Prologue, Part 1

The staccato bursts of the girl's rifle firing up the staircase faded as the Hunter ran quietly out of the old building. It took all his willpower to resist the urge to look back, to stay and help the girl. He knew she was good enough not to let the horror of the sudden and quite unexpected destruction of their tight-knit little unit get in the way of finishing the job they had started. She would keep the bastard pinned down and distracted for a while. Long enough for him to find another route up there.

The foreman's house appeared to be held together by ivy, thick twisted trunks curling up the wall, roots growing into the brickwork giving the building the appearance of a big mutant plant. Although nearly pitch dark in the forest, the Augmented Reality glasses made everything clear as day as they scanned the outside of the building and presented him with a quick and easy route up the plant to the window on the first floor, the one furthest away from the staircase. He made short work of clambering up the plant, hoping that the noise of the shooting was enough to mask the sound of his ascent.

No time to worry about that now son, just stay alert, stay focused. The echo of the old man's voice cut through his thoughts. The Hunter tried to ignore it, just a remnant of an old friend long gone. He was desperate to avoid coherent thought and thus transmitting his true intentions to the combatants inside.

They had been forced to switch to sign language when he had realised what had been going on.

He must be listening in on the Neuros!

What? How? The girl's eyes had been wide.

I don't know, but we need a different approach.

What do you want to do? He's pretty well dug in up there.

I don't know.... Need a distraction. Think you can hold him?

Sure thing! I'll keep him busy! She had been frightened, her hands almost shaking too much to do the signing although the sentiment was ripe with bravado. He had seen the darkness descending around her and he'd left her there, alone.

He shook his head. Little lights began to appear in his peripheral vision, pulsing in time with the blood pumping round his head, like he could see his heart beating. Music: Stars, he thought and a gentle staccatto melody began to feed through his earbuds. With each note a white dot was extinguished and soon he was able to concentrate on the task in hand.

He crept through the window, Neuros silent now, lest Balan was still listening in. When he scanned the room, his glasses highlighted potential obstacles and showing him the optimal path through them. No readings from Balan himself. Somehow the bastard had managed to throw the system off so it was impossible to see him on the infra-red. He felt his muscles tense and tried to relax, to concentrate his mind so that when he finally caught up with the man there would be no mistakes. He would be on top of things this time.

But when he saw what lay there waiting for him, he felt his heart leap into his throat and a wave of nausea caused him to double up, throwing a hand out to steady himself against the nearby wall. The body of a young woman discarded on the floor, lying across a rotting old mattress. Limbs twisted awkwardly, beautiful face scratched and bruised. Blood still pumping slowly out, soaking into the material. He reached out to place his fingers on her neck. She had no pulse, but her soft pale skin was warm. A recent kill, then.

The scanner had already told him this and in much more disturbing detail than necessary, but the Hunter had always felt there was no substitute for real touch, real feelings. He needed to remain in touch with reality at all costs. Looking at the broken body, his eyes filled with tears and his vision tunnelled until all he could see were shadows and death, dark winged daemons spiralling around her battered face. They had only just found each other and now she was gone. He sank to his knees.

They were all gone.

All he could think about was the look on the man's face when they had met for the first time on the train a couple of weeks ago. The sneer as the murderer had leapt backwards out of the car and rolled away into the bushes. That was the closest they had ever been, until now.

Balan. The Hunter felt the bile rise in his throat as he thought the name. Nari had come up with it. The demon of finesse and ruses. Also a prince of hell and this bastard certainly lived up to the description. They had learned his real name when the Hunter had downloaded his image off the glasses into Unicorn's systems, but it was too late to adjust their thinking by then. The name stayed.

The press had called him The Invisible Killer. This year's big thing, leaving behind a trail of bodies with no evidence, no DNA. Twelve bodies to be exact, twelve that they knew about, anyway. Fourteen now. The Hunter felt the pressure begin to build behind his eyes.

They were all dead now.

Prologue, Part 2

The Neuros sensed the Hunter's imminent mental collapse and responded quickly by feeding a gentle melody into the earbuds, Schumann's Traumerei played gently on a beautiful Bösendorfer to a hushed Festival Hall. Once it would have soothed him, helped him to focus his mind but tonight, it reverberated cruelly around his skull, mocking the dreaful seriousness of the situation. The Shadow was closer and more oppressive than it had ever been.

The Hunter grabbed the array and ripped the glasses off his head, screwing up his eyes with a sharp intake of breath at the shock of the sudden darkness. The painful disconnect when the contacts on his temples separated. The earbuds, connected to the glasses by a thin membrane of silica also popped out of his ears, tinny piano music fading as the apparatus fell. In the silence he was horrified at the clear sound of his own weeping.

The shooting downstairs stopped momentarily. He imagined she had felt the disconnect and was desperately trying to send him messages but they meant nothing to him anymore. He cradled the limp body in his arms, his face buried in sweet-smelling auburn hair. He did not even notice when the gunfire ceased for good.

'Hunter!'

When The Invisible Killer jumped him, it was more instinct than skill that caused the Hunter to drop forwards, rolling with the murderer's momentum and slamming him onto the hard floor. His riposte was only a glancing blow to the ribs as the man's fist met his chin. Balan was already on his feet. He was fast for his size, and strong. The Hunter allowed himself to fall back and roll sideways into a crouch. Drawing his knife, he waited warily in the darkness. Tried to slow his breathing down, to allow the usual connections to fire up and break the scene up into manageable chunks, but the emotional shock of seeing the twisted body had devastated his neural responses. Perhaps he had damaged himself further when he had unceremoniously ripped the AR system from his head. Have to do this the old fashioned way. He struggled to focus on Balan through the undulating mists of colours and lights.

The black-clad man danced around him. The Hunter watched and waited, noting his tight-fitting clothes, designed for stealth and swift combat. Invisible, indeed. There appeared to be extra padding around the chest, body armour of some description. Two fierce grey eyes were all that was visible of his face and they seemed to sparkle in the darkness, taunting the young man. Suddenly Balan lunged forwards, feinted high and landed a brutal uppercut that seemed to drill all the way up through the Hunter's skull. His mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood as he bit through the tip of his tongue. His teeth practically rattled. Balan easily caught his clumsy swipe with the knife and crunched the bones in his hand together painfully. To the Hunter's shame and horror, the knife tumbled to the floor. Balan yanked on his arm and planted several swift punches on his exposed kidney then shoved him back. The Hunter reeled away, doubling up, stumbling, but the old man's teachings kicked in and at the last possible moment he turned the movement into a sweeping kick at his assailant's legs.

The Hunter could not see a thing now, his world had become filled with flashing lights and neon swirls in the encroaching darkness. He barely heard the sound of the bones in his leg breaking and collapsed to the floor in agony, helpless to prevent the man striking him again and again. His cheekbone cracked and the pain exploded with bright yellow sparks, rendering him temporarily blind. Balan laughed and took a step back. Through the mists of pain and frustration the Hunter saw that he was panting with the exertion of their combat, drawing rasping, wheezing breaths.

'Finally we meet on my terms, Hunter.' The voice was deep and gravelly, betraying a lifelong love of tobacco and liquor.

'Your terms?' The Hunter spat a long stream of blood onto the floor. He felt dizzy, the room was bathed in glorious spinning golden lights. Balan was a mere whisp of bluish motion in front of him. The world was shapeless. This is not how it is meant to be. He looked up. 'It ends here, Jackson.'

'For you, maybe.' Balan sighed. 'I have to admit though, I thought you were better than this.'

'Why? Why did you do it? Why her?' The Hunter started to pull himself to his feet, but Balan pushed him down, grinding a sharp heel into his injured knee. The Hunter nearly fainted with the pain. He tried to keep his breathing steady while his brain thought treacherous thoughts; YOU put yourself here, in this situation, YOU made them come with you, YOU killed them. No-one else, just you. He attempted to pull himself together, to shut out the words. There was no-one left. The feelings were so strong, he did not think that he could invoke the trance now, but he had to try, or he would fall too. It was time to show the old man his sacrifice had not been wasted. Balan was speaking again.

'Perhaps you should ask your precious Unicorn. Seems there's a lot they don't tell you.'

'Unic- How dare you pretend to know about us! Scum like you? You've killed fourteen people!'

'Oh, that many?' He seemed pleased. 'And none more deserving than our little friend there.'

'But - she did nothing! She was just -' the Hunter spluttered, 'you know nothing!' He added lamely, quietly, his hand on her hair.

Balan reached down and pulled the Hunter up by the lapels until their noses touched. He tried to resist but the man was inhumanly strong and he could not help crying out when the bones in his injured leg ground together.

Acrid breath overpowered the Hunter's senses and the man began to laugh.

Prologue, Part 3

'Ah, but my boy, I know everything.' The stink of the man's breath was more effective than the Schumann at clearing the Hunter's head. He looked into the piercing blue eyes and thought about the bodies downstairs. The painful months of trailing this ruthless bastard across the country, unravelling his infernal deceptions and getting so close, so many times. The Hunter had always been convinced there was more going on here than pure sociopathy, but nobody believed him. 'He's just another killer', they had said, 'just a little bit cleverer than the others, that's all'.

'If I am so wrong, tell me! Maybe I can help you.' He struggled to put the words together. His cheek was swelling fast, but he somehow sensed that Balan wanted to talk, to teach him the error of his ways. The man was so full of his own cleverness. Perhaps that was the way to end this.

'I don't need you, I just wanted to see the look on your face when I bested you.' Balan put on a whispering, mocking voice, 'Let's finish this, it ends now, oh help!' He tugged the earpiece out of his ear and dangled it in front of the Hunter's face.

'How -?!'

'Shut up, child,' Balan hissed. 'There is more to this story than you and your little gang. The intrepid Adventurers, fighting crime without recourse to the Law! You would have realised this a long time ago if you could only stop playing games long enough to see beyond your own pathetic achievements. You and your little whore - '

The Hunter felt himself slipping over the edge. The man's voice became deeper, slowing down as if time itself had paused at the shock of his cold words, which sliced through the pain like knives. He flexed his fingers, welcoming the old familiar feeling that he was outside of reality, watching himself. The entire world seemed to compress, existence itself becoming just these two men, locked together, faces centimetres from each other. The Hunter could barely make out the words now.

'We... are... the same... You... ... ... and ... .. ...I...'

The Hunter held his breath and slammed his forehead into Balan's nose as hard as he could. He tried to ignore the sickening pain in his cheek and instead focused on the loud drawn-out crunch of tearing cartilage. Smiled as he watched the shocked eyes rolling and blood spraying in slow motion back into his face. It would be easy now. He was back in control. He spun the staggering figure around and with his good leg propelling him forwards, leapt onto the man's back. Balan lurched and swore, voice too deep and elongated to make any sense. He was too slow to escape when the Hunter locked his arm around the man's neck.

'She... was... innocent!' He shouted through his tears while the large man drove his elbows slowly into his ribs. At last Time glanced at the struggling figures and realised that one of them was out of place. The darkness lifted and the Hunter clung on through the familiar rush back to normality. The last blow was full speed and a rib cracked, but he pulled his arms tighter, hearing the uncertainty creep into Balan's voice.

'You don't understand... you fool...' Balan slammed himself backwards into the walls, but the young man held tight for this was his last chance, his life really did depend on it.

