Behind the scenes We live on a blue-green planet suspended deep into the quiet black depths of space . Compared to the cosmos our planet is small, almost insignificant, it's existence here tempered more by chance than anything else. We, the only sentient race on this tiny blue speck search constantly for the ultimate answers , the answers that will explain the secrets of the universe and our place therein, the meaning of our lives. But how can we understand those questions when we can't even understand ourselves? The takeoff had been smooth, the plane soared away into the sky like a happy bird, swift, black and deadly. As the plane broke through the heavy cloud cover above central Europe and entered the starry night above he closed the curtain and silently opened his briefing. At the same time a man awoke from a nightmare. He'd dreamt he stood in a throne room, the ceiling lost in shadows, the walls covered with large paintings, marble pillars rising like trees around him, the floor smooth and cold against his feet, the air tainted with an almost oriental smell mixed with the smell of cold damp stone. Around him stood a circle of men in black heavy robes. He'd stared in horror as they removed them revealing black suits, impeccibly clean and exactly the same, but the most terrible thing about them was, they had no faces. At the same he'd realised there was something attached to his head, his arms and legs, something that looked almost like strings, disappearing into the lofty darkness above. Cords tightened, others loosened making his legs slide in two different directions, at the same time his arms rose above his head with a sharp jerk, he jittered and moved as if dancing. Seeing this the faceless men laughed, laughter tinkeling and echoing in the great hall, they laughed and laughed mocking him as he danced. The laughter followed him into the peace and safety of his own bedroom. With a sharp movement he sat up, sweat pouring from his temples, his hair damp as if he'd just taken a shower. He sat in the darkness staring out into the void until his heart stopped it's mad race against time, his breathing slowed. It was then he became aware of a new smell in the room, like some heavy perfume, mixed with sandlewood, the smell of an ancient palace. But now the body had calmed itself, heaviness returned to his limbs and before the American president returned into deep sleep he promised himself that he'd investigate, next morning. The smell lingered in the room for some time before it was whisked away by the White-house air conditioning. A door closed silently and faint steps disappeared down the hall. "He is strong, isn't he?" "Indeed" "Did you notice anything strange?" "Yes.. It seems we have a dreamer" "Dreamer?, he could spoil our plans, reveal us!, is he aware of us?" "No, and it is of no concern, nobody believes a lone person with strange dreams, and besides it is already taken care of" The President was not the only one with haunted dreams that night. When Anne awoke she was soaked in sweat, her sheets had since long turned into warm soggy vines in her bed and the pillows lay on the floor besides the bed. Again she had seen it, she couldn't explain what it was nor why she dreamt it, she only knew she did, and more often now than before. It all had seemed so real. She stood, the room spun around her for a while before deciding what was left and what was right. She walked into the bathroom, her long night-gown sticking to her body with every move. Pre-dawn light filtered in through the venetian blinds, drawing patterns on the white plaster tiles. She splashed cool water on her face before turning on the lights. A tired, young face gazed back at her from the mirror, black rings of fatigue under her eyes. Her hair was a mess of red curls on her head and her back felt as if it had been run over by something heavy. Silently cursing she opened a bottle, swallowing the pills with a smirk, this should take care of it, whatever it was. She returned to the bed and found the sheets had cooled slightly, she considered changing them but thought the better of it. The pills she'd taken had started taking effect now, lulling her once again into deep sleep. The dreams didn't come back. The plane landed that morning on Heathrow airport international and taxied slowly into a hangar on the edge of the field, nobody seemed to notice it, not even Heathrow air control. She awoke by herself that morning, she lay on her back savouring the feeling of comfort and warmth. She was slightly surprised she wasn't awoken by the alarm clock, she wondered sleepily what time it was, turning to look at it. She ran through the room twisting and turning to get the gown off while she ran, she couldn't believe she'd taken those pills so late at night, but it had seemed such a good idea at the time. Three minutes under ice-cold water removed the traces of the night and made her shiver while she washed in a furious tempo. She dressed hastily and ordered a taxi, she was over half an hour late for work. She'd have to skip breakfast in order to make it to her first meeting. She put on her shoes and took the elevator down to the lobby, the taxi was already waitng for her, she ran across the marble floor heels clicking. "Bond street 312" she said to the driver and the car accelerated down Picadilly drive. The black car glided through the streets, silently, like a jungle