I took his advice. I calmed down. "Questions? Well, Mr. Zon, or whatever your name is, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll make a bargain with you. I'll answer your questions if you'll answer mine. I'll tell you what's happening here—anything you want to know—if you look in that little file of yours and tell me what's going to happen in my time. A deal?"
He was silent for a moment, and at first I thought we'd been cut off again.
"Hello? Zon? You still there?"
"Yes, I'm still here." His voice had become oddly quiet. "So it's the old Faust legend all over again, is that it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said. I didn't—then. "You just answer my questions, and I'll answer yours. Mine first."
"All right," he said. "Very well."
And I started my barrage. When would the Final War start? He told me. How would it start? He told me that. Who would be the belligerents, and what weapons and techniques would be used at first, and what new ones would be developed? He knew. Where would the major campaigns be fought—how many troops would be involved? I got the whole story. I scribbled furiously and put it on paper.