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DREAM WORLD
A "Daydream Reality" sequel

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"So this place never vanished like we'd assumed?" LB's mind whirled with the wealth of information it was receiving.

Kez nodded. "That's the Cliff's Notes version, anyway. Things keep goin' here. No standing still. The post office processes letters, kids play Frisbee on the beach, musicians go on strike, are killed, and are forced into an underground society in fear of their lives... same way it's always been. Or at least since that new gaggle of beurocrats took over the government."

"Wait! Back up. 'Ow's that again?" George broke in.

"Kids still play Frisbee."

"No! After that. A strike?"

Kez nodded a slow, somber 'yes'. "And it's gotten worse. That's the problem I needed you guys to help me with."

"Great. Only one question. What could we possibly do about it?" Aaron demanded. "It's not like we're musicians--" He broke off in realization. "By nature, I mean."

"Yeah, I mean, we're really sorry about everything that's happened, but we have lives too that we're kinda in a hurry to get back to." LB added. "So it's been a blast, but undo what you did to us and we'll be on our way."

"Good luck with your strike though." Aaron headed towards the door with LB and George close behind. That was when they realized Jeff wasn't with them.

LB turned around. "Hey Jeff? Coming?"

Jeff slowly shook his head. "No."

"Huh? What do you mean 'no'?! You actually want to stay here?"

"They need our help, LB! Can't you see that? People are dying."

"Yeah, well I'm dying to get home." Aaron piped up.

"I can't believe you." Jeff glared. "If we leave now, then we're no better than the police. Might as well drive the nails into their coffins ourselves."

The other three fell silent.

"Damnit. I hate it when you're right." Aaron jammed his hands into his pockets. Why did it always have to be about strikes? Couldn't it once be about a nice little case of a puppy stuck up a tree? No 'give me liberty or give me death' for once? What was so hard about that? It was sadly ironic, going straight from one strike and into another. Only back in 2001 California things were a good deal more organized. Well, as organized as a mob protest could be. By comparison to this, the actor's strike looked like a carefully planned out chess game. And someone had to keep Kez from getting himself killed---- "Alright, I'm in." He spoke slowly, still shocked to hear the words coming out of his mouth.

LB took a deep breath and nodded. "If you're in, then I'm in."

"We must be crazy." George threw his hands up in the air.

"That a yes?" Jeff asked, chuckling in spite of himself.

"Yeah," George sighed. "Can't 'ave yah three gettin' yahselves killed. "I'd be ah solo act, then."

"Great!" Kez cut them off, excitement brimming in his voice. "I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning!" He ducked out the door and ran off down the street, head bent low to avoid the probing glares of any passing patrol cars.

Everyone stared after him. For what?

"In the morning." LB echoed numbly.

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"So you found them?"

"Y-yeah. Told you they'd just gone out of town for awhile."

"Gone out of town for awhile?" Ron Marlean paced back and forth in the living room of the home he, Kez, and about a dozen other musician friends used as a hideout and secret meeting place. Since the law banning public performance of any type of music had been passed, musicians were best equated with those thugs you'd see on America's Most Wanted. Hense, the necessity of a series of hideouts.

Kez remembered the day the suit-and-tie clan of City Hall had passed the anti-performance law. It was outrageous, but there was very little he and his friends could do about it. Citing music as the "root of all of society's evils", the ban was supported by thousands of parents with wild teenagers. Kez brimmed with rage at this declaration by the parents of the city. Music, nothing! Those hypocritical adults should look in the mirror to find a place to set the blame--- kids had to learn that behavior from somewhere!

"Yo, Kez? You in there, man?"

Rats. Ron must have been talking the whole time, and he had been practicing the fine art of not listening. "Sorry Ronny. What were you saying again?"

Ron grimaced. "I asked you what Mike said." He waited for any sign that Kez knew what he was talking about. Receiving none, he tried again. "About the concert? You did ask, didn't you?" Kez hung his head. "Kezzy!!"

"I know, I know!"

"No. I don't think you really do. We're running out of time! We don't get this protest concert up and running, we can pretty much say goodbye to ever being able to publicly perform out tunes ever again. You were so positive that The Monkees would say yes!"

"Well, they haven't said 'no' yet!"

