Wine of the Dreamers by John D. MacDonald

who look as you will look when you are grown are considered very beautiful.”
    She stared at him. “Beautiful? Me? Raul, I am ugly like the women in these pictures I watch.”
    “You will see. I promise.”
    She sat on her heels beside his chair. She smiled up at him. “Come, now. Tell me. You promised you would. Tell me about the dreams.”
    “On one condition.”
    “You always make conditions,” she said, pouting.
    “You must promise that you will help me search through all of these rooms, all of these thousands on thousands of spools. It may take us years. I do not know. But somewhere, Leesa, we shall find answers to all this. This place did not grow. It was built. What are the dreams? Why do we call ourselves the Watchers? It had to have a beginning. And somewhere, here, we will find the story of creation. Who made this world?”
    “It has always been here.”
    “Will you help me search?” She nodded. And as she kept her eyes on his face, her lips parted, he told her of the dreams of the first two worlds.
    And on the following day, he told her of the third world, as soon as his dream had ended. He saw her directly after he had reported back to Jord Orlan and had been instructed in the single Law of those who dream. He was still shaken by the significance of Jord Orlan’s instruction.
    She sat as before, staring up at him, rapt.
    “The third world,” he said, “is entirely different. The first world is all blood and cruelty. The second world is a place of nervous fear and mechanisms and intricate social patterns based on an odd sort of fear. This third world … I am going to return there again. Many times. Their minds are full of power and subtlety. And I know that they know of us.”
    “But that sounds silly, Raul! It’s only a dream. How can the creatures in a dream know of the dreamers? The other ones do not.”
    “With the first mind I invaded, I was too cautious. There was a moment of resistance, then none. I went in confidently. While I was still moving softly, the mind thrust me away with such a surge of power I was forcedto leave it. It took some time before I could find it again. This time I entered more firmly. The pressure was enormous. At last, when I took over sensory control, I saw that I was sitting in front of a small structure. The landscape was pleasant. Woods, trees, fields and flowers. There was no crudeness about the structure. The inner walls, which I could see, glowed the way these corridor walls glow. The machines in the house appeared to be automatic, much like the lower levels here. When I tried to sift the captive mind, to find out what sort of world this might be, I found nothingness. At first I thought the thing might be brainless, and then I remembered the astonishing power of the mind. I had full control of the body, but the mind itself seemed able to erect a barrier that shielded its thoughts. I looked in all directions and saw men and women, simply dressed, standing at a respectful distance and staring toward me. I stood up.
    “My host let one thought seep into my mind. He told me to attempt no violence or those who watched would kill him immediately. The thoughts he transmitted to me came slowly and clearly and I had the impression he was speaking to an inferior, simplifying his thoughts for the sake of contacting a less acute mind. He told me it would be best to return to the place from whence I came. If I attempted to move to another mind, the new host would immediately be placed in the same position in which he found himself. I formed, with his lips, our word for ‘why.’ He said that they could read each other’s thoughts and found it relatively simple to sense an alien presence. I could detect grim humor. The others stood and watched and I began to feel that in some odd way he was still in communication with them through a channel I could not tap. I felt that he knew all about the dreams and the dreamers. I tried to make it forcefully clear that I was only