Prologue 

      _The day was split—overlain with the shuddery thunder of a heavy tread on sedimentary soils.

Soils that were soft and non-impacted.

      Soils that were still new.

      He stood there, blind and deaf to any world but this. His vision was trapped here, while his body lingered in a world a hundred million years—maybe several hundred million years—away.

      Past experience had warned him not to move. In a place like this it could be deadly. Because, over the aeons, so many of the land’s physical features had changed.

      What you see is not always what you get...

      He could only watch, paralysed by his vulnerability, as the monstrous shape came toward him. His eyes fixed on the long talons, the ripping teeth, the daggerlike spine—almost like a scorpion’s stinger—at the end of the tail. The stinger was what caught and held his eye. He forced himself to focus on it, as the creature did a series of bounding leaps in his direction.

      It can’t see me, he thought, trying to bolster his confidence.

      It didn’t do much to help. Because there was a gleam in the predator’s eye now, and Dustin could swear it was aiming right for him.

      The mud slapped with each heavy step, and now, there was mud flicked in his eyes. Flicked in his eyes and flecked on his face. Sweat on his skin and terror in his heart.

      The mouth opened so fast, he knew he’d never stand a chance. No hope to outrun it on terrain he couldn’t even see.

      Not true. It’s because you see too much...

      It’s not here! You’re not here!

      But it didn’t help. He was in a world stinking of methane and sulphur, and rotting meat on three-inch teeth. Where enormous lizards snapped jaws at man-sized morsels.

      And it didn’t do him a damn bit of good to tell himself he wasn’t here.

      Because he’d never tested it before. He’d learned not to move, because his own world could kill him. But he’d never deliberately sought to place himself “somewhere else”.

      His existence had never been at risk before...

      I can’t sit here and be eaten...

      The monster was confused by his stationary pose. It was accustomed to having its prey flee, squealing. At the very least, it was expecting some evasive manoeuvre: head bobbing, counterattack, dodges—something any prey with a gram of intelligence would do.

      And, suddenly, it was no good. “I need out!” he hissed urgently. “Josh!”

      It was the panicky squawk the creature had been waiting for. The eyes widened, and in that second, Dustin knew it was going to strike. The jaws snapped once, and he wasn’t imagining the saliva. As the head lunged forward in a snake-like strike, he dove to one side.

      But the tail moved even faster.

      This time, when the man’s mouth opened, it wasn’t with shrieks of terror—it was with an even shriller howl of pain. 
 
Chapter One

      _“Dusty!” Someone was shaking him roughly.

      Josh.

       “Can you hear me?”

      “Yes, I can hear you,” Dustin replied mechanically. He waved a hand in front of his face. “His breath was better—” He squinted his eyes open, peering at his surroundings. Dried, reddish soil. Bright blue—not the sullen overcast of dinoland.

      There was a note of tension in Josh’s voice. “Did you see one?”

      Dustin wiped his face. “Could be-e...” He dragged it out, but Josh’s sigh made him snigger. Put him out of his misery. “Nasty things, those Drepanosauruses—” He left it hanging, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Sweat, and something else. A gritty something, that stank of sour soils.

      Josh’s hand gripped his shoulder so hard it hurt. “You saw one?!” He twisted him around so Dustin was forced to look at him. “Did it—” At this point Josh swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “Did it have a spine?”

      “Yeah—” Dustin said, a little distractedly. He was thinking of the weight behind the impact. The force of the blow that had left him stunned.

      Or stung... There was a tingle of pain in his leg—like the nerve-jabbing sting of a cold sore.

      No way. That’s impossible, he thought, trying to calm the lurch of panic that sent his heart racing again. I’m an observer. Only an observer.

      The pounding of his heart was suddenly matched by a throbbing pulsebeat in his left leg. The throb gave way to a searing, stabbing jab that shot down between his toes and back up to just beneath his jaw. “Josh—” he gasped, his eyes widening. He gripped the front of Josh’s shirt with his fist. Dustin’s face was white, his teeth clenched.

      “Shit, Dusty!” Josh said worriedly. Was he having a heart attack or something?! “What’s wrong?”

      Dustin grimaced, but pushed himself up, so he could look at his left leg. See, he told himself, an icy wash of relief running through him. All normal. The relief lasted until the next agonising jolt of pain hit him. This time, he felt it in his gut, too.

      Can’t be, he thought, through chattering teeth. Only in your imagination...

      He gripped his thigh. He sensed Josh’s panic, but he could hear his voice only dimly through a fog. “M-Make it stop!” Dustin grunted, unaware that he was saying it aloud.

      “Make what stop?!” Josh almost yelled at him. “Tell me what’s wrong!”

      The back of his pants leg was wet. Must be marsh mud, Dustin thought, confused. He lifted his fingers to look. The tips were bright with blood.

      “What the hell!” Josh shrieked, hitting the panic button. He forced his voice down a notch. “W-What have you done now?” He pushed Dusty over on his side—afraid of what he was going to find.

      There was blood soaking through Dustin’s jeans. Blood leaching into the arid ground. A lot of blood. But, it could have been worse—undoubtedly, would have been worse—if there hadn’t been a stopper in the hole.

      It was so coated with blood, that at first he couldn’t figure out what it was.

      “I-Is it bad?” Dustin asked.

      “No,” Josh lied. It was a tooth—or, maybe, a spine.

      Josh’s mind rejected it. It can’t be... Reason told him he should leave it in, to help control the bleeding. But something else—some other instinct—told him bleeding wasn’t the worst of Dusty’s problems. Better to make it bleed... With a shaking hand, he grabbed the back of the “tooth” and started to yank it back, out of the hole.

      It didn’t want to come. It had gone all the way to the bone.

      Josh’s gorge rose. Maybe into the bone—

      “Good,” Dustin was saying, and it took Josh a moment to realise he was responding to the “No”. It bothered him that Dusty couldn’t feel what he was doing.

      Dusty was still talking, but he didn’t sound right. “Josh,” he muttered, “feeling a little weird...”

      His voice trailed off. His bloodied hand went limp. Josh swore he could feel it, when Dusty’s head flopped down, onto the soil.

*

      “What do you mean, you ‘helped him set it up’?” Ren asked him angrily. “In other words, you set him up! You know what he’s like!”

      “I know,” Josh admitted. “But when he heard what I was looking for—so I’d know whether to push for funding...” His words tapered off, a little dismally. It sounded like he was making excuses. “You’re right, Ren. He knew it, I knew it.” He shook his head, his own eyes glassy. “I didn’t know it could touch him like that! Hell, he didn’t know it himself!”

      “It shouldn’t have,” she replied, staring out the window. “It never has before.” She turned, to meet Josh’s eyes. “You know how I knew, don’t you?”

      “The telepathy thing?”

      “Don’t sound so dismissive, Mr. Clairvoyant. Of course, it was the ‘telepathy thing’.” She rubbed her left leg. “I even felt it when it jabbed him,” she whispered.

      “Don’t tell him,” Josh warned.

      She shook her head. For one who was supposedly “sensitive”, Josh could be so dense. “Of course I won’t,” she said impatiently.

      Josh grinned. “I get it. Because of the affection thing.”

      She averted her eyes. “Ridiculous,” she grumbled.

      “Hey—at least you’re finally admitting you can read minds,” Josh told her annoyingly.

      “Hardly. Merely sympathy pains, brought on by—”

      Josh smiled, and put an arm around her. “—your sympathy for your subject.”

      She nodded and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

      “You know, some day Dusty will get his mind out of the past, and back into the present where it belongs.”

      She couldn’t believe she was hearing this from him. Her expression said as much.

      “Oh, I’m not saying he shouldn’t visit the past from time to time—”

      She snorted.

      “—but he doesn’t like it any more than you like ‘picking up vibes’. Do you realise I’m the only one of us with appreciation for my ‘gift’?”

      “Since nobody else appreciates you,” she said with a slight smile, “I guess you have to start somewhere.” She added, “Did you forget Dainler? He ‘appreciates’ his gift, too—that’s why he has a limo.” Ren sounded disgusted.

