Sorry it took me so long. Matrix-block, I'd say.
Here it is now, a mind-twist.
Author's note: This is a sequel to 'Transition'. I felt like I had to explain how Carla happened to wake up in the end in the Matrix. Had she been re-inserted? And I really tried to find a way to unplug someone a bit differently. Not calls 'this line is tapped, so I must be brief' – stuff and cracked mirrors and blue pills. I wanted something new.
Arrival
------------------
Zion"The sores are constantly getting worse, brother." Mike applied some ointment to the nasty rashes on his friend's back. Gordon laid in his bed as always. For four years now the young man was a vegetable. During a fight in the sewers he had pushed Mike out of the line of fire. In return he was buried under the collapsing parts of the ship. How he had survived at all was a miracle. His brain was mush, the man more or less incommunicado.
OK, his heart was beating, lungs worked and he could digest what they fed him. Gordon seemed to recognize Mike. That was about all. Mike had not wanted to leave Gordon in the custody of the over-worked staff at Zion Medical Division, so he quit service.
Mike found himself a job at a recycling-plant, working the night-shift. And he was dedicating the rest of his time to the care giving for his friend. He owed him his life anyway. He would sit at Gordon's side and read stories to him, tell him about his night at work and he always kept the once devoted resistance-fighter updated on the war. Sometimes there was a flicker of understanding in the man's black eyes.
And there were times when Gordon had seizures and cramps and his throat produced raw sounds. He had fallen out of the bed several times during such a phase. Mike was helpless. It hurt him to see his best friend wasting away, being in pain and Mike not being able to help. Often Gordon lost the last bit of bodily control that remained with him, soiling himself while being rocked by cramps.
The last day had been one of those days. Now Gordon seemed to be calm again. Mike had bathed him and was now getting ready for work.
"See, I got you a new ribbon." Mike showed the crimson piece of cloth he had bought to tie up the long hair that was kept in a thick braid. It would have been easier to cut off the hair, but he couldn't convince himself to do so. "I'm putting up the rails, so you wont jump out of bed when I'm gone, buddy. You want music?" Mike looked into Gordon's eyes to find any response.
When he turned away to leave, Gordon groaned and the man's malformed hand tried to reach out for Mike's arm.
"What? Oh man! You want me to stay? Shall I stay here? Mike's going to stay with you, OK?" Mike patted Gordon's hand and turned away again.
"Hhuuuurrrrghnnnhhh..." Gordon groaned agonized.
"I'm staying. I have to call in sick. Don't worry, I'll stay." It was obvious the crippled man was scared or at least extremely agitated. He often was during those periods and Mike often had to stay home then. Gordon received a bit of compensation so they would get along somehow. They always did.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Matrix"So, are you going to join us or not?" Dawn asked me for the third time in ten minutes.
"No. I don't feel like. I need to crash soon tonight." I replied absent-mindedly.
"Bad dreams again?"
"Yeah."
"Carla, you should go and see a therapist." Dawn shook her head, stared at me for some seconds and finally turned to check her closet, not being able to decide what to wear.
I was having weird dreams. I always had since four years ago I fell into a fever-induced coma. It wasn't exactly nightmares. Most of them were more like thrillers. But they were so intense that after those nights I woke up like I had not closed my eyes at all. It happened like clustered seizures, one after another, mostly three nights in a row, sometimes a whole week.
I must be thrashing in my bed because I am bruised often. Funny thing is that Dawn, my roommate here at college, never wakes from my thrashing.
In these dreams I run from men in suits, I get phone-calls from people who call themselves 'Resistance-Fighters' and I accomplish things they ask me to do. In my dreams I am changing things. They are so intense... Most funny thing is that in my dreams I seem to be a man. That's ridiculous, but I seem to know what it's like to be a man.
Half a year ago a dream took place here at Berkeley and a house was blown up. Next day I walked down that very street and the building was gone. A pile of rubbish, nothing else. When I wondered what had happened, they looked at me strangely and told me, that corner had always looked like that. But when I stepped closer, I could see a piece of a poster glued to the bricks that advertised this year's Gay Pride Week over at San Fran. I could see the four-digit-year printed on it.
Why would such a poster be ripped apart and glued to the debris?
Anyway, the dreams came and went in no special rhythm. Months could lay between two occurances.
As soon as Dawn had left, I went into the bathroom and took a long, hot bath.
