couldn’t tell what was going on! Did everything go as expected?”
“Yes,” lied Jack. “But it will take a couple more sessions to stabilize.”
His client frowned. “I was under the impression that one was all it’d take... Hey! I hope you’re not trying anything funny. I’m warning you, I have connections!”
Jack doubted it very much, considering the decrepit room they were in. If the guy had ever held any power, it was a thing long gone. Not that it mattered. This was no scam.
“In most cases, one session is sufficient, yes. But this is not an exact science. I can refer you to some former clients who had to undergo multiple sessions. They will confirm this, if it can appease your mind. That said, I don’t bill by the hour, but by results. There will be no extra charge.”
Relief painted the man’s face, a smile even formed on his lips. “Ah. I see. Okay. Sorry about that. It’s just... you’re not cheap and I’m not rich.” This was followed by a nervous little laugh.
Jack stood, dusted himself, and started toward the door.
“No worries,” he said without looking back. “We’ll continue tomorrow night. Have a good day.”
He walked out of the shabby apartment.
***
Interferences had become common lately. Too common. If this kept up, he would have to start charging more to make up for the lost time.
Jack did wonder though what exactly was causing these disturbances. He had never seen anything quite like it before. He had always been able to control the dreams—except for his own, of course—but now they would often slip through his fingers and he’d have to exert extra pressure to keep things in check.
There were not many with his talent—at least not that he knew of. Maybe there were more and they just kept it to themselves? Though he wondered why anyone with such an ability would want to sit on it. It was a great way to earn a living. At least, it had been until this new development.
His power first manifested when he was twelve. Except, he hadn’t known it was anything special. It felt like the most natural thing to him. He had been staying at a friend’s house. He couldn’t sleep and was staring at the ceiling when he heard his friend Tim thrashing about in his bed. Sensing he was having a bad dream, Jack closed his eyes and projected himself into it. Next thing he knew, he was swimming in a sea of blood with fire raining down on him. But none of it affected him, as he was fully aware of its true nature. He just waded through it all until he reached the sinking ship where he found his friend cowering in fear—he later found out that Tim couldn’t swim, which only added to his stress.
It took Jack two hours to get back to his house, which was sitting on the bank of a large artificial lake. He had moved to Bernice a couple of years ago. It was similar enough to Earth, minus the pollution.
He turned on his vidscreen, so he could watch the news while he prepared breakfast.
Trenton Lasker was being interviewed again. He was refuting accusations against him, though was not very convincing. The anchor switched to international matters, with coverage of the tensions at the border.
There weren’t as many countries here as there had been back on Earth... how could there be when only ten percent of the planet’s surface had been colonized so far? But already two separate nations had emerged. It was strange how human nature just kept rearing its ugly head every chance it could. Even on a new world, where everyone could have a fresh start, humans still found ways to argue to the point of conflict. First, it had led to secession and the founding of New Rhodia; and now, it may well take a turn for the worst. Not everyone was willing to let the fledgling nation be.
Jack didn’t care either way. It wasn’t his business. Dreams were.
He spent the rest of his day searching for new clients. It had been easier in the beginning. He did occasionally get referrals, but he found that people were becoming more suspicious if not downright antagonistic. As if the prospect of war had dashed all sense of wonder from the spirits of men, making them wary of anything that could not be rationally explained.
It was ironic, considering he viewed his work as science. It was all very rational to him... convincing others of this was the hard part.
***
From the top of the hill, he had a perfect view over the valley, with the gleaming waters of the river and the sunflower fields. It was peaceful, with only the sounds of birds chirping in the distance, or an occasional insect flying by.
Jack sat on a rock and pondered on the beauty of the world.
“What is this place?” asked his father.
He glanced over his shoulder and smiled.
“They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld
“Of Paradise, so late their happy seat...”
The older man frowned. He took a few steps forward. His eyes went from the landscape to Jack.
“What does that mean? I don’t understand?”
