Darksider: Reveler Series 3 (10 page)

She’d stopped crying, hated that she’d fallen apart in the car. The shock of the revelation was balled up high in her chest, burning, threatening to choke her. She could barely breathe.

Harlen was fidgeting with some kind of metal thing. “Have you heard of the Rêve doors?”

They’d stopped at the restaurant, where she’d left a note for the Adria brothers and had paper-clipped a few essential documents, just in case. Then they’d stopped at a QuikShop so Harlen could buy a few personal items. Apparently, Chimera didn’t permit him to take her to his apartment, even to grab a few things. He’d showered and changed into a new black T-shirt at her place. It looked store-stiff on him, the sleeves tight around his biceps. They had been back at her place for the past hour, and all conversation had been reduced to the bare essentials.

When this stalker thing was behind them and Harlen didn’t have to be a hero, when he could walk away if he wanted, she would ask him over to dinner. Pour her feelings into the perfect dish, her heart on a plate. Talk everything through.

“Sera, the Rêve doors?” Harlen repeated.

Oh.
Yeah, she knew about them. “You have to be able to open a door to get inside a Rêve. It’s the test to prove you’re lucid and in control.”

The doors made a lot of sense. During the first dreams she’d shared there had always been a few people who arrived on the Quad with the rest of the dreamers, but they weren’t aware that they were in a shared dream, which had some unfortunate consequences. One girl actually took off her clothes for Harlen. In front of everyone. Yeah, Sera had fought with him over that, because he hadn’t needed to be
so
friendly.

Harlen held up the metal thing, which now looked like one of those Rêve crowns. “This is a remote access to the Agora. When you go Darkside, I’ll follow shortly after and select the Rêve into which you’ll enter.”

“And Chimera won’t think that’s shifty? Nail you for it?”

He hesitated and then looked directly at her. “I’ve done it many times before on dates. Snuck women in. If anything, it’ll seem like just another day at work.”

Many times, huh? The Dream Master had earned his title. Seemed like he was going for the absolute truth, too.

“Anyway,” he said, “once I select a Rêve, you’ll see a door. This should be easy for you—just open it and enter. Pretend you belong in the Rêve. You’ll be safe there. I’ll be watching and, at the same time, looking through the Agora breach logs to see who has been coming and going. With any luck, I can identify him.”

“Please don’t do anything—”

One look from him cut her off.

’Kay.
She sat down on the sofa because she couldn’t bear to go in the bedroom to sleep. The covers were still all messed up from when everything had been wonderful. Besides, if he could sleep sitting on the floor, she could revel just fine from here.

“Fine,” he said, as if he’d heard her inner dialogue. He placed the crown on her head, the band cool across her wound. “Close your eyes.”

She did as she was told. Took a sec but she felt the dizzy slip of her consciousness—and the simultaneous hard press of a kiss—
Harlen!
—as she was sucked under the dreamwaters.

The plunge was swift and cool, as if the downward momentum didn’t obey laws of physics. She sank so deep that the rush felt like floating, magic all around her—not the least of which was the kiss still warm on her lips.

The knot in her chest loosened, and underwater, she could breathe again. He’d kissed her, and it made her smile. It was going to be okay between them. She’d make sure it was. Now that everything was out, they could start all over.

Time seemed to stretch, but her confidence in him didn’t waver. He had to pick a Rêve for her first. Sure enough, her surroundings began to change, the setting now…urban?

The door that appeared before her was made of heavy, distressed metal, complete with bullet holes, black scorch marks, and a time-faded radioactive hazard sign. She laughed out loud.
Excellent selection, Harlen.
A large lever acted as a knob, and she stepped up and pulled hard on it, then heaved the massive door open.

Not urban, or not anymore. Post-apocalyptic.

