It really was a wonderful place, he thought to himself. The huge, round cupola curving gracefully high above was at first sight fully transparent, but a closer look revealed it to be slightly darkened, to shield out most of the heat with which the sun was generously pelting all surfaces it could reach. Huge potted trees reached up, towards the cupola, their branches and leaves spreading hungrily to catch the light that filtered through. The tables of the large cafeteria were round as well, some of them out in the middle, others placed next to perfectly semi-circular sofas with high backs that ensured some privacy to those sitting by them.

The place was not too crowded at this hour. A few people were lounging in the more secluded corners, immersed in their snacks or studies or both, while some small groups were talking animatedly at other tables. The large room somehow swallowed most sound, leaving only a pleasant background hum audible. Every now and then steps echoed faintly on the walls, but hardly anyone paid any attention to the new arrivals. Someone might raise a pair of eyes to glance quickly at whoever had entered the place, before returning again to more interesting topics. One way or another, most of those 'more interesting topics' probably involved some aspect of physics.

Terry sighed a little and looked surreptitiously around. The University of Tabaimo certainly was a grand place, a place where he'd immediately and inexplicably felt at home. Perhaps he'd sometime spent time somewhere like this? He couldn't remember, and didn't want to tease his memory too much. After all, he'd been primed and wiped three times, each time with the primary equipment, there was no reason to assume that anything significant would've escaped that treatment. No use even trying.

His attention returned to the book he was reading, or rather glancing through. He didn't want to get lost in it, anyway. He was waiting.

He'd chosen his place with utmost care. A table to the side, by one of the sofas, where he could sit comfortably on his own and yet have a perfect view to the entrance of the cafeteria – the entrance leading towards the Physics Department. And, sitting where he was, he could also be easily seen by anyone entering the large room from that direction. As the other entrance, on the opposite side of the room, led to the department dedicated to mathematics, Terry felt rather certain that this was exactly the side to watch.

He'd received a few interested glances, some from students curious to see an unfamiliar face, some from others who'd looked at him wondering if he really was who they thought him to be. Before the journey, Terry had of course been careful to have his hair cut in a way that clearly distinguished him from Salvador, especially from the picture of Benedict he'd dug up from the University's student archives. But there was always his face, something he didn't want to do anything too permanent about. Thus, whenever he observed someone looking at him too long, he simply broadcast a clear negative to the inquisitive mind, and was satisfied to see the eyes turning away, the person shrugging slightly as if to wonder how they could've been so mistaken.

Terry had now spent a couple of days on Tabaimo City, the capital of the planet with enormous oceans and only two properly inhabited continents. The city was resplendent, a riot of cupolas and skyscrapers that offered protection from the relentless sun bathing the place in light and energy. Terry had used the first days to simply explore the place and to get his bearings right, slipping into an only slightly altered version of himself while in the town. Tabaimo wasn't exactly part of the Ziroshel Union, but he'd seen enough Union uniforms anyway to be wary. Here, inside the University, he didn't want to hide. He couldn't hide, if he was to catch the quarry he was after.

Terry smiled to himself, remembering the time he'd spent convincing the trio of Commanders to let him travel on his own. As expected, Arria had been particularly skeptical, and only after successfully fooling an entire canteen full of people for about two hours, Terry had managed to win his approval for the plan. He hid the irresistible grin behind a palm, feigning a yawn. It hadn't been easy, either – Scott and Lancer had been out on the plains with a group of young SC's, and Arria had dared Terry to appear in the canteen as Scott.

Broadcasting 'Scott' to the people around had been simple, but then there'd been the added trouble of actually having to talk to them, explaining that they'd returned early after all and that no, nothing was wrong with Lancer, he was just too tired and had fallen asleep. To complete the trial, Shaun had emerged and latched himself on 'Scott' like a leech, wanting to talk to him about something dangerously technical... Steering clear of that had taken all of Terry's ingenuity, but he was proud of the fact that his broadcasting had not faltered for a millisecond.

