'O-oh.' Nick happened to glance at his monitor to see their two recon vehicles heading out of the camp perimeters. When Ray realised what was happening he bolted for a headset, and was infuriated when he realised he must refrain from using it.

'What is it?' Naomi was confused. 'Do you want me to call them back?'

'No, it's too risky,' Ray ran his fingers through his hair to get it out of his face. 'We don't want to be traced.' As he held no authority over Brian, Tory or the hovercraft, Ray realised he had precious little chance of dissuading them from the joyride. 'We'll just have to let them go, and pray to God they bring the vessels back in one piece. Shit!'

After clearing the cavern roof, Brian skirted along the canyon ridge and followed it to down onto the wide, open plains. The exhilaration of flight made his eyes water, and his heart was pounding ten to the dozen as he gained speed and altitude. Brian looked to his monitor to see Tory gaining on him. 'Not bad, for a girl,'

he mused as he approached the large body of water that was Lake Amadeus. 'Let's see what this baby is really capable of. Coming, sis?'

The Red Centre had seen quite a bit of rain of late; thus the waterholes were bursting their banks - Lake Amadeus was no exception. When she saw Brian heading for the lake, Tory prayed he was only planning to skim across the surface. This body of water could hardly be compared to the open ocean. It was quite shallow and rocky in places. 'Brian,' she pleaded, though she knew he could not hear her, 'please don't be doing what I think you're doing.'

The submersible employed the same thrusters as the hovercraft. As Merlin I descended rapidly over the water, Brian switched off the rotating air blasters and it plunged beneath the surface of the lake.

'Absolutely incredible.' Tory looked to her radar, and was pleased to find Merlin I still moving. She descended to ten feet above the water's surface, and tracked the submersible's readout down the lake.

'Ah, home at last,' Brian sighed, as the bubbles cleared to a clear view out in front. With the drag of the water his speed lessened. The light made visibility quite good here near the surface, and he cruised through schools of fish whilst avoiding rock formations and patches of weed.

Once he'd finished his sightseeing tour, Brian headed Merlin I towards the surface. About five foot below the waterline, he re-activated his hover systems which immediately shot his craft up out of the lake; the next thing he knew he was racing over the surface with Tory in pursuit.

Half an hour later, when the two craft landed back at base, Brian was overwhelmed by everyone's protests and lectures concerning his misconduct. He'd anticipated this kind of reception, so the reprimands didn't faze him any. 'What are you all whining about? The ship's still in one piece, isn't it? And I've saved us two weeks of prolonged testing.'

'But what if you'd had a system failure?' Ray was feeling stressed 'We could have lost the craft, and it's not like we can just order in spare parts.'

'Look, Ray.' Brian turned to put the engineer in his place, but calmed himself before doing so. 'I know you've worked long and hard on this project. You've done a fine job, and I thank you. But I've been sitting around this place twiddling my thumbs for three years, whilst that bastard at the ICA leads the rest of the world up the garden path. I shall not waste other second dicking around. It's time we started making a difference.'

Nobody argued as Brian took his leave. They were all too stunned.

'Call it cavern fever.' Tory placed a hand on Ray's shoulder to encourage him not to take it personally. 'We all have our bones to pick with Doc, but I didn't realise Brian's resentment still ran so deep.'

'Well, he's not Robinson Crusoe there.' Ray moved to inspect Merlin I, pulling the weeds from its chassis and tossing them aside in disgust. 'I'd best get this cleaned up and ready to rock'n'roll then.'

'You're a good egg, Murdock.' Tory smiled at his resolve.

He shrugged. 'We all want to make a difference.'

'You already have,' she assured him.

Walter was seated behind his desk at the far end of the herbarium, gazing across the extensive lawns and gardens of his Healing Centre for the Mind, Body and Spirit. The floor to ceiling windows allowed the afternoon sun to stream in upon him, yet he was numb to the soothing effect of the warm rays. The news of a close friend's death had left him in a complete state of shock. Even after fourteen centuries of life, Walter still hadn't got used to outliving those he cared about.

At age thirty-two, Patrick Haze was too young to be rotting in his grave. Pat held a special place in the old healer's heart, for the young man had more or less adopted Walter as the father he never had. For many years Patrick had frequented the Healing Centre and eventually, after all his years of study, had ended up working for the Institute. Then, a month ago, Patrick had gone for his compulsory AIDS test and had tested HIV positive. He'd been whisked off to Alaska for treatment almost immediately. Patrick was gay - that had been no secret. The insecurity and low self-esteem caused by his homosexuality had been instrumental in leading Patrick to the Healing Centre in the first place.

Walter had expected to see Patrick back instructing his courses by now, but the reality was he would never see his talented young novice again. And as Patrick had no living relatives, his body had already been laid to rest in the cemetery not far from the AIDS clinic in Alaska. It was not often Walter became riled, but he could just imagine the kind of burial rites his friend had received.

