The Dreams of Captain J. Harkness
Title: The Dreams of Captain J. Harkness
Author: jbs_teeth
Characters: Mostly Just Jack (and a couple dozen sentient spheres)
Rating: G
Summary: When Jack sleeps, he dreams.
Author notes: Inspired by the book "Einstein's Dreams" by Alan Lightman. Beta'd by the lovely antelope_writes
The Dreams of Captain J. Harkness
I.
Jack dreams of his past, the future that is yet to come. He spends one night beneath the oceans of Boeshane, in the City Beneath the Water where his uncle lives alone.
At night they turn off the artificial sky, and Jack finds himself lying on the blueberry scented turf in the yard behind the house. He remembers in his dream how everything in the City is scented with something to cover the burning-plastic smell of the plasma window, which separates the citizens from drowning, from being crushed by the ocean's pressure. The park benches smell, ironically, of sandy beaches, and because of his uncle's library, Jack is constantly hungry for mid-summer peaches.
Now, without the sea-Sun to obscure his view, Jack looks up and sees a starry sky made in the currents of water above him. He does not question the logic behind the light source in the deep ocean at night, but watches the silver-quick flashes of fish weaving through each other, the raindrops of floating sea horses, the rippling wave of thousands of anemone fingers moving together.
Maybe all the memories in this dream are real because he feels with physical certainty his cheeks strain wide to contain the smile on his face. He remembers those whales, two massive things that streak into view on the fast current of a good time. They circle round each other in a graceful tease, caught up in each other and caught by him only for ten minutes or so before he can no longer see them.
At 10 years old, Jack decides love is this: the smell of blueberries, slow-falling sea horses and two bright creatures entangled only in themselves for more than a mile.
II.
Jack dreams of his past, of time a long way gone and glad for it. England is smoking herself to death, and the air in London runs foul beneath a heavy shawl of thick smoke. This morning, the air is too thick to step outside and breathe deeply, too thick to even try, and he doesn't think he'll make it out of bed today.
It seems to him like some days he doesn't. There's too much distance between himself and the upper strata of the atmosphere, so many miles of air weighing down on him; he wonders that everyone doesn't feel how bulky it is. Too bulky to get up and go outside, especially without a roof to hold that last 10 feet of air off him.
He decides instead to practice picking things up with his brain. One leg is swung over the side of the bed, his bare foot touching the ground to anchor him solidly, and Jack concentrates on the white ceramic pitcher resting on a shoddy side table about four feet away.
In the dream he forgets that psychokinesis only works in the future, with a Birbaumer computer source nearby to interpret and manifest his thoughts. The only important fact in this dream is he doesn't want to step outside into the smell of summertime London; so Jack practices lifting the pitcher of water in the air and succeeds every few minutes for less than five seconds.
III.
Jack dreams he lives in a world in which 24 hours is an entire lifetime. His infancy is short and desirable, long enough for a cuddle and breakfast in bed, and utterly lacking in diapers. By the time he's digested his first meal, he's up and dressed and able to find the toilets all on his own.
By lunchtime, he's kissed a girl for the first time, and by dessert, married. The church service is lovely, if a touch rushed, and it's all the more special because his anniversary is the same as his birth minute. Every hour at 41 past, he takes tea and cake to celebrate his continued good health and full life, while everyone in attendance agrees he doesn't look a second over six hours.
Things move quickly in this world, and Jack reminds himself to stop and smell the roses before it's over all too soon. He and the missus decide to take some time out of their nonstop lives for a long vacation, so it's down the road to the commons three blocks away, both children in tow in car seats and strollers.
When they all get back, the kids move out and themselves marry, and Jack's wife tells him, “They grow up so fast.” His body has started slowing down anyway, and he can barely keep up with the grandchildren a few hours later.
At 23 hours, Jack takes to his bed for the last time, sleepy and content and well-pleased by such a satisfying life.
IV.
Jack dreams of another world, one he's never seen in his real life. The people here are kind to him, but mostly curious. Perfectly spherical and all but nonexistent, they bounce gently up and down and sideways, making with leisurely pace horrible time to their next destination.