I must have fallen asleep in the tub. The ringing of the phone slowly woke me but by the time I was out, it was silent. I shrugged, toweled myself dry and went to bed. Although I was exhausted I could not directly sleep. Eventually I dozed off, reading a book.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Dream:
"Carl! Carl, do you hear me?"
"Where are you? Who are you?" it was rather dark and I could hardly see where I was.
"Over here, to your right. Don't you recognize my voice?" was there some disappointment in the voice? I looked to the right.
"The other right, Carl!" the voice chided gently. It is true, I constantly mess up left and right. Started after that fever years ago, too. I turned. At that moment the clouds ripped open and the full moon shone brightly on the scenery.
I gasped.
I was standing on a platform high above the ground. The platform of a tall crane, at least 200 ft. above the ground. There stood a man, obviously the guy who owned the voice. I did not dare to move, my hands held the railing with a death grip.
"Who are you?" I asked him, exasperated. He was very tall and his long hair flew in the air.
"I am the Dreamwalker. I am the one who keeps sending you the visions. Together we have accomplished important things. You have made me see things I haven't even thought of." His dark voice was loud and clear across the wind.
"I don't understand." I really did not.
"I am dying. I put you into the line of fire and now I want to rescue you. Come to me." The man stood on the tip of the crane's arm and now stretched out his hand.
"No way!"
"Only a few steps, Carl. Give me your hand." There was an urgency in his voice that nearly pushed me forward. But I was sick and paralyzed. I have always been afraid of heights and now I stood, unsecured, on a crane and was supposed to walk ahead!
"I can't."
"You can." He said in a matter-of-factly voice, "You have accomplished tasks much more difficult. Come to me!"
I made a small step.
"Don't look down, Carl! Keep looking into my eyes!" His voice was commanding. Through the darkness I could see his eyes: black and glowing like coal. Once I had established eye-contact, I felt a bit better. I moved forward, step by step. The man who had called himself Dreamwalker stood quietly, waiting.
When I was halfway over, the wind gathered new strength. The crane swayed and I had to hold tight onto the steel only to keep my stand. A thunderstorm came up, lightning flickered through the sky.
"That is Them. They want you to fail. But you can make it, Carl."
Them? Did he refer to the opponents of my many dreams? This they could do? Control the weather? How should I fight and win such powerful people. My confidence faltered and I lost my stand, my foot slipped and I had to struggle hard. I looked down and immediately felt dizzy, a lump formed in my stomach and I broke a sweat.
I would fall.
Fall and die.
"Look. Into. My. Eyes." Dreamwalker said calmly. His voice took control of my body and I managed to look up again. It helped. I grew calmer and continued my crazy walk.
Eventually there came the moment when I had to loosen my grip on the steel and reach for Dreamwalker's hand instead. For minutes I tried to convince myself. The lightning struck the tip of a building close-by. Sooner or later it would strike the crane and fry us.
What the hell was I doing here? Standing on the outmost point of this constructional machine in a thunderstorm at night...
"You will need to float, Carl, when you wake. Float. Keep that in mind!" it made no sense. Nothing of this made sense! And still there was the man's hand, waiting for me.
I did it. I ripped my hand off the safety of the steel and grabbed the man's hand. Then everything went dark and I woke.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Zion
Mike could do nothing but watch.
The seizures that rocked his friend's body were too much this time. Too scared to even lave the second it would take to reach the intercom and call for a medic, Mike sat and screamed for help that finally came, alarmed by caring neighbors.
Gordon was pumped full with pints of drugs until the cramps finally stopped and the man laid there, eyes glazed over and completely out of it.
"One day this will kill him. His body cannot take such strain very much longer" the medic said to Mike before he left.
Mike nodded, "I know. Only: I cannot let him starve. He saved my life!"
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Real World, a Pod:
I was surely drowning. Enclosed by some pink liquid and drowning. Panic squeezed my heart and I desperately wanted to wake up. I struggled really hard to be free.
Then I broke through the surface, mouth wide open I gasped for air – and was still not able to breathe when all of a sudden I slipped and fell backwards, sliding somehow downwards. Painful jerks at my arms and body, somehow trying to hold me. Then they let go, one by one snapped from my body. It hurt!
The worst part was something being ripped out of my throat. I thought my pindpipe was being ripped out or I was being gutted alive but when it was gone I could breathe.
Gulping down air in large gasps as I fell and fell and fell.
Cold. Cold water and I was drowning once more. //float, Carl! When you wake, float!// I remembered my dream.
Wait!
If I now remembered my dream as being such – did that not mean I was AWAKE?
