SynchronicityLiz was leaning over him again. 'Remember what?' she said.'Eh?' Jake blinked sleep out of his eyes, groped to brush grit from their corners.'You were rambling on about having to remember something,' she told him. And while he was ordering his thoughts to frame a reply, she quickly went on: 'And before you ask - no, I wasn't snooping on you. I came back here to give you a shake; you were mumbling, and I thought you were speaking to me.' Well, he hadn't been, but he had been speaking to someone. Harry? Korath? But who the hell was Korath? The name, so familiar one minute, was already meaningless, slipping from the edge of his mind. So that now, just a moment later, Jake wasn't sure it meant anything at all.Well, get sure!... get sure!... get sure! (Like an echo, fading in his memory.) And numbers - a swirl of numbers, equations, symbols, like a mathematician's nightmare - all collapsing to a big Zero, nothing, where before they had meant something.
'Numbers/' Jake croaked, forcing the word out of his dehydrated throat. Liz handed him a can of Coke that she was drinking from, and he sat up and swilled his mouth out, then let the fizzing liquid burn and cool and sting all the way down. 'Numbers?' Liz repeated him. 'What about them?' Awake now, he frowned at her. 'Are you sure you weren't in there with me?' Then, seeing that look on her face: 'Okay, okay! Just checking.' He took another swig, climbed unsteadily to his feet. 'I think I was dreaming about - hell, I don't know - all sorts of stuff He looked at his boots, then stooped to touch the bottoms of his jeans and wondered why he thought they might be wet. 'I can't remember. A damp place? Voices? Numbers?'But Liz only shrugged. 'You tell me,' she said, and turned away so that he wouldn't see the look she flashed at the others up front. And over her shoulder she told him, 'We're on our way down. Brisbane next stop.'Ben Trask, Lardis, Goodly and the others were looking at Jake where he worked the stiffness from his joints and followed Liz to her gunner's chair. As she strapped herself in, he indicated the gun ports and asked: 'Is it okay to open one of these up? And which side is Brisbane?'One of the technicians answered him: 'Sure - you can open the doors. But you better hook yourself up first. Brisbane's to port.' There were safety straps dangling from the ceiling. Jake pulled one down, hooked it to his belt, jerked on the port-side door's handle, and slid the door open. Air blasted in, the downdraught from the big fan, and immediately the whup, whup, whup of the rotors was a deafening throb.Liz hooked up, joined him at the door. 'Have you been here before?' she inquired, but her words were whipped away. It made no difference; he 'heard' her anyway. And answered:No, I haven't. And you're getting good at that.She only looked at him and said, But I'm not a natural - not at sending, not yet anyway - so maybe you're the one who's getting good at it.
No. He shook his head to give his thoughts emphasis. It's all you, Liz. It's your talent, getting stronger all the time. And maybe some kind of rapport we seem to be developing. Which was the closest he had yet come to admitting any kind of serious involvement.
Their eyes met, locked just for a moment, and each of them knew that the same thought was in the other's mind: that out of the blue Jake was accepting telepathy that much easier - as if he'd been getting in some practice. And they both knew where he had been getting it. It was as he'd explained to Lardis: sleep, the subconscious mind, was a strange thing. And dreams could be stranger yet. Sometimes they could even be more than dreams.Then they looked down on a small airfield six hundred feet directly below them, and, two or three miles to the east, central Brisbane.Brisbane was big and sprawling, but it didn't lack order. On the contrary, for if anything it was too symmetrical, ultra-modern. Its streets were too broad, with too many parks, pools, green areas. It should have looked as cool and fresh as an oasis, which in all this heat, when even the downdraught of the rotors felt as hot as hell, would have seemed very welcoming. But the river, instead of being a fat, winding silver eel, was more a thin, snakelike whiplash. Most of the pools were empty down to their liners, and all of the green places had yellow tints.Jake frowned and might have commented, but the horizon was rapidly narrowing down. As they watched, Brisbane came up level, finally disappearing behind the airport buildings. And just a moment or two later they bumped down.When the rotors went into braking mode, their whine became unbearable. Grimacing, Jake slammed the door to shut it out...The small airport - more an airstrip, really - belonged to a private flying club for well-to-do members of Brisbane society. The chopper's pilot had been directed to it by air traffic control, who in turn had taken their orders from higher authority. It might seem odd if a paramilitary jet-copter was seen to land at a main international airport... especially carrying the E-Branch contingent, whose members were by now beginning to look something less than reputable.
