Necroscope: Invaders

because, you know, I wanted to earn my money. But for me to be successful, obviously my test subjects had to be successful, too. And so I found myself willing them to get it right. Someone would say, 'Square!' And I would be telling myself, 'No, no, no! That's wrong! It's the wavy lines!'

Until I reached the stage when I was saying, 'No, that's wrong,' or, if someone got lucky, 'Yes, that's right,' before they named their choice, before they even spoke!'

'Let me guess,' said Jake. 'You didn't know what was going on. You thought that either you were mistaken, or the machine — the, er, Prismaton-70? — was playing tricks with you, or—'

'But it couldn't be the machine,' Liz cut him short, 'because it's only a machine/

'—Or that you yourself/ Jake went on, 'must somehow be 'in tune' with your subjects. Mental telepathy, right?'

She nodded. 'It was me. It wasn't that my subjects, an incredibly high percentage of them, were good at sending — which is E-Branch parlance for telepathic transmissions — but that was good at receiving. I was a receiver, a mind-reader. I could 'tune in' to other people's thoughts, yes. Not all the time and not without a lot of effort and concentration, but sometimes

'Which was something you'd never noticed before?' Despite the events of the night — the fact that he'd observed for himself her obvious effect on Trennier — still Jake was a little sceptical. 'I mean, that you knew what people were thinking?'

She grinned. 'Well, I frequently knew what men were thinking….'' Slowly her grin disappeared. 'No, seriously, I hadn't the foggiest idea. But as soon as I did know, then it was like Topsy/ 'It just growed and growed.. Jake thought it over. 'And then there's you Liz said pointedly. But he wasn't having any and simply looked away.

The pungent soap had stopped and it was plain water now, and cold. Just as they might have started complaining, the system closed itself down and a light began flashing on the intercom. It was Trask, wanting to know, 'Are you people done? Good.' So get out of there and make room for someone else/ The rest of the team, all of them, would go through a less intensive cycle. But Jake and Liz weren't finished yet.

Dry towelling robes dispensed themselves from compartments in the rear of the booths, with plastic-bag 'bootees' for their feet. Then the doors concertinaed of their own accord, and outside in the corridor other agents were coming aboard and making ready. But Jake and Liz stayed apart from them and went on into the body of the ops vehicle and the next stage, where Trask himself administered hypodermic injections while the old man, Lardis Lidesci, stood watching. Until finally they were obliged to drink something vile.

'God!' Jake gasped, clutching his throat. And again: 'God, but if I'm not going to be sick as a dog…!'

'If you are,'said the Old Lidesci, Til take it as a very bad sign/ And Trask grinned, however coldly, as Lardis fondled the grip of his machete.

'He won't be sick/ Trask said then. 'And even if he is it won't mean anything. I remember I was sick myself, desperately, the first time I tasted that stuff/

'Garlic?' Still Jake felt like gagging.

'Derived from/ Trask shrugged. 'Anyway, it's good for you… or so I'm told/ Turning, he led the way down the corridor, past doors to a half-dozen cramped bunks, and through a telescopic conduit and hatch into the vehicle's forward trailer section. Then at last they were there: in the ops room itself, the mobile nerve-centre…

lan Goodly was in the hollow oval that formed the central desk. He swung round the oval on a tracked chair, studying the various illuminated wall-charts and monitor screens. The place was hi-tec heaven, well in advance even of anything else that AD 2011 had to offer. In complete contrast to the articulated shell of truck and trailers — indeed, utterly contradicting that outer facade, with its mundane and easily identifiable 'Castlemaine' and 'XXXX' legends — this interior was something out of speculative fiction. And never a can of beer in sight.

Goodly was wearing what looked like a virtual reality headset that was constantly tuning itself to whatever event or location he was observing. But as he swung into a new position and Trask and company came between the precog and the ever-changing screens, so Goodly brought his chair to a halt and took off the headset.

The Old Lidesci shook his grizzled head in astonishment and grunted, 'After two years of working with you people, I'm still not used to it.' Not used to… to this.'