predator at night, brooding on terrible secrets, no one seemed to care about it or even notice it. The taxi stopped in front of the solicitors firm with a loud complaint from the tyres. She paid the chauffeur and stepped out of the car. When she crossed the pavement towards the golden sliding doors she could feel eyes on her, turning around she saw an elderly man, the archetype of an English gentleman, watching her with sad eyes, their eyes met and locked in each other for what seemed like an eternity. His eyes were so sad, as if they had seen too much. With difficulty she broke the gaze and forced herself to look straight ahead When she came in to the lobby she'd forgotten the whole thing. "It seems we are not the only ones that know about the dreamer" "No? Who knows besides us?" "The gentleman" "Will he intervene?" "No, he can't, he knows we will take revenge if he does" She opened the door to her office, staring at the desk she saw all the work she'd abandoned last night. She grabbed the top folders from her desk, leaving the room she locked the door behind her. She silently opened the door to the conference room and sneaked in, that she wouldn't be noticed by the others, like a child late for a class, but to no avail. "I am so glad you could join us this morning miss Johnson , please do sit down" With blossoming, hot cheeks she sat down in her chair and tried to her fullest to look inconspicious. The meeting continued. The black car slowed down to a halt outside the golden doors. The car door opened and a pair of black, hard heels hit the wet pavement. The man took the pavement in three strides. The gentleman in the other side of the street watched for a long while, sadness showing in his ice-blue gaze. Her beeper squirmed on her hip, she threw a glance at it before silently rising from her seat close to the large mahogny doors. Nobody turned to look at her as she left the room. She walked quickly towards her room, anxious to get this meeting over with so she could return to her seat at the table. She wondered silently who this man she was supposed to meet was and what he wanted with her, she knew he wasn't one of her clients, if so the message would've stated it, but all it had read was "man to see you in your office ASAP". When she approached her office her steps involuntarily slowed, it felt like she was walking against a strong wind and the closer she came to her office the more resentment she felt, as if every step was a battle to be won. She stopped perplexed, a feeling of nausea overwhelming her, making her grab for support. Her legs almost gave way and she wavered filled with sickness, she realised she could not go in there, something inside her kept her out. She stood in the room, a black clad man in front of her. A man without a face. It was as if he had stepped right out of her dreams and into her room . A silver tube in his hand sparkled and a sledge caught her chest in a full blow, she fell down to her knees and the world turned crimsom, then black. She staggered backwards, the power of the vision blurring her eyes for a moment. She'd never had visions while awake before and this was stronger than ever before. No, she could not go in there now, her mind turning clear as she struggled to understand. She knew the danger in there, she knew death waited for her. Unconsciously she took a step back, then another one, her back smashed against something hard making her grasp for air, the wall. She must flee, must escape. She started walking down the corridor, down the stairs and out onto the street, outside a black car stood parked. The crowd milled around her, she almost felt safe her in the company of others, shielding her, hiding her from searching eyes and evil men. Behind her walked a man, an archetype of English gentleman. The man had not waited long in her office, once he realised his prey was long gone he opened the door and stepped out onto the street, her scent filling his nostrils, he must find her, he must find the dreamer. People shuffling, pushing her as she hastily made her way ahead, she didn't know where she was headed but she knew that she could never ever go back, if she did she knew something terrible would happen to her. From the sea of people she was pushed into a narrow alleyway, opening like the gate to the underworld. The air was filled with the smell of rotting garbage, she gasped. Something was moving in there, a man, black suit. But he was different from the other, his eyes were sad, his hair white, he looked like a distinguished English gentleman. His eyes met hers for the second time in less than an hour, and this time she could feel the full power of his pain, his suffering and shame. He had seen too much, he'd seen what beings moved behind the scenes, he was one of them but also not. She blinked. When she reopened her eyes again the gentleman was gone, and in his place stood a man in a dark suit, she felt frozen in place, unable to run. Clicking heels approached her, then everything turned black. She returned to work later that afternoon, a red haze slowly rising from her mind. She never dreamt again, she was now a puppet, a puppet in a great show, and she could feel the puppetmaster's strings pulling at her, tugging at her, binding her tounge with velvet bands though her mind screamed, keeping her from telling what happens once a person looks behind the scenes. Per Sikora 1999 "Startracer"