"Kiddie? You don't have a clue what you're talking about. Blade Runner is—"
Saffi, happy to hear the two of them bickering again, interrupted. "Perhaps you could educate him another time, Daniel. What are you trying to tell us?"
"Oh. Yeah. Right. Well, what I'm saying is, I've had this thing going on, like a note in my head, but it started so quietly, I forgot it was there. Until now."
"Why?" said Saffi. "Has it stopped?"
"The opposite," said Daniel. It's bigger, much bigger. It was just one note, now it's a band. One violin, then a whole orchestra. But it's not music, it's something else. It's... I can't explain it. Like curtains opening to show you a view. Er, like walking into a room thinking it's the toilet, but it's a massive auditorium instead. Like me getting my other eye back. And a few more eyes, too."
"I think I've got it," said TripleDee.
"Really?" said Daniel.
"Really. You're a fiddle player with loads of eyes who needs a shit."
"Oh fuck off."
Six of them sat around the fire as Tom passed them freshly baked bread and mugs of coffee, along with apples and pears from nearby orchards.
Coming face-to-face with all one hundred and eight of his children, so soon after the arrival of the Old Man, the loss of Abos, and the death of Sara was a shock. Despite Daniel thinking he was ready—or as ready as anyone could be—it was overwhelming.
The children were just that: children. They were of all races. They were tall, short, thin, stocky. Some looked studious and serious, others were natural clowns. There were those who loved to be the centre of attention, and others who would rather find a quiet corner with a good book. Some were straight, some were gay, some were bisexual. Others were still unsure. This made some of them unhappy while others had accepted the ambiguity. In short, they were a typical group of teenagers. They were confused, confusing, excited, curious, and full of life.
They were beautiful. And Daniel was their father.
Saffi held his hand as he sank to his knees while his children took their first look at the massive one-eyed limping man whose death and resuscitation they had shared.
"All right, kids?" he managed, with a croaking whisper.
"Hi Dad," said Tom, swinging the gate open. "Hi..."
Saffi smiled at him. "Saffi," she said, "and TripleDee."
"Come in," said Tom. "Have some breakfast." He led the way into the camp, and a crowd of kids walked with the three newcomers.
The coffee was hot and sweet, and Daniel thought the bread tasted better than any he'd ever eaten. He tore chunks of it from the loaf and looked from Tom to Kate, then Shannon, then across the rows of faces, then back again, smiling all the while.
"Of course, we all have fathers," said Tom. "Most of our parents told us about their IVF treatment. The rest of the camp are the children of other halfheroes."
"I'm not here to replace your dads," said Daniel around a mouthful of bread. "I would never—"
"We know," said Tom. "And we know you didn't find out about us until recently."
"How?" said Saffi. "How could you know? It took the best hacker in the country for us to find out."
Tom looked at the others. None of them had ever tried to put into words what had drawn them together. There had been no need. Words could never get close to the level of communication they shared. "We... all of us who came here, I mean, all the children of... halfheroes..."
Tom paused, but no one filled the silence. They waited for him to describe the indescribable.
"We all dreamed the same dream. We knew we would find each other here. We knew there would be terrible danger. But we had to come, all of us. We... we are each other. A bit."
He laughed. "I knew this would be impossible. I am me, Tom Evans, but I am us."
"Like onemind," said Daniel, "or the webmind we formed to break out of White Sands."
"It's different for us," said Tom. "Onemind, and what you did at White Sands, took a conscious decision to form, and needed a dominant mind to guide it. With us, it never goes away. It's like... it's like..." He searched for a metaphor.
"An orchestra?" said Daniel, thinking of his own response to the children.
"Actually," said Tom, smiling, "yeah. Yeah. That works. You know when there are loads of violins and violas and cellos and double basses playing together, making one big sound?" His A-level music coursework was proving useful. "If you went close and listened to one violinist, put your ear next to the strings, you'd hear it clearly, but you'd miss the chord you'd hear if you listened to the whole orchestra. That's like us, we're playing a chord, but it's always moving, changing. I hear every note, and I am one of the notes. We need each individual note to make up the chords."
TripleDee looked at the teenagers sharply. "You weren't surprised when Daniel mentioned onemind. You knew about White Sands. No one knows about that. Talk."
TripleDee frowned at Tom. He gave the teenager a glowering look that had loosened the bowels of career criminals. Tom was unconcerned.
"You're not letting yourself feel it, Uncle."
TripleDee lowered his brows further. "You what? Hang on, uncle?"
"Daniel is my father," pointed out Tom, "and you are his half-brother."
TripleDee stared at Daniel, then at Tom, Kate, and Shannon. "Bugger me sideways," he said.
Tom picked up the saucepan of coffee and topped up their mugs, leaving TripleDee until last. He sat next to the Geordie and put a hand on his thick forearm.
"You're family. You are linked to us. We know what you know, we remember what you remember. We know about onemind, and we know what happened in White Sands."
TripleDee looked into the fire. When he spoke, his voice was quieter. "You know everything I've done?" he said. "Everything?"
"Yes," said Tom, his hand still on the big man's arm. "Everything."
