In reality, her primary school hall could only have held a hundred people when it was full, but her mental image had no such limitation. She had extended it to fit the two hundred-plus children in Craxton's field. For now, the back of the hall was in semi-darkness. When she had met the children, she could bring up the lights and fill in some details.
The Deterrent had fathered a great deal of children during his stint as Britain's superhero. The majority died in puberty. Many others had died young. Violent deaths were not uncommon, and their suicide rate was higher than average. A year ago, according to the files, there were fewer than forty halfheroes still alive. Since then, they had all disappeared. Just before Titus Gorman's economic coup and the appearance of the titans, every halfhero had gone missing. The only reported sightings since were on the Liberace.
Nine giant figures on the stage. Three halfheroes and one woman at floor level. Bardock looked back at the darkened end of the hall.
Three generations. The Deterrent, his children—the few who remained—and his grandchildren, all of whom had left home and come to Shropshire.
Why?
A boy emerged from the middle of the camp and picked his way through the maze of tents as Bardock descended. By the time she was a hundred yards away, he was perched on top of the gate, a straw hat on his head and a welcoming smile on his face.
She smiled in return, then stopped. She stopped walking, too. The boy on the gate looked surprised, then confused. He glanced over his shoulder at the others in the field, then back at her.
Bardock closed her eyes. She had never been an imaginative person. At school, she had excelled at maths and science, an aptitude that would lead her to a physics degree at Oxford before her career in the RAF. Her English teacher had once described her attempts at creative writing as 'like reading an autopsy report.' It was only since retiring that she'd pursued something creative for the pure delight of it. Her paintings were abstract, full of light, ambiguous. She didn't understand them, but she loved them.
It was this wild, uncharted part of her mind that stirred now. Not because of the beauty of the hills, clouds scudding above the ridges. This was different. Bardock remembered the sensation when the halfhero had planted a foreign thought in her mind. If that incursion into her mind had been like a punch to the head, this was more like a caress, a gentle stroking of the skin.
It started with a lift in mood. Tiny, barely perceptible, like a familiar melody heard through a closed door. Bardock distrusted that glimpse of happiness. She knew how her depression worked. There were only two ways out of that dark furrow. One was time. She could grit her teeth and wait it out. The other way out was work. If she had a challenging investigation in which she could immerse herself, her mind would eventually shake off the depression.
This unexpected bubble of happiness was neither. This was something else. Someone else. She detached herself from her own mental state and became an observer, watching the movements of her mind. Happiness was too broad a term for what was happening. She could observe different elements working simultaneously. There was a sense of non-judgmental acceptance, like walking into a room full of people who liked her. People who loved her. The sensation seeping into her consciousness was heady stuff. She looked again, observing another layer, this time of peace and understanding. Those two words were often bandied around together and Bardock had never thought about them. She did now. Peace and understanding. You couldn't have one without the other; couldn't make peace with someone until you understood them. And you couldn't understand someone with whom you were fighting.
Bardock was tempted to let go of her detachment and allow these feelings to touch the heart of her. Very tempted. She was told she had been a difficult child to love. There had been no close friends at school, no steady boyfriend or girlfriend at university. Her sexual partners had been lovers in name only. Only Jake had been different.
She wasn't prepared for this radical acceptance. She clung on to her detachment with the determination that had made her the most respected investigator in the British military. Opening her eyes, she took some quick breaths. The boy jumped down and opened the gate as she approached.
"Hi," he said, holding out a hand. "I'm Tom. Tom Evans."
She shook the preferred hand. He held eye contact better than she did. Unusual for someone his age.
"Bardock," she said.
"We know." She followed the teenager through the camp. Everyone continued doing what they were doing, the youngest ones chasing each other between the tents or playing French cricket in a small clearing.
"You are the only person who has responded this way. You are aware of us, aren't you?"
Bardock stopped walking. "If you mean, did I feel you try to get into my head, yes I did," she said.
Tom's face fell. "We're not trying to get into your head. It isn't like that. It just happens."
"Answer a question for me," said Bardock. "Why are you here? And don't bother with the performance piece story you told the reporters."
"Oh, I wasn't going to," said Tom. "No point with you. We don't know why we're here. Not yet. We're waiting." His eyes flicked away from her, and she felt a brief jolt of fear from the teenagers.
Bardock pulled a photograph out of her jacket pocket and unfolded it. It was a picture of Daniel Harbin, the most recent they had on record. She held it in front of Tom. His eyes dropped to it and, a second later, everyone in the field stopped what they were doing and turned towards her.
"Do you know who that is?" she said.
Tom looked up at her. "Yes. It's my father, isn't it? My real father, I mean. May I?"
She let him take the picture, surprised to see tears in his eyes. According to the file, Harbin was childless. In the school hall inside her mind, the big man looked at the children.
"I think we have a great deal to discuss," said Bardock, sliding the straps of the rucksack from her shoulders and letting it fall behind her. "Where can I pitch my tent? You said you're waiting to find out why you're here. That's fine. I'll wait, too."