      At the coffee machine, she turned Josh’s way expectantly.

      “F7,” he supplied.

      There was a flicker of annoyance in her eyes.

      He grinned. “I had one earlier,” he explained, with mock innocence. “Dainler and I aren’t in the same class. He stops ’em from being buried, and I dig ’em up.”

      She handed him his coffee, then punched in her own. “You know,” she whispered, with a shiver, and a glance toward the ICU. “If he doesn’t feel better soon, I might give Erik a call.”

      “Dusty won’t like it.”

      She looked over at him, her own eyes moist. “Better than having to communicate through Merrie. Besides, ” she added, “if I don’t, you can bet Valterzar will.”

*

      “Hey, Dusty.” Ren put a cool hand on his hot forehead, jerked it away, then, with trembling fingers, put it back again. So hot. So weak. When she touched him, she could feel the burning in his veins.

      Oh, crap. It was the signal. She’d halfway hoped it wouldn’t be there, because it scared her witless. It had only happened once before. With her sister. Maggie had fallen from a tree and was bleeding when Ren had found her. She’d touched her and held her and cried her eyes out, while Maggie had screamed the whole time to go get Mom. In the end, it had been Maggie who’d had to run for Mom, and Ren who’d had the broken arm.

      Ren had never spoken of it to anybody, but something had changed that day, between her and her sister. Maggie was two years older, and wary of a sister who could finish her sentences. As she grew up, and began to develop that secret life that all teens have, she’d grown as far away as she could from Ren. And, ever since that day in the orchard, there’d been a wariness between them.

      Dustin’s eyes opened, and he looked at her. “Knew it was you,” he murmured. “Must be psychic.”

      Ren brushed a kiss across his lips, then took his other hand in hers.

      He sighed, and she knew he was glad to have her there.

      If he hadn’t been so dazed, he might have realised what she was doing. Realised how much she might be risking. Might even have realised why she was willing to risk it.

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      It was a risk, too. Josh would be furious, and feel more guilty than he did already; Dainler would feel violated, as though she’d intruded on his turf; Valterzar would smile and be pleased that he could add one more note to her file. And Dusty? Would he carry the same wary flicker in his eyes that Maggie had? Because she’d intruded far beyond his stray thoughts, and into his blood and bone?

      “Kitten?” he murmured, a trace of alarm in his voice this time.

      “It’s okay, Dusty,” she whispered, trying to hide the huskiness in her voice. The quaver that might give away her fear. Because this was Dainler’s gift, not hers. She’d always been afraid to use it. At heart, Erik Dainler was about as sensitive as stone. He could shunt away all the disease and injury because he never let it touch him. He never got involved with his clients; never took on their pain or their aches or their angst. She’d asked him about it once, wanting to know how he could heal without identifying with his clients’ pain. Erik hadn’t always been this cold or distant, so he’d somehow developed this shell, this insouciance. She’d wanted to know how—needed to know how—because it was a way of protecting herself, in case anyone got too close.

      Like now.

      A flicker of awareness told her Valterzar was getting impatient with the delays. They were only allowing them in one at a time, and he wanted to “assess” the situation himself. It was more than that, though. Josh was going nuts out in the waiting room, which made Valterzar irritable. Josh was blaming himself for this, but he couldn’t produce the spine the doctors had asked for. Because they would never understand how a spine, that should have been buried for a hundred million years—that should have become stone long since—could carry fresh toxin. How it could contain living cells. And antagonistic proteins.

      Shit!

      Kithren didn’t wait any longer. Dustin was unconscious again, and his skin looked waxy. His breath came in uneven shudders.

      “Love you,” she whispered, close against his ear—relieved that he’d never know how she felt.

      A thing can be over-analysed. She ought to know. Science was her business.

      Ren closed her eyes, tightened her grip on his hand, and let his feelings come.

*

      The scream of the monitor brought Josh to his feet. “Oh, shit!” he gasped, wiping his eyes roughly with his hand. He and Valterzar raced down the hall. They ran into the IC unit just in time to hear the nurse shout angrily, “What the hell are you doing?!”

      It did, indeed, look like mayhem. Ren was leaning against the bed, one hand tangled in the cords, wires, and tubing running from Dustin’s body. She’d triggered the alarm, and in that moment, Josh knew she wasn’t even aware of doing it. Awkwardly—too sensitive in her current state to tune out the nurse’s frustration—her hand fluttered to free itself of the paraphernalia.

      “Ren!” Josh yelled. He sensed she was wide open, like a raw wound. Defenceless. It didn’t take much to figure out what she’d done for Dusty. Josh remembered kidding her about being “too sensitive for her own good”. His words came back to haunt him now, as she turned to look at him. The pain in her eyes made him suck in a quick breath.

      Ren, though, suddenly wasn’t breathing at all. She gasped, and there was only a quick, occluded whine. Her hand went to her throat, and she stumbled away from the bed. Even now, she didn’t want Dustin to see...didn’t want him to know...

      Fuck it, Ren! Why?

      Josh reached for her, but Valterzar was quicker. He caught her as her knees folded and stretched her out on the ground. He checked her airway then bellowed, “Get me a trach kit!” to the nurse. “STAT!” Then he tossed Josh his phone. His teeth were almost gritted as he ordered, “Punch four. Tell Dainler that if he doesn’t get here soon, the first person he’ll have to heal will be himself.”

*

      “I thought you said it was Mallory,” Erik Dainler complained. He grabbed Ren’s hand, dropped it, then paced the room. “I can’t,” he muttered. He ran nervous fingers through his hair.

      Lawrence Valterzar had regained some of his cool. He was personally monitoring Ren’s functions, and he turned now to look coldly at Dainler. “Why not?” His voice was chilling.

      “Because it’s Ren,” Erik said, and Valterzar guessed that for once he was being honest. Dainler was afraid to heal her because he didn’t think he could keep his distance.

      “Because she’s a sensitive?” Did he think she might give it all to him?

      Dainler cleared his throat. He shook his head.

      Valterzar saw his expression and nodded. “I understand.” The man had feelings for her. He didn’t think he could distance himself because some part of him didn’t want to. He looked at Dainler. “You know she did this for Mallory?”

      “Then maybe you should get Mallory in here, so I can get started,” Dainler said brusquely.

      For the first time since Erik Dainler had arrived, Lawrence smiled at him. An unselfish gesture. “Well-played,” he replied, knowing that Erik would understand.

      Erik kissed Ren’s hand, then smiled back. “Just think of all the points it’ll make me,” he said.

*

      Lawrence Valterzar had never wanted to work with this group. He’d trained in medicine, and gone on to specialise in psychiatry and organic brain dysfunction. And then, one day, he’d been called in on a consultation. A James Wickham had been admitted with severe bruising and lacerations. He claimed he’d been “stoned”, but in the Biblical, rather than the modern, sense. Lawrence had thought it owed more to the latter, but he’d refrained from saying so.

      He’d been in James’ room when the tapping on the window began. The almost frenetic beat of tiny pebbles had given way to a glass-spidering assault by rocks and concrete. Then, the first of the invaders had beat down the barriers.

      The rocks came on. Lawrence rang for help, yelled out the door, and danced around the room, trying to get clear. He flung the covers over James’ face, but he couldn’t forget the terror in the man’s eyes. It was a rather graphic reminder of why he’d bothered to get into this gig in the first place. James Wickham needed help—and here was Lawrence Valterzar cowering behind a chair.

      It made him mad—mostly at himself, but furious nevertheless. He saw himself as a coward and a sham—running when someone needed him most. He stood up, and faced the barrage head on. The first concrete block grazed his cheek, and a heavy rock pounded his shoulder. If anything, his anger escalated. James, meanwhile, was screaming almost hysterically under the covers—undoubtedly wondering why Fate had tossed this particular curse his way.

      Lawrence Valterzar couldn’t recall when he’d been so angry, and the fire burning in his gut upped another notch. Whereas fifteen minutes ago he would have hesitated to do anything that might affect his prestige or community standing—that might make others “wonder”—at the moment he didn’t care. As a seeming boulder headed directly for his face, something lodged in his gut.