And while Jack's arms and legs generate reaction, his deep bow of respect to their leader - or so he supposes; in any respect, selecting the largest of them is his only method of discernment - causes a sensation.
Translucent blue turns slightly pink, and their bouncing rhythm speeds up perceptibly. His interpretation of approval prompts him to bow again, and the soft murmur of vibrating crystal increases in pitch and tone.
Happy to oblige their curiosity, Jack begins to dance, a whirling, hurdy gurdy of a dance, all arms and legs and hips bending as far and often as he can make them go. Jack employs each joint to a more pointed and determined end than he as ever yet used them before, and the end result defies all previous definitions of a dance.
But it is a dance, a reel to celebrate the movement of his limbs and spine and nervous system, the King of the Eyesores, and no audience ever loved a performance more.
V.
Jack dreams of dying, and of staying dead. He sees himself cut down in the most reliable way by something big and bulking and coincidentally sporting limbs; it's angry, of course, and strong, and snapping his thin neck is no trouble at all.
He falls to the ground with his eyes wide open, spine and shoulders bent at awkward angles, and he wonders if his typical death is always so graceless.
At first, he lies ignored on the floor, all dead weight and lumpy inconvenience, until someone notices he has not gasped back into life. One by one, they lean in closer to him, and through his own dead eyes Jack cannot focus his vision to see them clearly as they move in and out of his field. Someone pokes at him a bit, and someone else starts to cry, though he's not quite sure why. In the dream, he's sure he's not waking up, and nothing has seemed more peaceful to him for a very long time.
There is no funeral, of course, but he does overhear the debate on what to do with The Body. Someone wants to give him the privilege of a real burial, and someone wants to find a way to send his body back up into the sky, and someone else argues there's a chance he could wake up some day and want to come back out to play.
He can't tell them it doesn't matter about his body; he won't be coming back to claim it. He only wonders how long it will be until someone joins him here in the quiet and the dark, an eye turned outward to watch the flickering shadows of the world swim by.
The End
Extended Author Notes
Fic Index
Author: jbs_teeth
Characters: Mostly Just Jack (and a couple dozen sentient spheres)
Rating: G
Summary: When Jack sleeps, he dreams.
Author notes: Inspired by the book "Einstein's Dreams" by Alan Lightman. Beta'd by the lovely antelope_writes
The Dreams of Captain J. Harkness
I.
Jack dreams of his past, the future that is yet to come. He spends one night beneath the oceans of Boeshane, in the City Beneath the Water where his uncle lives alone.
At night they turn off the artificial sky, and Jack finds himself lying on the blueberry scented turf in the yard behind the house. He remembers in his dream how everything in the City is scented with something to cover the burning-plastic smell of the plasma window, which separates the citizens from drowning, from being crushed by the ocean's pressure. The park benches smell, ironically, of sandy beaches, and because of his uncle's library, Jack is constantly hungry for mid-summer peaches.
Now, without the sea-Sun to obscure his view, Jack looks up and sees a starry sky made in the currents of water above him. He does not question the logic behind the light source in the deep ocean at night, but watches the silver-quick flashes of fish weaving through each other, the raindrops of floating sea horses, the rippling wave of thousands of anemone fingers moving together.
Maybe all the memories in this dream are real because he feels with physical certainty his cheeks strain wide to contain the smile on his face. He remembers those whales, two massive things that streak into view on the fast current of a good time. They circle round each other in a graceful tease, caught up in each other and caught by him only for ten minutes or so before he can no longer see them.
At 10 years old, Jack decides love is this: the smell of blueberries, slow-falling sea horses and two bright creatures entangled only in themselves for more than a mile.
II.
Jack dreams of his past, of time a long way gone and glad for it. England is smoking herself to death, and the air in London runs foul beneath a heavy shawl of thick smoke. This morning, the air is too thick to step outside and breathe deeply, too thick to even try, and he doesn't think he'll make it out of bed today.