30
Daniel was back in the other place, looking through someone else's eyes. The body that didn't belong to him was, once again, covered in furs. Underneath the furs a synthetic material sheathed his entire skin, providing extra insulation, becoming porous in places.
He knew more now, much more. The experience was richer. All nine of the First were linked, each contributing to the memory they shared.
The first thing he noticed was that he didn't have a nose. He was breathing, but it was happening in his neck. Or, rather, in the area where he should have a neck. His body was so different, it was next to impossible to find common terms of reference to make sense of anything.
This time, as he turned away from the frozen vista of the uninhabitable planet, he knew his body to be fluid in some sense. At least, he wasn't stuck in one form. When he walked down the curved ramp, limbs changed inside the garments. Then the adaptability and elasticity of the inner, synthetic sheath made sense, because it allowed the body to flow into new shapes. He had been taller when he looked at the ice mountains and the dying trees, maybe nine feet or more. Now, as he approached the chamber, he was closer to the ground, moving fast, and six or more limbs were powering him towards the waiting machinery.
He was almost the last to enter his capsule. The other cylinders in the chambers were already closed and sealed. The process would not be triggered until the final member of the team climbed into their capsule and spoke—thought into being?—the word which would transform them all. If it worked.
Daniel was still thinking of himself as he, but in this body, there was no male, no female.
Someone was waiting for him in the chamber. There were no names. The sense of individuality was very different to anything Daniel had imagined. He was onemind, and he was himself, and he was neither of those things, and he was both. Daniel's human mind needed a name to attach to the one who waited for him. Something popped into his mind, but he knew it had c
ome from Sara or TripleDee rather than one of the First. It seemed to fit, as the figure waiting for him was the oldest, the one who had initiated this final chance to save their species. His name was Methuselah.
There were no words between them as Daniel's body morphed again, rising up alongside the capsule that would either save him or be his tomb. He climbed inside, opening more fully to onemind. He allowed his individuality to diminish, connecting with every other body inside similar chambers. The link was missing with those in other parts of the planet who had already started the process. This was expected, but distressing.
The top of the capsule descended, and he looked through its transparent lid at Methuselah. The old one looked back, then two awful events occurred in quick succession.
The first event was Methuselah withdrawing from onemind. This was so rare it was almost inconceivable. Only when death was imminent would a First deliberately sever that final connection.
Methuselah had removed himself, and it was like losing a limb. Daniel experienced the utter horror of what the oldest one of them had done, along with the terrible suspicion of why he had done it. He was planning on going to the surface. He believed the process might work without the capsules and he was risking his life to test his hypothesis.
Daniel's shared mind considered what Methuselah had done. He had betrayed those few remaining, those who hadn't perished as the temperature plummeted and the continents tore themselves apart; those who had watched the others depart on great ships pointed at distant stars and had felt the onemind rip away as the vast engines took them out of reach forever. They had chosen an experimental form of hibernation, barely alive, hoping the capsules would survive millennia and wake them when the planet was ready once more.
But Methuselah had betrayed that choice. They all heard the oldest of them sound the word that would begin the process and separate them forever.
All thoughts of this incomprehensible display of hubris from one of their greatest minds vanished as the pain began. Daniel, Sara, and TripleDee, trapped inside an unfamiliar body, could do nothing to escape as, cell by cell, their physical form broke up in the capsule.
Onemind allowed every occupant of the capsules in the chamber to share the indescribable agony, the undoing of their bodies. Their awareness of who they were was torn away, leaving only pain; then nothing but a dark movement, a withdrawal, a long, last breath drawing them into a black ocean that swallowed the world.
Daniel opened his eyes. His scattered sense of himself reassembled, and he shook his head at the enormity of what he had witnessed.
He sat down on the scrubby grass. Sara and TripleDee did the same. They all felt the loss. So few of an entire species now remained, and their onemind was a fraction of what it must once have been.
"Abos," he whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"As are we," said Abos, and it was then that the final revelation became clear to Daniel. He looked at Sara and could see she had worked it out long ago.
Saffi walked into the yard. "Anyone fancy tea?" she said. "I can make a fresh pot."
She looked at Daniel and knelt, taking his face in her hands.
"What is it?" she said. "What did you see?"
"They're not aliens," said Daniel, pointing at Abos and the First. "We are."
"What do you mean?"
"The frozen planet I told you about. I thought maybe they were escaping it to come here. They weren't. It was here. That's why they're the First, Saffi. They were the first intelligent life on Earth."
Sara's protests that the First owed humanity nothing stopped after she discovered the truth of their origins.
Abos had a chilling warning for them once they had explained what they had seen to Saffi.