      He knew with certainty he could end this. He opened his mouth and roared, “Stop this!” The boulder stopped mid-flight, shuddered slightly as though fighting his orders, then dropped, motionless, onto the floor.

      All around him it was like rocken rain, rather than the pelting assault that had been taking place before. All the pebbles, stones, chips of concrete, and restless gravel dropped in a pinging resonance to the floor. Some bounced, landed and rolled, but none of them responded to anything but gravity.

      “Easiest cure I ever effected,” Lawrence had muttered.

      At the sudden silence, James had pushed the sheet off his face and looked a little warily around the room.

      “Was that the first time?” Lawrence asked him.

      “You mean was I a ‘virgin’ rock target?” James asked. There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

      It told Lawrence more than James realised. That he could be amused by this meant he was, in some regard, accustomed to it.

      His panic, of a few moments before, suggested he’d sensed an “episode” coming on.

      If there was ever a case study for organic causes of brain dysfunction, it was this one. Though whether an ability to catalyse kinetic outbursts could be considered a dysfunction, was open to question; in Lawrence’s book, it was certainly an aberration. He had a sudden stirring of interest, not the least of which was motivated by his own response to the rock toss. Why had he been so certain he could end it? Where had that conviction come from? It was hard to discount that particular feeling of burning energy that had lodged somewhere in his gut.

      Whatever else, it was certain the rock assault had ended at his words. Was that because James’ brain had suddenly picked up the message, and certain activators had been turned off? If James was able to turn this off, wouldn’t a sense of self-preservation have triggered the impulse long before this? At a time when he was being personally pelted, and there was no one around to help him?

      Lawrence had found the thought that some part of his own brain had acted physically upon the rock storm quite alarming. In all the self-analysis he’d done during his training and afterwards, he’d never uncovered a potential for psychokinesis—or anti-psychokinesis, as the case may be. If he had, he would have found a way to discount it, ignore it, or attempt to rid himself of it.

      But now he was trapped. He had to know why.

      Still, he hadn’t been the one to initiate or enlist the other members of this particular “Cluster”. All it had taken was his proximity to James that day, his success in stopping the rockstorm, and some research that was the preliminary to a study he was going to effect on anomalous conditions. It had dangled a carrot, and someone had snatched at it.

      And, just like a carrot, someone had snatched away his roots, and transplanted him elsewhere. He couldn’t exactly say his reputation had “gone to seed”, because there’s a certain credibility in working for a government affiliate—but his security was shot to hell.

      As much as he’d wanted to explore the human brain before, now he realised there are a lot of things you’re better off not knowing...

*

      “Ren’s down for the count. Anyone tell you?”

      Of course, they hadn’t. Valterzar had left it to him, the weasel. Josh supposed in its own way, it was a kindness, so that Dustin wouldn’t have to hear the “why” from anyone else.

      Dustin grabbed Josh’s arm. “Where is she? What’s wrong with her?”

      Josh noted the panic and hid his smile. Good. About time Dusty let her know how he felt.

      Ren had never admitted it, either—until today. Today, she might as well have danced on the table for the subtlety of her gesture. She’d done something that went against her principles—for Dustin. She’d put herself at risk, and opened herself in a way that had left her vulnerable. She must have suspected she wouldn’t be able to walk away from this one—that she’d have to endure either Valterzar’s wrath or his helpful hands—and to someone with her streak of independence, that must have been a difficult surrender. Businesslike relationship replaced by an embarrassing intimacy, if Valterzar insisted on acting like a doctor.

      Plus, she’d put Dustin in an impossible position, which must have made her own nearly untenable. He was being given a choice to be excessively grateful, which she would have found abhorrent; to be furious at what he would consider near-suicide; or to be forced into admitting some kind of emotional attachment for her before he was ready.

      Josh didn’t have to be very sensitive to guess that the last person Kithren Magnus would want to see on waking was Dustin Mallory.

      Josh hauled Dustin out of bed and into a wheelchair. He felt another twinge of guilt as Dustin flinched. Ren might have the venom, but Dustin still had the hole in his leg that went with it.

      Josh covered his dismay with a griping, “Hurry up, Dusty!”

      Dustin nodded. “Ready!”

      The last one she’d want to see, but the one she needed most.

*

      “It’s Lawrence Valterzar’s group.”

      Charles Smythe smiled. “‘Rockhead Valterzar’?”

      Marc Jekkes nodded. “The only Valterzar I’m unlucky enough to know.”

      “Tell me again who’s in the Cluster.”

      Jekkes looked at the chart. “Dustin Mallory, James Wickham, Joshua Wingot, Erik Dainler—”

      “—the prima donna,” Smythe interrupted.

      Jekkes grinned. “—Meredith Feiderman, and Kithren Magnus. In order: retrocognition, PK, clairvoyance, bioPK, mediumship, telepathy.”

      “What?” Smythe asked sarcastically. “No astral flyers? How could we have been so remiss?” He shook his head, and asked, in the same incredulous tone, “How did I ever get this job?” He nodded toward the chart. “Isn’t Magnus a plant scientist?”

      “Yep. PhD plant pathology. Works at the university—pathogenic fungi.”

      “Good. We’ll need her. Mallory’s in graphics, and Wingot’s a paleo man?”

      “Feiderman’s the only one in the group without a PhD—and she has two Masters’ degrees, in philosophy and Eastern religions. She writes award-winning children’s books.”

      “Bright group. What’s Wickham’s specialty? Besides rockstorms, that is.”

      Jekkes looked at the text and chuckled. “Geology.”

      “Oh, Christ!” Smythe grinned. “We’ve been trying to figure out how Mallory gave the Drepanosaurus such physicality. He’s been doing a 3D image for Wingot, by the way. Have you seen it? It’s unbelievable. Amazing the parallels, here. Mallory spends most of his work hours creating 3D work that strives to emulate ‘reality’. Then, in his personal ‘3D world’, he is merely observing, and it somehow becomes his reality. I would have thought PK on the injury if Wingot hadn’t saved the spine.”

      “Any theories on the ‘physicality’ so far?”

      “Only one with any credibility. We think during the episode, he and Wingot were touching. Shoes, a hand on the shoulder—something like that. Wingot wanted this so badly he could taste it. It’s possible they only came in contact when Mallory flung himself to one side—at the moment of impact. Between Josh Wingot’s clairvoyance, and Dustin Mallory’s retro ability, they were able to extend the boundaries.”

      “So, what happens now?”

      “None of the players realise how much we know—including Valterzar. His people wouldn’t believe how zealously he guards their privacy—with one exception.”

      “The prima donna?”

      Smythe grinned. “Yeah. In Dainler’s words: ‘too much privacy, and I wouldn’t be riding in a limo.’ We’re thinking of teaming some of them up, and creating situations that might stimulate a repeat performance of Mallory’s and Wingot’s fiasco. Besides, Mallory’s been getting a little dissatisfied. It might be a good time to give him something to think about.”

      “Isn’t that a little hazardous?”

      “We’re paid to extend the boundaries, then find a use for it, Marcus. We could use some fresh alternatives to conventional military action right now. Something beyond the piddling clairvoyant surveillance or PK number crunching.” He read Jekkes’ next question in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter whether they approve or not. None of them would be alive right now without our intervention. They would have become stats on the infant mortality rolls. Just a few more unexplained crib deaths.”

      “But wasn’t it covert activity that initially put them at risk?” 
 Smythe shrugged. He told Jekkes, a little irritably, “And we could argue aboriginal rights, interment camps, and black suppression, too. Ancient history. The point is, an effort was made to rectify the situation. It was Symbio—and by extension, the ‘government’—who supplied the ‘therapy’ that kept them from becoming victims. We’ve also supplied money for their education, run counter to any obstacles their ‘conditions’ might have created, and covered for them when ‘accidents’ have put them at risk, like Ren Magnus’ overblown response at the hospital today.”

      Jekkes commented, “So, their lives would have been hell without us, whether they know it or not.”