Trask had radioed ahead before decamping on the other side of the continent; discreet arrangements had been made while the chopper was still in the air. Met by a pair of clean-cut, immaculately-uniformed 'chauffeurs,' the drivers of limos with one-way-glass windows, Trask and his people were soon on their way into the city.
As they left the airport, heading for a main arterial road, they passed a small parking lot. Sitting on the hood of a battered blue-grey Range Rover-styled vehicle, a tall, angular male figure in jeans, open-necked shirt and broad-brimmed hat gazed intently into the sky over the airport through a pair of binoculars. With his hat shading his face, his features were blankly anonymous under the brilliance of the mid-afternoon sunlight.
Except to Liz, there seemed nothing special about him. Liz had noticed him. She'd seen how, at the last minute, before the car threw up a screen of dust in their wake, the man had turned his binoculars on the two vehicles. Now, with a frown, she tapped Trask on the shoulder where he sat in front of her.'That man back there/ she said, hurriedly. They were negotiating a bend and the parking lot was already disappearing in the driver's rearview. Trask turned his head, looked back where Liz was indicating; he saw nothing but a dust-plume and a distant shimmer of heat-haze.'A man?' he said. 'What about him?'The intercom was on, and the chauffeur - a special agent - asked, 'Something suspicious, miss? A man, did you say? Back there? What was he doing?''Sitting on a car,' Liz answered. 'He was watching the sky through binoculars.''A plane-spotter?' Through the plate-glass screen that divided them, they saw the driver shrug. 'A wannabe fly-boy member of the club. Hull Some hope. Flying is for rich folks.'But Liz leaned forward and quietly, right in Trask's ear, said, 'The last thing I saw, he was looking at us.'They were turning onto the main road and picking up speed. 'Let it go,' Trask told her. 'It may have been nothing, and in any case it's too late now. If we've been made we've been made. But if we've been made, then obviously someone was sent to make us - sent by someone. Now all we have to do is find out who and where.'Liz nodded, said: 'And ... he was wondering about us.''That's all you got?''Yes.'Trask shrugged, but not negligently. 'Maybe he was simply curious. But by the same token maybe this wasn't as discreet as it might have been. Two chauffeur-driven limos, doing reception at a small, private airport? I mean, turn the situation around and I might be curious myself. Do you think you'd recognize him again?''Probably,' she answered. 'There was something unpleasant, spidery about him.''Well, if you do see him let me know,' said Trask. 'Once is coincidence. Twice ... this spider might need stepping on.' And the cars sped for the near-distant city ...Back at the parking lot, the long thin man got into his car and called a number on his portaphone. A disinterested female voice said, 'Xanadu, reception?''I want to speak to Milan,' the thin man told her.There was a pause and she said, 'Your identification?' Now she was a little more animated.'Mind your business/ the thin man replied, with the emphasis on 'mind', but with nothing of rebuke or unpleasantness in his voice. It was simply a code.'Just a moment, sir,' said the girl. And the phone played some indifferent Musak.
While he waited, the thin man coughed to clear his throat, mopped sweat from his brow, got his thoughts in order. His employer - Mr Milan, to whom he was about to make report - had a liking for ordered minds; he much preferred to hear and understand things clearly and precisely the first time around. And in a little while:
'Milan speaking/ a deep, accented, seemingly cultured yet vaguely threatening male voice replaced the Musak. 'What do you want?'And the thin man told his employer what he had seen of the jet-copter, gave him brief descriptions of the people he'd seen getting into limos outside the flying club's main building, and closed by saying: 'They drove off towards Brisbane.'There was a brief pause before the other queried: 'And you didn't follow them?''It was the chauffeurs/ the thin man answered. 'They were too good to be true. No one looks as neat, tidy, and as cool as they looked - not in this weather - without they're trying real hard. They looked like government men. And if they were, they'd be on me like flies on shit as soon as they spotted me in their rearviews/'I see/ said the foreign, Mediterranean-sounding voice of Mr Milan. And in a moment: 'Would you know these people again?''Sure.'