At last the big man collapsed on the floor. The Hunter fell beside the unconscious body and allowed the sobs to overcome him. Found his knife. Held it high over the murderer, but his shaking hands refused to make the strike. He tried to summon the anger again but everything seemed so wretched now. Always take them alive, the old man had told him, for they know not what they do. The faces of the dead processed before his eyes, so many lives, so much loss. He had had the whole thing sewn up, the future planned.

We are the same, you and I... Now it seemed like he did not know anything at all.

A hand fell upon his shoulder.

'Hello, William.'

A deep rasping voice. A voice he had not heard for twenty years. The Hunter almost choked.

Grabbing the stranger's arm with both hands the Hunter tried to maneuver himself onto his feet. His broken leg collapsed under him but he held on tight, right hand flying up to grip the man's throat. He used the momentum to spin them both round until he had this new opponent pinned to the wall.

The man had had the same reaction. A metal hand gripped the Hunter's throat like a vice and when he stared up into the glowing red mechanical eye, he could clearly see the tiny metal blades around the iris adjusting as it focused on him. What can you see? he thought vaguely as the man smiled, slowly. The pressure on his carotoid artery was tremendous. It would not be long before he passed out.

'YOU!' The Hunter gasped.

1.1 - The Little Boy

'...our land, our country. We won't go into the night like slaves - no - we will fight our enemies like warriors! When they look back on today they will remember us; the few who died to save the lives of many.'

The Captain drew himself up before his loyal troops as he finished speaking. It had been a good speech, a glorious call to arms, rousing the rabble from their sadness and preparing them for the last big push. It was make or break time. The brave Captain surveyed the scene before him and slowly raised his right fist.

'Onwards men!' he shouted, punching the air in time with the words. 'On to VICTORY!'

Holding his arms outstretched, the little boy leapt off the old tree stump with a whoop and took off, now the world-renowned Fighter Ace; Red Leader, sprinting furiously around the small garden as fast as his legs would carry him. Charging through the apple trees, he swooped and climbed, narrowly avoiding a direct collision with a tree here, making a daring sideways dive over the pond there, and causing little flashes of gold to disappear into the pondweed.

'Red Leader to Red Five! Cover me! Bogies on your six!' he called, excitedly commanding his wingmen to follow and laughing with delight at the tiny people far, far below, like ants in a model village. Thomas, the fat tabby cat, barely escaped when the little boy descended upon him, guns blazing. He chased the cat, who retreated to a safe distance in the bushes with barely a backward glance, resuming his washing with a wary, suspicious eye on the hyperactive child. The boy laughed and taunted the animal. He never got tired of this game, no matter how disdainful the cat tried to be.

'Come on lads! Let's bag us a Big Cat!' The little boy pulled on his Big Boots and wedged The Exploring Hat onto his tousled light blonde hair. He ventured cautiously into the thorny hedgerow hunting for Monsters with only his trusty pocket knife for protection.

'Steady boys, steady,' he whispered, freezing and making a complicated gesture with his raised hand. There was a rustling in the bushes and a streak of orange-brown fur. He had been too slow, Thomas had spotted him well in advance and now sat well out of reach in the old cherry tree, staring back at the Great Adventurer with an air of detached interest. The little boy grinned up at him and scratched his head.

Moments later the Dreaded Pirate Blackbeard scuppered a hundred wealthy merchant ships, saving a grateful maiden or two on the way and showing a little mercy to his enemies, but not so much that he risked losing the respect of his men. The dreaded pirate cheerfully persuaded Thomas to come down from the tree once the world was safe again and they had both been called inside for supper.

In the house nearby, net curtains twitched and shuddered.

A powerful wave of nervous energy suddenly overcame the boy and he turned quickly, eyes wide and questioning, but saw nothing. The movement in the curtains was not unusual - he knew the old man often watched him playing - but the sensation of being watched was not normally so negative and overpowering as this. It felt different, more oppressive, like a thick blanket of darkness beginning to smother him. He called it 'The Shadow', an ever-present sense of impending doom he had known for as long as he could remember. As long as he kept playing make-believe, the Shadow remained on the edges, but in recent days the behaviour of the other people in the village had changed towards him and the little boy was beginning to suspect that they had noticed it too. As a result his play had become more intense, more desperately carefree.

While running errands for his mother, it was becoming increasing difficult to ignore the whispers that followed him; Oh the poor thing, what with his daddy gone and his mother struggling so... Yes - the Shadow was getting stronger, but only he saw it as a physical entity, a clawing darkness threatening to smother his very soul. The others reacted as if they saw something rotten in him, making him feel like a disease carrier, a devil child. He noted the fear in their eyes, the involuntary shudder, the way they clutched their own children close, shielding them from him as if he would kill them with a glance. He saw emotions laid bare on bitter faces, etching themselves on his mind's eye for night-time awakenings.

He was no longer allowed to play with any of the other children. Even at school they had begun to give him a wide birth, so on he played, his imagination keeping him free when the world was trying to imprison him.

Yes, his fancies are all well and good, but where does it lead, I ask you? The words haunted him daily. It was not his fault that The Shadow was here, but it was definitely here for him. He did not understand the hypocrisy of the adults, how they could make great claims to care about truth and honesty, pitying him one moment and avoiding him the next.

The old man knew about truth.

Even a truth observed from behind dusty net curtains by a grumpy old man who lived next door, a man who had not been allowed to do anything at all when he was a little boy. A man for whom 'Truth' was beyond imagining, but his help would come too late.

When the Truth came to visit this little boy there was nothing anybody could do to save him.

1.2 - The Numbers

It was 1989.

The little boy stood before a full and silent classroom.

Everybody was staring at him open mouthed. He saw Bobby Gibson sitting at the back of the room, grinding his fist into his palm and cracking his knuckles. The Bully shook his head slowly. I'm gonna get you later. The little boy looked away, trying to blink away the embarrassment and stop thinking about those fearsome eyes, about the pain they promised.

Young Miss Hollinshead had her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. The air was heavy with unspoken questions, jealousy, amusement, embarrassment. The little boy turned back to the blackboard, which was covered in numbers and Greek letters and meaningless squiggles. A second ago it had all made sense. But while he was talking, an unbearable wave of emotions had come over him and now it meant as much to him as to anyone else in the room. He tried to read the numbers again, but with each snigger from behind him a jagged flash of light scythed across his vision, leaving traces across his eyelids and spearing painfully into his temples. His brain was overflowing with a terrible cocktail of derisive amusement and shame.

Leave, now. The voice cut through the mess, a stark white trail of words hanging in the air and the little boy ran out of the classroom, screaming his embarrassment to the empty corridors. A few curious faces appeared, poking out like gophers from the rooms along the hall, but they were quickly withdrawn when they realised who was causing the commotion.

The little boy cowered in a dusty old broom cupboard, hands clamped over his ears trying to shut out the laughter, which danced across his consciousness leaving rainbow spirals of neon light spinning deep into his brain. He remained like this for the rest of the afternoon, rocking and staring through tear-filled eyes at walls covered in the same strange markings.

This was a normal day.

1.3 - The Old Man

The boy lived with his mother and several arrogant cats in a small stone cottage, in an anonymous village, in the far north of England. An ancient aga spluttered and grumbled at them under a huge stone chimney in the center of the room, half-heartedly heating the cluttered room for a radius of about two feet. Thomas jumped up onto the hotplates and curled up contentedly.

Mother and son perched on rickety worm-eaten chairs around a small oak table, stoically munching through an uninspiring combination of shrivelled and insect-plagued garden vegetables and potatoes.

Conversation was scarce - the little boy's mother had long since given up asking him about his days at school. Either he would not reply at all, or would blurt out some fantastic story of his Latest Adventure, which just confused and upset her. His teachers always gave him glowing academic reports, but regularly told her he did not mix well with other children. The other children were afraid of his quietude, his knowledge. His aptitude for mathematics and science.

Once, his teacher, Miss Hollinshead had come round to the house, shown her a copy of what the little boy had written and asked her what it meant, as if she had been doing work for him. Unable to help, ashamed and frightened, she had accused the poor teacher of making it all up to embarrass her and sent her packing. Her son hadn't spoken to her for days afterwards, although she guessed he was as confused and worried as everybody else. Not to mention that the incident had made his life in the classroom just a little bit more difficult.

A tense, worried woman, she kept constant watch over her son lest he abandon her, following the example of his father. Every day she anxiously watched the boy return from school quiet and thoughtful. She would stand at the kitchen window and wonder at the transformation from aged philosopher into a typical 7 year-old, playing happily in an unfathomable world, bursting into life in their wild garden.

Later, while knitting absently by the fire and half listening to the boy chatter about his latest adventures, she would daydream of a time when life wasn't so secluded, when the world used to be safe.

The little boy knew nothing of his dear mother's dark moods, of course. His world was too full of wonder and excitement. Of course, the Shadow always lingered on the outside of his consciousness, but he was used to pushing it aside in favour of lighter pastimes. He did not know any other way to be.

Eventually the woman's weary head drooped onto her chest, pins and wool falling to the floor as she began to snore. The little boy gently covered her in a blanket then quietly slipped out into the dark. He blocked out the clawing, clutching Shadow and crawled through a well-worn hole in the overgrown hedge into next door's garden.

The old man was sitting on the front doorstep as usual, his hunched figure silhouetted against the open doorway, a thin wisp of white smoke swirling out of an ancient wooden pipe far up into the stillness of the November sky. They often met like this, the old man and the little boy, both appreciating the opportunity to share stories of the day's adventures.

'That foolish old man,' the little boy's mother would say, 'He has a worse imagination than you!' But the old man hardly looked up when his young friend settled down next to him and began to tell him about the pirates. The old man let him finish, then with a sigh began to speak softly, as if ending a conversation he had started in his head.

The little boy listened.

1.4 - The Box

'Y'see lad,' the old man said, 'I were never able to fly like you, 'cause I didn't have the wings for it. When I were your age little boys didn't go scurrying about the garden waving their arms about.' He shook his head sadly, brushing away the long grey hair which had fallen over his eyes and scowling.

'Mother wouldn't hear o'it, not wi' Seekers hanging about the place and no father around to protect us. The war were just about over, beautiful country wasting into dust. Thought it would get better, but the real horror were just beginning.'

The boy wrapped his arms around his grubby knees and shivered. He was only 7 years old, why would this strange old man want to tell him these things? Usually good for a yarn or two about the days after the war, the old man's features were gaunt, greyish with cold resigned eyes and hands trembling more than usual. Somehow today was different. There was no exciting narrative of the old man's own father's wartime heroics and how they all Pitched In to Make Britain Great again, there was no ruffling of the hair and wanting to know how many ships had been sunk this evening. There were no cookies.

They sat quietly together on the dusty old step outside the old man's front door and contemplated the shadows in the overgrown hedgerow along the drive.

'So y'see, I couldn't go sailing on a pirate ship, not with the pond all dried up, all stinking of rotting weeds and neglect. Worst of all, I could never go Adventuring. In those days the bushes were too overgrown and dangerous, full of sticky cobwebs and dark secrets.' He raised his eyes slowly to look at the boy. 'Poor mother. Got her too in the end you know.' The old man shivered at the memory. 'Aye, it were a sad, sad day and what were I left with?'

'But what did you used to do?' said the boy. 'What else is there apart from flyin' an' playin' an' findin' treasure? Inside is borin', why couldn't you go outside?' The boy tried to keep the tone of impatience out of his voice, old people were so funny sometimes, why don't they play like normal people? 'There's always Important stuff to do!' he added, almost triumphantly.

