From: GrayCougar@aol.com
Subject: "Shadow Of A Dream" short story
Date: Wed, 3 Sep 1997 23:31:39 -0400 (EDT)

Hi all. Here's something that popped into my head this summer.

Disclaimer: Anyone you recognize doesn't belong to me.
This takes place in the future of a somewhat darker alternate universe.

SHADOW OF A DREAM

     I crawl through the rubble on my stomach, throwing a nervous glance 
over my shoulder. A Public Eye had spotted me a few blocks back, but I lost 
it when I ducked through an abandoned tenement, confusing its mechanical 
search-and-find circuits with the traces of electricity still running through
the 
broken wires in the building. I must not have seemed too suspicious, since it

hasn't come looking for me, and I haven't seen any of the other mechanical 
watchers that patrol every city on Earth--even parts as run-down as this
one--ensuring that everyone maintains an "ideological purity."

     A deserted building, one side partially caved in, provides the perfect 
opportunity to stop and rest, leaving me out of sight while allowing me a
clear 
view of the way I just came. After all, I may not have any mechanical tails,
but 
there's still the human watchers to deal with. Even though the last of the
loyal 
tax-paying drones moved out of this neighborhood years ago, there are still 
plenty of people who'll snitch to the government for money or food. I peer
out of 
the remains of a window, checking for tails. A creaking groan behind me
causes 
me to whirl, heart pounding. It was only the ancient foundations of the
building settling further into the dust, but for a breathless second another
person stares 
back at me.

     The old mirror on the opposite wall, despite numerous cracks running
along 
its surface, had survived the years relatively intact. I let my breath out in
a half 
sigh, half laugh, as I meet my own green-eyed gaze watching me. Seemingly 
of its own accord, on of my hands moves to my face, tracing the scar that
pulls 
one eyebrow forever into a skeptical quirk. A memento of a too-close
encounter 
with one of Clark's Nightwatch. The memory of that encounter clenches my hand

into a fist, and I turn away from the mirror to avoid meeting eyes gone
suddenly 
cold. I check out the window one last time to make sure there are no watchers
outside, but there's no one following. Guess I was just born lucky. The
thought 
twists my mouth into a wry half-smile. Yeah. Real lucky. I continue on,
skirting 
the gaping holes in the streets and the hang-outs of some of the nastier
gangs, stopping every few minutes to make sure I'm not being followed. By now
I don't 
have to think about such actions. It's instinctive. One good thing about
joining the Resistance, it's done wonders for my chances of surviving a walk
down the street.

     Especially these streets. There are the mechanical watchers and human
snitches, just like in more prosperous areas, and the occasional raid by the
Nightwatch to round up homeless "volunteers" for the Citizen Labor League. 
But aside from that, Clark's goons leave this part of the city pretty much
alone. 
And while that makes it the ideal place for the headquarters of the
Resistance, it also makes it the ideal place for some the less-pleasant
dropouts from society. 
So staying aware becomes a survival trait.

     But while my body takes care of the process of getting me where I'm
headed 
in one piece, my mind runs ahead, wondering and speculating about the purpose

of the meeting I'm going to. Never, in all the things I've heard growing up
in a place where gossip was often the only entertainment available, have I
heard of the 
General calling all of the Resistance together at once. Never, since that
time 
several years before I was born when a dying star fell out of the sky to burn
in 
the Unclaimed Lands north of here, when the General walked out of the forest
and into the leadership of the Resistance, has she called us all together.
Never in all these twenty long years has the entire force of the Resistance
been assembled together. So what could have caused it to happen now?

     I finally get to the place the message said to meet. It's an old
abandoned warehouse. It looks to be just about impossible to secure, but I
know it is. 
Probably safer and more private than anywhere I've ever been before. The 
General never does things by half--and she's the best. There's someone
waiting 
on the other side of the entrance I've chosen. Either a scout I didn't see
spotted 
me, or one of the rogue telepaths that've joined us alerted the guards to my
approach. If it was one of the teps, they already know I'm supposed to be
here, 
but I sing out the password "Babylon" anyway. Some of those people have itchy
trigger fingers.

     Once inside the doors, I make my way into the main room of the
warehouse, 
an echoingly huge space, cluttered with forgotten machinery, with a makeshift

stage at one end. I must have been one of the last people to arrive, since
the half 
of the room where the platform is located is already crowded with more people

than I've ever seen in one place before in my life. Yet for all our numbers,
I feel my heart fall, for I know the people here are but a fraction of the
numbers Clark has available to him. Not to mention the fact that, while his
people are armed with 
state-of-the-art technology, the Resistance only has what we can cobble
together...or steal.

     A sudden hush in the crowd pulls me out of my depressed musings. I look
towards the stage and I see why everyone has fallen silent. She is here. The
General. Mounting the steps of the platform, as regal as a fairy-tale queen
in her faded black uniform with its embroidered sword-and-shield emblem on
her sleeve. Flanked by the survivors of the group who had come out of the
forest with her on 
that long-ago day. When she reaches the center of the stage she turns to face
us, her guards falling into position on either side of her, scanning the room
for possible trouble, the blue stones of their broaches flashing in the dim
lighting.

     The silence in the room becomes, if possible, even more respectful as
the General gathered herself to speak. After all, though you might not guess
it to look 
at her, this woman was probably single-handedly responsible for keeping the 
Earth-based Resistance to Clark's dictatorship alive. On other planets, I've
heard, there was more widespread rebellion to Clark's rule. But here on
Earth, there 
was surprisingly little, because, for the most part, Clark kept the middle
class 
happy. Sure there were a few more guards, a few more restrictions, but for
the average individual life continued on as it always had, one day like the
next. And that's all that most people really want. The Resistance was in
danger of dying out completely when the General arrived. This careworn woman,
her brown hair going slightly to gray, stepped in and took over, showing us
better ways to fight. Ways 
to strike quickly and efficiently, and fade back into the streets before
Clark's 
forces could arrive. She breathed new life into the Resistance, and today she

called us all here.

     The General shifts slightly on the platform, and all my attention is
focused on 
her. I notice that while her face and carriage are calm, her eyes are alight
with blue fire. Then she speaks, and her words burn into my mind.

     "My people, today we are going to end Clark's rule."


FINI.


So what do you think?

Gray