'Good. I think this may be what I've been waiting for. You can call your other observers off, Mr Santeson. Let them report to you in Xanadu. From now on I think you will find your duties more to your liking up here at the resort. Just be sure to come and see me as soon as you get in/
'I'm on it/ the thin man said. And under his breath, when the phone went dead: 'What are you - some kind of mind-reader? But anyway, you're right - that's just exactly what I wanted to hear after a day spent sweltering in all this heat, sweating my balls off, watching, waiting, and trying not to look suspicious. Shitty work, in weather like this. But up there at the Pleasure Dome .. /
... Up at the Pleasure Dome, he thought, putting the car in first and turning out of the parking lot, life is sheer luxury! The pools, the broads in their bikinis, the good food and drink - even the casino, huh! - where I can spend my money almost as fast, or faster, than Mr fucking Milan pays me! And he grinned.
But on the other hand, no one could call Milan mean. Garth Santeson, a private investigator for twenty years and then some, had never had it so good. What? Milan, mean? No way! Shady, definitely - how else would you describe a guy who only ever comes out at night? But never mean - hell, no! The way Aristotle Milan throws money around, it's like ... like tomorrow there'll be no use for it!Never knowing just how close he had come to the truth, and in more respects than one, Santeson headed his battered vehicle for the ring road south around Brisbane. Then he would look for the signpost for the town of Beaudesert, which would put him on a heading for the Macpherson Range right on the border with New South Wales. Eighty miles of good road, and he'd be up into the mountains, yes. And finally Xanadu ...On the way into town, Jake said, 'Now I remember!''What you were dreaming about?' said Lardis Lidesci.'Eh?' Jake looked at him.'On the plane, you were dreaming about something. When Liz woke you up you couldn't remember.'Jake shook his head. 'No, not that,' he said. 'I'm talking about Brisbane - I'm remembering about this place. Looking down on the city from the chopper, I thought it looked too neat, too new. Well, that's because it is new.'
Jake and Lardis were travelling in the first limo with the team's top technicians, a pair of young, whizz-kid computer and communications types who were fully-fledged members of E-Branch but not espers as such. One of these, Jimmy Harvey - a compact, prematurely bald man of perhaps twenty-six, with lush red sideburns and bushy eyebrows that together were trying hard to make up for his baldness, grey, watery eyes, and a genius for electronics - wanted to know: 'Jake, where have you been hiding out these last three or four years? I mean, on the Richter Scale of national disasters, Brisbane's Great Fire of 2007 ranks several notches higher than the sinking of the Titanic, and very nearly as high as Krakatoa!' There was little or nothing of sarcasm in Harvey's comment, just surprise.Jake sighed, shrugged apologetically, and said, 'Yes, that was what I remembered. As for where I've been: mainly I've been doing my own thing. My world has been - I don't know - kind of a small place, for a long time. I've only had room for personal problems, things that I need to get sorted out.''Aye,' Lardis grunted. 'Your vow! I can understand that.''My vow?' Jake frowned at him. As usual, he found the old boy full of indecipherable statements. But now:'In Sunside,' Lardis deciphered, 'when a man has something to do - a wrong that needs righting - he makes a vow, usually in public. And he holds to it until it's done. I made just such a vow one time, and it still isn't done. But if I can't be killing the blood-sucking bastards there, at least I'm helping to kill them here.'Jimmy Harvey, despite that he wasn't privy to Jake's past, believed he'd got the drift of it. 'So how about you, Jake?' he said. 'You mentioned things you "need" to get sorted out: present tense. So like Lardis, you're not finished yet, right?''Not quite, no,' Jake shook his head. 'But there's plenty of time yet.' And to change the subject: 'Why don't you tell me about Brisbane, fill in whatever it is I've missed?'The other wasn't about to start prying; the one thing he'd learned in his time with the Branch was that these people hated to talk about their private lives almost as much as about their weird 'talents'. And as far as their powers were concerned: the majority didn't see them as bonuses at all, just extra baggage. Jake hadn't been around too long and was a new one on Harvey. Still, he was on the team and so must be an esper. Well, no one can be expert in everything. But... the Great Fire of Brisbane? Something like that had escaped his notice? Jake had to be pulling his leg. But he didn't look like he was. And so:'It was about this time of year,' Harvey started out. 'And what do you know, 2007 was another El Nino year, just like this one - synchronicity, or something! Anyway, these freaky weather years have been coming around far too often. 