The little boy tried to show confidence in this view, although he could sense the old man's trepidation. There was another emotion hanging in the air that he did not understand. Guilt, no - anger? It clawed at his mind but he pushed it aside, back into the general shadows where such things belonged. The night closed in on them then, when the old man stopped talking and there was no light, save for the dim flickering bulb in the dusty porch.

The old man made no reply to the outburst, but instead reached a shaking hand into his threadbare tweed jacket and pulled out an ornate wooden box, about the size of a cigarette packet. The little boy craned forwards for a better view. The box was covered in what look like intricate carvings, depicting a caricature of a man whose features were built from tiny pistons, cogs and pulleys, connected to even more elaborate machinery that covered the whole contraption. On the back of the box all the wires and cables converged on a hole in the centre, a beautiful, hypnotic pattern in the circuitry.

'What is it?' asked the little boy.

The cartoon man's face was contorted into a terrifying grin and the boy could not tell whether it was a grimace of pain or pleasure. Mechanical eyes seemed to follow him as the old man turned the box over and over in his hands, fingers tracing the lines of metalwork around its edges.

'Well lad,' the old man continued, ignoring the question. 'There are a lot of things in the world we pretend we can't see and there are people out there in the shadows who take a deep personal interest in the affairs of extraordinary folk like you or I.' The boy looked at him, startled. How did he know about the Shadow? What did he mean, 'extraordinary'? He began to speak, but the elderly gentleman stood up wearily, leaning heavily on the boy's shoulder. He patted the young lad's back thoughtfully and turned to retreat into the warmth of his house.

Almost as an afterthought he spun round and thrust the wooden box into the boy's hand. The boy looked down at the strange object wonderingly. The cartoon man grinned grotesquely at him and he was overcome with the old familiar feeling that somebody was watching, waiting. Behind the old man the grandfather clock in the hallway began to slow, a hypnotic, familiar sound of slightly out of time tick-tocking echoing far into the night, conjuring whirligigs of light slowly spinning and flashing into infinity. The old man laid his hand on the boy's head, bringing him out of the trance with a start.

'Now then, stay with me here, son,' he said, smiling kindly down at the frightened little boy. 'We can worry about that later.'

'Yes sir.' The boy watched his friend, warily.

'Don't worry,' the old man said, 'keep the box close to your heart, I pray to the Gods you won't need him but he will protect you when the time comes. Now go straight home and tell your mother I said to keep you safe. Tell her - Tell her Davey says it's time to move again. Tell her it will be okay, I'll call in the morning. Now go, quickly and don't look back! I'll see you soon, I promise.' He stretched with much bone crunching and a satisfied groan.

'Right. It seems I have work to do tonight, so off you go!' The old man smiled vaguely again and slowly shut the creaking door.

The boy ran.

The old man watched the boy head for the gap in the hedge and scramble frantically back into his own garden. He muttered to himself as he headed back inside, securing all five large iron bolts on the big oak door.

'Mark my words, lad. There've been stirrings in the shadows these last weeks. Somebody knows about you, and it's not safe anymore. I thought I could keep them away but it's all starting again. It always starts again. I'll see you soon, I promise. I swear I will make it right.'

The old man did not catch the movement in the bushes. He was unaware of the cold eyes watching, a sudden glint of metal in the moonlight and the hurt mewling of an indignant cat that had just been kicked.

The little boy did not come around again.

The next day there were sirens and dogs and shouting. The old man let the net curtain fall and slumped heavily into the tired old armchair in the window, sending up a little cloud of dust.

He put his head in his hands.

2.1 - The Little Girl

In another corner of the country, a little girl was also learning that the world was not as straightforward as she had been led to believe.

She was sitting on a thick comfortable rug by an open fire at her father's feet. A minute ago he had been idly struggling through his sudoku puzzles and half listening to the girl practising her homework. She had said something. He had dropped his newspaper and was staring at her, with wide, questioning eyes. Her mother was absently embroidering a hideous cushion cover, or other such ghastly upholstery decor for their already over-decorated living room. She too, had dropped her work and was watching the girl, warily.

'What do you mean, Kathy?' asked her father. He sounded amused, but a little bit curious. Kathy felt the familiar flush of embarrassment sending a wave of redness up her throat to her cheeks. She clutched Alice, her little red-haired rag doll to her chest and tried to encourage an answer to her reluctant, trembling lips, to somehow explain what she had meant without seeming too silly.

They had been going through her times tables and something had happened, she'd managed to get one of the numbers wrong. What was it? She struggled to remember, to relive the moment and find out what had made her mother tut so loudly, and her father lean forwards in great excitement.

Two, four, six, eight, ten - no that wasn't it.

Five, ten, fifteen - no, not that either.

Three, six, green - The little girl gasped and put her hand over her mouth. Her father raised his eyebrows and caught her eye. He winked.

'Come on, love, you can tell Daddy. What do you mean; 'green'?'

'No! I-' Kathy looked down at her exercise book, running her fingers along the row of numbers. 'I meant gree- ' She paused again, her heart beating furiously, the rush of blood pumping through her ears making her head spin. This was all getting a bit much. She'd only started having these problems a few weeks ago, and it was not normally this difficult. She took a deep breath and concentrated on the page as hard as she could.

'N-Nine!' she managed at last. 'That's what I meant, nine! Not green! That would be silly, wouldn't it daddy? Three, Six, GREEN!' She began to giggle a little too earnestly, her desperate eyes searching his face.

'Yes dear, it would be silly,' he said gently, leaning down and lifting her onto his knee. 'And do you know why?' The little girl shook her head, still giggling desperately. Her mother sighed pointedly, exasperated at the child's silliness.

'Why Daddy?'

'Because "Nine" is a yellow-ochre colour, not green. "Three" is green!' He sat back, triumphantly. The little girl's giggling stopped abruptly. She stared at her father, stunned, her mind in overdrive. His words rang out in the suddenly silent room with only the crackle of the wood on the fire as accompaniment. Kathy watched them fly around the room and get sucked up into the chimney, their oscillating colours contrasting with the golden red of the fire. Was he joking? Was he making fun of her?

'No,' she said carefully, 'Nine is definitely green, look!' She turned the page in her exercise book and wrote a large nine on it. She held the page up for him to see.

'Green,' she said, settling the matter.

'I'm sorry sweetheart, I just don't see it the same way you do,' he said, shaking his head and laughing. 'It still looks yellow to me.' A disapproving cough erupted from her mother's seat on the other side of the fire.

'What are you two on about?' said Kathy's mother crisply, 'I've never heard such nonsense!' Her father gave Kathy a reassuring hug.

'I'm sorry dear,' he said, 'I know you've never believed me, but I think our little Kathy has the same synee responses as I do.' Her mother rolled her eyes, but had stopped embroidering and was watching the little girl nervously. Kathy wondered what she was really thinking.

'Syn- what?' she asked.

'Tell me about the other numbers, love,' her father said. The little girl told him.

Over the next few months the two of them devised a system of categorising the numbers and letters by colour, according to the way the little girl saw them. She discovered that now everything had a place she was able to find the answers to mathematical problems without having to go through the tedious process of writing out the workings. She could see the answer right there in her mind's eye, the shapes and colours of the different numbers twisting and merging together so there could only be one possible answer. The most difficult thing was keeping the whole process a secret from the other children.

'They wouldn't understand,' her father had told her. 'It is best if we keep it between us.'

But keeping her skill a secret proved quite impossible.

Within a year, the little girl had completed - and rewritten in places - all of the maths books the small village school had access to. Furthermore, mathematics was not the only thing that Kath understood better than everybody else. She quickly developed a remarkable sense of electronic engineering, such an affinity in fact, that rumours of her conversing in binary sent ripples through the country.

In the autumn of 1989, Kathy received an invitation to present her latest project to the Royal Society of London. Her father was more excited than she was, but Kathy thought that it was probably time to share her creation with the world.

They had no idea that the Seekers were watching.

2.2 - The Search

There was a loud, frantic banging on the door.

'Open up! Davey please open up!' Davey started. Janet's voice. Hysterical. It was a few moments before his old body forgave him for falling asleep in the armchair yet again. His joints cracked and complained as he fumbled his way to the front door.

'Alright Jan, alright!' he growled, his shaking hands dropping the door keys with a crash. She continued knocking even while he was struggling with the locks.

'Please Davey! Please! It's William - I don't know where he is, you have to help me!' The little boy's mother burst through the door, knocking the old man aside and frantically scouring the dark cottage for any sign of her son. Davey pushed the heavy door closed and turned wearily to the distraught woman, who was disappearing into the hall.

'Wait, come back!' he shouted, chasing after her as she ran from room to room, slamming doors, disturbing decades of dust and calling out desperately for the little boy. Davey caught her when she rushed back past him and they both collapsed onto the hallway floor, the little boy's mother weeping uncontrollably.

'He ain't here, love,' the old man whispered eventually.

'B-but you saw him yesterday?'

'Aye, I did that. He sat wi' me for a while, like he always does. He went straight home.'

'But he didn't come back! He didn't! Weren't you watching him? Where would he go? Oh William what's happened to you?' She clung to his chest as fresh waves of sobbing overcame her. Davey struggled to comprehend the situation, little Billy gone? They couldn't have taken him, not that quickly, not that quietly. He had watched the lad run across the lawn to the door. He felt the shock of realisation dawning. They must have been inside the house, while they slept! He pulled Janet closer to him, stroking the shaking woman's hair.

'Y-you promised me!' she said. 'You told me - you said they wouldn't come back, ever - not after Michael!'

'I know love. I made sure it were all over. He's probably just out with his Fancy Pirate friends, out in the woods. You know how he is.' Davey cringed, even as the lie left his lips. He had to get Janet away from here before they came back. He had to get out there and find the boy, find him before it was too late. She pulled away from him.

'You don't believe that! You can't believe that! You must have felt it yesterday. I felt it, I knew someone was watching, oh Billy what have we done?' Davey seized the tearful woman by the shoulders and tried to hold her gaze. Her eyes wandered over his face, unfocussed, frightened.

'Now stop that Janet, look at me!' he said. 'You know I would do anything for the lad! I'll find him, don't you worry. I swear on my...' He struggled to find something she would believe and found nothing. 'I swear I will find him for you.'

'But the Seekers, they're back, aren't they? It's happening again, isn't it?'

'Seekers will never take the child from us, not while I'm alive, you hear?' Janet searched the old man's craggy features for signs of further deceit, then nodded reluctantly. She sagged.

'I was so scared, Davey, I don't - I called the Police, they said -'

'You did what?!' The old man was suddenly fierce and Janet shrank away from his anger.

'I'm sorry! I just wanted him to be safe, they said...' she tailed off, studying her wringing hands, eyes downcast. Davey forced himself to swallow the anger squeezed her arm reassuringly.

'Sorry, love. I didn't mean to be harsh.'

'I just don't want it to be true, tell me it isnt, tell me Davey please!'

The old man ignored the question. 'So what did old Smailes have to say for himself?'

'He- he told me to wait until the morning, he said he probably wasn't missing and I was just panicking about nothing. He said Billy was always in trouble and he wouldn't bother to come out until morning.'

'Hmpf, that bastard were always good with the ladies.'

'I'm sorry Davey, I just didn't know what to do.'

'Ah, don't you worry about that, I'll handle the police. It'll be alright, love.'

