Bardock had already turned her back on him.
"Gregg," she called, "get over here and ask him how a small boat can transfer its occupants to a cargo ship. Try to get it done in under twenty minutes."
She pulled out her phone and called Jameson's direct line. He answered on the second ring.
"Jameson."
"Two things. Can you get in touch with every ship that was in the water anywhere near Cornwall yesterday and offer a massive reward to anyone who thinks their ship might have picked up passengers at sea?"
"Of course. What else?"
"Can you put me in touch with the nearest American military vessel in the Atlantic?"
Daniel was in two places at once. He was on the container ship Liberace, somewhere between Ireland and America. There was a metal floor underneath his feet. He was inside a forty-foot container nestled in a stack of similar containers. Sara, TripleDee, Abos, and Saffi were with him. In this place, it was Saffi he looked at, Saffi he reached out to. It was Saffi's hand he held. He drew her close, and she put her arms around him.
In the other place, Saffi wasn't there. She couldn't follow him. Onboard the ship, he held her tighter as his consciousness left her far behind.
Daniel was an observer in the other place. It was as passive an experience as watching a film, but he was there. Daniel saw the other place through eyes that weren't his own. They couldn't be. For a start, there were two of them. He had to adjust to the strange sensation of seeing the world through a pair of eyes. But he wasn't afraid. He knew the others were with him. And Abos was guiding them.
He was inside a mountain, standing in an enormous artificial cave. A vast screen showed the view outside. He wore layers of a synthetic material designed to maximise his body heat, minimising the energy needed to keep the caves warm. It was still cold.
The mountain's natural caves had been requisitioned, enlarged, and linked by tunnels a decade earlier. Only a few hundred individuals remained there now. The last communication from the only other outpost had been received over a month ago.
The screen showed a landscape becoming less hospitable by the day. Daniel could see three trees - the only three in sight big enough to be visible through the crust of snow and ice. They were dead, as were the birds that had once made nests in their branches.
He walked down the curving ramp leading to the chamber containing machinery on which the last remaining chance of survival depended. Survival of a sort, anyway. They had rushed their experiments of late, cutting corners as conditions worsened. What should have taken twenty years, they had tried to achieve in two. There would be no time for checks. It would take weeks to effect the changes in physiology necessary for survival, with no guarantee of success. They might end up dead, or worse, mindless monsters. They might emerge too soon, and crawl out to die on the crust of ice covering their empty, frozen cities.
He reached the chamber. The others were there, robed in furs as he was, hoods and cloth coverings obscuring their features. Only their golden eyes were visible.
It was the end of times. Their planet was changing, just as the scientists had predicted. Billions had refused to listen, accusing the scientists of scaremongering. Billions refused to listen, and billions died.
The scientists made their own plans during the last decades. They had long been capable of building craft that could carry them through the inhospitable reaches of space, but they knew the journey to find a new home might take hundreds, or even thousands, of generations. They assembled the ships in orbit around the planet. When the giant craft were ready, shuttles began moving thirty-thousand individuals aboard, a tiny fraction of the planet's population.
Years before the climate changes came to pass, the massive engines of the leviathans lit up, and those left behind looked up into the night sky with scorn, amusement, pity, horror, or regret, as the explorers left them behind. Those on board the fleeing ships watched their home recede knowing they would die on those vessels, never setting foot on land again. It would be their ancestors who would take that step, starting anew on the first planet that could support life. When, or if, they found one, could they be sure their descendants wouldn't selfishly ravage the new planet? Even those not prone to cynicism wondered if their great-grandchildren's great-grandchildren would avoid the catastrophic mistakes of their ancestors.
Left behind, the scientists turned back to the other project that might yet save their species. They worked tirelessly as the days grew shorter, and colder, and the nights became so bitter that their bodies could not survive outside for more than a few minutes.
They had evolved from the simplest of organisms over billions of years, becoming an intelligent species with its own societal structures, its own art and culture, its own discoveries, inventions, and intellectual constructs. But they had made a misjudgement, had failed to see the inevitable consequences of the impending planetary changes until it was too late.
Even as the greatest minds among them worked to prepare one last chance for some to survive, they knew they were unlikely to succeed. And, even if they did, their civilisation would be lost forever. Time would do its work over millennia. Towers would crumble into dust, great works of art and literature would vanish, and no one would be left to mourn the loss. The planet would endure, but no trace of their achievements, of their presence even, would remain.
No one would remember the First unless they remembered themselves.
He walked forward into the chamber, lay down where he was directed and waited for death, or—possibly—rebirth.
Daniel was first to re-adapt to his surroundings as onemind dissolved. His sense of the cold chamber in the unfamiliar world faded, and he was aware of Saffi's face looking up at him, her mouth moving, panic in her eyes.
Sound returned all at once, and he heard the roar of jet engines outside, the rhythmic thock of helicopter rotors. He looked at Saffi in confusion.
We're in the middle of the Atlantic. How can there be a helicopter outside?
Then Saffi's words penetrated the last of the fog lifting from his mind.
