Dream d1180-s: The Ridge Sends Back

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where I climbed to the relay beacon on the ridge before the light fully settled, Lano trotting ahead of me on the path, his white fur catching the grey dawn. Below, the settlement spread like a diagram - the central beacon pulsing its slow blue rhythm, the pavilion roof angled toward morning, the library reading room with its one lit window, the signal room where I could just make out the click of the telegraph even from this distance.

The Beacon Network Specialist was already at the relay housing when I arrived. She had the access panel open, running diagnostics with two fingers pressed to a terminal while her other hand traced cable runs by feel. She did not look up. The relay was transmitting - I could feel it in the metal railing I gripped, a low persistent frequency working through steel and bone.

Lano sniffed the base of the antenna mast, then sat and looked out over the settlement the way he sometimes did, like he was taking inventory.

"Agua," he said.

I looked. The Weather Reader was crossing the open space between the forecasting tower and the broadcast station, carrying something flat against her chest - a printed forecast chart. She moved without hurry. The tower's instruments turned in the stripped light.

The Philosopher sat near the edge of the ridge, not writing, just watching the network below him. The Wire Man was somewhere in the signal room - I could tell by the particular pattern of the telegraph, the way it ran in short bursts with deliberate pauses that were his signature. The Builder was at the foundation of something new on the eastern side, a form staked out but not yet raised.

Post-apocalyptic was not quite the right word for the light. It was not ruined light. It was light that had come through something and kept going. The stripped towers on the far hill caught it without softening it. The beacon glow from below filled the middle distance.

The Listener was in the library reading room with the window open, one arm resting on the sill. The Dreamer - not me, the one who worked the projection pavilion - had the shutters back and was arranging something inside.

I counted the structures from the ridge. All of them present. All of them occupied.

The Beacon Network Specialist closed the access panel and stood. "Sync is clean," she said. "We're talking to everything."

Lano's ears perked at the sound of her voice, then he turned and trotted back toward the path that led down, nose low, already leading us home.