In his arms, he cradled Daniel's limp body.
"No," said Saffi, then repeated it, the sound becoming an incoherent cry of pain. "Noooo..."
Abos flew towards them and laid his son on the Liberace's hull next to the others. He didn't look at them. He didn't acknowledge their presence. He looked at the unmoving man, his golden eyes unreadable.
The only sounds were the smack of waves as they came up against the hull of the ship, and Saffi's awful involuntary screams of pain. TripleDee held her hand and Sara drew her head towards her, holding her tight, but the same terrible keening broke from her lips with every breath.
Daniel's face was grey, his lips blue. His chest wasn't moving.
Abos reached down and pulled his mouth open. He held his finger and thumb about an inch above Daniel's lips, as if about to thread an invisible needle.
Nothing happened immediately, but Saffi's screams quietened as she watched.
Then they saw it, a trickle of water about half an inch in diameter, rising from between Daniel's blue lips. As if pulling the water, Abos moved his hand up. The water followed, arcing away from the soaking body and splashing onto the hull a few feet away. The trickle got faster, becoming a stream. The water that had filled Daniel's stomach, lungs, and throat poured out of his body.
Within seconds, his lungs were empty again, but there was nothing telling them to inflate and deflate. Abos touched Daniel's face, rubbing his skin, looking at him. Daniel's eye patch was gone. With both eyelids closed, and his body still, he looked so unlike himself that Saffi turned away, her sobs returning.
TripleDee shuffled forward a few feet and put a hand on his father's shoulder.
"He's gone," he said in a voice so tender, no one from his previous life would have recognised it. "Abos, he's gone. You did all you could."
The face that turned towards him was full of pain and anger. Abos rarely displayed anything close to human emotion. It had taken TripleDee a long time to see the subtleties present in some of Abos's expressions. There were no subtleties now.
The most powerful being on earth scooped his son's lifeless body from the hull of the Liberace, rose fifteen feet into the air and turned to face the Smithwatson.
Admiral Conley had made his decision the moment before Abos had begun his flight towards the aircraft carrier. He hesitated for a moment before giving the order, hating himself for what he was about to do. Could he fire on seven unarmed individuals?
Conley's long, successful career in the US Navy owed much to his ability to make difficult, complicated decisions under pressure. He was calm and decisive in a crisis.
But, ultimately, like any soldier, he obeyed orders. The integrity of the entire military structure hung on that principle. His orders were to recapture the titans and their kidnappers and, if that was not possible, wipe them out.
There were three titans on what was left of the Liberace. Three titans and four people. His orders were clear, and they came from the Commander-in-Chief.
His hesitation meant he missed his best shot.
As the biggest titan rose from the Liberace, carrying a body, a torpedo left the Smithwatson to finish the container ship. Conley ordered the launch of two Seasparrows. The missiles were designed to counter supersonic attacks and high-G manoeuvring low velocity targets. They would take care of the approaching titan.
He bowed his head when he'd done it. Maybe it was time to retire, go home to Mary, buy that ranch they'd always talked about.
"May God have mercy on our souls," Conley whispered.
23
Abos was linked to onemind, which was growing stronger minute by minute as the other First continued the rapid development of their new bodies and brains. He saw the giveaway turbulence below the waterline of the Smithwatson as the torpedoes launched. The two First on the Liberace knew what he knew and stood up, facing the threat, their hands outstretched.
The torpedoes were half a second away from impact when the First lowered their hands. As they did so, the weapons changed course and passed under the hull of the container ship. They continued on their way, eventually exploding on the seabed at a depth of over five thousand metres, killing thousands of marine creatures, and rendering a large area barren for years.
Far above, Abos did not try to avoid the missiles. He saw them launch, their flaming tails pushing them towards him. Two million dollars worth of innovative technology carrying eighty-six-pound fragmentary warheads.
The unfamiliar look of anger was still on Abos's face.
