With Love, From Planet B

By Zaayin Salaam MD

We ignored the climate deadlines. The bombs made it worse. Now it's 2085, and the 6th extinction event is unfolding.

Zara is a master lucid dreamer, training her team in this rare skill, so that one day, if a suitable earth-like exoplanet is found, they can safely teleport there. It seems her dreams are coming true when Lex, her girlfriend and team mathematician discovers Planet B.

But Planet B won't let anyone enter… Join Zara and Lex on their hero's journey as they go within to find their real selves, and face new revelations about reality. Will they manage to cure themselves of the Three Spiritual Diseases that afflict all Earthlings? Will they get to survive on Planet B?

Our world is about to change. This book was written to help us prepare.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gaia Publishing
• Release date: Mar 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9781736866290

Book preview

About the book

This novel is based on real climate change, economic and political predictions, some of which have already come true. However, the purpose of this book is not to predict, but rather to prevent a dismal future, and to provide strength. Love and healing have been woven into it. It is patterned and layered, meant to take you deeper, especially on repeated visits.

Our extinction is predicted. The threat is real. Which is why we humans will rise. Which is why we will awaken. I welcome you to touch the meaning of this book.

And finally, yes, everything in this novel is either possible, probable, or has already happened.

Please visit the website for more: www.planetbthebook.com

Dedication

This book is dedicated to all its readers, and to our future generations who will inherit the world we leave behind, and to all the animal and plant life that is at risk for extinction.  It is dedicated to the matriarchs who are doing what is necessary. And it is dedicated to the Divine Feminine Energy within us all, that rises with Love to restore Balance to Mother Gaia.

MAY

YOU

GO

DEEPER

Contents

About the book

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 48

CHAPTER 49

CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 51

CHAPTER 52

CHAPTER 53

CHAPTER 54

CHAPTER 55

CHAPTER 56

CHAPTER 57

CHAPTER 58

CHAPTER 59

CHAPTER 60

CHAPTER 61

CHAPTER 62

CHAPTER 63

CHAPTER 64

CHAPTER 65

CHAPTER 66

CHAPTER 67

ACKNOWLEGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PROLOGUE

UNITY

By the time my mother Zara was born in 2050, the sixth extinction event was already underway, with several species of plants, insects, and animals disappearing.

Scientists had warned that humans would go extinct on an uninhabitable Earth if we didn’t limit global warming to 2 degrees by 2100. They urged governments to halve all fossil-fuel consumption by 2030. They warned to cease it completely by 2050. But the deadlines were ignored, and oil production was, in fact, increased. The wars, bombs, and methane released from the permafrost melt added massive amounts of additional heat, and global warming sky-rocketed, creeping close to 4 degrees by only 2085.

The most widespread consequence of the climate crisis was poverty. And poverty, as always, worsened misogyny. It was the time of the largest mass migration of humans and animals in the history of Earth. And it was also the time of scientific breakthroughs and great innovation, albeit with unequal distribution. As most people began slowly withering, filling their bellies with processed ‘foods’ that had previously been classified as not safe for consumption, the wealthy started living up to 150 years.

Corporations grew stronger, and countries fell to their knees. The 0.01 percent top Owners of the super corporations created the Free One World Nation—a free market without borders or regulations.

My mother named me Unity because it gave her hope. This story is about the cause for that hope.

CHAPTER 1

Mid-April 2085

Ship Neptune, South Indian Ocean

135°F / 57°C

ZARA

How did we get here…? I thought to myself as I stood on the balcony for my morning ritual, scorching in the sun as sweat dripped down my skin. I needed this—to be humbled, to suffer, to remember my beginnings. Sometimes, I could even pray for myself again.

Things changed too fast—that’s the excuse Gen X, Y, and Z give. History calls them the consumer generations. But things never slowed down, and we, Gen C, were born into an exponentially changing environment; hence they call us the free-fall generation.

Waves crashed loudly against the ship below. Yes, sea surface roughness was increasing daily. Thank you, dear ocean, for absorbing our heat and fumes. For buying us decades of time. You have a right to be angry. We still haven’t learned our lesson, have we?