As far as the eye could see, white concrete debris was heaped in huge piles and slabs. Exposed bricks crumbled from where they’d once made walls. Rusty, burned-out cars were half-buried in the rubble. Some of it was tagged with graffiti, so whatever had happened to desolate this place, the spray paint had survived. The sky was gray, but an oversized sun glared bright behind it, its heat sizzling on her skin. The faint smell of kerosene made her grimace.

And people paid big bucks for this.

A cheer from up ahead drew her forward. She climbed over the concrete—some of it shifted precariously under her weight—and she giggled at the absurdity of the setting. Where the hell was she?

A skinned knee and finally she crested the wreckage of a lost civilization. Below, an open area had been cleared, people gathered in a circle. All of them were attired in leather and studs, some with brightly colored hair and sweat-slick braids. In the center, two revelers were beating the shit out of each other. They were shirtless, and one of the fighters was trying so hard to hold onto the illusion of muscle definition that every time he got smacked in the face, his physique faltered. He’d do better as himself. That’s what some revelers just didn’t seem to understand: there was power in being yourself.

The concrete was hot to the touch, so she scrambled down to join the others in a circle.

She still didn’t get it.

A twitchy guy in oiled jeans watched her approach. His pasty pale skin was getting a really bad sunburn. His gaze swept over her, seeming to size her up.

She was wearing jeans and a teal blouse, something pretty for meeting Harlen’s mom earlier.

“Hit me!” the twitchy guy said.

“What?” Cheers in the distance meant there were other similar groups clustered throughout the rubble.

“Hit me!” He showed her his teeth. Lots of metal in there. Yeah, scary. “I’m fighting Chuck Norris later. Heh heh.”

Sera looked more carefully at the faces in the group that was gathered. Some were only faintly familiar, but she could pick out The Rock and Rhonda Rousey. Probably just projections, both of them. Some stars licensed their likenesses for a big payday.

“Little thing like you. Heh heh.” The twitchy guy circled her. “Are you going to fight, or are you just here to watch?”

It was a fighting Rêve.
Hilarious, Harlen.

People came here to get their asses kicked, or to try and kick some ass. Maybe they wanted to see what kind of stuff they were made of…in a dream where they couldn’t get hurt.

“You want me to punch you?” She could use the practice.

“Little la-dy. Heh heh. Do your worst.”

“Okay,” she said. And she swung.

***

On second thought, maybe he should’ve picked a different Rêve. Sera was getting a little
too
into it, prancing in place, thumbing her nose, daring the poor slob collapsed in the rubble to stop napping and fight the Little Lady. She’d taken to
Apocalypse Pow
with alacrity for someone who hated Rêves.

Well, he hadn’t had many options as to where to place her. The Agora was packed with revelers on a Saturday night.

Harlen stood in the null Agora space, a void of black space where the columns associated with Rêve safety stood at even intervals, ad infinitum on a two dimensional plane. A lightscreen was projected outward from a column, upon which data flowed in a constant stream. A single tap would select a Rêve to view. Most came up without an override, but there were also locked Rêves, into which Chimera couldn’t see unless called upon by a reveler within.

“We’ve got possible smuggling in quadrant 18-5 of the
Carnival Rio
Rêve,” the lead on duty, Marshal Erika Shaw told him. “I’ve jacked one of them already for trying to unload a snuff memory. What kind of sickos would want to relive that? Police are following up in the WW”—waking world—“but we think there’s another perp still hiding in there.”

Harlen selected the Rêve in question.
Carnival Rio
was a blast of rhythm, elaborate floats, and painted tits. Revelers were crushed along the sidelines of a parade, screaming, at least half of them high. It’d be easy to hand off contraband in there. Everyone was getting off one way or another.

“I’ll grab the names from corporate and run them,” Harlen said. It’d give him an opportunity to search the breach logs, too.

“The work of a Chimera marshal is never done,” said an accented male voice behind him. The hard
k
of Chimera was pronounced with a soft
sh
, almost like
shimmer
,
but with an
a
at the end.