There was something off about those words... about the man’s whole posture and attitude. People in dreams are not persistent like this.
Jack gestured to the scenery. “It’s an idealized version of my life.” He had become aware that this all was a dream when he’d heard his father’s voice. The man had been dead for over a decade. But that was not the most troubling thing about it.
“It is... calm...” said the man who looked like his father, but was not. He now was certain of this. The speech patterns were off, as were the tone of his voice and the phrasings. If it had been a construct from his memories—as dream creatures always are—it would have spoken exactly like his father would have.
He stood and faced the intruder. “Who are you?”
“Don’t you recognize me?”
“You have the face of my father and the voice of my father, but you are not him.”
He preferred to sleep at clients’ houses. That meant he would be dreaming somebody else’s dream rather than his own. He liked it better that way, because at least he could control the events. Here, he was helpless and would have to endure whatever came next.
But what troubled him most was the peacefulness of the scene. His dreams were never like this.
“I am Xynha,” said his father’s voice. “I meant no offense. But we had no other means to reach your people... every other attempt has failed. You are more receptive than most.”
Jack grimaced. “Could you... change the way you look?”
“We thought it would be easier if we approached you with a familiar appearance.”
“No,” he said sharply.
The figure before him blurred, shifted, twirled, until a new shape and face took form—that of a dark-haired, green-eyed woman.
“Is this better?” asked Xynha.
“It’ll do. Now what is this about? And how are you doing this?”
The woman took a few steps and the scene around them changed. They now stood at the edge of a cliff. Below was a huge city with structures made of glass. The architecture was strange, with odd angles and swirling colors. It was thriving with activity—flying vehicles swooshing in every direction, streets swarming with people...
“The Xyndh have lived here for eons. But now we are dying. Not because of humans—in fact, you may be our salvation—but because of a virus. It has been with us for many generations... and yet, despite our technology, we have never been able to eradicate it. Every year, it claims more lives. Now there are only a handful of us left.”
As the alien talked, the scene sped up; the streets became less crowded and air traffic thinned, until finally there was nothing left. It now felt like a dead city with only the sound of the wind blowing against its immense structures.
“Our few remaining scientists claim that soon we shall all be gone... a year, at most, is all we have left.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Jack, “but I fail to see what any of it has to do with me?”
“You can help us survive,” said Xynha.
***
Humanity was not ready for this. How could it be? It was barely ready for itself. How could Jack convince anyone that a dying species was worth saving? And assuming he did, how could they achieve such a thing? Was it even possible?
He had spent the next day mulling over this.
Approaching scientists would do little good. They viewed his art as the ravings of a madman and would dismiss him with contempt—if they didn’t try to have him committed.
The military was out of the question. They’d read this as an invasion attempt and have him locked up for treason.
As for the government, it’d be near impossible to reach them. And even if he somehow did, they’d just refer him back to the military.
After careful consideration, he decided his best course of action would be to televise a public announcement... and hope for the best.
He called a journalist friend who agreed to give him some airtime. The advantage with these types was that all you needed do was convince them they would get high ratings—whether you had the most logical mind or were utterly deranged mattered not at all.
The interview would broadcast throughout the colonies, across both nations. He needed maximum exposure to increase his chances of success.
But things did not go quite as planned...
“So let me see if I got this straight,” said the news anchor, “these Xen people—”
“Xyndh,” he corrected.
“—live in dreams and want to come in ours to survive?”
If that’s what he’d gotten out of his message, then something had gone terribly wrong.
“No, no... they are very real, as much so as you and me, but—”
“That’s even worse! Besides, how can the material survive in the immaterial?”
“Isn’t that what memories do?”
“They’re not material!”
“They’re representations of material events. Likewise, dreams are but our own—often symbolic—interpretation of people, things, events that have greatly affected us.”
“Okay. But how would this work, exactly?”
“I’m not here to give solutions. I’m here to communicate their call for help. Their bodies will soon die, we need to find a way to save them before—”
“We need?”