Tomorrow my team and I get to fly to the city to meet our ultimate boss, the Owner of Free OWN Transport. We needed to market teleportation to the world. I know what you’re thinking—shouldn’t teleportation sell itself? Only thirty percent of our farmlands remain fertile. Our thin, ten-mile troposphere can’t hold any more heat. Scientists say humans are slow cooking on microscopic levels, causing more mutations than they can count. We have new cancers and new infections. More than half the world is displaced, and a third is homeless. Earth’s average global temperature, which hadn’t fluctuated by more than a single degree for the past ten thousand years, is now almost four degrees Celsius warmer. We are going extinct. So does a lifeline to other planets really need marketing? Yes, in the attention economy, everything needs marketing.

At least I can use the word extinction tomorrow. It was finally removed from Free OWN’s banned words list. They’ve been denying the Holocene extinction for decades, even as countless species of plants and animals disappear. It was Free OWN Pharma that got the word unbanned, after studies showed that it increased the sales of their happiness drugs, while also producing more volunteers for Mars.

The salty oceanic wind stung my face, and I gratefully breathed it in. This air was priceless. A few years ago, Earth’s average carbon dioxide level crossed 800 parts per million. In populated cities, the number was quadruple that. This was a major cause of humanity’s rapidly deteriorating IQ. Now that they won’t let me say, even though I’m a neuroscientist. Add to that the food pollutants aggregating in our brains. I have maybe one more decade left before my mental capacity begins to diminish. After that, my personal AI assistant will make decisions for me, and who knows if I’ll have any say in them.

Two to three hundred thousand years. That’s how long modern homo sapiens have existed. And two to three hundred more years, that’s how long we have left, the way things are going.

As a child, I used to imagine the great panic that must’ve ensued in the world back in 2015, when scientists sounded the alarm that the point of no return for carbon dioxide had been crossed: levels had reached 400 ppm. And in the 2020s, when Earth’s average temperature got warmer by 1.0°C and the maps began changing, Generations X, Y, and Z must’ve done everything they could, right? Thankfully, childhood is short when you’re a climate refugee. I learned quickly that there is no responsible authority, just people surviving.

With the heat now almost unbearable, and my skin drenched in sweat, I stepped back into my air-conditioned room on the ship. The balcony doors slid shut and resumed their mirror function, reflecting back my plain brown face and black hair. I undressed and stepped into the saltwater shower.

Hummer, morning news, I said to my phone-chip, which was safely embedded inside of my earlobe. Most of the world had their chips implanted somewhere in their ears. Those with excellent health care had them inside of their brains. I had named my chip Hummer after taking a personality test with Lex that claimed my power animal was the hummingbird: brave, territorial, and known for taking almost an hour to wake up in the morning. Guilty as charged. But hey, lucid dreamers need to sleep longer.

Hummer signaled my smart contact lenses and initiated my lens-sight. Multiple news clips began playing in my visual field.

- Two hundred more Marsonauts died this week from cardiovascular complications. Others report deteriorating vision from the lower gravity.

- Free OWN Food defends the nutritional value of sanctioned human meat and raises its price.

- Religious voices of the International Faith Corporation blame each other for the latest disasters, igniting violence across the world.

Not again . . . I flicked my finger and the link opened up, presenting details:

- Muslim extremists bombed corporate buildings in several Free OWN cities.

- The Christian Crusade destroyed several Middle Eastern cities based on prophecy.

- Israel restarted genocide in their newly purchased territories of Zion.

- Extremist Hindus and Buddhist monks once again massacred Muslims in South Asia.

In a few months, Free Own would call for a ceasefire, and the religious leaders would oblige, only to turn their hatred back onto women, minorities, and the so-called ‘demon’ children of surrogates and sperm donors.

One of the cities bombed caught my eye: Chicago. My first Free OWN city. Other refugees had warned me about America. Yes, it had water, and who were we to complain that it was polluted? And yes, it offered opportunities to become a Free OWN citizen. But half of that country, the darker half, was incarcerated for petty crimes, providing slave labor, while the other half could legally kill protestors. Nevertheless, America was open for immigration again, and I had something they needed—an up-to-date education, thanks to Free OWN’s unbiased AI-operated scholarships.

The Free One World Nation was a conglomerate of super-corporations that owned most of the world’s resources. A free and unregulated market, it was a nation without borders whose laws superseded all others.

When I became a citizen, life had changed overnight. Just walking down the road, I felt powerful. Cops and even an ambulance might show up if I needed them. As refugees, our lens-sight recordings never mattered. But as a citizen, I had rights—I could even access my files.

