See You in Our Dreams
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See You In Our Dreams Maía SCIENCE FICTION In the lineage of the best science fiction and the register of today's new climate fiction – cli-fi for those who haven't been reading much – See You in Our Dreams weaves a rich tapestry: a near-future struggle for radical social justice, stopping the current system in its tracks, and setting out in the direction of a unique experience of community. Grittily and inventively narrated by multiple voices, the author leaves readers to ponder what is lost and what is won when we raise our heads up to look clearly at where we are. This book bids us to break the rules--- with courage, imagination, and love. John Foran teaches courses on climate change and climate justice, activism and movements for radical social change, and systemic alternatives beyond capitalism at the University of California, Santa Barbara.He is a co-instigator of Eco Vista, along with Jessica Alarez Parfrey, the late Michael Bean, and many others whose passion is to turn the community of Isla Vista into an eco-village named Eco Vista! www.EcoVistaCommunity.com Set in the 2050s, this is not your typical “dystopian novel.” Here you’ll meet a kaleidoscope of characters guided by a mysterious presence in the dreams they discover they are sharing. As the maze of high-tech monopoly corporatism begins to break down, they form an underground community of friends and co-conspirators. Their planet-wide, shadow- resistance network gradually emerges into consciousness in a bid to break the hold of a civilization gone mad, held in place by ultra-surveillance, where “govcorp” structures impose rationing of water and other necessities, in an urban "wilderness" without wild animals. Dreaming finally becomes action, in a mysterious reckoning in the desert. With its aura of quiet courage and overtones of spirituality, See You in Our Dreams is sure to make its way into your dreams, as well. Dr. Ernie Tamminga is an evolutionary/interfaith Spiritual Director. Email: published in PDF by ernie@pointomega,com Eco Vista Climate Justice Press For human survival, we need another mutation in the destiny of reality, compared to which the shift from pre-history to history, seems like child’s play. Ariadne, via Raimon Panikkar See You In Our Dreams Maía Contents Part One…iv Part Two…35 Part Three…91 Part Four…143 Part Five…189 Part Six…249 Part Seven…307 Part Eight…345 Part Nine…377 Part Ten…421 Part Eleven…445 Part Twelve…489 Part Thirteen…507 Coda…555 Notes…557 Acknowledgements…558 Part One The Dream already exists— what you are looking for is the entrance. Ariadne, 2050 Her Voice Budd “This place is a maze,” she said,“ let me show you the way out.” Her voice, the first time I ever heard it, sent shockwaves through my body—something like that morning’s NetNews bulletin: Coronal Mass Ejection, magnitude XX3…heading earth's way, capable of tearing through The Shield. A tawny sweetness came to me, like lemon flowers Ma used to smuggle home from the arboretum. Her hand clasped my wrist, tugging in a direction I hadn’t intended to go. Planting my legs, I didn't budge. “Believe it or not, I know where I’m headed.” I caught my strident tone, softened it. “Actually, I'm bringing this back in,” I held up a Talking Digital Guidance System, “in working condition. My job. Lots more in here.” I patted the bulge in my pak. “Shortages make reclam pay off these days. This one? Nobody could pin down the glitches, everything tested clean. Took her down to zeroes and ones, tuned myself to every quiver— massaged linkages, flattened c-nodes, put her back together and now she's purring.” I passed the TDG over my cell triggering IRIS to ask, “Solar or Thorium mode? I grinned. “Been doing this since I was a kid…” She clicked her tongue. “So, when somebody asks what you do for a living, you say, Oh I sweet-talk DGs?” A chuckle from her. “But hey. Didn’t mean to push you around, you just looked, 1 hmmm, lost somehow. I’m picking up a Burner for MedArt. Containment Clinic south of here? ” She stepped closer, stirring the air between us. “Techs I work with tell me giving unasked-for directions is a vice of mine—so don't take it personally!” The music of her laugh disarmed me. I offered my palm—her fingers brushed mine and folded over, like a flower closing. This hand-talk between us was taking the place of what I couldn’t put into words. Not yet. She hesitated before her