It seems to him like some days he doesn't. There's too much distance between himself and the upper strata of the atmosphere, so many miles of air weighing down on him; he wonders that everyone doesn't feel how bulky it is. Too bulky to get up and go outside, especially without a roof to hold that last 10 feet of air off him.
He decides instead to practice picking things up with his brain. One leg is swung over the side of the bed, his bare foot touching the ground to anchor him solidly, and Jack concentrates on the white ceramic pitcher resting on a shoddy side table about four feet away.
In the dream he forgets that psychokinesis only works in the future, with a Birbaumer computer source nearby to interpret and manifest his thoughts. The only important fact in this dream is he doesn't want to step outside into the smell of summertime London; so Jack practices lifting the pitcher of water in the air and succeeds every few minutes for less than five seconds.
III.
Jack dreams he lives in a world in which 24 hours is an entire lifetime. His infancy is short and desirable, long enough for a cuddle and breakfast in bed, and utterly lacking in diapers. By the time he's digested his first meal, he's up and dressed and able to find the toilets all on his own.
By lunchtime, he's kissed a girl for the first time, and by dessert, married. The church service is lovely, if a touch rushed, and it's all the more special because his anniversary is the same as his birth minute. Every hour at 41 past, he takes tea and cake to celebrate his continued good health and full life, while everyone in attendance agrees he doesn't look a second over six hours.
Things move quickly in this world, and Jack reminds himself to stop and smell the roses before it's over all too soon. He and the missus decide to take some time out of their nonstop lives for a long vacation, so it's down the road to the commons three blocks away, both children in tow in car seats and strollers.
When they all get back, the kids move out and themselves marry, and Jack's wife tells him, “They grow up so fast.” His body has started slowing down anyway, and he can barely keep up with the grandchildren a few hours later.
At 23 hours, Jack takes to his bed for the last time, sleepy and content and well-pleased by such a satisfying life.
IV.
Jack dreams of another world, one he's never seen in his real life. The people here are kind to him, but mostly curious. Perfectly spherical and all but nonexistent, they bounce gently up and down and sideways, making with leisurely pace horrible time to their next destination.
And while Jack's arms and legs generate reaction, his deep bow of respect to their leader - or so he supposes; in any respect, selecting the largest of them is his only method of discernment - causes a sensation.
Translucent blue turns slightly pink, and their bouncing rhythm speeds up perceptibly. His interpretation of approval prompts him to bow again, and the soft murmur of vibrating crystal increases in pitch and tone.
Happy to oblige their curiosity, Jack begins to dance, a whirling, hurdy gurdy of a dance, all arms and legs and hips bending as far and often as he can make them go. Jack employs each joint to a more pointed and determined end than he as ever yet used them before, and the end result defies all previous definitions of a dance.
But it is a dance, a reel to celebrate the movement of his limbs and spine and nervous system, the King of the Eyesores, and no audience ever loved a performance more.
V.
Jack dreams of dying, and of staying dead. He sees himself cut down in the most reliable way by something big and bulking and coincidentally sporting limbs; it's angry, of course, and strong, and snapping his thin neck is no trouble at all.
He falls to the ground with his eyes wide open, spine and shoulders bent at awkward angles, and he wonders if his typical death is always so graceless.
At first, he lies ignored on the floor, all dead weight and lumpy inconvenience, until someone notices he has not gasped back into life. One by one, they lean in closer to him, and through his own dead eyes Jack cannot focus his vision to see them clearly as they move in and out of his field. Someone pokes at him a bit, and someone else starts to cry, though he's not quite sure why. In the dream, he's sure he's not waking up, and nothing has seemed more peaceful to him for a very long time.
There is no funeral, of course, but he does overhear the debate on what to do with The Body. Someone wants to give him the privilege of a real burial, and someone wants to find a way to send his body back up into the sky, and someone else argues there's a chance he could wake up some day and want to come back out to play.
He can't tell them it doesn't matter about his body; he won't be coming back to claim it. He only wonders how long it will be until someone joins him here in the quiet and the dark, an eye turned outward to watch the flickering shadows of the world swim by.
The End
Extended Author Notes
Fic Index