      Smythe hesitated, then said bluntly, “And so, Marcus, whether they like it or not—they’re ours.”

*

      Dustin lurched out of the chair before Josh had even brought it to a stop. It was the sight of her, his Kitten, lying there so still that shook him. He looked up, quickly checking the room. He caught Erik Dainler’s eye with a look of relief. “Thank God,” he whispered.

      “Nice to finally get the respect I deserve,” Erik remarked.

      But Dustin wasn’t listening. Valterzar felt almost embarrassed watching this. Mallory was nearly as exposed as Kithren Magnus had been.

      Or was he? Again, it made Lawrence Valterzar wonder. Was he seeing more than someone else would? Because he knew them—or because his instincts were more refined than most? He’d been wondering it for a while now. The way he’d been hired, and some of the probable reasons behind it. The way he’d been a damned good psychiatrist—because he could frequently guess what his patients were thinking; anticipate their needs. Had Dustin and Ren really shared their feelings so openly, or was that just the way he was seeing it?

      Dustin brushed his lips across her forehead, but there was no response. “Is the respirator—?”

      Valterzar nodded. “Keeping her alive,” he said quietly. “We have to do this now, Dustin.” He smiled at him. “Give her a kiss for luck, and let’s go.”

      Dustin bent and kissed her on the lips, then nearly toppled over on his bad leg. Erik caught him, and perched him on the edge of the bed. “One patient at a time,” he pleaded, grinning. “Please.”

      “Will it interfere?”

      “Probably,” Erik said reluctantly, taking another glance at Ren. “But sit back against the pillows and hold her anyway.”

      Dustin wrapped his arms around her and brushed his lips against her hair. “Ready,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

      Erik nodded. He closed his eyes, rested his hands on Kithren’s middle, and let himself go.

Chapter Two 
 

      _There’s no way I’m ever going to do it again. Not a chance.

      No more retro visits.

      A normal life.

      “No way in hell,” he told Lolita. She fluffed her feathers at him and came in for a scritch, her big hooked beak dangerously close to his ear. She was really annoyed by his uneven gait these days.

      “Don’t give me attitude,” he told her. He balanced on his good leg and rubbed with a couple of fingers behind her yellow crest. “If you didn’t weigh so much, we could both manoeuvre better. Good boy,” he muttered, but his mind was elsewhere. They’d stitched him up, given him antibiotics, and let him go home on the second day.

      Erik had claimed he was too spent after Ren’s healing to do any more, but Dustin knew him better than that. He was pissed off, and Dustin figured it had something to do with Ren, and the way she’d nearly killed herself trying to help him.

      As though I had any say in it. Dustin frowned a little as he considered what she’d risked. He didn’t blame Erik for being angry. He was angry, too, but he didn’t have anyone to direct it toward, except himself.

      She’d risked a lot. It had been a long time coming. He’d never wanted to make the first move. He’d decided a long time ago he didn’t have anything to offer her. His life could be hell at times, when he stepped into a backwards world. He couldn’t move, couldn’t see what was happening in his own time. Instant fool—out of sync. One unwary step and he’d appear more of an oaf than he already did. Tumbling down stairs as he was dodging to avoid a wayward cart.

      Which was foolish in itself. Until three days ago, the past had never reached out to bite him. He had to admit the physicality of that last event had scared him shitless.

      When he felt better, he might talk it out with Josh. Lawrence would want him to talk it out with him, but Dusty baulked at that. Valterzar was a psychiatrist. He’d listen, say little, and shove it into a report.

      Dustin didn’t want it. He’d never asked for psychiatric help—or any other kind of help. He hadn’t even realised till a few years ago how strange that was. There’d always been someone there—someone who came in, and yanked him out of the middle of a busy street when he froze halfway across, lost in Never Never Land. Someone who explained away the incidents, or rang him up to see how he was doing during those times despair had rendered him nearly housebound.

      But, normal people didn’t have “helpers”, or “managers” who came out of nowhere. It was funny how he hadn’t known. How the people he hung out with most were those like himself. Ren, Josh, Erik, James and Merrie had been his friends for years—since they were kids. He gravitated toward them, because they, like he, were hiding. Trying to function in a normal world while hiding the phenomena that sprang at them out of the woodwork. Only Erik had decided to come out of the black hole. He’d gone public, and it had been shortly after that that Valterzar had shown up on the scene. That was six years ago now.

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      Now, Dustin worked a job that was “safe”. Stationary. Just him and his computer, some workmates, and an office that didn’t go spinning off into the Middle Ages or Jurassic Park if he took a wrong step. And, recently, he’d begun to hope again. Maybe Ren. Just maybe.

      Ren and me. He grinned. She’d been dropping by every day, with little gifts for him that were somehow just perfect. Drawing pencils, special watercolour paper for his printer. She was the most beautiful—and certainly the most special—aspect of his life.

      The next instant he was worrying that she had another motive entirely. She was one of his closest friends, and naturally, she was concerned about his health. So concerned that she’d taken some of it off him.

      He was glad she came. He was as worried about her as she seemed to be about him. Whatever Erik had done, though, had enacted a cure. She looked great.

      He sighed. Boy, did she look great...

      But, he had to admit that he still didn’t feel right. He’d phoned the doctor because he had a fever, and they’d reminded him he was on antibiotics, and told him to call them if he was still hot tomorrow.

       He knew what Valterzar would say. “Just give me a call and I’ll drop by.” That, however, was not what Dustin Mallory wanted. He didn’t want his keeper fetched, or his life arranged around him. He wanted to go through channels, just like anybody else.

      “If you’re sick, Lolita, call the doctor,” he muttered. Damn if he didn’t feel crappy. He couldn’t eat, and he hadn’t slept since he’d woken up in the hospital ward. He knew he was almost at the point where any doctor would do—even Valterzar—but he was too damn stubborn to give in. “Call your own doctor. Not some trumped-up, glorified, psychologically-perverse quack.” He rubbed Lolita under her wing. “Good boy.”

      “Harsh words. By the way, she’s a girl,” a voice reminded him.

      “Nice of you to knock,” Dustin said sarcastically.

      “And make you jump off your deathbed? No way.” Josh grinned. “You can treat me like royalty next time.” He nodded toward the injured limb. “How’s the leg?”

      “Know you’ll find this a little ‘hard to swallow’,” Dustin retorted, “but it almost feels like I got bit by a dinosaur.”

      “Shit, you’re a lucky bastard.” Josh sighed. “Even if it was just a sting.” The way he said it made it sound like a negligible bee had somehow found its way up his pant leg.

      The weird thing was he meant the “lucky bastard” part. “Excuse me if I pound your face in,” Dustin told him. He reached out a fist, lost his balance, and nearly toppled. Josh caught and steadied him. “What happened to the stinger, anyway? I might want to put it in my trophy case.”

      A little sheepishly, Josh pulled a drawstring bag out from inside his shirt.

      Dustin snorted. “You’re kidding!” He shook his head. “I don’t believe you! Shouldn’t it be in a lab or something?” He hooted. “What is this? A totem against evil spirits?”

      Josh ignored him. He undid the string and reverently drew the spine halfway out of the bag. “See?” he said, in a hushed whisper, his voice awed. It also held a trace of envy as he added, “Do you know how lucky you are? I’ll need a detailed account of everything you saw—”

      Dustin rapped him with a crutch. “Lucky, am I? (rap) If I’d come back limbless (rap), you could have written a (swing—miss) fuckin’ paper (hop—rap) on it!” He shook his head at the gleam of acknowledgment in Josh’s eye. “You are going to write a paper!” He raised his voice, some of his own amusement gone. “Are you out of your mind?! They’ll crucify me!”

      “I’ll keep your name out of it...”

      “Until the paparazzi, or whatever they are, get their hands on it! How many people in the hospital records have had a dinosaur tooth—” At the look on Josh’s face, Dustin added a derisive “—or whatever—pulled out of their hides?”

