Dreamworms Book 1: The Advent of Dreamtech by Isaac Petrov (drm ebook reader TXT) 📕

Ximena nods. “I- I’m so, so terribly sorry for being late…” She stares at the hand in confusion and shakes it with an involuntary notch of aversion. It’s not that she’s racist, of course not. She enjoys Nubarian adventure sensorials as much as the next guy. Neanderthals are so passionate and full of drama. But in academia?! Not everybody can—

“So delighted to finally meet you!” the woman says like she means it. “My name is Ankhesenneferibre Ankhesenaten, but you can call me Ank.” She laughs with the ease of a person who has just told a joke for the first time. Which obviously she hasn’t.

“Uh, nice to meet you, Elder Ank.”

“Just Ank, please. I’m not Goahn.”

Of course you’re not. Nubarians are pagans, and too stubborn to convert, from what she’s heard. But pagan or not, she is her only hope. “I’m really sorry, uh, Ank. I beg you to accept my apologies for my late arrival. I’m with the Global Program. I hope I can still attend Professor Miyagi’s seminar?”

“Kenji certainly hopes you do. He personally suggested your name when drafting the list of candidates to attend this first edition of the Global Program.”

A tsunami of relief distends Ximena’s features into a wide-eyed smile. “My name? Why?”

Ank smiles noncommittally and puts a finger on her chest. “Part of it is because of your research on the effects of raw power in post-Columbian America. They are—how did he put it?—intriguing.” Ank takes Ximena by the arm and pulls her through the gap while speaking. “And it’s not easy to intrigue him. Trust me, I should know.”

Ximena, baffled at the torrent of gratitude she can’t avoid feeling for this Neanderthal, walks through the gate and has to squint from the sudden brightness of what looks like a sunny grass meadow on a beautiful, mild spring morning. Ximena knows it is all a dream, but the permascape air feels invigoratingly fresh and real. Her accumulated stress seems to evaporate with every breath. The gate shuts behind them, standing ugly and out of place in the middle of the meadow like a lone Gothic monument.

“Kenji is about to arrive,” Ank says, pointing at the regular door that stands in midair next to the GIA monstrosity, “so take an empty seat.” They begin to walk towards a stone amphitheater exquisitely carved into the hills of the meadow. “He is a bit of a showman, you will see,” Anks says with a chuckle. “Very punctual at arriving fashionably late.”

Ximena stops and gapes at the amphitheater below her. It is small—and intimate. A hemicycle of concentric stone steps of elegant simplicity leading down to the central stone-paved stage. Breathtaking! The structure wouldn’t be out of place in the Athens of Pericles—which is probably the intention. It even looks old and smoothed by centuries of exposure.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Ank says, pride filling her voice. “My own design. I hope you get the intellectual, hmm, vibe?”

Ximena cannot reply, frozen at the sight of the students filling the benches up to the brim. There must be over a hundred of them! Those sitting closer to her are easily recognizable as Townsend students—her own people—wearing the familiar white-blue robes with somber patience. The other students though—more than half by the looks of it—whoa! They’re wearing the weirdest avatars she’s ever seen! Each different from their neighbor—a chaotic mesh of excited chatter and electrified anticipation. Most avatars she doesn’t recognize, probably cultural references to obscure Hansasian sensorials she’s never heard of. There are a few more classic themed avatars she can at least identify: there is Batman, over there a don’t-panic green smiling globe, uh, that one is definitely Michael Jackson, and there sits, yeah, Abraham Lincoln no less. The Lundev students are a very colorful lot indeed. And, she now notices, almost half of them are Neanderthal, including Lincoln!

“There aren’t any empty places,” Ximena says, browsing the busy place. “But it’s fine. I—I can sit on the stairs.”

“No need, dear. There is one place per student—I made sure of it.” She puts her hands around her mouth, and shouts with a voice that would make Ximena’s favorite fishmonger proud. “YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE! RAISE YOUR HAND IF THERE IS AN EMPTY SPOT BESIDE YOU.”

A sudden silence sinks in in the amphitheater as everybody turns and stares at Ximena. She can almost feel their combined gaze as physical pressure on her skin, and purses her lips involuntarily. That’s what you get for being late.

A lone hand raises up.

Oh, no, it’s the goahdamn Neanderthal Lincoln! Ximena desperately scans the neat rows of white and blue robes, but no Townsend hands volunteer.

“Go, dear.” Ank gently pushes her towards Lincoln. “Enjoy Kenji’s seminar, and welcome to the Global Program.”

Two

The Lure of Truth

The heavy cheering and clapping begins as soon as the Lundev door opens and Professor Miyagi walks down the central stairs of the amphitheater. Everybody is up on their feet, yelling approval.

A standing ovation! In a classroom! Before the teacher says a single word! Ximena has never experienced that before, and to her own surprise she is an enthusiastic participant. Next to an exultant Neanderthal Abraham Lincoln and embedded in the colorful section of Lundev students, she jumps and cheers like she belongs. To be fair, the GIA section is no less engaged.

Miyagi is universal.

When he reaches the stage, he turns and slowly draws his gaze across the cheering crowd of packed students, while nodding with a confident smile.

Ank approaches him and, in a swift move, attaches a small device to his shirt. The way she does it, the casual gesture, the swift exchange of glances. They’re together, Ximena realizes with unsettled amusement. She has never seen a mixed couple before.

“Thank you… whoa… thanks for the noise,” Miyagi’s voice comes loud and clear from a set of loudspeakers installed around the perimeter of the amphitheater. Ximena is always in awe at how a dream permascape mimics the laws of physics to