When the carnage was over, only the bottom layer of containers remained on deck. As the sound of the splashes receded, Daniel heard both helicopters' engines rise in pitch, like instruments obeying a conductor. When he turned back to Abos, he'd gone.
Daniel and the others ran outside. Abos hovered fifty feet above them, arms outstretched. The whine of the helicopters was louder, and the pitch of the note they emitted was still rising. The helicopters blades slowed. As a cloud blocked the evening sun, Daniel could see into the cockpit, and he glimpsed the pilot fighting the joystick and flicking switches.
Then the rotor blades stopped, the whine turned into a grinding shriek, and something gave way with a rapid series of bangs, followed by silence. Daniel looked from one helicopter to the other as they hung in the air.
The Seals onboard responded. Grappling ropes appeared from the belly of each static chopper. Dark silhouettes emerged, weapons slung across their shoulders. As the first of them began the descent, the helicopter moved again. Not under its own power this time. Arms still outstretched, fingers splayed, Abos made a gentle pushing motion towards the choppers and they tilted, tails angled towards the water, then flew back towards the aircraft carrier.
One of the crew of the second helicopter, perhaps frustrated by this demonstration of their impotency, opened fire with a large machine gun. Bullets sprayed up the side of the Liberace and across the deck, heading towards the halfheroes and Saffi. Abos lowered his hands, and the helicopters dropped out of the sky. The machine gun continued to fire, and the bullets strafed across the prow of the lead boat. Daniel saw two soldiers cut down, one falling into the waves.
The helicopters slowed as they fell until they came to rest on the surface of the water.
There was a moment of quiet. A cliché popped into Daniel's mind.
"The calm before the storm," he said.
Events soon proved him right as a shitstorm of unforeseen proportions began which not everyone on the Liberace would survive.
On the bridge of the Smithwatson, Admiral Conley watched the situation spiral out of his control. He didn't like having teams of Seals operating under their own orders. He didn't like bringing his vessel into a situation where there were so many unknown factors at play. He didn't like these flying clowns, whatever the hell they were. He didn't like handing over part of his command to some Brit he'd never heard of. And, most of all, although he'd never say it aloud, he didn't like the fact that an incompetent in the White House could send the men and women under his command into danger.
Despite all of this, Admiral Conley was a military man, and a patriot who knew his place in the chain of command.
The moment the helicopters fell from the sky, he ordered the torpedo crews to prepare their payloads and stand ready.
Bardock was still on his bridge. "What are you doing?" she said. "That ship is civilian, and you have no way of knowing how those... titan... things will react if you fire on them."
While she was speaking, the choppers touched down on the water, and their occupants scrambled out to safety.
"They could have killed them," she said. "Are you even looking? They spared their lives."
Conley ignored her. "Prepare to fire," he said. His orders had been clear. If the titans showed any sign of aggression towards them, he was to attack.
"Wait," she said. "No. No. They're not attacking us. Look. For God's sake, look!"
The Seals swam to safety as the helicopters vanished, leaving a trail of bubbles. Conley focussed his binoculars on the lead boat. Looked like one fatality, one injury. Both caused by friendly fire. He took the microphone away from his mouth, thinking, his expression grim.
Bardock knew to say nothing more.
Daniel watched the boats come closer. They moved slowly this time, and none of the Seals raised their weapons. The lead boat had turned back, taking the corpse and the wounded man back to the Smithwatson.
Abos shut his eyes. A loud metallic tearing sound came from the deck of the ship, and Daniel turned in time to see the top of a container peel itself back like the lid of a sardine tin. Figures emerged from the opening, floating up into the sky.
From the boats, fingers pointed, and shouts from the Seals carried across the water. They were close enough now that Daniel could hear individual words, such as, "titans," "bulletproof," and, "shit."
The figures that rose from the ship may once have been the titans, Shuck and Susan among them, but they were unrecognisable. Some were only semi-formed, their bodies hairless. They drifted up in front of the stunned Seals.