"But they haven't said yes, either!" Ron stopped to catch his breath. "Now listen. I just don't understand how you could have spent so long at their pad without even casually bringing up the subject! You were gone all afternoon!"

The boy winced. He hadn't mentioned that getting The Monkees would involve a little dimension-leaping. Nor had he happened to explain that these Monkees were really four actors whose only association with music before their "transforming experience" had involved picking up instruments just long enough to learn to convincingly mime playing for a TV movie. "I'll talk to them tomorrow."

"You'd better do it sooner than that." Ron answered, turning brusquely on his heel and walking out of the room. He left Kez alone with his thoughts.

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Aaron snuck out through the double doors leading out onto the balcony of the beach house. How could this be happening again? Oh yeah. That bum Kez had brought them here. Why? Well, he knew that there was some sort of protest going on which he wished he knew a little more about. Since the police were involved, one could safely bet that it was big time, however. The police involvement was the main reason they were still here.

What really didn't add up was why Kez had wanted them. What could they, as The Monkees, do?

"Micky?" A voice called from somewhere down the beach.

Aaron almost didn't want to answer. Last time he'd been able to use the excuse that he wasn't used to answering to that name. Now, it was almost second nature, so that excuse was shot all to the warm place down south. Way south. Still... there was the chance that this was important. "What do you want? While I'm at it, who is 'you'?"

"It's Kez." The young man mounted the steps, taking them two at a time until he had come up right beside Aaron.

"Kez? Why did you call me Mi--" Aaron began. Kez frantically shook his head and held a finger to his lips.

Lowering his voice, he explained. "Sorry, but I have to be careful in case one of my friends followed me here. They don't know about you guys."

Aaron nodded, but his patience was wearing thin.

"Now, I wanted to ask you something---"

"That couldn't have waited until morning?"

"-- that couldn't have waited until the morning." Kez then noticed the beach house was completely dark within. "The guys asleep?"

"Well, yeah. It IS three in the morning. I should be asleep too, but for some reason or other I couldn't sleep. Could be the strange bed... strange house... strange hair... strange clothes..."

"Alright, already. Point taken!" Kez sighed. "Look, I already said I was sorry! Now if you'd stop thinking about yourself for just a minute, I have a proposition for you and the other Monkees."

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"A concert." Aaron explained to his three bleary-eyed comrades as they finished off a rushed breakfast.

"An' what good will this do again?" Jeff cocked an eyebrow. "I said I was all for helpin' 'em out, Aaron, but frankly, this just sounds like a good reason for the authorities to mash us into paste. Ya do understand what the police will do if this 'No Public Performance' law is for real?"

"Do you know what they'll do if we don't stand up for our rights?" Aaron countered. "It'll mean we'll never get to play to a live crowd again!"

"We?" LB's head popped up. "We never performed live anyway."

"Course we did, big Peter." Aaron rolled his eyes and lightly punched LB in the shoulder. LB's eyes went wide. "What is it?"

"Yah called 'im--" George stood up in alarm.

"-- Peter." Jeff's mouth hung open.

"Huh? No I didn't." Aaron shook his head vehemently. Then, uncertainly, "Did I?"

"You did." LB confirmed, still visibly shaken.

Jeff grabbed the keys to the Monkeemobile from their spot on the counter. "We're goin' to find Kez now. Somethin' isn't right here."

"Good plan... 'cept, where's Kez live?" George asked.

"It's this run down place off of Sunnyside Lane." Aaron pulled a crumpled paper out of his pocket and handed it over. "Kez wrote directions down--" Aaron smiled ruefully, "-- just in case we changed our minds."

"Let's go then, mates." George started for the front door.

"Wait! Don't take the Monkeemobile." Aaron warned.

"Why not? The shortest distance between two points is a really fast car." LB joked.

Aaron was adamant. "Too conspicuous. If the police are out and about, it would be like walking into the center ring with a bullseye pained on your butt."

"Weird mental images aside." Jeff reversed directions, heading out the backdoor instead. "He's right."

LB followed close behind Jeff and Aaron. "Coming, Davy?" He called over his shoulder.

George bit his lip and ushered LB out the door. Hurry up you guys. He thought to himself. Whatevah's goin' on... it's spreadin'."