no need to talk to Ivanova because she already knew the score. "The others, who do not hear the call... will not survive it."
Zack had had enough. Cocking a thumb toward the door, he said to Miller, "That's it. Get him outta here. Maybe the doc can figure him out."
Miller nodded in agreement, more than happy not to have to stand around and listen to Deuce's rantings anymore. He grabbed him by the elbow and hauled him out. Deuce, for his part, never lost that lopsided, smug expression. The smile of secret knowledge, and the utter conviction that he knew he was right. It was an expression that was borne by most zealots, religious fanatics, and lunatics. On rare occasion, it was also seen on someone who genuinely knew the truth of things and was looking forward to his vindication.
Ivanova desperately wanted to believe anything except that last option. As if trying to convince herself that there was some other possibility, she said, "I don't get it. Deuce is a survivor. He runs half the rackets down below. He would never do anything this stupid."
"I agree," said Zack. He looked at her with slightly angled head, still curious about her earlier reactions. "What was that about a city?"
Well, I had this dream, see, and there was this city, and what this very likely means is that Vm probably going as nuts as Deuce. . . .
"Nothing," Ivanova said dismissively. "He just started getting to me."
It was a lame explanation, and she could see that Zack knew it was lame. Deuce, getting to Ivanova? Susan Ivanova had coolly faced down gigantic and mysterious alien races who could have obliterated her with minimal effort, and a two-bit hustler like Deuce was "getting to" her?
"You're sure?" Zack said, making no effort to keep the skepticism from his voice.