As a teenager, in a semi-hypnotised state of boredom and mild arousal, Daniel had once spent an afternoon watching a broadcast of synchronised swimming. It was this he remembered now as the First, moving in perfect harmony, formed a horseshoe behind Abos. There was a prickling sensation at the base of Daniel's skull, an un-scratchable itch.
"You feel that?" said Sara, as they looked up.
"Aye," said TripleDee.
"Yes," said Daniel.
They didn't need to say anything else. Abos was the dominant mind. He had taken control of the First. Their minds were linked to Abos as strongly as human limbs are linked to the brain. When the brain gives the signal, the limbs respond.
Saffi squeezed Daniel's arm to get his attention.
"Are you okay? Are you with me? Daniel?"
"Sorry," he said, blinking. "It's the onemind. Even the weak connection we have with it can be overwhelming. Abos is protecting the First. Until they are fully grown, they are vulnerable."
"Then they have to leave," said Saffi. Her voice was urgent. She turned Daniel to face her and looked into his eyes. "Tell him. Tell Abos. Tell him to leave, get the others to safety until they are strong enough to protect themselves. Worse case scenario here, the Americans lock us up. Abos and the others can rescue us later."
She pointed at the huge aircraft carrier dwarfing the Liberace. "It's not as if the navy will torpedo an unarmed cargo ship, is it?"
"You're right," said Daniel. "Sara, we need to talk to Abos."
Sara and TripleDee were looking up at the figures above them, their eyes unfocussed, their bodies still. Sara's head dropped, and she looked at Daniel.
"He knows," she said. "He heard Saffi through us."
Beside her, TripleDee nodded his head.
"He agrees. They're leaving."
Bardock pointed her binoculars at the figures on the Liberace, then tilted them up towards the titans.
She had seen two men and two women on the deck. TripleDee was easy to spot. She tentatively identified the second male as Daniel Harbin although his file had mentioned nothing about a missing eye. The two women were unknown. One was tall and strikingly attractive. The other was shorter, dark hair, possibly of Middle-Eastern extraction.
She was about to comment on the flying figures, most of whom were naked, when they moved so fast it looked like an optical illusion. One second they were over the container ship, the next they were hovering above the Smithwatson.
On the aircraft carrier's deck, fighter crews prepared the jets for takeoff. Six Super-Hornets were ready to go, their pilots strapped into their cockpits and awaiting orders. No one was sure if they were under attack.
The siren that blared out across the Smithwatson suggested they were.
Admiral Conley watched his crew follow emergency procedures. His options were limited. The titans were so close now that missiles would be useless. At this range, he had the Sea-whiz, or Close-In-Weapon-Systems, and the handheld weapons carried by the crew.
Bardock knew the admiral wasn't about to share his orders with her, but she hoped he knew better than to start a fight with the creatures hovering above his ship.
She had done her job, followed a logical chain of reasoning, deduced cause from effect. She had located the missing titans. This was the result. The most powerful beings in the world were hanging above her head while she stood on the bridge of a warship so full of armaments it was a floating bomb.
<
br /> Perhaps she should have stayed at home and finished her painting instead.
The titans were unrecognisable. Bardock's briefing had warned that their appearance could change, but she hadn't expected this. The lead figure was an Asian male. He was the only one who was clothed. Three of the others were male, the rest female. One male, and two of the females, had partially formed bodies, larger than any human, but with dough-like embryonic faces. When they moved, they moved together.
"What the hell are they doing?" said Conley.
As if in answer to his question, the lead titan raised his right arm. Every other figure behind him did the same.
Bardock winced at a noise so loud it was painful. On the deck, pilots scrambled out of their planes while the ground crew ran forward. Every aircraft now looked deformed. The right-hand wing of each had been snapped off and lay on the deck beside them.
Not a single plane had escaped. The Smithwatson was now an aircraft carrier only in name.
Admiral Conley issued his orders. His vessel was under attack.
"Open fire."
