He woke up for the fifth time that night from another dream that he was back home. In this one, he wasn't reliving Ranger's disaster, though that dream had already checked in twice. This time, he was watching his loved ones reading his obituary and talking about losing him. They couldn't see or hear him, no matter what he did. His parents, his siblings, Jennifer, Toby - all proceeding on with their lives, mourning him but having each other.

The lights in the apartment were dimmed, but the very smell of the place, slightly institutional and sterile, informed Buck even before he opened his eyes where he was. No, the dream hadn't been the reality. Well, it probably had for those back then, but his reality was here, now, in the 25th century.

The 25th century.

Part of him was still waiting to wake up and discover that this had been the dream, that he really was back where he belonged. After several nights, nights in which he hadn't yet had a sound, uninterrupted several hours of sleep, he was starting to accept that that wasn't going to happen.

Buck sat up, and the lights politely reacted to the motion and brightened up to normal levels. He looked over at the chronometer, as computerized as the whole rest of this world, but it did inform him it was morning. He wished for a nice ticking clock on the wall, then wondered if anyone here had ever seen such a thing.

He looked around the apartment. It was in one of the buildings in the vast Defense Directorate complex. Dr. Huer had taken him here yesterday afternoon and told him that he was welcome to stay here as their guest for as long as he wished. Buck's independence had threatened to flare up, but after the long day yesterday and his experiences on board the Draconia, he was tired, stiff, and sore, and it wasn't like he had anywhere else to go anyway. He had accepted their hospitality for the moment. At least this clearly was an apartment, not a holding cell or examination room. He was moving up in this world.

This was his first real day here in the 25th century, he realized. There had been a handful of days already, though they wouldn't yet total a week, but on those, he had been a suspect under detention and then a convicted criminal. Now, for the first time, he could walk out that door freely and do whatever he wanted. Nobody would stop him. He could leave the Defense Directorate and go . . .

Where? He'd seen the wreck of Chicago, and in spite of his joking statement to Wilma that he liked it, he was appalled. Such a monumental difference. His experiences out there had been enough to convince him that their tales of a holocaust were accurate. So the choices were life in a sterile, computerized city bubble or a devastated wasteland of mutants.

Buck sighed and stood up, wandering around the apartment. It came furnished after a fashion, but he wished for some color. He'd give anything for a houseplant. Probably any surviving ones were in a museum somewhere. Well, they had to have stores, didn't they? Malls? Something? He decided that he would spend today trying to find some personal touch to put in this place and also exploring the inner city some more.

Of course, there was the issue of money. He'd been told that the system wasn't like it used to be, which would at least make it match everything else. Still, they had to have some kind of currency and some system of jobs and wages.

Jobs and wages. He sighed again. Yesterday afternoon, after they had returned from space with the Draconia blasted into oblivion, Dr. Huer and Wilma had invited him to join the Defense Directorate.

He simply couldn't do it. Not yet, anyway. The unreality of all of this still hovered over him; he couldn't just replace the life he'd had so quickly without more time to adjust. They had said they understood, and they had put him up in this apartment anyway, but living here without rent bothered him. For all his free spirit and joking front, Buck took obligations very seriously.

Well, he'd look around for today, at least, and start getting to know this city. Maybe he could find something to do while he progressed to the point that he could at least sleep at night.

Food was another issue. He had had several of the food discs by now, and the things were so completely flavorless and boring that he was starting to imagine other uses for them: Hockey puck, 25th-century building blocks. Was there any actual food around here? This apartment had a small food preparation area, which seemed to imply that not everything came in a ready-to-go disc.

He added that to his agenda for the day. Find some food, find a mall, maybe if he got lucky find a houseplant. What goals for the day those were! A job. Don't forget a job, Buck.

He picked up a food disc for breakfast from the supply that came with the other furnishings of the apartment, and then he put it back down untasted. He'd skip breakfast and look for real food first.

He was almost to the door when the chime sounded, startling him. He pushed the control panel at the side, and the door swished open to reveal Colonel Wilma Deering, in uniform, smiling at him.

"Good morning, Buck. Would you like to have breakfast with me?"

With or without food discs, he wondered, but she was an attractive and intriguing woman, and she was welcome company from his thoughts. He returned her smile. "Sure, why not."