"How can you bear to touch me if you know the things I've done?"
Tom waited for TripleDee to look at him.
"When there are no secrets, there is understanding. Separation is an illusion, so there can be no judgement."
"Haddaway," said TripleDee after a short silence. "Thank you, Confucius. I think I'll keep a bit of separateness if it's all the same to you."
Tom went back to his place, leaving TripleDee looking shaken. The teenager exchanged glances with Kate and Shannon.
"Right," he said. "It's time we talked about the Methuselah - the Old Man."
35
Commodore Fiona Bardock unzipped her tent at dawn to find Tom Evans, Daniel Harbin, TripleDee, and Saffi Narad waiting for her.
"I know you're here because of the First," said Daniel. "Tom told us you were on the Smithwatson when it torpedoed the Liberace."
Bardock crawled out of the tent and stood up. Daniel continued before she could speak. "He says you tried to stop it happening and were locked up because of it."
Bardock nodded.
"It was you who worked out we were on the Liberace, wasn't it?"
She nodded again.
"You got to us faster than Sara expected."
"The other halfhero?" said Bardock. "The one who got inside my mind? Where is—"
TripleDee interrupted her. "Dead," he said flatly.
Empathy had never been Bardock's strong suit, and, although she picked up on their physical signs of grief, she skipped offering the empty condolences of a stranger. "She planned the kidnapping of the titans?"
Well," said Saffi, "it's not kidnapping when you're rescuing intelligent beings who've been drugged and brainwashed, is it?"
Bardock frowned at the other woman. She had checked Saffi Narad's file the night the First's statement was scheduled to be televised. United Nations, middle-management, but with a suspiciously quiet career that suggested it was a front for something more sensitive. Not much of a stretch to conclude it was something involving halfheroes.
"Brainwashing?" said Bardock.
Daniel stepped in. "It's a long story."
Bardock looke
d at the three of them. "You are material witnesses to the disappearance of the titans two nights ago."
"The First," corrected Saffi.
"Whatever. The most powerful beings on the planet are missing, and we do not know if they are hostile. I will have to take you in."
"You and whose bloody army?" said TripleDee.
"The British army."
Saffi shook her head. "No one is going anywhere," She stepped forward as if she were going to put her hand on Bardock's arm. "Ms Bardock?"
Bardock moved out of range. "Just Bardock."
"The situation has changed. We need your help."
Tom stepped out from the maze of tents behind them.
"I lied when I told you I didn't know why we were here," he said. "A dream brought us here. And it comes true tomorrow."
Bardock listened as Tom described their shared vision; the man rising into the sky above the Devil's Chair, coming to kill them. Daniel Harbin told her the Old Man had killed the female halfhero and now controlled the other titans.
"None of this is provable, is it?" she said. Bardock relied on facts. They were the solid, dense, smooth and heavy pebbles at the bottom of the stream. The water that rushed around them, babbling, noisy, attention-grabbing, was a distraction. To get to the facts, she had to reach through the water and feel for them. When she found one, she could pull it out and lay it next to the others. She could examine them, see how they might fit together.
"No," said Harbin. "We can prove nothing. But you feel the power here, don't you?"
Bardock shrugged. "I cannot deny these children have some sort of unexplained power, an inheritance from their grandfather, I suppose."
Daniel nodded. "More than that. They are something new. Something wonderful. We have to protect them from what's coming."
Bardock thought of the time she had spent in the camp and realised her depression had lifted. Even though her brain was wired in such a way that she always kept her distance, she was aware she was witnessing something new. Something... whole, something right. These children could change the world. If they survived the next twenty-four hours.
Her instinct was—for the first time in her life—telling her not to wait until the facts made everything clear, but to trust these children and the last two halfheroes. She examined her motives, observed her own mind, looked for discrepancies, or signs she had been mentally coerced. She found nothing.
TripleDee spoke, but Bardock raised a hand for silence.
"Let me think."
Bardock considered the consequences. If she trusted her gut, and was wrong, it would mean the end of her post-retirement career. It came down to this: listen to the pleas of half-human wanted criminals and the dreams of children, or continue to trust the logic and reason that had made her the most successful military investigator in the country.
Half an hour later, Bardock was on the phone to the United Kingdom's Chief Of Defence Staff. He took her call. If not for Bardock, he would never have been promoted to the top job in the British Armed Forces.
"Sir, I have information for you."
"And good morning to you, too, Bardock. It's been, what, a year since we last spoke?"
"Ten months and eight days, sir."
"Of course. What can I do for you?"
"Sir, I don't know where the First—the titans—are now, but I know where they will be tomorrow evening."
The pause while the Chief processed that revelation was short. Bardock respected his judgement, and that meant more to him than the row of medals on his chest.
"How did you come by this information?"
"I cannot tell you that, sir." Bardock thought it was a better approach than the truth, which was that a bunch of teenagers in a field had dreamed about it.
"Understood. How reliable is the information?"
"I have no doubts at all, sir. The First are now led by someone who sees humanity as his enemy. They will be here tomorrow."
"And where is here, Bardock?"
"The Stiperstones in Shropshire, sir."