A short burst of gunfire was followed by an unnatural silence. The sailors on deck pointed their weapons upwards in confusion.
The Smithwatson carried two automatic defence systems - the Sea-Whiz and the Seasparrow, both driven by powerful supercomputers and able to react faster than any human. The Sea-Whiz guns swivelled from left to right, their muzzles sweeping the area where the titans had been. Their targets had gone. They had moved so quickly that the longer-range Seasparrow could neither track them nor retaliate with a missile launch.
Bardock swore under her breath. She felt a pang of disappointment, then dismissed it. She had not failed. She had found the titans, despite the false trail laid by... well, laid by who? The female halfhero was the most likely suspect. The one who had tried to manipulate her. She was still onboard the Liberace. Bardock had questions for her.
Conley issued orders to three officers, who jogged away as she approached.
"Air Commodore Bardock," said the Admiral. Uh-oh. A sudden return to formality was never a good sign. "Thank you for your help. You may now return to your quarters. We are re-routing and returning to America. I have contacted the RAF. Your ride will arrive in an hour.
"With all respect, sir, I should interrogate the suspects when they are brought onboard."
Bardock looked out at the container ship. The Navy Seals were not approaching the Liberace.
"Why aren't you boarding them?" she said.
"Thank you, Air Commodore, that will be all."
Bardock thought fast, and her mouth dried up. The halfheroes and The Deterrent had taken the titans. The best result for the United States would be their return, and the punishment of those responsible. If that result proved unachievable, the removal of future threats would be prioritised. The titans were out of reach. TripleDee, Harbin—if that's who it was—and the two unknown women were right in front of them.
Despite suspecting she was wasting her breath, she stepped forward. "You can't justify this. It wouldn't be self-defence, it would be murder. There's a crew onboard that ship, too. What about them? What about—hey!"
Two uniformed men grabbed her arms and pulled her towards the door.
"Confine her to quarters until her plane arrives," Conley ordered.
As she was dragged away, her stomach lurched at the words Admiral Conley said next.
"Fire torpedoes."
19
Tom was alone, eating an apple. Well, as alone as he could ever be these days. So not alone at all, really. He climbed to the top of the hill and perched on one of the rocks making up The Devil's Chair, a local landmark and the subject of countless myths and legends.
The most popular told the story of the devil's journey from Ireland, carrying the stones that made up the Giant's Causeway in a leather apron. He wanted to use them to replace the roof of Hell, part of which had collapsed, revealing a view of England, which displeased him. No one knew why the devil had built Hell underneath England in the first place. Less stringent planning regulations back then, perhaps. On his way to repair the roof, his apron broke, spilling the huge stones, which landed atop the Stiperstones in a heap resembling an armchair.
When one of the local farmers recounted the story, Tom had been fascinated, but now, as he finished his apple and sent it sailing out to startle a nearby sheep, certain elements mystified him. Okay, it was a myth, but it still had to make some kind of sense, didn't it? Why would the devil repair his own roof? Was it likely that the Prince of Darkness, the Lord of Flies, eater of souls and torturer of condemned humans was interested in DIY? Surely he would have delegated the job.
Still, Tom admitted that, from a certain angle, the massive heap of rocks did look like an armchair. A huge, uncomfortable armchair. Maybe the devil preferred it that way. Probably not into soft furnishings, Old Nick.
Another local legend suggested the devil didn't have exclusive rights to the chair. There had been a local character by the name of Wild Edric, suspected of doing some kind of dodgy deal with the agents of darkness. A giant of a man who never aged, Wild Ed was rumoured to have hung around the area for centuries, his appearance changing, but always with a foul temper. Luring Edric into the mines under the hills, a group of men buried him there. The legend revived generations later when a local girl swore she and her boyfriend saw Wild Edric sitting on the Devil's Chair. He had chased them and taken her lover. This had been in the sixteenth century, and, as the missing lad was the son of the local lord, his disappearance was well documented. Whether he had been dragged to Hell, or run off to Hull was never established beyond doubt, but as his girlfriend subsequently turned out to be pregnant, many locals suspected the latter.