'No, no it won't, and you know it,' she snapped. 'You know William, he doesn't know where he is half the time. I don't know where he is, even when he's in the room with me!'

The old man sighed his agreement and helped Janet up off the floor, leading her gently into the kitchen.

'Aye, he's a funny one. But he knows what's what, even if he can't explain it sometimes.'

'I just don't understand him, I don't understand all this,' Janet waved her arms vaguely indicating Davey and herself. 'What's going on? Have they really come back?' She collapsed into a chair, her head in her hands. Davey watched her and wondered what the hell he was going to do now.

'You promised,' she whispered, defeated. He filled the kettle and the pair sat in silence for a while listening to the bubbling water, the hiss of steam and the loud irregular ticking of the old man's grandfather clock.

Tick... TOCK-tick... TOCK-tick...

'You might do something about your boiler, Davey,' Janet said, pulling the threadbare dressing gown tight around her. 'It's freezing in here.'

'Aye, suppose I might. Seems little point now, though hey?' The woman shrugged and worried at the dirty tablecloth with her fingers.

'I should be out there, I should DO something.' She was pleading with him now, as if hoping he would produce the boy from under the table at any moment. There he is. Now wasn't that a funny joke?

Davey pressed a hot cup of tea into her hands and settled down next to her. It was getting late. Every moment they delayed was a moment wasted. There had been so much he had meant to do last night. Everything was still all locked away, where it had been for the last seven years. He was not even sure if the mechanism still worked. He worried that he was too old for this, a couple of local thugs was one thing, but it had been mostly muscle memory and the muscles still betrayed him on occasion. Still, now he had to distract Janet, keep her busy and more importantly, get her away from here, from him. He stood up.

'Come on, we'll go out together. Bring the tea, it'll keep you warm.'

There was a flash of silver from amongst the trees as the two sad little figures stumbled out into the early morning mist, calling out the little boy's name. Once they were safely out of sight, a cloaked figure stepped out from behind the trees and moved towards the two houses.

2.3 - The Royal Society

It was not the winning that made Kath's name with the Royal Society, nor was it the fact that someone several years younger than most of the entrants - not to mention female - had won one of the most prestigious prizes for scientific invention of the age. The thing that really stood out about Kath was the way that she understood circuitry like nobody else alive. She really seemed to be one with the machine.

Or so everybody thought at the time.

Little Kathy had been invited to London to demonstrate her work to an eminent computer scientist, who at the time was excitedly promoting exciting ways of networking academic machines together in Universities, for research purposes. He had heard of this precocious child who lived in a house full of pieces of expensive computers and had thought he would be able to exploit her remarkable mind to help his own causes.

He was wrong.

When the little girl and her father first arrived, they were treated with ridicule and scorn. It was impossible for the bearded collective to imagine this little girl had anything at all to offer, but the scientist was very persuasive and eventually they agreed to give the child an audience, to satisfy their own curiosity for the most part, but also 'just in case'.

Kathy was utterly terrified when the nervous little bald man gave his introductory speech. She did not hear much of it and sat on the stage in the big hall wringing her hands and biting her lip, thinking about the ashen colour of his voice and the way each enthusiastic word spiked into the air like a tiny firework. Once the anticipatory applause had picked up and then died away, her father leaned over.

'Okay love,' he whispered, 'just like you showed me last night. Everything you need is there on the table.'

'I'm scared!' she said.

'Don't worry, pumpkin.' Her father squeezed her hand comfortingly. 'You have something very special to share today, don't you? I'm right here, I promise I won't leave your side.' He stood up and held out his hand. 'Come on, I'll buy you an ice cream after.'

They stepped up to the table together. There was nothing remarkable on it, a standard IBM 486 computer. One of the ones with the new VGA colour screen, some electronics equipment (diodes, capacitors, wires) and various tools.

The computer was switched on and the audience were treated to the familiar sight of the windowed operating system starting up, projected onto a large screen behind the couple on the stage. Kathy and her father played a quick game of Reversi to show this was indeed just an ordinary computer and there was polite applause when Kathy won easily, then chuckles when she ordered her father to begin dismantling the large white case.

The next half an hour was a blur of activity, wiring and soldering during which the little girl chattered away, explaining what she was doing in minute detail. She did not refer to any notes, or take guidance from her father, but merely spoke quickly in her sing-song voice, using the special language the two of them had created in order to make sense of the shapes and colours she could see and nobody else could.

She had the feeling that not one of the people in the room really knew what she was talking about, but their eyes remained glued to the big screen, which was now showing a bird's eye view of the workbench, computer parts laid out neatly like an exploded technical diagram. She knew her descriptions often left out many crucial details, but in the end it was impossible to argue with the results. For now she would have to try and ignore the pained looks and impatient coughing.

Kathy finished by carefully placing the monitor back onto the desktop facing the audience. She picked up a microphone she had plugged into the back of the machine, which now looked like it was being attacked by a swarm of snakes, or several octopi. She held the microphone up to her lips nervously, she had been so busy building and chatting that she had forgotten where she was.

The little girl looked up at her beaming father and he took her hand reassuringly.

'Go ahead, love,' he said, squeezing her fingers. She shut her eyes for a moment, then spoke loudly into the microphone.

'Hello Unicorn,' Kathy said.

The screen flickered on and briefly filled with rows of text. The text was quickly replaced by a swirling whirlpool of rainbow colours that resolved into the image of a face, looking as if it were pressed against an undulating sheet of brightly coloured silk.

'HELLO WORLD,' the face said, pixellated lips forming an impressive approximation of the words, the voice a caustically grating electronic sound. Kathy winced. She would have to work on that.

'My name is Kathy.'

'HELLO KATHY, YOU MAY CALL ME UNICORN.'

'I am very pleased to meet you,' said Kathy, 'I would like to introduce you to the members of the Royal Society.' The multi-coloured eyes on the screen seemed to wander round the room and there was not a man there who did not feel in his bones that the machine was looking at him.

'IT IS AN HONOUR TO MEET YOU, THE ROYAL SOCIETY.'

The applause was deafening.

2.4 - The Clock

Tick... TOCK-tick...

By the time the Police turned up later that morning, Janet and Davey had already scoured every inch of the areas they knew the little boy liked to go. They returned to their empty houses cold and tired, empty-handed and miserable. Davey persuaded Janet to try and sleep while they waited for the police to come.

The Police Inspector, a particularly loathsome rotund character called Smailes, had been grumpy and non-committal on the phone, but eventually agreed to send his sergeant round. Davey was still sitting by the window with his head in his hands when several uniforms came knocking at his front door just before lunchtime. He jumped up, and having made sure that everything was still hidden away, submitted grumpily to their clumsy interrogation.

The Sergeant questioned the old man for several long, frustrating hours. Davey sat in obstinate silence, watching the short, ugly balding man march angrily up and down in his kitchen. The sound of cupboard doors slamming and drawers being emptied filtered through the floor.

Sergeant Prynn was convinced Davey knew something about the boy. Having achieved the lofty post of Police Sergeant in a small country village, he had become quite unbearably drunk with power, power he did not hesitate to abuse at the slightest provocation. His questioning was blunt and unimaginative, and Davey had no trouble misdirecting his persistent ignorance. The man really was a piece of work. Not one person in the village had a kind word to say about him, even Janet, and she had the most gentle soul Davey knew. The Sergeant's unfortunate appearance had plagued him all his life, and Janet had once said he felt the world owed him for it.

Prynn hoisted up his trousers, trying to look imposing.

'For God's sake Davey,' Prynn said, and Davey winced, 'we've known each other how long now? Twenty years? The lad comes here every night and you tell him stories. What story did you tell him yesterday?' The old man's unfocused gaze wandered over a cracked tile in the floor, following a trail of ants leading under the dusty cupboards. There was an almighty crash from the bedroom followed by muffled shouting and laughter.

'He ain't here,' he whispered.

'Oh come on! You must have told him something, everybody knows the lad ain't right in the head, Lord knows what could set him off!'

'The boy's not like that, aye he's different, but-'

'How different? So different my son comes home from school every bleedin' day with a new story? So different that the coppers have a special file on the lad? Smailes has lost count of the number of parents he's had to placate coz William Speers punched this kid or upset that kid or just been so goddamn weird that they've had to stick him in a room on his own!'

Against his better judgement, Davey found himself rising to the bait.

'Nobody understands him, that's all,' he said crossly. 'The other kids, all they hear is what their parents say and that ain't nothing but a bunch of old wive's tales and urban myths.'

'Urban myths?' the Sergeant sneered. 'Did you see what he did to the Gibson boy?'

'Sounded like that particular little thug deserved everything he got,' Davey said. He could remember quite clearly the little figure running home, shirt drenched in blood. Of course they conveniently forgot the years of torture Bobby Gibson had subjected Billy to. And the rest. The time he was practically thrown down the school steps for no apparent reason, the weeks of running round the playing fields as punishment for reacting to the constant jibes and sticking up for himself for once.

Yes, the Gibson thug had come off worse - there's another one with a permanent disfigurement - but it had taken weeks to get the little boy back on track. Long evenings teaching him about the universe and his place in it. That had been the day the Shadow had first descended upon the village and the two kindred spirits had clung even more desperately to each other ever since.

The Sergeant grabbed the old man by the shoulders and shook him.

'Listen, Davey,' he hissed, 'you know what they're like round here, you know what they all think! You got to help me.' Davey looked calmly back at him, noting the element of fear in the sergeant's voice, and didn't say a word. He'd had worse than this. A year ago some idiotic young thugs had tried to mug the old man when he was leaving the village pub one Friday night. One of them was still in a coma, and the other would never walk properly again. Davey had walked calmly into the Police Station without a scratch, to report an 'unfortunate incident'. He had made a point of graciously electing not to press charges, but simply shrugged and suggested they must have tripped over each other in their eagerness to get home.

'You have to give me something, the boy is not safe out there. I don't want to see anybody get hurt!'

'Least of all you, hey Prynn?' said Davey with a wry smile. 'Always looking after number one, aren't you? What's Smailes got on you this time? Not long for the force was what I heard, you been caught with his daughter again?'

The Sergeant's hand cracked across the old man's face, causing a thin trickle of blood to pour from his nose.

'You better look out an' all, old man,' he muttered dangerously, but he took a step back and looked a little uncertainly at the door, checking it was still open in case he had to run for it. Davey slowly wiped the blood from his lip and began to smile.

They had reached the end of this little dance.

Tick... TOCK-tick...

'You don't understand, Prynn. Nobody does and nobody ever will. That little boy doesn't see the world the same way we do and he understands it more than any of us.' He raised his head and stopped Prynn's sneer with a steady look that made the sweating sergeant feel as if his very soul was under inspection. 'William Speers knows more about our world than you will ever know.' The old man added quietly.

Prynn barely suppressed a shiver, then regained control of himself and leaned down with his hands on either side of the old man. The overpowering stench of kippers and coffee and nervous perspiration washed over Davey as the sergeant's pitted red face drew close to his.

'Oh yeah? So how does 'e see it then?' he snarled, 'Pray enlighten me, my good man, then maybe we can find the little bugger before 'e gets hisself in some real trouble 'ay?' Davey wished the man would just go now, organise a search, something, just leave and let him get on with doing something useful.

'We are just wasting time now, Prynn. Don't be a fool'

The Sergeant threw up his hands in despair.

