"Hi, you've reached Ted Masters." pause, two, three, "Or rather you haven't; this is his answering machine. Please leave a message after the tone."

Beep.

"Oh. Uh, Ted, this is Sol. I've found out what was..." Sol's paranoia kicked in; he didn't want to discuss this over the phone. "Um, I'll explain when I see you. Anyway, the important thing is that you really, really should call in sick tomorrow. Do not come into work. Got that? Right. I'll see you latter."

Click.

Ted looked at his answering machine, confused, and not sure what to make of the message. Sol had left it at quarter to one, and he sounded rough; he'd probably been working on Crystal non-stop since they'd seen each other on Saturday. Still, he sounded really agitated by something. Maybe there was something in it - Sol was usually pretty calm, and it took a lot to throw him.

On the other hand, it was a slightly odd request. Also, it had been made by a sleep-deprived fortune teller at one in the morning. Ted thought about it for a moment, then glanced at his watch, and realized he was going to be late. He hit "erase" on the answering machine, and stepped out into the Monday morning sunshine.

When Ted arrived in the Jupiter office, he noticed that Sol wasn't in. His mind flitted briefly to the message, but then he shrugged and forgot about it. He'd take the morning off himself if he'd been working all weekend.

He sat down and started to work. He checked that the live WorldPulse system was running smoothly, which it was (they hadn't had serious a problem with it since the day it started). He then turned his attention to Crystal. It looked fine, although he noticed that Sol had reinstated the shit list of bogus information sources. Maybe that was part of what he was doing yesterday. Ted resolved to ask him about it, when he finally showed up.

A little latter, Bill got up from his desk. "You want a coffee?" he asked Ted as he went by.

"Yes, please."

"O.K. - be with you in two ticks."

While Bill was gone, Ted heard a strange noise. He got up and checked the server that ran the WorldPulse front end, which was sat next to him (they'd been intending to move it to the machine room for a while, now that they were sure that it was working, but they'd never got round to it.) That wasn't what was making the noise. He turned around with the intention of asking Bill if he could hear it, but as he did a dark shadow passed across his window.

Everything seemed to slow down. As he turned back, he saw the window crack and then shatter. For a fraction of a second, which seemed to be much longer, he couldn't identify the thing that was crashing through the window towards him. It was a tangle of metal and glass and lights, with a face peering out from somewhere in the middle. It was careening straight towards him, dragging bits of window frame and venetian blind with it. These fragments of architecture got caught under the wheels and dragged out of sight, and Ted could finally identify the object; it was an the cab of an articulated lorry.

"What the hell is that doing in here?" Ted thought, as it careened towards him. This was understandable, given that artics aren't often to be found in offices, but didn't provide him with any solutions. It wouldn't have made any difference, anyway, as his body was moving as slowly as time was. He mutely watched as the runaway vehicle smashed a couple of desks out of the way, sending people diving for cover, and then hit him square on.

Time seemed to stretch out to infinity as he was pushed across the office, smashing into furniture (he noticed that he'd hit Sol's desk - good job he wasn't in today). His legs broke, then his back, but he felt a curious detachment from the pain. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that they were heading for one of the broad white pillars that supported the roof. As the approached it, time slowed and slowed and slowed, and it seemed that they would never get there.

To everyone else, all of this happened in an instant. One minute it was a normal day at the office, then there was a cacophonic noise and suddenly an enormous lorry was had appeared, right in the middle of the office, sat in the midst of a cloud of plaster dust and shattered furniture.

Nobody said anything for a second or two. Bill, who was stood at the entrance to the kitchen, dropped the two cups of coffee he was holding and walked around the trailer, which had overturned and spilled it's contents - reams and reams of paper - across the floor. He peered at the driver, who had been thrown through the windscreen and was lying motionless a few feet away, and Ted's smashed and bleeding body. He wiped his hand over his suddenly dry mouth, and was about to say something when he was interrupted by an ominous creak from the ceiling. He looked up questioningly for a moment, then the penny dropped.

"Holy crap. That's a supporting beam," he had turned and was already running for the exit, "Everyone get out!"

On the way, someone triggered the fire alarm. This was somewhat redundant, as several of the occupants of neighbouring buildings had already called 999.

The Jupiter staff were milling around in the car park when the fire engines and ambulances arrived. Most of the rest of the business park seemed to have turned out to silently stand and watch; after a few minutes, though, the gawkers began to drift off back to work, leaving only the stunned and disoriented Jupiter staff.

The ceiling didn't collapse in the end - the fire crew managed to secure it - but it was a close thing. The paramedics met with mixed results; aside from a few minor cuts and bruises, the only casualties were Ted and the driver. The former was rushed off to hospital immediately by one crew, and the other crew tended to Ted while the firefighters extricated him from the wreckage. When they finally freed him, he was by some miracle still alive, although only barely. They sped him away in the ambulance, and Isabelle went with him.