Tom wondered if the myths had anything to do with why he and the others were here. They all asked themselves the same questions from time to time, but no one was bothered by the lack of answers. Whatever had happened to him, whatever was still happening, was nothing to fear. It was natural, like the week his voice broke, or the day he first found a hair growing out of his previously smooth chin. That this particular change was one which, as far as they all knew, had never happened before in human history, was also no cause for concern. He and his friends were the first to experience it, that was all. Someone had to be first. He wasn't worried, or afraid. It was right. It was beautiful. And it was... he didn't know the correct word. The only word that came close was a word he'd never used before. It was sacred.
He let the others back in. He had been enjoying the solitude for a few minutes, but that was more than enough. To keep his consciousness separate, to experience life as an individual seemed wrong now. The presence of the others nourished him. Even when he separated himself, he knew they were there, like a murmuring stream outside a window you heard while you slept. Letting them back in was like opening that window, discovering it had rained during the night, the sun had risen, and the most beautiful view imaginable lay beyond.
Tom had tried to describe the change to his mother the previous night. When he’d remembered to charge his phone, there had been seventeen missed calls and five messages. Eleven of the missed calls had been from his mum.
"No, Mum, I'm fine. Of course I love you, I love both of you. It's nothing you've done. You brought me up brilliantly. I'm not angry. Why would I be? No, I'm not on drugs. It's not a cult, Mum! It's just that, well, it's... what's happened is... well..."
The problem was there was no easy way of describing the changes.
"Mum, if you saw a chrysalis hanging from a plant, and you could see the butterfly wanted to come out, only something was stopping it, what would you do?"
"Pardon? What's this about butterflies, Tom? What would stop a butterfly coming out?"
"I don't know. It's not important."
"Well, if it's not important, why did you bring it up?"
"Okay, okay. Chewing gum. Chewing gum's clogged up the chrysalis, and the butterfly can't get out."
"Chewing gum?
"
"Yeah."
"Tom, why on earth would someone put chewing gum on a butterfly?"
"Not on the butterfly, on a chrysalis."
"Oh, and that's better, is it?"
No. No. Mum, I'm trying to explain what's happening."
"Are you torturing butterflies up there? Is that it?"
"No, Mum, I'm... oh, it doesn't matter. I just want you and Dad to know I'm safe. And I'm happy."
"But your A levels? What about them?"
Tom had forgotten about his exams. No, not forgotten. It was an aspect of his life with no importance. He hadn't given his A levels a second's thought since waking up that last morning in Luton over a week earlier.
"I don't know, Mum. But I need to be here now. And it'll be okay. Trust me."
"At least tell me where you are. We're worried sick."
"Mum, I'm in Shropshire. Camping. In a field."
"You? Camping? In the fresh air? Well, that's a turn-up. You're old enough to do what you like. We are just upset you didn't tell us."
"It was kind of snap decision, Mum. I'm sorry."
"When are you coming home?"
Tom bit his lip. He couldn't tell her that he was home. Not without hurting her. And he could hardly tell her about the gathering darkness they all knew was on its way.
"I don't know. There's something I need to do first. Something we all need to do."
"All? Is this some sort of rave?"
"Mum, it's not the nineteen-nineties. I'll call again soon."
Now, as Tom walked away from the Devil's Chair, he wondered if his parents, or anyone else, would ever understand what was happening in this quiet corner of Shropshire. It wasn't as if he knew himself. Not really, not yet. He was too happy to care, though. As he followed the path downhill, the field came into view. When he, Kate, and Shannon had arrived and pitched their tent, the field had been empty. Ellie Craxton, the daughter of the farmer who owned the land, had joined them that first night, bringing her own tent. Her father, a strict and somewhat bad-tempered man, had uncharacteristically agreed she and her friends could use the fallow fields at the base of the Stiperstones.
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