 
# Coldmoor

David W Robinson

Copyright © 2020 David Robinson

All Rights Reserved

# Chapter 1

Year: 2540

Frederick Sowerby made his way down the narrow staircase at the east end of Coldmoor Castle.

A young soldier, hurrying up the stairs two at a time, shivered as he passed Sowerby. "Bloody cold," he grumbled.

Sowerby scowled. Cold? Damn fool. He didn't know the meaning of cold. "You should've been here in the winter of forty seven, lad," Sowerby retorted.

The soldier didn't hear him, but that did not surprise Sowerby. No one heard him these days. They only felt the chill when they passed him.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and doubled back towards the cellar entrance. It was off limits to the soldiers who secured the castle. It was the exclusive province of the boffins... and Sowerby of course. Nowhere was off limits to him. The basement, as it was known to this crew, was a collection of laboratories, the rooms furnished with fixed benches, all sporting these new-fangled hologram computers; fancy machines that threw pictures into the air, or onto a screen, like televisions used to.

There were a number of subsidiary labs, but the main one was where most of the white-coated crew congregated day after day, week after week, playing with their switches and dials, pumping power into that transparent cube by the far wall; the place they called the stasis chamber. It wasn't made of glass... or at least, not glass as Sowerby knew it. Inside the eight foot cube chamber stood a control panel and two large electrical poles. Lightning would dance between those poles when the team were working, but for all the electrical energy they pumped into it, they still hadn't done what they came here to do. Three years they'd been beggaring about with it, and still they scratched their heads.

In his day, the cellar had been just that; a cellar where the Coldhurst family stored their expensive wines.

Mind, the cellar wasn't the only thing that had changed. The castle wasn't even a castle anymore. Standing on the English side of the Cheviot Hills, it had been constructed from local stone and designed to keep the marauding Scots at bay. But although the outer walls and turret towers still stood at the front entrance, the castle itself had been rebuilt, and now housed the crew and the security team. Sixty-five men and women worked, ate and slept together in a modern, brick-built billet with all the comforts of home... including central heating.

"Cold?" grumbled Sowerby, ignoring the 'no admittance' sign on the double doors of the main lab and entering the room. "What do this lot know about cold?"

An electronic calendar on one wall read February 1st, 2540. The main laboratory was its usual hive of activity. Dr Magnusson and his two assistants, Dr Bergovitch and Dr Wakes, sat at their consoles at the rear of the room, overseeing the efforts of the thirty or so technicians under their control. Everyone faced the stasis chamber, and most of the boffins were intent upon their computers. In the actual chamber, two men worked wearing special suits like those the astronauts wore. Environment suits, they were called. Spacesuits, Sowerby would have said.

No one paid him the slightest attention. But then they wouldn't. To them, he was no more than a rumour; the ghost of a family butler said to haunt the castle; a man who had died over 550 years ago.

The level of excitement in the laboratory grew to fever pitch. Sowerby, about to go on his way, waited to see what the fuss was about.

In the stasis chamber the sparks flying between the two poles had taken on a different texture. They'd become more of a cloud now; an agglomeration of blue/white incandescence, so bright that if Sowerby had eyes, it would probably have hurt them. Most of the technicians wore tinted visors so they could look at it. The two bodies in environment suits came out of the chamber in a hurry.

All around the laboratory, people clapped and cheered and hugged and kissed. Anyone would think they had just won a war.

The crew were not the only ones who were interested. So was _he_.

He'd turned up less than a month ago and he just hung around the place. Sowerby had haunted this castle for almost 600 years, and he knew all the spirits that stayed in the area. He also knew a good many who passed through now and then. But he did not know this one. He kept to himself, concentrated his presence on the main laboratory, wandering through the house and grounds only occasionally, his fiery red aura blazing amongst the other, milder spirits haunting the vicinity.

Sowerby prided himself on his ability to get on with most spirits, but his overtures had been rebuffed by this chap. At best ignored, at worst threatened, Sowerby kept his distance.

Like any inhabitant of the Spirit Plane, Sowerby did not understand how he communicated with other spirits, but he did. He knew who they were and how long they had been in this no-man's land between the living and the gateway to the next life. But he had learned little about this newcomer. He was known as Flix and he had been hanged back in the 17th Century. That was it.

"Why don't you just go through The Light?" Sowerby had asked, only to receive no answer.

The Light hung like a white sun in the background. Wherever a spirit went, The Light was with it, calling every individual by name. Few spirits could resist the call. Even after five and a half centuries on the Spirit Plane, Sowerby still found himself attracted to it now and then. Hundreds, thousands, possibly millions of spirits chose to remain on the Spirit Plane, still attached to the real world, but millions and millions went through The Light within moments of passing over. Sowerby could see them as white flashes leaving their earthly bodies, and flying straight into that giant vortex, on their way to the next life. It was a trick of The Light to persuade the average Spirit Plane dweller that it was a comfortable place to be. Sowerby had never fallen for it.

No one knew what form of energy The Light utilised. Sowerby knew that he could approach the rim, touch it and draw energy from it, but like everyone else, he had no idea how it had come about.

He recalled a confusing conversation with a deceased physicist who had speculated that The Light was a natural phenomenon linked to the Big Bang that had created the universe. In another conversation, a recently dead clergyman insisted that The Light was God. Sowerby did not know. He knew only that The Light was omnipresent and that the best thing Flix could do was release his angry grip on his past life and go through it.

Flix's interest right now, however, was a different light: the nebulous cloud in the stasis chamber. Sowerby had no idea what that cloud was about, but he sensed it was not as spirit-friendly as The Light.

And to his horror, Flix descended into it.

*

For over a thousand years, Coldmoor Castle had sat in the Cheviot Hills, south of the border between England and Scotland. It had seen many a skirmish dating back to the 14th and 15th centuries. During three world wars, it had been used for training infantry and commando units. But never had it seen such excitement as now. After years of solid work, the team of international scientists had finally tapped into stasis energy.

"An advance as important as the work of Rutherford, I believe," said Dr Anders Magnusson as he raised a glass of champagne. "A toast, my friends; to our success and the many possible futures that it may unlock."

Drs Ivan Bergovitch and Kerry Wakes chinked their glasses to his and all three sipped the sparkling wine.

Kerry looked over her shoulder, back into the main laboratory where their team of technicians congratulated themselves and each other on the breakthrough. Beyond them, an intense glow of sapphire blue, locked away in a sealed, plexiglass-walled chamber at the rear of the laboratory, pulsated between two electrically charged poles. For her it had been a three-year battle with the subatomic forces of the universe, but for Bergovitch and Magnusson, and many of the technicians, the battle had been much longer; 35 years in the case of Magnusson.

In the light of their success, they had retired to the office in the corner where they abandoned white lab coats in favour of more business-like wear. Both Magnusson and Bergovitch wore sombre business suits, while Kerry had opted for a three-quarter length dress in dark brown. Not exactly cocktail party attire, but the best they could do in this remote location.

"The energy of space-time itself," she said sipping once more from her glass. The champagne was cheap (another factor of working and living so far from civilisation) but the bubbles still caused her nose to wrinkle. "Now the Solar System really is ours to explore."

Magnusson agreed. "Indeed, my dear. Although it'll take a good few years yet, I fancy."

Bergovitch stroked his scrubby beard. "Would you care to put a timescale on it, Dr Magnusson?" He had lived and worked so long in Britain that almost every trace of his native Russian accent was gone, yet he still maintained the air of formality more common to Europeans than the British.

Magnusson, too, drank more champagne. "Who can say? Rutherford split the atom in 1917, Cockroft and Walton were the first to do so in a controlled experimental manner and the world's first nuclear power station, at Obninsk in your own home country, began producing electricity in 1954. Less than forty years. By comparison, Man first set foot on the Moon in 1969, yet it was 2039, before he stood on the surface of Mars."

"And even then only after a journey lasting almost eight months," Kerry reminded them. "Stasis power should cut that journey time to less than a week."

"So narrow a vision, Ms Wakes," said Bergovitch. "With the energy of space and time at our disposal, the journey could literally be instantaneous."

Magnusson interjected. "We're getting ahead of ourselves, my friends. We have tapped stasis energy. We do not yet control it. I feel we are in the same position as Benjamin Franklin when he conducted lightning to earth. He tapped the power but he did not control it. We have access, now we need to harness and direct the energy. That, I believe, will be the work of years, yet. I doubt that I shall see it in my lifetime." He beamed upon his senior colleagues. "For now, let us celebrate the moment."

He raised his glass again and his colleagues joined him in a second toast.

*

For 470 years he had wandered the Spirit Plane, his tormented spirit seeking a way back into the real world. He watched comings and goings of history, concentrated his attention on the scientific community, haunting many locations while he waited for the breakthrough that might reconnect him with life. And all came to nothing. The only connection between the world men called real and the Spirit Plane was death, and the only way back to life was through The Light.

Many times Flix had gazed upon The Light with something approaching resentment. It was there all the time, shining steadily in the background, a blazing white orb in the blackness of nothing, its hypnotic voice calling his earthly name; "Edward Flixton ... Edward Flixton ... Edward Flixton ..." tempting him into its vortex so that it could carry him to his next incarnation. He did not want his next incarnation. He wanted his old one back... and for eternity.

When he looked at The Light, he could see the millions of earthly spirits passing over, each one mesmerised by the calling of its name into going to the light so that it could suck them in. Fools. Few stopped to realise that if they so chose, they could ignore the call of The Light as he had done.

He was not the only one who knew, he thought, turning his attention from Private Poulson and casting it around Coldmoor Castle. There were several spirits tied to this place, amongst them an old butler who had served some member of the aristocracy back in the 20th century. Flix ignored them as they ignored him. He was a comparative newcomer. He had arrived here less than a month ago as men counted the time, attracted by the daring experiment of Anders Magnusson and his team.

Flix had never doubted that Magnusson would succeed in tapping stasis energy. The Swede was much like Flix himself had been when he was Edward Flixton; single-minded, obstinate, determined. Whether stasis energy would provide the key to returning Flix to the real world was a different matter. He had no way of knowing until the experiment was complete but many spirits were attracted by the experiment. Flix beat them all back (all except that bloody butler who wasn't remotely interested in stasis power). If stasis energy was the way back to the world of the living, Flix wanted it for himself.

Falling into the stasis energy field, he bathed in its power. His energy form burned brighter than it had for centuries. The cycle was complete. Flix no longer theorised. Now he knew. Stasis energy would provide him with the power he needed. He could return to the world of men ... and all he needed was a host; a freshly slaughtered body.

*

Captain Gillian Dressler, head of security, ambled along the ground floor, casting her eyes this way and that, seeking anything that might be out of the ordinary.

As security posts went, Coldmoor Castle was easy. The location was remote; high in the hills at least fifteen miles from the nearest town and only accessible via some of the narrowest, most tortuous roads in the country. And yet, its very remoteness made it a difficult target for terrorists, as a consequence of which, she and her team had a comparatively easy time of it. Her biggest problem consisted of crewmembers, both security and scientific, flivvering down to Hawick and coming back roaring drunk in the early hours of the morning.

Neither she nor any of her people, had the remotest clue what the boffins were working on; only that it was most secret and that the castle had to be guarded and patrolled 24/7/365. Even when the whitecoats went home for Christmas and New Year, she had a full team on duty.

Castle, she decided as she walked through the long gallery towards the main entrance and the monitoring station, was a misnomer. To anyone passing on the road, a hundred metres from the main building, the place looked much as it had done when it was first constructed in the 14th century. Twin towers stood either side of a narrow arch and portcullis, and high, crenellated walls and ramparts were designed to protect archers while allowing them to fight off the marauders. But once through the main gate, things were so different.

The inner castle had been reduced to rubble sometime in the 23rd century, and a modern garrison house, initially used for officer training, built in its place. Two centuries later, with the development of new construction materials like plasticrete and plexiglass, that, too, had been levelled and the present building put up. It said a lot about modern building materials that a further century on the place still looked as good as new.

Now, as throughout most of its history, living quarters filled the upper floors (five in number); compact, en suite rooms that could sleep two in comfort. The ground floor comprised the cafeteria and administrative offices, but it was in the subterranean labyrinth of laboratories that the real work of Coldmoor Castle took place and although her people patrolled the corridors, access to the basement labs was denied them all.

Reaching the entrance hall where Sergeant Dave Summers manned the CCTV console, Dressler decided that in days gone by, those laboratories would have been working on secret weapons, but these days, with the world progressing slowly towards a single, unified administration, such work would be redundant. True, there were enemies out there, but they were factions, not nations; national fundamentalists from various corners of the globe who could not see the value or logic in the world uniting as one people. Secret weapons were not needed to deal with them, and the military might of the entire world would meet any nation (she continued to think of them as such even though the term was largely redundant) dabbling with weapons of mass destruction.

"All quiet on the Coldmoor front, sergeant?" she asked.

Summers nodded towards the monitors. "Big booze up in the main lab. Maybe they finally invented a new mousetrap."

Dressler laughed. At 42, Summers had seen a good deal more service than her, including several tours with an anti-terrorist unit based in southwest England. He found work at Coldmoor Castle even more tedious than she did. She noticed a red alarm beacon blinking on the console.

"What's that?"

Summers shrugged. "Another alarm triggered; room 61. Top floor. One of the empty billets. It's the cold weather and high winds. They're always going off. I've sent Ronnie Poulson up to reset it." The sergeant yawned. "I tell you, here we are with all the power of the 26th century behind us and we still can't fathom a way of stopping the wind from tripping alarms."

Dressler laughed again. "As long as you're sure."

She turned to walk away and as she did so, the wail of an alarm assaulted her ears. She swung back. Summers fingers danced over the controls, killing the wail, shifting the views of monitors to the room where the alarm had triggered.

"Room 61," Dressler commented as he homed in on it.

They stared in disbelief at the CCTV images. Light flooded through the open door. The plexiglass window had been smashed out so completely that there was not enough of it to reshape itself, and there was no sign of Private Poulson.

# Chapter 2

Year: 3010

A busy bar, the room buzzed with the murmur of a hundred different conversations. Occasionally a loud laugh or exclamation would puncture the hum causing one of the bar people, ever alert for signs of trouble, to look up sharply. Under the bar, alongside the glass washers and pump connections, tasers were set into their charge points and none of the three attendants would hesitate to bring them into action at the first hint of a fight breaking out. It was that kind of bar.

Goods changed hands in one corner: a palmtop holoputer going for less than 100 credits, a brand new eyescreen visor sold at 50Cr, a hint that there was a large screen, multi-view holovision projector outside in the flivver that could be had for 200Cr, as seen, no questions asked, no warranty. It was that kind of bar.

As long as it did not threaten violence, the black market trade was no concern of the attendants. Their job was to ensure peace and keep the customer both happy and just the right side of drunk.

Outside, the city streets hung heavy with summer rain; not enough to keep shoppers at bay, but sufficient to ensure that all coats and hoods were switched from thermal to waterproof. The big, High Street names would take their fill of the available money, the small trader would fill his cash register, the masses would go home satisfied with their bargains and the city would mark up another successful Saturday of trade.

The doors swung open, briefly admitting the glare of natural, if gloomy daylight, and a couple stepped in.

The head barman nudged his female assistant. "Watch these two." He had been a barman all his working life. He knew trouble when he saw it.

The couple stood close together just inside the door and looked around the room. He stood over six feet, a mop of dark hair fringed about astute eyes taking in and assessing the whole room in its quick scan. Strong, square shoulders and powerful, muscular arms bulged beneath the thermo-jacket, strong hands hung relaxed at his sides, the right hovering within reach of a holster but whatever filled the holster, it was not a pistol or a taser: just a simple rod-like affair about 20 centimetres in length.

She, too, wore a thermo-jacket, its inner-workings steaming off the rain. Beneath it, a short skirt ended above the knee, revealing a fair proportion of her shapely thighs. Her dark hair hung in straight lines, framing her soft-featured, attractive face. Her sapphire eyes were intense yet far away. She gazed around the room and took in nothing, yet took in everything.

Her stare fixed on the far corner where half a dozen men played virtual darts, the hologram board hanging in the air, the virtual arrows flying realistically across the space between thrower and target.

She nodded to her partner and they made for the corner, their pace unhurried, in perfect unison, their unspoken purpose plain to the experienced bar manager.

"Hey. You two. You wanna drink in here, you order at the bar, and if you don't wanna drink, you've no business here."

His announcement brought a hush over the room. All eyes were fixed on the strangers.

The man paused and turned to face the barman. "We're not drinking, and we do have business here." The voice carried in an even tenor, as relaxed yet determined as his movements.

He turned again and he and his partner continued their progress towards the darts match.

The barman snatched the nearest of the tasers from beneath the bar. "Call the cops," he said to his assistant.

She snapped on her visor, brought it down and scanned in the police emergency number while her manager hurried from behind the bar and levelled the taser. "Stop right there or I'll floor you."

This time it was the woman who faced him. Her eyes burned into him. He felt his muscles seizing. His hand trembled. He tried to press the trigger of the taser. Her eyes bored into and through him. He urged his finger to the trigger but he could not move a single muscle. Pain lurched through his arm and he dropped the taser. The man picked it up.

"We'll be just a few minutes," the woman said, "and then we'll leave. When we have what we want."

They resumed their even pace towards the darts match. Of the six men, all regular customers, three gawped, two grinned, one unshaven and unkempt maintained a disinterested eye on the pair. It was this last figure the woman concentrated upon.

"You are William James."

It was not a question, but the other responded as if it had been. "Who wants to know?"

"I am Agent Nellis and this is Agent Holt." Mia Nellis gestured at her companion. "We are from Stasis Center, and you are under arrest."

In the background, the barman groaned. Stasis Center agents? What had he been thinking when he challenged them.

Willy James chuckled. "Under arrest? Me? I don't think so. I ain't done nothing wrong."

"You were tried in your absence," said Nick Holt. "Robbery with violence, grievous bodily harm, common assault, twenty-three specimen charges of theft and handling goods, knowing them to be stolen. A plea of not guilty was entered on your behalf. The jury found you guilty on all charges. You were sentenced to five years in stasis and EEG engineering to ensure that upon your release, you become a fit member of society."

Willy laughed: a short, sharp, cynical bark. "Maybe I don't want to become a fit member of society. Maybe I'm happy with the way I am."

"You are advised to come voluntarily, James," Mia said. "If you do not do so, we are authorised to restrain you."

Willy yawned. "You mean like those cops who tried to take me by force? Word is they were lucky to survive."

Nick dropped his formal tones. He narrowed a steel glare on James. "You'll find me a different proposition, Willy."

Willy laughed again. Then the laughing stopped. "Deal with 'em," he snapped and the five men around him moved. As they surrounded the Stasis Center agents, Willy ran for the rear door.

Mia pointed and a bolt of pure white energy leapt from her fingers, hitting Willy square in the back, hurling him to the floor.

A laser knife appeared in a pair of hands. Nick chopped down hard on the wrist and Willy's accomplice howled. Mia kicked another in the crutch and as he doubled up, she brought her knee up into his face. He fell to the floor groaning. A pair of hands reached for her throat. She stared into the owner's eyes. He backed off, his face suffused in terror. A scream came from his mouth and he, too, fell, clutching his temples.

Of the remaining pair, one ran and the other brought up a taser. Nick snatched at his right hip, tearing the rod from its Velcro fastening. He brought it up, levelled it and hit the blue trigger. A beam of blue light leapt the two metre gap between him and his opponent, who flew back and landed on a nearby table, scattering plastiglass drinks containers everywhere.

Mia and Nick stood in the centre of what had been the melee and gazed around the bar. From outside came the sound of a police siren drawing near.

"Does anyone else have a problem?" Nick demanded.

*

When the police arrived, Mia and Nick handed the felons over and then stepped out of the bar into the busy streets of York city centre.

The rain had eased a little. Lowering his eyescreen, Nick unlocked their flivver and opened the canopy. Climbing in, he picked up a parking ticket from the windscreen and passed it to Mia ... but she was not in the passenger seat. He looked along the crowded pavements and saw her buying from a flower seller.

With a rueful grin, he muttered, "You never miss an opportunity, do you, Mia?"

She returned with a small posy of fuchsia. Placing them on the rear seat, she climbed into the flivver.

Closing the canopy against the slackening rain, Nick handed her the parking ticket. "One for the admin department to sort out." Starting the engine, he glanced over his shoulder at the flowers. "Netherfield?"

Mia nodded. "We have the rest of the weekend to ourselves, Nick, so indulge me."

He lifted off, backed away from the parked police flivver, then engaged forward thrust and tickled the throttles to pull round and along the busy streets.

"It's over thirteen hundred years, Mia," he said as he negotiated the crowds spilling from the pavements into the narrow street. "It was another life. This is our nineteenth incarnation since then. It's time to put it behind you."

Mia clipped her seat belt into place as Nick struggled to pass the shoppers on the street. "We were blessed with the knowledge of all our lives, Nick, and I don't know why. The Cosmos does nothing without reason. There is a purpose in our memories; a purpose that we haven't yet learned. Or do you imagine that the Cosmos seeks only to punish me with memories of that terrible crime?"

"No. If that were so, then I would have the nightmares, too, but I don't." He stopped at a junction, checked the on-board satnav and turned to the left. The crowds were thinner here, the street broader, and he could pick up a little speed. "All I'm saying is, you should do like I do and go with the flow."

"Cliché."

Nick stopped for a set of traffic lights and picked up her complaint. "But accurate. The Cosmos has given us the knowledge of all our past incarnations and I agree that it's done so with a purpose, but it's not up to us to try second guessing that purpose. For all we know, it may have done so to ensure that we feel no fear when we confront the people we're sent to arrest."

"Pah." Mia's snort told him all he needed to know about her opinion.

The lights changed and he accelerated away.

Any visitor from the past 2,000 years would recognise the walled city of York. The remains of the old walls stood much as they had done since the Romans founded Eboracum in 71AD. The gothic Minster looked much the same in the year 3010 as it had done when completed in the 15th century, and the old Tudor streets had changed little. True, many of the buildings had been reconstructed from modern materials like plasticrete and polywood, but the essence that was York had been maintained.

And in the summer it was still one of the biggest tourist attractions in the Great Britain national region, as Nick learned while crawling along in an apparently endless queue of flivvers seeking to leave the city.

"What say we book into a hotel for the night and spend tomorrow sight-seeing," he suggested as they picked up the westbound signs.

"Whatever you want." Mia's voice, so often honeydew seductive or unemotionally practical, spelled out sulk.

Nick clucked impatiently. "I'm indulging you, all right? I'm taking you to St Mary's, Netherfield. You can say your little prayer, leave flowers on the grave, and curse the spirit of Flix again. Just stop getting so ratty over it all."

The traffic thinned. Nick opened the throttles further and accelerated to 50kph.

Mia sighed. "I'm sorry, Nick. I've been like this ever since we tracked James to York. I knew it would be difficult to come here."

He grunted. "I should think so, too."

Mia snuggled into her seat and watched the hypnotic swish of the windscreen wipers for a moment. "Do you really think that the Cosmos has granted us these memories and my powers so we can be more efficient in our present calling?"

"I don't know. It's a possibility. I guess what I'm really saying is that throughout the last nineteen incarnations, we've never feared death, and it's helped us deal with life and the deaths of others. Why the Cosmos needs us to have no fear, I really don't know, but unlike you, I don't question it. What grand design the Cosmos has in mind, we'll find out in due course, whether in this life, the next one or the next but one hundred."

The houses began to thin. On their right lay the long disused racetrack, now a heritage site. Hologram signs indicated the access to the East Yorkshire flivverway just ahead. Before reaching it, Nick made a right onto a country lane and accelerated again.

From the passenger seat, Mia watched the open fields stretch away north and west, and appeared to become more depressed with every passing kilometre.

Five minutes along the road, an old-fashioned physical sign pointed left to the village of Netherfield. High hedgerows on either side restricted their view, but up ahead, Mia could make out the Norman tower of St Mary's parish church and beyond it the roof of the recently rebuilt Flixton Hall.

And her memory carried her back across the centuries to those dark days of the English Civil War.

# Chapter 3

Year: 1646

Maria Neville turned the key in the lock, prised the door open and peeked out.

"About time, too," complained Nicholas Holdsworth. "I'm near freezing out here."

Maria put a finger to her lips. "Quiet. You'll waken 'em up." She opened the door a little wider, praying that it would not creak. It gave a little whine as Nicholas pressed through into the lower gallery, his metal tools rattling as he moved. Maria closed and locked the door behind them and hung the key back on the wall hook.

Nicholas looked her up and down in her flouncy nightdress. "That's what I likes to see." He grinned. "My girl ready for a roll in the hay." He fondled her and tried to press his lips to hers.

Maria pushed him off. "You keep your hands to yourself, Nicholas Holdsworth. And remember, stable lads like you ain't supposed to be in here. Now come on. We got work to do. And keep that noise down."

