"Well, I see things, pretty clear sometimes, really muddy sometimes. Some things have already happened, like the arrival of the machines that want to save us. They destroyed Jupiter's moon, to, like, make more of themselves, and for energy. But the cavalry arrived a little late—just after the Indians occupied the fort." He shrugged his shoulders. "After the bogeys came down on Earth. I suppose it's stupid to make jokes, but it's all crazy in my head, and I don't want it to make me crazy. Some things I see haven't happened yet, like, I see the Earth being blown into little rocks, more asteroids. And then these spaceships mining the rocks, eating them, making more machines."

"What do the machines look like?"

"That's not too clear," Reuben said.

"How is the Earth going to be destroyed?"

Reuben paused and lifted a finger. "At least two ways. This is pretty clear, actually. I hope I can find the right words. There are things, bombs, whizzing around inside the Earth. I think we know about these, right?"

"Maybe," Hicks said.

"And there are machines crawling deep in the ocean. Are there ditches in the ocean?"

"Trenches?"

"Yeah, that's it. Crawling along ocean trenches. They turn water into gases, hydrogen and oxygen, I think . . . H20. The oxygen bubbles off. These machines put the hydrogen into more H-bombs. And then they lay these bombs along the trenches, thousands of them. All over the Earth. I think they make the bombs go off all at once."

Hicks stared at the boy. "I'd like to have you talk to some other people," Hicks said.

The boy looked uneasy. "All I'm supposed to do is give you this." He pointed to the spider. "Am I making sense so far?"

Hicks stared at the silvery machine. "You're scaring the hell out of me."

"Is that good?"

"You've earned your lunch. If I make a phone call, will you be here when I come back?"

"Order me another hamburger, I'll stay here all day."

"You've got it," Hicks said. He flagged down the waitress. Again, Reuben pocketed the spider.

Outside the cafeteria, near the entrance to the men's rest room, Hicks found a phone booth. He had inserted his card into the slot and picked up the mouthpiece when he realized he hadn't the slightest idea whom to call. He had some vague notion to talk to Harry Feinman or Arthur Gordon, but he didn't know where they were, and it would probably take hours to track them down. Besides, Feinman was reputed to be very ill, perhaps dying. The task force had been scattered to the four winds after the President's speech.

Dithering, he replaced the mouthpiece and stared at a potted palm, biting the corner of a fingernail. I am excited, and I am absolutely terrified. He lifted one eyebrow and glanced across the lobby. Hidden dramas.