I keep having this. . . . dream. . . .
A SHIP was sailing in a large, black sea. The water reflected the dark skies. The water was churning, and the sky was rumbling. The ship rocked back and forth with growing intensity.
"Heave! - Ho!" Sailors yanked down on the ropes to fold up the sails, as rain began to fall - slowly at first, and then much more quickly. The rumble of thunder could be heard, but no lightning could be seen.
Xiaoying peered up at the sky, hoping to find a trace of lightning, but she could only see shadows and clouds. The ship pitched on its side and shuddered suddenly. She ran to the edge to look into the water, and saw shadows moving beneath the surface of the water.
She opened her mouth to shout, but no sound came out. Long, black tentacles began to rise from the depths, wrapping around the ship and reaching out for her...
And then she woke. She was breathing quickly, but as realization settled in, her heart rate slowed down. Her cabin was dim, but LEDs on the far wall blinked red, and then yellow, as the cabin sensors detected her awakening. Slowly the light undimmed to a medium level, no brighter than candlelight, and a tin can of distilled water was produced by a robotic arm emerging from the wall.
She forced herself to sit up and drink, as a calm, female-sounding voice droned: "Your personal circadian is oh-three-twenty-three. The Politburo of Habitat 9 recommends sleeping during this time until at least oh-six-hundred. Please hydrate yourself and rest."
Meh, she thought, as she got out of bed and changed into a jumpsuit. "I think I'll take a walk. Disable recommendations until oh-seven-hundred."
"Recommendations disabled," repeated the cabin.
She exited her cabin and walked down the dim hallways of the living sector of Habitat 9, past the principle portal which let out into the atrium. The atrium was quiet - unsurprising as the Governing Circadian had most people sleeping during this time - but she knew there were some people working the "night shift" in the other departments. She walked through and towards the arboretum, hoping to smell the lemon-flowers and enjoy the garden until she went to the Politburo offices to get an early start.
The arboretum opened up before her and revealed the serene gardens, quiet except for the sound of trickling water, and the soft rustling of leaves in the simulated wind. Several small trees thronged the plantation, interspersed with flowers and vegetation, all of them arranged in definitive patterns. She knew the lemon-flowers were on the other side, so she had a short walk to get to them, but as usual she found her eyes drawn to the patterns of the garden - so clean and precise, the result of the loving labor of the gardeners who carefully kept and maintained this place.
She passed by a custodial machine that was slowly but surely trimming the leaves on a tree, using several small appendages to manipulate the leaves just right and clip them in exactly the right places. Such a machine could not originate the designs it was actuating, but with the minimum of oversight could be trusted to replicate a pattern. The gardeners oversaw and kept these machines as their little lieutenants, diligently working away.
It paid her no notice, and she passed by it to enter a small clearing in the center of the garden, where she was surprised to find someone sitting, their legs crossed, their eyes closed.
She recognized, by his unusual garb, a member of the Zen-Serotonin cult.
The cultist did not seem to notice her, and she was not interested in disturbing him either. She planned to pass him by, but as she walked near him, he opened his eyes and spoke.
"You've had a nightmare."
She froze. Feeling the little hairs pricking up on her neck, she faced the cultist suspiciously.
"How do you know that?"
"It's obvious."
Frowning, she turned towards him more fully. "I didn't know you guys could talk."
"It usually isn't necessary."
"But it is now?"
"No. And yes."
She raised an eyebrow, and the cultist went on. "Sit and meditate with me," he said.
She looked around herself to see if anyone else was watching - silly, but she felt unusually like a fish out of water at this moment. Still, she felt it would be impolite to reject him - and as a member of the Politburo she had an obligation to be welcoming to these strange guests. So, carefully, slowly, she lowered herself to sit opposite him on the soft grass.
He closed his eyes. "Tell me about it."
She took a beat before she realized he was talking about the nightmare. "I keep having this... dream," she said slowly. "About a... well, about a ship at sea."
He did not appear to react, but something told her he was listening nevertheless. "It's a stormy sea and it's dark, at night - like the kind you see sometimes in old movies and documentaries." She briefly wondered if they ever watched movies in the Zen-Serotonin phyle, and she assumed probably not. "Or read about in old books. Anyway, the... the ship is sort of rocking and turning. Like something is knocking it around. And when I look overboard, I see dark shadows emerging from the water, and they reach out for me and the ship-"
"Do these shadows frighten you?" he interrupted, not ungently.
"I... yes, they do," she said, frowning. "I guess it's instinctual."
"You're not meditating. Meditate on the shadows with me."
She screwed up her face and closed her eyes, the brief feeling of annoyance being replaced by some kind of frustration. She tried to imagine the shadows as she felt the soft breeze and the grass beneath her.
She saw the shadows emerging from the water again. The vision lacked the clarity it had from earlier, but she had had this dream so many times now that she could recall the details with great accuracy - at least when she was thinking on it.
She heard the cultist's voice. "Consider the shadow," he said. "What makes a shadow? It is light."
On these words she felt herself transported to the ship again, as if she were dreaming in the waking moment, and felt herself speaking aloud what she was seeing. The shadows emerged from the water and approached the ship, but as she gazed more closely, she realized she was only staring at the water - dark, but reflective.
"Consider light and shadow. When we see one, we can perceive the other."
A sudden feeling overcame her, and she looked up at the dark sky, where rain was falling, and saw the shadows reaching down from the heavens, towards the ship, towards her.
"The mysteries of the world may ever elude us," came the cultist's voice, "but the shadows we see are made not of material things, but of our fears."
She stared in awe at the dark, full sky, which seemed in that moment to dissolve into black fog, which then enveloped everything around her. In spite of herself, she felt calm, even detached, as the vision faded into nothingness.
"There is naught in this life but mist," said the cultist, "and we only live but a short while."
She opened her eyes, and the spell was broken, but she no longer felt annoyed with this strange man. "Why did you speak out to me?"
"Because I was curious," said the cultist calmly, eyes closed. "And because I have felt as you have felt, before."
Now it was her turn to be curious. "Do you know what my dream means?"
The cultist shrugged, sort of lazily. "I know nothing," he said. "Ohhhhmmm..."
Just then, a klaxon sounded-off in the arboretum, loud and irritating, as red strobe lights began to dance around the vicinity.
"An emergency alert is in progress," came an announcement. "Please report to your stations. Alert, an attack has been reported by unknown entities aboard the
Tongyi. Please report to your stations." The voice repeated, "An emergency alert is in progress..."
The cultist opened one eye, and already Xiaoying felt the anxiety return.
"I think it's for me," she said sheepishly. "Sorry. Thanks for the chat." She stood and hustled in the direction of the Politburo offices, leaving the cultist sitting there.
. . .
Níl sa saol seo ach ceo
Is ní bheimid beo,
ach seal beag gearr.