Videos of floating dead bodies snapped me out of my thoughts. Several Polynesian cities were deluged overnight from heavy Monsoon rain. Those storms would soon be upon our ship . . .

I turned off the news and silently prayed. God, Mother Earth, please help the survivors.

Then I focused my mind and asked the question I had trained myself to answer for over fourteen years of being a lucid dreamer: Am I awake right now?

Lucid dreaming was the skill of knowing when one was dreaming and how to control what happened in the dream. If you were dreaming, even asking this question could wake you up or change the dream. I asked, then focused. The reality I stood in stayed solid and self-sustaining—real. Dreams from last night flashed across my mind, flighty and evanescent. I was awake.

Beep-beep! A message appeared in my lens-sight. Reminder to team leader: Monkey teleportation in twenty minutes.

Shit! I hurriedly donned my air-conditioned outerwear, turned the AC on, pulled the hood and plastic visor over my face, and then rushed to disembark from the ship.

We were anchored at floating Island #37. This island had floated over the top of the Indian Ocean vortex, making it accessible for use. We had dared to venture into these volatile waters only to access this vortex. It would serve as our teleportation receptacle, our landing site. We had six weeks to use it before the island floated away.

The island was a desert. I reached the site. The technicians working here wore the same air-conditioned outerwear as me, boasting Free OWN’s orange-and-purple logo. As Free OWN citizens, we didn’t have to worry about migrating. If disaster hit, we could seek refuge almost anywhere.

And God, thank you for my blessings.

There she was. My love. Lex was frowning at some video. My mood lifted as I wrapped my arms around her.

Sleep late again? she teased, standing a couple of inches taller than me. Her face was red from the heat, and her short, dark-blonde curls were sticking to her sweaty forehead despite her air-conditioned suit.

Up early again? I teased back and checked the Lucid app on my lens-sight. I documented eleven dreams last night, some of them three levels deep.

She shook her head in mock pity. She’d woken up only three times, but that was a lot for her, and for the rest of my team.

She shared her lens-sight and showed me a headline: Gay Muslim woman to be first teleporter. You’re famous, but this is the reaction. She played a video.

She’s not a Muslim! yelled the Pakistani maulvi on the screen. He had a long black beard and sat in a refugee camp. We are the believers. We believe in the Holy Book, and we follow the messenger. She denounces the Sharia, says women don’t have to cover their hair, and that people can pray however they want. Blasphemy. Above all, she is homosexual.

Hence, I’m spiritual, not religious, I stated.

The maulvi in the video continued. We’re ordering all true believers to take down this enemy of god.

What? I admit I was shocked. Good thing I’m on a ship away from those people.

How much do you trust the crew? Lex asked.

My own crew? I thought to myself.  But many of them were South Asian Muslims. They could be following this extremist. Should I ask security to check their lens-sight logs? Would that be too much?

I told security to check everybody’s lens-sight logs, Lex told me.

Thanks, I said, trying to smile, but it was stifled. The maulvi had managed to resurface an old guilt. It wasn’t any of his words, and it wasn’t that I was alone in my personal connection with God while he had half the world behind him in his dogma. It was the refugee camp. I had left mine when I had the chance . . . barely looked back. But he insisted on living in his. Did that make him a better person?

Lex lifted the plastic shield covering my face. Hey, screw them. She gave me a kiss.

And God, Universe, thank you for my girlfriend.

A crewman spoke into his satellite comm: Contact Space Station, this is Team Neptune.

Neptune was the name I had given to our ship as well as our supercomputer. It was the planet mythically associated with dreams. To the untrained eye, Neptune was just another container ship. Few ever wondered why it housed the latest satellite receivers and space radars, or why almost fifty scientists called it home. Hidden under the appearance of a cargo ship, Neptune was, in fact, a secret research facility—fully equipped with proprietary technology.

Are you ready, Doc? Suraj Patel asked. He was the senior engineer, an Indian Canadian with greying hair. "Next week, it’ll be you beaming down from Contact Space Station. Twenty-two thousand miles in under a second."

I’m so ready.

I watched your meeting with the board two weeks ago when you shared our successful monkey teleportation, Suraj said. They didn’t believe you at first, huh?

I chuckled. Yes, even back when I fought for Project Teleport they said it was science fiction. They were focused on Mars.

"And they still are. You’ll have to make them understand that we need actual homes, Earth-like exoplanets, not the red death trap. So, I hear the whole team is flying out to land tomorrow, huh?"