"It's the US Navy, Daniel. They're threatening to board us."
16
Bardock stood on the bridge of the USS Smithwatson, one of the newest Nimitz-class nuclear aircraft carriers in the American fleet. She looked across at the tired, rust-flecked hull of the MV Liberace, which had now come to a stop. They had delivered an ultimatum and given them five minutes to respond. There were three minutes left.
She handed the binoculars back to Admiral Conley.
"How difficult would it be to board?" she said.
He shrugged. "Not difficult at all. We drop troops off by helicopter, use fighters to provide covering fire. Or we torpedo the prow and wait until they're in the lifeboats. Then we can just pick them up."
"I like your thinking, sir. But my orders are that the lives of the titans cannot be risked."
Conley shrugged again. The situation contained elements he'd never encountered before in a long and distinguished career. He wasn't overly impressed by the instructions he'd received from the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff telling him to take orders from the British woman. Matters had got even worse ten minutes later when the Commander-in-Chief had called with orders of his own. "If you can't get them back, sink the ship. No survivors. If I—or, rather, America—can't have superheroes, no one will."
Conley looked at Bardock.
"I heard they can fly," he said. "It's not as if they're gonna drown, right?"
On a satellite phone during the flight to the Smithwatson, Bardock had been briefed by Curwan, one of the Pentagon scientists. She knew about the titans' dormant state. Now she needed to know more, and what Curwan told her during that call, or—rather—what he didn't tell her, made her uncomfortable. According to Curwan, if the right conditions were available, the titans could grow fresh bodies in seventy-two hours. Which gave her twenty hours to act if the regrowth process had begun immediately on boarding the container ship.
&n
bsp; Bardock had asked Curwan the obvious question.
"If they grow new bodies, won't they fly back to America?"
The scientist had clammed up. He had not explained his opinion that the titans would be less than enthusiastic to resume their duties. Instead, he had insisted Bardock recapture them while they were still dormant or—if she were too late for that—before their new bodies were fully grown. A scientific team was on its way to the Smithwatson. Curwan claimed they would bring the equipment necessary to ensure the titans would continue to be true patriots. Whatever that meant.
Bardock had spent the rest of the flight mulling over the implications of the conversation, putting the new information together with what she already knew about The Deterrent. There was another piece to this puzzle: the fact that halfheroes were involved. Jerry Sotterly's description of 'Steve', the man he had dealt with when he had loaded his van with milk cans, didn't match TripleDee, but it did closely match someone else on a classified database. Daniel Harbin, the first child of The Deterrent. His file had been full of holes that suggested redactions at senior level. He was presumed dead. Presumed.
The Deterrent was the father of the halfheroes. And it had been The Deterrent who had led the titans into the trap. For the first time since taking the case, Bardock allowed herself to speculate about motive, rather than letting the facts guide her. Why would The Deterrent want to cause harm to other members of his species? Why did he desert the titans in New York? And how were his children involved?
With thirty seconds left until the deadline expired, the radio buzzed. Admiral Conley picked up his headset.
"Bardock," he said, handing over the radio and picking up a second headset, "they want to negotiate. You're the officer in charge of this operation."
She took the headset.
"Who am I speaking to?" she said.
"That's hardly important." It was a female voice, British, possibly Midlands.
"My name is Air Commodore Bardock. You are suspected of killing, or kidnapping the titans. We are about to board the Liberace. Come out on deck where we can see you. Unarmed."
"Let's not waste time playing games, Air Commodore Bardock."
"Just Bardock."
"Bardock, then. Yes, we have the titans. They are in a container on this ship. They are in their dormant state - I will assume you know what that means. I'd have no compunction about throwing them overboard if you come anywhere near us. They'd sink. And we are five thousand metres above the bottom of the Atlantic. They'd be lost forever. If it had crossed your mind to torpedo us, consider the consequences."
"This is not a negotiation," said Bardock. "You have stolen the property of the United States. I am speaking to you from the USS Smithwatson, a nuclear aircraft carrier with the capacity to blow your ship out of the water in a dozen different ways."
"Property?" the female voice sounded genuinely angry. Interesting. The woman’s outrage on the titans’ behalf belied her threat to throw them overboard. "Property? They are sentient, they are intelligent—they are nobody's property, Bardock. Here's a suggestion. Why not let them make their own decision about whether they want to be the president's poster boys. How does that sound?"
"Yes. I agree. Once you've returned them."
"Okay. We'll hand them over in forty-eight hours."
Bardock said nothing. Forty-eight hours fitted with what Curwan had told Bardock about the time-scale needed for the titans to regrow bodies. She couldn't give them forty-eight hours. Despite her claim, this woman was playing games. Their source on the Liberace had mentioned two men and two women. TripleDee and Harbin accounted for the men. Bardock was convinced she was talking to the brains behind the whole operation. Who else would lead the negotiations? But who was she? Another halfhero?