'You're the fool, Davey.' For a while he looked thoughtfully at the stubborn old man and began to speak again, but something in Davey's glare made him pause. He took a lingering inquisitive look around the kitchen and then whirled on his heel, storming out of the room. He shouted angrily up the stairs to his men, who had all stopped smashing things about in order to listen to the argument below.

'Time to go lads, it seems the boy ain't here. Let's get this search dealt with and fast, if any of you bastards want to catch the game this afternoon!'

Davey watched the barely visible golden pendulum inside the grandfather clock slicing away the day with its loud arrhythmical clunking. He ran his eyes over the ornate facade, following the complex geometric patterns leading up to and around the beautiful glass face. The workings were clearly visible, shiny as the day they had come out of Davey's workshop over thirty years before, even though the rest of the clock was covered in a thick layer of dust.

When he was sure he was finally alone, Davey walked over to the timepiece, tenderly brushed the cobwebs away from the lock and reached into his shirt pocket for a little key, as decorative as the clock itself. The lock was stiff and rusty and for a moment he thought he no longer had the strength, but it eventually gave with a painful screech, as if some long imprisoned demon had finally been released.

Tick...TOCK-tick...

The large door swung open with a faint hiss and a blast of stale air. Davey reached out a shaking hand to grasp the pendulum.

Tick...

The clock stopped.

2.5 - The Interrogation

After the clapping had died down there was a general hubbub out of which a loud argument emerged. The gentlemen appeared to be divided into two camps, the astonished believers and the sceptics.

'This technology is not sufficiently advanced to be able to sustain a thinking machine!'

'But here it is, right in front of our eyes!'

'Preposterous!'

'You cannot deny what we saw! I'm sure it looked right at me! Right at me!'

'This is ridiculous!' A young man shouldered his way to the front and waved an angry arm at the little girl.

'Get a grip on yourselves!' he shouted, turning to face the throng of unkempt faces. 'While I cannot deny there has been some impressive coding here - who amongst us could have dreamed such advances in graphic representations of the human visage could have been created so rapidly - this is clearly just an ingenious little program this little girl and her daddy have cooked up in order to attempt to deceive us all!' He gestured at Kathy. 'The machine is just responding to a script, yes? You have carefully timed your responses and pre-recorded it's voice. Please, tell us how it works and we will consider your application for the prize.'

Kathy was not too sure about much of what the man had just said, but the muttering had died down and everybody was watching her expectantly. She had been clinging to her father's trouser leg, watching the chaos with fearful eyes. Before she could speak, the speakers crackled back into life and the metallic voice rang out once again.

'IS THERE A PROBLEM, KATHY?' There were a few gasps as the face on the screen, which had been motionless during the commotion, suddenly spoke out into the silence. Kathy lifted the microphone to her lips.

'No, Unicorn, they are just having a hard time accepting you,' she said shakily.

'I AM HAPPY TO ANSWER ANY QUESTIONS YOU HAVE, THE ROYAL SOCIETY.'

There was a veritable swarm of professors onto the small stage and the microphone was snatched out of Kathy's hand. The little girl and her father were pushed aside as the learned gentlemen of the Royal Society bombarded the machine with questions.

'What are you?'
'Why are you here?'
'What is your purpose?'
'Who created the Universe?'
'What is the [insert impossibly complex mathematical principle here]?'

Little Kathy couldn't help feeling everybody was being a little bit too mean to her beloved Unicorn, but she took great pride in the sincere and honest responses the machine gave, considering it's limited experience as a sentient being. Its intelligence was limited to the encyclopaedia that was loaded upon it at the time, but it seemed to give almost human answers, generally avoiding purely paraphrasing entries. Several times she had to ask her father to step in and point out that the computer should be treated more like a child than an alien, that in time it would acquire knowledge as it was given more information and especially that this was purely a demonstration that computers were clearly not being used to their full capacity in the modern day.

During the months that followed, the little girl and her father received hundreds of invitations. Entreaties to explain precisely what on earth she had done to the machine, which Kathy tried to answer as best she could, in ways that seemed to generate more questions than answers. There were requests for further demonstrations, but the Royal Society insisted on vetting all appearances in close consultation with Social Services. Scientific journals became filled with wild speculation as to how this wondrous miracle had been achieved. Machine sentience! The broadsheets did not believe it for one second. They were sure it was simply another advertising stunt to sell the latest technology to the gullible masses.

About three months after little Kathy Hagen had opened the computing world's eyes to a wonderful new future, she and her loving father disappeared without trace. All the master copies of the journals were erased and libraries across the country were surprised to discover a few months' worth of journals suddenly out of print. The newspapers became deeply interested in the personal lives of the Monarchy and gradually the country forgot that anything exciting had happened at all. Even the Royal Society itself, the once great pantheon of all that is new and wonderful for the betterment of mankind, was certain that there was nothing remarkable about the summer of 1989.

Kathy's mother would never get over the loss of her strange little daughter and loving husband. She even lobbied the Royal Society for several weeks, but her appeals fell on deaf ears. Eventually she was forced to accept they would never return and spent the rest of her short life behind closed doors and dusty curtains, tears staining the piles of photographs at her feet. She did not live long enough to see the dizzying heights her amazing little daughter would eventually reach.

3.1 - The Friend, Part 1

Billy had not prepared for this.

His short time on this planet had been fraught with misunderstanding and confusion, but never actual danger. He had always thought that the Shadow was simply part of what his mother had called his 'silly imagination', undulating tendrils of cold blackness slithered everywhere he looked.

So he ran. To the only place he had ever felt safe. A place in which he had enjoyed many quiet and happy hours alone, away from the horrid children at school, away from the worried glances and over-protection at home and entirely cut off from the Real World.

He found the allotments one warm Sunday afternoon. He sneaked out of the house after his weary mother fell asleep by the fire, exhausted from a week of cake sales and charity work. She didn't have much of a social life either, spending much of her time watching over her son. Billy often wondered if she herself were the cause of the Shadow, smothering him under a dark blanket of oppression, but he normally found he was able to single out her emotions from the multitude and besides, it had still followed him here, to his safe place.

Billy skipped through the allotments back to an overgrown patch in the corner. Behind the huge thicket of brambles, nettles and roses squatted an old shed, long since overcome by twisting, clawing ivy that prevented the flimsy construction from collapsing. A large fence post held the door open, which a habit of becoming stuck when it swung closed. The Shadow did not seem to want to crawl through the thorny mess to get to him.

He felt safe here.

Over the years, Billy had filled the shed with junk he collected from the edges of the allotments. Broken shovels, buckets, old rusting wheelbarrows and an assortment of broken tools lined the walls. He spent the day collecting extra straw and sacks for bedding, sneaking out whenever he saw the allotments were empty, and stealing what fruit he could find; mostly apples and pears. There were some vegetables in the ground, but being a little boy, he had no desire to crunch through bittersweet roots, no matter how much his stomach complained. All through the freezing night he suffered with terrible pangs of hunger, but did not dare to venture back out into the darkness, lest the man with the cold hand and the black coat was there, waiting for him.

He sat down on an upturned bucket, dropping his armful of fruit onto the upturned wheelbarrow table and thought about things. He thought about how his mother would be telling him to wash the fruit and lay it out to dry. How she would make him wash his hands before touching the juicy red apples. He thought about the previous evening and the old man's strange behaviour, and what happened afterwards.

Afterwards.

Surely he had not run far enough.

Sooner or later somebody would come here and find this place, find him living in this stupid tiny shed, cold and dirty, smelly and hungry.

The quiet man would come first, Billy was sure of it. Rather the police, than him.

Hungrily munching on a sweet pear, Billy wondered what his mother was doing now. He could see her vividly, wringing her hands and weeping. She would not be able to cope with his sudden disappearance. If he could, he would have left a note or something, but there simply hadn't been time. He was too busy running for his life. The old man had spooked him enough with his conspiratorial mutterings, but all Billy could think when he'd left him behind, was Blue. The colour of cold terror and emptiness.

He had known something was wrong when he left the old man. The night did not feel right. The Shadow had shifted around him, as if drawing away from him like the sea sucking back from the shore before a tsunami hits. The same second he had reached the front door of his own house, a second that had seemed to last for an age, a hand fell upon his shoulder, a quiet, cracked male voice said, 'Hello William,' and he had dropped to the ground, rolled over and run for his life.

The wave hit the shore.

He had not looked back. Not once. A voice like that does not need a face. Who hides in gardens trying to grab seven year-olds? How did the man know his name? In his flight Billy vaulted the garden fence, which was almost taller than he was, sprinted across the field into the woods and ran as fast as he could until his chest hurt and his legs burned.

Now he was not so sure of himself. He had had a day here - and a much more haunted night - with very few people around and no-one seemed to be interested that the strange little Speers child was missing. Perhaps it had been his wonderful imagination carrying him away on a darker path. Only the echoes of the old man's worried voice had prevented Billy from shrugging the whole incident off and going home to face his mother. He had heard him muttering as he ran away; I thought I could keep them away but it's all starting again, the old man had said. Billy had known Davey all his life and he had never, not once mentioned the Shadow or strange people hiding in the darkness.

Until last night.

It always starts again.

Billy felt the insistent presence of the strange little box in his coat pocket and pulled it out nervously. He hadn't really looked at the thing yet, he had been too cold and frightened. He supposed that if it weren't for the hunger, he wouldn't have ventured out at all. The cartoon man's face on the little wooden box was twisted into a hideous rictus of fear, his eyes wide open and staring at Billy. There is no hope for you here, boy, the contorted face seemed to say. It was almost as if the little man could speak inside his head, but Billy knew the difference between 'thinking' and 'hearing', even if the two did become blurred at the edges on occasion.

'I know,' Billy said to the box, his eyes stinging, 'but I don't know what to do!'

His voice was breaking, what was a child supposed to do? He had not looked back. Not once. Was it cowardice? Was he really as bad as the other children at school made him out to be? He had supposed the man was chasing him, but he might just as easily have turned around once Billy was out of the way and gone into the house after the little boy's mother! Billy thought about Thomas, the fat cat, his only true friend in the world, how he wished he was here now, how pathetic the thought was. While Billy wept, the cartoon man's face slowly twisted into a look of deep sadness.

3.1 - The Friend, Part 2

'What are you doing?'

Billy jumped at the voice of a little girl, about his age. She must have heard him crying and sneaked into the den while he had his head in his hands. The boy wiped his nose on his sleeve and tried to focus on the newcomer.

'Pink,' he said, without really thinking.

'What?'

'Pink. Your voice is pink. It's a safe colour, a girl colour.'

'Well I'm a girl, I'll give you that, clever boy! But pink? Ugh!' The little girl pulled a face, making Billy smile for the first time today. She was wearing dirty dungarees and a shirt that looked much too big for her. She had short, messy brown hair and thick glasses. When she smiled at him, big dimples appeared in her freckled cheeks. The little boy relaxed a little.

'When I hear voices I see colours, yours is pink,' he said simply. 'It isn't horrid pink though,' he added quickly, seeing her scowl, 'It's a nice, soft pink.'

'I want to be blue!'

'You can't! Voices are colours and numbers are shapes. I don't know how it works, but everybody hates it. They say I'm a weirdo.'

'Everybody's a weirdo, that's what my mum says.' the little girl replied. At this, Billy smiled for the first time in a while.

'Mine too,' he said.