To the horror of those watching from the Liberace, and the grim satisfaction of the observers on the Smithwatson, the Seasparrows converged on the target. TripleDee, Sara, and Saffi looked away.
There was no explosion.
The two missiles crossed paths a few yards away from each other, in front of Abos. They flew over what was left of the Liberace, drew two large arcs in the sky and, in perfect harmony, continued to bank until they were lined up on the vessel which had launched them.
A klaxon sounded on the aircraft carrier, and men and women scrambled to emergency stations. Admiral Conley, his first officer, and three other members of the crew stayed where they were. Any attempt to escape was futile. The missiles were heading towards the bridge.
"Brace for impact," said Conley, because that was what years of training and leadership had taught him to say. He knew a direct hit from two Seasparrows wouldn't even leave enough dental evidence for their families to identify them, so bracing wouldn't help much.
Conley didn't close his eyes. He watched his death approach with no outward sign of emotion.
It wasn't until the missiles—which came so close he could see the markings on their sides—roared by a few yards overhead that he let out all the breath he'd been holding.
Twelve seconds later, the sky behind the Smithwatson lit up with one of the most under-appreciated and overpriced firework displays in history as the two Seasparrows hit each other.
"Okay," said Conley. "Okay. Back to work, people. Where's the target?"
"Er, Sir?" The voice came from one of the crew members at the door to the bridge. The door was open and, stooping to get his bulk inside, and the body he carried, was the titan.
The sailors on duty snapped into action, raising their weapons and covering the threat. Without pausing as he walked inside, the giant looked at them and there were cries of shock and pain as every weapon blew apart, their constituent components falling to the deck in a hail of metal. The sailors cradled hands cut by the exploding weapons.
Conley was given no opportunity to speak.
"Get a doctor. Now. His heart has stopped." The titan's voice was the single most terrifying sound Conley had ever heard. It wasn't loud, but it was imbued with implacable resolve, and Conley heard it not just with his ears, but inside his mind. There was no threat, but the power came off the man in waves. And they'd all seen him defeat the most advanced anti-missile defences available. Conley knew that this titan—whatever the hell that was—could kill every man and woman on board his ship without raising a sweat.
He adapted to the new situation.
"Cincotti." His first officer stepped forward. He had trained as a doctor and, judging by the state of the man with the titan, Conley knew they couldn't wait for the medical team.
"There's a defib on the wall," said Cincotti. The titan laid the man on the floor. While Conley called for medics, he pulled the paddles down from the defibrillator and pressed the button to charge them before pushing up the man's T-shirt.
"Get me a towel!" he shouted. One of the crew, his cut hand tucked under his arm, passed a roll of absorbent paper and Cincotti mopped at the man's chest before applying the paddles.
A beep sounded in the otherwise silent room when the paddles were charged. Cincotti placed one above the right nipple and the other lower and to the left.
"Clear." Cincotti looked up at the giant with golden eyes, who didn't budge. He decided against asking a second time. He pressed the button.
The body jerked as the shock was delivered. Cincotti waited, but there was no response. He waited for the recharge and prepared to shock him a second time.
"Wait," said the giant, closing his eyes. After a moment, he nodded. "Now."
Cincotti pressed the button. The body jumped again, then fell back to the deck. The giant still had his eyes closed. Long seconds passed. Cincotti crouched beside the patient.
The man was dead. Surely the titan knew that. If he didn't, Cincotti was reluctant to tell him.
The corpse gasped, letting out a loud, "Argh." Cincotti shrieked and scrambled backwards, not because of what the body had done, but because the titan had made the same sound at the same moment, loudly enough to be heard at the other end of the ship.
The giant opened his disconcerting golden eyes and knelt by the resuscitated man.
"Daniel? Can you hear me?"
The man's eyelids flickered and opened. He looked at the titan, then at his surroundings, his expression confused.
"Where? What...?"
"You're safe," said the giant, his voice now as gentle as it had been terrifying a moment before. "You nearly drowned."
