They wouldn’t leave this group conscious, not when long-term sedation and confinement could render them inert and docile until the powers-that-be decided their fate. What had at first been pure panic and fear of failure, Nina then realized could be something more, that she could snatch some victory out of this to turn the situation in their favor.
After hacking in to the confinement network protocols and worming her way in, literally through unprotected proximity sites deemed impossible to hack from outside servers, she found her way to the internal program cells, determining that the nuanced prison system was actually far more elaborate than any design she could have imagined these spooks would have.
They didn’t just want the psychics inert and resting in dreamland, they wanted them alert, conscious and confused even. Or was this something else? It seemed to be some kind of state of virtual reality. Other programs were running with the other prisoners, some even that created freedom or escape scenarios, all designed to either extract information or to bend their psychic powers to provide certain valuable information — perhaps using them to locate missing Stargate members.
So, this jailbreak, it might not happen, she decided. Not yet at least, but that might not necessarily be a bad thing.
Orlando, she typed. I know you can hear me, and you know it’s me now. Just…sit tight. Let me think about this.
The reply came almost as fast as she hit the Enter key. I’m stuck in the damn Matrix?
Yeah, Nina typed. Just like Neo, but you don’t want to tip your hand yet. You can control it, I think. Now that you’re…
Self aware? He finished the thought for her.
She thought about it before responding. You’d know better than me. You’re in the simulation, but also connected to the network big time. You’re smack in the heart of everything. Can you feel where you’re connected?
What?
That might be the key — a virtual umbilical cord, one that you can use to maneuver and extract your influence. Access the Code behind the program. Don’t let them control you, not when you can be in charge if you’re just conscious of the truth and not worrying about your physical predicament.
Yeah. I think I get it, and I know how — where — they’ve got the link. Feels like my left temple.
Good. Go with that. Trust no one and nothing, except your gut and your instinct. Like now, like with me.
The screen was blank, just the blinking cursor now.
Did I lose you? She typed.
I’m here. Just…flexing my virtual muscles, trying this out. I found the others. See their simulations running. They’re oblivious.
But safe?
Yes. For now. They’re being used. We all are. They want something from us. Something big — down the line. Testing us, probably to choose one or two of the most promising…for whatever it is.
Nina thought for a second, then checked her watch. She was out of time. Had to make her retreat before the whole thing was blown. If she left now, escaping the shafts near the exhaust tunnels and the air chambers above the prisoner swap zones, she could leave them baffled as to not only who broke their security, but what they came for.
I’ve got to run, she typed.
Gotcha. Thanks for trying. Thanks for checking in, Nina.
I’ll come back. We’ll free you, don’t worry.
I know you will. But in the meantime, copy my virtual coordinates — we may be able to keep in touch, at least briefly, when I can risk it.
Don’t…unless it’s urgent. Unless you learn something invaluable. Like about Caleb’s whereabouts. I couldn’t find him. I—
I’ll work on it… wait…
Nina started packing up, ready to disconnect, when one last message came from the man hooked up to the machines down below.
Dreamtime.
One word, then the connection was gone.
Nina thought about that as she packed away the port and wires and slid the Netbook into her pack. Before wriggling out of the shaft and heading for the exit, she wondered about the word.
Was it just his way of saying goodbye, or goodnight? Or was it a clue, something to search for after her escape?
Dreamtime.
It chilled her, either way, as she crawled to freedom.
7
It had to be a simulation.
The room’s attention to detail, so perfect in its homey 1950’s-era goodness. The Platters were playing on an old tinny record player. Smoke Gets in Your Eyes. A bouquet of lavender on the TV table beside a wall of faux wood panels and paintings of wildlife. Soft lighting. All it was missing was a plate of warm apple pie and a glass of milk on the kitchen table.
Definitely a simulation, Caleb thought, but then that meant…
What did it mean? Was he really here or lying in a dream-state somewhere? Maybe he was actually drugged and sedated as they pumped images into his brain via some virtual reality simulator? Was he wearing VR goggles, or…
Or was this all him?
Caleb sat perfectly still, and then cast his mind’s eye out, trying to see. Giving himself an objective:
Find the Dream-Maker. Boris, The Dream-Man, whatever he should be called. The one who could force visions upon psychics, twisting their powers and projecting his own carefully-designed worlds into their brains. Just how the hell did he do that? Caleb imagined some scientific basis, a biological counterpart or enhancement to the psychic abilities he and his family had. Nina, after all, had other gifts that were similar in classification but quite different in operation.
While he thought about that, he continued to study his surroundings. No, this couldn’t be a simulation, part of his logical thinking chided. I can touch things here. Change the song on that player, pull out that chair. Turn on the sink…
Look out the window?
Caleb moved for it, heading for the curtain, reaching for it, even as his mind pulled up a series of flashing images. They cut like a rapid flipping of comic book pages across his mind’s eye:
The young man in hooded sweatshirt. Standing in the rain on the roof outside of Stargate.
The same man at the CIA headquarters (now? Earlier? In the future?), dressed in a sharp suit and tie, following along behind a general and his staff and several other men Caleb recognized as politician friends of Calderon…
Another flash, and the same man wears a different hood and stands statue-like in a semi-circle with other hooded men and women. A gathering in a torch-lit cavern as they look over a three-dimensional projection, a map of the inner solar system; the sun burning bright as the planets circled it in sped-up time, allowing for the projection of a new body — a dark celestial body approaching from off-camera…
A flash of bright light and Caleb was back, squinting against the glare as the curtain pulled aside.
“Not what you thought, is it?”
Caleb jumped and almost let go of the curtain. “Where am I?” he answered, without thinking of the other person. Didn’t even register if the voice were male or female. He just blinked and blinked, trying to rid his vision of the bright, painful sun and the endless stretch of blue overhead, tempered only when it crashed down onto the rust-colored horizon.