Finally the Commanders had given in, letting him proceed with the travel plans, and now he was on Tabaimo. For the first time off-planet on his own and as himself. Terry felt again an enormous surge of triumphant delight. He would be able to remember this, all this, tell about it to others, think about it afterwards. This was all his to keep. He relished the thought and stretched his legs under the table. Once back on Jainah, he could show this place to André and Adrien and the young ones, flood them with images and people and smells and tastes...

His attention snapped back to the moment when a bigger group of people began to trickle in. Obviously some scheduled sessions had just ended and the students were making their way to the cafeteria to have a break. His eyes scanned the faces, didn't spot anything interesting at first, then recognition clicked. A young man hovered for a moment at the door, back towards Terry, he was speaking to someone the clone couldn't see. Then he turned and walked in, and Terry sighed quietly. That was the face he had been hoping to see – Troyen Leboyer.

He wasn't tall, perhaps a little taller than the T-clones, and walked with the easy step of someone thoroughly familiar with his surroundings. His short hair was brownish black, eyes dark and strangely melancholy, rounded face the color of caffe latte with plenty of milk and just a hint of coffee in it. Terry also noticed the shadows under his eyes and reached out to skim gently on the surface of his quarry's mind. He was cautious enough and there was no reaction to the touch, a swift brush really, but he sensed darkness, depression even. And a taint of regret, fatigue left behind by something the young man had done recently.

Terry, seemingly wholly absorbed by the contents of his book, brushed a little harder against the mind he'd located, and waited. The man went to the serving area, glanced at the things on display and picked a large cup of some warm drink, then turned to decide where to sit. He'd lifted the cup to his lips to sip from it. Then it froze in place and Terry felt a surge of infuriated shock, so strong that he had to bite the inside of his cheek not to wince, even though he'd been prepared for it.

He kept his face downwards, his gaze on the book, tracing Troyen's movements from the corner of his eye. The young man stalked towards his table, slowly at first but picking up speed until he stopped to stand about a meter away.

"Ben?"

The mixture of hope and delight radiating from the man belied the indignant, incredulous rage with which he'd blurted out the name, and Terry allowed himself a clear sparkle of hope. Whatever his first impulses, if Troyen could be at least a little happy to see somebody looking deceptively like his onetime friend, he just might be persuaded to help.

Terry slowly raised his eyes to face the dark young man, one eyebrow lifted questioningly.

"Pardon?"

"Oh..." Troyen faltered, the cup shaking visibly in his hand. "I'm sorry – I thought you were – I mean..."

"You thought I was someone called Ben," Terry said easily. "But that's not my name, sorry. I'm Terry, Terry Menzies."

"Uh... Troyen Leboyer," the other man stuttered. "So sorry. I – but, are you sure? I mean... sorry, I'm being ridiculous."

"Won't you sit down?" Terry gestured hospitably at his table; in addition to the sofa, there were two chairs placed on its opposite side. "I'm not expecting company, and you look rather upset."

"Thanks." Troyen plopped himself on one of the chairs and gingerly lowered his cup on the table. "You're right, I am a bit upset."

"I must look very much like your Ben, if seeing me shakes you so badly," Terry observed in a conversational tone and pushed the book aside. Troyen snorted at the words and took a quick gulp from the mug, shooting a dark glance over the table.

"He's not my Ben," he grunted. "But you're right, you do look exactly like him. Although your voice is different, and you speak differently too... but still. Are you sure you're not twins or something?"

"You make me awfully curious!" Terry skidded past the question with an affable smile. "I'd like to meet this lookalike of mine, you know."

A muscle tightened in Troyen's smooth cheek and he looked down.

"Ben's not here any more," he said unsympathetically. "He left some months ago."

"Oh, I see," Terry nodded. "What a pity, though. You wouldn't have a picture of him?"

He looked hopefully at Troyen and saw him flinch a little.

"In fact... I just might have." Loads of them at home, Terry caught the thought without a blink. The dark man dug a comm out of his pocket, fingered it for a while and then turned it around. "Here. This is Ben."

Terry had to fight hard to keep his face neutral as he looked at the picture on the small screen. He understood why Troyen hadn't wanted to project it out for just anybody to see. It was Salvador all right, Salvador sitting on sand with legs spread in front of him and leaning back on his hands, disheveled and looking like he'd just fallen on his ass. His short-sleeved shirt was open, feet bare, sand all over him, and he was laughing immoderately. He looked happy, sun-drenched, alive.

