Insomnia

10

She allowed the dream to spin away from her, face slightly flushed from what she had just witnessed. Her Homespace flashed back into view.

Next would be Minerva. The girl's Tempo drummed its feet along sharply rising hilltops, soaring through the sky before landing with a strum of air. Esme laughed at the feeling but felt a strange mote of sadness each time the rhythm fell. There was something familiar to it. Something forgotten but newly found.

Now Esme remembered. She'd visited the girl's dreams before, a year ago when Minerva was new to the competitive circuit and rapidly rising in the rankings. It was something of an accident. The girl was powerful, but still very young and not fully in control of her talents.

Esme had made sure to train Minerva's mental defenses afterwards, to ensure that other, less benign, parties wouldn't be able to harm her. In local dreams, until the Knightmare appeared, a user could be certain they were completely safe. But in public Somnus worlds there lurked predators who searched for vulnerable Psions - particularly children - to take control of their reality and subject them to their every whim.

Somnus imposed a few restrictions on its public systems that limited the extent of damage that could be done, but those usually activated too late and accomplished too little. And in local dreams, the Knightmare's preferred playground, there were no such limitations.

Atticus's job was to hunt down monsters like those. If he knew what Esme had been doing, infiltrating dreams... No. She'd thought her way through this time and time again. What she did wasn't right, but it wasn't evil either. It was odd, and hardly legal, but there was no real harm in it. She was discreet.

And watching the Knightmare, she'd begun to realize that there was far more to their abilities than she'd originally thought. She'd yet to devise counter measures for his style of Psionics, in part because she was reluctant to try his techniques herself. The only thing she could do to be ready for him when the time came, was to stay sharp. If that required invading a few minds herself, then so be it.

The thought banished any guilt from Esme's mind. Having a previous Tempo sample would make it easier to track down Minerva's dream.

She fell into darkness again. The earlier sample she had taken sounded like an unpracticed marching band, brass instruments tumbling over one another without much order. This one was a more mature sound. The combination allowed her to hone in on the proper rhythm almost immediately. Esme stepped into the dream.

She was sitting straight across from Minerva in a crowded restaurant. The girl was tapping something out on a laptop and sipping loudly from a smoothie. Strawberry, judging by the color and texture.

"What do you think, Esme?" she asked. "Should I move to the moon? Like Max keeps suggesting?"

Her heart stopped for a moment before she realized Minerva was already dreaming about her. What was it her mother used to say? 'If you dream about someone, they're thinking of you.' In this case, it looked like the reverse was true as well.

It wasn't the first time Esme had been spotted in a dream, although it was certainly the first time she'd been recognized as herself. If all else failed, she could just put on a wacky outfit and start singing. That usually convinced people she wasn't real.

"Moon's far away," Esme said. She needed to gauge how Minerva perceived her here. The more closely she could match the girl's mental picture, the less obtrusive her presence would be. And the more forthcoming Minerva might be with information about the Knightmare.

It was a dangerous move, but Esme allowed herself to fall even more deeply into the fabric of the dream. In this world, Minerva's expectations were supreme. Esme could sense them, feel the character she was supposed to play. She applied a Rewrite to herself - altering her personal history within the dream to better inhabit the new persona. Her breath hitched as she allowed the role to absorb her.

"It is," Minerva murmured. "But think about it! No polluted air, no gas masks, plenty of places to go..."

"And pah-lenty of Max?" Esme inquired, cocking her head suggestively.

Was she speaking with an accent now? Was that how she sounded to Minerva?

The girl rolled her eyes.

"Oh my God, stop."

Esme resisted the urge to frown. Minerva didn't talk like this in real life either. But then again, in dreams people often behaved differently from their outward selves. Irrational and rational pieces of the mind rarely blended together coherently.

"He is cute," murmured Minerva.

"Not really," Esme shot back, breaking character slightly. "I think he's kind of odd."

"Really?"

"Like totes'."

Esme suppressed her anger at the use of dated slang. What movies did the girl watch to learn these lines?

As if to answer her question, a gaggle of teens strutted by, garbed in what was surely the height of early millennium fashion. Minerva looked as if she were about to say something to them, until Esme clattered her fork noisily to draw her attention. She was not about to spend the next hour reenacting some idiotic pre-Disaster high school flick.

"You can do better," Esme assured her. "Max is bad news. And you're like, not."

Minerva nodded.

"He is kind of old."

A wave of relief washed over her. The girl had it right. Max was twenty-five, a year older than Esme herself. Definitely not an appropriate pairing for a sixteen year old.

"Still," Esme said, eager to change the subject. "Even without him, the moon does sound like, super happening."

"Would you move there too?" asked Minerva. "Then we could, I don't know. Hang out?"

"...Sure. That would be fun."

Minerva sat back with a satisfied smile that soon gave way to a sigh and a shake of her head. Esme felt the dream shift. Its vibrant colors became bleached at the edges of her vision.

"I'm pathetic," she mumbled. "Talking to you in my head instead of reaching out in person." Her face radiated defeat. "I know this isn't really you, Esme. It's just nice to have you back. Even if it's just like this."

"What do you mean?"

Minerva looked hurt.

"You kind of disappeared on me two months ago. And then you show up today - and barely talk to me. I thought we were like, friends. I... really look up to you. I miss being able to ask you for advice."

Esme cocked her head, feigning the ignorance of someone born from a subconscious. Truthfully, her heart was starting to ache. They'd talked often when Minerva had begun rising as a Psion, but she had no idea the girl respected her so much.

"I-I mean!" Minerva exclaimed. "I was still new to this place. I'd won a contest or two, but I was going nowhere fast. A lot of people were trying to push me into doing, really weird - things, and I was scared, and alone, and you bump into me on the street - and take me under your wing - we talk for months - then nothing?" She spat her words like seeds. "You're strong. And cool, and collected. And you made me feel like I could be that way too. I'm at the top, but I feel alone again. And yeah, I guess Max is a little weird sometimes, but he's there." Her shoulders slumped. "I just want someone to be there for me."

Esme felt her character shifting. She could sense what Minerva wanted to hear from her.

"'I'm not always going to be around," Esme said instead. "I'm sorry, but it's true. Talk to Phoebe. She seems... nice. She can help."

Tears welled up in the girl's eyes.

"Yeah. Sure."

They sat in silence a moment longer before her quiet hiccups gave way to sobs. Esme could feel the sadness radiating from the girl's frame. It was pure sound, waves crashing against whatever surface they could reach in a wild, self-destructive sprint. It was grief clashing with with bitterness, a blanket over fire. The dream flickered, crackling with each heave.

Esme reached out a hand to steady herself, brushing against Minerva in the process. Her head shot up, violent eyes scarred by tears.

The table vanished as Minerva growled and lunged across.