“Yes!” snapped Jack. “Why are we here? Why have we come to Bernice? I know, some will say to escape war, or pollution, or to live in bigger homes for cheaper rent... But none of us would have taken that step if we did not have some fascination for the unknown, for what lies beyond. Many of us have likely wondered about alien life. Well, it’s right here! I... We’ve made first contact. Are we going to just ignore this and let these people die? Where is our sense of curiosity—let alone our sense of decency?”
But he could tell from the journalist’s expression that the man was dubious. “You met them in a dream. I’d hardly call that first contact. For all we know, that’s all it was... a dream.” He laughed at his joke and turned to the camera without letting Jack respond. “And that’s all for tonight. Tomorrow we will be meeting with senator Trenton Lasker to discuss his involvement with the prime minister’s daughter. Until then, stay safe, and thank you for watching All Fired Up.”
“You’re an ass!” Jack hissed at the anchor before storming off the stage.
His friend Ronnie caught up with him in the hall.
“I’m really sorry about that,” she said. “He was particularly vicious today. I don’t know what’s gotten over him...”
“No one takes my job seriously,” Jack shrugged. “I should have expected it. But you don’t have to apologize for him. It’s not your fault.”
He couldn’t help but wonder if the man hadn’t acted like that hoping it would get him better ratings.
***
Jack had always liked to walk. He owned a car but rarely used it. The air here was so clear, so pure... there was no pollution on Bernice. Yet. Humanity would likely change that, at some point, though it would take many generations before this planet became corrupted.
The streets were clean and peaceful. Many others shared his preference for walking, and meeting like-minded folks was always a pleasant experience... or rather, it had been.
Since his appearance on All Fired Up, people would glare when he walked by. Some had even mocked or thrown insults at him. Most just snickered or rolled their eyes.
When he got home one afternoon, his vidscreen alerted him of an incoming call.
“Mr. Swann... I am Prof. Jared Campbell. I hope I am not calling at a bad time?”
The man had dark freckled hair, a long black beard, and brown eyes.
“Not at all,” answered the dreamcatcher with curiosity. “How can I help you?”
“Well, I’m hoping the reverse. I caught you on that show the other day... Quite a fascinating story you told. I specialize in neuroscience, you see, and have been trying to examine how dreams can affect our actions. I’d heard of people in your line of work, but was not aware any of you were on Bernice.”
“There are a few of us.”
“Oh. And, uhm, do you know why the aliens contacted you, rather than the others?”
Jack poured himself a glass of whiskey as he wondered how much he could, or should tell this guy. Most scientists he had dealt with in the past had been rather set against his profession. Granted, none of them had been neuroscientists. Perhaps this one would have a more open mind?
“I’m a little bit different from my colleagues,” he confided.
“How so?”
Jack walked back into the living room and stared into the man’s eyes.
“I’m not sure how to explain it, but... To project yourself in other people’s dreams, you need machines. The patient must lie down on a special bed that has sensors all over its surface. There are cables connecting them to a computer that helps process all the data. The dreamcatcher lies on another bed that is similarly connected to the same computer. The projection is then engaged by specialized code.”
Campbell listened with interest, nodding his head every once in a while. “Yes, that makes sense. I think I remember reading something about that, some time ago...”
“Well,” Jack sat down on the couch, “I don’t need all that stuff.”
The scientist blinked. “Excuse me?”
A sad smile crept up on Jack’s lips. This was where he usually lost everyone. “All I need is proximity when the patient is sleeping. That’s it. No sensors, no cables, no computer... Some have called it a gift, others a curse.”
“I... see.”
There was an awkward silence as the two men held each other’s gaze.
“How... How certain are you that what you experienced wasn’t, in fact, a dream?”
It was an annoying question, but Jack could hardly blame anyone for asking it. If you didn’t experience it first hand, if you didn’t know how to recognize the signs, you couldn’t possibly understand the subtleties of the matter.
