galaxy, faint hints of the unexplored territory that lay deep within. He preferred to keep his eye close to the canvas, to tune out those distant signals, to keep still until they passed. He kept still so they would not find him, these signals sent from himself to himself. He did not want to hear them.
He hid from himself.
The comp-pad hit the table. It had been in his hands, and it had fallen through his hands, passing through his fingers as if he were a ghost. As he brought his hands closer, his flesh faded to white, dispersed in the mist. He had no body, no substance.
Galen screamed, but he had no voice, no mouth. He had hidden from himself too well. He was lost.
Beyond the table stretched a long grey corridor. He sped down it, searching for his body. The corridor ended at a T, offering him two alternatives. The intersection was marked with the rune signifying ignorance. Galen took the right branch, rushed ahead. The next intersection offered three choices, the next four. Galen chose randomly, racing ahead, becoming absorbed in the complex maze. As he swept around a curve he caught a glimpse of a hooded, robed figure ahead. The figure turned a corner. Galen bolted forward, but when he reached the corner, the figure had vanished down the corridor. He dashed after it, searching for another glimpse.
The corridors grew more and more intricate, the branches more and more numerous, leading not only in different directions on a single plane, but leading up and down to different levels. As he twisted around a turn, again he caught sight of the black-robed figure, only to lose him again at the next turn.
Galen forced himself to stop, controlling his waves of panic. Reason told him he would never catch the robed figure. Not like this. If he had no substance, then