His powers of restraint were further tried when informed he would not be permitted to travel to the grave-site and pay his last repects, as the whole community was off-limits to anyone who was not ICA personnel or a registered patient.

I just don't understand. Why did I not foresee his condition or how rapidly it would deteriorate?

Walter had diagnosed and healed hundreds of strangers, without ever laying eyes on them in some cases, and yet Patrick's disease had simply escaped his attention. It just didn't figure. He'd read various horror stories since the AIDS clinic had opened, printed by the independent publications over the past three years.

These reports told of people in the early stages of the disease whose health had rapidly deteriorated after their arrival at the facility. People had been targeted for termination and they were all either drug addicts or homosexuals who had been disowned by their families or had no living kin who would kick up a fuss about their unfortunate plight. Cadfan had previously subscribed to the ICA explanation of terrorists being behind the propaganda, but now he wasn't so sure.

He looked to the intercom system on his desk and hit a key. The small screen lit up, and a soft ambient tune filtered through the speaker while he waited for his secretary to answer her pager.

'Yes, Walter,' Mary-Anne inquired, her calm, smiling face appearing on his monitor.

This was a brave front, for it was obvious to Walter that she'd been weeping just prior to answering his call.

Bless her, he thought. 'I'd like you to arrange for someone to take my classes over the next few days. I'm sure Tom wouldn't mind, if he hasn't got any other commitments.

Send him my apologies for the short notice.'

Thomas Mateus was the very best spiritual tutor Cadfan knew. Although Tom's areas of expertise were the Shamanistic Arts, Earth Sciences and Ancient Cultures he was a fine healer as well.

'Are you leaving us?' Mary-Anne appeared concerned for him, until one side of Walter's mouth curved to a smile.

'Yes, my dear. For it would seem I have a quest.'

'I'm sorry, did you say a quest?' This was not the response Mary-Anne had expected.

'I did.' Walter's attention had drifted away from the screen as he recalled a prophetic vision he'd had concerning the American president. He had not understood why the universe was granting him this information at the time, but now he realised it might well be ammunition. 'After you call Thomas, see if you can schedule me a meeting with Doc Alexander in the next couple of days.'

'Sure.' Mary-Anne forced a smile. 'After all, he's only the most sought-after man in the world.'

'Oh, he'll see me,' Cadfan stated confidently. Doc Alexander had extended him many invitations in the past, though Walter, wanting to stay out of the political limelight, had always gracefully declined.

It was three months into the World Power Project and the ICA were already copping flack from the Middle Eastern sector. A group of religious fanatics, who claimed the Fusion Grid was the seven-headed beast of the Apocalypse, stated that they had procured a nuclear warhead. The launch target would be the host storage facility still under construction in New Mexico, unless the Fusion Grid project was abandoned immediately.

Doc was not overly worried. He'd already arranged to meet with the terrorist organisation's representatives, feeling quite sure he would make them see reason.

Yesterday in Washington Doc had persuaded President Langford to let the ICA handle the situation.

The US Head of Defence, General Berkley, strongly objected when the President granted Alexander forty-eight hours to defuse the threat. But the President stuck to his decision.

'Congratulations,' said Emma, as Doc passed through her office on the way to his own. She stood and handed him a diskette containing an update of his schedule.

'Walter Cadfan is already waiting for you inside.'

'Excellent.' Doc had been looking forward to this meeting for a very long time. He'd even detoured to London to take the appointment, and would fly on to Baghdad to resolve the threat to the Fusion Grid afterwards.

'No calls, no interruptions, no exceptions.' Doc was adamant, though courteous about his instruction.

'Thanks, Emma.'

Entering his office, Doc found Cadfan staring up at a portrait of King Cadwallon of Gwynedd. Doc had painted the picture in question near the end of the seventeenth century. During that period of history, to be part of high society, one had to be seen as having an active interest in the arts. Even nine hundred years after Cadwallon had vanished from the face of the Earth, the features of his face remained etched firmly enough in Doc's memory to have reproduced a good likeness of his father. He grinned at Cadfan's astonished expression. If Walter was Cadfan of Gwynedd, father of Cadwallon, and thus Doc's own grandfather, how must it feel to see such a vivid image of his son after so many centuries had passed? 'You like?'

Walter was startled by the query. He glanced at his host briefly, then back to the image that had him so enchanted. 'It's a remarkable ...' He wanted to say likeness, but refrained. 'work. Must be worth a fortune,'

he commented, seriously considering making an offer for the painting if Doc would part with it.

'Not really.' Doc stood beside Walter and looked up at Cadwallon's image, burying his true feelings down deep so that he sounded neither here nor there about it.

'It's by an unknown Baroque artist, who wasn't especially talented.'

'Baroque?' Walter was stunned. Doc had to be wrong. How could some painter in the late seventeenth century have reproduced the likeness of a seventh century King so precisely? 'Are you quite sure?'

'I'm afraid so. I only brought it because he looked such a menacing fellow.'

