The man woke up and everything that had been so important to him a few seconds earlier faded from his mind like so many unremembered dreams. Just one thing remained, a sense of emptiness. A forgotten lover, or a childhood toy left to rust under an old tree. He felt like he had lost something. Something important. It never mattered how much he tried, every morning was the same. He sat up in bed and sighed. This feeling would last until-
“Are you up yet?”
Misha’s voice was usually soft, gentle. But each morning, at about this time, it was frustrated and impatient. Today was no different.
“Yeah,” he called back, his voice not fully operational just yet. “Im up,” he added after clearing his throat.
Silence from the other room. He would have to make the trek out there to get anymore from his wife. He smiled and let the last wisps of emptiness disappear. It was a journey he would happily take each and every day of the year, dreams be damned.
Misha was sat at the dining table, her legs tucked into her long shapeless nightdress around her chest. In front of her was the local paper – the source of her morning frustration – and she was boring holes in it with her eyes. Her hair was in a very rushed bun on top of her head and she didnt move even slightly when he walked in.
“Need any help?” he asked casually, as he walked past her into the kitchen.
“Shut up,” she said, still not moving. “If I ever need help with this pitiful puzzle I will take myself off the roof.”
She threw the newspaper on to the table and grumbled at it as she extracted herself from her pyjamas and shuffled over to give him a hug.
“Good morning,” he said, returning the embrace with interest.
“Did you dream?” she asked.
“Probably,” he sighed. “Same as usual, though. I dont remember any of it. Just that emptiness as I wake.”
“Maybe we should get you tested?” she suggested, returning to the table and her fight with the puzzle.
“What would that do? No one can make my brain remember that shit.”
“Maybe some therapy would help,” she shrugged, her eyes back on the newspaper.
“Didnt help before,” he poured himself a cup of tea and sat opposite her at the table. “I just have to accept that my dreams arent useful.”
The two sat in silence while he drank his tea and she scribbled in the blank spaces on the crossword until they were full.
“Bastard one today,” she said, triumphantly throwing the completed puzzle to him.
“I dont know why you let me see,” he said, picking it up and inspecting it. “I dont get these ones.”
“Ive taught you how to do them before,” she said, “you have to think about how the -”
“Uh uh uh,” he shook a finger at her. “Dont fill my head with your weird voodoo mumbo jumbo. Im quite happy not knowing how that shit works. Well done though,” he slid the paper back to her and she beamed happily.
He stretched and and wandered over to the living room window and looked out at the day. There were a few white clouds high up in the sky, but overall it was a fine, if cold, day dawning over the military base the two of them had been living in for the last eight years of their life.
An hour after his cup of tea, Captain Chambers strode into his office and sat behind his desk, firing up the computer and waiting for the first drama of the day.
“Captain,” a nervous voice called from the lobby outside his office, the territory his personal assistant Ethel Marks reigned over. This voice was not hers, meaning she wasnt there, nor was it anyone elses that he recognised. He frowned and stood to approach the door. This was not the expected drama of the day.
“Yes?” he asked as he stood in the door. His just-shy-of six foot frame filled it with a sense of intimidation that lower ranks always felt.
In the atrium there was a uniformed woman, maybe in her early 30s. She was not wearing the same uniform as him, nor was it any uniform from any branch of the military of his country. He did not recognise her rank emblem on her shoulder, but it was obvious that, like himself, she held a commission.
“My name is Field Lieutenant Catherine McNamara, and Ive been sent to give you an update on your medical applications,” she said. She was a decent amount shorter than Chambers and the scene was rather strange to look at.
“Of course, Lieutenant, come in,” Chambers turned and walked back to his desk as the lieutenant followed and waited for him to ask her to sit. “Close the door, and please, take a seat,” he replied.
Lieutenant McNamara took a folder out of her briefcase and laid it on the desk between the two of them. Opening it, Chambers was reminded of how Misha threw the newspaper at him. “The results of your tests,” she said, handing him a single summary page. There were a lot of line items and a lot of letter codes next to them. “Dont panic if you dont understand, I am here to go through it with you.”