"If we do not help you," he said, "you will continue to follow the path we followed. Our technology was far, far, beyond yours, yet we were so arrogant, we treated Earth as if it existed only for our convenience. Humanity shares our blindness, and humanity will share our fate if they do not change. To thrive, Earth needs balance between different species. When one species threatens that balance, and comes to dominate the natural order, Earth reacts to restore balance. She did so with the First, becoming hostile to almost all life to start anew. Our arrogance continued with the attempt to survive the purge. We are all that is left from that attempt, ignorant of our history until now. The hundreds, or thousands of us who didn't make it would have formed a onemind powerful enough to rebuild our society, displacing whatever creatures had evolved since. I am glad we failed. We can help you before the earth acts again to restore balance."
"You would help us after we made you our slaves?" said Sara.
"We would. We will show humanity that the most intelligent, most powerful species does not have to dominate others."
"How?"
Abos put a hand on Sara's cheek, his golden eyes looking into hers.
"We have displaced humans at the top of the food chain," he said. "But we choose not to enslave. We have to inspire trust, not fear. Our two species must learn to live together to our mutual benefit. If we do not, Earth will act against us again."
Daniel wanted practical answers. "How are you going to help?" he said. "What are you going to do?"
"It will take time," said Abos. "Our strength, and what knowledge we can impart to your scientists can create new sources of energy, and ensure all humans have food, shelter, education and access to healthcare."
"You're sounding like bloody Titus Gorman," said TripleDee. "And look what happened to that poor bastard."
"His ideas had merit," said Abos, "but his methods were poor."
"Yeah, reet, whatever you say, man." TripleDee had not been a fan of Gorman's 'commie shite'.
"Human population growth is unsustainable," continued Abos. "Rich countries have steady, or declining populations, but their inhabitants live longer than they did a century ago. Poor countries are growing fast. Wealth and knowledge need to be shared globally. Equality between men and women must be prioritised."
"More Gorman crap," said TripleDee. "Now, I'm no sexist, you all know that, but women are the only ones who can have babies, like, so I'm just saying..."
Sara was looking at him. Saffi was looking at him. Abos, who had been a man three times and a woman twice since nineteen seventy-nine, was looking at him. All the First, five of whom were currently female, were looking at him. Even Daniel was looking at him.
"Er, well, mebbe you're onto something. I'm not saying I'm right, necessarily, I'm just saying there are other points of view, that's all."
Sara chose her words carefully. "And my point of view is worth less than yours because I have a vagina?"
"Ah, well, no, I didn't mean, that is, don't get your knickers in a—um, don't get upset, it's just, it's just..."
"Just what?"
"Just... nothing." TripleDee looked at his father, who had been exactly the same person when he was female. The weakness of his argument became clear.
"Right. All things considered, it's just possible, on this occasion, like, that—bearing in mind the way I was brought up and everything—that, perhaps..."
"Apology accepted," said Sara.
Daniel was still after details from Abos. "You want to slow down population growth and level the playing field for everyone. No argument from me. What else?"
"Stop developing using unsustainable technologies. Plant more trees than you cut down. Abandon plastic, develop materials that break down naturally. Encourage countries to work together, to let go of the tribal system that leads to conflict."
"Not ambitious at all, then?" said Daniel.
"We must try," said Abos. "Most humans want to coexist with other humans and other species. We can help that happen sooner than it would without us."
Sara had been quiet for a while. She was looking at Abos and the rest of the First, thinking. Eventually, she smiled.
"That's a knowing smile," said Daniel. "What are you thinking?"
"Abos?" she said. "Four males, fiv
e females. Are you thinking of increasing the population a little yourselves?"
“Once humanity has learned to trust us," said Abos, "yes."
The film crew was allowed inside the perimeter with a military escort which remained outside.
The kitchen would be the location for the broadcast. Daniel wondered how long it would take viewers to realise it was the same kitchen that had appeared on giant billboards in Manhattan just before The Deterrent left America.
As nine o'clock approached, the First, Sara, and TripleDee walked out to the laboratory which had housed big bathtubs, tables, a giant fridge, and not much else. Now it was full of recently delivered garden furniture and a fifty-inch television.
TripleDee turned on the TV at 8pm. When he turned and saw Sara, Abos, Shuck, Susan, and the other superbeings leaning back on floral-patterned cushioned furniture, he burst out laughing.
"Oh, man," he said, then laughed again, "I don't know. You should see yourselves. Gotta get a selfie. Bugger. Hang on, hang on, I can't get meself in as well as you lot."
He held his phone as high as he could, fumbled and dropped it. It fell a foot, stopped in mid-air, then floated higher than he could reach.
"Take a seat," said Shuck. Or Susan. TripleDee had forgotten and felt bad asking. It got confusing when, just after you'd got used to the way someone looked, they dissolved into a puddle of slime and came back looking like someone else. He sat down next to Sara and grinned up at his phone.
Shuck or Susan held a finger up towards the floating phone. "Ready?"
They all smiled dutifully and the technically redundant but comforting sound of a camera shutter let them know the photo had been taken.
The phone floated back to TripleDee. He looked, laughed, and handed it to Sara. She grinned at the incongruous sight of nine superbeings, most holding mugs of tea, relaxing in green and yellow garden chairs.
It was the last photograph that would ever be taken of all of them together.
The Last Of The First Page 17