      “They don’t know!” Josh explained. “I told them it was a pointy rock.” He watched Dustin’s agitated pacing. It would have been pacing, anyway, if Dusty could synchronise his crutch and leg actions. After observing him for a while in silence, he asked, “How’re you feeling?”

      “Great,” Dustin growled at him. “They’ll crucify me!”

      “You said that.” Josh went over and coaxed Lolita off Dusty’s shoulder and onto his own arm. “Good girl, Lolita.” Dustin wasn’t looking too good. In fact, he looked damn sick. Josh realised he’d been so wrapped up in the thrill of discovery, that he hadn’t been all that observant. “Want a drink of water?” he asked now, as he urged the cockatoo back onto her perch.

      Dustin nodded gratefully. “Thanks.”

      Josh was gone for nearly a minute. When he came back, he had a glass of water, and a couple of pill bottles. “Let’s see: anti-inflammatories, antibiotics, painkillers. What do you need?”

      “A good night’s sleep and some peace and quiet,” Dustin replied. He wobbled slightly.

      Josh took one of the crutches and helped him over to the couch. “You’re pretty hot,” he remarked. He smiled slightly, anticipating Dustin’s retort. It didn’t come.

      Instead, Dusty only shivered and muttered, “I don’t feel ‘hot’.”

      “You don’t look so hot, either,” Josh replied. Dusty’s face was flushed, and his eyes slightly glazed.

      The phone rang. “Could you get that?” Dustin asked. The phone seemed a long way across the room.

      Josh was carrying on quite a conversation, but Dustin tuned it out. He was staring, rather blankly, at the wall. It took him a while to realise he wasn’t thinking about anything.

      Correction. He was thinking about how much his leg hurt, and how much he wasn’t going to think about it.

      “Let’s go,” Josh said curtly. He helped Dustin to his feet and pulled an arm over his shoulder.

      “What’s up?” Dustin asked, confused.

      “You are. All the way out to the car,” he muttered, half-carrying him down the hall. “They cultured the bacteria in your leg—”

      “From the spine,” Dustin said confusedly.

      “Yeah,” Josh said worriedly. “They’ve never seen it before. They’re going to hit you with some other antibiotics.”

      “Who was on the phone?” Dustin asked.

      “Valterzar. He wanted to come by and pick you up, but I told him I’d handle it.”

      Dustin took it about the way Josh had figured he would. He pulled away and leaned back against the wall. “No. He’s not my doctor. I’ve talked to my doctor,” he said quietly, “and he suggested I come by tomorrow.”

      “This isn’t something to play with, Dusty.”

      “He’s management. I don’t need a manager.” Dustin hobbled back down the hall. The heat in his body inflamed his temper. “It’s a free country!” he yelled at Josh. “Who do they think they are? Why would they tell Valterzar first, before they’d tell me?!”

      Josh followed him down the hall. At Dusty’s words, though, he stopped. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “The ‘Bail-Out Squad’. Because we’re not normal—”

      “But don’t you see it?” Dustin roared. Today, because of Ren, because of the dreams he’d dared to hope for, it was more important than ever. “We’ll never get a shot at it, Josh! Not if we don’t make a stand now!”

      “But it’d make a hell of a lot more sense to make a ‘stand’ when you can stand up!” Josh bellowed back. He lowered his voice slightly. “I’ll call Erik—”

      “Fuck Erik!” Dustin yelled. “He’s an easy out. Always the easy out! We never take responsibility for the havoc. Fuck it all!” At the expression on Josh’s face, he slammed a fist into the wall. “I don’t need a manager,” he repeated, but most of his anger was gone now, lost in something resembling despair. “I just want to live, Josh,” he whispered. “Really live.”

      “I’ll take you to another hospital. No Valterzar. No connection—to anything. They can call for the results. Just come with me, Dusty.” He put a hand on his shoulder. “Come with me,” he urged.

      Dustin stared at him for a moment. His eyes looked so glassy with fever that Josh wondered how he was seeing.

      “It’s a friend thing,” Josh assured him. “No easy out. Friends help each other.”

      Dusty nodded slowly, and let Josh take his arm. “Just do me a favour,” he said, with a trace of a smile.

      “What?” Josh tugged Dusty’s arm over his shoulder. Dusty sagged against him and Josh boosted him up.

      Dusty turned his head and grimaced at Josh. “No dinosaurs,” he begged.

      Josh grinned back. “Wouldn’t think of it,” he said.

*

      “I can’t go now.”

      She realised, as soon as she’d said it, that she’d been too blunt. Now they’d want an explanation. She wasn’t stupid or naive enough to think they hadn’t already checked her current work projects, to see whether she could be spared without jeopardising her employment. They were always very careful about that. If there wasn’t a good enough explanation, and if she persisted in her refusal, then they’d find a way to “convince” her.

      She wondered whether the others received calls like this. Urgent requests for help couched in a neediness she couldn’t refuse. They knew how sensitive she was; how a negative answer would haunt her later. It was only lately that she’d also begun to wonder whether that negative feedback was also predetermined and set up—against the unlikely contingency of a refusal. Feedback modelled and analysed to offer maximum regret, so refusals wouldn’t become the norm.

      The last time, refusal had been succeeded by immediate fill-in duty at an Australasian plant pathology conference. Since she’d been planning to attend anyway, there was no excuse she could use not to lecture. After all, Fusarium was the subject of her research, and she was considered an expert in her field.

      As a student, she’d managed many of the lectures the same way a lot of the other students did: by tape recorder. There were some classes she couldn’t miss, of course, but she’d always had a very small exam room to test in. It wasn’t until later that she wondered why and how she’d been singled out for exam privileges. With the egocentricity of the young, she’d come to the conclusion it must owe, at least in part, to her superior grades. After a while, she’d taken it in her stride and not bothered to ask why. The alternative was too uncomfortable in many instances for her to tolerate; the interference, with everyone in the lecture theatre so tense and agitated, nearly unbearable. It destroyed her own focus, so she couldn’t concentrate. Wrong answers, and right answers, anger and angst were being flung at her from all directions. She’d nearly flunked out her first quarter.

      But then, it had all changed. She’d learned to substitute the tape recorder for her presence, and transcribe the lectures in peace, and exams had somehow been arranged to minimise her problems. She’d been so grateful that she hadn’t allowed herself to consider too deeply the whos and whys—then. She’d graduated magna cum laude, and gone on to do a doctorate.

      Conferences were considered an important part of professional development, and she’d figured out a way to manage those, too. Generally, with the focus on the lecturers, the situation differed from those university classes where attention was frequently scattered. A third of the crowd at a conference might be students, but at that point, they were out to impress potential employers. It made a lecture scene nearly bearable for her. That, and the fact that what she couldn’t bear she could recoup from abstracts and transcripts of the talks. Acceptable, and definitely more tolerable.

      Except when she was the lecturer. She had a feeling they’d set her up for it as surely as they’d set her up for singular exams. With the intense focus centred on her, her mind was no longer her own. She’d prepped for her talk, of course, but she could never have prepared for those moments behind the podium. Never have known how scattered her concentration could become, or how desperate she’d feel as her own thoughts were displaced by those of a hundred others. How the tension of a speech-giver could give way to panic as she spoke words that weren’t her own, but fragments of others’ thoughts. Or how much angst she’d feel as her hard-won professionalism was ripped apart in front of her peers, and her reputation ridiculed by the unheard laughter of the students. In the end, her focus had given way completely, and she’d gone into deep shock, and collapsed on-stage, in front of everyone. They’d carted her away by ambulance, made some excuse about delirium brought on by a recurrence of malaria, and flown her home.

      Covered her ass, her reputation. Saved her. Bailed her out.

      But the lesson had been learned. Thwart the “system”, and you were in for it. They might cover for you afterwards, but you’d have to pay first.

      It had been the single worst moment of her life.

      Until recently—when she’d seen Dustin in that bed. She’d realised then that she valued his life more than her own. It was why she didn’t want to leave now, when he was so sick.

      It wasn’t hard to guess it was also the reason why they were so insistent that she go.

