Afterwards, the effects hung on. Not as powerfully, but they hung on. Every human being had experienced what the future of their species might look like, and it was enough to change hearts and minds forever. There were still arguments, still fights even. But they were brief and quickly resolved.
The most obvious change, day to day, was that people were more attached to each other, and less attached to their possessions. Many had already spent much of their lives advocating that philosophy, but this was the first time they had practised it.
The other result of that moment passed unnoticed by all but a tiny fraction of the world's population. They were on a hillside in northern Europe, facing an arrangement of rocks known locally as the Devil's Chair.
Tom Evans, oldest child of Daniel Harbin, opened his eyes again. Every teenager from Craxton's field did the same.
Methuselah, the Old Man, the wanderer, Wild Edric of the Stiperstones, experienced an emotion which he could not immediately name. When the Old Man did name it, the astonishment he felt almost overwhelmed the emotion itself.
He was afraid.
41
The subjective experience of time slowing down is not uncommon. Interviews with those been caught up in a natural disaster, car crash, or any violent encounter often describe the way their perception changed. Extraordinary levels of detail are often recalled; smells, colours, the shade of lipstick of the woman waving a gun, the particular version of the song playing when the bomb exploded.
The moment when every human being on earth connected to Bardock and the children was as brief as the flash of a camera. But for those locked in a deadly mental struggle on the Stiperstones, the moment stretched so much, it seemed to have begun before they were born and to continue long after their deaths.
It was almost a moment outside time, as it involved no sequence of events, no cause and effect, nothing that could be said to come before or go after.
Bardock experienced it as a moment when she—a woman who had lived much of her life believing she lacked the ability to empathise—became one in seven and a half billion. She was the catalyst and the conduit, the link through which the children reached out and harnessed the latent power of every person on the planet.
For Saffi, it was different. She experienced the moment as a physical confirmation of something she'd always suspected was true but had never been able to express. She kept her sense of self, but saw how she was a tiny part of the all. She forgave herself for not being there when her father was killed, or when her mother died. No... it wasn't that she forgave herself, rather that she recognised no forgiveness was necessary. The deeply buried dreams of revenge on the terrorists who had taken her father from her were exposed, only to evaporate. In that moment of no-time, she knew when she returned to her linear existence, she would taste each fleeting moment more fully.
For Tom Evans, his brothers, sisters and cousins, it was the moment they had been guided to by a shared dream, a moment none of them had resisted despite knowing it might be their last. It was the moment they let the world in.
Tom looked at the Old Man. He looked at him through the eyes of every other teenager on the hillside. He looked at him through Saffi's eyes, and through Bardock's eyes. And they all looked through his eyes.
The Old Man anticipated the danger and, with instincts honed over two and a half million years, switched from fight to flight. He directed all his power away from the children and into an immediate retreat, intending to fly far away from the incredible build-up of energy he detected.
Nothing happened. He couldn't move. He was pinned like a butterfly in a museum case.
Onemind dissolved around him, his hold over the others broken. The Old Man's vision clouded, and he dropped from the sky, his body hitting the rocks, ending up sprawled across the Devil's Chair. Still unable to move, he tasted blood in his mouth, and bubbles of fluid turned his next inhalation into a gargle. His legs were broken and twisted, his spine snapped.
He knew what came next. He waited for the rapid breakdown of the body and the return to his dormant state.
It didn't happen. His tolerance for pain was so high that he prevented the body from slipping into unconsciousness, instead, opening his eyes.
He was not alone.
Hovering in the dusk sky were the last of the First, hands extended, expressions blank.
He knew then that onemind had not dissolved at all. He had been forced out. Desperately, he focussed his ancient mind, relying on his strength to overcome the weak minds around him. But his strength had gone, along with his power, his identity, and his Purpose. He couldn't remember why he was there, what he was doing. He was lost.
When the end came, it wasn't painful. His sense of who he was had fallen away from him like discarded clothing, so when the particles which made up his form loosened, the force binding them together letting go, he felt nothing.
His last coherent thought came after words and concepts had lost all meaning. But he didn't need words to know Khryseis. Her eyes, her smile, reaching him across millennia.
The First watched as every particle making up the Old Man's body detached itself from its neighbour. From the human observers' point of view, it was as if the Old Man disappeared, but the First knew every atom that had once made up his body was still present. They had been scattered so comprehensively across the globe that they would never find each other again. That particular pattern, the one that had survived an ice age and witnessed the evolution of sentient life, only to lose its way entirely... that pattern would never be reassembled.
The Old Man was dead.
42
Daniel limped out of the motor home, pushing TripleDee in a wheelchair. Following them was someone who looked like Daniel's twin, only he had two eyes, didn't limp and was seven-foot-two.
The odd trio crossed the few yards to the warehouse door, nodded to the soldiers standing guard, and went inside.