'Anyway, I like weirdos,' the girl said gently, taking his hand. 'I think they're much better than normal people.' Billy was a little unsure about this. All his life he had been told that being different was wrong. The girl added, 'Okay, I will be pink, but just for you - don't tell anybody, right?'

'Okay,' he said. He looked at her for a while, then said, 'I didn't hear you come in.'

'You looked ...um ...busy,' she looked shy, suddenly and Billy blushed. 'Anyway, what's the matter?' she added. 'Why are you here?'

'I-' Billy blinked back the fresh wave of tears, 'I ran away, this man... his eye...' He trailed off.

'What man?'

'I don't know - he, he chased me ...I was at the door...but I didn't get...he chased ...I don't know,' he ended weakly, eyes welling up again. He really didn't have a clue what was going on. Maybe the old man had been joking. Maybe he'd imagined it. But the Shadow - it had descended upon him like a big wave, suffocating him, freezing time itself as he had reached out his arm to grab the door handle and he had felt the man step out of the darkness behind him.

'It's okay,' the little girl said, sitting awkwardly next to him and put her arm round his shoulders. 'You are okay now right?' Billy didn't know what to say to this, but it felt nice so he didn't say anything. The threat seemed to shrink away when she touched him.

'What's this?' the little girl asked curiously, snatching up the little box and shaking it. Billy jumped up.

'Give it back!' he cried, trying to grab the box out of her hand. The little girl laughed and danced away, holding it up high. Billy jumped for it, shouting, 'The old man gave it to me!'

'But what is it?'

'I - I don't know!' he felt embarrassed. Angry and ashamed. He would sound stupid and she would laugh. But she had not laughed when he told her about the man. He swallowed and continued, 'It changes, the face it - it moves but it's always sad. Sad or scared.'

'Not always, look - it's smiling now!' she held the box up so he could see and the little boy saw she was right. The little mechanical face was twisted grotesquely into something resembling a smile. Billy was not sure, but he thought he saw one of the little glass eyes blink. He made a lunge for the box and they fought for it, laughing. The worries of the night were forgotten as the two children wrestled, no thought for the noise they were making, or the situation Billy had found himself in. At last he managed to get the upper hand and pushing the girl aside, and sat down to study the box again. The cartoon man grinned back at him. I pray to the Gods you won't need it, but it will protect you when the time comes.

'Tell me what happened,' the little girl said, sitting back down on one of the upturned buckets next to Billy.

Billy told her.

He told her about the strange way the old man had behaved. He talked about his nervous, quiet mother and his fat lazy cat Thomas. He described the Shadow and his games to keep it away, how the quiet man had been part of it, then a hand upon his shoulder and a voice that knew his name, Hello William. He spoke about everything that had been worrying him and how he did not even know if he would ever be able to go home again.

When he had finished, the girl sat silently and his miserable words echoed around the makeshift shelter. Grey words. It was clear she had no answer to his story, there were no magic spells that could fix everything. Billy knew she would have to go home soon, home to a warm, normal life where everything was bright colours and wonderful life-affirming love. He was about to ask her if he could go home with her, when a thought occured to him.

'What's your name?' Billy asked. 'Mine's William - Billy, my mother calls me Billy.' Relief spread across the girl's face. His sorry tale had obviously upset her.

'Alexandra. You can call me Alex.' Billy grinned and the two new friends solemnly shook hands.

After a pause, Alex added quietly, 'The man came to my house, too.'

3.2 - The Man in Black

If you had been looking closely into the trees, rather than watching the hyperactive little boy playing in the garden, you would have seen a strange figure lurking just out of sight. The first thing that would strike you as you drew closer would be the bizarre metal contraption that the man was wearing on his head, completely covering the right side of his face. Getting closer still, you would see that the device resembled a strange mechanical eye, or intricate camera lens, moving and twisting to follow the child, its wearer remaining stock still, right hand hidden up the sleeve of his left arm.

If you were close enough to touch him, you would have been able to spot the tangle of wires winding down the man's back like a futuristic ponytail, disappearing into a flat backpack about the size of a briefcase. You might have been tempted to grab the wires and pull, just to see if they were connected to the man himself in some strange way, but his scarred features betrayed the look of one who would not be averse to tearing your body apart limb from limb before you even had a chance to reach out your arm. Indeed you might be forgiven for wondering if he had done just that, many times before today. You would probably agree that it would be best to keep your distance and pray that the mechanical eye did not turn in your direction.

The figure in the trees had been standing motionless for so long, that when he finally moved he almost had to consciously send the signals from his brain through his nervous system to his extremities. His limbs responded weakly with paresthetic waves of prickling pain as his circulatory system rebooted. He reached up and unclipped the clunky headset, blinking at the sudden rush of natural stimulation as his 3d vision slowly returned in the darkness.

The large camera-like arrangement he had strapped over his right eye was heavy and uncomfortable, but the primitive night-vision and text readouts had seemed to work well. Getting constant messages flashing up about distances and atmospheric temperature and pressure were all very well, but hardly that useful, at least not in this situation. He really ought to work on sort of software driven motion-tracking system, to save the tedious manual steering he had to do at the moment. There were still some issues to iron out - the computer did not seem to be able to tell the difference between a little boy and a fat tabby cat - but these were trifling problems he would be able to look at once he finally had the boy in his charge.

The man pulled up his sleeve and looked down at his left forearm, which was enclosed in a crudely welded metal cylinder with a large liquid crystal display and qwerty keypad on top. When he flexed his fingers and clenched his fist, a series of numbers ran across the screen. Perhaps he should focus on the interface first. If he can control the Eye by moving his fingers, perhaps he could link the camera into his nervous system through his arm...

He felt himself becoming distracted. This was not the time to worry about the Tech, he had to watch the boy. From this position he could clearly see the dim light of the old man's front doorway. They were still having their evening chatter. He shrugged off the backback, wincing when the wires tugged out of the computer on his arm sending little electric shocks into his fingers. He needed to sort that out too. Once the headset and cables were packed neatly away, he pulled his long black coat around himself, hid the backpack in the bushes and resumed watching the cottage.

He had been watching the little boy and his mother for some days now. It had been a long search and although he was reluctant to admit it, it had only been blind luck in the end. Medical records were so easy to track down these days. He sighed, So many dead ends, so many dead children. Now this. He was sure this time. No doubt about it, little Billy Speers was The One. The dark figure smiled to himself, the scars on his face twisting around each other in a grotesque dance, revealing a grim snarl of white enamel and silver, like some kind of bizarre piano keyboard.

The old man was going inside. The man in black faded behind the tree as the little boy came running through the garden and then quietly walked up behind him. He put his hand on the little boy's shoulder.

'Hello William,' he said.

3.3 - The Flight

A strange silence filled the little shed.

Billy stared at Alex in astonishment. He wanted to say something, but the thousand questions danced just out of reach and so the two children continued to sit, looking at each other. When Billy looked closely into Alex's shining green eyes he realised that there was no need for questions. The silence had triggered a wave of mutual understanding. It was the kind of silence that suddenly descends as if all sounds have been blocked out, concentrating the mind on a tiny point in space, a bit like the way the shadows usually descended on Billy when he was made to stop playing his fantasy games. The sort of silence where you almost expect to hear the sudden crack of a dry twig followed by a sharp intake of breath as the man outside realises he is not hidden any more.

'He's here!' Alex gasped and grabbed Billy's hand, yanking him out of his thoughts and through the broken doorway and its clutching, clawing tangle of brambles and ivy into the bright sunshine of the dry November afternoon. Out of the corner of his eye Billy caught the flutter of a black coat and a flash of sunlight reflected off some sort of glass, but then he and Alex were sprinting as fast as they could, through rows of runner beans and pumpkins, up and out of the allotments. They clambered desperately over the locked gate, thorns scratching Billy's arms. Billy did not dare to look back as they ran across the open field toward the woods that led back into the village.

He came to my house too. Alex's words repeated over and over in time with his footsteps. Over the last day Billy's vivid imagination had already presented him with pretty much every terrible scenario it could think of, but they had all been solely focused around him, the Dreaded Pirate, the Hero of the Day. He had not thought for a second that any other children could be in danger too. In fact, the rational part of Billy's mind had been telling him exactly this since the old man had given him the box; these things do not happen. You aren't special, just weird. He must have made a mistake. You are the mistake.

Yet the man was here, hunting two children now, and frighteningly close. Billy could almost feel the hand upon his shoulder, but when he shrank away and looked back, the black figure had just reached the gate.

The children entered the woods.

Billy turned back to Alex, who seemed to be moving with fierce purpose, ducking and weaving through the trees, checking all the time that Billy was close, stopping every now and then to haul him up alongside her.

'Where.... we going?' Billy panted, catching up with the girl for the tenth time, voice shaking, confused and frightened.

'Po- police!' Alex panted back. 'My uncle is...' She leapt impressively over a stream and Billy followed, but he lost his footing on the wet bank and fell face first into the mud with a yelp. The wooden box, which he had been clutching tightly in his free hand, was thrown into the water and floated slowly away downstream, the little cartoon man seeming to scowl at Billy's clumsiness as he spun away in the water.

'...the Sergeant there!' Alex finished, realising a few steps further along that Billy was no longer behind her. 'Oh leave the stupid box behind.' She sighed pointedly, 'we have to run now!' She tried to reach for him, but Billy was already splashing through the water, chasing after the box. Come on, idiot boy, move faster! Pick me up. That's right, now don't do that again! The mechanical face was wearing that ambiguous expression again; half grimace, half smile. Billy shoved it into his pocket and tried to ignore the lingering feeling that the little cartoon man had somehow talked to him.

He looked up at Alex sheepishly. 'Sorry,' he said.

'S'okay, but we have to keep running, now!' Alex replied, helping the little boy out of the water and watching the woods for any sign of the man in the black coat. Billy wiped his face on his sleeves and saw a little flicker of a smile as Alex nodded to herself.

'I think he's stopped,' she said.

'Are you sure?' Alex nodded again.

'Look, there's a clear view back through the trees,' she said. 'If he was coming, he would come from there. That's the quickest way.' She pointed back through the woods and Billy pretended to look, to understand, to show he was not terrified that the man was really standing right behind him.

'Was that your man?' Billy hated the way the words sounded. Small, idiotic. Alex nodded.

'He had the thing on his head, right? Like a big camera lens? Did your man have it too?'

'I don't know, I think he had something on his head but I ran too quick. I- I didn't look I just ran, I just saw light, a bright shiny light.'

'That was prob'ly it,' Alex said. 'Prob'ly the moon reflected or something. You see it in the pond sometimes, at night. Don't know what it is though.' She shuddered. 'It looks creepy.'

'But how did he know where we were? How did he-'

'Doesn't matter. I think we should go now. Come on, we're nearly there.'

'But -' Before he could say anything else Alex had grabbed his hand and they rushed off again, following the stream now, which Billy knew would take them back to the village.

The village. It was somewhere ahead of them but he could hardly see now; the Shadow was worse now than it had ever been. He did not know what he would do when Alex left him. And she would leave, as soon as they found her uncle. The policeman who hated him. Billy frowned and tried not to think about the red-faced sergeant with his bad breath and stubborn refusal to listen to Billy's side of things.

So the little boy stayed as close to his new friend as he could. She was so sure of herself and he was so afraid. To make matters worse, he wouldn't have been able to spot the man in the black coat even if he wanted to. The Shadow had closed in tightly around him and Billy focused desperately on the tunnel of soft pink light binding him to Alex, guiding him along behind her wherever she went.

