The Shift

Part One

She wakes, this time for real. She’s still in the Dream Cradle, soon it’ll open up and she’ll have to step out of it. Not yet. Soon. Now it’s as comfortable and soothing as it is supposed to be. She can move about, the breeze is there with a hint of jasmine, the light also, yet dim, but soon it’ll start to resemble a rising sun on a summer morning. At least, that’s what she’s been told. She has never seen the sun or jasmine, or any real flowers whatsoever. The Cradle pops open with a hiss, the nightmare is gone, but the horror remains clearly visible in her eyes. Something her mother surely won’t miss. She doesn’t.

− That is not normal, Tina, she says. Mother’s right, as always. It is not normal, but it’s not a computational glitch either, no matter how much her father would like to sweep the subject away as one. It’s not the only nightmare she has while in the Rest Shift. Sometimes she feels there’s someone else resting there as deeply as she is, dead to the world. Like there’s someone else breathing the same air and accidentally touching her hand.

− Does anyone else in your class have nightmares while Resting? asks her father. What an imbecile question. That is so very typical of him. Of course not, and if they did, they wouldn’t talk about it. Tina doesn’t talk about it. Why should one point out imperfections in a perfect world? Easily, very easily one might become one to be pointed out.

− Tina, five more minutes to finish your breakfast, says mother. Tina gobbles down the paste in a way she knows displeases her mother greatly, places her plate and fork on the designated spot of the table, empties the glass of water, places that in its designated spot, utters thank you and steps into her Cradle, which is now standing upright in its new role as a shower and dressing. She’s out in eight minutes and twenty seconds, her new record, grabs her bag, rushes into the corridor outside and joins the hordes of people pushing their way to schools, institutions and production plants.