“Very.” There was another silence. Jack sighed. “Look, I get that you’re dubious. But your question... That’s like asking a doctor if he’s sure a patient has cancer. Just because you don’t know what the symptoms are doesn’t make it any less real. You said yourself, this is my line of work. I bring reality into dreams, I take control of them. That’s what I do. So yes, I can tell the difference.”
Campbell smiled a little. “Alright. I did not mean to offend. Apologies if I did.”
Jack made a dismissive gesture. “It’s fine.”
“And do you know where these aliens are?”
“No. They did not share that information, nor did I think it relevant enough to ask.”
The professor looked disappointed. “Very well. I think maybe we could help each other. Would you agree to a meeting?”
“Sure. Where and when?”
“Your place, tomorrow afternoon. Say around six?”
“That’s fine.”
“Great. Thank you, Mr. Swann. We’ll talk again soon.”
***
A few hours later, as Jack was coming out of a grocery store, he found himself surrounded by a dozen soldiers. He froze.
“What’s going on?”
“Follow us,” said one of them, motioning with his rifle toward a military car.
Realizing he didn’t have much of a choice, he complied.
Inside the car, he found a general waiting for him.
“Have a seat, Mr. Swann. We need to have a chat.”
“You have my attention,” he said.
“What is your connection with New Rhodia?”
Jack quirked a brow at the question as he felt the car start to move.
“New Rhodia? Hmm. What I hear on the news would be the extent of my connection. And knowledge.”
The general frowned. “I do not appreciate being lied to, Mr. Swann. Please do not try my patience.”
“Look, I’ve never been there, nor have I ever met anyone from there.”
“Oh really?”
“Well, obviously, it’s a fairly young nation... it’s entirely possible that someone I once knew now lives there. But I wouldn’t know.”
The officer grew more upset as Jack talked, so he fell quiet, wondering what he’d said wrong.
“First off,” barked the general, “they are not a nation. They are a nest of rebels. That we will crush. Second...”
He turned to open a panel on the back of a seat and pressed a series of buttons. There was a crackle, followed by some static, then came two distinctive voices.
Jack was stunned when he recognized his own. The other was Campbell’s.
“What the hell is this? Are you spying on citizens now?” He was outraged.
“Only those we suspect of treason,” said the general.
“This is insane!”
“Did you, or did you not speak with Prof. Campbell of New Rhodia?”
Jack blanched.
“I... Yes... But I had no idea he was from New Rhodia! He never mentioned it.”
“Of course he didn’t.”
“Oh for crying out loud,” he gestured in the device’s direction. “You have it all on tape, right there! Did you hear him ever mention it?”
The officer squinted at him. “You must have known from before.”
“Did it sound like we knew each other?”
The other man shrugged. “Role play to set off anyone who might be listening.”
“This is madness! Besides, if this is why you suspect me, then why were you recording me before the conversation happened?”
The general flicked a switch and the device shut down. He closed the panel and stared at Jack.
“Did you really think you could talk about an alien invasion on the news and not draw attention from the authorities?”
Jack couldn’t believe his ears. The more he heard, the more it felt like he was caught in some twisted nightmare. Except with a nightmare, at least, he’d be able to change its course—assuming it was somebody else’s, of course.
Either way, this was real. Much too real for his taste.
“Whoever said anything about an invasion? It’s a dying species! They’re just trying to survive.”
“That’s right. And what better way to survive than to invade us?”
“But they’re already here, General! This is their world. If anything, we’re invading them!”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There were no signs of life on Bernice when it was first settled.”
“We must have missed them.”
“It’s hardly the point, in any case. Whether they are here or not, they cannot be allowed to invade our dreams. That’s assuming they’re real. Your connection with New Rhodia points to a very different scenario.”
“What? You think they made it all up?”
“With your help, of course.”
“That’s not what I do,” sighed Jack.
The general smiled—though it was not a kind one—and opened the door. Glancing outside, Jack realized they had reached his home.
“Sir, you are under house arrest until further notice.”