1997 - 98, and again in 2002, and finally in 2007. And this current one, of course.'In an El Nino the currents in the Pacific go all to hell. They circulate the wrong way, or something like that. The water gets warm where it should be cold, and vice versa. Since everything is connected to ocean temperatures - like, you know, the ecosystem? - the weather goes to hell in a bucket. Everywhere, everything, and everyone gets affected.'Add to this the depletion of the rain forests, soil erosion, acid rains, holes in the ozone, the not-so-gradual melting of the ice caps, earthquakes, volcanoes blowing their tops left, right and centre ... the whole thing seems symptomatic of planetary and climatic upheaval. Or maybe I should say "seemed", past tense, because these aren't just symptoms I'm talking about but the actual disease. In short, we're in it up to our necks! And finally people are beginning to sit up and pay attention to the ecologists and environmentalists, the guys who used to get tagged as sensationalists and doomsayers.'Back around 1997 - 98 was when it became really noticeable. Now, hey, we're only talking a time-span of maybe twelve or thirteen years here, but the speed at which things have changed you really wouldn't know it. Like, a thousand years worth of climatic damage packed into just a decade and a half?'So, let's go back to the years leading up to and including 1997 and '98.
'The Antarctic pack ice had already started breaking into icebergs bigger than large English counties. There were grasses and mosses and flowers where before there'd only ever been ice. Similarly, in the Arctic, the sea ice was getting thinner every year, the so-called "permanent" ice simply wasn't permanent any more, and the cap in general was shrinking. So, all that water had to go somewhere, right? My guess: into the air, the atmosphere, Jake. And as the old saying goes, what goes up must come down again - in precipitation. And brother, did we get rain!
'The Netherlands: flooded to hell... so badly that for a while it looked like all the major dams would go. Germany, and Poland: all the rivers breaking their banks. Greece: unseasonal hail, with hailstones as big as ping-pong balls that flattened the crops. The USA: Jesus, the Mississippi! All that water trying to get out of there, and God help anything that got in its way! And in '97, right here in Australia: first they had fires that scorched people out of their homes - destroying thousands of acres of prairie, woodlands, and national parks, and killing people, livestock, wildlife galore - and then monsoon rains to match anything the rest of the world had suffered. It was just crazy fucking weather!'But the hell of it was, these were only warnings. The El Nirios are warnings; the melting ice is a warning, and likewise the ozone layer. Like planet-wide alarms that have been sounding for a long, long time, all in vain because no one has been listening. Or rather, no one was listening to the ones who were listening ...
'In the Far East, they wouldn't stop burning the rain forests. The Americans took the hump when people said their carbon dioxide emissions were off the scale ... but they weren't half as snooty in the summer of '98 when Texas turned into a desert! Heat wave? They'd never seen anything like it! As for the Russians: well as usual they hid or disguised or denied any and all wrongdoings whatsoever. Huh! What else would you expect of the people who turned the Aral Sea into the Aral Pond ... the folks with more toxic nuclear and chemical garbage per acre than most countries have per square mile! In E-Branch - during my three years with the Branch, anyway - we've been monitoring the hell out of the Russians. Ask Ben Trask about it some time.'
And Jake cut in, 'Well, at least I know something about all that: the way they dump their clapped-out subs, et cetera.''That's part of it,' Harvey agreed, 'but the rest of it is just as bad. Anyway, all that's away from the main subject, and in fact we were talking about - ?'
' - The big fire,' Jake reminded him. 'Until you went a bit off track.'Harvey nodded. 'Yeah, the Great Fire of Brisbane, 2007. It was around this time of year, and El Nino was up to its unusual tricks. The weather had been freakish everywhere, especially in the UK, England. For fifteen years the various water boards had been moaning about declining water tables. It could rain all it wanted during the winter, but given just three days of good old heartwarming sunshine in July and these jokers would start leaping up and down, and tearing their hair, and sticking in meters and standpipes, and demanding that people should save water by cutting down on their bathing and putting bricks in their water closet cisterns ... and so on, and so forth, ad infinitum. What a load of crap, zfyou could afford to take one! It was Nature all those years, warning us that the Big One was coming.'Well, in 2007 in England it came, and that year we didn't have a summer ...''It was washed out?' Jake felt obliged to ask. 'It was drowned out!' Harvey told him.'I seem to remember something about that,' Jake said. 'But I missed it. I was on the Continent.'
