Lost most of the details, but we were at a party, restaurant was Josh Vernon’s, brass and marble. Well lit, open floor mingling, our company had the whole place. It was in a mall, but so was my company, a research firm.
My boss was not there, but his dogs were. They were getting sick, throwing up if they ate. We could not reach him on the phone, and no-one knew where he was.
I went to find him, but his office was torn apart. I found his research that indicated he had engineered them to starve to death. I could not believe he had not euthanized them.
I kept looking, and found him with the board if directors, and I laid into him, telling him he was horrible, etc etc. I knew I’d just resigned, so I left in a rush.
Somehow, between leaving, and getting out, I knew he was dead, andbthey thought I did it. My DNA was all over his office, and I took his jacket, because he was an ass, because it was cold, and because I could not find my jacket.
Ecxept, by the time I cleared out my locker, it was not cold out, and I was now wearing his jacket over mine. Two people asked me why I was wearing Hamish’s jacket, and I made up stories.
I just had to get out. I knew I was going to be investigated for his death now. I was sort of lost, but finally made it to a bar that was opening, and could pass from the “mall”, theough the bar, to the parking lot.
The lines were huge, so I just went for the compact car lot, because it openned first. I could not get to my car from there, but when I walked to the far edge of the lot, my mom, aunt, and sister saw me, and they drove over ti get me in their big SUV. They heard Mark Hamisch had died, and knew I would be upset.
We were at a Western hotel in Mumbai. The staff were white, and everything catered to the wealthy. Business was off, so we got to visit sometimes for lunch. Something happenned to the staff, and the east side dining hall got no service for hours after seating patrons.
The manager comped four tables, including ours, and gave us a his card. It said we could come in after 11:30pm and before 2:30 am to get leftovers and seconds (errored orders) buffet style for free. But, really, we could come in by 9:30pm, and until 5:30am. Lots of leftovers due to slow business.
This helped because we were always busy in the slums, and never knew when we’d get back. We were a mercenary tactical / investigation team, with not as much budget as we’d like, but enough to get what we needed. A bit of extra time in the fancy hotel was welcome.
We were at odds with the CIA, so we were on alert when we found the two familiar agents standing in our equipment room. They were fatigued, and just said, “load up.”
A Christian extremist group was hunting internationally, kidnapping members of our team, and forcing them to call in warnings. “Do not touch us! Do not touch us!”
We would find the team member, and we would have 10 minutes to query them, look through pockets, etc. Then they would get confused, seize, foam at the mouth, and die. If we touched them, it was contagious, and would get the next person. There would always be awriting, in Arabic, that said “do not touch us”.
This time, they needed our help. The extremists seemed nearly impossible to identify, but always left a subtle clue. We needed more than just that they hated Arabs, they considered themselves Christians, and that they were very well funded.
Ending fragment. Guy like a cross between The Punisher and Star Lord. I was his friend. He was having some struggles, and his car would not start. I looked at is, spotless under the hood, cavernous even, and all simple. There was not enough under the hood to go wrong. It was just a matter of running way too rich, so it would not even start. Clouds of half-burnt fuel would spurt out of the intake, sputter, lop, die.
He wandered off, comfused and conflicted, while I troubleshot it. There was a small, compact, spark control computer as part of the distributor. I figured that had failed, but maybe if we opened up the throttle, it would at least stay running. There was not a usual air filter, rather a yellow box, with a key on it. Again, spotless, shiny. Far too small to filter that much airflow, it must be an EM field generator that actively cleans the air.
I went to find him to get the key, and he’s wandered out back, hood pulled up. I followed, and he’d gone to track someone down. Through some alleyways, etc I followed. The dream is faded as to whether he kicked some ass, or could not find them. But, I followed him to the back gate, put my gand on his shoulder, and someone else spun around.
She was a shapeshifter. She had been drawn to our place. Others came, a green woman, a woman who’s skin looked like a concert hall inside out. She traveled by playing a violin. The feeling and nuancel directed her vehicle. Ther were many others, but I walked past as they mingled, up to the small shop that was my friend’s home.
“It’s an honourable intent lockout,” I said. He had been conflicted, and had decided to seek revenge. The car could not support that.
He was frustrated, almost indignant, but he knew it made sense. He felt hopeless about it.