Terry felt like his insides had just been crushed into a ball of lead when the memory of Salvador lying on his bed, with the picture of Troy pressed lovingly against his chest, superimposed itself on the sunny image in front of him.

"You're right," he said quietly. "He really looks a lot like me."

Troyen flipped the comm back into his pocket, biting his lip. "Yeah. Sorry once more, though."

"It's all right," Terry assured him. "Look... I hope you don't mind my asking this, but... what happened? At first I thought you were angry at me – I mean Ben, only you thought I was him – but now I'm getting the feeling that you –"

"None of your business!" Troyen snapped, eyes flashing. "Look, I was just mistaken about the person and I'm sorry, okay? Sorry to have disturbed you!"

He snatched his mug and stood up pushing the chair back, about to go.

"Wait, Troy," Terry said softly.

The dark boy stiffened into a statue and turned slowly around, eyes narrowing.

"What did you say?" he asked in a low growl. Terry looked him steadily in the eye.

"I asked you to wait."

"No, not that... what did you call me?" Troyen took a step closer.

"Troy," Terry said evenly. The dark man gasped and his hand jerked as if he was going to reach out and grab Terry by the throat, but he stopped himself short and just stood there, breathing heavily, hands clenching.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded hoarsely.

"I told you: Terry Menzies."

"I don't believe you!" Troyen's voice took a desperate edge. "Who are you? How do you know my nickname?"

"Maybe I just guessed it?" Terry suggested lightly and got a definite shake of a dark head in response.

"No you didn't. Troy and Troyen are not pronounced in the same way, and I usually have to spell my first name before people know how to write it. You knew it! How?"

"Maybe I did know it," Terry admitted. Troyen glared at him, chest heaving.

"How? Goddamn it, what's this all about?" Suddenly he snapped his mouth shut. "Wait. Don't tell me. This is some sick joke or something you're playing on me. I don't want to know anything more!"

He whirled around but Terry was quicker. "I thought that you were interested in why I look so much like Benedict?" he said smoothly.

Troyen threw his head back in exasperation, turned once more and leaned on the table to stand threateningly above the still seated Terry.

"All right, would you cut the crap right now? How do you know his full name? What the hell is this all about?"

"Sit down, and please don't raise your voice," Terry instructed calmly and waited until the man had slowly sunk back into the chair. "That's better. Now, the fact is that I've come here to look for you, Troy."

"Oh, right!" Troyen barked a mirthless laughter. "The idiot that I am! You're one of those Union bastards too!"

Terry frowned. "What do you mean, Union?"

"Don't play innocent with me!" Troyen leaned on his elbows to hiss across the table. "It couldn't have been a coincidence, what happened, and you're one of them! What the hell do you lot still want from me?"

"Troy," Terry said earnestly, "I'm going to be frank with you."

He ignored the affronted snort and went on. "I'm not from the Union. You can be as suspicious about that as you wish, but that's the honest truth. I've come here to find you because I believe you can tell me something nobody else can. But it's not what you think. It's about Ben, that's true as well. He needs help, badly, and we've come to the conclusion that you're the only one who can assist us in finding the way to help him."

Troyen didn't seem too convinced but his shoulders relaxed minutely. "Help?"

"Yes, help, but it's too long and too complicated a story to be told right here and now. Look," Terry raised his comm, "could we exchange contacts? I will tell you the whole story, provided that you then answer my questions."

"I won't promise anything," the dark boy said testily. "Depends a lot on what exactly you want to know."

"I need to know what happened while Ben was here," Terry said. "Anything you can tell me about him. And especially what happened when you parted. Why you didn't part as friends."

"Oh boy – that's a tall order, that!" Troyen huffed. "And what I can't understand is, why you don't ask Ben all that? I'm sure he could tell you loads more than me about what actually happened!"

Terry shook his head, sadness flooding over him once more.

"No," he said in near whisper. "That's exactly the problem. He can't tell. You're the only one who can, and we really need to know."