Nicholas removed the jemmy from his belt, and sheathed his hoof knife.

Maria led the way along the ground floor gallery, her candle held aloft to cast its light over the gloomy, oak interior. The wide floorboards felt cold to her bare feet and the draught whispering through the ground floor was enough to have her scurrying back to bed ... or back to the hayloft where she usually cuddled up with Nicholas.

Cuddling, however, was the last thing on her mind tonight. Her psychic mind had finally homed in on Sir Edward Flixton and she knew where to find the proof that despite all the witches he had sent to the gallows over the last two years, Flix, as he was known locally, was the biggest and most secretive.

The broad appeal of Puritanism, which had replaced the Catholic faith over the last few years, mostly with General Cromwell's blessing, had seen a wave of witch hunts spread across the land. Word of mouth told tales of the Witchfinder General, a man by the name of Matthew Hopkins, who worked the parishes of East Anglia with the blessing of parliament and the King. Sir Edward had picked up the stories after the battle at nearby Marston Moor, and the two years since the Parliamentarians' triumph in that battle, had seen he become the scourge of the local soothsayers and healers. What he would make of her ability to see into other minds, Maria could only guess, but it would sure lead to the gibbet.

Many times she had looked into Flix's mind, and seen the dark intent that lurked behind the Puritan image. The Squire of the parish of Netherfield, he was the evil one. He was the one with designs on flouting God's order. Maria could see it in his mind.

Like all servants, she was compelled to attend the public hanging of witches in the grounds of Flixton Hall. And while some poor wretch struggled for release on the gibbet, she had seen the pleasure Flix took from the sight. And she had seen more, but she could not be sure what it was. Almost as if the master himself had psychic powers and sought to reach out, trap the dying spirit of his victims as they passed from life into death.

Seeking him out, searching deeper into his being while he slept, she learned the terrible truth. He was looking for the means to live forever. To do so he would have to trap a spirit in the body as the being died. Give it the appearance of life when it was dead. And then, when his old body became too worn to carry on, he would transfer his soul into that body.

A god-fearing woman, Maria was horrified at the thought. It went against the ways ordained by God, and she vowed that she would seek the evidence that would expose his contract with the Devil.

Night after night she invaded his sleep, infiltrating his educated mind, looking for the ways and means by which she could expose him. At one hanging, a village maid of seventeen years who had been tried in York and found guilty of witchcraft, she caught Flix looking at her, and for one fearful moment, Maria thought he knew. She comforted herself with the knowledge that he could not see into other minds. He might sense the aura, the spirit, but he could not look into a body the way she could. His disdainful gaze was lust, not suspicion. Maria knew his hunger only too well. Like all the servants at Flixton Hall, she had been subject to it many times.

Maria and Nicholas had come to the hall within a month of each other, both aged ten, both orphans. He was set to work in the stable and had matured into a fine groom and smith. Tall and handsome, strong as a bull, most of them as lived at the hall knew that he was her swain, and married they should have been, but for the niggardly Flix. To marry they needed the permission of their squire and master, and he had consistently refused.

"'Twould cost me a dear dowry for thee, lass," he had said every time she asked, "and I cannot afford it."

Maria and Nicholas had pleaded with him, assured him that they wanted nothing more than his blessing, but always he had refused. Again, Maria knew the truth. He wanted no husband for her. He wanted her for himself, even if it was to be kept as an unwilling mistress for those times when his wife had the curse. A husband would have prevented that.

But at last, she had the means of Flix's undoing. At last he would be damned, Nicholas and she would be free of his indenture, free to marry, free to leave this awful place, rent, nay build a cottage of their own.

Shushing Nicholas again, she opened the cellar door and waved him though. Closing it behind her, she passed him and led the way down the stone stairs, even colder to her feet than the floorboards above, her candle held aloft to light their way.

The cellars were dank, dark and cold. The narrow aisles running between brick that walled off the occasional dungeon cell or wine store were festooned with cobwebs, hanging with the dirt and decay of disuse.

Maria, sure of her footing, hurried along the alleyways, turning left here, right there, until she reached a cell in the far corner of the building, somewhere near the stables, where double, wooden trapdoors would open to the rear courtyard. In the barred cell stood barrels of ale and brine, the one for drinking, the other for preserving. The bars were locked. She nodded to Nicholas.

He applied his jemmy and heaved on it. His muscles bulged, sweat broke on his forehead and as she watched, Maria felt sure that the jemmy would yield before the lock. But Nicholas had fashioned the crowbar himself in the stable forge. He had complete faith in it. Pausing to regain his breath, wiping the sweat from his eye with his cap, he applied himself again, took a deep breath and bracing his feet, pulled.

The lock gave with a loud snap. For a long moment they stood, not daring to move, listening to the creaking of the house and the howl of the March winds, lest their noise might have disturbed the servants.

When they felt secure, they moved into the cell. Maria gestured at two barrels of brine, indicating that Nicholas needed to move them. He rolled them to one side with ease, exposing a trapdoor set into the floor. The bolt was rusty but Nicholas cast his expert eye over it and whispered, "Looks like it's been oiled recently and opened."

Maria point down. "What we seek is down there, Nicholas."

"You're sure?"

"I've seen it in his dreams."

Nicholas bent to the bolt and prised it back with his hoof knife. Maria watched his strong fingers at work, accurately placing the hooked end of the knife, designed for removing stones from horse's hooves, into tiny craters on the surface of the rusted bolt, and easing it back tiny fractions at a time. He was the only one in all this world who knew of her powers, and they troubled him not at all. He had learned to trust and love her long before she told him of her psychic mind, and when Flix consistently refused to let them marry, Nicholas it had been, who insisted that she use her powers to expose his corruption.

The bolt retracted, Nicholas raised the trapdoor. Inside was a stepladder leading down into an underground cell.

"Priest's hide, I'll wager," he said making his way down the steps.

At the bottom he took her candle and waited for her to come down. Modesty prevented him from looking up under her nightwear, but she noticed his cheeky smile when she joined him.

"You might look, but that ain't the same as having," she teased and led the way along.

It was a rough-hewn tunnel, carved from the surrounding alluvial clay, the wall sweating from recent rains, the ground an inch or more deep in fast running water. It was not tall enough for Nicholas's six-foot frame and he had to bend his head to make his way along behind her.

"You sure this is the way?" Nicholas asked.

"I seen everything in his head." She hurried ahead, absolutely sure of herself. "Made me shiver, it did. 'Where the dark master's bowl overflows with the stuff of eternal life, I shall hide my secrets.' That's what he was thinking as he came along here. T'ain't far. Not if I seen it right, it ain't."

"Wassat supposed to mean? What dark master?"

"The Devil himself, I should think.".

"Well he's gone to a lot of trouble to hide it," Nicholas grumbled.

"Wouldn't you? These truths'll lead a body straight to the gibbet."

They had gone perhaps fifty metres when the tunnel reached a dead end. Nicholas screwed up his face asking the unspoken question. Maria began to scrabble at the walls with her free hand. Soon she had scraped away an inch or two of mud and behind it, was a wooden door.

Nicholas ushered her to one side and took up the task, raking great heaps of mud from the door until he had exposed the latch. He pressed it and pushed. The door swung open into a cell much smaller than the one that had contained the brine and ale.

On the floor stood a solid, leather trunk, locked shut and bound in chains.

"That's it." Maria's excitement grew. "That is what we seek."

Nicholas concentrated on the large padlock. "Won't get through that, but I'll wager a flagon of ale that the chains are local made, and they won't hold."

He applied his jemmy to a link and prised. Once more, Maria watched the sweat break on his brow and slowly the joint began to break and link opened.

Once the chains were off, opening the trunk was child's play. Inserting the jemmy under the lid, Nicholas gave a mighty heave and the lid snapped open.

Maria's faced lit with joy. Inside the trunk were reams and reams of handwritten papers.

She urged him, "Quickly, Nicholas. Read to me."

"I don't read too well."

"Better'n me. I don't read at all."

He picked up one sheet. "There's a date," he said. "Oc ... October 7th, 1639. Deb ... debit to Mr Jer ... Jere ... Jere-miah ..."

"Permit me, my lad."

A mailed fist appeared and snatched the sheet from him. Heart pounding, Maria turned and stared at the evil, smiling face of Flix. "Debit to Mr Jeremiah Wagstaffe, esquire, wool trader of the parish of the City of York, one shilling and twopence ha'penny." Flix glowered in triumph. "And now, Maria Neville and Nicholas Holdsworth, we must ask how you two learned the secret of the family accounts, so long hidden away from the prying eyes of the Royalist Exchequer. Sergeant at arms!" the last words were bellowed and the sergeant at arms, attired in the roundhead uniform of Cromwell's new model army, appeared.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Methinks we have a witch in our midst, sergeant. Take them away for interrogation."

Maria screamed.

*

Maria screamed. Struggling was useless, but she struggled. The executioner was bigger, stronger than her. Even had she not had her hands tied behind her back, she could not have fought him off.

Nicholas was already hanging. He had put up no fight. He had simply look into the amused face of their master, and warned, "We shall meet again, Edward Flixton, and you shall pay for this injustice."

The combination of bile in his tone and threat in his words drew only a mailed fist from Flix, which Maria believed cracked Nicholas' jaw. In any event, Nicholas did not utter another word. He allowed himself to be placed on the stool, did not protest when the rope was passed about his neck, and he jerked only briefly when the stool was kicked away.

It was not cowardice, Maria knew. It was acceptance. Nicholas had accepted his fate from the moment the judge passed the sentence. She had retained some hope, some faith in the Almighty. Nicholas had none.

The interrogation, as Flix had described it, had been as terrible and painful as Maria expected. She was subject to pricking, had the soles of her feet burned with hot irons, and deprived of sleep to the point where she did not fully trust herself to say anything when she was brought before the judge at York Assizes.

Flix's argument was simple. "During the recent uprising, my lord, it was deemed prudent to secrete the family accounts lest they fell into the hands of the royalist supporters. It was a task I carried out myself by the dead of night. No one could know where those accounts were hidden. I have had my eye on yon serving girl for some time, suspecting her of witchcraft, but without proof, I chose to be charitable and lend her the benefit of my doubts. It seems, however, that my original suspicions are confirmed. How else could this wench know the secret of my accounts lest it be by means of witchcraft?"

When called to answer the charge, Nicholas had chosen to side with his love. Bruised, battered, missing one eye his hands crudely broken and mangled, despite the torture he had endured at the hands of Flix's interrogators, he maintained his innocence and hers and openly accused Flix of witchcraft himself.

Giving evidence, Maria could not explain how she knew where the accounts were hidden without condemning herself, so she, too, resorted to attacking Flix as the evil one.

It did no good. Sentence was passed. It was a right of the local squire to see any parishioners sentenced to death to be hanged in public in the grounds of Flixton Hall. The staff and villagers were compelled to attend, and Flix would invite several of his influential, Puritan friends to see justice done.

Her doom drew near. The executioner lifted her to the stool, she kicked her legs wildly.

The hooded figure advised her. "See, lass, if you don't be still, I shall draw the noose round thee and haul thee up from the ground by thy pretty neck."

Maria ignored his threat and writhed and wriggling in his powerful grasp, desperate to be away from this dreadful place.

The hangman cast her to the ground and knelt upon her. He motioned to his assistant, who handed down the noose. Maria now wriggled her head this way and that in an attempt to avoid it passing over her neck.

From the ground she looked up into Flix's eyes and pleaded, "For pity's sake, tell them the truth."

There was no mercy in him. "Thou art a witch. Thou hast been found guilty and sentenced. The punishment is just and thy soul will be cleansed of the Devil's possession."

The executioner's assistant passed the rope over the gibbet, the executioner released her. Maria struggled to her knees, the pair of duly appointed killers hauled on the rope; the noose tightened about her neck and dragged her to her feet, then up from the ground. Her airway began to close. She gagged, she wriggled, and darkness soon began to close on her.

Through bulging eyes, she took in Flix's delighted face. He chewed on roast chicken, joked with his friends.

But Maria saw beyond the front. She felt the power of his mind pressing hers. A mind he had been clever enough to hide from her. A mind like hers. A psychic mind.

Death was a long way off, but would creep slowly upon her. Unconsciousness would come first, but her mind would still be alive. Flix could never take that away.

Soon she stopped struggling. The darkness continued to envelop her, crowding, dimming the world around her. She felt him invading her mind and cast her power forth, repelling Flix's psychic demands. She felt his surprise at her strength; she guessed that the surprise did not register on his bearded face. His finest skill had always been to hide his evil.

Through the darkness a light began to shine. The Light. The ever-present path to the next life. Visions of reality and the Spirit Plane fluctuated, began to meld, until they became as one, and she could see the psychic aura that surrounded Flix.

There was no sign of Nicholas. Had Flix trapped him?

As her life ebbed away, Flix extended his aura and came at her. For a moment Maria fretted that she would be trapped in this useless, dead body, but an orange flare hurtled in across the void and knocked Flix to one side.

"Nicholas? Is that you?"

"Tis me, Maria." The voice of her lover resounded through her spirit being. "Did you think that I'd leave thee to yon beast?"

Flix's aura fluctuated between purple indignation and an angry crimson. Maria was no longer afraid. In life, they had lost to the evil Flix, but in death they had prevailed. Maria turned to The Light.

"It's time for us to move on," Nicholas said.

With him by her side, she moved to The Light.

# Chapter 4

Year: 3010

Here lie the bones of MARIA NEVILLE and NICHOLAS HOLDSWORTH hanged in great injustice in the years1646, pardoned by the grace of God and Her Britannic Majesty, Victoria, in the year 1880. May their souls now rest in peace.

The headstone was set into the stone walls of the churchyard, sheltering under a spreading yew, and stood as a permanent reminder of the crimes committed by Edward Flixton, a permanent reminder of the gruelling torture she had endured at his evil hands before the hangman's noose ended her life.

"Strange to think that we actually petitioned for the pardon and commissioned the headstone."

Nick's words disturbed Mia's reverie. "Money," she said. "I think back on the nineteenth century when we were thoroughly middle class and financially influential and I'm horrified that we could describe ourselves as civilised."

Nick sniffed disdainfully. "The Boers were no better. Or have your nightmares of Flix taken away the memory of our treatment during the Transvaal war. The Boer may have had a good case, but their rape and torture of you, the cruel way they murdered both of us was just as uncivilised as the rest of the world."

Mia drew in a shuddery, emotional breath. "Yes. You're right. Thank the Lord for a single, world administration. No more wars."

Nick smiled humourlessly. "Only the occasional fundamentalist skirmish." He gestured at the headstone. "Are we through here? Only it's starting to rain again."

Mia nodded and they made their way along the stone path, past neatly trimmed and cropped lawns, more yew, elm, ash and oak in full summer leaf, through the lych gate and out to their flivver.

Nick dropped his visor into place and opened the canopy. Settling in behind the controls, he scanned the visor menus. "Now, let's find a hotel. I feel like getting drunk tonight."

He activated the device and scanned the menus, his eye moving from line to line, until he reached WEB, where he held his gaze for the required 1.4 seconds before the visor connected him to the Web.

"The only disadvantage with a visor, is not having a keyboard and having to filter through so many menus. Mind you, at least accommodation beings with an A, so ..."

A bleep from the console cut him off.

"Incoming message." Mia made the connection.

A hologram of the Stasis Center building appeared above the console and a computer generated voice grated into the flivver. "Agents Nellis and Holt, Control wishes to see you immediately."

Closing the canopy against the first drops of rain, Nick tutted. "We're in York. Two hundred miles away."

"Control is aware of your location. A transdimensional transport will arrive in twenty seconds."

"We've just completed our current assignment and we were going to take tomorrow off."

"Control wishes to see you immediately. Compliance is mandatory." The hologram disappeared.

"Damn." Nick removed his visor and dropped it into the glove box. "All the advances in technology and you still can't argue with a pute."

A hum cut through the air. Fifty metres from them, in the pasture across the road, a blur appeared in the air. It solidified into the familiar disc shape of a transdimensional hopper. Three stubby landing legs ejected beneath it and it touched gently down on the grass. The raised dome in the centre of the saucer, slid open, forming a wedge shaped entrance, like a slice of pie, and from it stepped a familiar, elderly face.

Slotting a visor over his eye, Cecil Coleman beckoned them across. Nick and Mia left their flivver and, switching their jackets to waterproof, hurried across to him. As they joined him, their flivver disappeared on a command from his visor.

Coleman greeted them amiably. "Afternoon, you two. It's hit the fan down in London. Control wants the pair of you, now. I'll drop you on the roof and bring your flivver out of stasis in the underground park."

Coleman had been one of Stasis Center's oldest and most respected arrest agents. Now in his seventies, delegated as a training instructor and equipment assessor, his record of arrests was second to none, and throughout the department his exploits were legendary. And yet it seemed to Mia that he did not look the part. Where Nick was muscular, physically commanding, Coleman was slender to the point of scrawny, diminutive, and in a crowd, almost unnoticeable. Where she had her psychic mind and powers to guide and help her, Coleman had used only native cunning, coupled to a skilled use of the taser and ion rod. His shock of white hair and cragged, lined face, coupled to the white lab coat he usually wore, lent him the appearance of an ancient, mad scientist and every time she met him, Mia half expected to see a green-skinned, bolt-necked creature trailing behind.

The interior of the hopper was cramped when carrying only the two people it was designed for. With three inside it was almost claustrophobic. Directly opposite the access was the control console, a morass of gauges, dials, readouts switches, above which were ranged an array of monitors that gave a 360o view of the exterior, plus wide-angled views of the upper and lower quadrants. There were two seats at the console, both with identical controls systems before them, and a third, 'jump' seat off to one side. Mia took the latter; although she could manipulate the hopper, she was not qualified; Nick was. Coleman took the left hand, the captain's seat, Nick settled in alongside him.

"What's the score, Cec?" Nick asked.

"Control will brief you." Coleman began to set the controls for their destination.

Mia repeated Nick's early complaint. "We were supposed to have the weekend off once we'd arrested James."

"Things change, young Nellis." Double checking his pute inputs, Coleman paused, one hand on the activation lever. He looked over his shoulder and gave her an encouraging smile. "It must be an emergency or Control wouldn't have sent for you. She's not a monster, you know."

Nick laughed. "She looks like one."

Coleman scowled. "You'll be old one day, lad."

"Don't think so, Cec." Nick chuckled again. "Mia and I have decided we're going out in a blaze of glory before we get to that stage."

With another grimace, Coleman pulled the lever and released it.

The monitors blanked for an instant and then came back to life, but now, in place of rolling Yorkshire fields and a leafy, village lane, they showed the spread of central London, with the flat roof of Stasis Center fifty metres below.

Like the City or York, the skyline of London did not look much different to any of the images Mia had seen from the last 1,000 years. True the glass towers rose higher, some as many as 300 levels, but the lights burned day and night as they had always done. At ground level, flivvers flitted between the high-risers in a constant stream of never-ending traffic, their progress often slowed by enthusiasts driving ancient, wheeled automobiles.

And in amongst the streets and the crystal spires of the world; great financial institutes, was the office: Stasis Center, to give its correct title, the administrative heart of the world's penal system.

From the banks of the Thames, it was visible only if one stood in the right place and knew exactly where to look. It sat huddled amongst the merchant banks and stockbrokers' offices, a mere twenty-four floors high; a dwarf sheltering in the midst of financial giants.

While Coleman brought the hopper down to the roof, Mia wondered what Stasis Center would make of criminals like Edward Flixton? It had been easy for him back in 1646. She and Nick were not the only innocent pair he had hanged in the name of Puritanism, but if a succession of lives since that awful day had taught her and Nick anything, it was that the Cosmos, Universe, call it God if you wished, had ways of restoring the balance, and men like Flix would pay eventually.

They had encountered his spirit in many of those nineteen lives; an impotent phantom monitoring the real world through envious spirit senses, unable to interact with it, seething with rage that his grandest plans had never come to pass.

History told them that Flix himself had been hanged as a witch in 1655, and after much constitutional wrangling, and plenty of financial clout, she and Nick, in the form of Lord and Lady Neville, had finally been granted their pardon. It was almost as if the Cosmos, ever eager to redress the balance, had arranged for them to be born into the aristocracy to facilitate that act of forgiveness. Mia wondered whether Her Majesty, Queen Victoria would have been so gracious had she known of Lady Neville's psychic powers.

Mia also wondered whether the rape and murder of Lady Neville, and the gruesome torture and murder of Lord Neville, were arranged by the Cosmos in order to drive home the lesson that privilege, such as that enjoyed by the landed gentry, was not an excuse for cruelty or even disdain.

Mia considered herself lucky in this incarnation. This world, controlled by a single administration with its headquarters in Geneva, was more tolerant than any they had known in the past. This was a world where the psychic powers possessed by people like her, Flix and thousands of others, were not merely acceptable, but put to good use by government. This was a world that would welcome Flix. This was a world that probably could use Flix in a fresh incarnation.

*

The hopper disappeared while Mia and Nick hurried to the roof entrance. Once inside, they removed their outer wear and allowed the thermo-material to dry itself while the elevators took them down one floor to level 23, and their final destination.

From the outside, it looked like any other office. The plaque on the door read simply, _Control_.

"Not many are called to this office," Nick commented.

"Even fewer are called without warning at three o'clock on a Saturday afternoon." Mia pressed the buzzer.

Alongside her, Nick didn't seem to care, but then, that was Nick. If they were to be fired, he wouldn't worry. Throughout university he had set his sights on Stasis Center, but it was always with the knowledge that if the government was not interested, his technical skills would be welcome in the private sector.

As a psychic, Mia could not say the same. True, there were those corporations which made use of psychic talents, usually in security where they worked to pin down thieves, whistleblowers and other undesirables. But Mia could not think of a single company that would need her special talents: the ability to interact with other minds, whether live, locked away in stasis cells or on the Spirit Plane.

An unexpected interview with the biggest of big bosses, therefore, presented more of a worry to her than it did to her partner.

The door opened and they stepped through.

Control's spacious domain was at least twice the size of any other office in the building. And yet it was barren. An assortment of chairs stood around the place, Control's desk was tucked into the far left corner, close to the plexiglass windows, while behind and to her right was a large tank around which swam various tropical fish. Aside from a single photograph of Control shaking hands with a president who had been in power before Mia and Nick were born, the walls were equally barren.

Control was studying her holoputer, and Mia noticed at once that it was set to screen, not hologram: the best method of maintaining absolute privacy. She glanced up as they entered and using her cold stare, guided them to twin seats opposite her before returning to her reading.

No one knew Control's name. She was simply Control. She had also been in the job for so long that anyone who ever did know her name was probably retired, or more likely, dead.

She was very old. Studying the creased face, the gnarled hands and emaciated frame, Mia estimated her at anywhere between 80 and 100 years of age. Her sharp, grey eyes scanned the pute, taking in its information, but even despite her great years, those eyes spoke of a masterful intelligence, iron will and rigid self-discipline.

Mia noticed that Nick began to shuffle restlessly in his seat. If Control noticed, she gave no indication. She continued to read her screen. Mia knew that her partner would not stand much more. Nick was easy going to a fault, but he could be dangerously outspoken at times; especially if he felt he was being snubbed.

At length, Nick could contain himself no longer and Mia braced herself for the coming storm. "If we wanted to be ignored, we could have gone to a hotel in York as we'd originally planned."

Control looked up and pierced him with those eyes. "I am not ignoring you, Agent Holt. I am studying your résumé." Her gaze spanned the two of them. "Both your résumés. Be patient." She returned to reading her screen.

Nick sat and fumed.

There was a delay of several more minutes before Control pressed a switch and the pute sank into her desk. She eyed them both. "All right. You are life partners yet unmarried, living together in a Docklands apartment. You graduated and came straight into Stasis Center. You, Agent Nellis, are a bona fide psychic, and you, Agent Holt, a psi-technician. Current assignment, arrest agents." The grey eyes fell on Mia. "You track them and you both trap them."

Mia replied for them both. "Yes, Ma'am," Mia replied. "I use my psychic powers to trace felons, then Nick and I move in for the arrest."

"And your record of arrests is excellent. Almost 100 percent. That, I think, is due in large part to your courage, fitness and tenacity, Agent Holt."

"Thank you, Ma'am. I like to think I can tackle most felons."

Mia noticed that Nick did not appear to be basking in the glory of Control's near-praise. She knew that his comment was not designed to get under Control's skin. It was a simple statement of fact. Nick exuded confidence in all situations.

Control did not appear put out by Nick's apparent arrogance. "You are a pair of hi-tech, modern day police officers." Control made it sound like the ultimate insult.

"If you wish," Nick retorted.

"The term is accurate." Control leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers. "I've called you here this afternoon because an unusual situation has arisen, and I want you two to handle it. In order to do so, I must increase your security rating. You're both rated 1A, the minimum requirement for arrest agents. I'm increasing that to 1AA – the minimum requirement for Special Agents." Control paused to let the news sink in.