next move, until I began to doubt. Then her thumb traced mine in the familiar gesture, and I took a breath. We rested that way a moment before I pronounced the syllables of my name, separately and slowly. The way I’d learned to do after too many confusions. “Fran-cis-co. de Vas Budd. Just Budd is how it shakes out these days.” Her fingertips found the center of my palm, drew a spiral there, sparking an exquisite sensation. Then she pulled away. I welcomed each pause, each variation from the formal Labyrinth handshake. “Teri Donaghue.” Five quick syllables. “ Unlike you, Budd—I like to say my name as fast as possible!” I laughed. “Didn't mean to snap your head off. Could we, um, grab a hydro at the Wet Spot?” I turned toward an exit from the maze as she’d called it, the one I personally favored, though it meant taking the long way around. “When you get off work, I mean. At the Clinic.” I bit my lip. “You do get off, don't you?” A deeper laughter this time, from her throat and belly. Sure I was about to hear no thank you, I’d already turned my back when her voice a second time made the hairs on my neck rise, and Oh, I definitely do came warbling toward me. 2 The Silence of Water Six years later Against rage, how will beauty hold whose action is no stronger than a flower? Get your head out of yesterday, focus on water. Budd, kneeling on the rough carpet of his unit, thought he heard roaches scrabble away from his hand. “Poor bastards get thirsty, too,” he heard Teri tease in his head. Her actual voice in his life rare these days. 29.4 C Net was predicting. Along with the weekly catastrophe, Another CME. Or a hack? Sector Five will be down for several hours…Unprocessed water has sickened more than thirty- three people…Drought Conditions. How long had they been saying this stuff and calling it news? 6 am, his block’s water time-slot. He forced his hand under the sink, toward the Sector Outlet Pipe. Felt for the keypad and entered his bank code. When the beep went off, he brushed his wristcell by the sensor. Day on the verge of breaking —he strained for an off-net clue to its nature. A crow barked outside somewhere like an impatient little dog, making him smile as he remembered peanuts flying from Pop’s hand onto their flat roof, the scrape of beaks, dry brush of wings. Cuervo whispered through him 3 and out of his mouth. Ma's word on his breath. He liked the feel of that. How do crows find clean water? Drifting again. He compressed the spigot handle unleashing a shudder that ran down the faucet-head and into his arm. What he dreaded most was the moment the meter clanked off and the gush diminished to a trickle, the last drops echoing. The silence of water is the beginning of thirst. He shook the words away. Ariadne's words. Like outlaw psalms Ma recited to him when he was a kid. Hollow and loud, water rumbled out of the storage tank into the bucket. He wet his fingers, touched them to his lips and tasted, ground his teeth. Bitter. Spiked with anti-REM? He laughed. Probably spiked all along with things he couldn’t think about now. Already thirsty. No choice but to drink. He swallowed his first cup of the day, then stepped into the cramped enclosure outside the door of his unit, ironically called the porch on inspection sheets. Three more steps and he stood on bouncy turf. Sun scoured his face. He welcomed the faint pain of it. Rationed water. He’d gotten used to a lot of sad shit but he would never get used to that. How do you weigh the quench of thirst— yours, a friend's— against a cool handful splashed down the back of your neck, coming in out of the heat? ~ By 11 pm that night, weariness pulled his hands away from their restless testing for flaws in the latest TDA. Been doing this all my life— taking delicate machines apart, sweet-talking them, Teri called it. Hard to explain how his work was liberation. Up to a point, of course. 4 He stowed his circuit-integrity tools, miniature interface- screens, system test-kits, arranged with elaborate care in floor- to-ceiling drawers lining the walls of his one-person burrow. Sleep, how he longed for that total surrender. He’d always had trouble with sleep. Insomnia was a common after-effect of his illness and surgery. But when Dreams began disrupting both waking and sleeping, it was then that the enormous soothing concentration his repair jobs demanded, became his rest. And there was music. With two fingers he fished the harmonica out of his breast pocket.