Ted turned to face Laura, frowning. "Not here? What are you talking about?"

"I mean mentally, he's not there," said Laura. "He's .... " She felt as though she were trying to explain the colour yellow to a blind man. "I can't hear him. He's just not there. He's got no mind."

Ted turned and slowly stood. "You mean he's blocking you? Sounds like an admission of guilt, Mr Smith." Ted's arms hung loosely by his side, but there was something about his stance that suggested Smith should make no sudden moves.

"No, he's not blocking me. The way you block someone is to scream things in your head, think repulsive thoughts they shy from, lead false trails. It's incredibly difficult to do, but the point is, I'd know. That's not what I'm saying, Ted. I'm saying, he's just not there. I can't hear his thoughts at all. His body might be here, but his mind isn't."

When was the last time anyone startled me,? thought Laura. When I was six? Seven? When you could hear the background hum of people's thoughts around you, how could you not hear them behind you, even if physically they were silent?

"So, what, you're a robot?" said Ted.

Smith gave a short laugh. "You've read about MIT's AIDA project, yes? An entire building full of super-computers, and she's got the IQ of a dog. No, Ted, I'm not a cyborg from Dimension X. Prick me and do I not bleed?"

"We might well have to see about that," said Ted. "Why can't she Listen to you? And no more bullshit."

The waiter arrived at the table with the drinks. The three of them stared in a silent Mexican Standoff until the waiter was out of earshot.

"Okay, things have changed," said Smith. "I didn't realise the Guild would be quite so proactive, and I certainly didn't anticipate their murderer story. That was stupid of me. Here's the deal. I'm pretty much screwed now, one way or the other. I'll level with you, tell you why I have to get to the Nielson hearings. Now, you've got no way to Listen to me, so you're going to have to try things the old-fashioned way. You'll have to trust your instincts. And sit down, Mr Parkinson. Your coffee will get cold and you're attracting attention. I promise I'll keep my serial killing habits to a minimum this afternoon."

Ted made a show of placing his chair between Smith and Laura, then sat. "So, talk," he said.

"My name's Andrew Christmas. Yes, it's a stupid name; I'd hardly make that one up, would I. Until very recently I worked for the government, though I was born and raised on the Falkland Islands."

"You don't have a Caribbean accent," said Ted.

"The Falklands are a bunch of rocks off South America, Mr Parkinson; home to a few hundred people and a few thousand penguins. The arse end of the Empire, forty-three years behind the rest of the world."

"Forty-three, huh?"

"Forty-three. That's a significant figure, isn't it, Laura?"

"What?" said Laura, unprepared for the question. What was significant about forty-three?

"Okay, let me give you a history lesson. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin."



At thirty-seven, Julian Fredericks was ahead of the curve. As senior research chemist at United Pharmaceuticals he was at the peak of his career. Everything he'd wanted by forty he had achieved by thirty. His team made significant inroads in the fight against endemic diseases every year. UP stock rose accordingly, and the directors of the company made sure that Fredericks had everything he could possibly want. Everything was perfect.

It was his team that nearly discovered the cure for Alzheimer's. Fredericks' father had died of it, unable to recognise his son, constantly asking for his wife who'd died ten years earlier. Fredericks knew that he was at a greater risk of catching it, and so he took a personal interest in the development of the drug UP hoped would boost their profit margin. Oh, and bring relief to thousands around the world, of course.

One strand proved particularly hopeful. The animal trials of AZ73 went very well, with little or no side-effects. Fredericks was convinced it would prove effective in human trials, but he was always an impatient man. Quite against protocols, he insisted that he and his wife be included in the first human trials. UP rewarded those employees that signed up for the tests. It was a much more cost-effective solution than having to pay strangers.

The voices started two weeks later. At first, they were just barely audible whisperings when he was in the presence of the other guinea pigs. All he could pick up were hints and suggestions of emotion. Over time, though, he started to hear words. He was an educated man, and of course he worked in the medical field. He knew what the symptoms of paranoia and the belief in special powers meant, but he didn't want to be taken off the trial. Besides, no one else reported side effects. Instead, he tried to live his life normally. But he was a scientist, with all the curiosity that involves. He couldn't help but document and test his malaise as it progressed.

One day he was working in the lab with Myra, one of the other test subjects.

"How was your weekend?" he asked, as he wrote up his notes.

"Oh, pretty quiet," she replied.

Fredericks listened to the whispering in his ear.

"How's Frank?"

"Frank?" Myra stared at the paper she was reading, but Fredericks could see her colouring.

"Yes, Frank. He ... he works in Finance, doesn't he? Aren't you two an item?"

Myra whirled on him. "How do you know about that? We've been so careful. Who told you? Oh God, does everyone know?"

Does his wife know? screamed the secret voice in Fredericks' head.

"No, I just ... I thought I saw the two of you in Oakland on Saturday, that's all. It was you, wasn't it? Outside that hotel with the ugly decor?"

"Yes, but not together, we are always ... you saw us together?"

"Don't worry," said Fredericks. "It's no concern of mine."

How could it be paranoia, if people really were saying one thing to your face, and thinking another? Was it illusions of grandeur if you really were special?

That evening he decided to use his new-found gift to his own advantage. His wife had seemed distant recently. He listened to the voice, subtly changing his behaviour based on what the whispers suggested. For the first time in weeks, they made love. He listened hard as their bodies locked together, wondering how she ranked him. To his cost, he learnt.

The next day he drove into work and spent the first part of the morning on the phone to his lawyer. He ordered his staff out of the lab and destroyed all the records on AZ73. Then he walked in on a meeting between his friend Frank Dibbs and a government delegation and broke Dibbs' nose before he had a chance to rise from his chair.

It was not perhaps the most conventional way to give an employer notice of resignation, but it was nonetheless effective. When in the next couple of days Fredericks served divorce papers on his wife on the grounds of her adultery and sold everything he had to start a charity school for underprivileged children, people assumed he was undergoing a midlife breakdown. But Fredericks was always an ambitious man.

His success in finding philanthropists became legend. He seemed to know just what to say to extract funds for his noble causes. He started up his own pharmaceutical company, also a charity, providing low-cost drugs for social programmes. When he announced the discovery of a drug to immunise people against Alzheimer's, UP protested. But when Fredericks offered to make the formula freely available to any company with the wherewithal to manufacture it, UP found itself on the ropes. How could they push a prosecution against such a saint whose only crime was to free the world of a debilitating illness at no profit for himself?

Five years later, shortly after the government hit its target to immunise the population against Alzheimer's, the Guild was announced to a sceptical world. It took years to convince the scientific community, but the evidence of the blind trials were conclusive. A tiny proportion of the population had latent telepathic powers, which Fredericks could bring to the fore with a programme of intense training.

Different people had the skill in different degrees. Some could only read emotions, a very few could delve deep into the human subconscious. The results of Fredericks' own tests were never revealed, but historians generally agreed he must have been a particularly gifted Listener, to discover his gift and train himself. His training was pretty crude at first, but you know what practice makes.

The Guild have been very careful in guarding their secret. A few people in government agencies have learnt the truth, but it's in their best interests to maintain the status quo. People who threaten to tell the truth are a threat to all sorts of interested parties.