Brian Lumley - Necroscope - Invaders

Trask paused, shrugged, and eventually continued, 'Anyway, there's one good thing come out of all this: I won't be wasting half a. day handing Miller over to the IS people in Perth. And as for right now… I'm hungry.' He headed for the trench with the back-burner, which someone had fired up. Tm going to have breakfast.'

By which time an agent was tending to Lardis, and all over the camp sleepy-looking people were on the move. The jetcopter had landed, and Phillips the pilot was leading a tall, grizzled stranger — strange to Jake, anyway — through the grey predawn light between the trees into the camp's clearing. Trask spotted them as they came striding through thinning ground mist; waving to attract their attention, he diverted his steps in their direction. Jake followed on behind him.

'Grahame,' Trask smiled a greeting. 'If it's no the laird himself. It's been quite a few years now.' But while Jake might wonder at Trask's assumed accent, the stranger's seemed perfectly in keeping and went well with the swing of his kilt:

'Aye, that it has,' he rumbled through the full grey beard that gave him his grizzled aspect, grinning to display a bar of strong square teeth. 'What, twelve years? How goes it with you, Benjamin? You and yere bleddy gadgets!'

They shook hands… but in the next moment the stranger's searching eyes, those oh so dark eyes of his, transferred their gaze to Jake. 'And this'll be the subject, is it no?'

'It is Trask nodded. 'As for the gadgets — like the one that flew you here in a matter of hours — well, they're improving all the time, if that in itself can be considered an improvement.' But to be truthful, which I always am, I find it harder and harder to keep up. Future shock, or something. Anyway, it's not that side of the equation that concerns us, not this time/

'Then if it's no the gadgets, it must be the ghosts/ said the other, still staring at Jake.

And Trask nodded. 'One ghost, anyway/ he said…

The Why Of It

As they seated themselves at a folding table, to a breakfast of black coffee in plastic mugs and bacon and eggs on paper plates, Trask made belated introductions. 'Jake Cutter, mah guid friend here is Grahame McGilchrist, Laird o' Kinlochry…' But then he ahemmed his embarrassment, and went on, 'Who, despite my atrociously false and corny accent, is the genuine article.'

Shaking hands with the big Scotsman across the table, Jake said, 'A Scottish laird, living on the other side of the world? There has to be something of a story in that.'

'No much o' a one,' the other rumbled. 'It's simply a matter o' choice. See, the McGilchrist estate went broke all o' a hundred years ago. Oh, Ah had mah crumblin' old castle, but in truth Ah wiz a figurehead in the local community, and that wiz a'. But Ah still had mah pride. So, when a cousin o' mine pegged it out here in Oz and left me his wee place in Carnarvon, Ah came out and took over. That was some nine years ago.'

'That "wee place" Grahame's talking about,' Trask cut in, 'is two and a half thousand acres of well-watered farmland east of Carnarvon. If he wanted to sell up he could go back home and be a proper laird again.'

'But Ah willnae do it,' McGilchrist said. 'Ah have lads tae tend mah land and animals, while Ah have mah own interests.'

'He has a practice in Carnarvon/ Trask explained. 'His own special slant on psychiatry.'

'Aye, and there ye have the other reason why Ah made mahsel scarce frae they so-called "British" Isles.' McGilchrist cocked his head, frowned at Trask and winked at Jake. 'Tae escape frae these bleddy E-Branch types!'

'He worked for us a while/ Trask said. But Jake had been quick to catch on to something else. 'Psychiatry?' he said, suspiciously. 'And I'm the subject?'

Liz Merrick appeared out of nowhere, looking great in black slacks, cowboy boots and a frilly white blouse. Seating herself beside Jake, she said, 'And a suitable subject at that/'

'Thanks/ Jake told her sourly, while he waited for Trask's or McGilchrist's explanation. And:

'Hypnotic regression/ Trask said without further preamble. 'That's Grahame's speciality. It's not a "talent" as recognized by E-Branch — that is, it isn't some strange parapsychological ability, though the way it works for Grahame it might well be — but it does come in useful in cases like yours/ 'Cases like mine?' Again Jake waited.

'Where the subject has subconsciously deleted some part of his memory/ Trask said. 'Or something else has blocked it—'

'—Or he has simply forgotten it/ McGilchrist finished it for him. 'Ye're no a nutcase, if that's what's bothering ye.' 'You don't know him yet/ said Liz, and Jake scowled. McGilchrist grinned at Liz across the table and said, 'Will one o' ye kind gentleman no introduce me tae this beautiful wee thing? Oh, Ah ken Ah'm a mite late — a mite too old, maybe? — but still Ah'd like tae be in wi' a chance!'

'Too late?' Liz blushed at his words. But McGilchrist simply looked at Jake, smiled, and went on eating…

Jake had been studying the Scotsman, and despite his apprehension he discovered that he liked him. McGilchrist seemed as open as a book. The hypnotist was tall, yes, but with his huge chest

and massive girth looked almost stocky. Jake could well picture him tossing a caber, and for that matter he could probably toss big men around as well. Except, Jake reckoned, that wouldn't be in his nature. He was the salt of Scottish soil, the hard flint of wooded mountains, however far removed; but there was a kindness — an understanding of Nature, human nature especially — in those dark eyes of his, however deeply they might probe.

It was frequently the same with men of rare ability. Even in Jake's few days with E-Branch he had been aware of it in Ben Trask's espers, the ones he'd met, and of course in the Head of E-Branch himself. The big Scotsman might not be as parapsychologically endowed as a true esper, but still there was that special something about him; in those eyes, mainly — those hypnotic eyes — and the way they studied a man…

Jake suddenly realized that they'd been studying him, reading him much as he had been reading the other. Perhaps reading him more, or more cleverly. And breakfast was over now.

'So when's it tae be?' McGilchrist stood up, stretched and yawned. 'God, but ye got me up early, Ben Trask! Ah wiz barely in bed… then up again, when yere chopper landed in mah back yard. Ah wiz expectin' yere man, aye, but no at that hour.'

'I'm sorry about that/ Trask said, 'but we never know how long we'll be in any one place. And in fact we could be moving on at any time. I'm just waiting on some information from London, and then we'll be out of here/

He got to his feet, Jake and Liz, too, and she said, 'Can I come in on this? Jake's my partner, after all/

'He might yet be your partner/ Trask answered immediately. 'We won't know that until we know.'

And Jake, as fidgety as ever, burst out, 'Then for Christ's sake let's get on with it! For whatever it is, it seems my future's hanging on it.'

'Yere future?' said Grahame McGilchrist, as Trask led them towards his tent. 'Ah, no. Ye'd be better off askin' the precog about that. And ye'll find that even he isnae that sure. But as for the past: well, that's different. What's been has been, and it cannae be changed. But even if it's been well and truly buried — buried in or by the mind, that is — we can usually dig it up again, aye. And as for me: Ah'm one hell o' an archaeologist/' He turned his attention to Trask.

'So then, but this is a verra different E-Branch to the one Ah used tae know. They pilots, talkin' over there: Australians, aye? And a couple more fiddlin' wi' those vehicles there? Seems ye're recruitin' far afield these days, Benjamin.'