Yep, Lex chimed in. We’re going to meet the Owner of Free OWN Transport himself and do some marketing interviews. Timur, as usual, is being antisocial and staying behind.

Marketing? Suraj asked.

Lex shrugged. Apparently, if we don’t get enough viewers for the first live human teleportation, they can’t fund the rest of Project Teleport.

God forbid these Owners use their own money for anything, he shook his head. Anyway, part of me still can’t believe we’ve done it.

Contact Space Station, we are ready to receive, the crewman spoke into his satellite comm.

We stepped back from the teleportation receptacle. It was a circular area just eleven feet across, covered with smart floor pads. Everyone became quiet. The tension was palpable. Yes, we had teleported four healthy monkeys, but there were just too many things that could go wrong.

The timer started: 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . and a cute little rhesus monkey appeared. No lights, no sounds, just a monkey materializing out of thin air. It stood there, stunned and confused, then let out a shriek.

The crewmen looked at me, waiting for the team doctor to assess it, but I nodded to our newly graduated bioengineer, Lex. She held the DNA scanner over the monkey.

DNA integrity is intact, she announced.

The crew cheered and high-fived each other.

***

Once back at the ship, Lex and I changed into our uniforms: khaki shorts and a black T-shirt with Free OWN’s logo. I pulled her close, unable to stop smiling at our success.

You’re really not nervous huh? she asked.

I shook my head no and gave her a squeeze.

We headed to the sleep labs. It was time for my monthly lecture on lucid dreaming.

Engineers who were new to Neptune always asked me, Why do we train in lucid dreaming? I would explain that it was a skill deemed necessary for lucid teleportation. Lucid teleportation? Why would we need to stay awake? they’d ask. Just awake enough, I’d reply, and only when traversing large distances. If we remained unconscious too long while teleporting in our waveform, it would lead to greater memory loss, brain damage, and even death on arrival.

The new engineers would eye my credentials displayed on their lens-sight. Neuroscientist. Consciousness consultant. Teleportation consultant. And last but most importantly, neuro-programmer. My ship-family called me the brain-trainer. I had designed several quantum phone-chip applications that trained the brain in various skills, and a few years ago, in collaboration with other experts at Project Teleport, I had finally achieved my dream application: Lucid.

With Lucid, we could hone our dreaming skills and even keep scores. Quantum processors had changed the game, especially when Free OWN Tech started installing them in every new phone-chip worldwide. Quantum phone-chips were arguably the last major breakthrough invention before the tech-lag set in. The tech-lag has lasted decades now. Some say it was created on purpose by the elite. All I know is that most people would rather grow food in their labs.

Quantum processors, though not the best at multitasking, accurately decrypt complex information such as neural patterns. Some fought hard against this tech, but the spiritual community got the masses excited. There was now proof that our thoughts, if well-trained and energized into intentions, created our reality—especially when the math of chaos theory was being harmonious. And so, quantum processors became the answers to prayers, and neuro-programmers like me, a hot commodity. I was fortunate. I climbed higher up the Free OWN ladder while diving deeper into human consciousness.

My team used Lucid every night. When we entered our first R.E.M. phase, Lucid would launch. It was designed as a game. We would see it as a dream and play it, training our brains to function in different states of consciousness.

Lex took her seat in the room just as May, Timur, and Aaron walked in, saying hello. We waited for Richard to log in remotely. Neptune, our supercomputer (and namesake of our ship), displayed our scores.

Dream recall score measured how well a dream was remembered upon awakening. Lucidity measured how persistently the subject stayed aware that they were in a dream. Dream manipulation measured how well a dreamer could control their dream. Our ranking was the sum of these three scores. Given my years of hard training, I always came first.

Zara Ali—1,050

Mark Svenson—700

Natascha Svenson—690

Aaron Russo—590

Lex Keeling—550

May Yun—490

Richard Anders—450

Timur Navalny—400

Thanks for flying in Aaron, I said to him.

He nodded then returned his attention to his lens-sight.

Looks like Mark and Natascha aren’t going to grace us with their presence again, I said, noting the absence of my two runners-up. They didn’t attend last month either.

They said they don’t feel safe in the Indian Ocean, May muttered as she sipped her cold coffee.

The truth was, ever since they had reached the minimum required score of 600, Mark and Natascha had stopped attending. Officially, that was okay. My monthly class was optional because lucid dreaming would only matter if we needed lucid teleportation—which we would only need if we ever teleported long distances.