Half an hour later, the staff of Jupiter were still milling around outside the office - the fire crew had told them to stay out of the building. Some had bought coffees from Generic Sandwich Shop, and were sat drinking them by the lake. Most people were holding muted, directionless conversations; the rest were simply sat in silence, alone or in small groups.

Beth's mobile rang. She answered it, and listened for a little while. Then she put the phone away and looked up.

"That was Isabelle." She announced in a small, quiet voice. "He's dead."

Beth and Isabelle turned up at Sol's front door in the middle of Monday afternoon. He answered the door, and wordlessly lead them inside. There was a bottle of whisky, half finished, and a glass, on the coffee table. On the T.V. was the local news; they were reporting about the freak accident that had killed an office worker and an HGV driver earlier today. Beth could see herself in the background, leaning on the bonnet of her car.

"So, you've heard, then?" she asked, although she already knew the answer.

Sol picked up a remote control and, pointing it at the T.V., pressed a button. The local news disappeared, and was replaced by Quincy. He had obviously taped the lunchtime news bulletin.

"I didn't need to hear about it," he said, handing her a printed sheet of paper, "I already knew."

The three of them sat around Sol's small living room. Beth had related exactly what happened, with Sol nodding every so often, and occasionally referring back to the forecast. Isabelle hadn't said a word since she arrived.

Beth had offered to make tea, and the bustled off to the kitchen to do so. When she'd left, Sol turned to Isabelle.

"Are you O.K.?" he asked.

Isabelle said something that he couldn't make out.

"Sorry? I didn't catch that."

"I said," she repeated, looking up, "They couldn't do anything to save him." Sol noticed that her eyes were filled with tears. "They tried and tried, but he was too badly hurt. Oh, Sol, you should have seen him when they cut him out. He was limp, like a rag doll." She looked down again, unable to continue.

Sol moved over to perch on the edge of her chair, and put one arm around her shoulder. She collapsed into loud shaking sobs and buried her face in his chest. Her held her like this for a minute or two. When he looked up, he noticed that Beth had arrived with the tea. He caught her gaze, and they looked at each other for a moment. Then, Beth put the mugs down on the coffee table, then sat on the sofa and patiently waited.

After a short while, Isabelle composed herself, and Sol joined Beth on the sofa.

"I tried to warn him, you know. I left a message on his machine. He must not have listened to it before he left." Sol said, staring into his tea.

Isabelle looked up. "I thought Crystal was broken." she stated, flatly.

"It could still..." Beth began, but Sol interrupted her.

"I fixed it. I figured out what was wrong on Sunday night. In fact," he smiled grimly, "I might have improved it."

"What was the problem?" asked Beth.

"Some other time." Beth nodded. "Anyway, it's not important. The important thing is that Ted died, and I knew about it," He got up. "And I couldn't do a fucking thing about it. What's the use of knowing the future if you can't change it?" He stormed off into the kitchen.

"We don't know that." Beth called after him. She glanced at Isabelle, who was sat in introspective silence, and then got up and followed Sol into the kitchen.

"We don't know that we can't change things. Maybe it was just bad luck."

"I wish I could believe that." replied Sol. "It's just that it fits too well. I mean, the forecast even said I'd warn him." He leant against the worktop and buried his face in his hands. "God, it said I'd warn him, and that he'd do it anyway." He looked beseechingly up at Beth. "What else could I have done?"

She put her arms around him. "Nothing. There was nothing else you could have done."

He hugged her back, and held her for a long while, not crying, or saying anything, just standing there.

"What do you mean you've lost control?" the voice thundered down the phone.

"As you know, one of the three sites has been put out of commission, at least for the time being. The Canadian and Indian sites can compensate in terms of producing reports, but all of our analysis is based on the three sites operating. We would have to go back to the drawing board, quite literally. By the time we could construct a new plan, the British site could be up and running again in a new facility. Hence, I believe the best strategy would be to continue with the current plan, adjusting it to account for the change in circumstances. However, while we are running on two facilities, we will not be able to manipulate the forecasts."

Professor Maxwell waited for the reaction. When it came, it came like an explosion.

"Don't you realise how much of a problem this is?" his client screamed. "The vice-president of Bravikstahn was accosted in the street yesterday. A mob took him to a football stadium and shot him in the head. The government is holed up in the parliament building, and there are tanks on the streets!"

Maxwell said nothing; he knew all of this already. If he didn't, he wouldn't be doing hsi job, and his client knew that.

"This is the time you choose to tell me that we've lost control of events?"

"This is the time we've lost control of events. The events in question were, as I hear it, beyond anyone's control. We can only try and minimize the damage they do. That is what I am attempting."

"Not good enough."

The client slammed the phone down. Professor Maxwell held the dead receiver for a moment, then shrugged and put it down. The course of action he was taking was the correct one, and the client would realise that, when he had calmed down. Maxwell carried on with the paperwork he had been doing before he had been interrupted.