‘For five weeks I was a nightwalker,’ he said. ‘I returned because I’d been dumped, but against HiberTech’s strict policy, I’d not been thumped. I woke up with a spade of lime over me in the landfill. I think we live inside our deepest memories when hibernating, with cyclical returns to the upper Dreamstate to maintain a connection with the mind. Morphenox suppresses this link and, on rare occasions, damages it so severely that it locks the victim in the lower Dreamstate. When I was a nightwalker the only thing I really felt were the dreams. Loud, expansive, overpowering, like I was trapped in deep memory loops – with the real world appearing to me as vague and nebulous as long-forgotten dreams in the real world. I didn’t remember anything too specific as regards what I’d been doing when a deadhead, but I have a pretty good idea: I passed a human tooth two days after waking, complete with a gold filling. First time I’d ever turned a profit taking a dump.’

He paused.

‘But that’s enough about me. Why do HiberTech want you so badly?’

He’d trusted me, so it was time for me to trust him.

‘Because I’ve been Active Control first person – both Don Hector and Webster – and I know where the cylinder is.’

Foulnap raised an eyebrow.

‘You’re shitting me?’

‘No, I am certainly not shitting you.’

‘Then you’d better come with me.’

We walked out of the warmroom and down the corridor towards the central atrium, where the Airwitzer was for the moment abandoned. I could hear the storm rattling the heavy shutters, and a low moan was emanating from where the wind blew across the downpipes on the roof. We took the main stairs upwards, then a left on the top corridor towards a sign marked ‘conservation’. Foulnap stopped at a door, rapped twice, muttered the password ‘Fresh Water Walrus’ and I heard a draw-bolt pulled back.

I recognised the man who opened the door. It was the medic from back at the John Edward Jones in Merthyr, the one who wore scrubs and smelled of antiseptic and whose aunt wasn’t his aunt. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

‘Charlie is a friendly,’ said Foulnap.

‘Yeah? Last time we met a good man died.’

‘A misunderstanding. Charlie’s been Active Control first person.’

‘You’re kidding?’ said the medic, his manner abruptly changing from suspicion to curiosity.

‘Nope,’ said Foulnap. ‘Don Hector and Webster.’

The medic stepped closer and peered at me intently.

‘We don’t know anyone who’s been Active Control and is still sane,’ he said. ‘What was it like?’

‘More real than real,’ I said, ‘all the senses ramped up to eleven. I can see why the dreamers want it. Better than life. Or at least, better than their life.’

The medic mouthed ‘wow’ and stared at me some more.