Mia cleared her throat. "That's, er, good of you, Ma'am."

"It is not good of me, Agent Nellis, it is necessary." She eyed them sternly. "I want you to understand the implications of rating 1AA. It is only one step down from my own rating of 1AAA. It is the highest level you can attain without taking my job or holding a senior post in government." The sour eyes ran through them again. "And neither of you are politicians. 1AA means, Agent Nellis, Agent Holt, that you can never repeat a single word that passes between us. Never. Every conversation you have in this room is regarded as above top secret. Every mission you undertake is classified at the highest possible level and your reports are seen only by me, my private secretary, and senior ministers; ministers who report directly to the president. As far as anyone else is concerned, your work does not exist, never happens. You do not exist. The penalty for any lapse of security is a minimum twenty five years in stasis and concomitant EEG reprogramming. Do you both understand?"

Mia and Nick exchanged cautious glances, then nodded at Control.

"Good." Control leaned back in her seat again. "As a couple, you have a remarkable history, don't you?"

"If you mean that Mia and I have lived through many lifetimes as man, wife, friends, partners, then yes."

"You recall those lifetimes in detail, Agent Holt?"

He shook his head. "No. We have memories of them, certainly, but by and large, the Cosmos has made us aware of the cycle of birth, death and rebirth. Mia and I know that death is not the end, merely the gateway to the next life."

"And yet you have no psychic powers," Control pointed out to him.

"In this lifetime, no. In other lifetimes, I have had psychic abilities where Mia has had none."

"To place both psychic and technical ability into one being would be problematic, Ma'am," Mia pointed out. "The universe is finely balanced and whatever intelligence is behind it, call it the creator, the cosmos, the supreme being, God, if you prefer, likes to keep that balance in check. It therefore arranged that Nick and I should be together throughout many lives, with one of us holding the psychic power, the other blessed with the technical ability."

"And all this dates back to the 17th century," Control observed. "Almost 1400 years."

Mia agreed. "Nick and I first came together as lovers in 1632. That was after being born in 1609."

"And it's no coincidence that you were hanged together in 1646, is it?"

Nick began to lose his temper. "What is this, Ma'am? The third degree? You've just read our CVs. You know all there is to know about us."

"I know what is stored on the holoputer, Agent Holt." Control's retort dripped acid. "It's nothing more than the bare bones. I want to know what you know."

Still fuming, Nick grumbled, "If this is no more than a disciplinary meeting—"

"If it were a disciplinary meeting," Control snapped, "it would have been handled by your section supervisor. You have already been told why you were brought here, and it is not for any breach of regulations. Now kindly answer my question."

Mia took up the commentary. "In 1632, the year Nick and I became lovers, we were in the employ of Edward Flixton, a squire and magistrate in the Netherfield area of York. Flixton was, to put no finer point on the matter, evil. He investigated the dark side of psychic forces. I had psychic ability and I knew what his game was. Over the next ten years or so, he murdered several men and women, mostly itinerant workers, in the hope of establishing control over their dead bodies."

"He was trying to create zombies?"

In the light of Control's statement of the obvious, Mia could only nod. "Nick and I decided to fight him. We failed. In 1646, he took advantage of a wave of Puritanism sweeping the land. He had us tried as witches; we were found guilty and hanged. It was a travesty of justice. Flixton, Flix as he preferred to be known, was the one really in league with the devil and he was hanged for his crimes in 1655. We lived through many lifetimes after that and every time we passed over we found the spirit of Flix still on the Spirit Plane, resisting the call of The Light, persisting in his efforts to be reborn as he was, the adult Edward Flixton."

"Until the year 2540, that is," Nick added, "when he finally went through The Light. We were in limbo awaiting our next life at that time. It was during that impasse that we learned he had left the Spirit Plane in 2540."

Control pursed her wrinkled, prim lips. "Tell me about the Spirit Plane."

"It's an ethereal dimension where the spirit of the deceased passes immediately after life has expired," Mia reported. "It is black as the night sky, but devoid of stars. It's a nowhere zone. Millions of spirits wander the Spirit Plane, still tied to the Earth for reasons of their own, but for most of the deceased, the call of The Light is too strong to resist."

Nick took up the lesson. "The Light shines for us all. Each and every one of us crosses to the Spirit Plane in a state of confusion, and although we are aware of all the other spirits, The Light is the largest single object in this dimension, and it calls to every individual by name. The spirit goes through The Light where it waits for the body to be conceived that will be its next life."

Control pressed the button on her desk and the pute rose. She hit the holo button and a blank hologram appeared in the air before them.

"So the Spirit Plane is a black void with The Light shining away in the background, no matter which direction you look. Does it appear something like this?" Control tapped the keyboard and the hologram filled with a white disc shining steadily in a black nothingness.

"It looks exactly like that," Nick agreed. "Interesting representation. Who drew it?"

"It is not a drawing, Agent Holt. It is the interior of a specific stasis cell." She blanked the hologram and it hung in the air as a dark mass.

The brief hiatus gave both Mia and Nick time to absorb the astonishing implications of her announcement.

Mia recovered her composure first. "You trapped a part of the Spirit Plane in stasis?"

Control disabused her. "No we did not. We trapped a spirit in stasis and brought a part of his environment with him. That way he has the option to spend eternity in stasis or go through The Light."

For the first time since they entered Control's domain, Nick laughed; a short, sardonic bark. "Ha! Pity someone couldn't have done that with Flix centuries ago."

Control turned her head slowly, her unemotional stare fastening him. "That is exactly what did happen, Agent Holt. The cell I just showed is that of Edward Flixton. Flix."

# Chapter 5

Nick's jaw dropped. Mia looked away at the opaque windows and, finding nothing to absorb her attention or her shock, turned back again to look at Control's tropical fish swimming apparently aimlessly in their tank. She wanted to look anywhere other than this autocratic woman or the blank holoscreen.

Nick, on the other hand, protested. "It's not possible. Stasis cells were only fully developed about a century ago. Flix disappeared from the Spirit Plane almost 500 years ago."

"You are correct on both points, Holt," Control agreed. "However, it's no accident that the year Flix disappeared was 2540. That was the very year when the research team at Coldmoor Castle first tapped into stasis energy, and Flix was on hand."

To Mia, it was logical. "He would be. He'd been following earthly events for almost 900 years and he would know that stasis energy represented a chance of, er, shall we say, coming back to life, but also that very energy would give him access to time itself. In other words he would have access to both physical life and the entire sweep of history."

"Not to mention other dimensions we only became aware of after we harnessed stasis energy," Nick added.

Control nodded slowly. "A frightening notion."

"Forgive me, Ma'am," Nick said, "but 2540 was only the breakthrough year. It still doesn't explain how Flix was put into a stasis cell four hundred years before they were perfected."

"There are other factors you haven't taken into account. Indeed, there is one you couldn't possibly allow for because you know nothing of it, yet." She paused again. "You studied transdimensional physics at university?"

Nick shook his head. "I did a year of it as a minor. I majored in hologram technology."

"You nevertheless understand something of the subject," Control persisted.

"In the same way that an architect might understand the way blocks are craned and fastened into place in the construction of a high rise block. I have some theoretical knowledge, no more."

Control was satisfied. "Good. In that case, have you heard of the Timehopper?"

"I came across it in university," Nick agreed. "A theoretical exercise in engineering from about ten years ago. As the name implies, it's a machine designed to travel through time. It operates on the same principle as our transdimensional hoppers, but it is to the hopper as a BB gun is to a hunting rifle."

"A sound analogy," Control congratulated him. "The Timehopper, however, is not a theoretical exercise. The first machine was built just over five years ago." Control jabbed another key and another hologram appeared.

Mia studied it with interest. Nick, she noted, was captivated by the sight.

It showed a gleaming, silvery disc with a raised dome in the centre, an exact replica of the transdimensional hopper. The hologram turned slowly through its horizontal axis and showed the Timehopper to be perfectly symmetrical with no distinguishing marks.

"The Timehopper combines the technology of our transdimensional hopper, but with the added advantage that it can travel through time as well as space."

"It looks just like the hopper Coleman collected us in," Nick commented. "And you say this machine is for real?"

Again, Control confirmed his suspicions. "The Timehopper has undergone extensive testing since the prototype was constructed, initially as an unmanned drone. It has been sent back as far as 5th century Mongolia, Europe in the Middle Ages, and even such well documented events as the World Governmental Conference of 2614, where the first global administration was set up. Hologram images taken and brought back compared precisely to what was on record about these periods. Over and above the unmanned missions, there have been dozens of manned journeys. All were successful and there are now twenty Timehoppers in service. This department was allocated one."

"You're saying someone using a Timehopper went back in time and imprisoned Flix."

"From our point of view, Agent Holt, it hasn't happened yet and it will not until Monday, but yes, someone will use a Timehopper, go back to 2540 and imprison him." Control paused a moment to let the information sink in. "The image you saw of the stasis cell is real. Flix has been in there for almost five hundred years, and he has been monitored by computer."

"Forgive me, Ma'am," Nick ventured, "but considering stasis centre was only fully inaugurated a hundred years ago, how could Flix have been incarcerated five hundred years ago without anyone in this department being aware?"

Control sighed. "A small lesson in stasis cell history, which you should not need, Agent Holt. The earliest stasis cells were developed in 2650, but there were problems with them. When the body is enveloped in a stasis field, it is turned to pure energy, in which state it can, theoretically, be stored for eternity. Those early experiments failed to reconstitute the body. A good many felons, men and women, effectively died the moment they were put into stasis. Since the errors were made during committal, even today we don't have the answer to reconstituting those poor souls trapped in them, so the decision was made to maintain them until a solution can be found."

"And Flix's cell was one of those?" Mia asked.

"No," Control replied. "It was _assumed_ to be one of those. Throughout his 500 or so years of captivity, there has never been any need for human intervention because there has never been any registered change in his psychic patterns, and he was assumed to be one of those awaiting reconstitution when a means can be found of repairing the stasis field."

"Lucky you found out, then," Nick observed.

"Which causes me to ask how did you find out?" Mia did not mean her question to sound so blunt and disrespectful.

Control did not appear put out. "I received a message this afternoon, Agent Nellis. Two thirty p.m. At first, we couldn't track its source. It was only when I read it, advising me to check on this stasis cell and its history, that the matter became clear."

"You received a message from an unknown source?" Nick's tones said he did not believe it. "I thought that was impossible. Unless you've been hacked."

"Now that is impossible," Control confirmed. "You may as well say that the president's holomail could be hacked. In fact, I believe it would be easier to hack the president's holomail."

Nick shrugged. "In that case, it must have been someone who knew your holomail address. Any idea who?"

"Perhaps you can tell me."

Control's eyes fell on Mia. She shrugged. "All I know about holomail, Ma'am, is you dictate your message, or type it if you work in a noisy environment or need privacy, and it's sent."

"Your knowledge, Agent Nellis is comparable to my own. The message came from you."

Mia's colour rose with her anger. She took a deep breath and studied the fish again. Diverting her attention back to Control, she said, "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I did not send any such message. How could I?"

Nick's agile min had already worked on the proposition. "I think I know how, and I suspect you do, too, Ma'am." His final words were directed at Control.

"Indeed I do, Holt." Control leaned forward. "You, Agent Nellis, sent the message from the Timehopper while it was in orbit above Great Britain."

"With all due respect, Ma'am," Mia insisted, "I sent no such message. At that time, I was in a bar in the centre of York arresting William James."

"I don't doubt you, but you were also in orbit, sending that message."

Mia threw her hands in the air and allowed them to fall back in her lap. "I give up. I am psychic, Ma'am, not schizophrenic and as far as I'm aware, my psychic abilities do not extend to astral projection."

"And yet," Nick said, "if you were travelling through time from, say, next week, it would be perfectly possible for you to be in York and orbiting the Earth at the same time."

Mia thought she detected the briefest flicker of a smile on Control's wrinkled features, but as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

"Congratulations, Agent Holt. You've hit the nail on the head." In the light of Mia's obvious perplexity, Control went on, "If we were to send an agent back through time to imprison Flix, who would be the best person for the job?"

The light began to dawn on Mia. "Nick and me."

"Correct. You have over thirteen hundred years of experience of dealing with this entity. You know everything there is to know about him. Now assuming we sent you back and you were successful, how would anyone know? The answer is, no one would. So you would have to ensure that someone knew. Someone in a position of authority. Me. How could you do that? On the return journey to our present time, you stopped off, sent a message from orbit, and then carried on back to your original start point. You see?"

"I see the logic," Mia admitted, "but we'd need months, perhaps years of training to operate this Timehopper."

Control disagreed. "Your partner is already qualified to operate the transdimensional. He would need only a few hours of training on the Timehopper."

Nick concurred but with reservations. "That's true, Ma'am, but this is a dangerous course of action. We're creating what could be a paradox in time."

"Explain," Control demanded.

"An event has taken place," Nick said. "Flix has been imprisoned. It happened five hundred years ago, and we did it. In order to instigate the entire procedure, however, we had to let you know. That in itself is a paradox. If we hadn't let you know, you couldn't send us back and if we didn't go back, Flix would never be imprisoned."

Control opened her mouth to speak, but Nick pressed on.

"In addition, there is the danger of failure, and this is an even bigger paradox. Suppose you send us back and we fail to imprison Flix? We couldn't, then, let you know, and if we didn't let you know, you wouldn't send us back, and if you didn't send us back, we couldn't fail. The entire fabric of space and time could be unravelled."

"I was about to say that I am aware of these implications, Holt," Control said. "It is up to you to go back to the year 2540 and ensure that you don't fail. Either that or we forget the whole business right now."

"You can't do that either," Nick said. "If you did, then you wouldn't have Flix imprisoned we wouldn't have sent you the message. You wouldn't have called us here, and this conversation would not be taking place. Once again, if you cancel the mission, you're creating a paradox which has the potential to tear apart the space-time continuum."

"Again, I am aware of it," Control replied, "and my comment on forgetting it was no more than rhetoric. We cannot forget it. Your mission has to go ahead. You two will take the Timehopper, go back to the year 2540, capture and imprison Flix."

The announcement was greeted with more silence.

Mia broke it. "Forgive me, but if Flix is fooling around with stasis energy in the 26th century, how come history hasn't changed already."

Control looked to Nick.

"It's all to do with temporal perspective," he said. "See, the future's not fixed. There are about seven billion people on this planet, and they're making tiny decisions every minute of every day. Suppose Joe Palooka has a choice between lounging on the settee and watching holovision or going upstairs to hang shelves. If he lounges on the settee, he's okay, but if he goes to hang shelves, he may hurt himself and die from the injury. See? He makes a decision and no matter how tiny that decision, it could mean life and death. And if Joe Palooka dies today instead of, say, ten years from now, what effect will that have on the future? So the future depends on so many different variables that you can never be sure of it."

Mia nodded. "I'm with you so far."

"So let's apply this to Flix. He's beavering away in 2540 and the future will depend on his success or failure. There are so many alternative futures that, from his point of view, he will have succeeded in some of them. Now let's look at it from our point of view. We're looking at the past and there are no variables. It's fixed. It's a straight line until something happens to change it. We go back, we fail, it changes. We ignore it, then it changes. We go back, we succeed, we come back and forget to send Control the message, and history changes."

"We haven't done anything, so why hasn't it changed?" Mia insisted.

"Precisely because we haven't done anything," Nick assured her. "Time responds to positive action. Go back and fail, decide not to go back, forget to send the message. Those are all positive decisions. As we stand, we haven't done anything, so our timeline will not change."

"Deciding not to go back is a negative action," Mia challenged.

"No," Nick corrected. "It is a positive action. It decides the future. Theoretically, we could debate it for another hundred years and our timeline will not change. Only if we fail or forget it, will things change. Trust me, Mia. I'm right on this."

"You are correct, Agent Holt," Control agreed. "Time responds only to action, not inertia, and at the moment we are in a state of inertia."

Mia finally conceded. "All right. It's still a tall order. Especially considering only one of us can detect Flix's presence."

"We have other technology that will assist Agent Holt in your efforts. He may not be able to identify Flix, but once you have, he'll certainly be able to home in on Flix's energy field." Control jabbed another button on her pute and a section of the desk top flipped over revealing a visor. She passed it to Nick. "A standard remote visor such as we all use for operating everything from the flivver to the kettle. Put it on and activate it, Agent Holt."

Nick put the visor on and flicked the power switch on the right arm. Familiar menus appeared before his eyes.

Nick was one of those people who found the visor easy to use. "The secret," he said as Control and Mia waited for his reaction, "is to keep your eye moving across the menus and when you find the right one ..." he paused and focussed on HOLOMAIL "you fix your eye on it for the required 1.4 seconds and bingo ..." The visor flashed before his eyes; NO INCOMING MAIL. "You have no messages."

"It has all the usual menus," Control said, ignoring his levity, "and can be tuned to operate your flivver and your kettle. But it has extra functions, too. Highlight 'astral' on the main menu."

Nick checked the menu and focussed on >MORE at the bottom of the screen. He found ASTRAL on the second page, focussed and the function kicked in. He looked around the office.

"Nothing," he said.

Slotting on her own visor, Control looked to the windows and they turned from opaque to translucent allowing the thin sun of a damp, July afternoon to filter through.

"Check outside," Control ordered.

Nick turned to look out onto the real world of towering office blocks ablaze with light even during the day. The financial institutions of the world took great care to ensure their employees could see clearly.

But there was something else. Balls of energy hanging in the air outside the office blocks. Their colours varied from white to blue to red to yellow.

Nick was impressed. "Wow. Spirits."

Mia, too, looked out and tuned her psychic mind. She could pick them up without artificial aids. "Men, women, and look, over there, a couple of children. Hundreds of them." She smiled wanly. "They're there all the time, Control."

"But only minds like yours can pick them up, Agent Nellis." Control switched the windows back to opaque, and as Nick removed the visor and witched it off, she went on, "The visor permits you to see them, Agent Holt. You may not be able to distinguish them as accurately as Agent Nellis, but you will at least have targets." Control picked out another key on her computer. A second section of the desk rolled over, revealing a short rod, about 20 centimetres in length, decked with multicoloured buttons. She passed it to Nick. "You're familiar with the ion rod?"

Nick nodded. "I use it all the time, Ma'am."

The old eyes pinned him again. "This is the Mark 2. It's a military weapon and possessed of an extra power setting; red. Needless to say, it has never been tested in battlefield conditions." Control smiled thinly. "No battlefields. Tests have indicated, however, that the red trigger, set on maximum power, rod can vaporise physical objects, including human beings, and repel spirits."

"It's been tested by psychics?" Mia asked.

"Non-psychics," Control admitted. "They used the visor to see their results on the Spirit Plane." She paused a moment. "We believe, although we haven't actually tried to do so, that if the ion rod is set on full power, it could propel a spirit into The Light."

"And that's what you want us to do with Flix?" Mia asked.

"You can't," Nick declared and both women focussed on him. "History says that he was put into stasis. If you send him into The Light, you're changing history and we don't know what effect that might have."

"Agent Holt is correct," Control said. "Your joint mission is to go back to the year 2540 and put Flix into stasis."

Mia shrugged. "Did anyone check on exactly how we did it?"

"No, and even if we had, you don't want to know," Control said. "If you knew, it may bias your actions and that could precipitate the kind of paradox we're keen to avoid. All I can give you is a list of those people who died that night, and the location. It's the government research facility at Coldmoor Castle. It stands on the Cheviot Hills on the England/Scotland border, and the date is February 1st 2540. The night they tapped into stasis energy." She switched her focus to Nick. "You have twenty-four hours, Agent Holt, in which to master the Timehopper and its various systems and the use of the Mark 2 ion rod. I want you both going back through time by this time tomorrow."

# Chapter 6

Year: 2540

Climbing the final flight of stairs to the top floor, Private Ronnie Poulson thought that if anyone had told him he would land such a cushy number when he signed up with Military Security he would have laughed at them. In fact most people went out of their way to tell him exactly the opposite.

His grandfather had warned him. "It's a tough life, lad. You have to tackle the regimental nutters as well as the civilian idiots, and one day you'll end up on riot control, beat the crap outta some kid only to find out that his father's Major General Dipstick from Whitehall. That's when they pull the rug from under your feet. I tell you, boy, you're no one's friend but your own in EmmSec."

His granddad knew. He'd been a part of EmmSec during the Fundies' campaign of civil disobedience about 60 years back, and he had pistol-whipped some kid on a demonstration only to learn that kid's father was well connected; not a General, but someone in fairly high office down Whitehall.

Civil disobedience was a rarity these days. The military cop's lot was smuggling at the naval dockyards or guarding military prisons. Young Poulson would not be dissuaded. After basic he applied for posting to EmmSec and once through the routine interviews, psycho profiling and physicals, they accepted him. There followed a year of training before his posting to Coldmoor Castle and the soft life.

Easy? He couldn't have an easier life if he was unemployed. He passed his days and nights wandering round the building, pausing for a chat here and there (he had his eye on Janine who worked in the cafeteria, and he was certain he was making progress) making sure those doors that should be locked were locked, and that everyone in the place could identify him or herself. And he'd been here so long he knew most of them anyway. The pay was good, the leave better than average, and the job came complete with a bulletproof pension which he would be allowed to take after 25 years' service: in other words, while he was still young enough to enjoy it.

And so what if he was stuck out here in the middle of nowhere for eight weeks at a time? He could always console himself with thoughts of the money he was saving. If he was on a busier posting, in a city, say, or at a coastal depot, he'd be in the pub every night boozing it away. For a 23-year old, life at Coldmoor Castle was good.

Reaching the top landing, he turned left along the corridor. Room 61, the Sarge had said. Poulson often wondered why there were so many rooms up here. Most of them on this level were unoccupied. He could only imagine that Coldmoor Castle had been designed for a much larger complement than the 60-odd individuals based here. Level five would make a good place to bring Janine, though ... if he ever got that far with her.

Tasty, Janine. A wee Scots lassie, with strong legs and great front bumpers. He'd give his right arm to find out whether she wore anything under her kilt. He would give her more than his right arm if he could take off whatever she wore under her kilt.

He tried the door to room 61. Locked. As it should be. Only EmmSec had the entry card. There was a rumour that the Sarge rented cards out at a couple of quid a go, usually to couples looking for a bit of action, but it only happened when Captain Dressler wasn't around. Stickler that woman. Everything had to be by the book when she was on duty.

He fished out his scanner card and pressed it against the sensor. The lock clicked open and he pushed his way in. Ten to one it would be the window sensor rattled by the gales outside.

The room, like all of them, was barren, devoid of anything but the most basic furnishings. A pair of wardrobes, single beds, and through the far door, a small bathroom. The single window, currently set to translucent, looked out over the rear of the castle, past its ancient walls to the moors and hills beyond. The beds were no more than bare mattresses, but the construction of the garrison and its atmospheric processing plant ensured that age-old problems such as damp could never be a problem here.

He crossed to the window and checked it. Plexiglass was the bee's knees of window technology. With its variable opacity it had that ability to maintain privacy while admitting sufficient natural daylight to beat illnesses such as SAD which had so blighted the 21st and 22nd centuries. In addition, its ability to adapt its curvature meant that, when used in spectacles or visors, the wearer did not have to carry around several pairs, and when used in windows, it could withstand the buffeting of even the strongest gales. Add to that its near indestructibility and ability to recreate itself, and you had the absolute state-of-the-art material.

Why, then, he asked himself, did they have so much trouble with the trembler alarms?

"Cheap and nasty molecular engineering, Ronnie," he told himself. It was not the plexiglass that caused the problem but the sensors themselves. He'd read a quote somewhere that summed it up perfectly: _there is nothing in this world that someone, somewhere cannot make a little cheaper and much inferior._

He frowned. The window sensor had not triggered. It glowed, a single red light in the darkness. So what caused the alert?

He glanced around the room, his eye automatically travelling to the fire sensor up by the ceiling. It flashed consistently. A fire alert! Different. He'd never had a real fire alert since he joined the EmmSec crew. So what triggered it?

Fire was almost unheard of except when volcanoes went up or bush fires started in the dry regions. Modern sensory equipment was capable of picking up smoke and heat in a couple of parts per billion, and the smart extinguisher systems would cut in long before it became critical. Up here, on the fifth floor of Coldmoor Castle, fire of any description was all but impossible. The main security console would isolate the room from the electricity supply, all materials were non-flammable, and the room was empty. What could possibly spark a fire?

Poulson got down on his knees to check under the bed.

*

Flix felt a surge of excitement when the young soldier entered the room.

Triggering the fire alert was a matter of pure genius. He needed a body and an alarm triggering where no alarm could trigger would be sure to bring a body here. Private Ronnie Poulson's body looked young and fit. It would do just fine.

It did not matter that the young man was distracted, searching beneath the fixed divan beds. He could have been stood, facing Flix, and he would still have seen nothing. Flix rushed in, surrounded, enveloped him, lifted him and threw him at the plexiglass window. Indestructible glass? Ha! With the power of the Spirit Plane and stasis energy behind him, nothing was indestructible.