***
He did not dream that night. Or, if he did, he could not recall it. That was unusual for him. And disappointing. He had hoped to see Xynha again. He was concerned about the turn of events and could have used some advice—even from an alien.
So Campbell was from New Rhodia. That gave their conversation a somewhat different, perhaps more sinister spin. Was the scientist trying to manipulate him? And why give Jack that appointment if he wasn’t even anywhere near? There was no way he’d pop up at six, in the middle of enemy territory, when he was wanted by local authorities. It didn’t make any sense.
Jack would normally go out every morning to do some jogging, but that was out of the question now. He looked through his kitchen window at the military vehicles parked in the street and cursed. How long was this going to last? It was ridiculous!
As he watched, he noticed a black car pull up in his driveway. A secret service man came out from the front and opened the back door. Another man came out—tall, clean-shaven, well-dressed, with a face that had been all over the news lately.
“You must be fucking kidding me.”
He walked to the door and opened it before the visitor had time to ring.
“I’m surprised to see you here, senator.”
Trenton Lasker smiled. “I was hoping we could have a chat. Privately.”
After shaking the politician’s hand, Jack led him to the living room. He noticed that the senator’s detail had remained outside.
“What is this about?”
“Oh, I think you have some idea,” chuckled Lasker. “You’ve been a bad boy.”
Jack almost said Look who’s talking, but managed to keep it in. Instead, he ventured: “I can only assume it’s about Campbell. But I assure you I’d never met him before and had no idea he had sided with New Rhodia.”
The senator made a dismissive gesture. “I’m sure you didn’t. But I’m more interested in discussing those aliens of yours.”
“Really?”
There was surprise in the dreamcatcher’s voice. He had not expected this.
“You are still in contact with them?” asked the politician.
“Yes... kind of. I mean, I haven’t heard from them in a few days, but I’m sure I’ll see Xynha again soon.”
“Good. I’d like you to give them a message from me. Could you do that?”
“From the government, you mean?”
Lasker frowned. “Yes. Of course. From the government.”
“What kind of message?”
“It’s more like a series of questions. The point is, we need to prove to the population that your story is true. What better way than to have them address specific points.”
Jack doubted this would prove anything... except, maybe, to the government. It likely was a way for them to verify that he wasn’t making it all up. Though how would they be able to tell if he hadn’t just made up the answers as well?
“We could always give it a shot,” he said carefully.
“Great!” Lasker stood and pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He held it out to Jack. “Here. There are twenty. Run them past your alien friends and see what they say. Alright?”
Jack did not take it. “Hold on one minute... What will I get in exchange if I do this?”
The senator did not seem surprised by the question, he even smiled. “What did you have in mind?”
“I want those soldiers off my back.”
“Grayson and his men? Not a problem. He’s a lapdog. He’ll do as he’s told. Is that all?”
“No. I want to talk with a neuroscientist. I realize it can’t be Campbell, since he’s with the enemy, but we must have one too... Right?”
Lasker pondered this. “Honestly, I don’t know, but I’ll ask around. And if we don’t, I’ll see if we can have one come over from Earth.”
“It would have to happen soon,” pointed out Jack. “We don’t know how much time the aliens have left.”
“We’ll make it work,” the senator said confidently as he handed out the paper again.
This time, Jack reached out and grabbed it. As the senator turned and headed off, he unfolded it to scan the questions.
“These don’t make any sense!” he called out.
Without looking back, Lasker said: “Just get me their answers.”
And he was gone.
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Enjoy my writing and want more Science-Fiction from me? Check out these stories:
How to Kill an Immortal (a man dies in a society of immortals)
The Human Dilemma (what it means to be human, set in a dystopian world)
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Text (c) 2024 by Alex S. Garcia.
Header: royalty-free stock images, edited by me.
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It sort of reminds me of Psychics that try to help the police. They are treated with skepticism and sometimes treated as if they had committed a crime.
My god, I feel so bad for Jack. Everything is going wrong for him!