Helicopters from RAF Shawbury were the first to arrive. The gliding club at the top of the Long Mynd was requisitioned, and the skies around the sleepy Shropshire villages were soon full of aircraft; some disgorging troops, others patrolling the area.
Anti-missile defences were considered the best weapon to use against the First, if they did turn out to be hostile. Six sites around the Devil's Chair, with a clear line of sight, were established by nightfall.
Armed troops camped on the far side of the hills. Bardock had insisted the route from Craxton's field to the Devil's Chair be left clear. That had been the hardest request for the Chief to agree to, but in light of her unblemished record of being right, he had reluctantly complied. If this was the one time she was wrong, and a couple of hundred teenagers were injured or worse as a result, his recent promotion would be the shortest in the history of the Defence Staff.
Local and national media were quickly alerted to the huge military build-up around the Stiperstones, and legal restraints were slapped on the desks of every news editor in the country. The freedom of the press would be respected, but if anyone breached the fifteen-mile perimeter set by the army, they would be fired upon.
Next morning, a glorious warm red light edged across Craxton's field as the sun rose. Bardock, Daniel, Saffi, and TripleDee stood at the edge of the field, staring up at the silhouetted pile of rocks that formed the Devil's Chair.
No one spoke until the sun was fully visible, each of them thinking it might be the last sunrise they ever saw.
The distant thrum of rotor blades couldn't drown out the songs of thousands of birds greeting the dawn as they did every morning, unaware of anything significant about this one.
"Can't believe them bloody kids are still asleep," said TripleDee.
"It's ten past five, mate," said Daniel, "and they're teenagers."
Ninety minutes later, there was movement in the camp behind them.
The grandchildren of The Deterrent even woke up in a coordinated way. There were only so many showers and toilets, but there was never a queue. The earliest risers were cooking breakfast by the time the last of them were dressed. Food was prepared and served at the right time, just as they needed it.
When Bardock, Saffi, Daniel and TripleDee reached the nearest fire pit, they were each handed a plate of toast, eggs, and beans.
"Coffee and tea in the pans on the fire," said the freckled girl who served them.
They ate unhurriedly. The sense of fate which had seeped into their minds meant every minute between now and the inevitable arrival of the Old Man seemed pre-ordained. They barely tasted the food, but they knew they needed the energy.
They went their separate ways after breakfast. Bardock called the general in charge of the operation. The troops were standing ready.
TripleDee went to see Tom Evans. He stood in front of the younger man, his fingers drumming against his leg.
"I, er, well, um... in me younger days, like," he began. "I, well, that's to say, I put it about a bit, like, and, you know, I sometimes wondered if... well... no, no, never mind. It's nothing. You carry on. You're... you're a good lad, Tom."
He turned and almost knocked over a girl who had quietly walked up behind him. She was about fourteen years old, her brown hair cut short and spiky. She was looking up at him with a stare he found hard to meet. Her head was cocked to one side, and the corner of her mouth twisted as she looked at him. It reminded him of someone. Someone he knew did that when they were thinking. That whole head on the side, twisty lip thing. Someone... oh.
TripleDee remembered who did that. It was him.
He tried to speak, but no words came.
"Yes," said the girl. "I am. My name is Sophie. Good to meet you, Dad."
She stepped into him, putting both her shoeless feet on top of his, wrapping her thin arms as far around his barrel chest as she could, and pressing her face against his shirt.
She was shaking, he realised. Shaki
ng really badly. Then he corrected that impression. He was shaking, his chest heaving. Slowly, he raised his arms. He put his left arm across her back. He lifted his right hand and put his fingers on her face as if he were touching a sculpture made of spun sugar. Her cheek was soft. He rested his hand there. There wasn't a single thought in his head, and it was wonderful.
When they parted, he looked at her. His daughter. He felt something give, something he'd been fighting.
"Oh," he said.
"You can hear the orchestra," said his daughter.
Daniel and Saffi went back to their tent and made love. It wasn't spontaneous, exactly, but neither was it pre-arranged. It was simply their response to the threat that approached. This might be their last day together. The children's dreams had offered no hint of who would prevail in the confrontation. Daniel and Saffi had seen Methuselah, had seen Abos and the others submitting to the creature's will, had seen him kill Sara at the same time as wresting control of onemind.
Although they didn't speak about it, both doubted anyone could prevail against such power, such rage.
They made love, the act through which they had sometimes been afforded a glimpse of what it might mean to lose themselves. They slept with their limbs knotted together, dreaming they might never be untangled.
Because this was the day they thought they were going to die.
36
The sun had been low in the sky in Tom's dream.
At four o’clock that afternoon, Daniel and TripleDee left the camp and walked up to the Devil's Chair before turning south for two-thirds of a mile. Cranberry Rock was the last outcrop of stones before the hill sloped down to the car park to the east and the poetically named Bog Mines to the west. It was an indication of TripleDee's sombre mood that he commented on neither name, not even to point out that there were no cranberries.
The ground-to-air missile launchers and the squads that manned them were invisible. TripleDee scanned the horizon with powerful binoculars, then handed them to Daniel.
"They're good. Canna see them at all. You?"
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