He sensed Poulson's surprise, puzzlement and then terror as his body hurtled at the window, then through it, to drop fifty feet onto the gravel paths below. Flix paused briefly to watch the plexiglass trying to re-form as a window. Since most of it was on the ground, it couldn't. He made his way to ground level and when the energy form that was Poulson's spirit left the body, Flix thrust the ball of energy towards The Light and it disappeared, sucked into the vortex, on its journey to the next life. Flix studied the smashed body below. His new home. Young, strong, virile. Flix dropped precisely into it.

*

After Sergeant Summers switched to the exterior views, and the night vision lenses picked up Poulson's body at the rear of the house, he and Captain Dressler hurried to the back doors and out into the bitter night.

The walls were lit all year round by powerful floodlights, but they cast the building in shadow. As the two hurried along, all they could see of Poulson was a vague shape on the gravel.

They drew near and he stirred.

"How the hell did he survive?" Summers asked.

They were within ten metres of him when Dressler's flashlight picked out his features.

The face was smashed almost beyond recognition. The head hung at an awkward angle on the neck and when he moved, it was almost a caricature of walking; one ungainly leg jerking forward in front of the other.

Summers was moving faster than Dressler and got to Poulson first.

"Are you all right, lad?"

Poulson batted an arm out. Summers flew at the house wall where he smashed into it and fell to the ground. Dressler stopped dead in her tracks and stared at both men. Poulson was still coming towards her, his movement slow, staccato. Summers lay where he had fallen, not moving.

Captain Dressler drew her pistol and clenched it with both hands, aiming at Poulson's legs. "Stay where you are, private, or I'll drop you."

Poulson kept on coming. Dressler fired once, twice, three times. Poulson appeared not to notice. Dressler fired again emptying a full magazine into Poulson's chest. Again the bullets had no effect. Dressler pulled out another magazine and jammed it in the butt of her pistol. Poulson was upon her. His dead hand flashed out, took her by the throat and lifted her from the ground.

Her airway restricted, Dressler began to whoop in air. She struggled to free her neck from his cold fingers. The terrible realisation of her own mortality pressed in on her. She was out here alone with this ... this ... creature and she was going to die.

Tears flooded her eyes as the life began to ebb from her. Vaguely she registered movement in the distance, somewhere in the direction of the main gate. Other guards coming to help? A flivver? She tried to cry out, but all that escaped her lips was a gurgle.

A beam of red light struck Poulson's head and it disappeared. There was no explosion, no blood, no messy crushing of the skull. The head simply disappeared and as it did so, Poulson's grip on her throat relaxed and she fell to the ground with headless body laid across her.

Pinned under Poulson's body, through bleary eyes she watched the inert body of Sergeant Summers stand upright, and at the same time another red beam stuck, dissolving Summers' head.

Concerned faces arrived. Faces she had never seen before. They dragged Poulson from her. A cacophony of voices reached her ears, shouting, babbling, some worried, others angry.

And she slipped into unconsciousness.

*

Enveloped by the dead body of Private Poulson, Flix felt an emotion he had not experienced for so many centuries: joy. Taking the body had been easy. Now he needed to advance his experiment. The sergeant had been simple enough to kill, and his spirit was still trapped in the body. How many such undead could he control?

Captain Dressler approached. She called a warning. Flix ignored it. She fired once, twice, three times. Again and again she pulled the trigger, pumping bullets into Poulson's body.

Fool. Did she not realise she could not kill a body that was already dead?

Flix stretched out an arm, grabbed her by the throat and began to squeeze. The pressure a live human being like Poulson could have applied bore no comparison to that which Flix put into those crushing fingers. Poulson's body now had the power of the Spirit Plane behind it; strength far in excess of anything the living had ever encountered. Dressler's spirit was already preparing to leave the body. Flix surrounded her with his psychic mind ensuring that it could not happen. Like Sergeant Summers, the body would die, but the spirit would be trapped in it, unable to leave, obeying its master's will, and its master was Flix.

Dressler was gagging. The light began to fade in her eyes. A few more seconds and ...

Flix was back on the Spirit Plane. What had happened?

He glowered down on the body of Poulson, its head disintegrated. In a fury, he hurled himself at the body of Sergeant Summers, kicked out the spirit trapped there and took it over.

He forced the body to lumber upright and as he did so, the head disappeared, just as Poulson's had done.

Flix bellowed in fury, the energy wave rolling across the Spirit Plane, unnerving one or two nearby spirits. In blind rage, his form lashed out at a ball of energy and sent it skittering into The Light.

"You wanna calm down, me old china."

It was the voice of Sowerby, the Coldmoor Castle butler. His orange orb hovered nearby. Fix started for it.

"Don't," Sowerby advised. "You'll find that I'm a lot tougher and stronger than most of those hereabouts, and it might be you going through The Light."

Flix hesitated. He had no fear for the butler, but it was senseless to risk everything when he was so close.

"I will be back to deal with you," he warned, and hurtled off towards the laboratory and the welcoming nebula of the stasis chamber.

# Chapter 7

Despite having had less than a day's training, Nick handled the Timehopper as easily as he did the transdimensional hopper.

Sat in the right hand seat, Mia looked over the array of dials and controls with dismay. All instruments were duplicated in front of each seat, and followed the same basic T configuration pilots had used since the earliest days of aviation: airspeed, artificial horizon, altimeter, heading. Many times she had sat in a transdimensional hopper with Nick at the controls, and looked over the display, only to find it confounding. But in addition to the usual array of dials and switches and clocks and gauges, there were others which monitored their passage through time.

It was a surprise to her, however, that when the Timehopper left the transdimensional field which carried it through time, it still had to be flown like a conventional aircraft.

"We've come into this time in low Earth orbit," Nick told her as he put the Timehopper into a dive that would take it down to a few hundred feet above sea level. "It's the safest way of ensuring that we don't clatter into a hillside or a building. Now we just fly down and find somewhere to land."

Before long they cruised the Cheviot Hills at just over 100 metres and 200 knots.

"Do we have to fly so close to the ground?" Mia asked as they swooped over peaks and dived into valleys.

"TFLG," Nick explained. "Terrain following laser guidance. It keeps us a safe 100 metres from the ground while following its ups and downs. At this point in history they're using microwave radar, and they can detect a heliflivver at 500 kilometres but it's no good below about 150 metres; especially in a hilly area like this. They may have tracked us down from orbit, but they'll have lost us by now."

"So how far is Coldmoor Castle from here?"

Nick pointed to the left monitor. Amongst the rolling, forbidding landscape they could see a small conglomeration of lights; pinpoints in the unremitting darkness. "About fifteen kilometres. Once we land and the Timehopper is secure, we'll be there inside a quarter of an hour."

"Why so far away?" Mia asked. It was not that she was bothered. It simply distracted her from the task at hand.

"You know why," Nick reminded her. "We're in a different time, a different world. The Timehopper has to be hidden from these people. As much as we run the risk of changing history being here, so these people run the risk of changing our future if they learn about our technology. From our point of view, both are equally dangerous."

"We'll be using a flivver," Mia pointed out.

"They had flivvers in this time.Ours may be a 31st century job, but it won't attract attention." He spotted a landing site high on a hilltop, lowered the triple landing legs and gently let the Timehopper down until it touched ground with a light bump. "Should be safe here," he said. "Camouflage net over her, and even the spy satellites won't spot her."

"It," Mia said.

Nick cut the engines. "Huh?"

"The Timehopper. It's an 'it', not a 'her'."

Nick chuckled and unfastened his harness. "The primary error of men since the dawn of technology in the shape of the horseless carriage. That and emancipation." Throwing off the harness, he looked across at her, his eyes burning with a mix of love and lust. "What is it?"

Mia chewed her lip. "I'm worried, Nick. All right? Suppose we screw the job up?"

"That's what I like. A woman with confidence." Nick jabbed the cockpit door release and behind them a section of the raised dome slid open. He shivered in the sudden chill and closed it again and put on his visor. "I'm sure they packed us some warm clothing."

"It's not just the job we have to do," Mia said. "It's all the little complications. Fifty three people will die tonight. We have to ensure that they die. And only 53, not 52 or 54. Exactly 53, and they must be the right people."

"We'll do it. Right? Now stop worrying."

Accessing the STASIS menu, he found the list of items that had been transferred into stasis for the journey, and as he scanned them he recalled Coleman's words.

"When you're recalling items from stasis while you're inside the Timehopper, for God's sake, make sure you concentrate on the small items, because – listen to me, Agent Holt, I'm telling you for your own good – if you try to bring the flivver out of stasis, you will, and if you're still inside the Timehopper, the bloody thing will materialise, full size and rip you, Agent Nellis, the Timehopper and the flivver itself to shreds"

Nick's skill with visors had never been questioned, and even though the advice irritated at the time, it was a welcome reminder. The Timehopper cockpit had little space to spare. The instrument panel and their seating took up fully two thirds of the dome, leaving only a tiny area of clear floor behind the seats. As he scanned the STASIS menu he purposely avoided the flivver in the inventory.

Instead, he focussed the two thermo-jackets, and when he had them fixed, he concentrated on RECALL and looked down at the Timehopper floor.

The sapphire field appeared and the two jackets materialised side by side. He handed one to Mia and slipped the other one on over his shirt. Once attired, he removed the ion rod from its console charger, and examined the power meter.

"One hundred percent." He slipped it into his hip holster. "Look out Flix, here we come."

"Are you happy with that weapon?"

Once more, Nick recalled Coleman's words on the subject.

"We've had them for years. The military keep them in reserve. In this day and age, there is rarely the need to kill any animal, and there is never any need to kill a human being. No matter what he's done, there is no need to kill him off. If you remember your basic training, the ion rod will incapacitate any living creature, from a mouse to an elephant, instantly. Why kill a suspect when you can floor him? But the military insisted that we never know when we may need the capacity to kill, so the Mark 2 ion rod was developed. You'll notice in addition to the blue, green and yellow triggers, it also has red."

A simple tube with detachable power cells and a single charge point at its base, the serrated handgrip was decked with the different coloured buttons, triggers as they were called, stepping up from yellow, through green to blue. There was also a white button for healing and a purple trigger which could be used as a defibrillator.

Showing it to Mia, he pointed out the red trigger. "On full power it will atomise whatever the beam strikes, including one of the undead. It's good for fifty metres. Any further and the power will deteriorate geometrically. At a hundred metres, you'll give nothing more than a shock. Next, and bear this in mind, Mia, because you never know when you may have to use it, there's no focus. You need a clear shot at your target. The power of the beam concentrates on the point where it is impeded. Aim at a man across the street and a flivver passes between you as you shoot, the beam will never make the man. It'll vaporise the flivver."

"How many red bolts from a full charge?"

"Nobody knows," Nick admitted. "Not even Coleman. I asked him and he just shrugged. I should guess about a hundred. I know we get five hundred from the blue trigger, and the red trigger is at least five times more powerful."

"And what about recharging?" Mia wanted to know.

Nick gestured at the charge slot. "There's a replica in our flivver. We'll be leaving it on charge at all times when we don't need it."

Mia still looked worried. "Will it be enough?"

He nodded and slipped the weapon into his belt holster. "Should be. How many zombies can Flix create in one small base?"

"No more than 53 or we'll change history."

With Mia's reminder ringing in his ears, he tutted. "Shall we go?"

He hit the door release switch and the section of dome slid open again. Mia left and he followed. The bitter cold of a border's winter night hit them the moment they stepped out. Mia turned her thermal jacket up to maximum but the vicious wind still bit at her cheeks.

Nick appeared to ignore it. When he jumped off the Timehopper and helped her down, he slipped on his visor again, accessed TIMEHOPPER CONTROL and locked the machine up.

They spent another ten minutes pulling the camouflage net over the machine and pegging it to the soft ground.

When he was satisfied that the Timehopper would be invisible to even the most powerful satellite camera, he said, "Let's get some transport."

He accessed the STASIS menu again, selected the flivver. Looking towards a patch of ground several metres from the machine, he hit RECALL with his eye and the flivver appeared.

Climbing into the vehicle, Nick closed the sliding canopy, fired the engine and as the machine lifted 50 centimetres off the ground, he switched on the heaters. Engaging the thrusters, he edged the flivver forward and switched the windscreen to night vision.

"You need lights on, Nick," Mia warned him. "You have to be seen as well as see."

"We have to be careful not to be seen too much in this thing. The flivvers in this century can't travel over fields. They need antigrav sensors buried under the surface of their flivverways. I want us off this hill and on a flivverway of some description before I put the lights on."

"You mean a road. In this time they're not tracks and they're certainly not flivverways. They're roads."

"Whatever." Nick pointed at the navigation display, set to map, not heading. "There's a _road_ about a kilometre ahead, and it'll take us straight to Coldmoor Castle."

The hill continued to descend steeply towards a wall running parallel with the road. Nick held the flivver back with light touches to the brake thruster pedals.

"Have you thought about how we get into the place?" Mia asked as the stone wall approached.

"Bluff it, I suppose." Nick braked and turned right along the wall at the bottom of the hill.

"Coldmoor Castle was a secret experimental laboratory, and heavily guarded. According to what I read before we left Stasis Center, they never had much trouble, but it was manned to deal with any kind of incursion."

A gap in the wall, through which they could turn onto the road, approached. Nick banked left, passed through the gate, and then hung the flivver left again, accelerating quickly to 120 kph.

"Ten minutes," he chortled.

"And you still haven't told me how we're going to get into the place."

"I told you. We'll bluff it. Are you picking anything up, yet?"

Mia focussed her mind and cast it out. She shook her head. "Picking up plenty of local spirits, as usual, but nothing like Flix."

"Maybe he hasn't started yet."

"What did you have to say about my lack of confidence? You make up for it with your excess of mindless optimism."

While he concentrated on his driving, Mia half turned in her seat to face him.

"Nick, tonight is the night. The files I read before we left Stasis Center didn't tell me a lot, because they said I shouldn't know too much, but they told me he takes over bodies, note the plural, bodies." She checked her chronometer. "It's seven thirty-five, local time. Chances are the boffins have already finished work and if so, that means they've tapped stasis energy. Once Flix has that energy, how long do you think he will wait before he attacks?"

"In that case ..." Nick kicked the accelerator.

Watching the fields and hills flash by on either side, Mia asked, "Exactly how do you trap him in stasis?"

Nick patted the ion rod nestling in its charging holster. "Excalibur. The red button should be powerful enough to kick him into a stasis field and the visor will trap that field creating the cell."

"Excalibur." Mia snorted. "You make it all sound easy."

Nick shook his head and braked for a right hand bend. "Not easy. To begin with, we can't trap him while he's in a body."

"Why?"

He levelled the flivver and accelerated along a straight stretch. "There was no body in the stasis cell Control showed us. Only Flix's spirit. That means we have to trap him while he's out of body on the Spirit Plane. That won't be easy considering I can't see what's going on other than through the visor. And it'll be made doubly difficult if there are other spirits about the castle."

Mia shivered despite the vehicle's interior warmth. "Coldmoor Castle had a reputation for being haunted. Could I use the ion rod?"

"Sure, but are you as good with it as I am?"

"Hubris. One of these days, it'll be the death of you ... or us."

Up ahead, the outer walls of Coldmoor Castle came into view, speckled with dots of white where internal illumination shone through archers' window slits.

Mia felt the familiar tension in her tummy, a tightening knot that threatened to make her vomit. Fear was not a word in Nick's lexicon and she wished she could be more like him.

"It's not death you fear," he always insisted, "but dying."

It was true. Of the billions living on the planet, she and Nick had memories of the process going back so long that they had no need to fear death. It was a part of the natural order, one step in a continuous process. But her mind was often flushed with the memories of that first death; hanging in the days when the long drop was unheard of and the victim was simply pushed from a milking stool and left suspended to take an hour or more to slowly strangle to death.

It was a terrifying memory that had haunted every lifetime she had lived since 1646 and the knowledge that they were to come up against the spirit of the man who had perpetrated the injustice did nothing to assuage her anxiety. In the 17th century, Flix had taken great pleasure in causing pain and death, and his spirit had never gone into The Light where it would have time to reflect upon and regret its earthly acts. The spirit that at the moment haunted Coldmoor Castle would have the same taste for pain and death as it had 900 years back.

Nick eased his speed and cruised to the right, towards the narrow arch and entry barrier. A soldier appeared from the right hand tower. Nick slid the canopy back

"Good evening, sir. Lost are we?"

Nick replied with a smile. "I don't know about you, but we're not lost. This is Coldmoor Castle?"

"Yes sir," Private Bernard Taplin replied. "It's also a government establishment off limits to anyone other than the staff and security crew."

Nick fished out his wallet and handed over his Stasis Center ID card. "I'm Agent Holt and this is Agent Nellis. We're from Stasis Center. Another government agency, and I'm asking you to stand aside and let us in, private. We have business here."

Taplin took the card, studied it, and compared the hologram image to the reality of Nick. "I'm not doubting you, sir, but it doesn't make any difference. You have no right of entry to this site."

Nick took his ID card back. "Listen to me, private. You have an emergency on your hands, right now, and only Ms Nellis and I can deal with it. Now—"

Taplin cut him off. "There is no emergency, sir, other than the one you're likely to create if you don't clear off." He reached to his side, unclipped his holster and rested his right hand on his pistol butt.

"Don't threaten me." Nick reached to his right hip and took a grip on the ion rod. "We're not here to take over the place, only to rescue you and your people from the current situation."

Any pretence at civility was left the sentry's voice. "For the last time, turn round and drive away."

"And if I refuse?"

Taplin began to draw his pistol, Nick freed the ion rod from its holster and Mia clutched her temples.

"Oh, god," she gasped.

Nick turned his attention to her. "What? What is it?"

Her face twisted into a mask of pain, sweat poured from her forehead. "Him. He's here. He's back. A young soldier. Dead. Flix has him now."

Nick flashed a glare at Taplin. "Open the barrier. Quick."

The private laughed. "You're taking the mick. Oldest trick in the book that. Now are you gonna clear off or ..."

Three gunshots rang out from the side of the house. Nick snapped his visor into place and homed in on the area. He could see Poulson's inert body bearing down on Captain Dressler.

"Open the damned barrier," he shouted at Taplin.

The private drew his pistol.

"Deal with him, Mia," Nick ordered.

She pointed at Taplin, focussed her mind, and as the sentry's pistol came up a flash of white energy flew from her finger, struck Taplin in the chest and hurled him back to the stone walls of the tower.

With the guard unconscious, Nick leapt from the flivver and hurried into the guardhouse, where he was confronted by Corporal Len Rostron. Nick floored him with a single punch, scanned the array of switches and jabbed the barrier button.

He hurried back out and into the flivver as the barrier rose. Alongside him, Taplin began to stir. Nick thrust the throttles forward and released the park brake. The flivver hurtled through the barrier, into the grounds.

"There." Mia pointed to their right and a darkened corner of the house.

"I know. I still have the damned visor on."

In his rear viewscreen he could see Private Taplin and Corporal Rostron hurrying into the grounds after them, weapons drawn.

"So much for bluffing our way in," Mia said as Nick slewed the vehicle hard right to the corner of the building.

"We're in, aren't we?" Nick braked hard and then looked along the side of the building. Twenty metres away, Flix, inhabiting Poulson's body, had Captain Dressler by the throat. Mia pointed.

"Your power is no good," Nick said. "We need Flix back on the Spirit Plane."

He aimed the ion rod past Mia. She jerked her seat backward, out of the line of fire. Nick hit the red button. A powerful beam of energy leapt from the rod and struck Poulson's head, which disappeared. Bereft of its brain, the rest of the body collapsed on top of Dressler.

Almost immediately, the body of Sergeant Summers staggered to its feet. Nick aimed and fired again. Summers' head disappeared and the body collapsed once more.

Nick and Mia leapt from the flivver and hurried along the side of the house.

Gingerly they moved Poulson's body from the unconscious officer. Mia checked her pulse and reported, "She's alive."

"Hold it right there. Both of you."

They turned to find Rostron and Taplin holding pistols on them.

Rostron rubbed his bruised jaw. "One move and I'll pay you back for this big style."

# Chapter 8

Mia felt close to losing her temper. "We saved your Captain's life."

Rostron was more pedantic. "You broke into a high security government establishment. Worse than that, you floored two members of EmmSec. Me and Bernie, here. That alone is good for five years."

Their weapons and identification confiscated, Mia and Nick were hustled into a small, bare interview room behind the main security monitoring station. With the death of Sergeant Summers, and Captain Dressler in sick bay, Rostron had assumed command and mobilised the entire security complement of 30 men and women, who patrolled the house and grounds while Mia and Nick were under interview.

"And if we wanna get technical about it," Taplin put in, "you blew Ronnie Poulson's head off, and the sarge's."

"He was throttling your commanding officer," Nick maintained. "And anyway, he was already dead before I took his head off." Before either of the soldiers could pick him up on his remark, he went on, "I told you we are government agents, I showed you identification, yet you refused to let us in."

Rostron fingered Nick's ID. "Oh right, you're government agents. Funny thing that. We ran this piece of plastic through our computer and guess what? It's never heard of you or the department you claim to work for."

"It wouldn't," Nick agreed.

Alongside him, Mia closed her eyes. _For god's sake don't tell them we're from the future,_ she thought.

"Why not?" Rostron demanded.

"What's your security rating?" Nick asked.

"1B," the corporal replied.

"And your captain's?"

"1BB."

"You," Nick pointed at them both, "are four ratings below us, and even your captain is three steps under us. Do you think that the government will admit the existence of a department that is so secret even the janitor needs a 1A security clearance? Of course your computer doesn't know us. It's cleared to 1BB, your captain's level."

Mia silently congratulated her partner. His logic was as sound as it was inventive. Across the table, Rostron played with Nick's ID, looking down at it and then back up at Nick, while she guessed he was seeking a way through the logical dead end Nick had just thrown at him.

"You agree that our ID cards have an official, governmental hologram?" she said.

"Ye-es" Rostron's reply was hesitant. "It's not exactly like ours, but it's close."

Mia cast her mind forward. Where she was able to generate fear in the mind of an opponent, she could just as easily generate ambient feelings of goodwill. "That's because we're from a different department. Corporal, we're specialists in the kind of emergency you're dealing with. That's why we were sent here."

"An emergency that didn't happen until you arrived," Rostron retorted.

Mia went on in the same seductive tones. "Our department has ways of knowing when and where these things will happen. This is a very special kind of situation, Corporal, one that you have almost certainly never come across. Your colleague, Private Poulson, did you say his name was?"

Taplin nodded and glowered at Nick. "Ronnie was my mate."

Mia sensed the anger in him but before she could try to calm it, Nick threw down a fresh gauntlet.

"Ronnie was already dead, and so was your sergeant."

"That's why I said you may not have come across this situation before," Mia told them before an argument could break out. "They were already dead. His body had been possessed, for want of a better description, by the spirit of another man."

Rostron and Taplin exchanged a glance and the corporal chuckled. "If this weren't so serious it'd be the best joke I've heard in years."

Nick began to lose his cool again. "Why do you think our department is called Stasis Center, you moron?"

The final insult wiped the grin from Rostron's face. He half rose and Nick did too.

"Sit down, both of you," Mia ordered. "We're all on the same side, if you could but realise it, Corporal. And Nick, cool it. There's nothing to be gained from fighting each other."

The men sat down again, belligerence dancing in the air between them.

"Coldmoor Castle is a scientific establishment," Mia said. "Ours is one, too. The difference is while your boffins challenge the known limits of physics, our people examine the, er, problems involved with other dimensions. The theory is that when we die, we pass into another dimension. We can't see it, touch it, hear or feel it, but that doesn't make it any the less real, and the government is rightly concerned about the possibility of attack from such dimensions." She waved an airy hand at the room. "No use asking Nick or me. We're like you. Security agents. More specialised, highly trained in the use of our weapons, but essentially, our job is the same as yours. To prevent attack from other sources. The deaths of Private Poulson and the sergeant and the subsequent possession of their bodies is the first move in such an attack."

The two EmmSec men remained silent.

"He was strangling your captain," Nick reminded them.

"You say," Taplin retorted.

"Check her neck, you dummy," Nick snapped. "His finger-marks are all over her. Or did you think they were indulging in a bit of rough foreplay?"

This time Taplin rose, but Rostron stayed him. "All right, Bernie, calm down, lad." Rostron gazed on his suspects. "I'll have to check this out. We may only have a 1B rating, but Dr Magnusson has 1AA. If anyone can find out, it's him." Rostron stood up and gathered together the Stasis Center agents' possessions. "Come on Bernie. Let's check with the Prof."

*

"Brilliant," Mia said. "Just bloody brilliant. Magnusson isn't just another grunt, you know. He's the father of Stasis energy. A top flight scientist and the minute those two drag him in here, we're sunk. He'll know that there's no such research in this time."