*

      Dustin never remembered the drive to the hospital. All he was aware of was the endlessness of it. He was so hot he would cheerfully have shed his skin, if someone had asked. And then he thought someone had, and he remembered arguing—telling them to leave his skin alone—but they poked and prodded him anyway.

      When he woke up, the room was dark. Then, his vision cleared, and he noticed the nightlight, above his bed. The agitated beeping of the monitor assured him he was still alive. The way his body felt assured him that Josh had respected his wishes. No insta-cures. Dustin felt a brief surge of pride, and gave a wide smile. I can do this, he thought.

      “Never figured you for the gutsy type,” came a cool voice from his right.

      Erik.

      Dustin’s nigglings of pride burnt out in a surge of anger. He didn’t know who to be angrier with: Josh or Erik.

      Dusty turned to look at him—his mouth opened to comment. He snapped it shut when he saw him. Erik looked exhausted. There were circles under his eyes, he needed a shave, and his clothes were wrinkled. “How long have you been here?” Dusty asked.

      “Three days, five hours, and—” Erik looked at his watch, “—eighteen minutes. Josh said you didn’t want to go for the cure, but—”

      “But what?”

      Erik shot him an embarrassed grin. “People don’t always know what’s best for them.” He shrugged. “I was scared to leave,” he admitted baldly. He came over to the bed and rested his hand on Dustin’s arm. “You gonna live now?”

      Dustin didn’t know what to say. This was the old Erik—the one he used to know, before he got rich and famous. Dustin could only nod, and grin.

      It was enough for Erik. “Good,” he said, giving his arm a quick squeeze. “’cause I’m leaving now.” His eyes were moist as he turned back, at the door. “Welcome back, my Friend.”

*

      “But we want to know why—”

      Valterzar stood up abruptly. Fatigue was making his temper short. Not only was Dustin his responsibility, he was a friend—even if the man didn’t know it. “It’s covered,” he snapped, knowing that he sounded far from the psychiatric professional they’d hired him as. “If he wants to go it alone, it’s his business—”

      “We have a certain investment in his welfa-”

      “His right,” Valterzar practically growled at him. “He’s not under arrest, is he?” His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t think so. That means he still retains the rights of a self-governing, self-determining individual. I respect his decision.” He headed for the door. “Enough said.”

      “You can be replaced,” Smythe warned him.

      “Probably,” Valterzar told him, shrugging. He stood there for a moment, thought it over, then said, “Try telling someone who gives a damn.”

      Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room.

Chapter Three 
 

      _“Don’t look so distracted,” Josh told her. He grinned as he added in an exaggerated whisper, “People will begin to think you’re strange.”

      They were walking down a muddy street, lined with narrow, tin-roofed houses. Ren was reading as they went, but Josh was doing an on-going battle with a persistent pig. It was a young boar that had broken out of somebody’s pen and it kept coming around, to sniff his boots. Ren thought it was hilarious. Josh thought it was a pain in the ass.

      “They’ll be too busy looking at you and the pig to notice.” She continued searching through a report on gene therapy.

      Josh was bored. He discreetly kicked the pig out of the way for the fourth time. It gave an irritated squeal and turned on him.

      Thank God for steel-toed boots. “You could’ve helped me,” Josh complained.

      “I don’t want to smell like pig.”

      “What’s so interesting, anyway? Not that I really care.”

      “Triggers.” She glanced at him, uncertain whether to tell him what she’d been thinking. “Have they ever sent you out with anyone before?”

      “No. What’re you thinking? That I’m the ‘trigger’ for what happened to Dusty?” It was what he’d been worried about himself.

      “Or vice versa.”

      “One drawback—we’ve spent time together before. Most of our lives, in fact. Never had any results like that.”

      “I know. That’s what’s bothering me.” She lowered her voice. “This is about genetic triggers. Maybe we have built-in timers, set to go off.” She looked embarrassed. “I know it sounds stupid, but I wonder. Two years ago, and that thing with Erik. You and Dusty.” She hesitated, then closed her eyes. Josh guessed she was checking their surroundings for negative feedback, to see whether anyone was monitoring them. “I just don’t want to stir up anything, or give them any ideas.”

      Josh’s jaw was set. “They shouldn’t have trained us as scientists if they didn’t want us to do some self-analysis. Do you really think we might have built-in detonators?” With Ren, you had to take these things seriously. You never knew whether it was something she’d come up with on her own, or that she’d “picked up” from someone else at Symtech.

      “All I’m saying is that we should watch out.” She put the paper back in her bag. “Dusty’s right. I’m sick of being a victim. It makes me feel so—so—”

      “Wimpy?” Josh asked.

      She grinned. “Yeah. The ‘predictable’ doesn’t help, either.”

      “I think, for the moment, I’ll put your little trigger idea out of my head.” Josh looked at her in disgust. “Or—I would—if certain people hadn’t made such a big deal about it.” 
 She was still smiling. “Well, you did ask.”

      “‘You asked for it’,” he mimicked. He complained, “Now, all I can see is your damned paper in the background.”

      “I put it away,” she told him.

      “Big deal. With me, it doesn’t matter. My brain’s focussed on it.”

      “Better than focussing it on that pig’s backside,” she told him.

      He grimaced. “Stop that!” he hissed. “You’re driving me nuts.”

      She grinned. “Here’s another one for you: did you ever think maybe the reason we’re so predictable, is that they have someone precognitive on their team?”

      “I hope Dusty never marries you,” Josh told her irritably, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You’d drive him crazy, inside of a week.”

*

      She was, indeed, the merriest person he knew. Meredith Feiderman was as intense a personality as any of the others—and just as much in denial, Lawrence Valterzar thought. In her, though, it took the form of a zestful appreciation for life.

      Lawrence walked up to her door, grinning as he noticed the new paint. The colours had changed yet again. This time, the panels were bright yellow, with a lavender frame. Cheerful. Alive. Enough to ward away the most fearful of spirits.

      He wondered if it was enough to bring her peace. Merrie was a frenetic goer and doer. In the six years he’d known her, Lawrence had been constantly on the watch for burnout. He knew what drove her, but couldn’t help but admire the ways she’d found to manage it. Her house was nearly always filled with people. That was the other thing about Merrie—her dread of being alone.

      She’d explained it to him once. “It’s not loneliness,” she’d sighed, after a particularly frenzied round of people, painting, and partying. “As long as there’re people present, I don’t have to worry about their state.” At his blank look, she’d added kindly, “About whether they’re alive—or dead.” She’d grinned a little flippantly then. “They’re just people.”

      It sounded like a sensible approach. Sometimes her flippant remarks seemed to be the only sensible thing about her. As long as she kept moving, and didn’t linger too long on anything, she didn’t have to think. She fed herself and her constant guests with a seemingly endless quotient of children’s stories, which she illustrated herself—all in the bright colours she so favoured in her surroundings. Merrie had a brilliant mind when channelled, but she didn’t take any chances. She made sure the stimulus was present, to occupy her brain, before she’d let down her guard. And because writing could be such a solitary occupation, she ensured hers wasn’t, by doing her artwork and prose in company.

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      Lawrence also knew about her education. She hadn’t used her comparative religion studies to delve more deeply into her “gift”. She’d used them to protect herself—to find some way to control it. Not for Merrie the obscurities of ectoplasmic artforms, or the etheric darkness of oblique pentagons or magic. No—Merrie had found a way to live, without dwelling upon her body’s preoccupation with death.

      He knocked, and Merrie answered the door herself. “Dusty okay?” she asked quickly.

      “Why?” Lawrence quipped. “Did he come calling?”

      She grinned in appreciation, then threw her arms around him, and gave him a spontaneous hug. “Glad you’re here, Zar. Everybody’s leaving in five.” She kissed the side of his cheek, then whispered in his ear, “I don’t want to be alone, you see.”

      “What happens if you goof up? And everybody takes off to a better party?

      “There are no better parties,” she said confidently. “And if my public vanishes, I go out.” She gave him a kiss on the other cheek, then nestled against him. “Or else I call my Zar,” she murmured. She pulled back, to look him straight in the eye. “He’s never failed me yet,” she said.