Most of the team had other, real jobs around the world. Only I, Lex, and Timur lived on the ship full time. Project Teleport had long been considered unimportant, much to my chagrin. When we teleported atoms and molecules, nobody cared. When we teleported food, it was too expensive to be practical. Then, three years ago, after a particularly horrendous disaster year, Free OWN Transport shined a light upon us, giving people hope. To profit further from the attention economy, they recruited celebrities to join as future teleporters.

Mark and Natascha Svenson were the biggest celebrities: renowned Marsonauts—astronauts who had lived on Mars. They’d only spent six months there, too short a time for any medical issues to arise, but were famous thanks to their steamy reality show Mars Lover. They had in turn invited their friend and one of the world’s leading artificial intelligence architects, Aaron Russo, to join. Aaron was Italian-British and still worked full-time in Europe. I used to wonder why he had joined. Did he come all the way just to tell me how his computer chips were superior to the human brain? But I figured he wanted the clean ocean air. It had made him smarter. He had stopped debating with me.

A screen chimed as Richard logged in remotely.

Richard, thanks for joining. I know it’s early for you, I said to him on the video call.

He nodded from his bed. Richard was a celebrity too: a famous unbeaten Black British Olympic triathlete. He was also a tier three Owner of major sports corporations, and a private investor in Project Teleport. I’d been pleasantly surprised to find him down-to-earth and knowledgeable.

My lucidity scores are improving, Lex said. But my dream manipulation is stuck. I can’t change anything.

Lex, officially Leisha Keeling, was a mathematician who had joined Neptune as an overqualified ship navigator. Turned out she’d been auto-rejected by Project Teleport’s AI for the job she’d really wanted, which was checking and creating teleportation formulas. After she helped Suraj solve some problems with his lasers, he officially hired her.

I should’ve known I was falling for her when I grew curious to see what her brain would do in Lucid. No surprise, she scored high enough to be a teleporter. Would you like to be a teleporter? I had asked her, but she hadn’t even considered it. She said she was just a mathematician. Then she signed up for a two-year bioengineering degree to help with that aspect of teleportation as well, and now she’s indispensable to the team. Yes, Lex needs to be needed. And no, she’s not exactly aware of it.

Try changing your own actions, instead of attempting to change the entire dream at once, I answered her with a smile.

Will I have to practice for years like you to get to your level, Zara? May asked. May Yun was a Chinese space technologies software engineer with a background in math and theoretical physics. She applied for the position because it was cutting edge, but also because it would make her a Free OWN citizen, allowing her to leave China.

If I ever get funding to upgrade Lucid, everyone’s scores would jump higher in a day, I replied.

I feel like I’m in control of my dreams, but I forget them as soon as I wake up, Timur said. Timur Navalny had also joined to become a Free OWN citizen. He was an ex-Russian Space Force pilot who’d been dishonorably discharged from their military for reasons unknown, though he never denied it whenever Mark joked that it was due to homosexual conduct.

Keep your eyes closed and stay with the alpha-waves longer, I told him. I clasped my hands together. Ok everyone, tomorrow, when the interviewers ask why we train in lucid dreaming, what will you tell them?

Richard sat up. Traveling at light-speed, we’re in our waveform, which holds our consciousness. But the farther we travel, the higher the chances of our waveform disintegrating. Meaning us dying. It’s theorized that the travel will feel like a dream state. Staying conscious during this dream state is supposed to nourish our waveform, keeping us alive, healthy, and remembering our mission.

I smiled.

We practice in case we ever find a new home, May added dismissively.

But we’ve looked and there’s nothing close enough, Timur added.

I narrowed my eyes mockingly at them. Okay, but people keep dying on Mars, so researchers are focusing on black holes again. Don’t you want to be the first humans to teleport through a blackhole in your waveform? That got the sparkle back in their eyes. Since teleporting will feel like a dream, we also train for the nightmare scenario. May, in last night’s game, you died trying to escape the tornado, again.

Yeah. I’m not a good runner, May shrugged.

"Neither am I, but in your dream-state you have to believe you can do anything. What happens if you die in your dream state, while teleporting?"

May slumped into her chair. I may die for real if my mind believes I’m dead. Become a lost wave in this universe of waves.

Timur snickered at her dramatization. It’ll feel like a dream but be very real.