The interior of the warehouse was a scene from a surrealist painting. Ten large squares of plastic sheeting were spread out in the centre of the room. Standing on each of them was a member of the First. Next to each piece of sheeting was a steel canister, supplied by the European Space Agency.
Daniel stopped as Saffi approached, speaking into a phone.
"Of course," she said, flashing a reassuring smile at Daniel. "Yes, we'll let you know when it's done. Yes, I watched the joint press conference. You're right. A noble decision that we must all respect. Yes, I will, Prime Minister. Goodbye."
Daniel kissed her cheek. Saffi turned to his taller lookalike. Abos had grown this new form using Daniel's blood, after the fall at the Stiperstones had crushed his last body.
"This is what you want, Abos?"
Daniel's golden-eyed twin picked his words carefully. "It is the decision of the First. This is not our planet anymore."
TripleDee grunted. "Well, I think you're all full of shite. No one's asking you to do this, are they?"
Abos considered TripleDee's words before answering. "That is true. It seems humanity may be changing."
Since the events at the Devil's Chair, and the subsequent surrender of the First, the United Nations had hosted an unprecedented emergency meeting where every country on Earth was represented. The decision they needed to make must be made by all.
What should be done with the First?
In a series of statements, Abos and the First had revealed the intention of the Old Man that their species should become dominant once more. Humanity learned how close it had come to losing its position at the top of the food chain. The dissemination through all media channels of the events on the Stiperstones meant the actions of the halfheroes' children were already being written into history. The international delegates who met in Geneva did so with a new resolve and a shared optimism. They had all experienced the moment of connection. Even those who had been asleep had woken knowing everything had changed.
While the UN deliberated, the First moved into the Cornish warehouse where their brief tast
e of freedom had begun only weeks earlier. The blast-proof shelter had been removed, and some basic amenities set up by the military. The motor homes where they slept had been loaned by a local company, and nearby supermarkets sent boxes of food every day.
Linked once again by onemind, the First had been passive ever since the battle at the Devil's Chair. Although Abos was dominant, he refused to give onemind any direction. Instead, he waited for a consensus to emerge.
It took longer than anyone expected. Onemind had always been guided, but the First had seen the deeper connection of the human children and wanted to mirror it as far as possible. Eventually, a decision emerged, and the First began their preparations.
"What your children are becoming," said Abos, "is beyond anything of which the First are capable. Your species is evolving. Mine stopped a long, long time ago."
The decision had been relayed to the UN the previous night and was quickly ratified.
Daniel turned to face his father. This body was the most disconcerting yet. Having conversations with someone who was a better-looking, younger, taller, broader and stronger version of himself was bad enough. The fact that this flattering mirror image was Daniel's parent made the encounter stranger still.
"Abos. If you could stay, if you could be with us, I mean... would you?"
"The decision of the First—"
"That's not what I asked." Daniel realised he had spoken harshly and lowered his voice. "Please. Answer the question."
The president of the United States and the prime minister of Great Britain shared the podium at the United Nations press conference.
The world was watching as the two leaders shook hands, smiling. No one had to be an expert in body language to know that the handshake and smiles were genuine rather than the usual political necessities accompanied by teeth-grinding and muttered threats.
The prime minister, previously notable only for her ability to appear in every newspaper photograph looking as if she'd just remembered she'd left the gas on, waited for the members of the world's press to settle down before stepping forward.
"As you know, we received a request from the First yesterday afternoon."
It was hardly a secret. Abos had dropped from the sky outside the UN building in front of more than a thousand cameras.
"We have discussed the request today, and it has been unanimously approved. Mister President?"
The president took over. Since the event on the Stiperstones, which was now known internationally as the Moment, his vocabulary hadn't changed, but his leadership style and intentions had.
"Ladies and gentlemen, most of us now know the history of the First." Somewhat of an understatement. Saffi Narad's series of interviews with Abos was, it was estimated, viewed over a hundred thousand times every minute.
The president pointed towards the sky. "Long before our great, great species began its journey of evolution, the first intelligent species on Earth left this planet to search for a new home among the stars. Incredible. Those few left behind used their knowledge and technology to survive. Those few came close to turning on us. If they had, they would have been losers. Big losers."
The leader of the free world got back on track.
"The great news from this meeting—and it's been a tremendous meeting, one of the best—is that we all agreed that the First can go."
When his statement wasn't greeted by a round of applause or a barrage of questions, the president realised he may not have been clear.
"Up there," he said, pointing forcefully. "That's where they're going. The First. Into space. A joint mission, involving the cooperation of the United States, Europe, Russia, China, and... other great, great countries. All the best countries. The First are going to look for a new planet. Maybe find the rest of their species."
Air Force One left Swiss airspace two hours later. The president spent the first hour of the flight in an introspective mood, looking out of the window at the sunlit wisps of cloud as the jet banked away from Europe and headed home.
"Casey?"
