They say that you can wake with a scream when you have a nightmare. Avin knew different. He knew you could scream and scream and scream in your nightmares and noone would listen, you couldn’t break it. Not until you ignored your screaming. Avin stepped out of the screaming man and once again studied him like it was the first time. He was intimately familiar, identical even, but it wasn’t him. He was Avin. The other was....not.

That was the only description. He just wasn’t Avin. Then the dream shifted.

Once again he stood in front of the throne. Automatically he dropped to one knee in reverential fear. He dared not look at the figure on the throne. This time it wasn’t a dream, this time it was a memory. Deep, suppressed, buried - and exposed in the daylight of dreams. He felt the cold stone of the floor against his bare skin, he remembered the edges of each flagstone that he saw; every crack, every chip. He remember the tiny insect, a warren beetle, slowly stumbling along seeking refuge.

“Are you ready, Avin?” The voice rumbled above him.

He did not respond. He didn’t need to. He had been prepared for his whole life for this service. He merely inclined his head still further.

“He understands his duties?” The voice went over him to another person, one out of his vision, but he knew it would be Master.

The once strong voice, now starting to crack like the flagstones, replied. “He does.”

“He is loyal?”

“Unto to the other side,” Master responded formally, “as are we all.”

There was silence for a moment. Avin dared not look up. He didn’t want to. Curiosity served no part of him. There was just duty. There was service. There was.....fear. He knew that gaze was searching him.

“Then begin.”

Avin heard footsteps behind him. He knew what was going to happen. He knew he shouldn’t resist. He knew.....but as the cold hands slipped around his head, he felt the pain - and screamed.

Once again Avin stood next to the screaming man on the floor. He studied him intently. Identical, but not. The same, but not. For Avin knew his purpose and his duty. That was sufficient. That was all.

And he stepped back into the screaming man.

Karl awoke suddenly, fighting the usual urge to.... something. He couldn’t recall. He looked at his tensed fists and forced them to relax. He wiggled his fingers and felt the pins and needles subside as the blood flow returned. He looked around the rear cabin of the shuttle. He had cadged a lift from the storage yards at Bero. He could have travelled many different ways, but he just didn’t feel like spending much time around people. Not since....

He ignored the thought. The sound that had woken him repeated and he realised it was the comms channel. He could have reached for the comms badge, but instead he just swung his legs off the bed and walked to the dividing door to the cockpit. The pilot glanced up. “I was paging you.”

“Yes.” Karl swung into the spare flight seat. “I noticed.”

“You were out for the count. You’ve been asleep for about twelve hours.”

“Guess I was more tired than I thought.” Karl rubbed his eyes, but the slight headache behind his eyes stubbornly refused to ebb away. “Whats up?”

“Gone sub warb, proximity alarm for Starbase 243.” The pilot responded. “ETA, twelve minutes. Thought you might like to freshen up.”

“Thank you.” Karl lifted himself out of the seat and started to move into the rear compartment once more. The pilot turned his head. “What ship are you heading for again?”

Karl paused in the door way, his mismatched eyes (the legacy of heterochromia) glanced first out of the viewscreen, then to the pilot. “USS Asimov.” Then without another word, he disappeared into the crew compartment to get ready to transfer.

Karl Olfmann.