2
Quark paid attention to the surroundings as they traversed north. Gradually, the empty plains became dense with industrial complexes. The air was heavy with the smell of metal and smoke. At once acrid and sweet, pleasant and repugnant. It was mixed with rust and an undertone of wood earth.
"I already miss the smell of the grass," Quark mentioned, to no one in particular. He spoke under his breath, his pace slow and nearly meandering. "At least there was some green... Now it's just brown and gray and, well, more brown."
Pulse followed, with hands in their pockets, listening closely to Quark's ramblings.
Quark remembered when he first learned of Pulse.
'Learned, or experienced?'
He was in the space between galaxies, on a quest to discover—anything. A craving for the break from the simplicity of previous systems. He didn't have an idea as to what he wanted or what to look for. Anything would suffice. Anything that would spark the dream.
There were rumors of a new successor to the Cosmic Choir; a young pulsar who was directly mentored under the last lead.
The Choir, to Quark, was a method to fill the gaps. Background noise played with his thoughts; something that filled the void that stretched farther than physical space.
The Choir—the audience, spectators—each fine stars, Quark reasoned, but stuffy. Strict rules of ordinance and etiquette sounded suffocating. To an extent, it was out of a type of envy.
Did he want to join the audience? Did he want to converse with them? Did he just want anyone at all to be around, just as a way to remind him there is life?
Quark began to study a stay asteroid when the first notes signified the start of their performance. It was the first of Pulse's, their grand entrance as the new voice, a fresh breath of life into a place Quark didn't realize until then, was dead.
That first note, that first breath, that first command for silence so Pulse could serenade the stars and planets and everything in between. They demanded their moment in the spotlight to prove their worth.
The song wasn't finished, and Pulse became the universe's darling. That amount of power, so refined and controlled, the harmony they directed their symphony, the energy—that new and brilliant energy—captivated all.
Including Quark.
From then on, he counted the clicks between performances; no matter what he was doing, or what he was planning, he stopped in his tracks.
All his attention was meant for those moments, those songs that he daydreamed were meant for him.
It was a silly fantasy to say the least, but something that made the distance less isolating.
Now there they were, walking side by side, not saying anything, instead silent in observance of the city that engulfed them. It was both the best and most terrifying experience. Pulse—the universe's darling, its star—and Quark... What could he even say about himself in comparison?
Those times when he imagined this encounter, pictured Pulse in his mind, played pretend about this very moment, and yet now they were silent.
They looked up at the rusted buildings, they glanced at patches of polish that proved there was some effort in reclaiming the city from decay. Why didn't they say anything?
Quark couldn't stand the quiet. This was a new type of environmental hush that was unbearable. "Is—Is this your first time too?"
'What kind of conversation starter is that?'
"It is," Pulse sounded refined as all the other stars, but there was this unstated quality to them that was—easy. "Yours too?"
"Yeah, yeah it is." 'Don't go silent, keep talking. Please keep talking!' "I heard bits and pieces about this place—none of it matched this description. I imagined it more..."
"Lively?"
"Yeah. Maybe with other stars, or whoever else is supposed to be here. Do you know much about this place?"
"I know some. The Choir was full of stories about this place. Each was so wildly different—I can't say I know about it personally. Not really."
Okay, so they were both fresh in experience. That was something that made them equal. "Any good stories then?"
A tugging smile pulled at the corner of Pulse's lips.
"A lot from my mentor. Black Star had the most interesting—correction, enthralling stories of all. Those inspired me as much as they did him."
Pulse hunched slightly like he was trying to physically be on Quarks' level.
"What about you? You said you were a Wandering Star, right? You must have your share of stories."
"Ahh—not about the dream stuff, no. Other stuff, yes. This, no." 'Don't talk like an idiot, stay coherent at the least!' "Most of my tales are just from travel. Though the space in between never lends itself to great stories."
And yet, Pulse was intrigued. "Sure there is. You must have passed the time somehow."
Quark couldn't admit all that time was dedicated to waiting for their every performance.
"Oh sure! Hard to think of anything notable though."
He hid his face with his hair, breaking that intense eye contact with the pulsar.
"One of those deals, you know? So much to say, no direction as to where to start."
Pulse chuckled. "Of course."
'Do not', Quark dictated the flutters in his chest, ‘do not swoon so easily! Remember, Pulse is no more different than any other less famous, less talented, less beautiful...'
"You okay?"
Quark pushed more hair in front of his face. "Yes! Thank you for your concern, but I'm okay."
He didn't dare face them, not for a few minutes. The feeling of his cheeks spread to his neck. If he didn't relax he would melt into a primordial pool of carbon and oxygen.
There was no reason to be skittish. Their status didn't affect their attitude. Pulse was still grounded, calm, and mindful. If Quark could repeat those affirmations, this job of his would be effortless.