At that moment, something occurred which convinced Bardock the woman she was speaking to was The Deterrent's daughter. According to the reports Bardock had read, some halfheroes could influence other people mentally, manipulating another person's thoughts. Bardock had paid little heed to that idea as it seemed so outlandish. Now, she wished she'd spent more time studying those reports. A voice had just spoken in her mind.
I should give them the time they need. The situation is delicate. If we try to board, there are too many unknowns, and we risk losing the titans.
Bardock took the headset away from her ear and looked at Admiral Conley.
"Did you hear something?" she said.
He shook his head. "What kind of thing?"
"It doesn't matter." Bardock didn't put the headset back on immediately. She waited. Sure enough, after a few seconds, the voice returned. It was a familiar voice. It was her own voice.
I should give them the time they asked for. That's the right decision.
Bardock's mind was, as anyone who had ever worked with her would confirm, unusual. Her reputation had been made on the back of cases where she had reasoned her way to conclusions which astounded those around her. When she had explained the chain of logic she had followed, everything made perfect sense, but it was clear to her superiors that her gift was rare, if not unique. She could observe a crime scene with a level of attention others had grown out of before primary school. Bardock saw the scene as it was - seeing everything, without imposing filters. She could hold every detail in her mind. Such an ability might have been debilitating, rendering her unable to function, but Bardock's toddler-like attention was combined with a degree of concentration rarely found outside world-class athletes. Once she had stored every detail internally, she could zoom into any part of a scene and apply her incisive reasoning before zooming out again to see how her conclusions affected the rest of the picture.
As a child, her unusual manner, combined with clumsy social skills, had set her apart. After a period of illness in her teens, which her mother insisted was psychosomatic, she was sent to a psychiatrist. After a series of tests, he offered a diagnosis which gave her mother a label she could apply to her troublesome daughter. Bardock didn't have much time for labels.
Her unique mind turned out to be anything but a handicap when she joined the military. It had saved her own life, and others, many times. And right now, it was handing her an advantage.
Bardock watched the alien thoughts arise in her mind with a kind of stunned fascination. This woman—this halfhero—talking to her from the Liberace, was trying to manipulate her mind. If it had been anyone else, she might have succeeded.
Bardock thought fast. If she refused to go along with the woman's demands, she would reveal that she was impervious to her power. Better to play along, make her think it had worked. That way, they wouldn't be expecting the attack when it came.
She pushed the headset to her ear and spoke into the mic.
"Okay. We'll give you some time."
"You will?"
The voice sounded surprised. Maybe she'd sensed resistance from Bardock when she was planting thoughts in her head. Bardock decided to give her something else to worry about.
"Not forty-eight hours," she said. "It's now sixteen hundred hours. You have until six tomorrow morning. Fourteen hours."
There was no reply. Bardock wondered who the woman was talking to, what they were discussing. Then the line clicked open again.
"Very well. Six o'clock."
Bardock put the headset on the desk. The admiral gave her a look.
"I hope you know what you're doing," he said.
Bardock had no intention of keeping her word. If the halfhero believed she had successfully influenced Bardock's thoughts, she would be unprepared for what was coming next.
She turned to Admiral Conley.
"Navy Seals on board?"
"Yes."
"Good. I'll need a squad. We'll board in an hour."
On the Liberace, Sara handed the radio back to an ashen Captain Andreas. His eyes flicked from her to Daniel and TripleDee.
Daniel put his face a few inches from the captain's sweaty brow.
"I see that the president of the United States
has offered a ten million dollar reward for information leading to the recovery of the titans. I already know you're a man who can be bought. Did you sell us out?"
Andreas shook his head. As his entire body was already shaking, it made him look like a nodding dog on the dashboard of a car.
"N-n-no, not m-me, no, of c-c-course not. We have a d-deal."
"Yes. Or, rather, we had a deal. Now get on the PA system and assemble your crew."
Andreas slid gratefully away from the man looming over him and sat at the console on the bridge. He took a few calming breaths before speaking into the microphone.
"Attention all crew. This is your captain. B-brief immediately in the assembling room. That is, Room assembly in the immediate brief. Er, all crew. Briefing room. Now."
Twenty minutes later, Captain Andreas and his crew were locked into the 'Citadel,' their secure hiding place in the event pirates boarded the vessel. As well as food, drink, and a ventilation system, there was a radio in there. Until Daniel punched it and it fell apart in a shower of tiny components.
Before leaving, Daniel opened the weapons locker, removed the six machine guns inside and bent three of the barrels out of shape with his bare hands, snapping the others in half over his knee.
"Don't try anything silly," he advised as he left, and they all agreed that they wouldn't.
Back on the bridge of the Liberace, Daniel found the others waiting for him.
"I still can't get me head around the whole First stuff," said TripleDee. "I mean, we were there, right? What planet were we on? When was that? Why couldn't Saffi see it??"
Sara put a finger up to her lips.
"I'm as interested to find out as you are," she said, "but we have more pressing problems. I don't know how successful I was at nudging that Bardock woman. She resisted. And she was different, her mind was different. It was as if she knew I was there. It's never happened before. I can't tell you if I influenced her."
The Last Of The First (Halfhero Book 3) Page 9