'But you must have read about it, seen it on TV?' 'I told you, I was doing my own thing. On the Continent.' 'Yeah,' Harvey agreed. 'About the only place in the world where the weather was moderately normal. You were lucky. But in England it rained, and rained, and rained! And as for declining water tables: forget it. There's been no shortage of water ever since. Anywhere below sea level turned into a swamp. The Thames Barrier failed, and high tides combined with a flooded river to drown the city six feet deep. Through July, August, and September - shit, there were gondolas in Oxford Street! Okay, so I'm exaggerating - maybe it wasn't quite as bad as all that, but it was bad enough. And I could go on and on. Except ...' He paused again.
'Except that was the UK,' Jake helped him out. 'And thepeople had plenty of warning, and there was little or no loss of life. Yes, I remember it now. But we were talking about Brisbane, not quite so close to home.''Not just Brisbane,' the other told him. 'In 2007 it was Australia as a whole. Now, you've got to remember that in Australia the climate works backwards to how we'd expect back home. It's way hotter in January than in July: the difference between summer and winter, right? Oh, really? Well, in 2007 everything went wrong. From February on the summer weather held, there was no winter and it didn't get any colder. Just like now, in fact exactly like now, they had the freakiest of freak weather.'Turning his head, Harvey gazed out through the limo's one-way windows at suburbs becoming city. 'I mean, just take a look out there.'Jake looked, lifted an enquiring eyebrow. 'Well?''Dry, brittle, parched. Those gardens that should be green are more like miniature deserts. The grass is withered to straw and the leaves are dead on the trees and bushes. Almost all the swimming pools are empty, and you won't see anyone watering any lawns. It should be a maximum of sixty, sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit out there, but it's well over eighty, and this is late afternoon. And naturally, it's an official drought. Perfect!''Perfect for what?' Now Jake was really puzzled ... not to mention tired of this circuitous route they were taking to the Great Fire.
'Earth Year!' said Harvey. 'The big conference that starts tomorrow right here in Brisbane, billed as the ultimate ecological summit meeting. Synchronicity at work again, or maybe not. Naturally they chose this place, because of the fire.'
'Well, you've lost me again,' Jake told him. 'And we still haven't got to the fire itself.'
The other shrugged apologetically. 'I'm sorry - it's this grasshopper mind of mine. Start me on a subject, it devours me. Okay, the fire:
'It was the weirdest thing ever - a one-of-a-kind sort of thing, or at least everyone hopes so. 2007, and we thought we'd seen it all: the worst tornadoes the USA had ever suffered, the worst floods, the strangest fluctuations and reversals of climate right across the world, with Australia taking the brunt of it. But no, we hadn't seen it all.'Brisbane was like a tinderbox. The whole east coast from Rockhampton to Canberra - normally a green strip in the lee of the Great Dividing Range, with no water shortage and an excellent annual rainfall - was bone dry from this drought that had lasted for eighteen months. Oh, they'd had rain, but all of it had fallen on the wrong side of the Great Divide! And daily the temperature was up in the hundreds.'And it was then that it happened. It was like ... what, a tornado? An almighty tornado, a whirlwind, yes. But a whirlwind of fire! Ma Nature, Jake, getting all hot under the collar. It started in the Gidgealpa and Moomba oil and gas fields, but how or why it started, no one knows. There are various theories but, like I said, no one really knows. Though miles apart, suddenly the oil wells and gas installations became the epicentre of an enormous fireball. That in itself was a disaster, but nothing like what was to come.