A whole other level of real. We could be exposed to extra dimensions and sub-dimensions, Lex added.

We train to manipulate our nightmares, Richard said. We can even summon for help and our own subconscious will provide it.

Exactly. And now answer this, what if you forget you’re teleporting? I asked.

Disastrous, he answered.

"What if you forget, and your mind just wants to wake up from the nightmare?" I challenged.

Well, everybody’s subconscious has a way to wake them up, Lex said. "A lot of people, including me, have a dream-cliff we jump off from. But we won’t be able to wake up during teleportation. Not until we’re back in physical form. If we try, we could induce brain damage."

"Yes, so what do we do if we’re stuck in a horrible nightmare and want to wake up? I turned to Aaron, but as usual, he was busy going through his lens-sight. Aaron, your brain scans tell me you’ve recently figured this out."

Aaron sighed at being called upon. Wait, let me send this. After a few clicks on his lens-sight he looked up. "In my opinion, there are no such things as nightmares, only poor brain programming. But I know why you’re asking, and yes, fine, I gave up the edibles because marijuana affects time perception, and I even stopped my one nightly glass of red wine, and it’s true that it helped. I can now go deeper from one dream into the next."

Lex and Timur looked at him as if he were a traitor.

Marijuana is a good tool for discovery, but when you’re actually teleporting, it’s too risky. Time perception . . . I reminded them.

Aaron nodded. At deeper levels our programming becomes obvious, and it’s easier to correct our faulty circuits. It’s actually something we’ve been doing with AI for years, he finished.

Thank you. And that’s—

Loud, urgent knocking on the door made everyone turn and look.

It was the ship’s captain himself. "Sorry to interrupt Doctor, but an e-plane just landed on our helipad. Simultaneously the office of the big boss called me! I was ordered to bring you to the e-plane immediately. Your meeting has been moved to tonight, something about bad weather tomorrow? We didn’t pick it up, but they have better technology."

Last-minute changes, but one does not argue with the weather. Umm, okay, but just me? We were all supposed to go tomorrow.

They specifically said only you.

I was confused, and by the others’ expressions, so were they.

The rest of us aren’t invited? Aaron asked.

I don’t know, the captain replied.

I sighed. Okay, let me quickly pack.

They said they have everything you need. They insisted that I personally escort you this second, otherwise you’ll be late.

I looked at Lex, who stood up and gave me a quick hug. It’s ok. You got this.

CHAPTER 2

ZARA

I was the only passenger in the e-plane. It flew itself, taking off silently. Thousands of floating islands came into view below, the smaller ones visibly swaying on the undulating surface of the Indian Ocean. Made of volcanic pumice, these floating islands had burst up from the ocean floor fourteen years ago after the massive earthquakes caused by Free OWN Energy’s deep-sea mining activities. Almost a million people died in the tsunamis that followed along the coasts of South Asia. Mom and Dad were part of those statistics. They would be proud of me now, but also scared.

Rich in diamonds and minerals, these floating islands drifted on the turbulent tropical waters like unclaimed offerings from Poseidon, as if in payment for the lives lost. However, few dared venture into these warming, raging waters anymore. Neptune was large and sturdy, but even we were only here to use the vortex.

My mind drifted back to that hot winter day in Chicago. The news: Back-to-back tsunamis. Minutes turned into hours, but I didn’t hear back from my parents. I couldn’t sleep for days. Shock settled into my being. A shock that on some level woke me up permanently. For I had been dreaming about giant waves for days before the event. Just like I had dreamt about buildings on fire in Vancouver before it burned. And about fierce rain in D.C. before it flooded. I had downplayed such dreams my entire life, but could I have saved Mom and Dad if I had taken these premonitions more seriously?

That was when I began documenting my dreams. That was when I discovered lucid dreaming.

The e-plane neared sonic speed, heading for Svalbard in the Artic Ocean. I closed my eyes, and decided to meditate.

Hummer, if I fall asleep, start Lucid, I said to my phone-chip.

My secret to lucid dreaming surprises people: Trust yourself. Your self-trust will extend into your subconscious. You want to feel safe in those deeper dreams, don’t you?

Back when clients used to out-source their thinking to me, I would teach them self-trust by using sacred geometry customized to their specific neural patterns. Lex will often study my trust designs. They make her eyes light up, and when her eyes meet mine, her desire activates me. I may be the brain trainer, but she’s the one who has my brain trained. Instead of meditating I just thought about her, and fell asleep.

