He woke up, shaking. His pajamas and the bed sheets were soaked with perspiration. He sat on the edge of the bed and held his head in his hands. He had dreamt that he was an ape. He got up and went to the bathroom for a glass of water. He didn't go back to sleep. The nightmare the next night was different. Once again he saw two small French boys playing in the street. One moment, thin, bandy-legged kids in short pants and berets ... the next, two blazing torches that crumpled silently to the asphalt. And then there was the hideous, horribly shrill screaming of Reynolds when Tanner had played the heat gun over him. The terrible screaming that Stan knew would haunt him for years.... 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. "Where is she?" Stan asked. Tanner raised his eyebrows. "The North American continent. Chicago." "Exactly where?" "I don't know ... exactly. We've been trying to trace the radiations from the fusion package but it keeps moving about the city." Tanner grimaced. "We haven't been successful in following it. We've lost quite a number of agents trying to follow it, as you know." He stood up and fished in his pocket for a pipe and a small pouch of tobacco. He looked very casual, very urbane, Stan thought. "You going after her, Martin?" "That's right--I'm going after her." Tanner studied him curiously. "You're taking a risk. Our agents will locate her sooner or later." "They haven't so far," Stan said sarcastically. "Why leave it to chance?" Tanner shrugged. "Good luck." Then he added seriously: "Don't talk to her, Martin. Don't give her a chance to pull something. Kill her on sight."