Luck and Death at the Edge of the World

One: Brace + Erase

Whatever we do down there, we won’t even remember it once the Brace wears off. It’s been coupled with a GABA agonist marketed under the trade name Erase, which temporarily prevents the formation of long-term memory. Like a bunch of blind drunks, when our consciences return in the morning we’ll be unaware of the atrocious things we did the night before. Hell, I can’t even remember boarding the Jenny.

Except that’s not right.

The Brace and Erase were administered simultaneously in the mask, which I only used once we were in flight. There’s no reason for me not to remember what happened before that. I check my memory, but I don’t remember boarding, or even being briefed, which is when I realize this has to be a dream. And if it’s a dream it must be based on memories – the very memories that the Erase was supposed to prevent from forming in the first place, buried somewhere deep in my head but excavated during sleep.

I feel panic rising because I know where the dream must be headed and despite being a mental fiction it feels real. I look at my hand, at the elapsed mission time displayed on my chronometer, at the equipment in the Jenny. Everything is detailed, precise, real. I bite the inside of my cheek again where it’s bleeding and it hurts.

Like so many things, I have training to deal with dreams. The Forces prepare us to take counter-measures against things like psychic driving and induced trance states. We know the Texans have used trance techniques on prisoners and we suspect that the Brazilians have too, so we’re prepared.

I force my breathing to slow and check my Alpha and Omega. Alpha: is there consistency between what I see now and what I normally see in the waking world, what the boffins call consistency of perception with established facts? And Omega: is there internal logical consistency within what I’m seeing?

At the moment the Omega seems intact. The situation remains consistent from one moment to the next, the people present don’t turn into other people, our actions are consistent with the mission, our behavior is consistent with having taken Brace.

And the Alpha? Only now that I’ve asked myself the question do I remember that Yarborough’s dead. Meeks and Kuzui are here and they went AWOL before the squad was ever deployed. Dreams have a way of obscuring facts like that until you scrutinize the situation detail by detail.

So I am dreaming. The problem is that knowing I’m dreaming doesn’t help me as long as I’m still trapped in a dream that’s carrying me into the heart of Tijuana. I can moderate my psychological responses a little, though I can’t control them completely – my practice isn’t evolved enough for that. But controlling my physiological responses is way beyond my grasp. If we actually get to the city my body will overdose on adrenaline no matter how clearly I recognize that the things I’m seeing, the things we’re doing, aren’t real, and that will begin to erode my psychological control. Even a lifetime of meditation probably wouldn’t get me safely through reliving Tijuana.

If I could wake up I could put an end to it, and my Forces training is supposed to let me do exactly that, but it’s not working. I try shouting loudly and abruptly. I try suddenly kicking out at Macchia beside me, but he just grins at me. Abrupt, startling actions like these usually allow a sleeping person to briefly overcome the REM atonia that keeps them paralyzed while they’re dreaming so that they don’t end up running around the bedroom acting out their dreams. Then when their sleeping body kicks or shouts, it wakes them up. The problem is that it’s not working. Nothing is working and Tijuana is getting closer. I’d jump out of the Jenny – that would almost certainly wake me up – but the hold is sealed until we land.

I need a new approach. I ignore the logic of the dream, ignore the other people, and get off the bench, sweeping aside the pile of masks and seating myself cross-legged on the floor. No one says anything about it. I rest my hands on my knees, close my eyes, and focus on my breath.

One, two. Inhale, exhale. One, two.

I get distracted by the guys stomping around me, by the vibrations of the engine that I can feel through the deck, but I bring my mind back to my breath. One, two. Inhale, exhale. I feel the Jenny settle onto the ground and as the doors crack open the familiar smell of the Mexican desert washes over me, making me lose focus again, but I bring my mind back to my breath.

One, two. One, two. One, two.

The details of the dream and my dread of it keep tugging at my attention and I lose my grip, lose my focus, again and again, and have to bring it back.

The doors slide open wide and the guys tumble out in an undisciplined, drugged gaggle, laughing and hooting, like a pile of evil puppies. I know what they’re about to do. I know every unspeakable detail and those details bang on the door of my attention, but I keep my eyes closed and force myself to re-focus on my breath.

Felon approaches me and bellows over the sound of the rotors, which are slowing now but haven’t completely stopped.

“Burroughs, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

I ignore him and remain where I am.

“Burroughs!” He grabs my arm and tries to pull me upright, screaming in my ear. I focus on my breath. “Goddamn it, what the hell is the matter with you?” One, two. One, two. “This is dereliction Burroughs – you know the penalty for dereliction in the field?”

I feel my adrenaline kick up a notch when he ratchets one of his flechette launchers. The situation still feels entirely real and I begin to doubt myself, which is when the thing I’ve been waiting for finally happens: my alarm goes off.

The intermittent buzzing of the alarm goes on for a while before the dream finally begins to disintegrate, Felon’s voice crackling and spitting like bad comm as his apparition comes apart. I allow my eyes to open an instant too soon and out the door of the Jenny I see the desert for a moment, glowing green through the nightvision filter of my visor, before it’s replaced by my bedroom.

I look at the clock: 6:00 a.m. I say “I’m awake” and the alarm stops. I sit up in bed feeling shaky, covered in sweat. I throw the covers off and strip off my t-shirt and underwear, walking to the mat in the corner.

I’ll shower later. I’ve got a new client to meet today – a big one – and work to do. I need to collect myself. I sit down naked on the mat and re-start the process of meditation that I began inside the dream. I begin the Mosquito Meditation – nothing less is going to do the trick today.