She woke suddenly, gasping and disoriented. Devon became aware of her surroundings in pieces, noticing the damp spots on her pillowcase before she heard her own harsh breathing. Sitting up slowly, she deliberately slowed her breathing while she found her bearings.

She was in her unit in the upper levels of the Station. She was in her bedroom, her bed. The only lights were the dim outline of her door and a nightlight near the bottom of the wall next to her bed. The only sounds were the soft swish of the air recyclers and the slowing pounding of her heart. According to her wall chrono it was 3:45 a.m.

Devon realized she was shuddering. Her body was tight and aching in a way that she'd not felt for years, but recognized immediately. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she sternly ordered her muscles to relax. There were more important things in life than physical pleasures.

Switching on the light next to her bedside table, she slid out of the bed, made her way to the doorway and slipped into the hall beyond. Her bare feet padded softly, barely audible on the carpet. She cracked open the door to the bedroom next to hers and looked in. Uly was asleep in his bed, the muscles of his cherub face tranquil and still. Smiling, she reached down to touch one cheek gently. His skin was alabaster-white, but his breaths were soft and even.

Watch him closely, Dr. Vasquez had told her. He's still breathing on his own right now but his lungs are pretty overtaxed. It's only a matter of time before they fail. If you want to avoid brain damage, he needs to go onto artificial respiration within two or three minutes when they do.

There was a monitor on the table next to the crib, programmed to alert Yale and her the minute there was any abnormal rhythm to his breathing. A respirator attachment for the immunosuit lay next to it.

Vasquez had wanted Uly in the hospital so that they could respond when his lungs failed, but she'd berated him into showing her how to install the equipment herself. While she trusted the doctor completely, she wanted Uly with her at home. It was where he belonged.

Coming back into the bedroom, she smoothed the sheets and turned her pillow over before turning the light off and laying back down. With only the nightlight for illumination, the ceiling was lost in shadows, but Devon stared at it anyway. It was hard for her to get to sleep, but once she did, she generally only woke up if one of Uly's monitors went off.

She closed her eyes and felt herself starting to drift off again. That was when she heard it.

Devon...

Devon sat up again, startled. "Who's there?"

No reply. She must have imagined it.

Lying back down, she closed her eyes again and descended into sleep. The dream began slowly, gently.

They stood somewhere bathed in white, facing each other. "He'll survive if you bring him," said the man gently. "There are ways. Devon, come to me. Let me show you."

She shook her head. "No. Uly can barely travel across the Station. There's no way he could travel off of it."

"I promise you, there's a way. We can save your son."

"Of course there is. There are so many promising therapies that haven't been tried yet. We're a long way from giving up."

He reached out to cup her chin with his hand, wiping her tears with the other one. "My beautiful Devon. Don't cry. There are so many things I wish I could do to make you happy."

"Saving Uly would make me happy," she said softly.

"What about yourself? When was the last time you did something for yourself?"

"Saving my son is doing something for myself. He's all I need."

"Then come to me. He can live in peace and happiness. Devon, no matter what you do, no matter what you find, it will only treat the symptoms. The cure can't be found on the Stations."

"Of course it can!" she argued. "I would know if something on the Stations was making him sick. I helped to design them!"

He pulled her close, holding her there despite her attempts to fight him. She admitted that it felt good to be held by a man. She hadn't had a lover since Uly was born, hadn't so much as been touched by anyone except Yale or Uly or, once, Dr. Vasquez. She'd forgotten how comforting human touch could be.

"Devon," her companion said gently. "I didn't say anything on your beautiful Stations was causing the illness. I'm only saying that there's no cure there. But I know where one is, and it's a place of endless beauty if you let yourself see. I'm here. I'd love to show you."

"Where are you?"

"Not on the Stations. Devon, come to me. I can show you so much more than a cure." He stroked her hair. "Let me show you that it's no crime to take a little happiness for yourself as well. Let me give you that happiness."

She sighed and closed her eyes. This was a dream, and they were alone, and she felt so safe. She hadn't felt safe since Uly was diagnosed. "If only I could."

"Oh, my love," he said softly. "You can."

This time, when she woke up, she remembered the dream. She blinked away more tears, wishing that a cure could be as simple as responding to an anonymous lover her subconscious mind had created from some other memory in the waking world.

Then Devon sat up, frowning.

She hadn't recognized her companion. She hadn't recognized him at all. She'd never seen him before. His face was no memory from her life. So who was he?

Devon believed in what she could see, what she could feel, what could be proved through scientific evidence. She'd never had any use for the supernatural or the paranormal, and she'd always considered dreams just that: dreams. They were nothing more than an outlet, a way for her subconscious to process experiences she'd had while conscious.

So how had her subconscious dredged up something completely unrelated to the waking world? Where had he come from?

Could he be real?

Snorting, she plumped the pillow and lay back down. Reality was Uly in the room down the hall, living a precarious existence until she could wrestle this demon called the Syndrome into submission. Reality was her day-to-day struggle to keep Adair Industries safe from those who would tear it down around her. Reality was not a lover who held her close and whispered of a simple solution, the possibility for her to live a different, happier life.

Reality wasn't always pleasant, but she found little use in expending her energy on make-believe. It solved no problems and made no progress.

If the cure were really as simple as leaving the Stations, she'd go without hesitation. She just knew there was no evidence to suggest that it was.

Uly was two. Syndrome children rarely lived past five, and never lived past nine. She had no more time to spend chasing dreams, no matter how pleasant. The cure would have to come in reality. She'd give anything for it, but dreams weren't going to help her.

But as she drifted off, she found herself wondering if perhaps there was something more to her dream than a simple dream. Maybe she'd ask Dr. Vasquez if something as radical as leaving the Stations might work.

Maybe, she thought drowsily as she let sleep reclaim her. But I doubt it.