“I’m your sidekick. I’m here to help you through this.” He was my friend, and it would take time. The others who came would help. We were not looking for trouble. We just wan to help when situations arise.
Middle of the dream… family and I were meeting up for dinner. The place was similar to a Cracker Barrel, except it was upscale. Lots of wood, but more open space, different kinds of goods, and I think there was a Casino off the other side.
The waiter was someone we know. He called me by name, and I recognized him. I think he was an uncle. I think he was also Gene Hackman.
The table we were seated at, the four of us, was about 2 feet on a side. Basically, food came out one person at a time, except drinks and desserts. Khai had trouble deciding, and I ended up with the grilled salmon because of some change I wanted or would want, was easier on that.
After, we ended up at a Christmas partly. Lots of people, drinking, etc. And then someone died. Cue murder mystery, and before the police arrived, someone figured out the guy’s wife had poisoned him. There were $6m worth of $125k bearer bonds or similar in the stocking, and she wanted them. Except, in the process of explaining this, whomever figured out what happened lost track of the wife. Police showed up, and the wife had slipped away, with the bonds.
At the end, I was unpacking my own stocking. About 20 things in there, including what looked like a small Champagne bottle, with a plastic nozzle on it. It was Chilled Baby Wash. Also, a bottle with what looked like a thin roll of toilet paper on it. It was liquid toilet paper, or butt wash. Several other things in there, but the last present I opened was a phone call. Not a phone. Not a recording of a call. The call itself.
Anyway. I know there was a bunch more I missed. Lighting was dim, and colors were subdued, leaning towards blues, greys, but not exclusively.
I was in a medaeval village, maybe in a computer game, not sure. I had a German Shepherd as a familiar. We were trying to help protect the village from an evil sorcerer. No one could help us, because everyone was busy preparing to defend the castle.
The inside of the castle walls had multiple levels that spiraled down from the ridge to the courtyard, plus below. There were wooden awnings, and so many people. The dog and I were working our way down to the bottom floor. Somewhere along the way, a friend encouraged my dog to climb into her shirt from the top. Strange, but snuggly. Everyone was either preparing weapons, making food, supplies, etc. She was making bedrolls for people.
When we got tho the bottom, the only people available to help were Dolph Lundgren, Jamie Foxx, and several other big name actors who were in a group of 8, kind of a glamor shot going on, one level below the courtyard. Dolph comes up to me like an old bud and exclaims “CRASHY JOSH! What’s up, man?” I couldn’t tell if this had to do with something like cart crashes, or computer crashes.
Apparently, we had a legal agreement that we couldn’t drag people off for other quests/raiding parties. We had to just do whatever was right there. So I was about to join them in whatever it was they were doing, when I woke up.
There was tapping outside, and a utility pipe truck is doing stuff outside. It’s always waking up from weird sounds that make the best dreams.
I had a dream that I was on a space station, and our old van was a shuttle. An escape pod failed as we were leaving the station, and my dream went into orbital mechanics ala Kerbal Space Program. On waking, I pondered orbital mechanics, and realized it’s just like people.
Community is like orbital space. Each person is a satellite. Your interests, drives, life and death all define your orbit. Your location is the barycenter of your orbit, the focus of your ellipse.
Along your path, you will pass near other satellites, people. If your orbits are not close, it may be a single encounter. Maybe your orbit lines up repeatedly. Maybe not. Communication tech is better mowadays, and you can talk to someone orbiting Jupiter with a little lag.
But, you only have so much fuel (drive) to change your orbit. And if you aim for someone not on on a very similar path, you almost certainly guarantee that your paths will diverge more widely.
Unless you grab on and become one peice in a new, combined orbit, a risky maneuver. Instead, it’s less disruptive to adjust your orbit on each pass. Move your center when you can, and look for other satellites near you.
Which satellites seem familiar. Is there a shared mission or purpose. Can you benefit? Are they from a friendly nation, or do you need to be on guard? If they are new and suddenly there, are they a risk for knocking you out of your planned orbit, or dragging you down the gravity well? If you join up, they be too big of a mass or too tightly coupled for you to change your orbit later? Or are they a whole new anchor in space to orbit freely, yet still taking you for a ride?