*

      Ren looked out over the arid landscape, but all she could see were skeletal paloverdes, saguaros, ocotillos, and a scattering of mesquite. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “I’m supposed to be checking for fungal damage.”

      “That white leftover certainly fits the bill,” Josh told her, pointing to an ocotillo. “That’s damage, if I ever saw it.”

      She snorted. “I was hoping to see something a little more generalised—patterns of damage, that kind of thing. I’ll have to check them close-up.”

      “One by one?” Josh asked, dismayed.

      “Do you complain like this when you get out your toothbrush and scrape for dinosaur rubble?”

      “Point taken. Watch yourself,” he warned. “There’s a snake under that rock—and that one.” He pointed to a rock on her left. “Scorpion.”

      Ren moved back a little gingerly, until she was clear. “Safe now?”

      Josh nodded. “Far as I can tell. If it’s so obvious there’s no big fungal problem, then why are we here?”

      “I have to assume it’s a serious request, Josh.” She admitted, “Makes me feel less used.”

      “Used for your brain, rather than your ‘brain’.” He indicated a large, flat rock. “Scorpions,” he said, with a mock shiver. “Lots of ’em.” As he followed her around it, he asked, “What fungus is this, anyway?”

      “Fusarium oxysporum. A mycoherbicide used for biocontrol. It’s been in development for years. Two-sided assault on the Colombian drug trade—against the coca plants, and the cash flow for insurgents. Not too nice for the locals, though.”

      He looked up quickly. “Why? Ups the violence?”

      “Fusariosis. People with immune deficiencies are susceptible to toxins in the fungus. Unfortunately, they’ve found poor diet can compromise the immune system into a susceptible state. In poverty-stricken areas it can be fatal.”

      Josh frowned. “How bad is it?”

      “Seventy-six percent mortality, in one study.”

      “Biowarfare.”

      “It could be viewed that way. They didn’t tell me all this, just in case you’re wondering. Once I knew what I was searching for, I looked up the rest.”

      “Why here?” Josh looked disparagingly at the miserably sparse plant numbers, somehow eking out a living in dust-dry soils. “I mean, far be it from me to forego a chance to dig, but...” His expression said it all.

      Ren shrugged. “Collateral damage? If they’re having me look for it, it must mean some got away.” She grimaced. “I don’t think they have too much to worry about. This isn’t exactly fungus heaven.” Poking a finger warily between the spines of a saguaro, Ren added, “Even if it took out one, it’d take a bloody miracle to hit another susceptible host. I don’t even know if it can affect cactus.”

      “That would have been a good thing to look up,” Josh said practically.

      “I wasn’t exactly given much time—” she began.

      Josh just looked at her.

      She laughed. “Okay! I admit it! Once they told me what I was looking for I got so involved considering the possibilities that I didn’t do all my homework. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

      “It’ll do for a start.” Josh scanned from horizon to horizon. Pretty open ground. “This area used to be underwater. Did you know that?” He scanned the arid surface, searching for unusual features. He pointed to a distant lump of rock, reddish sandy soil, and scrubby creosote. “That one looks promising.”

      “Not for fungus.”

      Josh had a glint in his eyes. “I’m not looking for fungus.”

      “If a stegosaurus seeps out of the sand, I’ll let you know.” Ren followed him down off the rocks then said, “Go for it, Josh. You might never get this ‘opportunity’ again.” She looked around at the heat waves rising off the dried sand and sighed. “I’ll just be strolling through, checking leaves and stems.”

      “Watch your pit stops.”

      “Peeping Tomases?”

      Josh grinned. “That’s Peeping Joshes, and I wouldn’t have felt the need to warn you. Rattlesnakes.”

      “Oh.”

      “Yeah. Has to do with ambient temperature. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, they prefer a little shade. I’d hate to see you get a bite in the backside.”

      “Glad you know the desert. Thanks.”

      “See you at the Plesiosaur.” Josh set off determinedly for his lump of dirt in the distance.

      “Don’t let the mirages bite!” Ren yelled, turning back to the ocotillo and pulling out her magnifying lens. She focussed it carefully on the leaf, then made a note in her PDA. She yelped when her specimen caught fire.

      Her phone buzzed. “Did I hear a distant cry of dismay?”

      She twisted to look at him and gave him a big thumbs up. “Just set my leaf on fire.”

      His chuckle sounded like hissy static in the phone. “That’s what Dusty said you do for him—and here, I didn’t believe him.” 

*

      “What about your nights?”

      “You mean, when I run out of money?”

      He looked slightly shocked at that, and Merrie chuckled. “I don’t mean whores, Zar,” she laughed. “Male or otherwise. I meant when I’m broke, and there’s no more food or entertainment.”

      He saw the sadness in her eyes and knew this was one of the rare times she’d truly let down her guard.

      “My nights are indescribably terrifying.”

      He put an arm around her, and she leaned back into it. They were on the couch and he knew damn well this wasn’t professional behaviour, but he damn well didn’t care. In defiance of his ethics, he tightened his grip, a glint in his eyes. Ethics be hanged...

      She went on, trying to explain. “They’re just people, but I’m selective about the people who enter my house.”

      “Didn’t you say they turned up anyway? Came to your parties?”

      She shrugged, and he unconsciously brushed his lips across the top of her head.

      “But the stats are against them. They’re outnumbered by the living, even if it’s only one extra.” She took his hand. “It’s when they get me alone...” Her voice tapered off.

      “What? What do they do?”

      “Angry, Zar?” she asked, smiling up at him. “Don’t be. Not all people are ‘nice’, and even if they are, certain situations can set them off.”

      “The bully syndrome.”

      “Is that a real syndrome, or are you talking down to me?”

      He grinned. “Talking down to you. Keeping it simple, so even you can understand.”

      She laughed appreciatively.

      “Tell me why they bully you.”

      “Because I’m so open they use me, but then they see me as the living’s greatest wimp, because I’m so easy to circumvent. Even nice people watch violence, Zar—and get a thrill out of it, too. Very few will stand up to a bully in school. Most will decide he’s on the winning side and go with him instead.”

      But, Lawrence had latched on to her mention of violence. “What kind of violence? Poltergeist activity?” He glanced around the room, searching for signs of damage. It looked as it always did: colourful, full of lovely, glitteringly gaudy fairy hangings, crystals, flowers, fluffy cushions, and cheerful furnishings. So vital. So Merrie. He smiled.

      Her next words knocked the smile right off his face.

      She sat forward and lifted her shirt. There was heavy bruising across her rib cage, and when she pulled up her sleeve, he could see what looked like a bite mark. She wouldn’t look at him, but he knew there’d be terror in her eyes. “H-He attacked me last night, when I was asleep.” A sob escaped, and she scrunched up her fists. He knew she was angry with herself for that sob, that sign of weakness. It took her a moment to regain control, and he didn’t say anything.

      Because, she wasn’t the only one fighting for control. Her “Zar” had just been swept with a nearly overwhelming urge to do violence to whomever, or whatever, had harmed her.

      He guessed it was the next admission that had really crushed her, though—even more than a singular entity’s decision to violate her. Lawrence knew how she loved people, and surrounded herself not only for protection, but enjoyment. She worked hard at happiness for others, and in return, people flocked to her.

      How could they resist?

      She was used to being liked, and though she could admit to aberrance in an individual, she expected something different from the majority. Some sign of friendship, maybe even support against a challenge. Apparently, last night she’d found neither, and he guessed she’d been trying all day to make excuses for them. To rationalise away her terror. Hence, the “greatest wimp” and “winning side” comments. Now, she sighed, her expression dismal as she showed him her back, and the scratch marks there. He could barely hear her when she whispered, “The worst of it was, the others were all cheering him on.”

*

      Her phone buzzed again, and Ren jumped. She’d been concentrating so hard she’d tuned out everything else. “Yeah?” she asked distractedly.

      “Are you drinking your water?”

      “No.”

      “Well, get on it. Heat stroke’s a killer.”