Nick said examined the door lock, "Which is why we need to get out and stop them talking to Magnusson." He rounded on Mia. "Why the hell didn't you inject some fear into them?"

"Because we're not here to arrest them, Nick. We're here to save them and we need allies. If I generate fear, I also generate resentment. We need to persuade, not alienate them." Mia tapped her foot impatiently. "Can you do anything with the door?"

Nick sucked in his breath and rejoined her at the interview table. "Nope. Electronic code lock. If I had the ion rod, I could vaporise it, but ..." He trailed off with a shrug.

"And that's another thing," Mia complained. "We don't want Magnusson seeing the ion rod, or your visor. He's too smart to begin examining them. It might lead him to conclusions that could change history."

Nick drummed his fingers on the table. "Was Magnusson's name on the list of those who are supposed to die, tonight?"

"No," Mia assured him.

"Pity."

Mia's outrage flooded. "Nick. That is an appalling attitude."

He promptly apologised. "Sorry. I was just thinking it would solve a problem."

The sound of running feet reached them from beyond the door, but none of the feet came towards them.

Mia stood up and began to pace the cramped room. "You hear that? I'll bet it's Flix acting up again. We were sent here to deal with him and where are we? Locked in a tiny cell, our weapons confiscated..." Mia trailed off as a ball of orange energy flew into the room. "Oh, hello. Who are you?"

Nick looked around, then back at Mia, his eyebrows raised.

"A spirit," she explained. Concentrating on the energy orb, visible only to her, she smiled a greeting. "I'm Mia Nellis."

"And you can see me?" asked the spirit.

"Would I be talking to you if I couldn't? I'm a genuine psychic, but for all that, I can only detect your energy field."

The ball of orange fire rearranged itself and fell into the shape of a middle aged man wearing the tailcoat and stiff white shirt of a servant. Mia could still see the reality of the wall through his appearance. "My name is Sowerby. I was butler to the Coldhurst family who owned this place back in the twentieth century."

"Were you now?" Mia's rhetorical question irritated irritation Nick who could hear only her side of the conversation. Her partner opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a wave of her hand. "When did you pass over, Sowerby?"

"I was born in 1908 and I passed away in 1982 at the age of 74. I spent virtually my whole life here. My mother was a housemaid, my father a stableman. I became a houseboy after I finished my schooling and worked my way up until I was appointed butler in 1955."

"Nick and I were of the same calling in a former life," Mia said. "He was a groom and smith and I was a housemaid. What made you stay behind? Why did you not go through The Light?"

"My devotion to the family and the castle. I've been here for over 600 years as they count the time. I'm in no hurry to move on, and right now, it's a good thing. While he's here, I can't move on. I have to stop him."

Mia became serious. "He? Who?"

"Calls himself Flix. Powerful, angry spirit. Murderous. Turned up three weeks ago, and he's been hanging around the cellars, the laboratory as that lot call it."

"His name is Edward Flixton," Mia said. "We know him as Flix, too. In his last incarnation, he was our master. He had us executed on false charges of witchcraft."

Sowerby resorted to logic. "His name _was_ Edward Flixton. And that's exactly the kind of thing I'd expect from him. According to my best guess, he's been dead a lot longer than me."

"Almost 900 years," Relieved to speak with an entity who would not question her history, Mia admitted, "Flix is the reason we're here, too."

"You're not still looking for revenge after all this time, are you, lass?"

"No. It's more complicated than that. We know what he's about to do and we've been sent here to stop him."

"Makes sense, I suppose. It'll be tough, mind. He knows a lot of tricks even I've never learned. Look what he did with that young soldier, Poulson. Chucked him through the window like it was made of toffee paper. And took over his dead body, if you please. Now if you'll excuse me, young lady, I need to get out there and deal with him."

"No. Wait," Mia urged. "Sowerby, my partner and I need to be out of here to deal with Flix. We're going to trap him in an energy cell."

The ghostly butler frowned. "An energy cell? You don't have any kind of energy cell that could snare him."

Mia smiled. "You mean the people of this time don't have such an energy cell."

Realisation dawned as a sly smile across the spirit's vaporous face. "You're from the future, aren't you?"

Mia nodded. "We are, but the occupants of the house mustn't know that. Right now, we're trapped, Sowerby. The security people have taken our weapons and locked us in here. Can you open the lock?"

Sowerby's astral features broke into a smile. "These boffins. Think they know everything. Reckon they've got the perfect prison, they do. But nothing's beyond me. Excuse me a moment."

Sowerby disappeared slowly, condensing down to a pinpoint of light, which flew at the door and through it.

Mia turned back to Nick. "An ally. The ghost of a butler from 600 years back. He says he can get us out."

Nick snorted, but Mia knew it was not derision at the idea of a ghost, merely the ghost's ability to affect electronic circuitry. "If he can do that, I'll show my butt in Harrods window..."

He trailed off as a click came from the door and it swung open an inch.

"Shopping in Knightsbridge will never be the same again," Mia commented.

Ignoring her, Nick crept to it and peered out into the hall.

*

Still heady from their breakthrough, Magnusson, Bergovitch and Wakes knew nothing of events outside the house. It was only when the stasis field in the enclosed cubicle began to turn unstable that they realised anything at all was amiss.

Kerry Wakes was first to notice it. Turning to find a space where she could put down her empty champagne glass, she spotted technicians and laboratory assistants, who a few moments previously had been celebrating, now in a state of anxiety. Some pointed to the stasis field and its erratic jiggling, others rushed to their computer terminals, and technician Harry Leach, was climbing into his environment suite, ready to enter the stasis chamber. The distant wail of an alarm sounded.

Kerry nudged Magnusson and Bergovitch. Their faces underwent the same rapid change as hers had: while putting his champagne to one side, Magnusson's features turned from jovial, to concerned, and Bergovitch's mouth fell open, gaping through his beard.

In the laboratory, Harry Leach never finished putting on his suit. He was pulling the hood over his head when a bolt of pure blue energy shot from the stasis chamber, penetrated the reinforced plexiglass, and struck him. He fell to the floor, the beam of energy still dancing across the twenty feet that separated him from the stasis poles.

"My god," cried Bergovitch and hurried out into the laboratory.

"Ivan. No."

The Russian ignored Magnusson's protest.

The beam cut off and the plexiglass repaired itself. The dead technician (Kerry assumed he was dead) stood up. Kerry's trembling turned to near panic. "He can't possibly have survived."

Magnusson's mouth, like his Russian colleague's, fell open.

As if he were either badly hurt or in his final death throes, Leach staggered towards his nearer colleagues. His right arm reached out for a young woman. She ran off. Bergovitch rushed to Leach, who caught him by the throat. To Kerry's horror, Leach lifted Bergovitch from the ground and hurled him to the back wall. Bergovitch fell to floor, invisible to Kerry.

Contagious terror ran through the crew. They ran for the exit, only to meet a security team responding to the alarm. Private Taplin burst through the melee and gaped at Leach. Kerry followed his horrified stare.

Leach appeared to be dead yet animate. His face was a mass of suffused blood, his eyes were popping from their sockets and his mouth was open, slobbering. Where the stasis beam had struck him, he had a large hole in his chest, its edges charred against the off-white colouring of the environment suit.

Leach bent and gripped Bergovitch, yanking him to his feet, powerful fingers gripping the scientist by the throat. Gagging, on the border of choking to death, Bergovitch grasped the fingers, trying to pry them free. Taplin had been about to pull his pistol but changed his mind, and rushed to assist Bergovitch. Leach's free arm flew out and grabbed Taplin by the throat.

The surge at the door began to subside. Still carrying a cardboard box containing the Stasis Center Agents' equipment, Corporal Rostron fought his way through, dropped the box, drew his pistol and circled until he had a clear shot at Leach, then unloaded the entire magazine into dead man's chest.

To Kerry's amazement and terror, the bullets had no effect.

Caught between helping his colleague and minding his own safety, Rostron dithered momentarily, then with a glance towards the office, hurried across. He burst in, and ordered, "Dr Magnusson, Dr Wakes. For your own safety, you'd better get out."

Kerry backed away from the door. His mouth still gaping, Magnusson backed off too. Rostron whirled round and he too backed into the office, frantically jamming another clip into his pistol butt.

Now moving under their own volition, Taplin and Bergovitch flanked Leach and the three made for the office door.

Rostron levelled his pistol.

"You've tried that once and it didn't work," Kerry shouted.

Rostron ignored her and fired repeatedly at all three figures until his pistol was once more empty.

Tears streamed down Kerry's face. She appealed to her boss. "Dr Magnusson, what's going on?"

"I ..." Magnusson trailed off. His mouth worked but no sound escaped it.

One by one the creatures came into the office. Bergovitch landed out at Magnusson, struck him on the forehead, and the scientist staggered back, striking his head on a bookshelf.

Kerry gauged a gap between Taplin and the exit and ran for it. For a brief moment her heart soared, but then Taplin's dead hand reached out and caught her by the arm. He yanked her back and close to him.

Even so near, she could not hear him breathing, she could smell his breath. The only odour that reached her nostrils was her fear of imminent death.

*

Mia and Nick fought their way through the crowd of lab assistants, technicians and security officers hurrying up from the basement. At times they found themselves almost overwhelmed by the crush and only their persistence kept them moving down.

"Flix," Mia called out as Nick shouldered a security officer aside. "I can sense him."

"Home in on him," Nick called back. "We need to get there quick."

"There are others, too," Mia shouted as they reached the bottom of the staircase. "They're struggling for release, but I think Flix is holding them back."

Mia joined him to find the corridor empty. She tuned her mind to the building. "There." She pointed to their right. They hurried along and she stopped at the first set of double doors. "In here."

Nick burst in to find the laboratory in chaos but devoid of life. Computer monitors lay shattered on the floor, workstations, set in neat rows, all converging on the stasis chamber, were overturned. At one station, Mia noticed a beaker bearing the legend, _you don't have to be mad to work here but it helps_. It was overturned, the tea or coffee spilt, and soaked into a wad of printouts.

Mia snapped her head to the right and the office. "There."

Nick spotted the box Rostron had carried off with their effects. "Keep 'em busy." He delved into the box.

Closest to the door, Mia saw Taplin snatch Kerry's arm and pull her back in. Mia aimed a powerful energy bolt at Taplin. It slammed into the dead security man's back and thrust him forward into Leach.

Bergovitch turned from Magnusson's inert form, Leach, too, faced Mia, and Taplin ignored Kerry, as one of the three creatures turned and came back out of the office, making slowly for Mia and Nick.

She threw out another bolt of energy, hitting Leach in the chest. He staggered briefly then resumed his staccato steps towards them. Mia hit Bergovitch and he fell back, but also recovered quickly.

"For God's sake hurry up, Nick. I can't hold them off forever and I'm tiring. I don't have the power to push them out of their bodies and into The Light."

Nick jammed his visor in place and switched it on. "I see them," he said coming to Mia's side. He grinned at Leach. "Hi, Flix. Remember us."

Leach's inert body raised its arm, reaching out for him. Nick aimed the ion rod and a virulent red beam struck Leach's head.

The head disappeared; Leach's body fell to the floor, Mia's mind picked up Flix displacing the dead soul of Private Taplin. "Left," she barked.

"Seen him." Nick fired the ion rod again.

While Taplin's head disappeared and Flix leapt into the body of Bergovitch, Nick aimed a third time but as his finger touched the trigger, Flix swung his arm out and knocked the ion rod from Nick's hand. It clattered across the tiled floor. Turning his attention to Mia, Flix lashed out again. The blow took her on the side of the head and she collapsed.

"Nuts," Nick glanced at the ion rod several metres away and then at Flix hovering over Mia's dazed form.

Disregarding the weapon, Nick threw himself at Flix, catching him waist high and clamping his arms around the undead's waist. A powerful fist came down on the back of Nick's neck. His eyes watered; he scrunched them up to clear them and pressed Flix back towards the stasis chamber. Flix brought his dead fist down again and Nick felt his vision blurring, his grip weakening. A third blow and he fell to his knees, releasing Flix.

To his surprise, Flix did not press home his advantage but staggered from the laboratory under the horrified stare of Rostron and Kerry in the office and the hazy gaze of the two Stasis Center agents.

Rostron stepped cautiously out of the office and bent to pick up the ion rod. As his fingers closed around it, Mia stepped on his hand and he looked up into her glaring eyes.

"Leave it, and help Nick."

# Chapter 9

They sat Magnusson, still unconscious, in his chair.

Kerry chewed her lip. "We should get him to sick bay."

Nick disagreed. "Too dangerous. With Flix out there, we couldn't guarantee his safety."

Rostron's voice was still filled with suspicion. "Just who the hell are you people?"

Kerry and Rostron had recovered, and now the security man now faced the wrath of the two agents.

"We tried to tell you and you wouldn't listen," Mia snapped.

"I was doing my job," Rostron protested.

Her anger unabated, Mia challenged him. "You were behaving like a clockwork soldier. Following procedures and obeying orders. We told you we were here to deal with the emergency, and you wouldn't listen. Now three more men are dead and Flix is loose in the building."

"Flix?" Kerry intervened. "Who is Flix?"

"Too complicated to explain," Nick rubbed a vigorous hand at the back of his neck. "The guy with the beard?"

"Dr Bergovitch," Kerry said.

"He's dead." Nick did not pause t osee what effect the announcement would have on Kerry. "His soul, for want of a better word, was trapped in the body, controlled by an entity we know as Flix. When I blew away the other two, Flix kicked Bergovitch out of his body and took it over. The body is dead, but it lives under Flix's control and it's lethal. It will kill everyone in this building, and if it gets out of here, Bergovitch or any of the bodies Flix controls, the whole world is in trouble."

Mia turned to her partner. "What state is the ..." She was about to say 'ion rod' but checked herself. "The weapon in?"

"No coal left in the boiler," Nick riposted. "When Flix knocked it from my hand, he damaged one of the power cells."

"Replacement cells?" Mia asked.

Nick nodded. "They're in the flivver."

Mia chewed her lip. "You can't leave the building. Not with Flix on the loose. Could you charge the cell that's working?"

He shook his head. "The charge point is in the flivver ... along with the spare cell."

Mia chewed her lip. "Can you get there and back with Flix on the loose? If he meets any other live ones he'll..." She trailed off.

"I have no choice." Nick shrugged. "This thing's not exactly useless, but it's not far off. I have to get the replacement cell or we'll never get Flix into the ..." He, too, left his words hanging to pre-empt awkward questions from Kerry and Rostron.

"Into the what?" Kerry asked.

"Never mind. Just listen up, the both of you." Nick patted the ion rod. "I have to get out to my flivver. Getting back shouldn't be a problem. I'll be packing. But getting out could be troublesome. He gestured at the laboratory entrance. "When I go through that door, you keep it shut. You let no one in unless you know it's me."

"How will we know it's you?" Rostron asked.

"I'll talk to you through the door, you dummy."

"Wait, Nick," Mia urged. "Shouldn't you take a weapon? The Corporal's pistol, for example?"

"There's no way—" Rostron began, but Nick cut him off.

"Rostron will have to protect you and Ms Wakes while I'm gone. Right now, I'm dealing only with Flix, and I can fight him off and run for it. Unless you have any other weapons here, Ms Wakes?"

Kerry shook her head. "I'm sorry, no."

"I move faster than any of the bodies he's controlling, anyway," Nick said to Mia. "As long he hasn't picked up more recruits, I should be fine." He turned on Rostron again. "This time, you follow my orders, Corporal. While I'm out, if Flix comes back, you shoot. Single shot to the head. You understand?"

In an effort to take control, Rostron snapped. "No I bloody well don't. This was a peaceful place until you two turned up. You gave us some cock and bull story about secret government departments, and then all hell breaks loose. Now I want some answers."

"You won't get them," Nick retorted. "That... thing has just murdered three of your colleagues and appropriated their bodies. It won't stop there. Mia and I have been sent here to handle it. As far as you're concerned, in the absence of anyone more senior, we are in command, and since there is no one on this site more senior, we're still in command. Do you understand?"

"Dr Magnusson is more senior." Rostron pointed at the inert form in the chair. "So is Dr Wakes."

Nick sighed just the right side of frustration. "With all due respect to Drs Magnusson and Wakes, they are scientists. The may control the work that goes on here, but they are not security personnel. I outrank them."

Mia emanated waves of placidity. "Corporal, if we were here to steal secrets, we would have eliminated you and your security colleagues at the gatehouse. Now do as Nick says. If Flix, Bergovitch, whatever you want to call him, comes back through that door, shoot him in the head."

Kerry came in their side. "I think, Corporal, we had better do as they say. We'll get answers later; when we have the situation contained."

Rostron touched the peak of his cap, a semi-salute reserved for civilians. "If you insist, ma'am."

Nick clapped his hands like a market trader about to offer a bargain. "Right. Time to go. Is there another way out of the basement into the grounds?"

"Fire exit," Rostron reported. "Dunno why we have them. Fire's thing of the past, but it's something to do with ancient legislation. Anyway, turn left out of the doors, along to end of the gallery, turn left again. Half way down on that side, you'll come to a short flight of stairs on your right hand side. That leads you up to the fire exit. It brings you out at the rear of the building, so you'll have to run round to your flivver."

Nick drew the ion rod and stood by the door. "Remember. Keep the door closed and locked until you know it's me on the other side."

He opened the door and peered out. Clear left and right. He stepped out into the dimly lit corridor.

*

Nick approached the turn at the end of the gallery with great caution.

He and Mia had carried out numerous arrests in their five-year tenure with Stasis Center, and life had taught them that they could never be too careful.

In 3010 it was near impossible to get hold of weapons like Rostron's .45 automatic. Mechanical/chemical weapons such as handguns had been banned centuries back, but the modern felons could still access adapted electronic weapons; criminally adapted tasers which delivered not only the high voltage shock but did so at a lower alternating current turning the weapon from disabling to lethal.

Fortunately, tasers were comparatively slow at the side of weapons like the ion rod. With enough warning, it was not difficult to avoid one or both of the needles, rendering the weapon useless. Engineering those precious seconds of warning was a skill all arresting agents were taught, and the first line of defence was approaching blind corners with caution.

Nick pressed his back to the near wall, sidled up to the corner and held his breath for a moment, listening.

In the distance he could hear the furore from above: the occasional bark of orders – presumably from security personnel – the raised, angry or panicking voices of others. He closed his ears to them and concentrated on the basement. He could hear nothing.

It was at times like this that he heeded Mia at his side. She could extend her psychic mind and detect others in the area. She would _know_ if Flix were round the corner.

Drawing in a deep breath, charging his muscle with ample oxygen, he peered round the wall. Nothing. No one. Empty.

The exit was where Rostron said it was: halfway down on the right. What the Corporal hadn't told him was how far it was from the corner. A good 30 metres and on the left hand wall, between him and the fire exit were other doors, presumably leading to smaller laboratories, power plant, first aid room, etc. Rooms where Flix may be hiding?

Nick decided it didn't matter. He had to chance the journey.

He turned the corner and broke into a sprint. His eyes darted left to the doors, right to the exit, straight ahead to the distant, far wall. The fire exit grew in his vision. He could see the lower steps. Could Flix be waiting there? He'd had almost 900 years on the Spirit Plane. Had he learned to plan, to anticipate?

Beyond the first two doors and nothing had happened. Maybe Flix had made his way up the other stairs to the entrance hall where he was now wreaking havoc amongst the surviving technicians and security.

The fire exit drew tantalisingly nearer. One final door on the left and as long as Flix was not waiting on the stairs...

Nick had time enough to register the nameplate on the door reading, _Mainframe. Authorised personnel only,_ when it opened and Flix came out. And he was not alone; he had two others with him.

Applying the brakes, coming to a sharp halt, Nick's first instinct was to shout a warning to the two technicians. It would be pointless. The open mouths, the crooked angle of their necks, leaving their heads resting on the collars of their white lab coats, told him they were already dead.

Standing two metres from them, he gauged the distance to the fire exit and the available space around them: five metres and nothing respectively. If he was to make the fire exit, he would have to go through them.

He raised the ion rod. Flix was not impressed and Nick had to remind himself that the body of Dr Bergovitch was under the control of an intelligent force, perfectly capable of reasoning that the weapon must be defective or Nick would have already used it. That intelligence manifested again when Flix sent the two technicians on the attack, rather that coming himself. The female rushed him, stretching out her dead hand for his throat. The male came slower from the right, seeking the ion rod. Nick brushed the female away with his arm, turned and ran. They came in fast pursuit.

How the hell could they move so fast? Freshly slaughtered, it should take time for them to learn control of their bodies.

Flix! It had to be. They were not simply following Flix's orders, they were _controlled_ by him. He had trapped the spirits inside as motive force, and then controlled them with spirit powers he had developed over the last 900 years.

He made the corner, his feet skidded on the composition floor and he hit the back wall. He turned to run. As he did so, the female threw herself flat and grabbed his ankle.

He fell, twisted onto his back and looked down towards her. As she crawled nearer, a vicelike clamp on his ankle, he drew in his free foot and kicked her in the face. Her male partner arrived and stood over him. He raised his foot.

Nick understood the rules. The zombie would make no effort to crush his skull. That would shatter his brain and he would be useless to Flix. Instead, that foot would come down, backed by all the power of Flix's spirit energy and snap his neck, the way Flix had snapped theirs.

He raised the ion rod and pressed the red trigger. A weak beam erupted, struck the male in the chest and threw him back into the oncoming Flix. The male recovered quickly. Nick gave the female another kick in the face and her grip began to slacken. He rolled back onto his belly and tugged his foot in an effort to free himself.

The male hovered over him, his foot raised again.

*

When the noise from the entrance hall permeated her pain, Captain Dressler dragged herself from sick bay and out into the melee.

"Corporal Aldridge," she barked over the noise, "what the hell is going on?"

The Corporal came to her side and snapped to attention. "Not sure, Ma'am. Len Rostron and Bernie Taplin were interrogating a pair of intruders and then suddenly everything went ballistic. Next thing we know the techs were running up from the basement saying as how a couple of people down there have been killed and there are – I dunno – dead bodies coming back to life." He blushed and shrugged.

"Dead people coming back to..." Dressler remembered Poulson and Summers. She drew her pistol. "Evans," she shouted to a young private. "With me down the stairs. Aldridge, you stay here and get these people under control."

Forcing her way through the milling crowd, she made the basement door and yanked it open. Nothing to be seen.

"Stay behind me, Evans," she ordered, "and draw your shooter."

The young private, his hands trembling obeyed.

Dressler made her way quickly down the stairs to the lower corridor, looked left, then right and saw Nick on the deck, his ankle held by someone she recognised as a computer tech and another tech with his foot raised. Dressler was sure that neither of the techs had sported such crooked necks.

"Head," Nick shouted. "Shoot him in the head."

Vague recollections came to Dressler. The concerned face of a woman and a man leaning over her out in the grounds. The man, she was sure, was this same one.

"Shoot," Nick shouted as the foot began to come down.

The heavy boot was millimetres from crushing his neck. Dressler aimed and fired. The bullet ripped into the undead technician's brain. The creature staggered, reeled and fell. At the same time, Nick lashed out his free foot at the female. Dressler and Evans rushed to help him. Dressler dragged him away, Evans aimed his pistol at the female, but before he could fire, Flix grabbed his arm, yanked him forward and smashed him into the wall.

"Back to the lab," Nick ordered.

"But Evans—"

"He's dead. Now move."

As he said it Flix brought his foot down on Evans' chest and crushed it.

Nick pusher Dressler on. "MOVE."

She watched in horror as Evans, his chest caved in, staggered to his feet. She came to her senses and hurried after Nick to the laboratory.

Nick hammered on the door. "It's me, Nick. Open up."

"How do we know it's you," Rostron argued from within.

Flix, Evans and the female were making their way along the corridor.

"Open the damned door, you idiot," Nick shouted.

Dressler raised her pistol again, her hand shaking uncontrollably and loosed off a shot that took Evans in the chest.

"Head only," Nick told her, "and if you can't steady your aim, leave it off. We may need the ammunition." He hammered on the door again. "Rostron, open the bloody door."

"Rostron, this is Captain Dressler. Open the door now."

The lock clicked back the door parted an inch. Nick barged through. Flix's outstretched hand came within millimetres of grabbing Dressler when Nick dragged her in after him, slammed and locked the door.

# Chapter 10

With door locked again, Nick, Dressler and Rostron retired to the office, where Dr Magnusson slumped, still unconscious in his seat. Nick accepted slug of brandy from Mia.

"You saved my life outside," Dressler said, "so we're even."

Nick nodded and drowned the brandy in one gulp.

The captain went on. "And now you can tell us just what's going on."

Nick shook his head and passed the plastiglass container back to Mia. "We can't explain anything, because you don't have the security clearance to know." Dressler opened her mouth to speak, but Nick pressed on before she could say anything. "I know you're the head of security here, Captain, but believe me, you'd need canned oxygen to breathe at our level."