“They need a foreigner to do that?” he asked. His tone was cordial, but the lieutenant definitely heard a note of suspicion in his voice.
“There are only so many specialists in my field, Captain,” she replied. “For the time being, I am assigned to your case.”
“For the time being,” he said. “Meaning that I will have to see you again?”
The woman shrugged. “Its possible, of course,” she replied. “If you re-take the tests, apply again.”
“So this is a failure?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Having known the answer all along.
“We dont call it a failure,” she replied. “It isnt that sort of examination. I like to use the word ‘inappropriate,’ as in, your state is not appropriate for our experiments,” she said. “There is nothing wrong with you, of course. But for what we need, you arent the subject we are looking for.”
“Its because I dont remember my dreams, isnt it?”
“Partly,” McNamara nodded. “But there are other things too.” She looked decidedly nervous. As if she wasnt sure how this was going to go.
“For example?” he asked. “I am disappointed, understand, but I am also genuinely curious. My wife, Misha, she works in the lab here on site, in fact youve probably met her, she tells me what she can of her work and with the news out there in the world, its hard not to be curious about all this. I ask out of that, not any other reason.”
“Of course, Sir,” she replied. “Your age and your general health were also flagged as reasons why we cannot accept you.”
“Excuse me? I am in great shape and I am not yet 60. How do those things factor in?”
“It sounds counter-intuitive, I know, but a higher level of fitness, especially in middle to old age places unknown stressors on the limits of what we can learn. You introduce too many variables. We cannot, yet, test for them.”
“I see. What else?”
“Remembering your dreams would have helped, that is true, and while I have not met your wife, I am aware of what shes working on and if her and her team can do what they say, not remembering your dreams wont be an issue for much longer.”
“Thats certainly helpful,” he said. “Im sure theres a reason why she cant tell me any of that.”
“Indeed. There is an extreme need for secrecy around here.”
“Yet you know,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“I have,” she paused. “Never mind,” she said quickly. “There is one other issue which prevents you from being a part of our program and, Im sorry, my team and I have had to report it up your chain of command.”
“What?” Chambers said, standing. “Report what?”
“Please relax, Captain,” she said quickly. “It was procedure. We do this in every case of this nature.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“You have recurring dreams,” she said.
“How can you tell?” he replied, confused. “And why is that important?”
“Data signals in your brain, each time you dream, theyre the same. Identical. We measured your dreams for almost a week and each time, every time, they were the same. You have the same dream each and every night. Under no circumstances can you be allowed anywhere near our equipment.”
“Why are recurring dreams a problem?” he asked. “Why did you have to report that?”
“It indicates something else present,” she said. She was hedging, he could tell. He could also tell she would never say anything more than that. “We have to report it up because you could become a security concern, Sir. Thats why your computer isnt letting you log in and its why your assistant and everyone else in this office has been relocated. Im sorry, Sir, but youre going to have to come with me.”
Misha Chambers held a doctorate in sleep studies from a university that constantly cracked the top five best universities in the world year on year. She had been published multiple times in multiple journals. Her name was one of the big names in sleep studies. Her current work was at the forefront of understanding dreams, and dreamers. She was not someone who should be locked out of the door with her name on it.
“Would someone please tell me what the fuck is going on here?” her soft voice belied the anger behind it.
“Every room is sealed,” one of her research assistants said. “Military thing, they said.”
“What kind of military thing?” Misha asked and only got a shrug in reply.
“Misha Chambers?” a new voice asked from a few feet away. A soldier. A young man, private stripes on his shoulders.
“Doctor Misha Chambers,” she hissed at him. “What do you want?”
“Im sorry, Doctor. Ive been told to take you to your husband.”
“Take me to.. What are you talking about?”
“Your husband has been taken into custody and he is demanding to see you.”