The president's press secretary had watched her boss with a kind of reluctant admiration ever since the Moment. The first change had been a swift and comprehensive reshuffle of his advisors, meaning his inner circle now comprised men and women who, in their Commander-in-Chief's own words, would "keep me on the straight and narrow, let me know if I'm going wrong. No yes-men! Or yes-women!"
The second change had been these quiet moods. Casey had spent the few months of her job competing with the television the president kept on during their meetings. Now, her boss seemed to have weaned himself off twenty-four-hour news and social media. It was common to have conversations where he appeared to be listening. Even when what she was saying wasn't what he wanted to hear.
Casey couldn't even remember the last time he'd looked at her cleavage.
She unbuckled and went across to the president, taking the seat opposite.
"Sir?"
"Casey, I want to apologise."
"Sir?"
"I've never taken you seriously. To be honest, I only hired you because you were the best-looking candidate, and you have great breasts."
Casey had rehearsed the speech in which she quit so many times in her head, that she could hardly believe it when her mouth opened and she said,
"Er, what? sir?"
"You heard me. And I'm sorry. I mean, they are great breasts, but they shouldn't have been a factor. You're bright, you're capable, and God knows you're patient. You've had to be."
He leaned forward, still not checking out her cleavage. Weird.
"It's not just you, Casey. It's all women. I've never thought women were my equals. I'm making a list of the stuff I got wrong."
"Sir?" Was she ever going to speak more than one syllable again?
"It's a long list. I won't run for a second term. America needs stability, so I'll stay on until then. Leaders are supposed to serve the people, but that's not what I had in mind when I ran for office. I haven't been a good president, but I hope to be a good man."
He sat back and, finally, flashed one tiny look at her blouse. "Hey, that was statesmanlike, right? Can I copyright it?"
He hadn't changed unrecognisably, then.
Casey made her way back to her seat, stunned. After a few minutes, she pressed the button for the stewardess, ordering a bottle of champagne. When the stewardess opened it and poured a glass, she grabbed the bottle.
"Go get another glass, sister," she said, patting the seat next to her. "We're sharing this."
The atmosphere was sombre when the military personnel were admitted to the warehouse. They watched with barely disguised fascination as Daniel poured pools of slime from the plastic sheeting into the canisters.
The nine canisters left the warehouse in the back of an armoured personnel carrier and were driven to Newquay airport under police escort where they were loaded onto an anonymous grey military plane.
In Baikonur Cosmodrome in southern Kazakhstan, preparations were already underway. The behemoth which stood on the launch pad, its mission to Mars cancelled, was the Kestrel Giant, a rocket developed by an American billionaire and a Chinese technology company. The fact this international rocket was launching from a Russian base showed how quickly the world's governments could cooperate when necessary.
On arrival, the containers were loaded onto the Kestrel. A TV signal would be played on a loop from the rocket as it headed out of our solar system, broadcasting images and video of the First in their dormant state. The odds that they would find their ancestors were astronomical, but if intelligent life was out in the far reaches, the First might encounter it and begin a new existence. It was their decision, and the world had honoured it.
The launch was scheduled to go ahead in three days' time.
In her studio, Bardock turned from the canvas she was working on and turned up the radio. The news reader had just announced the date and time of the First's departure.
She let her mind return to the Stiperstone
s and that last dramatic day. Her body relaxed and her shoulders dropped, her eyes no longer seeing the half-finished painting.
Four minutes later, Jake came in, looked at her, put a fresh cup of tea down, took the cold cup from her fingers, then left without speaking.
Ten minutes after that, Bardock moved, stretching her back and rolling her shoulders.
"Nope," she said, "I don't buy it."
She took a sip of the new cup of tea and spat it out when she realised it was cold.
Grabbing the overnight case she kept packed under the bed, she headed out to the car, stopping to graze Jake's cheek with a kiss.
"Back in a day or two," she said.
"Righty-ho."
43
With poetic timing, the United Nations made two announcements on the same day Kestrel Giant began its journey to the stars.
The first was that the UN would oversee an new programme of international cooperation on environmental policies, human rights and wealth distribution. That last item led to the second announcement. All member countries of the United Nations voted to reinstate two of Titus Gorman's original demands. Pharmaceutical companies would now be non-profit, developing medicines to help those who needed it, rich and poor alike. And, in every company in a UN country, the CEO's salary could never exceed ten times that of the lowest-paid worker.
News, comment, and photographs of this story scrolled across the bottom of every TV screen as they showed live footage of the Kestrel Giant's final minutes on Earth.
In Cornwall, in the front room of a rented cottage, three people huddled around a small screen. The room's furniture hadn't been replaced since the 1970s. There was a faded reproduction of Van Gogh's Sunflowers on the wall. The only personal touch was the two photographs on the mantelpiece. The first showed a pile of large stones on the Long Mynd. The second was of the IGLU team - Gabe, Sara, and Daniel, raising bottles of beer in salute and laughing.
The Last Of The First (Halfhero Book 3) Page 23