Mia made an effort to moderate her partner's insistence. "What we can tell you," Mia said, "is that we were sent here to detail with this situation and we're in trouble. The specialist weapon we use is, er, low on power and we need to think about recharging it. Nick, is there any way in which we can get a charge into it?"

"The cell is damaged. At best it would be less than fifty percent." He looked down at the weapon and shook his head. "Cheap and nasty junk." He caught sight of the stasis chamber in the corner of his eye. "Wait a minute. Maybe I can. At least, I can try." He brought his head back to face Kerry and winced as a lance of pain shot through his neck muscles. "Ms Wakes ..."

"Doctor Wakes if you don't mind."

Nick tutted and indicated Mia with a nod. "I have enough with one stroppy female, so don't you start, too. _Doctor_ Wakes, there's a spare environment suit hanging on the wall through there." He pointed to the laboratory. "Is it serviceable?"

Kerry's eyes filled with suspicion. "Why?"

"I need to go into the stasis chamber to recharge my weapon."

The suspicion deepened. "How do you know that it's a stasis chamber? Our work is most secret. No one knows anything of it." Kerry gestured at Dressler and Rostron. "Not even the security team here."

Nick shook his head in despair. "You try telling her, Mia."

Mia accompanied her explanation with waves of confidence building. "Kerry, Nick and I are government agents. We work for a secret department, too." She scowled at Rostron. "We tried to tell the corporal that, but he chose not to believe us. When it comes to secrecy, our department is ranked much higher than yours, as a consequence of which, we know more of what goes on here than any other government officers. We probably know more than you. We know that you've been working to harness stasis energy. We also know that you made the breakthrough earlier this evening. We also know that Flix has been waiting for the breakthrough."

"But this is farcical," Kerry protested. "What sort of entity is this Flix, and how—"

"We don't have time for questions," Nick interrupted. "Just get me into the stasis chamber and let me try to recharge my dud gun."

With a disgruntled "hmph", Kerry nodded at the laboratory. "The other environment suit is serviceable, as you put it. All our equipment is of the highest quality and kept in top condition. There's a neutron lock at the side of the stasis chamber. It prevents stasis energy getting out."

Nick stood and took the ion rod from Mia. Concentrating on Kerry, he asked, "How long will that suit protect me?"

"Twenty minutes tops. We pull everyone out after fifteen."

"In that case. We'll have to hope the remaining cell in this—" he hefted the ion rod "—will recharge in a quarter of an hour. Rostron, come and give me a hand into the suit."

The security officer followed Nick out into the laboratory but Mia noticed that while Nick had eyes only for the environment suit hanging on the back wall, Rostron's haunted stare strayed continuously from the headless corpses on the floor to the main door.

"He's afraid," Kerry said, spotting Mia's attention on the corporal.

"He's all right. Flix won't come back here while Nick and I are here."

"How can you be sure?"

Mia pointed at the stasis chamber. "Because that is exactly where we want him."

With Rostron's help, Nick sealed himself into the environment suit and entered the stasis chamber. Even through the neutrally charged material of the suit, he thought he could feel the stasis energy pricking his skin.

"Autosuggestion," he muttered to himself. "You know it's dangerous, you think it's getting at you."

Moving close to the twin poles around which the bright blue, unregulated field danced, he unscrewed the ion rod base, exposing its charge point.

A hundred shots from the red trigger, he had guessed. He'd used a few on the range during the previous afternoon, but the weapon had been stowed in the charger aboard the Timehopper on their way to Coldmoor Castle, and it was charged when they arrived. With a damaged cell, he did not feel confident of getting a decent power level into it, but right now, he had another problem.

The charger was fixed into the flivver console. A single orifice into which the ion rod slotted, and just like the one on the Timehopper, it hooked into a complex accumulator behind the dashboard, which pushed stasis energy into the device. Nick looked at the straggly field of raw energy and then back at the ion rod.

"How the hell am I gonna get some of that in there?"

The actual charging pole on the ion rod was a single, 6mm jack that protruded from the base of the weapon. When in contact with the on-board charger, stasis energy could flow only one way: into the ion rod. Nick was not certain that it would pick up such energy by simply dunking it in the stasis field.

He looked around the chamber seeking something, anything that he might rig up to push a charge into the weapon's cells, but there was nothing ...

Yes there was.

The lighting was recessed into the floor, and he guessed they were standard radon bulbs. They glowed with natural radiation and needed only the tiniest of electric currents to operate them. They also slotted into their electrical circuits on a single pin at either end. He wasn't sure if the pin was the same diameter as the jack for the ion rod, but there was only one way to find out.

He knelt down, and tried to prise the lamp cover from the floor. No go. Even without gloves, he couldn't have done it; the cover was flush to the floor and bolted down.

He stood up and smashed his foot down on it. No effect. The insulated foot covering of the environment suit absorbed most of the blow. He scanned the chamber again, seeking anything that would break the lamp. Nothing. Again. Irritation flushed him. The only means he had of breaking the glass was the ion rod itself, and it was out of charge. There was no point smashing the weapon down to break the glass; it would probably do more damage to the ion rod...

His thoughts tumbled to a halt. It wasn't totally out of charge. The meter read under two percent. Not enough to even repel a spirit like Flix, but would it break plexiglass?

Replacing the base, he switched on. The power light flashed its warning. "Now or never." He aimed it at the lamp. A dull red beam crept to the floor lamp. The plexiglass glowed and then began to cool.

"Come on," he urged. "Give, you bar steward, break."

The plexiglass glowed again and cooled again, and a third time, and the ion rod began to die altogether. In desperation, he brought his foot down on the heated lamp cover and to his relief it fell away in molten blobs.

But this was plexiglass; smart glass. It had memory built into its molecular structure. As the glass cooled it would reform into the last remembered shape.

Kneeling over it, Nick reached down and grabbed the radon bulb. The plexiglass cover began to form again. Would it trap his hand? He did not know and he didn't want to hang about to find out. He wriggled and jiggled the bulb trying to free it from its housing. The plexiglass was building itself up from the perimeter working towards the centre millimetres at a time. Nick wrenched at the bulb. Another few second and he would have to pull his hand out of there before it became trapped in the glass. He jerked the bulb this way and that, desperate for it to come out. Ten more millimetres and his gloved hand would become part of the plexiglass cover.

"Come out you bastard," he cursed and wrenched again.

The plexiglass brushed the sleeve of his environment suit and began to work round him. He heaved a final time and bulb broke under the pressure. With the plexiglass closing round his wrist, Nick ferreted for the connection. There were two of them. Why were they so difficult to find? His hand closed on something. He pulled and glass crumbled in his fingers. He was thankful they didn't use plexiglass for the bulbs, or that would be reforming, too.

The cover closed faster round his wrist. It had to be now! His fingers closed on something yet again. He yanked. It gave way. Still clutching whatever he had gripped, Nick snatched his hand from the recess as the plexiglass closed to form the prefect cover again.

Relief flushed him. He noticed that sweat was pouring from his face, causing condensation on the suit's visor. That had been close. With his hand caught, there was no way anyone could have got to him before the twenty-minute deadline.

Nick held up the object he had taken from the recess, a 25mm steel rim into which the glass tube containing the radon gas had been cold-welded at the factory. Tiny, bare wires protruded from the inside and from its back protruded a single 3.5mm jack.

Nick cursed. The ion rod charger slot was 6mm. Dismantling the ion rod again, he pushed the point in. A lot of free play, but could he still pick up a charge through it? His gaze alternated between the unregulated, uncontrolled flow of stasis energy dancing between its poles, and the almost invisible gold wires protruding from the inside of the broken radon bulb. Would the power of stasis energy melt them? He could not answer either question, and when he approached the stasis field, he learned he could not even guess how long he had been in the chamber.

Pressing the cannibalised light fitting into the ion rod's charge point, and holding it in place with his thumb wrapped around the weapon's tube, he teased it close to the energy field.

This time, the tingling was no illusion. It was real. Stasis energy penetrating the environment suit. If he had thought about it, he would have expected it. The suit was designed to keep him safe in the vicinity of the field, not dipping his hand into it. He began to shake as the power found its way through the layer of non-conductive polymer. He gritted his teeth as the tingling turned to pain. His eyes watered, his muscles began to twitch. He didn't know how much longer he could hold on. The shaking became more severe; the ion rod seemed to bounce in and out of the field, the level of pain increased. Just a few more seconds. If he could hold on just a few more seconds. Five more seconds. Arm and leg muscles began to spasm. From the outside it would look as if he were performing some random dance.

His vision began to cloud, tunnelling in. Was the ion rod still in the field? He could no longer see enough of it to form a judgement. His brain screamed at him to get out of there. Just a few more seconds. Three more seconds. His arm leapt and jerked, moving many centimetres with each spasm. He could feel the charge surging through his bones now. His muscles were on fire, sweat bathed his whole body, his breathing fast uncontrollable. The hyperventilation made him float. His consciousness was going. With a final giant heave, he yanked the ion rod free of the energy field and fell to the floor.

Watching as Nick collapsed in the chamber, Mia cried, "We have to get him out of there."

Rostron checked his watch. "By my reckoning, he's been in there about thirteen minutes. By the time we get suited and get to him, he'll be cooked. If we had another suit, which we don't... not down here, anyway. We have one out in equipment stores but ..."

"Then I'll go in without a suit." Mia marched towards the chamber.

Dressler grabbed her arm, Mia dragged herself free, but Kerry moved ahead of her and stopped her.

"He's gone," Kerry said. "If you go in there, you'll go with him. You can't save him."

"He's my partner," Mia wept. "Not just my working partner, but my life partner. My partner for many lives. I can't just leave him."

"You can't help him," Dressler insisted.

Mia gazed at the chamber, the heart torn form her. Nick couldn't go. Not here. Not in this time. Not in this manner. It wasn't a part of history.

A hazy figure appeared in front of her. She began to cry. Nick's spirit trying to make itself known.

"He's not gone yet."

It was the voice of Sowerby, the butler who had so long haunted this house.

Mia focussed on him. "What?"

Unaware of the butler's presence, Kerry and the security pair remained puzzled by Mia's comment.

"He hasn't come over yet," Sowerby went on. "And these people are right. If you go in there, it'll kill you. But it won't affect me."

The butler dissolved into a ball of energy which shot into the stasis chamber. Mia saw Sowerby bobbing around the area where Nick's body lay. From her own memories of past lives she knew that any spirit could interact with the real world, and Sowerby was interacting right now. As she, Kerry, Dressler and Rostron approached the chamber, they could see Nick's inert body moving, but only Mia could see Sowerby's energy form nudging Nick to cause that movement.

"Come on lad, snap out of it," Mia heard Sowerby say.

As the seconds ticked by and Rostron, one eye on his watch, began to shake his head, Mia's anxiety increased, but Sowerby did not give in. He kept on nudging Nick, waiting for a response.

"Seventeen minutes," Dressler said. "He's a goner."

Mia turned away, forcing back the tears threatening to flood.

"Wait," Kerry urged. "Look."

Mia turned back. Nick had begun to crawl towards to neutron lock.

"Can you open it for him, Sowerby?" she asked.

"I'll try, lass," said Sowerby.

"Who's Sowerby?" Rostron wanted to know.

Mia gave a wan smile. "It's too complicated to explain."

Sowerby's energy form moved to the lock switch. A small projection bolted from the ball of energy and hit the green button. The neutron lock opened and Nick crawled through. Sowerby followed and closed the lock, then swooped away.

Mia was too busy to notice. Kerry opened the lock on the laboratory side, and Nick crawled out, rolled over and lay flat on his back.

Kerry freed the helmet. Mia bent close to him.

"Nick. Tell me you're all right."

His eyes flickered open and he smiled and croaked, "Another twenty minutes and I'd have been properly cooked, ready for the roast potatoes, but otherwise I'm fine."

# Chapter 11

Inhabiting the body of Bergovitch, flanked by the undead technician and Private Evans, Flix stumbled towards the steps to the entrance hall. With their spirits trapped in the now dead bodies, the pair either side of him had the capacity to live forever.

After almost 900 years on the Spirit Plane, Flix thought he knew just about everything, but the events of the last half hour (as the living counted the time) had proved him wrong. When the two strangers walked into the laboratory, he recognised them immediately, and the shock of recognition had cost him a second before taking action. That second proved crucial in robbing him of two bodies.

Contact with the male, when he tried to physically overpower Bergovitch's body, told Flix more. Nick Holt he might be now, but when Flix knew him, he was Nicholas Holdsworth, a stable hand, the lover of Maria Neville, a serving girl at Flixton Hall.

Wandering the lower corridors of Coldmoor Castle, on the alert for more recruits, Flix's vast memory tracked back to those days of the Civil War when he had ruled the lands east of York with an iron hand, making good use of a Puritan front to mask his scientific experiments.

How many men and women had he sent to the gibbet? Hundreds, said the legend, but Flix knew better. It was less than two dozen, and in each case, he had watched death creep up on the hanging souls, his psychic mind extended, waiting for that final moment when the spirit would leave the body, hoping to trap it before it could reach the Spirit Plane.

Edward Flixton was born at Flixton Hall, Netherfield, near York, in 1598 and while still a child, he learned he could see into the minds of others. He suffered many beatings from his father and mother before he learned to keep the secret to himself.

Those were dangerous times; times when a man could be hanged for stealing fruit ... or for displaying such strange powers as he possessed.

Schooled in York, destined to inherit the family wool exchange, his abilities tempted him to a lucrative side career in local politics; a move which sat well with his family's affluence and influence, without them ever suspecting that his influence owed as much to his ability to mould men's minds as it did his rhetoric. And that ability to see other men's thoughts would serve him well in the dark days of the civil war.

He concentrated not on the generals, whose mindset was the same no matter which side of the Royalist/Parliamentarian argument they stood, but the foot soldiers. Long before Charles was executed and the Commonwealth of England declared, he knew that Cromwell would be victorious. The men on the ground had a greater belief in their cause than did the Royalist enemy.

In 1644, he ranged himself alongside Fairfax and Manchester at the battle of Marston Moor and was commended for his bravery. He wanted no reward for himself other than to succeed his father to the magistracy of Netherfield.

From this power base, his greatest ambitions could be realised, but it was also where the greatest danger lay.

When Maria Neville came to Flixton Hall in 1619, an orphan child of ten years, Flix immediately felt her psychic mind. She had the same power as he. He also realised that her innate sense of good presented a threat to him beyond which lay the hangman's noose. But he had learned what she had not: he had learned to hide his mind from other psychics. He knew about her, she knew nothing about him.

As she grew through her teens, she became suspicious of him. During the hangings over which his father presided, Maria had observed his fascination with death, how the body would struggle to cling to life even when there was no hope of survival. Servants were under orders to attend public hangings. It was routine to them. They served food and wine to the family and friends, and they showed support for the magistrate's actions. Outwardly, Maria Neville showed that support, but Flixton read the disgust and disdain in her mind. Not only hers, but her teenage lover's too: Holdsworth was an upstart stable lad and groom and Maria, he knew, confided her suspicions in him.

After Marston Moor, on his triumphant return to Flixton Hall, he set in motion a chain of events that would prove their undoing and leave him clear to carry on with his experiments.

First, he sealed his journals, almost 1,000 pages of them, written over a period of ten years, in a leather and metal trunk, and removed them to a secret location near Oxford, where they would never be uncovered. The journey there and back took two weeks, and he personally commanded the operation. To ensure total secrecy, he killed off the ten-man escort individually over the coming months, some by stealth, some by deliberate act of war, others by accusing them of witchcraft and watching them hang at the gibbet. By November, 1644, no living person, save Flixton himself, could testify to the whereabouts of that damning evidence.

Then he planted other written works in a similar chest, which he hid in the catacombs of Flixton Hall. And slowly, surreptitiously implanting ideas in Maria Neville's mind, he began to lead her to that second chest and her doom. When she and her lover opened the chest, only to find it filled with family business accounts, Flixton had them.

During their trial at York Assizes, Flixton gave evidence insisting that the only manner in which Maria Neville could find the chest was by supernatural means. Maria herself was unable to explain how she knew the chest's location. She was condemned as a witch as much by her lack of evidence as anything Flixton said. She was to be hanged in the courtyard at Flixton Hall on October 5th, 1646. Nicholas Holdsworth, who confessed to his sexual liaison with her, a relationship out of wedlock, an offence in the eyes of the Puritan regime, was sufficient to condemn him as bewitched. He would die with her.

While they struggled and wriggled on the gibbet, slowly choking to death, Flixton focused his mind on their souls. If any two people deserved trapping in their dead bodies, it was Neville and Holdsworth.

But it did not happen. As in so many of his past experiments, the spirit left the body so quickly at the moment of death, that he could not prevent it. Edward had to be content with watching their interment in unconsecrated ground outside the hall.

Maria Neville and Nicholas Holdsworth were not the last to be hanged at Flixton Hall, nor the last that Flixton put to death in secret, but no matter how many times he tried, he could not master the skill that would prevent the spirit leaving the dead body.

Until now.

During his secret life he learned of existence on the Spirit Plane from other spirits. He understood the ways of The Light, and how some spirits ignored its hypnotic call, and the pull of its vortex. Before his death in 1655 he determined that he would not go through The Light. He would remain on the Spirit Plane and learn. Now, after almost 900 years, he had theoretical mastery of life and death. He knew how to take over the dead body when the spirit left it and he had learned to anticipate the dying moment and he knew that if he acted at exactly the right instant, he could maintain the appearance of life in the dead by trapping the spirit. All he needed was the power to cross the transdimensional barrier that separated the two universes and his greatest desire would come to pass. Immortality was there for the taking. Magnusson's experiments had provided that and his very first attack on Private Poulson confirmed the centuries of theoretical pondering. The follow ups on Leach, Taplin and Bergovitch established all his hypotheses. He could take over a body, he could trap other spirits in their bodies, providing him with a fresh home when he needed one, he could live forever.

His tussle in the control room, brief contact with the woman and a struggle with the man had allowed Flix to see into their minds, and he had learned everything about them.

The realisation of who they really were caused him to act with caution. Of the two, the female, now calling herself Nellis, was the more dangerous. She, too, had developed her powers over the centuries. But that was not to underestimate her partner. As a stable lad, later groom and smith, in the first half of the 17th century, he had been courageous and unforgiving, as many a troublemaker had learned to his cost. Now known as Holt, with his acquired technological skills and an array of weapons, he presented a formidable opponent. To complicate matters Flix also saw they both retained memories stretching back through many lives. And he also saw that it was not their intention to destroy him. They were here to imprison him in a stasis field.

That knowledge had forced him to back off, to flee rather than fight, give himself time to properly assimilate their knowledge, their intentions and work out a method by which he could defeat them.

Now, as he arrived at a flight of steps, with new zombies under his control, he had detected the chink in their armour. They were bound by a set of rules. They came from the future and from their 31st century point of view, they could make no changes to history, and history said that he, Flix, would survive, albeit incarcerated. But for Flix, this was the 26th century and there were no rules. The future was not set. At any point in time there were an infinite number of futures, and the prevailing one would be decided not by predestination or fate, but by the trillions of decisions that ordinary people made every day of their lives. So for Flix, the future had only one rule. He must survive.

*

Nick studied the power meter on the ion rod and clucked. "Less than fifteen percent," he grumbled. "That's nothing. Ten shots, it'll be gone. And this thing is so erratic, I don't know if I'll get ten bolts from it." He cast a wary glance at Kerry, Dressler and Rostron, and to ensure they could not overhear, lowered his voice to not much more than a whisper. "I have no choice, Mia. I'll have to go out to the flivver. Get the replacement cell."

Mia tutted. "Your efforts in the stasis chamber were a complete waste of time, then. How long?"

"If I can get a clear run out of the building, less than ten minutes."

"And what happens to these people while we're outside?"

"While I'm away," Nick corrected. "You'll have to stay here with them."

Mia shook her head. "You can't go alone, Nick. All right, so you're a tough cookie, you can take the undead, but not if they come in numbers. If it were not for Captain Dressler, you'd already be dead. You'll need back up. I have to come with you."

He would not hear it. "There are other ways of dealing with Flix and his zombies. Dressler proved that, too. We need as many people as we can down here to confront them, keep them busy while I get to the flivver, and they'll need your help." He stood up and cocked his head at Rostron. "Dressler, Rostron, how many people and weapons do you have at your disposal?"

Rostron baulked. "That's for us to know—"

"For God's sake, man, how many more times do we have to tell you we're to help," Nick interrupted vehemently. "My weapon is not much better than useless. I need to get out to my vehicle and this time, I need you and your people to keep Flix busy while I get there and back."

Rostron pointed a shaking finger at Nick. "For all that you've done, I still don't know who you people are. You claim to be from some super-secret—"

It was erry who interrupted this time. "That will do, Corporal." She waved a vague hand at her chief, still stupefied in his seat. "Dr Magnusson is clearly unable to make any decision; Dr Bergovitch is obviously not himself, and with all due respect, Captain Dressler is head of security only, so I find myself in control of this facility." She bestowed a smile on Mia and Nick. "I don't know who you people are either, but I don't doubt your intentions. Now what is it you want? I'll make sure you get it."

"First, you should understand one thing," Mia said. "It's not a case of Bergovitch not being himself. At the risk of repeating myself for the umpteenth time, he's dead. His spirit was trapped in the body by Flix, which is why the body gave the appearance of life. The best method of dealing with them is to remove the head. It doesn't matter how much control Flix has, without the brain he can't direct the commands to the body. We did that with your colleagues Leach and Taplin. When they were eliminated, Flix simply took over Dr Bergovitch's body. What Nick is saying is that our weaponry is damaged, and we can't eliminate many of them, so he has to get a replacement from our vehicle."

"And what do we do about these things in the meantime?" Dressler asked.

Nick took up the lesson. "The same as you did on the corridor. Shoot the creatures in the head. We know from experience that shots to the body have no effect. We have to concentrate on the brain." He gestured at Rostron's automatic pistol. "Low velocity bullets, such as those from a handgun, obviously disrupt enough of the neural pathways to break Flix's control and let the spirit escape. Flix himself can inhabit only one body at a time. If you and your people can take out the foot soldiers, Mia and I can concentrate on Flix when I get back."

"Do you understand that, Captain, Corporal?" Mia asked.

Rostron spoke first. "No I bloody well don't. You're asking us to order our people to fire on their comrades. I won't do that."

"Well I will," Dressler said.

In the stronger lighting of the laboratory, they could see the ugly bruises that had formed where Flix had held her by the throat, but there was no mistaking the determination in her eyes.

"Whatever had hold of me out there was not Ronnie Poulson, and I have you people to thank for saving my life."

"No sweat," Nick said, "but I have to confess, it's not the primary reason we turned up."

Kerry was still confounded. "That's something I have wondered about. I don't pretend to understand most of what you're saying, but if this Flix creature can simply jump from body to body at will, it seems to me that the only way you can beat him is to kill everyone, not just here but all over the world."

"We're not here to destroy him," Mia admitted, "but to trap him in a place where he can do no more harm."

"Where?"

Nick pointed to the dancing energy in the stasis chamber. "There."

"You're going to put him back in the stasis chamber?" Kerry was astounded. "But surely he'll just break out again?"

Mia shook her head. "It's not quite that simple, Doctor Wakes. Your experiments with stasis energy freed him. Our work will use that same energy to trap him."

Kerry shook her head and waved at her insensate chief. "Dr Magnusson is the world's leading authority on stasis energy. How can you—"

"Dr Magnusson is _not_ the world's leading authority on stasis energy," Mia interrupted. "He is the world's leading authority on _tapping_ into it. There are others who have a better grasp of its potential utilisation and they work for our department."

Kerry challenged her. "Who are they? Name them."

"I just said they work for our department, and as such, I cannot reveal their identities." Mia sighed. "Doctor Wakes, please don't ask questions, just give Nick and me a hand to do what we came here to do. Once we're through, we will leave, you'll never see, nor hear from us again, and you will still be able to bask in Dr Magnusson's glory."

Dressler intervened to end the argument. "I'm no scientist, so I don't care. Just tell me what you want."

"How many people can you muster?" Nick asked.

Dressler shrugged. "Twenty, maybe twenty-five. I'm not sure. I don't know how many the enemy have taken out."

"You need to get them down here with all the weapons and ammunition you have and we'll brief them."

Dressler took up her radio. "Attention all personnel all personnel. Security and technical. Gather whatever weapons you can find and report to the main laboratory in the basement. Repeat, gather as many weapons as you can find and report to the main laboratory in the basement." She knocked off the radio and eyed Nick. "That do you?"

He nodded. "Let's see how many turn up."