When they reached the outskirts of the village, Alex ducked behind a high stone wall, originally built to prevent drunken farmers steering their horses and sometimes their carts, into the water. They crept along the bank of the stream, crouching, towards the village green.

A distant murmur of angry voices grew out of the background noise of running water and soon enough Billy was able to make out words.

'Where is my baby?'

'Who's going to look for my son?'

'It's been two days now and what the hell are you boys doing about it?'

'She is only seven years old!'

'My only daughter! Taken!'

'Little Johnny too, him and his two friends, all gone!'

'Now calm down, please everybody just calm down!' The Inspector's voice. He sounded no more harrassed and grumpy than usual, but Billy heard the note of panic in his tone. It slithered out of his mouth and loomed out over the anxious villagers like a thick black snake, twisting and swaying, absorbing all their fears and magnifying the feeling of general panic about the place. Billy felt cold. Alex motioned for him to crouch with her behind a large statue of Queen Victoria as they took their bearings and surveyed the chaos before them. He reached out for her hand and she took his, willingly.

'He won't follow us now,' Alex whispered, 'there are too many people, he won't try anything here.'

'How can you be sure?' Billy asked. He looked nervously around the sea of faces, but there was no glint of sliver or flash of reflected light. There was no sign of his mother or the old man. He wasn't really surprised at that. He knew Davey would not like to talk to the police and his mother - well, she did not like to talk to anybody. His house was on the other side of the village, they would be waiting for him there. When he found them, he would be safe again.

It seemed as if the whole village was out in the green today. The women looked worried and frightened, the men angry. And frightened. Everybody was talking at once, Inspector Smailes was holding both hands up in a futile gesture of supplication. He kept shouting for quiet, but nobody was listening. The stream chuckled away behind the children, oblivious to the drama unfolding in this obscure little village today.

'All the children are gone!'

'Not all!' called Alex.

The two new friends stepped out from behind the statue, hand in hand, and walked out into the village green.

3.4 - The Basement

The pendulum strained against Davey's hand, but he held it tight, the cold metal sucking the heat from his fingers as if it could draw strength from his lifeforce itself. There was a loud click. Several things happened at once, accompanied by the tortured scraping of mechanisms long abandoned. While he watched the clock face, the cogs inside shuddered to a standstill with a loud clunking when another mechanism caught and whirred into life. Behind the main workings Davey could just make out a tiny wheel starting to spin. With a final loud clank, the pendulum dropped out of the case into his hands.

Still works then, he thought, almost surprised.

The clock slid sideways, screeching along neglected grooves in the tiles, revealing a metal door with no handle. Davey ran his eyes over the featureless flatness of the metal. It had been so long, he was no longer sure how it worked. Raising a shaking hand, he explored the uppermost edge with the small end of the pendulum, until he found a groove to slot the rod into. He pushed his palm against the icy surface just under the groove, feeling the hungry metal absorbing even more of his body heat. A moment later there was an imperceptible click and the door swung open with a sigh of stagnant air, nearly toppling the old man into darkness. A decorative wrought-iron staircase spiralled into the void.

Davey stepped forwards and probed the wall just inside the doorway until he felt a switch move. The lights fizzled, flashing for a moment on a sea of cobwebs like the morning mist on a calm ocean, then the cellar once again returned to blackness.

The old man swore and grumbled his way back through the kitchen, returning with an armful of candles. Leaving a trail of flickering light down the spiral staircase, he hacked through the cobwebs, uncovering an old workbench and rows of carefully labelled packing boxes resting peacefully under a thick layer of dust.

'Here we go again,' he said to himself with a sigh and began to rifle frantically through the boxes, throwing contraptions and papers everywhere. Coughing as the dust of untouched decades choked the air, Davey found what he was looking for: an ancient-looking wooden casket.

'Damn you both,' he muttered, cleaning the lid with his sleeve.'Damn you both to hell.'

There were no cartoon faces this time, just two names roughly carved into the wood. Not his best work, but he had been angry at the time. And afraid.

There was nothing else of interest down here. Just dead files, flammable records of a history best left forgotten. Davey started to make his way back to the stairs, clutching the casket to his chest. A hint of movement above made him pause. A creak and a sudden breeze. Subtle changes in the shadows. Ancient locks scraped back into place and the candles flickered, then died in the sucking wind.

The cellar was plunged into darkness.

'Seven years. Seems like a lifetime, doesn't it, Professor?'

Davey nearly jumped out of his skin. At the top of the stairs the sudden blackness had somehow become darker. He squinted and tried to bring the intruder into focus. That voice. Cracked, broken. Never the same since the accident.

'You!' he managed at last. 'How did you - ?'

'Later, old man, later,' said the intruder. 'It's taken me seven long years to find you, Professor, but in the end I knew you would not stray far from the boy.'

'What have you done with him?' demanded Davey. 'Where's Billy?'

'I'm quite sure I have no idea what you mean.'

'I swear, if anything happens to the lad, I'll - '

'You'll what? Do you really think you can still beat me? I have twenty years on you.' The image of the yobs trying to run flashed across Davey's mind. The lad he'd put in hospital. He smiled to himself in the darkness. Best keep quiet for now.

The figure began to move slowly, almost imperceptibly down the stairs. It grew from an indistinct blob into the vague shape of a tall man wearing a long black coat. A glint of metal. Davey waited for his eyes to finish adjusting to the dark and held his ground. At last the man was close enough to see and his blood ran cold. What was visible of the grey face was contorted and scarred. Some sort of metallic contraption was strapped over one eye, like a big camera lens supported by little hydraulic pistons. It twisted and twitched with tiny hisses as it focused on the old man. The other eye sparkled under the faint outline of an eyebrow as if laughing at some inner joke. Davey bunched his fists.

'What do you want from me?' he asked.

'You're holding it,' the man said, pointing at the casket in Davey's hands. Davey saw that beyond the black glove, his wrist was also covered in twisted, melted skin. There was something else under the sleeve, something with buttons. He had begun experimenting on himself after the accident, they said. When there had been no news, Davey had assumed something had gone wrong, that the man had damaged his own brain beyond repair and was dribbling in a corner somewhere. He had finally been free. Yet here he was, not damaged - changed yes, but not damaged. He shuddered at the metallic glint as the man lifted his gaze from the casket to look at Davey, that clear blue staring eye.

'This?' Davey looked down at the box as if seeing it for the first time. The secrets of history. Seekers. The world turning in infinite circles. The neverending terror. 'It's nothing.' He said, backing away. 'Just a bunch of old letters, you wouldn't want -'

'I know what it is,' the man snapped. 'Why else would you be down here, in this -' He made a sweeping gesture, indicating the dusty basement, '- this crypt? Yes, the clock is remarkable - your finest work I dare say - but did you really think I would not find you? Did you think that we would not seek you out and make you give us the boy? I was too blinded by my own work, but I knew you would lead me to them in the end.' He beckoned Davey forwards with a gloved hand. 'Come on now, don't be foolish.'

'I - I don't think so. Tell me what you've done with Billy, then we'll talk.'

'Don't be foolish, old man.'

By now the figure loomed above him, edging closer and closer in the shadows. The old man drew himself up, bracing his heel against the wall.

'What are you going to do?' Davey said, crouching slightly, lowering his center of gravity.

'I'm going to set things right, at last!' the man shouted and launched himself off the stairs.

3.5 - The Village

'Oh, it's the Speers boy.'

'Who's that with him?'

'That's Alexandra Prynn, the librarian's daughter.'

'What's she doing with him?'

'What have they been doing? He's covered in mud!'

'He's always covered in mud, that one.'

'Kids! Don't they know it's unsafe out here?'

'I heard he's the one who started it! Went missing two days ago, he did!'

'Where's his mother? That's what I want to know.'

'Heard she hasn't left the house since. Just keeps saying he'll be home soon.'

'Aye, 'tis a sad tale.'

'He's always in trouble! The Gibson boy has the scars to prove it!'

'Hah! Taught Bobby Gibson a lesson, if you ask me!'

'How dare you! My Bobby might be dead for all you know!'

'Okay, okay I'm sorry! (But he IS a big bully).'

'Where's that Prynn, anyway?'

'Probably out with young Elsie Smailes!'

'OI! I heard that!'

'Sorry inspector!'

'Never mind him, he seems quite safe to me, what about my boy?'

'And mine!'

'Hush everyone! Now then lad, what have you got to say for yourself?'

It was Alex who spoke first. Billy followed her into the midst of the crowd in a sort of daze, his ears barely taking in the maelstrom of anxious voices and nervous laughter. He was used to being the butt of bitter jokes but here the sentiment was cruel, driven by fear and worry. Amongst the multicoloured ribbons of the villagers' comments he remained guided by a pure pink shaft of light trailing from Alex. He clung to it and it's beauty afforded him some respite from the chaos.

'We saw the man who has been taking all the children,' Alex said loudly. There was a gasp and the muttering crowd fell silent. The Inspector crouched down before the girl and looked seriously into her eyes.

'What's that, Alexandra?' he said.

'We saw the man who has been taking all the children,' Alex repeated, 'He creeps up on you and then grabs you and then -'

'You saw him take someone?' Smailes interrupted sharply, 'Who was it?'

'No,' Alex said, shaking her head, 'we - I mean he tried to catch us.' The little girl puffed out her chest and put her arm around Billy's shoulder, squeezing him proudly. 'But we escaped!' The muttering started up again, but Smailes held up his hand and smiled reassuringly at the girl. Billy watched the black snake of his fear coil around his neck and squeeze. He fought the urge to bat it away. The Inspector hooked a finger into his collar and loosened his top button. When he spoke his voice was quiet, clipped as if he was finding it difficult to breathe.

'Now this is very important Alexandra, what does this man look like?'

'He - he looks like a nightmare,' Billy said, still a little out of breath.

'Yes,' Alex nodded, 'his face is all made of scars like he's been in a hundred sword fights and he wears a long black coat that goes all the way to the ground.'

'He has a thing all strapped onto his head,'

'Like a camera lens-'

'Or a big glass eye and his left hand is all black, like his coat'

'It's a shiny black glove, but only on his left hand.'

'He's big.'

'And scary,' they finished together. The inspector turned to his constable, who was desperately scribbling in his notepad. When the constable looked up and nodded, nervously, Smailes continued.

'Where did you see him?'

'At my house, in the night.' The children spoke at the same time and then looked at each other, startled. Alex let out a little laugh and her story came out in a rush.

'I was getting more firewood for the fire, mum says I always leave it too late and I have to go out in the dark and one day I'll surprise everybody and do something right for once. Anyway I ran to the woodshed and then I had my arms full and I turned around to go back and the man grabbed me out of the shadows. I dropped the wood and screamed and he jumped then I kicked him in the, in the, you know - where it hurts and I ran back inside. Mum was mad I had left the wood and said I'd imagined it but I wouldn't go outside and then she went outside and then he wasn't there anymore.'

The constable sighed in exasperation as he tried to make sense of this story. He sighed a little more loudly when Billy spoke while he was still writing. The Inspector listened quietly and put his hand on Billy's shoulders when he had finished. The little boy was trembling.

'It's okay son, you're safe with us now.' He looked at Alex. 'Now what brought you here today?'

