Previous Post The Princess and the Great North Star, Chapter Seven: Kwisatz Haderach Means “Shortening of the Way” “And now, we’re in a desert,” the Christmas fairy Cinderbelle blinked, as the scene changed abruptly without any transition. “Where did your sister go?” she rounded on Sarah Shepherdson, the Probability Dancer. “And where had Al B. Harper and Donar disappeared to before that?” “I’m back,” Al called, waving from the driver’s seat of Yuki II. “Since the subconscious is rarely linear, I suspect some of us might wind up sort of … wandering in and out of the shared narrative.” “At least we’re less exposed now than how you dreamt us,” Cinderbelle scowled at him, before appraising their appearance. “But … why are we all dressed in black rubber bodysuits, covered in tubes and catch-pockets? And have my eyes turned … blue-on-blue too, like yours and Sarah’s? And … is that Tangerine Dream, playing in the background?” “It sounds more like Brian Eno, or maybe Toto,” Sarah gaped at the windswept landscape of rolling sand dunes that stretched all the way to the horizon, as the soothing strains washed over her. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Mmmm … that smell …” “You noticed it too?” Al crouched down to scoop up a handful of sand, grinding its grains between his thumb and fingers, before he licked the tip of his forefinger tentatively. “It’s … sugar,” he chuckled. “It’s brown sugar and cinnamon.” Sarah crossed the crest of a dune, and was startled to discover that her footsteps made thumping sounds on the sand. “DRUM SAND!” yelled a familiar voice. “WALK WITHOUT RHYTHM!” The day-glo yellow skin, fluorescent orange hair and neon green eyes of the young man running toward them made him instantly recognizable to Sarah, but even though all of his attire and accessories were coordinated to match those characteristic colors, he appeared quite different from how she’d ever seen him before. Aside from his loincloth and the streaks and symbols of tribal war-paint that adorned his face, chest and arms, all he wore were the large, floppy bunny ears perched atop his head, the long, multicolored scarf wrapped around his neck, and the plastic, battery-powered lightsaber slung on his hip. It took Sarah a moment to realize that he was running up the dune on all fours, looking to her like a cross between Spider-Man’s climbing crawl and the swaybacked scampering of the Disney animated Tarzan. The closer he came, the more stumbling and awkward his gait became. “You have to walk without rhythm on drum sand, or else you’ll attract sandworms,” the Dreamlands self of the Dreamcatcher explained matter-of-factly. “I’m Atreyu Atreides,” he greeted the strangers, before withdrawing a 20-sized die from a pouch that hung from his waist, casting it, and beaming back up at them, “and I’m pleased to meet you.” “You’re a veteran of the Forgotten Realms?” Al squinted in sidelong speculation. “You’ve braved Dungeons & Dragons as well,” Atreyu grinned and pointed, even as he stayed hunched on all fours. “Have you seen an elf?” Cinderbelle rolled her eyes impatiently. “Only us desert creatures,” Atreyu shrugged distractedly, glancing nervously behind him as he crunched on a carrot like a cigar. “We need to leave,” he twitched and turned suddenly. “He’s found me out.” “Who?” Sarah wondered. The floating fat man burst forth from the sand, bellowing with laughter. “AND NOW, I SHALL RETCON AWAY YOUR MARRIAGE TO YOUR BEAUTIFUL REDHEAD!” gloated the Hooded Quesada. “Someone’s got some issues with current superhero comics storylines,” Sarah muttered. Al spotted the Hooded Quesada’s Darth Vader-style polished black helmet, and checked to confirm the presence of a corresponding cybernetic chest-plate. “The electronic components are unshielded and vulnerable,” his mind raced. “Where did I put my toolkit?” “No need,” Atreyu growled, as he whipped out a well-worn chrome tire pressure gauge. “That’s what you’re going to save us with?” Cinderbelle nearly shrieked. “It’s not even a toy, like your lightsaber! It’s just … a piece of junk!” “It’s not junk,” Atreyu snarled. “It’s a Sonic Screwdriver.” The Hooded Quesada screamed with outrage, and careened out of control through the air, as the Sonic Screwdriver’s ear-piercing squeal caused his chest-plate to erupt into a shower of sparks. It was soon overwhelmed by a low, growing rumbling beneath them. “Oh, shit,” Atreyu groaned. “We made too much noise, and summoned Shai-Hulud.” “Shai-Hulud?” Cinderbelle shook her head. They were knocked off their feet as the earth quaked, and the enormous sandworm emerged from under Yuki II, its inhuman howling literally shaking them to their bones, and its breath dusting them with a cinnamon-scented mist. “Shai-Hulud,” Atreyu gestured sarcastically. “YUKI!” Al cried out. Atreyu flung the end of his scarf around the door handle of Yuki II, which sat firmly atop the sandworm, and sprinted to keep pace with the surprisingly swift Spice Maker. “So, what’s up, Doc?” he reached out his hand to Al. “Are we on this quest together, or not?” Al grabbed hold of Atreyu’s hand, and extended his own to Sarah in turn, as they rushed to join the Jedi Fremen, who pulled them up with him, as he used his scarf to scale the side of the sandworm. “Come on!” Sarah urged Cinderbelle. “This is our best chance of getting to the next dream!” “Don’t be afraid!” Atreyu encouraged her. “Fear is the buzz-killer!” Cinderbelle briefly considered her options, before making a mad dash to catch up with her traveling companions. “Do you even know where we’re going?” she barked at Atreyu. “We’re off to see the Wizard,” Atreyu enthused, as he tugged on his scarf to steer the sandworm. “The Wonderful Wizard of Godot.”

That's quite the amalgam of pop culture that drives Dream's dreams. It was almost a primal force of geekitude, and you have to admire that. Or back away slowly... either way.

I suppose there was never any chance that he'd simply be dreaming of knitting or something, so I shouldn't be surprised. I quite liked the desert of sugar and the Quesada nod. Well done!