The suite was smaller than the one Jazmynde assigned Mara. The lights were a dim amber, the color of a setting sun. Mara sat cross-legged on the floor, back resting on a couch. She was dressed in a “fat suit” – a weighted, full-bodied, white unitard that helped people acclimate to lighter gravity environments. Two comfortable chairs flanked her.
Iaian walked through the doorway into Jazmynde’s office and she nearly lept up and throttled him.
‘A dream,’ she thought. ‘I am here for answers, not wish-fulfillment.‘ That was the problem with lucid dreaming: it could too easily veer away into mayhem. The trick in controlling a dream memory is by not controlling it. Jazmynde remembered her teacher telling her, ‘inhabit the dream, don’t master it.‘
Jazmynde awoke with a start and looked around the room. No alarms were blaring, but something triggered her wake routine. A small jolt of adrenaline was pumped into her while she was sleeping; she could still feel the subcutaneous chemical burn.
Her eyes blearily adjusted to the dim amber lights, bathing the circular white room in a soft glow. She carefully removed the IV and sat up. she wiggled her toes, then feet, then legs, getting her blood moving again. There was no telling how long she was out.
Jazmynde lay in a half-awake state, aware of the gravity slightly pushing her into her bed. She could feel the IVs in her arms. If she chose, she could see the interior of her ship without opening her eyes. She was aware, yet not aware. She had mastered lucid dreaming decades ago – it gave her access to ideas that she would never have been able to grab consciously. The slight touch of hallucinogenic laid vivid sharpness to her dreams.
FOUR YEARS BEFORE THE DEATH OF THE LEADER
“Here’s the problem with space,” Yumi said. “It’s big.”
“This again,” Jazmynde said, rolling her eyes.