'Not at all.' Walter couldn't stop the words from shooting out of his mouth. 'For British history tells us,' he attempted to cover the conviction of his first statement, 'that Cadwallon was beloved of his people. He carried victory into the very heart of enemy territory.'

'Where he vanished after the battle of Hexham in six hundred and thirty three,' Doc added. 'King Oswald of Northumbria claimed to have run Cadwallon through, but you know ... they never did find his body.'

Cadfan's jaw dropped as he stared at the man beside him. Doc's expression looked malign, until he tore his gaze away from the picture and shrugged.

'If you like it, it's yours.'

'Oh no, I couldn't possibly.' Cadfan was overwhelmed by his generosity.

'Please, I'm not especially fond of it.' Doc placed his PC and briefcase on his desk. 'Art should be where it will be most appreciated.' He smiled in conclusion, motioning for Cadfan to take a seat. 'I'll have Emma arrange to have it sent to you.'

It was not often that Walter found a material possession that he just had to have. This painting had sentimental value beyond anything he already owned, yet he couldn't help but feel that he'd owe Doc if he accepted the present. Yet, Cadfan considered a way around the problem, if I find something suitable to give him in return, that will cancel out any such debt. 'I fear I may be pushing my luck if I accept your most gracious gift,' Cadfan trod lightly, 'as I am here to seek a favour.'

' Ah, well,' Doc again encouraged Cadfan to be seated, taking a seat himself. 'A favour is quite a different thing to a gift, wouldn't you say? A gift for a gift, a favour for a favour, isn't that how we Britons do things?'

We? Cadfan wondered to himself. 'I'm sorry, I was under the impression you were an American.'

'A common misconception,' was all Doc said.

'Allow me to be frank, Walter. May I call you Walter?'

Cadfan gave him leave with a nod.

'Truth is, a man in my position could really use a little inside information from the spirit world, if you catch my drift.' Walter was looking a tad concerned at this stage - it was obvious he'd not planned to form a friendship here today. 'Your predictions are more precise then any clairvoyant that ever lived. Including Nostradamus,' Doc thought it fair to add. For he'd known the great seer rather well, and his predictions had been much more vague than Cadfan's. 'It would prove much easier to avert these disasters if I knew a little more about them in advance.'

'Well, I post a complete report on the VR-Net after every episode,' advised Walter. 'Beyond that there is no more to tell.'

'I know your bulletin. I follow it very closely,' Doc confessed. 'I'm actually quite a fan. No, what I am asking is that if you should happen to see something that might aid or hinder ICA affairs, that you will let me know immediately. Fair enough?'

'All right,' agreed Walter.

'Good.' Doc tried to sound satisfied - given a little more time he would get Cadfan completely on side. 'So now, tell me, Walter, what can I do for you in return?'

Cadfan had been warned of how charismatic Doc Alexander was, but he seemed just a little too charming for his liking. 'I want ICA clearance to visit the AIDS facility in Alaska.'

'May I ask why?' Doc sounded unfazed by the request, just interested.

'A student of mine died there recently.'

'I am sorry. He must have been too far gone.'

'No, I don't believe he was.' Cadfan voiced his professional opinion. 'I would like to visit his grave to pay my last respects, and take a look at his files while I'm there. After all, I was Patrick's personal physician.'

'Patrick?'

Cadfan nodded. 'Patrick Haze.'

Doc jotted down the name. 'I tell you what, Walter.

I'll get a copy of Patrick's file to you in the next couple of days - just let Emma know where you want it sent.

I'm taking a trip up there myself next week, you're more than welcome to come along.'

'I don't want to be a bother. I'm quite capable -'

'It's no bother at all,' Doc assured him. 'Consider it a done deal.'

In other words, if Cadfan didn't accept the chaperoned arrangement he could forget the idea altogether. 'You're too kind.' Walter stood, deciding to push the issue no further. Doc had more or less granted all his requests, so there seemed little point in creating a drama when he might still achieve what he hoped to without having to play hardball.

'I look forward to it.' Doc moved to show him out.

'Emma will let you know the flight details as they come to hand.'

16.

THE HOLY LAND.

It had been a long time since Tory had awoken drenched in sweat and panicked.

'Another vision', she'd concluded, until she brought the subject up at breakfast and found it to be news to everyone else.

'I slept like a baby,' Rhun informed her.

'I didn't.' Rhiannon glanced at Ray, seated beside her. 'But it wasn't divine prophecy that kept me awake.'

Tory looked towards Brian and then Jenny, who both shrugged, shaking their heads.

'Maybe it was just a bad dream,' Rhun posed.

His mother had gone quite thoughtful, though she shook her head to reject his suggestion. 'Tell me ...'

Tory turned to Floyd, who was behind the breakfast bar making himself a cappuccino. Now that the Goddess was fully operational, her crew had once again taken up residence on the vessel. Floyd, who liked his spacious control centre high above Watarrka's community, just frequented the Goddess at meal times.

Tory thought a while before voicing her question, still trying to recollect the fragments of her dream.