Certainly not. Please, no. I was somehow having a dream within my dream and now that recursion unfolded back to the outer layers and soon I would be awake, warm in my bed and happy to go to church next evening.
Until then I could only do one thing: try to float. In this cold, I had not too much time, I knew. What was it – five minutes? Eight? Three? I did not really care because in your dreams you never die. You always wake up before, no matter how close, it's always BEFORE.
Not this time, though.
For this was no dream.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Next thing I remembered was waking up in a room built of steel and some strange feel of deja-vu crept through my mind. Could one have re-plays of a dream?
I was positively loosing my mind!
Although I did not completely recall the very words of what people would go and say to me in a second, I knew the meanings of their soon-to-come words. I pinched myself until my arm was bruised, still hoping to wake up from this weird and twisted dream.
To no avail.
Why was I not too much surprised when I learned I was a boy? Why did that not shock me?
Why was I so willing to accept this cold submarine – or hovercraft, as they called it – as a part of reality?
Why did it not shock me to learn that my whole life until that day I woke in some strange pink goo had been a dream?
So I had dreamt I had dreamt to be dreaming? How manifold did this recursion go? And how could I be sure THIS now was the true state of being awake?
Because it was the most miserable one?
Probably there would be another waking and another and another still to come.
The ship's crew whispered behind my back. They had never heard of anybody who had taken the facts of reality as calm and obviously knowing as I had. Sure, plug me in, I can still walk in high-heels!
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Zion.
Now, that was another eye-opener!
I knew the street-layout, the different layers, knew where shops had been.
Like I had been here before.
I consulted medics at ZMD, had them scan my implanted ID, verify I had never been at Zion ever before.
They had no explanation.
The longer I stayed, the more I recalled of Zion.
I baffled them with insider-knowledge about some of the medics, I told them about Gianni.
There was no such person.
Finally!
The proof it all had been a dream!
A very realistic dream, but a dream.
I settled down, found my peace although some wondrous state never left me. There was something wrong! I knew that. Like that splinter in my mind...
I was never able to put a finger on it until one day I heard a strangely familiar voice when I exited a eatery.
A shiver ran up and down my spine: I was able to tell that guy's name and what he looked like without ever having seen him, without turning around to face him.
"Mike?" I turned around. He looked..... different. Older, worn-out, there were lines in his face I couldn't remember and the usual smile was utterly gone. Another figure from another layer of those dreams. Would this never end?
He gave me a quizzical look, "Do I know you?" he asked.
"Mike, don't you recognize me? It's Carl! I watched you play basketball at the school-court nearly every day." That should ring a bell, shouldn't it? A shadow slid across his face.
"That was, like, six years ago. Never had audience, naw." He shook his head and turned to leave. I grabbed his arm to make him stop. I needed to talk to him, needed to verify what seemed to me like facts.
"I need to go home, Carl or whoever you are. Let go." Mike shrugged me off but I could make him accept me to go home with him.
"Y'know," he said at some point, "That's the weirdest form of hitting on me I ever encountered! Not that it happened too often lately."
He opened the door of his place and let me enter.
"I'm home, buddy!" Mike called out without getting a response. "I brought us a visitor." He kept informing whoever was in the next room. A small gesture of his head asked me to follow him.
In the room laid a person in a bed with rails to prevent him from falling down. We stepped closer to get into that person's vision and I gasped.
It was a man!
A man I knew from my dreams.
"Dreamwalker!" I whispered.
His eyes widened slightly and some inhuman sound gurgled from his throat.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Epilogue
That was two years ago.
The Dreamwalker – or Gordon, as was his real name – has died a few months after we first met at Zion. It had taken long nights of talking and interpreting the slightest signs of the incapacitated man to come to understand what had been going on all those years.
Gordon had somehow managed to create a mind-link to a coppertop – me. In his dreams he contacted me in my dreams and had guided me through tasks and adventures that had the sole purpose of altering tiny bits of the Matrix' weaving.
Every time I succeeded in my dreams, it was another bit of code altered.
It was his last contribution to the war, the sole thing Gordon was still capable of. Obviously those dreams had happened when Gordon had those seizures in the real world at Zion. And just as obvious Gordon gave up completely when he found that I was safely plugged out.
Mike is back out in the sewers, serving on another ship, fighting again, with more ferve than ever.
I found myself a job at ZMD, in the psych-ward.
And sometimes I wonder when I will wake the next time and where that would lead me to then.
THE END