Nightrise

looking out from the window, that they had all breathed at once.
    Behind him, one of the other two men spoke.
    "They're coming online now, Mr. Chairman."
    The chairman walked to his place at the head of the table and sat down. He rested his hand on the polished surface and composed himself. There were thirteen plasma screens mounted all around the room, and one after another they flickered into life as the other executives, in different parts of the world, came online. A webcam, standing on the table, pointed at the chairman, carrying his own image out. In Los Angeles, it was two o'clock in the afternoon. In London it was midnight. But the time of the day was unimportant. This was the monthly meeting of the senior executives of the Nightrise Corporation and none of them would have dared to have been even a minute late.

    "My greetings to you, ladies and gentlemen." As ever, the chairman was the first to speak. He had an unpleasant, throaty voice, as if he were ill. He spoke very softly and his voice would have to be amplified as it was transmitted. He had no obvious accent. This was an international businessman and he had managed to develop an international voice.
    "I don't think I need to remind you that this is a critical time for us all," he went on. "It is a world-changing time. Everything we've been working for all these years is about to come to fruition. Business has never been better, but right now there is so much more at stake than simple profit and loss. We have the Psi project. We have news from South America. And, of course, we have the upcoming election…
    the race to become the most powerful man in the world." He paused and it was almost as if a thin mist passed across his eyes. "I hardly need to tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that this is one time we can't afford to make mistakes."
    He stopped. Nobody moved. The images on the television screens were so still that they could have been accidentally frozen. Two thousand miles away, the private Nightrise Corporation satellite that was making this conference possible continued its orbit around the world, picking up the signals and beaming them into the different countries. And it was as if something of the black emptiness of outer space was being sent with them. The images were dead. The dozen offices with their dozen televisions seemed to contain no life at all.
    "Let's start in New York. The election. What can you report?"
    The New York executive's screen was about halfway down the table. He was a solid, square-shouldered man who had spent twenty years in the army before moving into business — and it showed. His name was Simms. "This is a hard nut to crack, sir," he reported. "And whatever happens, it's going to be close…maybe as close as one or two states. Our guy is doing better than expected but so far we haven't been able to do serious damage to Trelawny."
    "Advertising?"
    "Sir, we've taken out advertisements that suggest that Trelawny is soft on crime and soft on immigration.
    We've said he's a coward and a liar. We've even managed to plant newspaper stories that hint he might be gay. But nothing seems to hurt him. For some reason, people like him and right now if both he and Charles Baker get their party's nomination, they'll be neck and neck in November."
    "Baker must win. There can be no other result. Trelawny must not become president."
    "Well, short of assassinating John Trelawny, I'm not sure what we can do."
    "I think, Mr. Simms, you should be considering every possibility."
    'Yes, sir."

    Next, the chairman turned his attention to a screen that was next to him, on his right-hand side. "Could you please make your report," he said.
    "Certainly, Mr. Chairman."
    The woman on the plasma screen gazed directly into the room. She looked more like a schoolteacher than a businesswoman, with glasses that were too big for her face, closely cropped, gray hair, and a long, thin neck. She was dressed in black. She was speaking from an office in Los Angeles, and although outside the sun was brilliant, none of it had been allowed to reach her. There was a shadow across her face. Her skin was pale. She could have been lit by the moon.
    Her name was Susan Mortlake.
    "I have good news to report, and also bad news," she began. "It's now been almost a year and a half since we began the Psi project but we may have had a breakthrough. It seems that we have finally managed to track down two of the Gatekeepers."
    This caused a stir around the room. The