'A fireball, vast, hot, rushing up on its own thermals, and sucking in the air to fuel itself; sucking the air into a self-perpetuating spiral, a superheated whirlwind. It swept east out of the Sturt Desert, its base widening out as it came, a column of fire five and then ten miles across. At more than a hundred miles an hour it hit a place called Dirranbandi and burned the entire town, just took it out. And everything it burned fuelled the fire, that got hotter and hotter. And on it came. The thing moved like a drunkard - never in a straight line but just exactly like a tornado - a pillar of fire reaching up through the clouds. 'Of course it was monitored, thousands of people reported seeing it. It came terrifyingly close to some towns, scorching them but leaving them intact; then again it seemed to swoop on others, tossed them into the sky in blazing rags. Firefighters tried to plot its course from the air; some airplanes flew too close and got sucked in, incinerated. And rotating ever faster, it rushed east to refuel itself on the Alton oil field ...
'So it goes, and I can't remember all of it. But who would want to? Anyway, the whole thing was on every TV channel. Every Aussie there ever was watched it happening, couldn't do a thing about it. The authorities thought the mountains would stop it - they were wrong. It blazed across the Divide, leaving a smoking track twelve miles wide in its wake, with secondary fires still ranging outwards. The latter would burn for weeks until torrential rains stopped them.
'And with only an hour's warning to the people of Brisbane - an indefinite warning at that, for no one could say for sure what this thing would do - finally it hit, this firestorm from hell, such as the world had never before seen. Never before and never since, thank God!
'Everything that could burn burned. If it couldn't burn it calcined. And if it couldn't calcine it melted. As for the Brisbane River: forget it. It was running at a trickle and had been for a nine-month. The firestorm took what was left of the river water, turned it to steam in a couple of seconds and kept right on going.'And that was it: a one-hundred-miles-per-hour blast furnace had killed a city and everyone it it who couldn't or hadn't tried to get out following the warning. They hadn't all died by burning; a great many people, gone underground or into cellars, suffocated because the fire needed their air. All of it. Then:'The thing hit the sea and sucked up a waterspout into its raging funnel. The water put the fire out, turned to steam, and formed clouds. The clouds drifted inland and rained on the raging inferno that had been Brisbane. Finally it was over. End of story ...'... And after a while:'Christ!' Jake said, under his breath. And a moment later:
'That is some encyclopedic memory you've got there, Jimmy. What are you, an authority on world disasters?'Harvey shrugged a little self-consciously - perhaps sheepishly? - and said, 'Me? No - but I know a woman who is. Before we broke camp, I had to talk to HQ about a couple of communications problems. Millicent Cleary was on Duty Officer. She's our current affairs lady; she has that kind of memory, keeps a mental record of just about everything that's going or gone down. As lan Goodly knows the future, she knows the recent past; but of course she has a big advantage: like, it's already happened. And unlike lan's her knowledge comes in amazing detail. So when I told her we'd be setting up next in Brisbane, she clued me in on the city, the fire, the Earth Year Conference. And there you have it: the fire's still fresh in my mind from my conversation with Millicent Cleary.'Harvey sat back and looked out of his window. After a moment's silence he said, 'But actually, I wish it wasn't...'In the other limo, the episode of the tall, thin plane-spotter (if that was what he had been) had been forgotten by everyone except Liz Merrick. She, too, was trying to put it to the back of her mind, but knew she'd be able to recall it if or when it was required - - His silhouette etched on her memory: his angular shape. And the tilt of his broad-brimmed hat, that kept the sun out of his eyes. The way his binoculars were trained on ... trained on what, a mainly empty sky? That was what had been bothering her! That, and the way those glasses had suddenly dipped., turning towards the limo.That was when Liz's mind had been closest to his, themoment when she'd sensed his interest in the vehicle and itsoccupants ...'So how about it?' said Ben Trask, causing her to start as hereached over her and switched off the intercom connection totheir driver.
'Eh?' she said. And: 'Oh, I'm sorry, Ben. I must have been daydreaming. How about what?'
'Jake, on the chopper. What was going on? Did you get anything?'
And now the image of the thin man with the binoculars vanished completely from her mind as the other question arose, the one Liz had known she would have difficulty answering.