The best are when you orbit the others who orbit you, or you share closely overlapping orbits. If inclination matches, you meet more often than every orbit.
I have lots of acquaintances in unmatched orbits. *waves*
I have several friends in harmonic matched orbits. Hi Hi Hi Hi Good to see you again.
I have a few people that I try to keep my orbit matched with. I definitely have my own mass and velocity that makes this difficult sometimes, but I appreciate those on similar missions burning their limited fuel to help us stay in sync.
In a lab, there’s a gold mine. But, it’s not a mine exactly. It’s a cylinder with rounded edges, about 18″ in diameter, and in length, flat faces up/down, floating about waist height in a room. There’s a pedestal under it. If you approach, you see down into the pedestal into an apparently infinite space. There is a lensing effect around the object, and there are suspended chunks of gold around it of varying sizes. They can be pushed and moved, but they bounce back to their original location. Sometimes they shift and change size on their own.
It’s all fairly industrial: concrete floors, computer stations around the edges, subdued lighting. I notice some primary color pixellation and difraction around the interface edges of the object as we head to a non-containment room, but just figure that’s normal. Through various brainstorms, the object comes to be thought of as aware. It responds to us, but not in a way we understand. Hands near it, and it changes. Time to head out, because we don’t know if it’s safe to stay around it for very long.
The lab manager is my ex girlfriend, or something like that. It’s complicated. She looks just like Gwyneth Paltrow, only a little taller, or maybe I’m a little shorter. I’m not me, but I feel like me. I was removed from the project lead for no real reason, or maybe every reason. But, she’s letting me in because it’s too amazing to keep to herself, and they need help. No one else is making any progress on these. Yes, there’s a second one in another room.
I’m really excited, but GP stops to remind me that everything has to go through her. This is a trial involvement, and I cannot just do things with it, nor make decisions on it. I’m excited, but the limitations are tough. I apologize, say I understand, and blurt out that my thoughts were that a machine could be used to just reach in and scrape out the gold. She completes the sentence with me, and kisses me.
I like it, but something is wrong. I see bits of colored static, smaller pixels than in the containment room, here now too.
I realize the device is a computer of sorts. It’s simulating the universe immediately around us, and so long as we are near it, we are affected by any errors in the simulation.
She sees it, and I ask about “shutting it down”, but no one knows how to. In fact, there’s no one around us. The elevator is open, lit, but does not do anything. There’s a window with curtains, looking out into… a warehouse? What? No, now it’s sunlight, but there are pixels around the borders.
I’ve been thinking about the device, and realize it can read my mind. I name it “Pixels” in my mind, and call out to it in fear and exasperation. Continued realizations, not sudden, gradual, as if I’ve thought of all of the possibilities, and realize it is alive, and our entire universe is a simulation. The simulator is crashing, and the device is trying really hard to preserve us.
Stray specks are showing up in the room. I imagine that they would hurt going through me, but I don’t seem to ever make contact with one. We try to open the windows, but they’re not real. We’re stuck. Only this one last room exists. We cannot even reach the simulation interface anymore. Yes, that’s what the objects are: an interface for controlling the simulation from inside.
We’re frantic, but there does not seem to be anything we can do. As I wake up, I realize we had all moved into the simulation when the universe was winding down for us. Not us, per se, but our many-great grandparents. The universe had finally wound down enough, and there’s no repairing. This was the end of the end.
Looking out the window. The house was my mon’s house, but the garage was Mr. Bridgeforth’s house.
I see a big, blue truck driving up, sideways. The front two wherls are turned sideways, and the back two are off the ground. This way, they pull right up into the driveway.
I get to the inside garage door in time to see the loading ramp fully extended. It bumps into a rectangular folding table, the particle board kind, and then pushes back another inch, compressing/denting.
They deliver whatever it is (cannot see for some reason.) Then, they backbup at an angle and mash into my Flex’s bumper.
“HEY! WATCH OUT!”, I say.
The fork lift guy just says, “No Problem.” It’s heavily accented in local Spanish, and with a big smile.
“Fuck you! It is a problem! Este auto es me babe! Me amo lo!”
“Ehhh. Get a Suburban S.”
Then I woke up.
There was more Spanish but I am not as fluent as my dream self.