He hadn't even tried to read anything from the extreme turmoil that was Troyen's mind, but now he caught clear flickers of curiosity, fear, and – was that really... yes... – compassion pushing irresistibly to the forefront. The dark man frowned, trying to read clues from his face.

"I thought you said he needs help," Troyen said uncertainly.

"Yes, he does," Terry nodded.

"But – you talk about him like he was dead or something!"

Terry opened his mouth and shut it again. He sighed. "It's a far too complicated thing to talk about here. And I mean it. I don't want anyone to interrupt us while we're talking. My story is pretty long, and it'll take a lot of explaining too, and I suspect you won't be able to tell me everything in a couple of minutes, either."

"Ben is alive, though, isn't he?" Troyen's eyes were demanding an answer. Terry looked desperate.

"I don't know what to say to that," he confessed. "He is alive, yes, but – please, Troy, not here!"

"All right." Troyen pushed himself on his feet with a determined air. "Then let's go somewhere where we can talk. My place, if that's all right with you?"

"Now?" Terry's eyebrows climbed up. "Don't you have any more lessons today where your presence would be needed?"

"Nothing more important than this." The young man leveled a challenging look at Terry. "Or are you beginning to backpedal now?"

"Definitely not!" Terry swiped his book from the table, slipped it in his pocket and stood up as well. "Okay, if you're sure about this then we can go now."

"Good."

Troyen emptied his mug before nearly marching to the entrance. Terry followed him in silence, keeping a reassuring air of certainty hanging about himself so that it kept grazing gently against his quiet companion's consciousness. He was slightly distracted by the effort to broadcast the image of 'nearly-Terry' to everyone around them while leaving Troyen outside the broadcasting, but noticed soon that he could spare himself the trouble – the dark young man didn't as much as glance at him once along the way.

So Terry was left in peace to keep up his cover and to watch the surroundings as he trailed after Troyen out of the university building and along a pleasantly winding, tree-lined walkway to the surrounding campus area. He also kept track of the route to make sure he would know his way back, even though the layout of the campus was really too well thought out; getting lost there would actually take some conscious effort. Besides, he had it all clear in his head after having studied the University map.

After a while they turned to the left and soon reached a long, low apartment building with numerous doorways leading in. Troyen entered one of them, still without a word, and opened a door on the second floor.

"Please," he gestured, letting Terry step in first.

Terry accepted the invitation, then stopped and looked curiously around. The apartment was not large but it seemed to contain everything necessary. It looked somewhat neglected, though. Things had just been thrown on the bed and chairs and tables and window sills, and the number of empty drink cans caught his eye. More specifically, cans that had once contained some variety of alcohol. They littered especially the part of the place that served as kitchen.

"Just a student den," Troyen said indifferently, threw his comm on a table and went to the fridge. "A beer?"

"No thanks," Terry said and smiled. "I really can't hold my alcohol, you see."

The dark boy glanced at him sharply over his shoulder and, unexpectedly, smiled back.

"So you're just like Ben there, too," he said almost dreamily. "A lemonade then?"

"That sounds good, thanks!" Terry accepted the offered can. Troyen opened his beer and took a long swig.

"Hope you don't mind if I have one," he said wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. "Make yourself comfortable, if you can."

He turned to push some of the things on the kitchen table to a less visible corner while Terry, after one more look around, decided that the worn, electric blue armchair looked too inviting to pass by and sat down. It embraced him like a long-lost friend and he almost grinned to himself, then looked up hearing a startled gasp.

"What is it?" he asked Troyen who was leaning against the kitchen table and staring at him like a ghost. Not that he really needed to ask, though. Ben – the name was almost a tangible entity in the air. Troyen shook his head and rubbed his eyes.

"He used to love that chair," he said miserably. "Ben, I mean. And you look so much like him..."

"Tell me about you and Ben," Terry said gently. "Please."

Troyen walked a little unsteadily to the bed and sank down to sit on it.

"What do you want to know?" he asked dully.

"Anything you want to tell me," Terry replied. "I want to know about the Ben you knew."

Troyen stared at the bedspread, the fingers of his free hand picking at something invisible on it, and nodded.