He blanched. "How long would it take to get there using local transportation, star-hopping?"
"Take my advice: don't try it. Five years, if you're lucky."
"I don't need that kind of luck."
"I suppose not." She hesitated. "You're determined to go on?" At the emphatic nod, she sighed. "If that's your decision, we'll try to help you. To start things moving, we'll need a print of your identification tab."
"There's something funny about her," Dimanche decided. It was the usual speaking voice of the instrument, no louder than the noise the blood made in coursing through arteries and veins. Cassal could hear it plainly, because it was virtually inside his ear.
Cassal ignored his private voice. "Identification tab? I don't have it with me. In fact, I may have lost it."
She smiled in instant disbelief. "We're not trying to pry into any part of your past you may wish concealed. However, it's much easier for us to help you if you have your identification. Now if you can't remember your real name and where you put your identification—" She arose and left the screen. "Just a moment."
He glared uneasily at the spot where the first counselor wasn't. His real name!
"Relax," Dimanche suggested. "She didn't mean it as a personal insult."