Quark suddenly stopped talking, looking over his shoulder at Pulse. "Am I doing something?"
Pulse's mouth twitched. "Were you not aware you were talking out loud?"
"Oh—oh no, I wasn't. Sorry about that."
"Don't be," Pulse assured, patting the little star on the shoulder. "I'm not trying to make you self-conscious. Honestly, I like it. It fills the silence."
Quark sighed with relief, halting in their place at a garish neon sign posted on a door.
"FOR NEW STARS: COME INSIDE FOR ASSISTANCE."
The door looked heavy. Thick, worn, tarnished metal—not welcoming at all.
‘Is anything here welcoming?’ The knob was etched with a design of a sleek cat.
At one point, the door was painted. There were blue and yellow chips of paint that were left over.
Whatever was depicted in that painting, has been washed away by the elements.
"I think this is our stop," Quark opened the door with a loud and long screech. Pulse peeked in first, holding their hand to hold Quark back while they surveyed the inside.
There was a heavy waft of candle and cigarette smoke.
The inside was lit by, what seemed to be, thousands of candles.
Three feet away from each candle were stacks upon stacks of papers.
Yellowing and coffee-stained, they were all haphazardly stacked in two-foot piles.
The walls were just as rust-colored as the outside of the buildings, but at least some hieroglyphic tapestries hung to give life and color to the warm glow of the room.
In the far back was a tall, slender, cat-like woman dressed in a sharp, white pantsuit. She had a half-burnt cigarette in one slim hand, a long piece of paper in the other. She took a quick drag before addressing the stars.
"Goodnight, Celestials," she spoke distinctly and professionally. "Come in, have a seat."
Quark and Pulse exchanged a glance before stepping inside. Pulse ducked through the doorway, and Quark hesitantly maneuvered through to the woman's desk.
"I am Seret. Seret Gamal." She pressed her smoke into an overflowing ashtray, extending her hand for a shake. "I am the manager of this fine establishment. You may address me as Gamal. Just Gamal."
"Establishment?" Quark asked, shaking her hand. Her height wasn't as dramatic as Pulse's, but he was still a head shorter than the woman. He wondered if he was just short or if everyone else he'd met happened to be giants.
"Establishment, yes," Gamal confirmed, shaking Pulse's hand in turn before motioning them to sit on a couch across from her desk. "Dreams are a serious business. Were you expecting something different?"
"I wasn't expecting anything, honestly," Quark took a close seat to Pulse. "Both of us are pretty new to this."
"Then I'll enlighten you. This, my celestial, is the Dream-Realm. The place where all things in the universe coexist in one reality. That slogan. But you two, as stars, are my new employees."
She slid a booklet across her desk to Quark.
"My department deals with wish fulfillment. Your jobs will include indulgence, flights of fancy, whims of wonder, so on and so forth..."
Quark flipped through to the first page. "So we just grant wishes?"
"To one dreamer in particular. You're designated dreamer is one Leonora McCarthy."
"Okay," Quark flipped to the next page.
"You don't have to read that yet," Gamal told him. "We are on a tight schedule, so I need to get you both briefed before your first encounter with your dreamer."
"Right, right, go on."
"As mentioned, there are five departments. Epiphanies, Abstract, Memory Dumps, Nightmares, and this one. And as a note, you are to remain in my department. That's it. There is rarely any reason to venture to any others."
Pulse fidgeted with an untouched cigarette in their hand, pilfered from the ashtray on her desk. Gamal’s eyes made an aborted movement-almost an eye roll- before passing a lit candle over to them to light it.
"Your booklet will go through the rules, when you read it. There are nine in total. Important ones to note are: you're not allowed in a dreamer's home, and you are to stay in your department. They are easy to remember. If you can't remember, at any time, any of the rules, just obey the pull."
"The pull?" Quark piped in. Pulse took a long, relaxing drag of their first smoke.
"The universal dream script. Everything has one at any moment. Don't worry. You'll know it when you feel it."
Gamal passed over a picture of a woman with notes scribbled on the side of her profile. "This is McCarthy. You two are tasked with, well, keeping her happy and fulfilled while she's in my sector."
"Is that a lot?" Quark asked.
"She's a valuable customer, so usually, yes. She's a favorite around here. Read those notes before meeting her. You need to prepare."
Quark looked over the woman in the picture; Distinct dark circles were under her eyes in the black-and-white photo. She had a blank expression overall.
Gamal clapped her hands together. "Any questions?"
Quark looked over his booklet and the profile sheet. "I think I'm good!"
Gamal looked over at Pulse, who was already finished with their smoke. "And you?"
Pulse gently placed the butt into the ashtray. "Got a spare pack of those?"