A SMALL SQUARE ROOM, windowless and dark.
No, not again: I can’t bear it.
I struggle against the restraints that strap me to the chair, even though I know there is no point; I can’t help myself. No one can.
One wall starts to glow.
Beads of sweat break on my brow.
I know I’m dreaming; I know this isn’t real. I should be able to change what happens, like Cepta has been trying to teach me—my subconscious is in control. Isn’t it?
Flames erupt from the wall.
I imagine the door bursting open—firemen, hoses. The ceiling magically sprouting a major sprinkler system. Or even getting beamed out of here to a starship in the sky at the last, crucial moment.
But no matter what I try, nothing works.
I’m burning, my flesh is burning, I’m screaming…
SCREAMING
There is no help, no way out, no rescue…
What am I screaming?
WAKE UP.
A command, straight to my mind.
As I open my eyes, tendrils of the nightmare fall away, cobwebs that I push through until they’re gone.
I sit up, throwing off a sense of uneasiness. I frown. There was something unpleasant in my dream—horrible, even. What was it?
Lara, come. It’s Cepta, and there isn’t just the usual impatience coloring her thoughts this morning; there is some sense of anticipation or excitement.
I get up, throw the curtains open. Last night’s storm is gone. The world is washed and shiny new under bright morning sunshine.
And something else is new: a plane has landed on the airstrip on the field below.