"Nearly?" The man's voice was hoarse and barely audible. "Wait. I died, didn't I?"
"Your heart stopped," said the titan. "You will be all right now."
The man tried to sit up, but his arms shook, and he fell back. The giant caught him and manoeuvred him into a sitting position, propped against the wall.
"Dying..." said the man, "dying's pretty horrible."
Cincotti realised that the patient was massive. Up against the titan, he hadn't seemed that big, but now he could see he was built like a wrestler crossed with a bear.
"But death?" continued the man, "that was okay. Didn't mind that so much. Weird. Always thought I would."
He tried to stand, and fell sideways, once again being caught by the titan.
The medical team rushed in and stopped dead at the sight that greeted them, looking from the enormous strangers to the admiral, then back again. The smaller stranger had defibrillator paddles stuck to his chest, so they went to him.
The titan allowed them to check the man's vital signs.
"How long was he in the water?"
The titan answered. "I found him ninety seconds after he lost consciousness. He was resuscitated two minutes later. I could have got him here more quickly, but you tried to kill me again."
Once more, there was no explicit threat in his words, but all those who heard them felt the power of the individual on the bridge. They all experienced the same instinctual, primitive fear, knowing they were in the presence of something that was not human.
The chief medic who had checked the patient's pulse, reflexes, and breathing, turned to the titan.
"He needs fluids, food, and rest."
"Yeah," muttered the patient, "food. Food sounds good. I could murder a curry."
"If he had been left any longer, he would have suffered irreversible brain damage. As it is, I cannot rule out brain damage completely. You should expect coordination problems and gaps in memory."
"Well," said the patient, evidently annoyed at not being spoken to directly, "I've never been very coordinated anyway, so I doubt anyone will notice." He turned to the titan. "And who are you again?"
"I am Abos, Daniel."
"Why do you keep calling me Daniel?"
The titan looked at the medics with alarm but turned back when Daniel started laughing, weakly, between coughs.
"Just winding you up. Kidding, Abos. It was a joke. Can we go now?"
"Yes, Daniel. We will go to Saffi, Sara, and TripleDee, then we will take you back to the First. After that, we will go home."
"Hang on," said Daniel "Who's Saffi? And Sara? And... the other one?"
The golden-eyed giant looked at him.
"All right, I'll stop now," said Daniel, smiling for the first time. "Come on, let's go. What are you going to do about this bunch of trigger-happy bastards?"
Instead of answering, the giant reached a hand towards him, they walked out of the bridge and soared into the air.
Admiral Conley, his officers, and the crew exchanged glances. Conley turned to his first officer.
"Set a course for NS Norfolk," he said. "Full speed. We're going home."
No one bothered to conceal their relief.
From the hull of the Liberace, a ragged cheer went up when Abos reemerged from the Smithwatson, Daniel now at his side, rather than cradled in his arms.
Saffi slumped against Sara and wept again, hugging the other woman.
TripleDee smiled. "You're one tough bastard, Harbin," he said, "I'll give you that."
Abos lowered Daniel to the side of the ship where he was hugged by his friends, disappearing behind a lattice of limbs.
"Anyone got a sandwich?" he said. "Or a bag of crisps, at least. Anyone?"
The ship groaned and moved beneath them. Sara looked up in concern but saw Abos and the two other First looking at the hull.
"We are stabilising it," said Abos. "It will be an hour or more before it sinks. We will return long before then."
"What?" said Sara. "Where are you going?"
Abos looked at the Smithwatson.
"To deliver a message."
The Smithwatson lurched as if it had been struck by a missile.
"Damage report!" shouted Conley.
"Sir?" It was Cincotti. He sounded odd, his voice tight.
Conley wheeled on him. "Get me my goddamn damage report. Now!"
Cincotti didn't move. He spoke again, his voice soft, full of fear and wonder.
"Sir? Outside."