At first it had seemed simple, even exciting in a strange and morbid sort of way. The answer to not just one question but many. But after thinking it over she had seen the enormous hurt it might cause, so that now she had to find a way around it. If Trask would let her.'But I thought we had an understanding on that,' she said. 'I don't like spying on Jake, and - ''What?' He cut her off. 'But on the chopper you seemed to indicate that you'd got something. So why are you holding back, Liz? What the hell is going on here?' The look on Trask's face was one of incredulity; he'd been sure they'd hammered this out and from now on it would be plain sailing. So what had happened to change her mind?'I ... I'm not sure what I got!' she blurted it out, lying so unconvincingly that even without his talent Trask would have known. And she saw in his eyes that he knew, and in the way his lips tightened. 'But ... but he's my partner!' She quickly went on the defensive. 'He's got to be able to trust me. He saved my life, and - ''Oh, for Christ's sake spare me!' Trask barked. But before he could say anything else:'Damn you!' Liz snapped. And then more quietly, even desperately: 'Can't you see? I'm trying to spare you, Ben!'Which set him back a little, because he saw that that was the truth, too. And despite that Trask was still frowning, his tone was less severe when he said: 'All right, so don't try so hard.'And after a moment, when she remained silent, he went on, 'Look, whatever this is, there's only you, me, and lan here to share it. So let's have it out in the open here and now, while we can still deal with it in private. For if it has to do with me - and if it's got anything at all to do with the Branch or the job in hand - then obviously I have to know.''But it's so very little,' she answered. 'And his shields were up, like a blanket covering his mind, and - ''Liz, I have to know!' Trask insisted. 'It doesn't matter how small a thing it might seem to you, it could be all-important to everyone else.''In its way, I'm sure it is/ Liz said. 'It's just that I would have liked to find a way to tell you - I mean a different way to tell you - without this.''This what?' said Trask. 'And Liz, if you lie to me again I'll know.'She looked at him, looked at lan Goodly, sighed and shook her head. 'I didn't want to lie, but I didn't want to hurt you either. You see, it's .where Jake was - in his dream, I mean - and it's who he was speaking to.''Go on,' Trask nodded.'He was down in the wrecked sump of the Romanian Refuge,' she blurted it out. 'But Ben, it had to be much more than just a dream because from what I saw of it - despite that it was so dark and shrouded - it was all so very real.""The Refuge?' Trask repeated her. 'Jake dreamed he was in the wrecked sump? And he was ... speaking to someone?''To more than one,' Liz corrected him. And now that she'd got started, she quickly went on, 'But you know how dreams are supposed to happen in the last few minutes before you wake up? Well, not this one. It started the moment he fell asleep, went on until he woke up. And it was more than just a dream, Ben.'The other's face was grey now, gaunt with the sudden, sure knowledge of what Liz was about to tell him. He knew, but asked her anyway. 'Who was Jake talking to?'
'To Harry Keogh,' she answered, 'and to someone else who I didn't know and don't want to know, ever. I couldn't read him - he was a complete blank - but I could sense his presence like a sick taste in my throat. And just the opposite to him, a little earlier there'd been a third presence like ... like a breath of fresh air. She was someone I'd never known, who I wish I had.''It was Zek!' Trask groaned. 'He was talking to Zek. Jake was talking to Zek, through Harry.' And clasping Liz's hands in his: 'Liz, what was she saying? What did Zek say?'
'I don't know,' she shook her head, wanted to put her arms round him but couldn't for fear it would crack him up. And anyway, they wouldn't be Zek's arms. 'I got something of what Jake was saying - though very little, because he didn't say much - but nothing of what the others actually said. That was a void.' lan Goodly said, 'Of course it was. You heard Jake because he's alive. That was your telepathy working, Liz. But Harry and the others ... they're a different category, and they were in a different mode.''Deadspeak, yes,' Trask murmured, gaunt and visibly shaken where he let his head flop back against the seat's headrest and closed his eyes. 'And whether I like it or not, it looks like I now have to accept it. Jake is our new Necroscope, and Harry is introducing him to ... to people who'll be able to help him. As for this numbers thing that Jake was talking about when he woke up - the difficulty he seemed to be having - I think that can mean only one thing.'Trask looked at the precog and Goodly nodded his confirmation. 'Despite that Jake's future is beyond me, uncertain now,' he said, 'still I can only go along with you. It was the Necroscope's sidereal maths, his numbers, that gave him the edge. And now it looks like the old master is trying to teach his apprentice the tricks of the trade ...'
