He woke up again, rolled to the side of the bed, and was sick.
The nightmares, the goddamned nightmares.... He fumbled for matches and cigarettes on the bed table. The tiny flame of the match shook nervously in the gloom of the bedroom.
He had to stop them, if it meant dosing himself with drugs before he went to bed. He couldn't stand the dreams, he couldn't take the false memories that kept cropping up.
The next night he made up his mind. There were pieces still missing from the puzzle of who he was. There were things, he felt sure, that Tanner had never told him. Things, no doubt, that the high command had felt he wasn't ready to know yet.
A good agent wouldn't question higher authority, he thought slowly, sweating. But he had to know them! He had to know the answers, he had to know about his first 25 years of life.
And there was one person who might be able to give him some information. One person who had once called him a traitor, who had implied he was a renegade and had been conditioned. One person who knew things about himself that he didn't.
The girl, Avis.
Eventually, he had to find her—to kill her. But right now, he wanted to find her to get information.
He got dressed, set the dial of the transport-hoop for London and stepped through. Tanner was waiting for him on the other side.