      Ren lifted her head, to stare blankly at the distant horizon. “That’s not why you called,” she said. “Do you need me?”

      “I think so,” Josh told her. “I’m beginning to realise why they needed us both.”

      She stuffed her specimens into her bag; moving rapidly while she held the phone in place with her shoulder. “Want I should use the earpiece, so I can stay on-line?” She zipped the pack and slung it over one shoulder, then started jogging in Josh’s direction.

      “Better not waste the battery,” Josh warned.

      “Wait!” she puffed. “Why?”

      “Why not waste the battery? You stupid, Woman?”

      “No!” she panted impatiently. “Why the two of us? For back-up?”

      “No-o,” he said slowly. “Triangulation.”

*

      “You won’t be alone tonight.” It was a statement. Lawrence Valterzar had seen a lot in the last six years. Cheery furnishings and bright knickknacks grew shadows in the night, creating their own sense of threat. Reds bled into black. Darkness travelled. In Merrie’s case, the air around her took form.

      He recalled the near-desperation with which Dustin had confronted his illness. He’d heard his words, as he thrashed in delirium. They’d let Erik “come out”, because he’d arrived almost before they’d realised what he was doing. His theatrics had diminished his usefulness to them, but had done a lot to enhance the “psychic” image, so they’d let him go. Dustin wouldn’t find it that easy. He was a cripple, who was bound by the complexities of his own mind. As much as he might find it abhorrent to rely on someone else, he’d always have to have someone there, to bail him out.

      Lawrence wondered what they’d do to convince him. He still remembered the time they’d nearly shattered Ren. He’d been newer then, but it had still seemed like overkill for refusal. Nothing had been said, but he’d known, much as Ren had, that it was a setup. The difference was, he’d still been naive. He’d only figured it out after-the-fact. After Ren had already suffered through it.

      That incident had made him question everything. Paranoia in the making. When James Wickham’s “accident” with the rocks had triggered a call for psychiatric intervention, why had he been summoned? He had his own practice, and although he was listed on-call for the hospital, his name was way down the list. Had everyone else been busy? Or had there been a specific reason for the call—to him?

      Now, as he found himself peering around Merrie’s apartment, he recalled some of the horror stories he’d seen. Could she be living over some ancient graveyard? Had someone set it up so her gift was “active”?

      He was lost in his thoughts when Merrie nudged him. They were still on the sofa, and he knew he had a decision to make. He wasn’t about to leave her, but he didn’t want to be just one more person to use her, either. It wouldn’t be like that, but she’d never be sure, and he guessed she’d take any out he offered if it could see her through the night without fear.

      “I’m never ‘alone’, Zar. That’s the problem.” She admitted, “I’d walk the streets before I’d let him at me again.”

      She didn’t have to translate. She wasn’t talking about a casual stroll—she’d go whoring, if that’s what it took, to keep herself from being alone.

      Lawrence’s lips curved in a smile. “That won’t be necessary,” he said. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, staring at the curve of her lips.

      Not ethical, Valterzar.

      “My Zar,” she said, rubbing her hand against his chest.

      To hell with it. “Or maybe it will—” He bent his head and kissed her, and then just kept kissing her. He started with her mouth, then nibbled and kissed down her jaw, and the line of her neck. Damn, she tasted good!

      Merrie was breathing heavily now; her eyes dilated. But she pushed him away—holding him off with a trembling hand. He had to know. It wouldn’t be fair if he didn’t know. “He-He won’t like it,” she whispered. Her eyes were wet now—fierce with wanting him, but not prepared to have him go in defenceless. “He’ll fight you—”

      She averted her head and stood up, on shaky legs—taking a few steps to widen the distance between them. It hurt her to say this. She’d wanted him to love her for so long. Longer than the eternity she sometimes glimpsed in the shadows. Now, he was willing, and she couldn’t let him—because it wouldn’t be right. She took a shuddery breath and forced a smile. “I didn’t tell you, just so you’d—” She shook her head, unable to finish.

      “I know you didn’t.” He could read her so clearly. She wanted so much to do the right thing. It went beyond any fears of karmic requital. It was her innate decency, coming to the fore.

      He moved over to her slowly. “There are ‘things’ I can stop,” he told her. “Rockfalls, for one. Who knows what else?”

      “Things you can stop?” she whispered. Her arms were around his neck now, as his lips moved with that irresistible nibble along her neck.

      “Many things,” he murmured, picking her up, and burying his face for a moment in her breasts. “But this—”

      He kissed her long and hard, then gave her a half-smile as he kicked open her bedroom door.

      “—isn’t one of them.”

*

      “So much better to be on this side of things for a change,” someone said.

      Dustin opened his eyes. “How’d you know I wasn’t asleep?”

      “I’m an expert at feigning sleep. Anything to avoid discerning eyes—after one of my ‘episodes’.”

      Dustin smiled. “Expert at feigning everything.”

      “Heard you refused ‘The Dainler’s’ help. The way he tells it, he hung out here, suffering from champagne—and limo—deprivation, while you insisted on healing naturally.” James Wickham grinned. “Made it sound as though you tortured him.”

      “Have to admit, though, it was good to see him when I woke up. Just like the old days.” Dusty grinned at James. “Been to any good ‘rock and roll’ parties lately?”

      “Aren’t we snide. It’s obvious how much you have things under control.” James’ voice lowered dramatically. “Don’t know if I can trust you, even now...”

      “Look who’s talking! When you tell someone you live a ‘stone’s throw’ away, you really mean it!”

      James burst out laughing. “Never could hold onto it when you were around, Dusty.” He plunked down in the chair, and some of the amusement faded from his voice. “They want us to do a job together.” At Dusty’s expression, James said, “Believe me, I understand how you feel. I’m so dependent on the fuckers I can barely screw myself—”

      It was Dusty’s turn to laugh. “What do they want? A ‘fresh’ sample of Cretaceous granite? If it’s dinosaurs, I’m not going to sit there while you fling rocks in their faces—”

      “Rocks aren’t my only forte,” James argued. “Just what I’m famous for.” He leaned back and put his hands behind his head, and his feet up on the bed. “It’s all very innocent. Supposedly, they need a 3D animation of an eruption. I’m the expert on all things geological, and you’re the graphics man. To get the feel, we’re getting an all-expenses paid trip to some remote, volcanically active island. Remote from here, anyway.”

      “Isolated,” Dusty commented.

      James nodded. “Very. The trip’s short-term—just to give us the ‘feel’ of fire and brimstone. The problem is, they know it’s a trek I’d kill for.”

      “And they need to find out whether I’m still in the fold. Valterzar coming along?”

      James shook his head. “Zar’s—” he began.

      Dustin looked at him strangely.

      “Merrie’s word,” he explained.

      Dusty nodded. “Ah-h.”

      James grinned. “Anyway, Zar’s been standing up to them. Had it from Merrie.”

      “She’s getting pretty chummy with him, isn’t she?”

      “She’d get a lot more chummy with him if he’d let her.”

      Dustin thought about it. Merrie was generally a pretty good judge of character.

      James saw his expression and laughed. “Can’t have all the women!” he complained. “Isn’t Ren enough?!”

      “It’s not Merrie I’m wondering about.” Dusty hesitated, then blurted, “Ren hasn’t been around.” He heard something like self-pity in his voice, and clamped his lips shut.

      “And here you did all that big, brave suffering, and she didn’t even bother to come and watch.” James was smiling again. “What a waste of angst.”

      Dustin looked embarrassed.

      “For your information, she’s too far away.” He sobered. “She’s with Josh—in Mexico.”

      “Another ‘field trip’?” Dustin asked, worried.

      “Unfortunately, yes. If it helps, Ren only went once she knew Dainler was here.”

      Dustin smiled.

      “Symtech has it all set up to maximise their results,” James said, somewhat bitterly. “Pairing us off to see what happens. Josh and Ren, you and me, Merrie and Zar.”

      “Zar?” Dustin asked.

      James looked amused. “Haven’t you guessed? Come to think of it, I don’t think old Zar knows it himself. Whether he realises it or not, Valterzar is one of us.”

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