Trask nodded his understanding. 7 know what you mean/ he said, 'but you won't get too much sympathy from me. Hell, it's been more than thirty years for me — and I still feel the same about it/ What was it Alec Kyle used to say? How did he put it? Or was it Darcy Clarke?' He shrugged. 'But what difference does it make, eh? It could have been any one of us. 'Robots and romantics. Super-science and the supernatural. Telemetry and telepathy. Computerized probability patterns and precognition. Huh! Gadgets and ghosts.'' Well, that's it. That's E- Branch/

But Jake wanted to know: 'Just what is E-Branch? What's it all about? Don't you think it's time we saw the whole picture?' He glanced at Liz. 'Well, me at least… especially after what you threw me into tonight?'

'Threw us into,' said Liz. 'I'm not as much in the dark as you, Jake, but it's still pretty murky around here.' She looked at Trask, perhaps accusingly. 'And after all, while tonight was one of the first things we've done, it might also have been the last.'

But lan Goodly shook his head. 'No/ he said. 'You have a way to go yet, you two/

'Precog/ Jake said, sourly. 'That's how I've heard people refer to you. But how can you possibly know for sure?'

And Trask said, 'Because he hasn't let us down yet/

'And what if tonight had been the first time?' Jake wasn't convinced.

But Trask only raised a white eyebrow. 'So what's your big problem, Jake? Are you trying to kid us you haven't been doing your best to get yourself killed these last three years?'

'Maybe,' Jake snapped. 'But on my terms!'

'Well now it's on my terms/ Trask growled. 'Or E-Branch's terms/ Then he relaxed a little, looked less severe, and said, 'Okay, I'll tell you. It was a test. Oh, it served its purpose, too, but it was nevertheless a test. And you both passed it. We saw enough tonight — enough happened — to convince us we were right/

'About me?' Jake said.

'About both of you/ Trask replied. 'Liz did her thing, and we all saw Trennier's reply. She sent and he received — and he reacted!'

'Did he ever!' said Liz with a shudder. 'But you're the one who told me to taunt him/

Trask nodded and said, 'And you made a damn good job of it, too, and satisfied our best expectations. So, if you still want in, welcome to the club. You're one of us. And having seen what you've seen — even with what little we've allowed you to learn — we've no doubt but that you'll join us. So that's that. And in any case you have time to think about it/

'And do I have time to think about it, too?' Jake said testily. 'If so you can have my answer right now. It's no, I'm out/

Trask frowned, narrowed his eyes, and said, 'Well, that's a damn shame because you don't have a choice. And that's because you, too, did your thing tonight. Something I haven't seen the likes of in, oh, five years. And when I did last see it… it was in another world, a vampire world, Lardis's world/

Jake looked at the three men in turn — Trask, Goodly, Lardis Lidesci, the way they looked back at him: sincere, serious, speculative? — and shook his head in mock despair. 'I've been telling myself that it's all a dream, one from which I'll soon be waking up/ he said. Then his voice hardened. 'But it isn't and I won't — not from any dream of mine, anyway. This is your dream, your fucking nightmare, and I've had it up to here!'

'Oh no, this is everyone's nightmare/ Trask told him, and then pressed on: 'But which part do you think is a dream, Jake? The strange work we do, or the fantastic thing that you do?'

'I don't do anything!' Jake turned on him, and for a moment looked like he might hit him. 'It just… it just happens.' He clenched his fists, unclenched them, stood lost for words.

Trask shook his head. 'But things don't 'just happen', Jake,' he said. 'They happen for reasons. And we've got to figure out why they're happening to you.' He turned to lan Goodly. 'Do we have his file?'

The precog nodded, swung his chair to a filing cabinet set in a section of the oval desk, took out a slim folder and handed it over.

There were chairs that folded into the walls. Trask let one down, sat in it, and invited the others to do the same. Then he opened the file. And:

'Jake Cutter…' he began. But Jake's voice was harsh as he interrupted: