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was that in your dreams of past life your father might have told you where he was going. Part of the injection I’m giving you today should help you listen better, filter out parts of the dreams you’ve seen before.”
    “How will we do this after tomorrow?” asked Trae. “Will I come back here?”
    “No,” said Gella. “We can’t risk letting you return here. You’ll find Lyraens wherever you go, or they’ll find you.”
    Gella turned to Petyr. “Every three months. I’ll leave it to you, and give you a list of healers on Gan. Off-planet I can’t help you.”
    Petyr nodded. “The identity codes are likely the same everywhere. If not, I’ll still find them.”
    The humming sound intensified, and Trae felt drowsy. “Seems like a lot of trouble. Can’t I just take a pill?” He closed his eyes, heard the doctor chuckle.
    “One magic shot, coming up,” said Gella.
    Trae felt the insect-like bite on his arm, but was already drifting away. The humming filled his head, and he let himself go, entering a place between consciousness and sleep, a place where his body might react to the slightest stimulus by jerking, and he would feel like he was falling.
    He fell.
    And awoke, waiting for the fire to come. He felt warm. He was lying on his back, hands at his sides. Something soft covered him up to his neck. He smelled wood-smoke, and knew he was not in the clinic, so he was back in the dream and the fire would come any moment.
    He waited. The fire did not come, and he dared to open his eyes. The first thing he saw was an ornate ceiling with heavy beams of dark wood separated by frescos of tangled vines with roses in reds and white. He turned his head slowly to look around. The entire room was ornate, with wallpaper decorated in vines and rolling hills covered in green. There was a fireplace against one wall, and a small fire was flickering there, giving off a sweet smoke from flames in blue and green. He was lying in a huge, plush bed, his head enveloped in a pillow smelling of flowers, his body covered with a comforter inches thick in quilted fabric.
    To his left was a door, now closed. He remembered the door, its vines and strange runes, but he’d never seen the entire room so clearly, only as a vague vision of something there. The fire always came so quickly, and burned it all away.
    Suddenly there was a soft knocking on the door in his room. He was startled, drawing the covers up to his chin. His arms were small and devoid of any hair. He was a little child again.
    The door opened slightly. A woman peeked in at him, and smiled. “Ah, you’re awake. I want to talk to you before you go to sleep again.”
    The woman came in and sat down on the edge of his bed. She wore the orange robe of a priest, but her blonde hair had been done grandly in great swirls to frame her face, and her slender fingers were adorned with silver rings. When she leaned close she smelled like cinnamon and musk.
    “Do you know me?”
    “I’ve seen your face before,” said Trae. The sound of his voice surprised him with its high pitch. She was so beautiful.
    The woman stroked his cheek with a cool palm. “Oh, Anton, you’re awake, but still asleep. This must be confusing for you. Maybe you’ll remember my touch.”
    “Are you my mother?” he said, a sudden compulsion driving him.
    She smiled wonderfully, and her eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m a memory, dear, but I wanted to be here. When there’s a need for us to talk it’s your father who’ll usually be here. We miss you terribly. One day we’ll be together again. When we meet in the mind, like now, it’s to give you knowledge you’ll need to accomplish the many tasks ahead.”
    “But you’re dead, and Anton is dead, and his father has run away. I don’t understand who or what I am. They tell me I’m an Immortal; I have to go out into the Emperor’s world and find my father, and I don’t even know him. If Anton was his son, then who am I? Did Anton come back to life