Insomnia

2

Not many targets around.

Esme wrapped herself in Belief and became invisible. Only the most skilled Psions could pierce this illusion and even they wouldn't think to ask what she was doing. There was police surveillance in this sector of Somnus, but so far she had never been caught. The cops didn't even know what to look for. It was almost too easy.

She didn't have time for this today. Not really. But Esme could never resist the pull of her little habit. And there was just enough room in her schedule while she waited for her informants to arrive.

An older man dressed in thick winter gear stepped past. She brushed against him with her mind. Her world slowed as it entered into a common rhythm with his. A few brief impressions.

Crackling fireplace.

Need a drink.

She scowled and pushed deeper. Surface thoughts like these were boring. Esme wanted the good stuff.

He could feel the book's spine crack as he pulled open the pages. Old. So old it had begun to smell. So old the paper had gone rough and he could see thin grooves reflect in the light. Tiny slivers had peeled up into a texture of rough fur.

Esme's lips curled with pleasure as the man pulled away and disappeared from the Nexus, into a private dream world. Not to be confused with a Homespace like her field of bluebonnets, private worlds were Somnus experiences purchased by specific users. She could absorb more memories if she hacked her way inside. But there was no time for that tonight. Other business kept her in the public worlds.

She stepped back for a moment, opening a prompt while muting her own voice so no one could overhear.

"New entry," Esme spoke into the dream diary. Her words were loud and clear. Her eyes warmed as they glazed over the strangers standing nearby. These people couldn't hear her, couldn't see her, but this feeling of being so close to caught, the rush of it all, was just what she needed to take the edge off. After all, if she spent every waking moment on the investigation, then her mind would start to shut down, close off to new angles and new leads. "Download impression data." Esme sighed heavily as flickering images of what she had just seen in the man's mind passed over her vision. She would use these faint impressions later to reconstruct the exact sensation of his memories.

"My fingers were rough," Esme commented, more details to fine-tune her eventual reconstruction. "Not my palms, just the fingers. Repeated work, but not hard work. Delicate and skilled labor. It was hard to breathe. Not age. Anxiety, buried deep. We'll need to include that. It's perfect for immersion."

A woman passed so close to Esme that they almost bumped into each other. One of the perils of invisibility. The woman seemed startled and impatient. Almost without thinking Esme reached out with a Psionic probe.

Driving with the top down.

Cold fingers wrapped around a steering wheel.

More. She needed more.

Wind chimes. Out in the countryside, when it was still safe. Rustling leaves and the low ghostly howl of coyotes. They sounded like human screams.

Shiver.

Esme grinned dreamily, her head lolling ever so slightly at the neck. That was a rich, rare find. She shook off the stupor, before moving to make another entry in the dream diary. She wasn't commissioning much work these days, but when she finally got back to it, these memories would be vital.

As a Developer, Esme created dream fantasies for others to experience. The wealth of detail provided by these absorbed memories could never be matched by any amount of imagination on her part. Skilled Developers were hard to come by. The job required both mental acuity and personal empathy, the focus to create a connected world and the understanding to make it believable. Trahan fantasies were in high demand and some clients solicited her for personal works at great cost. Ceres negotiated with them on her behalf, although it had been two months since she'd completed any new projects.

She knew that if people knew the truth behind her creative process they would be horrified. And maybe they would be right to feel that way. But on her more romantic days, Esme thought of herself as a collector. A preservationist.

What happened when even the memory of a thing died? When there was no one left to recall it? By absorbing the memories of those she met in Somnus she was able to record the lives of a dying generation, the last to remember life on a healthy planet. She could take those wondrous memories, and package them for general consumption by the millions of users desperate for a taste of when life had been normal. Her powers were frightening, dangerous even, but at least she wasn't using them to hurt people. Unlike one monster she could think of.

An alarm chimed in her ears. Her time was up. With a sharp exhale Esme rendered herself visible, feigning disorientation as if she had just left a private dream world and was adjusting back to Somnus. She looked around. No one had noticed her return.

A stab of glee shot through her, the sharp thrill of a carefully held secret. She composed herself and turned towards the stairs. They would be coming soon.