Conley looked outside. Then he looked at the floor, shut his eyes, and shook his head before checking again.
"Jesus H Christ in heaven."
"Look!"
Saffi and TripleDee turned their attention from Daniel at the note of shock in Sara's voice. They looked across the stretch of water separating them from the aircraft carrier.
The Smithwatson was different somehow. Something about the way it was sitting in the water.
"Is it—" TripleDee began, then stopped and watched, doubting the evidence of his eyes. "It bloody is, isn't it? Man, that's propa belta."
Under other circumstances, Sara and Saffi may have asked for clarification from TripleDee, as they educated themselves in the endless variations of Geordie vocabulary, but the scene before them had wiped every thought from their minds.
The Smithwatson had left the water. It was rising into the sky like the largest, most unlikely, novelty balloon ever conceived. Over one thousand feet long, looking top heavy as twenty-five decks tapered down from its two hundred and fifty-six-foot-wide flight deck, thirteen billion dollars worth of US naval might hung uselessly in the air. Three tiny figures, one on each side, with the third at the prow, lifted it as easily as if it were a toy.
Saffi, Daniel, TripleDee, and Sara stared as the First carried the massive ship away to the northwest. They watched the surreal progress of the aircraft carrier until it disappeared.
24
On Gougane Barra lake in County Cork, Ireland, a narrow causeway links the church of of St Finbarr to the mainland. Kneeling alone inside, her head bowed, Dolores Pymm offered up a heartfelt prayer in the land of her ancestors.
"Let me find a good man next time, Lord."
Arnie Pymm, a devout and guilt-riddled Catholic with a weakness for prostitutes and a penchant for hitting his wife, had finally done the right thing six months earlier. He had dropped dead, leaving her with a small fortune and, more importantly, her freedom.
Dolores had always wanted to travel, but Arnie hadn't been interested. While he'd been 'working late,' she devoured books about Ireland, the country her great-grandparents had left to start over in Pennsylvania. She listened to Irish music and occasionally looked up from her book to admire her collection of Celtic crosses and icons. At night, she dreamed of green mountains, mist-filled valleys, and rugged men with the souls of po
ets.
She knew she was romanticising Ireland, but she didn't care. She never thought she'd get to see it, so what did it matter if she exaggerated the country's beauty?
Arnie's death gave her the means and the opportunity to turn her dreams into reality. Much to Arnie's family's disapproval—although they'd observed every bruise and black eye she'd received for three decades without judgement—Dolores left for Dublin the day after the funeral.
She'd arrived in Gougane Barra the previous afternoon and, as she'd looked out of her hotel room to see the mist lifting off the lake, revealing the mountains beyond, she couldn't stop herself laughing out loud with sheer exuberance. It was just as beautiful as she'd imagined.
When Dolores found the church of St Finbarr's, she knelt before the simple altar and prayed the rosary with hope in her heart. She'd been married for twenty-seven years and had felt alone for twenty. At forty-six, she still had love to give, and she intended choosing a partner with a little more care and attention this time, rather than marrying the man who'd knocked her up.
"Lord, I don't ask for much. But I'd like someone to grow old with. Someone steady. Someone loyal, and gentle. Someone good in, er, you know, Lord. You invented intercourse after all."
She thought of her favourite movie - On The Town, with that lovely Gene Kelly. Yes, that would do nicely. She liked a man in uniform. A sailor, perhaps. Why not?
A shadow passed behind the two long, narrow stained glass windows above the altar. The church was soon lit only by the candles along the pews. Dolores frowned. She'd been warned that the weather in Ireland could change quickly, but this was ridiculous. It had gone from day to night in a heartbeat.
She crossed herself and got up. When she stepped into the aisle, she let out a gasp of surprise and confusion. Her feet were wet, water splashing between the toes of her sandals as she stepped down from the pew. As she walked towards the church door, the water rose, lapping around her ankles.
The Last Of The First (Halfhero Book 3) Page 13