Harlen turned to find Didier Lambert,
the
Didier Lambert, addressing him.

Harlen’s blood ran cold. Why was he here if not because something in Coll’s story was true? And why was he here if not because he knew Harlen associated with Rook and Coll?

This was not the time.

Lambert was tall, built, barely showing his fifty-plus years. He had dark hair, white at the temples, and
human
eyes, not that freaky gray that Steve Coll had sported last night when he claimed both he and Lambert were monsters.

Shaw had a huge smile on her face. “Sir, welcome! What a tremendous honor to have you here!”

Lambert shook her hand. “The honor is mine, of course.”

Harlen wasn’t feeling honored. He was feeling a little aggravated. Credibility was leaning distinctly in Coll’s favor.

“Marshal Fawkes.” Lambert turned and held out his hand to Harlen. “I just finished speaking to Allison Bright and she said I might find you here.”

Ms. Bright had been at the disciplinary hearing yesterday morning.

Harlen shook hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Lambert.” He glanced into
Apocalypse Pow
, which he’d casually left open to viewing. Sera was showing off faux bulging muscles. He swiped to close the access so that Lambert wouldn’t notice her, too. “What can I help you with?”

“Why, I’m hoping we can help each other.”

Harlen had really hoped Coll was nuts. “I’m on duty right now. Perhaps we can speak another time.”

“No, no, Harlen,” Shaw interrupted, eyes wide to signal excitement and import. “Go ahead. I’ll cover you.”

“I’m staying,” he told her. If he left, he knew something would happen to Sera. This was just too coincidental. He wasn’t budging, not even for Didier Lambert. “I don’t mean to be impolite,” Harlen said to Lambert, “but the Agora is packed, and personnel is tight.”

Lambert gave a little aristocratic bow to his head. “This must be why you come so highly recommended.”

Shit.
“Recommended by whom?”
Names, please.

Lambert blinked. “Why by Allison Bright, for one, and also by James Dugan, who I understand you’ve known for many years.”

“He was in the same sleep study I was in at UCSD.” Harlen would have to ask James not to do him any more favors.

“An excellent program,” Lambert said. “You had an early start.”

“We can discuss it in the waking world.” Harlen meant,
Get the hell out
. “I’m looking for a memory smuggler right now.”

“Well, I would’ve approached you in the waking world, but I’m out of the country at present.”

“Let me guess? France.”
Or maybe you can’t meet because you’re nursing a neck wound?
That is, if Maisie’s end of the story was correct, as well.

Disquiet ate at Harlen’s gut. He wished he hadn’t closed the
Apocalypse Pow
Rêve. Even two minutes with Sera out of his sight bothered him.

Lambert didn’t seem to be going anywhere. He smiled. “I’m putting together an international task force, and I’d like you to be on it.”

Ha. No.
“I’m happy with Chimera.”

“We’d be doing some fascinating work, pushing further into the, uh, Scrape, I believe you call it here.”

Harlen was going to have to be rude. “I hate the Scrape. Really, I’m not interested.”

Lambert kept that insipid smile on his face. “Come now, a man with your training and skillset—I’ve seen your files—shouldn’t be wasting his time here as little more than a security guard watching feeds. I’ll send you my offer. I think you might change your mind.”

Lambert had seen his file? Who’d given him access? And what would he possibly want with Harlen’s skillset? Most of it had been redacted from the file, or had he been given the original file? If so, what he could do was
illegal.
Lambert himself probably
wrote
the International Pact that decried the use of techniques like Indirect Surveillance.

“Send whatever you like.” Harlen turned his back on Lambert. Felt the man’s glare burn into the back of his neck but ignored the heat.

Harlen accessed the
Carnival Rio
reveler list, though he was really waiting for Lambert to go away so he could check on Sera.
Rio
was the kind of dream Chimera called Mass Hysteria, because the group was massive—932 people, and many of them had managed to register under false names to cover indiscretions they made Darkside.