Lucid launched with my first R.E.M phase. To my dreaming-self it was a game. Run faster than the tornado and survive. Recall how many people you saw. What is 88 minus 16? I got most of them right.

"Congratulations Zara, you have achieved the highest score," Lucid announced, then turned itself off. I stirred, then fell back asleep, wandering this time into my personal dreams.

A familiar scene replayed: I was inside of a sphere in the dark. A new sphere slowly came swinging by. I knew the time was now and quickly jumped inside the other sphere. Then the mysterious, haunting song began:

Your stories are your pathways,

Use them to make your way,

In case you forget who you are,

In case you go astray.

You are always half-asleep,

You’re afraid to wake up too deep.

Don’t be scared. Let it tell you.

Let it awaken you for once.

Do you know where this is going?

Do you see what they’re becoming?

I was seeing and hearing disturbing things, but they all vanished instantly. Nothing was going to memory. Colors whirled around me. I became anxious, which meant I was no longer lucid.

I pulled myself out of it all, and entered the liminal space, that transitional place between waking and sleeping. Most people would wake up from here, but I had trained myself not to. Now I just needed to harness the attention of my dreaming-self… I returned into the dream to merge with her.

For my dreaming-self, everything slowed and paused.

The colors faded away.

The sounds went silent.

Time stood still.

My attention was taken deep inside my own mind by a force more powerful than myself. Once there, a soft familiar voice spoke: It’s just a dream. Stay lucid.

Ahh! Yes. I remembered now. The colors and sounds returned. Instead of feeling anxious, I felt energized. This was just a dream, but could I manipulate it? I raised my hand to touch the colors . . . but my arm became unnaturally heavy.

My hand hit the side of the e-plane and I snapped awake. Hummer, add to dream log: color dream. This dream remains unchangeable.

Hummer projected the cumulative data it had collected about this dream over the past fourteen years: You’ve documented this dream 3,082 times. Its signature neural pattern has been detected 4,745 times. Your score for registering this recurring dream is almost sixty-five percent. Good job.

I looked out the window. Having started in the southern Indian Ocean, the e-plane was now flying over the eastern Sahara. Thanks to changing rain patterns, patches of the desert had turned green, but only to be stained bloody by wars.

I mused over my recurring dream. Scientists used to believe that self-suggestion caused dreams to repeat. However, our phone-chips showed that many dreams came in cycles, some for a few nights, some for a few years, and some dreams stayed with a person throughout their lifetime. It was as if we lived alternate lives, instantly forgotten once awake. Unless we kept count. Unless we stayed lucid.

I was soon flying over Europe. The Alps were green, but everything north of them was brown. E-planes flew at low altitude, so I was just above the smoke from forest fires. Every now and then I could make out the miles and miles of refugee camps surrounding the walled cities.

And finally, I was flying above the Arctic Ocean. Its water was calm, still, and blue in contrast to the turbulent waters of the tropics. No wonder the Arctic Ocean was the preferred trade route of the modern world. It hadn’t frozen over since the 2030s.

A paradise of green hills came into view. Svalbard, with fjords, rising straight up from the ocean. I gasped at another rare sight. Glistening in the light of the midnight sun, there it was . . . Snow! Among the green fjords lay towns studded with metal and glass skyscrapers. Svalbard was one of the new First World cities, home to the wealthiest of Free OWN citizens from around the globe.

Drizzle rolled off the windows as the e-plane descended onto the helipad of a huge mansion. Crowds came into view. Thousands of people. No, hundreds of thousands. This event was much bigger than I had anticipated. I felt stupid. Having lived an introvert’s life at sea for almost twelve years, I had forgotten the excitement of city life.

I stepped out of the plane. Ahh, that scent of fresh rain on the ground! The scent of the earth. I breathed it in, almost tearing up at how lovely it was, and I suddenly missed living on land.

The crowd cheered when they saw me. I smiled and waved back, but then saw some of them holding signs and chanting, "Not her!" They were from different races and backgrounds, and didn’t strike me as religious followers of the maulvi who had threatened me that morning. Which meant that I had opposition I wasn’t even aware of.

CHAPTER 3

Svalbard, Norway

65° F/ 18°C

ZARA

A hostess led me to a room where several dresses were laid out for my choosing. They were