*

Flix revelled in the scenes of chaos around him. When he and his two attendants finally emerged from the basement, the first person they encountered was cafeteria hand, Janine Kilkenny. Almost 900 years on the Spirit Plane had done nothing to diminish Flix's appreciation of the female form and he reflected momentarily on her potential as a bedmate ; a young, feisty, green-eyed redhead; a shapely wench of the old fashioned kind; the kind that had so inflamed his libido in the 17th century.

And so she would be again in the 26th century ... once he had pulled more recruits and had sufficient time to master the functions of the dead body he now inherited. For the moment, she would become his next convert.

Hurrying to obey Captain Dressler's order, Janine was making for the basement door when it opened and Flix and his escorts stepped out. She stopped. Her mouth fell open. A scream manifested deep in her throat but never had time to mature. Flix picked her up by the throat and threw her against the wall. She crumpled to the floor; he brought down his foot down and crushed her neck. Almost immediately she got up, her spirit still trapped in the body, and fell in alongside her new master.

They marched four abreast towards the main reception where security crew and technicians rushed hither and thither, collecting weapons from the corporal in charge. A woman screamed, half a dozen men responded, swivelling to face the oncoming undead. A private sank to one knee, jammed an automatic rifle into his shoulder and sprayed the zombies with a full magazine. Janine came at him as if he had fired blanks. She landed out with a bony fist and the private skidded across the floor, his head connected with the wall and he fell unconscious.

"There are more of us," Corporal Aldridge shouted. "Charge them."

With armed security leading the way, the technicians joined in and the four undead found themselves wallowing in a sea of struggling bodies.

Flix found directing four as easy as directing his own borrowed body and they fought back, hitting out with fists, plucking some of the living from the floor and hurling them at the walls.

They were not dying, he noticed, only stunned in most cases. Janine was off to one side, where the mass of bodies thinned. Flix directed her to the wall, where a technician and female security private lay unconscious. Janine leapt and landed her feet firmly on them; one on the security woman's neck, the other on the technician's chest cavity.

Flix brought them under immediate control and into the fray. The air resounded with the crunch of bone and the cries of the living as their number began to wane.

Aldridge raised his voice above the screams. "Those of you who are able, get to the basement. Conserve your ammu..." He sank under a crashing blow from Flix, who then stomped on his chest and caved it in. Seconds later, the undead corporal rose to join the zombies and began picking off the living.

Crushing another body underfoot, Flix savoured the scene. Some of the living were getting through, making their way to the basement, but Flix and his entourage were winning, growing in number, and soon ... soon he would confront and terminate the audacity of Maria Neville and Nicholas Holdsworth.

# Chapter 12

Mia felt much sympathy with the motley crew finally assembled in the laboratory. Some were crying, others nursed wounds, yet others gazed blank-faced at the floor. Magnusson remained unconscious in the office, she, Dressler, Rostron and Kerry applied first aid where they could, while Nick assessed their arsenal.

"Not good," Mia had said when she saw how many made it to the laboratory. "Eighteen, out of God knows how many. And they're not all are in fighting shape."

Completing his check of their weapons, he joined Mia and Dressler as they splinted the damaged arm of a technician.

"We have fifteen weapons," he told them, "nine handguns and six rifles. Most of them have only half magazines and clips. At best, 150 rounds. Every shot will have to count."

"How many of the creatures are there?" Dressler asked.

He shrugged. "If he got everyone else in the building, Flix now controls about forty zombies. I have to get to my flivver, beef up the ion rod."

Kerry emerged from the office.

"How's Magnusson?" Mia asked.

"Still out of it, I'm afraid."

"In that case, this is all we are." Nick gestured at the full complement of people in the laboratory."

"I've been trying to get into Flix's psyche," Mia reported, "but I can't. Too much interference from all those trapped spirits."

Obviously puzzled by her statement, Kerry nevertheless ignored it and asked, "We can expect them at any time, can we?"

Dressler shook her head and winced as her bruises bit back. "If he's that smart, he'll wait for us to come out." She pointed to the door. "That's the only way in and the only way out of this room. They can only come through that door in pairs and they'd be like ducks at a fair. Easy pickings. But when we step out, we may find them waiting for us. Not so easy to eliminate then." She nudged Nick. "You're the expert."

"But I don't have your tactical awareness." Nick turned to his partner. "Mia, are you getting anything from the other side of the door?"

Mia nodded. "Lots, but I can't tell you how close they are or even who they are. I'll call for a little help. Sowerby. Are you around?"

Dressler grimaced at her and asked Nick, "Who the hell is Sowerby?"

"A friend," Nick replied. "But it would take too long to explain. Listen, Captain, I need two people to come with me. The rest need to stay here and defend the few of you who are left." Nick rapped on the workbench and raised his voice. "Just listen up, peeps."

The crew honed their attention on him.

"You have an extraordinary situation here and it needs drastic measures to deal with it. Many of your friends are dead, but they appear to be alive. Don't fool yourselves. They really are dead and their bodies are now controlled by, er, _alien_ intelligence. The only way to put them down is to shoot at the head. You need to disrupt the brain activity. It makes them impossible for the aliens to control. Those of you who are able, will be issued with weapons. You have to make every shot count. We're low on ammunition, but we have enough. Get any sentiment out of your heart right now. You'll see something that was your friend, but don't let that get in your way. Give these creatures half a chance and they will kill you so that your body can be used, too. They are no longer your friends. They are your enemy."

Predictably, Rrostron was the first to complain. "We know most of those... those people but we don't know you."

Nick eyed him sourly, then cast his glance around the whole gathering. "Corporal Rostron has a point, but in the hour or two that we've been here, my colleague and I have done more than enough to establish our credentials. I can't tell you who I am because none of you are permitted to know. All I will say is that Mia and I are senior government agents and we specialise in this kind of problem."

"It must have happened before in other places, then," said the technician whose arm was in a splint.

_It will if we don't succeed_ , Nick thought. "Take it from me; we know what we're doing."

Stood off in a corner, where she remained largely unnoticed by the technicians and security officers, Mia found Sowerby only too pleased to help, but when he returned from his reconnaissance, he was not filled with hope.

"I count 41 of them, lass," he reported, "and there are a dozen right outside the laboratory door. If anyone tries to get out, that lot'll have 'em. Front and rear entrances are guarded and there are half a dozen out in the grounds. Two have already moved out onto the road and I assume they're on their way to Hawick."

Mia clucked. "Nick will have to deal with those while he's out. You didn't see where Flix was?"

"He's in the main entrance hall, near to the front doors," Sowerby said. "Thing is, young 'un, they have you lot trapped in here. They can starve you out."

"That much we already know," Mia said. "Can we count on your help?"

"Any time, but yon bugger, Flix, is keeping an eye on me."

"Let him." Mis forced fresh determination into her voice. "He can't control these bodies and interact with the Spirit Plane at the same time. Thank you, Sowerby. We're grateful for any assistance we can get."

Mia moved back across the room where Nick was checking and issuing weapons. She reiterated Sowerby's account.

Nick's turned grim features on her. "That settles it. I have to stop those heading for the nearest town. You feeling up to tackling this?"

Mia nodded and as if to argue with herself, yawned. "I'll be all right, but remember, my powers only extend to repelling them. I don't have the wherewithal to kill them."

Nick checked the ion rod again. "I don't know how reliable this thing is now, but I'll give it whatever I can. I need to take two of the fittest with me."

"Dressler and Rostron," Mia suggested.

"Iffy," Nick said. "Rostron doesn't like or trust me."

"Then why not take Dressler and Kerry Wakes? You'd be in your element there, surrounded by women."

Nick scowled. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't Kerry one of those who survived the night?" He waited for Mia to nod, then added, "It's too risky to take her out of here."

His partner clucked. "You're being obstructive. It's either her or Rostron. Make your mind up."

Nick stowed an automatic pistol in his waistband, turned and called out, "Captain Dressler, Corporal Rostron, with me. The rest of you remember what I told you. Make every shot count."

The two security officers came to his side. "What's happening?" Dressler asked.

"We have intelligence from a source I can't divulge," Mia said. "Two of the undead have already left the grounds. They must be stopped. Nick has to get to his vehicle and out of the castle to stop them. He needs two of the fittest people to go with him. I'm sorry but that's you two."

Rostron protested immediately. "I don't know where it—"

"Quiet, Rostron," Dressler ordered. "We're with you, Nick."

Nick nodded at Mia. "Ask your chum to check the rear exit again."

Mia drifted off again to the far side of the room.

"She's in radio contact with her source?" Dressler asked.

"Something like that." Nick hurried on as Mia returned. "Now listen to me. We move faster than these creatures. It takes time for Flix to accustom a body under his control, but don't let that fool you. They can still move pretty quickly. Speed and weaponry are our main advantages. Use them." He raised his eyebrows at Mia.

"Sowerby assures me the fire exit is clear.Your biggest problem is getting along the corridor to it. You have a dozen outside this door and they're blocking the corridor."

"I'll deal with them," Nick said, taking the ion rod from its holster. "Dressler, Rostron, stay with me. Cover the flanks, and think on. I don't care if you've slept with them, they are the enemy. Shoot for the head."

"Right between the eyes," Rostron sneered.

"No." Nick either ignored or failed to register Rostron's sarcasm. "You can hit them anywhere in the skull and it'll work. Now let's get to it. Mia. When we get through the door, close it."

Ion rod held at the ready, Nick eased the door open. As he did a mangled hand and arm reached for him. He raised the ion rod, pressed the red trigger and the creature's head disappeared. As it fell, so others pressed forward. He slammed the door shut and faced his two flanks.

"Mia was right. They're crowding the corridor. When I open the door again, the next one will grab me. You two follow and take it out. As it falls, I'll be with you. One shot at a time, to the head and make sure you hit the creatures, not me. With it?"

When they confirmed, Nick opened the door again and leapt out. He took out two before a pair of hands grabbed him by the throat. Dressler emerged and aimed.

"Keep your head still," she ordered as hands reached for her, too.

Twin shots rang out. Rostron's bullet felled the creature about to take Dressler, and the captain's bullet dispensed Nick's attacker.

Rostron fired again. His bullet caught a former technician in the temple. The creature did not drop immediately but staggered round in circles first before falling into a pair of its comrades.

"The spirit looking for a way out," Nick saidto himself, whirling to dispense another creature with the ion rod. "The back door, Dressler. Move it"

The captain turned, knelt, aimed and fired at yet another two creatures. A gap appeared in their impregnable ranks. "I'm on my way."

She ran for the gap and leapt through it, Rostron followed. Nick turned, saw the gap closing and loosed off two more bolts from his ion rod, then ran through the freshly created space.

"Go, go, go," he shouted. Haring after his EmmSec accomplices, Nick risked a glance over his shoulder. Half a dozen undead were following, but others had already arrived at the bottom of the basement stairs to maintain pressure at the laboratory door.

At the far corner, Dressler and Rostron both knelt, aimed and fired into the left corridor.

"Come on," Dressler urged him.

Nick made the corner and rounded it in time to see both undead victims of the gunshots drop near the side exit on the right.

*

If Flix found handling all those bodies easy, his anticipation of Nick's move was lacking. At first he had imagined Nick would try to fight his way through the mass of bodies by the laboratory entrance and up the stairs to the main entrance. When Dressler and Rostron took out the guards on the rear exit, he vented his anger on a nearby technician who, although close to death, was not quite there. Flix's foot came down on the man's neck, killing him off, whereupon his spirit, trapped in the defunct body, obeyed Flix's orders.

At the same time, Flix sent out orders to his troops on the outside. Nick, Dressler and Rostron were moving too fast for any of the undead, but they had a long run to Nick's flivver.

*

Bursting out of the fire exit was like leaving the Timehopper. The first thing that struck Nick was the bitter cold of the night air, almost taking his breath away.

"Front of the house?" he gasped.

"Either way," Dressler replied. This is the back." She led the way off to the left and around the corner.

Impressed with her fitness, Nick ran after and kept up with her, but Rostron soon began to fall behind.

"Move it man," Dressler called over her shoulder.

"Right ... right with you, Ma'am," Rostron wheezed.

They rounded the end of the building and Nick stopped dead. There were four creatures guarding the flivver. He checked the ion rod. "Two percent," he said. "Wait while I see Control. How are you two fixed for ammunition?"

Both officers checked their clips.

"Two rounds," Dressler said.

"One," Rostron reported.

"Then we'd better hope I have at least one or two good bolts left in this thing." He hefted the ion rod. "Let's take 'em."

They ran.

The front doors of the house opened and Flix, still inhabiting Dr Bergovitch's body, stepped out. Nick aimed and fired. Flix ducked back in. Nick cursed and aimed again, this time at one of the three by the flivver. He pressed the red trigger and a weakened beam emerged.

"Damn."

Dressler slowed, aimed and fired, and the undead Nick had been seeking to take down, fell. Rostron, too, fired and a second went down. Nick pulled the pistol from his waistband, aimed and fired. At the same time, Dressler shot and a third creature fell from the two bullets.

"We have to decide our targets," Nick said. He lowered his visor and opened the canopy, then launched himself at the flivver.

Dressler ran round the machine and into the passenger seat as Nick started the engine.

"Move it, Rostron," shouted Dressler.

As the unarmed corporal came at the flivver, he stopped and looked into the broken face of the remaining zombie; Private Evans.

"Pete. It is you, innit, Pete? It's me. Your old mate. Len Rostron."

"Rostron, get away from him," Nick urged.

"Come on, Pete, think lad. You remember me."

"Corporal, move it," shouted Dressler.

"It's Pete Evans, Ma'am. He knows—"

The security private stuck out an arm and caught Rostron in a vicelike grip around the throat.

Nick passed the pistol to Dressler. "Kill Evans."

Dressler stood, turned in her seat and aimed. "Can't separate them. If I fire, Rostron is dog meat."

Nick checked the rear viewscreen and saw more zombies leaving the house. "In that case, we're leaving." He engaged the thrusters and pulled away.

The movement forced Dressler to sit again. "Jesus. You're leaving Rostron."

"He's dead either way," Nick argued. "You couldn't shoot and I couldn't reverse over him. Let it go, Dressler. He's history."

She levelled the gun at his head as he drove towards the gate. "Turn this heap round."

Nick glanced from the corner of his eye. "You shoot me and you won't see the dawn. I'm your only hope of getting through this."

"I have only your word for that."

"Then pull the trigger."

There was a long moment of hesitation before Dressler lowered the pistol.

Nick jammed the thrusters hard forward and smashed his way through the barrier. Emerging onto the road, heading for Hawick, he removed the ion rod from its holster and handed it to Dressler. Reaching into the glove box, he pulled out the spare cells and passed them to her.

"Unscrew the base of the rod. You'll find two cells in there. Remove them and put the fresh ones in."

"You left one of your men to die," Dressler grumbled as she unscrewed the base. "Call yourself an officer."

With his eyes on the narrow, winding road, Nick's temper came close to snapping. "I'm not an officer, and I'm certainly not a gentleman. I warned Rostron, I warned you all. I don't care if you were engaged to the person you saw. That human being is dead. Rostron forgot and left himself open to attack."

Dressler rived the old cell free of the ion rod. "We could have helped him."

"With more zombies coming out of the house? We'd have been dead, too. You're expendable. I'm not."

Dressler's fury rose. "Why?"

"Because as I keep saying, Mia and I are the only ones who can beat Flix. It's why we came here. Without us, you're all dead. With us, some of you will ... may survive. I don't know if you're one of them."

His near slip of the tongue did nothing to calm Dressler's anger. "What is it with you, Holt? How come you know so much? How come you can say—?"

"I can't tell you," he interrupted, "and even if I could, you wouldn't believe me. Just let it go, and load the fresh cells into the ion rod."

With the interior light switched on, Dressler studied the circuitry in the cell compartment. "Circuits are badly burned."

"Probably from exposure in the stasis chamber," Nick commented as he rounded a bend at 140kph.

"I don't know how much use your fresh batteries will be." She turned pleading eyes on him. "Nick—"

For the second time he cut her off. "Don't ask, Dressler. I can't answer. Just trust me."

She jammed the cells into place and screwed the base back on. "There you go, Mr secret agent. Your weapon is ready."

"And not a minute too soon." Nick pointed ahead where the two undead could be seen walking in that ungainly manner, along the road.

He jammed the throttles forward, accelerating the flivver to maximum speed. The creatures turned and stared sightlessly into his headlights. Nick drove between them, knocking one left, the other right.

"Seven ten spare." He chuckled and hitting the port braking thruster with his left foot, pulled the column hard left.

The flivver did a perfect about face. He opened both throttles full and ran at the creatures again as they got up.

"What the hell is it with these things?" Dressler demanded. "You must have smashed every bone in their bodies when you hit them.

"They don't feel pain so they don't care about broken bones."

He braked hard, threw back the canopy, stood and aimed the ion rod. A virulent red beam struck the head of one creature. The other bore down on them. Dressler, too, stood, aimed her pistol and fired. The remaining creature staggered, twirled, staggered closer, reached out a cold, dead hand for her, then collapsed.

She raised querying eyebrows at Nick.

"Flix uses the brains of these, er, dead people. To do so he needs to trap the life force in the body. When you shoot it in the head, you disrupt the neural networks and that gives the spirit a way out. The stagger you witnessed is the struggle between Flix trying to hold on and the spirit getting out. It's the one battle Flix can never win."

# Chapter 13

"You're aliens, aren't you?"

Checking the power meter on the ion rod, Nick's response was distracted. "Sorry? Aliens? Me and Mia? No."

Dressler half turned in her seat to look upon him. "Nick, I'm not so dumb as I'm stupid looking. I can't even guess at what's going on, but I know it bears no resemblance to anything I've ever come across. Dead people getting up to fight, a single entity controlling them all, and I was on the receiving end of Poulson's grip, remember. No way could he do that when he was alive. Whatever was working his body, it wasn't Ronnie Poulson."

"I told you what it was."

Dressler shook her head. "And I heard you but it doesn't wash. Where do you get these weapons?" She pointed to the ion rod. "More to the point, where do you get a flivver that doesn't run on antigrav sensors? You run over grass, the pavement, everywhere. And you left Rostron to die. No man, no woman, no one with any compassion would do that."

Nick excused himself "I explained Rostron to you. He was dead either way. I had other fish to fry. It may sound heartless, but it's entirely human; especially in the context of a battle."

Again Dressler shook her head and gazed out at the cloudy, turgid night. "None of this adds up. You speak of super-secret government departments, and, yes, I know what you told Rostron and Taplin, but it doesn't wash with me. Our computers haven't heard of you. If your department really existed, we would have got a message, 'access denied' but I checked in Magnusson's office and Rostron didn't get anything of the kind. All it came back with was, and I quote, 'unknown.' You and your lady friend are as alien as this Flix you keep telling us of."

Nick laughed. "Dressler ... Gillian, both Mia and I were born in York. I am as human as you." He could see he was not getting through. "All right, so we're a little bit more human than you, but the bit that is more is something you wouldn't accept. It's what gives us the edge, especially when we're hassling with entities from other dimensions."

"Aliens, you mean." Dressler shivered.

Mistaking the cause of her trembling as the cold, Nick fired the engine and ran the heater. "Why must you assume that other dimensions means alien. Look around you, Gillian, and tell me what you see."

Dressler did so. "Trees, hills, moors, and clouds in the sky."

Nick lowered his visor and pointed to a nearby tree. "But you don't see the energy field of a man standing over there." Now he pointed to his right. "Or there, a young couple."

He removed the visor and passed it to her. Dressler stared, her mouth gaping. "I ... I don't understand."

Nick took the eyescreen back and slotted it over his eye, then lifted the visor up. "You assume that the universe is made up of those things you can see, feel, touch, taste, smell. That's because we're limited by those senses. For instance, you know about atoms and molecules, don't you?"

She nodded. "Of course."

"But you can't see them."

"I know they're there," she argued. "Their existence has been proven."

"Right," Nick agreed, "and there are other dimensions whose existence has been proven. My visor is a way of seeing those dimensions. When the time is right, Gillian, the government will admit to the existence of our department and these other dimensions. For now, we remain above top secret, and all we're asking is, trust us."

*

Mia had problems of her own.

The moment Nick and the two security personnel left, she slammed the door. An arm appeared, blocking it. Mia slammed it again. The arm showed no signs of retracting and its undead owner began to apply shoulder pressure. Summoning all her psychic power, Mia yanked the door open, pointed and sent out a bolt of pure energy, casting the creature back. Then she slammed and locked the door.

Almost immediately, the creatures outside began to shoulder the double doors in an effort to break through.

She turned to the remaining crew. "We need everyone back, away from the doors. Use the workbenches as shields. When they break in, shoot, and remember what Nick told you. Aim only for the head and make every shot count."

The ragged assembly of security and technicians moved lethargically under her orders. She could see the fear in their eyes, the spectre of defeat before the battle was properly joined. She could see in their minds the knowledge that not all of them would survive the coming encounter, and while she would normally take comfort from the knowledge that her spirit would move on to the next life, tonight she felt no such reassurance. If she and Nick did not succeed, the next life would be in a universe of Flix's design.

As the crew ranged themselves behind workstations in front of the stasis chamber, Mia looked upon the nebulous energy with feelings amounting to resentment. The cause of all their problems and the solution to them, Flix did not want that energy flow disrupted. She did, but she could not permit it to be closed off. She and Nick needed it, too.

The doors were made of stout wood, reinforced with steel plate either side. They were blast-proof, but no match for the power of the spirit bolstered by stasis energy – as the plexiglass window in room 61 had demonstrated. Already the doors were buckling inward under the repeated thumping of undead shoulders. Soon the lock would give and both doors would spring open, and... and what then?

She glanced again at her troops. Hands shook here and there, one or two did not want to look at those doors, one man (unarmed) wept uncontrollably. There were too many minds for her to send out psychic waves of courage. All she could do was fight with them.

"We're beaten, aren't we?"

It was Kerry's voice in her ear. Mia tried an encouraging smile, but it didn't convince her, never mind Kerry. "We're not beaten until we're all dead, Kerry."

A huge thump on the doors made Kerry jump. Mia felt certain the lock would give, if not on the next thrust, then certainly the one after.

"We're scared, you're not," Kerry said. "If we had ten like you, we'd have a chance."

"Oh, I'm scared. I just don't allow it to dominate me, that's all."

Another loud bang sounded across the room. Still the lock held.

"Who are you people? Really?"

Mia smiled again. "I can't tell you, Kerry, and even if I could, you're a scientist and your discipline breeds a large degree of pragmatism in you. You wouldn't believe a word I said. Just trust me, Kerry. I'm here to deal with Flix and ensure as many of you survive as is possible." Her smile faded. "I'm afraid beating Flix is the overriding imperative."

"He's obviously very dangerous."

With a final resounding bang, and rending of metal, the door gave way and the undead flooded in.

Gunshots rang out, some of the creatures fell, others followed. A security man stood and loosed off a fusillade of shots from his rifle.

"Single shot," Mia cried. "Single shot and make them count."

She faced the wave of creatures and threw out three bolts of psychic energy in rapid succession. Each one stuck home, staggering the creatures. The rifleman adjusted his control and fired three times. Every bullet struck home and three more dropped. Pistols shots resounded around the room. The technician who had been crying shrank into himself as a zombie hovered over him. Mia threw out another bolt of energy and floored the creature. The rifleman fired from close range and shattered the creature's skull.

Over forty of them, had Sowerby said? The impossible wave of creatures coming through the doors must be the entire complement of undead.

Casting out fresh bolts, Mia began to weaken. Gunfire still rang out, intermingled now with screams from the living as ammunition ran low and the undead began to take the upper hand.

A technician fell dead before Kerry, his pistol clattering to her feet. Almost immediately he stood and advanced on her. She took up the pistol and, as his hands came about her throat, she pressed the gun to his temple and snatched the trigger. The recoil sent the gun spinning from her hand and blasted brains and congealing blood over her face.

"Back off," Mia called out and the straggle of living began to retreat into the corners of the room.

Beneath the goo covering her face, Kerry was crying. "Short of a miracle, we're done."

Mia agreed. "A miracle or Nick Holt."

*

At Nick's insistence, Dressler took the controls of the flivver for the rapid drive back to Coldmoor Castle.

"I need to be free to shoot," he told her as the castle loomed up on the right.

"I'll bet you were Alexander the Great in another life," Dressler commented pulling hard on the yolk to steer the flivver through the arched gates.

"Nope. I was what I've always been. A techno freak." He studied the power meter on the ion rod again. "A little under forty percent. Not good. The stasis chamber must have screwed it but good. Let's hope Mia and her infantry have been able to thin out Flix's numbers."

Dressler looked around the grounds. "No sign of anyone or anything. Maybe we've already won."

"And just maybe Flix has pushed them all into the basement for an assault on the main lab."

"Hmm. You're sure you weren't Alexander the Great?"

"Certain. I've never even been Nicholas the above average."

Dressler swung the flivver round and stopped by the main entrance. They jumped out and hurried into the house.

*

Flix took in the battle scene from his troops and gloated with satisfaction. Mia Nellis was trapped in a corner of the laboratory with just ten of the living remaining. They were almost out of ammunition and confronted with twenty of his ranks. Victory was his.

