Out of the Sun by Robert Goddard Page B

as well. Your mother doesn't think she can help you, but I'm not so sure. She might be staying away because she's afraid for her life. After what happened to Kersey, Mermillod and you, you couldn't blame her. Not that I know exactly what happened. To them or to you. I went out to the Skyway Hotel, you know. Your mother gave me the room number. I talked the management into letting me take a look inside. Drew a blank, of course. There weren't any notebooks strapped to the bottom of the bed or wedged behind the cistern. I checked. If I say so myself, I was pretty thorough. And there was definitely nothing. But they were there, weren't they? They were there with you.
    "What's in them, David? What makes them so important? If they are important. If they're not just a red herring. I mean, higher dimensions? Who the hell understands them, let alone cares about them? I tried Dr. Tilson's book, but I couldn't get past the first page. I had to borrow Mrs. T's dictionary just to work out what the title meant. Topology is the mathematics of abstract spaces, right, which can change size or shape while still remaining the same? So implicate topology is about abstract spaces wrapped around each other, twisted together somehow. And complex numbers are numbers that can't be mathematically defined, like the square root of minus one. So Dr. Tilson's book is about tangled-up abstract spaces created with numbers that don't exist. Well, hell's teeth, what does any of that actually meanT
    Harry sighed and leant forward, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his palm. "My guess is higher dimensions don't come into this. They weren't what you were working on at Globescope, were they? Dr. Tilson told me about Project Sybil. The future. That's what it's all about, isn't it? The new millennium and what it holds. Something you realized. Something you discovered. Something you foresaw. That could be in the notebooks too, buried in the hyper-dimensional hocus-pocus. Two dead. Two in hiding. And you. How many others? Two? Three? Four? You know, don't you? But you're not going to tell me. They must all know what it is. That's why they're all in danger.
    "Your mother's given me a snapshot of you. You don't mind,
    do you? It's only a copy. It's the last picture she took of you, when you went to Edale with her a few days before ... You used to go there a lot, so she tells me. When you were younger. You and her and .. . Claude, of course. So many happy family outings. You didn't know about me then. She hadn't told you. But even when she did, you didn't come looking for me, did you? Why not? You could have found me easily enough. My mother .. . your grandmother ... could have given you my address in Rhodes. You could have come out for a holiday. Or written me a letter. But you never did. Thought there was no point, I suppose. Thought there was nothing to be gained. I can understand that. Well, now's my chance to prove you wrong, isn't it? Now's my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
    "It doesn't feel much like it, though. It feels more like a fool's errand. But I've run those before. And I haven't always regretted it. So we'll just have to see what comes of it, won't we? We'll just have to give it a go."
    Harry sat back and looked at his watch. "Nearly time I was off. I'd better make sure I catch that train, hadn't I? I only hope there's a buffet on board. A clear head isn't what I need for a midnight sailing in a force ten gale. Think I'll find Torben in Copenhagen? I reckon you've a fair idea of my chances. Well, perhaps it's better if you don't tell me. Odds generally depress me. Basically because they're seldom in my favour. I suppose it's been that kind of a life. Only child, like you. Never knew my father. He died when I was three, crushed under a locomotive wheel at the GWR works in Swindon. A bit like you again, I suppose. Except you thought you did know your father. Only to find out after he was dead that he was an impostor. An unwitting impostor, it's