Noises from the main entrance took his attention. He lumbered back up the stairs in time to see Holt and Dressler hurry into the house and take out two of the undead.

Damn. He hadn't counted on that. Nellis would wait.

Flix turned his troops from the laboratory and brought them back to the stairs. And as they began to emerge from the basement, he secreted himself in a nearby room. He was the one Nellis and Holt wanted. Let them fight to find him.

*

The creatures appeared with incredible speed. Nick picked off as many as he could. Dressler knelt on one knee and fired into them, aiming for the skulls. The bodies began to mount near the basement steps.

"We have to get to the laboratory," Nick said. "You ready to run for it?"

"With them coming up the steps?"

"We'll have the high ground," he told her. You kick, they'll fall. Newtonian mechanics. Action and reaction."

Dressler fired again, felling a former technician. She turned through thirty degrees and pulled the trigger once more. It clicked on an empty chamber. "Out of lead. You're the brains. Let's go for it."

Nick aimed off three shots and as the undead fell, they ran for the steps.

Leaping into the staircase, Nick landed a double footed kick in the chest of a zombie making its way up. He fired the ion rod indiscriminately, taking off heads, taking out chests, jumping and stamping on skulls to crush them until the staircase became a slippery mass of blood, brains and bodies with large parts missing.

Dressler clung onto his coat tails as he fought his way down. Now and then, she, too, would jump on a struggling zombie to smash its skull and end its existence.

Reaching the lower level, Nick fired again and again, taking out the seemingly endless procession of undead. At the laboratory door, he kicked out at the remains of Corporal Rostron and levelled the ion rod. A glance at the power meter stayed him. Under 10%.

"Shit! Dressler, the lab. NOW!"

He ran through. Dressler hurried after him and slipped on the leaking brains of a dead security private. Rostron was upon her, raising his foot. Nick saw him just too late. Rostron brought the foot down and crushed her neck.

Dead hands reached from behind and took Nick's throat.

"Pistol," called Mia and tossed the automatic across the room. Nick caught it, aimed over his shoulder and closed his eyes. He pulled the trigger and the creature died behind him.

Mia smiled at Kerry. "See? A miracle in the shape of Nick Holt."

*

"Why don't they come?" Kerry asked.

They had moved into the office where Magnusson still sat unconscious in his chair. Out in the main lab, the ten other survivors of the carnage were huddled together in the far corner.

Sliding bullets into a clip, Nick said, "The captain and I took out a good number of Flix's troops. He's assessing the situation." With the clip loaded he passed it to Kerry. "There are five rounds in there. Mia?"

In deference to Kerry, Mia lied. "The one thing we know for sure, is that Dr Magnusson must survive. It's up to you to protect him while Nick and I deal with Flix."

"I'll do what I can," Kerry assured her.

Mia motioned to Nick and he followed her out into the lab. "What now, Superman?"

He shrugged. "We're beaten. We've failed."

Mia rounded on him. "No. We can't be. If we don't do it, history changes. For God's sake, Nick, what kind of world will we go back to? We have to get Flix. Move him into a stasis cell."

Nick held up the ion rod for her inspection. "At best I have three, full power shots. I need one of those to kick him into the stasis cell. I'll need the other two to fight off however many sentries he has left." He waved at the pitiful group in the corner. "They're unarmed. Kerry has five bullets. That's it. Face it, Mia, we are beaten. We have to go back to 3010, regroup, recharge our equipment, and come back ten minutes from now, an hour, two hours ..."

"Leaving Flix enough time to get at these people, take them over and let them out of the gates. Kerry will only shoot if they come for Magnusson, and they can't defend themselves." She, too, waved at the group in the corner. "And let's not forget, Dr Magnusson is not the only who has to survive. Kerry does, too."

"All right, so we come back ten seconds after we depart," Nick suggested. "Land the damn Timehopper in the castle grounds. It doesn't matter when, as long as we come back."

Mia tapped her foot on the floor. "What's the death toll so far?"

He looked around the lab at the remainder of the living, carried out some fast, mental arithmetic, and said, "I make it 53."

Mia stared sternly at him. "History says the death toll was 53. It's not just Kerry and Dr Magnusson who have to survive but all these people. Nick, we cannot leave." She waved again at the timid group. "If one more person dies, history is changed. We have to protect these people and deal with Flix now."

Nick lowered his own visor, accessed ASTRAL and looked around the room. "He's not here, but he'll know what we're talking about. It's as if he can tap into your mind even when he's not with us."

"In the same way that Maria Neville could tap into the minds of others in the 17th century," Mia spat venom. "God, I wish I'd realised his psychic powers before he strung us up."

"What happened was meant to happen. If it hadn't we wouldn't be here now, and we wouldn't have had all those lives together." He stared deep into her warm, brown eyes. "Maybe this is where our present life ends."

"And history changes?" Mia's defiance registered in her eyes and her voice. "We still have to send the messae to control, remember. How many troops does Flix have?"

Again Nick shrugged. "Two that I know of; Rostron and Dressler. We took out quite a few on our way down here, but for all I know, he could have had some held in reserve."

"Then this is not the point where your life ends," Mia declared. "But maybe mine does." Her eyes burned into his and she took the ion rod, pressed it to her left arm and set it to 70%. "You have, at best, four minutes. Make it less if you can."

Nick's eyes widened as the full implications of her words hit him. "Mia, no. It's too dangerous." He lunged for the weapon. Mia pressed the red trigger.

"Mia!"

She collapsed before him, the ion rod falling from her hand. Nick snatched it up, switched the settings and his finger hovered over the purple button: the defibrillator.

"Nick, no." Her voice hammered into his head. "This is the only way. Keep your visor on. Shock me at three minutes thirty."

Nick dropped his visor into place and scanned the room. She was there. Up in the right hand corner, hovering, waiting.

# Chapter 14

Leaving Bergovitch's body and returning to the Spirit Plane, Flix exploded into the laboratory with the ghostly equivalent of a curse.

Mia guessed he had been tuning in to her conversation with Nick, but he had not fully understood her intentions and hadn't been able to act quickly enough to stop her spirit escaping the body.

"You've released Dr Bergovitch's body?"

"It was necessary so I could return to the Spirit Plane," he replied. "I control others and they will be there for me when I have dealt with you." He hovered several metres from her. "After so many centuries we face each other again. I crushed you last time, and now I will crush you again; crush your spirit, hurl it once more through The Light to give me so much pleasure. And when you return, Maria Neville, it will be to a new order of existence; one of my choosing."

"I think not, Flix. Do you think that I have lived with the memories of so many lives without learning?"

"Then let us see what you have learned. You must entrap me tonight or all that you know will be gone. So come. Incarcerate me."

Mia hesitated. To make the first move would give Flix the opportunity to counter. She needed to goad him into the first move. "You cannot read my thoughts here on the Spirit Plane, Flix. I have no thoughts. They are down there."

She looked down into the laboratory and Nick's anxious frame leaning over her body, his visor-covered eyes looking up, following her mortal form. How long had passed since she left her body? A few seconds, a minute?

"I need do nothing," Flix replied. "I have no need, no use for your thoughts. I have learned enough from them to defeat you. In less than four minutes, your partner must bring you back to life or you will be gone and history, as you know it, will have changed. The onus, Maria Neville, is upon you."

With a sinking feeling, the truth of his words seeped through, and she wished she had realised it before she took her rash, suicidal action. Flix had beaten her again. He had used his hidden psychic powers to trick her in 1646, and left her to hang. Now he had the advantage once more. All that was needed on his part was inertia. The irritation began to stir in her. Why was this universe so unjust? Irritation turned to anger. How could someone as patently evil as Flix, be always on the winning side? The anger became fury. Her spirit form began to shine a dull red, then brightened, the fires of rage stoking its hue, until it glowed a vivid crimson. She launched herself at Flix.

He tried to move to one side, but she extended her form and caught him. They span like twin suns orbiting each other before The Light.

She sensed Flix's surprise as he tried to throw her off and discovered that he could not. Then she felt him taking the initiative, slowly countering her spin, increasing his power, until they stalled, locked together, neither willing to release its grip upon the other.

"Strength," Flix crowed. "The power of the spirit. But I've been here much longer than you, Maria Neville. So what will you do now?"

*

Following the action, Nick quickly lost track of who was who. The visor could show him only the spirit forms, not their colours, and unlike Mia, who was now on the Spirit Plane, he could not hear their voices, leaving him with no means of distinguishing them. Even if Mia engineered Flix close enough to the stasis chamber, he could not shoot because he could not safely pick a target.

Noises from behind warned him that he had another problem.

Their dead bodies still controlled by Flix, Dressler and Rostron burst into the room and bore down upon him. His first reaction was to aim the ion rod at them, but he stopped himself. He had only two full power shots left in the thing; he had to conserve the power, leave sufficient energy to imprison Flix and recover Mia.

He risked a glance at his watch. Almost one minute since Mia left. Two more minutes and he would have to concentrate on bringing her back.

Flix would be controlling them and he knew that if they destroyed Mia's body, she could not come back. Nick had to protect not only himself, but his partner's lifeless form, too.

He eyed the pistols holstered at their hips. Zombies; they lacked the dexterity to use tools such as handguns, and he was willing to bet that while Mia confronted Flix, he would not have the capacity to refine the abilities of the two dead security officers.

Then he remembered: those pistols were empty.

He rose to meet them.

*

Breaking apart, flying back, Mia turned and rushed. Flix spun and batted her form as she neared. She careened off towards The Light. Mia stopped herself, turned and faced her opponent again. He'd made only a slight connection when he hit her and she had recovered easily, but it made her wary. If he made a better connection, she would be cast into The Light and on her way to the next life, putting an end to all their efforts in this incarnation.

Mustering her energy, she flew back at him. Flix extended his field to knock her sideways, but Mia caught the extension and clung on with all the tenacity of a terrier.

*

Using the workbenches for support, Nick landed a double footed kick to Dressler's head and floored her, then shouldered into Rostron, sending the undead corporal reeling.

Momentum carried Nick further; he landed, buckled at the knee, rolled upright, and spun to face them again.

Dressler stood and to Nick's horror Rostron stood over the body of Mia, one foot raised above her defenceless skull.

Nick charged. Dressler caught him by the shoulder and clung on. Ignoring the pain her super-grip caused, Nick stretched for the corporal. Infuriatingly just out of reach, Rostron brought his foot down.

*

Tussling with Flix's energy form, Mia looked on into the laboratory where Rostron's raised boot was about to crush her corporeal skull. If that brain was mashed, she could never return to it.

Breaking free, she flew at Rostron. As Sowerby had demonstrated in the stasis chamber, all spirits could interact with the material world by choice, and she chose to interact now.

His foot was millimetres from making contact when she smashed into Rostron and flung him backwards, away from her unprotected body.

She flew past, turned, circled and applied her spirit strength to Dressler's fingers, breaking them free of Nick's shoulder. As they loosened, Nick wriggled free and turned on the dead captain, head butting her in the chest to knock her backwards.

"Thanks, Mia," she heard Nick say.

She glowed in satisfaction.

Flix grabbed and enfolded her, began dragging her towards The Light, and her satisfaction turned to concern.

*

"Help me, Nick."

Granted a brief respite, with a wary eye on the zombie security officers, Nick dropped his visor into place, picked up ASTRAL and glanced up. He automatically drew the ion rod. The confused ball of energy visible to him presented an easy target, but if he fired, he would inevitably hit Mia as well as Flix.

"I'll recover," she promised.

He set the ion rod on half power, aimed, and Rostron's hand came about his throat.

Locked in a power struggle with Flix, her energy levels beginning to fall, Mia looked down into the laboratory and the first intimation of defeat seeped through her. The Light grew larger, its pull stronger. Nick needed her help, she needed his help. Flix had the high ground, Rostron was throttling Nick from behind and Dressler approached, both hands reaching for Nick's throat.

Both zombies were ignoring Mia's prone body. That meant Flix was gaining control of the battle with Mia, and as Dressler's hands closed about his open throat, the two undead had the upper hand here.

They were beaten.

*

The Light dominated the Spirit Plane around them. The individual eddies of its whirlpool formation could clearly be seen. The spirits of those passing over flashed through in their millions, and were soon lost, on their way to the next life. Flix mustered his energies, preparing to cast Mia into the giant vortex along with them.

A livid blur hurtled in across the void. Its trajectory was perfect. It smashed into them both, casting them off at oblique angles.

Free of Flix's grasp, Mia reached out an extension of her form, barely touching the edge of The Light, drawing energy from it.

The blur came back and ranged itself alongside her.

"Thank you, Sowerby."

"My pleasure, young 'un. I told you I never liked yon feller."

"If you can help, I need him in the stasis chamber."

"What about your chum?"

Mia looked down into the laboratory where Dressler had both hands around Nick's throat at the front, and Rostron still had him gripped from behind.

"Oh dear."

*

Fighting for breath, his vision blurring, Nick cast his eyes downward, reached out and gripped the pistol at Dressler's waist. Snatching it free of its holster, he smashed the butt into Dressler's face. She recoiled and began to recover.

Nick raised his foot against a workstation and pushed, forcing Rostron backwards. The corporal stumbled, his grip slackened, Nick snatched himself free, turned, and kicked at Dressler again.

"Nick!"

He glanced at the office door where Kerry stood waving the pistol. He nodded and she tossed it into the air. Leaping onto the workstation, Nick caught it. Dressler's hands came about his legs to drag him down. He aimed and pulled the trigger.

A hole appeared in her forehead and she fell back.

Rostron came at him. Nick fired again. Bullet holes appeared in the forehead, large areas of blood and brains appeared on the tiled floor where the bullets emerged from the back of the head, and Rostron, too, fell and lay still.

Hopping down, Nick leaned against the workstation, and drew in deep lungfuls of air to calm his system. Checking the pistol, finding four bullets in the clip, he applied the safety and jammed it into his belt. He picked up his visor and ion rod, set the weapon to full power, and dropped the visor over his eyes.

"How you doing?" he asked, looking up and picking out Mia, another form and in the near distance, Flix.

"We have an ally," Mia told him.

"Good." Nick checked his watch. "Mia, I have less than one minute before I shock you back here. Get Flix into the stasis chamber, now."

*

Flix was furious. He'd seen that old butler hanging around the castle, but ignored him. A mistake. And down in the world men called real, Holt had taken out his last two troops. The old butler would pay for his meddling. Him and the spirit of Maria Neville. And when he was through with them, it would be the turn of Nicholas Holdsworth.

He charged at them.

*

Sowerby indicated a spot twenty feet from the stasis chamber. "Hang over there and get ready to nudge him."

"He's very powerful," Mia observed as Flix hurtled towards them.

"Aye, lass, And I haven't been here for over five hundred years without learning a trick or two. You just get yourself over there and be ready for the final push."

Mia did as Sowerby advised.

*

Flix flew in with such speed and fury, that he hardly noticed the separation between the two opposing spirits until he was on top of them, and even when he registered it, he gave no more than a passing thought to it.

"Easier for me," he said to himself. He aimed precisely for Sowerby.

*

Timing his move perfectly, Sowerby slid sideways and Flix, travelling too fast to swerve, overshot.

He looped round and came again on a trajectory that would clip Sowerby and cannon him towards Mia.

Watching, tensing herself, Mia prepared for the collisions. According to her assessment, the collision would throw Sowerby dangerously close to The Light, and Flix would be moving with such speed that she would have only the one chance.

"It has to be now, Mia," Nick called out.

She disregarded him.

"Mia. It's now."

"Be ready, Nick," she called.

Flixton struck Sowerby a glancing blow. The butler rolled off towards The Light. Flix's energy form careened towards her. Mia tensed and as Flix struck her, she pushed to her left. The ball of fiery energy rolled out of control into the stasis chamber.

"NOW NICK," she cried.

*

His eye roaming from Mia's body to his watch and to events on the Spirit Plane, Nick grasped the situation, aimed the ion rod and as Flix's form tumbled helplessly into the stasis chamber, he pressed the red trigger.

The beam spat into the chamber, penetrating the plexiglass like a knife through butter, engulfing Flix. A cry of utter rage carried across the ether. And the energy form disappeared.

Nick reset his visor to STASIS CELL and checked. There was Flix trapped in a cube of stasis energy, with The Light for company.

"Got him," Nick shouted and, resetting the ion rod, he hurried over to Mia's body. Taking aim, he pressed the blue button.

*

Mia watched Sowerby loop round the rim of the omnipresent Light, and come back to join her.

"I was worried there," she said.

"I told you I knew what I was doing. Yon feller should have spent some time playing billiards."

"We have him trapped in a stasis cell, and we have you to thank. Without your help, I don't think we could have done it."

"Aye, well, missy, I never liked that bugger." Sowerby glanced down into the laboratory where Nick hovered over Mia's body. "And you'd better get yourself back down there afore your body expires. Happen I'll see you around sometime."

Mia felt a huge shock accompanied by the pull of her earthly body. "Maybe you will, Sowerby."

Another shock ran through her, and the energy form drifted back towards the body on the laboratory floor.

# Chapter 15

Year: 3010

Mia closed off the microphone and hit SEND on the Timehopper's pute keyboard.

She spun her seat to face Nick. "Done. The loop is closed. Control will get the message right away and when she's checked it out she'll send for us."

Nick gazed at the lower-side monitor and its view of Great Britain 1000 kilometres below. "Strange, isn't it?" His stare was aimed at the city of York. "Right now we're here and yet we're also there." He pointed, "Arresting Willy James."

Mia checked the time. "Actually, I think at this time, we have dealt with the arrest and we're on our way to Netherfield, after which we were planning a weekend of unbridled lust."

He chuckled, took her hand, pulled her to her feet and hugged her. "How about we hop forward to our proper timeline, call it a day and get back to the flat where we can indulge in a night of, er, unbridled lust?"

Mia smiled and allowed her memory to drift back over the last hour at Coldmoor Castle.

With Flix safely incarcerated, the few remaining undead collapsed and their spirits were freed to move into The Light and onto the next life. In the laboratory, Mia and Nick conferred.

"Of the 65 people on the base," Mia reported, "twelve have survived and that tallies with the historical records." She sighed. "It's almost as if we were a part of history."

"We were," Nick told her as Kerry emerged cautiously from the office. "The moment we succeeded we became a part of history."

Mia shushed him with a cautionary glance at Kerry.

"Is it over?" the scientist asked.

Mia nodded. "Flix is beaten. Our mission is complete and it's time we were leaving."

Kerry stared around at the devastation. "The minister will want a full report."

Nick nodded. "He will."

The scientist frowned. "He? The minister is a she."

Mia laughed. "Apologies, Kerry. Nick's had a couple of knocks on the head tonight. Yes, the minister will want a full report, and you must give her one. Just tell it to her exactly as it happened."

"I meant the minister will want a full report from you two."

Now Nick laughed. "And she'll carry on wanting. She doesn't have the security clearance to know about our department. Oh, she'll come looking for us, I'm certain, but someone, somewhere will warn her off. For now, Kerry, Mia and I have to leave ... before your security bigwigs arrive from London."

"Of course," Kerry agreed. "Will we see you again?"

"Perhaps," Mia speculated.

"But not for a long time," Nick concluded.

And with that, ensuring they had all their belongings, Nick and Mia left Coldmoor Castle to return to the Timehopper.

"Don't forget," Mia reminded him, as they beamed the flivver into stasis, "we have to stop off in the afternoon of July 19th to send Control the message."

Well, now the message was in and the loop complete. Everything that had happened over the last few hours would be locked into a circle of time forever.

She pecked Nick on the lip. Then the sadness returned to her eyes.

"Flix?" he asked.

She nodded. "This business brought it all back. Those terrible days of 1646 when we were waiting for trial, and the way Flix duped us. Then the hanging."

"Mia, it's over." Nick's tone brimmed with confidence and reassurance. "Flix is entombed in his own stasis universe, with only The Light for company. He has no way out other than to go into The Light and begin a new life. It's taken almost fourteen hundred years, but the cosmos is back in balance." Holding her hand, he primed the Timehopper for the leap back to their start point. "As we speak, Flix is still in the stasis cell. He's been there almost five hundred years. He could be there for another five hundred years for all we know, but one day it will dawn on him that there is no hope and he will go into The Light as he should have done in 1655. As for me and you, well we can get on with our lives."

"I'm not so sure," Mia said, watching him input the target date and time. "I sense great foreboding for the future."

Nick tutted. "Psychics. Who'd have 'em?"

Ia chewed her lip. "Gillian Dressler. You were gone a long time with her. I know you didn't ..." She trailed off, embarrassed. "But she probably talked a lot. Did you tell her?"

Nick shook his head as he input the final digits on the target pute. "I gave her a cover story."

"That could have been dangerous."

"I'd seen the casualty list, remember," he said. "I knew she wouldn't survive." He sensed Mia's disapproval. "Listen, Mia, I had to be sure she would work with me, and she was pretty annoyed at the way I let Rostron die."

"But you'd seen his name on the casualty list, too."

"Yes."

Mia sighed. "I wonder if we're actually any better than Flix."

He smiled. "I think we are. He was trying to change the future; we were simply trying to preserve history." He pulled the lever and released it. The monitors blanked out and immediately came back to life above the Stasis Center building. "Take it from me, Mia, what we did was right. Flix will never bother us again."

*

The faintest inkling of a smile played at the corners of Control's mouth. "It's rare that I personally congratulate field agents, but I think it's in order this time. Well done. Both of you."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Nick was more taciturn than his partner.

"You have a problem, Agent Holt?"

He tossed the ion rod on her desk. "That piece of junk, Ma'am," he said. "Knocked from my hand and it became practically useless. Even with fresh power cells, it was no bloody good."

"Yes. I read your report. You were told that it had never been deployed in battle."

"We were," Nick agreed, "but that doesn't excuse its crap construction."

"Yes, well, in the light of your, er, field test, I've ordered techno services to look into it and come up with something more resilient."

"Is that necessary, Ma'am?" Mia asked. "This weapon is not needed in today's society, and Flix is now enclosed in his cell. He can never trouble us again."

"We hope not, Agent Nellis, but you, of all people, should know never to use the word, never. Besides, who is to say that Flix is the only enemy we will need to employ the Mark 2 against? No; Techno-services will look into it and see if they can come up with a more shockproof polymer for its construction." Control laid the ion rod onto the sliding compartment, hit a key on her pute, and the thing disappeared into the desk. "And now, what is to become of you two?"

"We assumed that we would return to our routine arrest duties, Ma'am," Mia said.

"Never assume anything, Agent Nellis," Control beamed upon Nick. "Agent Holt, you recall our discussion on time travel into the future?"

"I do, Ma'am. I assume we would never dabble with it. There are too many variables which make the future uncertain."

"Another one making assumptions." Control sighed. "Indeed there are too many variables, but that doesn't mean we haven't dabbled with it, as you put it. We have made several forays into the future and we've learned quite a lot. Specifically, we have learned that you can influence the future by taking tiny actions in the present. We have also learned that we can undo those changes by reversing those actions in the present. In short, Agent Nellis, Agent Holt, we have investigated many possible futures and in some of them, Flix is free of his stasis cell."

"What?"

"How the—"

Mia and Nick spoke together, the one drowning out the other.

Control held up a hand for silence. "The future, as you pointed out, Agent Holt, is influenced by trillions of variables. Changes to any of them can affect that which is to come. It's so complex that it would be impossible for us to pinpoint the single change that would grant Flix his freedom. While that is the case, I need special field agents who can meet Flix on his own terms. You two are the best I have. Your appointment to the special field team will be permanent." Control smiled again. "With enhanced stipends, expense accounts, and the usual fripperies."

Nick and Mia exchanged surprised glances.

"Well, do you want the job?" Control asked.

They laughed and this time spoke in perfect unison.

"Yes, ma'am."

# THE END

# The Author

David Robinson was born a Yorkshireman, but moved across the Pennines. He is a former adult education teacher and trained hypnotherapist, he lives with his wife on the edge the brooding moors northeast of Manchester.

As Robert Devine, he produces dark thrillers sometimes bordering on, or straying into sci-fi, but always with an element of the macabre, looking into the dark heart of human behaviour.

Working with darkstroke books, he also publishes light-hearted, cosy mysteries and more serious fiction works under his real name, David W Robinson.

For more information, visit:

<https://mysteriesaplenty.blogspot.com/>

 https://mysteriesaplenty.blogspot.com/p/thesanford-3rd-age-club-mysteries-do.html

 https://mysteriesaplenty.blogspot.com/p/the-midthorpe-murder-mysteries-aseries.html

And you can follow him on Facebook at:

<https://www.facebook.com/davidrobinsonwriter/>

THANK YOU FOR READING. I HOPE YOU HAVE ENJOYED THIS BOOK. IF SO IT WOULD BE WONDERFUL IF YOU COULD LEAVE A REVIEW.