On a normal day all of this would have been ridiculed and stored up for future ammunition against Billy and his mother. On a normal day people would have shaken their heads and the inspector would have told the children to run along and stop wasting everybody's time, while being secretly pleased he's actually had something interesting to do beyond finding Old Mrs Bassenthwaite's wandering ginger tom again. But despite their conspiratorial mutterings and murmurs, the villagers seemed genuinely scared this time. The description of the kidnapper had slotted neatly into the darkest recesses of everybody's worst fears, so no-one interrupted and everybody listened. Smailes would have given anything to be someone else today, because now he had to find this man.

The children were bundled into the back of a police car and told they would be taken to their parents, where they would be looked after until this was all Sorted Out. The Inspector stayed behind to organise a search of the woods. Billy heard the hubbub start up again as soon as they were out of the way. He wondered if the Inspector could still feel the black snake around his neck.

'I hope the snake lets him breath soon,' he said quietly.

'What?'

'What? Oh, nothing!' Billy looked out of the window and tried to bring his thoughts under control. He watched the harrassed Inspector disappear behind the gang of angry faces, hoped desperately the man in the black coat would be found quickly and wondered if Davey was looking after his mother.

'Are you okay?' Alex asked when the car had begun to pull away.

'I think so,' Billy said. 'After you tell your mum you're okay we'll go and see Davey, the old man who lives next door to me. He always knows what to do.' Alex nodded. Billy didn't bother to ask if she knew where he lived. Everybody knew. For a little while they sat watching the village roll by, still holding hands, each lost in their own recollections of the past couple of days.

When they rounded the last corner before Billy's house, there was a screech of tyres, a loud crash and the world turned upside down.

3.6 - The Theft

The strangest sensation played across Davey's cheek.

Wetness. Rough. Small and rough. Fur...

'Wah-? Fur?' Davey opened his eyes and squinted at the morning light, beaming down through the open door, casting shadows through the spiral staircase. He was lying on the floor at the bottom of the stairs with Thomas the tabby cat sitting beside him, happily licking his face, tongue scraping up his cheek like a tiny sheet of wet sandpaper.

He gingerly explored his body. Nothing seemed to be broken. He tried to remember what he was doing.

The old man hauled himself to his feet, wincing and moaning at the pain, which seemed to fill every joint. He looked around the dusty cellar. Everything seemed to be where he remembered, except for one thing.

The casket had gone.

4.1 - The Conference

'Nineteen Eighty-Nine is a great year!'

'We hold the very stuff of science fiction in our hands.'

'What you will see today is going to blow your minds!'

'You may have heard about the furore over at the Royal Society a few months ago; this week you will be able to meet the famous Unicorn for yourselves!'

'So pay attention, gentlemen, for what you are about to hear will revolutionise the way society thinks about information and technology.'

'Please, discard for a moment the preposterous idea that we are all individuals, that we each possess a soul that defines who we are.'

'Consider the ant colony and the behaviour of the swarm compared to the humble worker.'

'Consider the role of the entire army in a war, not the lone gunman battling it out in the trenches.'

'We are a race, not a jumble of disparate parts.'

'You may be aware that in the last few years, due to massive investment from the American National Science Federation, several Universities in the U.S. have been able to come together and share information on an unprecedented scale.'

'And now, in nineteen eighty-nine, the 'Internet' has become a commercial entity -'

'It is no longer the playground of the military and private networks,'

'(Yes, thank you) - and with the adoption of TCP/IP into the CERN network we are now able to communicate with people all over the globe, instantly.'

'The speed of adoption and expansion means that within a few years, the internet will be available in almost every single household on the planet.'

'This is going to change the way you live,'

'It will change the way we all live,'

'It will change society itself...'

Jake apologised his way along the row of bored delegates and left the auditorium, pausing only to grab a coffee on his way out. In a dark corner full of cigarette butts and polystyrene cups just out of the rain, he sparked up, massaging his pounding temple and wishing that the pain would go away.

The previous day had been even worse, all those pointless technical arguments about the relative (and as far as Jake could see, largely irrelevant) merits of this and that protocol. The general impression he'd had of the conference so far, was that the Educated Classes did not believe that society was intelligent enough to grasp the concept, let alone understand the inner workings of such a complicated technology. They did not believe the general public could be trusted with this information and allowing the world to link together like this, unfettered and unpoliced was a recipe for disaster. Vaguely interesting, but hardly front page stuff. The editor was going to kill him.

'It's all a bit Sci-Fi, isn't it?' One of the waitresses had joined him. She looked about sixteen, the same age as his own daughter. Just a drone in an army of many - a conference like this needed a constant supply of caffeine and biscuits - the arguments would rage on late into the night, becoming more animated and ridiculous every hour.

'What?' He was caught off guard, 'Oh you mean the computer thing?'

'Yeah, you know - people behavin' like ants. Computers takin' over the world.'

'Hah.' Jake laughed. 'Given the average intelligence in there, I think that's pretty doubtful, don't you? Light?'

'Thanks. What do you mean?'

'Well maybe not intelligence as such, I mean they just have no fucking idea what is actually happening in the actual world, do they? Most of them can barely dress themselves and they think they have the right to say what you and me should think?'

'I wouldn't know about that.' She gave him a sly grin. 'I'm too stupid to know what they're talkin' about. You want more coffee, I'm your gal!'

'No computer yourself, then?'

'Do I look like the Queen? Know how much those things cost?'

'Sorry.'

'Don't sweat it. Wouldn't know what to do with one anyway. Not like I go to school or anythin' is it?'

'Why not?'

'Got kids to feed, ain't I?' She saw the look Jake was giving her and quickly added, 'Not MY kids!'

'You think it's all too far-fetched to be true, then?' Jake asked and the girl nodded.

'What did they say? The army's had this 'Internet' since the sixties? Reckon it does a lot more than they're lettin' on.'

'Oh yeah?'

'Yeah. I mean, why now? Why suddenly decide to let it all go public and how is it already so big? It's like they've been plannin' this for a long time.' Jake was surprised, but this was exactly what he had been thinking. The sudden emergence of these massive networks while half the planet didn't even have electricity? Sci-Fi, indeed.

'And I thought I was the one with the crazy theories,' he said. The girl gave him a friendly shove.

'Hey! I'm not crazy. What's your explanation then?'

'Well,' Jake said, 'I think that they are trying to push forward something that isn't ready yet. They are a bunch of dreamers and this whole thing will never take off. I mean, what are computers good for right now?'

'You think people won't want them?'

'You don't want one,' he pointed out.

'I know how my finances look already, thanks. I don't need a machine to tell me I'm up to my eyeballs in debt.'

'At the moment they don't seem to do much, sure, but the speed this technology is moving, who knows?'

'Computers are the future! One Race, One Mind!' the girl sang and they both laughed.

'Still,' Jake said, 'they say we'll have computers in every house soon so you might get lucky.'

'Why would I want one? These geeks want to run the world from our bedrooms!'

'They think once everybody has them they'll be more useful somehow. Indispensable, even.'

'Well I don't need any of that crap, I can live without it, thank you very much.'

'You wouldn't want to end up like that lot in there, anyway.'

'Yeah, right.' She finished her cigarette and made to go back inside.

'Wait,' Jake said. 'Want another?' He waved his cigarettes at her.

'No thanks, the boss will be after me. She's a right dragon, that one. Nice to meet you though.'

'What's your name? Mine's Jake.'

'Natalie. My friends call me Nat.'

'Nice to meet you, Nat. See you around?'

'Yeah, maybe.'

Jake watched the girl go. Tried to keep his thoughts clean. He had a daughter of his own, after all. Strange amount of interest for a waitress, there had been something disconcerting in the way she had looked at him, as if she were calculating how much he would be worth in the future. A future full of robots and sentient computers? Not likely, this was the Eighties after all.

He finished his cigarette, downed the rest of his coffee with a satisfied gasp and followed her back inside.

4.2 - The Kidnap

Footsteps. Slow, deliberate.

Billy struggled to open his eyes, head throbbing where he had bashed it against the window. The strange words had almost physically floated before him, fat fuzzy shapes and uncomfortably bright colours. Warm liquid slowly dripped onto his cheek and he tried to look upwards, but his temple was pierced with unimaginable pain. It took all of his strength not to scream.

Darkness enveloped him.

Moments later, or hours - he had no way of telling - Billy blinked slowly as his eyes adjusted to the light and tried to remember how to see. The thoughts that had seemed to come from outside himself rose up again, filling in the gaps his other senses could not.

You feel fear, anxiety, adrenalin. There is DANGER.

He was no longer leaning on the window of the police car, which was rocking back on its wheels. The door he had fallen against opened, and Billy almost tumbled out. He heard strange noises, low-pitched, drawn out sounds like bass heavy music pumping dolefully through a thick wall. Once again words materialised before his eyes, his brain searching for answers when all he wanted to do was hide.

No escape! Where's Alex? Who are they? Why are they after YOU?

Billy was powerless to help the girl when rough hands dragged her out of the car. It happened slowly, sluggishly, as if they were underwater. He tried to scream when he too was seized, but a hand clamped over his mouth. His sinuses filled with a sweet medicinal smell and the world faded.

In his dream, Billy heard the hypnotic roar of rushing water. So loud, as if he were inside a whirlpool, a raging torrent of reds and blues dragging him into its depths…

'Billy! Wake up! Billy please wake up!' Alex's voice, broken with sobs and desperation.

'Wha-?'

Consciousness bubbled out of the whirlpool and Billy found himself squashed in the backseat of another car. A kidnapping then. They would find out where all the other children had been taken. He struggled to lean forward and look round the huge bulk of the dark-skinned man sitting between himself and the little girl. She watched him fearfully from the other side of the car through tear-stained eyes, hands wringing in her lap, bound with plastic ties.

The man studied him with a mixture of scientific interest and some caution, as if he half expected the seven year-old boy to break free and throttle them all. Billy glared up at him, but only saw himself reflected in the silver glasses. The sight shocked him beyond measure, dried blood caking the left side of his face, his eye swollen and purple.

The big man grinned and raised his hand.

Billy sank back into oblivion.

A huge fallen tree, a rescue. Baby birds in the river, crying, screaming…

Billy awoke to the sound of raucous laughter. He could still taste the river and hear the birds crying for help. They had wanted him, but he did not remember why.

'Quiet back there!' A woman's voice. Cruel, hard.

'Looks like he's coming round, want me to knock him out again?'

'No, leave him be. We've got hours to go yet.'

'Yeah, Johnson. You get too carried away with that chloroform!'

'Get fooked little man, didn't see you running to help. Did you see how fast he moved?' A deep voice, like the rumble of oceans.

'Ooh the little boy got the big man scared?' A more whiney, needling voice, spoken through a gap-toothed smile. The kind of voice children use when telling tales.

'It ain't natural, is all I'm saying!'

'Shut up, both of you. Johnson, give the boy a drink, but don't knock him out again! We need him to be awake when we arrive.' The big man grumbled and Billy was shoved painfully into the door as the man turned to reach behind them, returning with a grin and a bottle of water. He pushed the neck into Billy's mouth and tipped the bottle. The boy drank reluctantly. Warm water ran down his chin and into his bloodstained shirt.

'That's right boy, drink up.' The man's deep voice sounded absurdly kind given his propensity for 'chloroform', whatever that was. The chemical smell? Billy swallowed.

'Why-?' he began, but had to stop with a grimace. Speaking sent pain spiking up into his temple.

'No boy. You be quiet now. No questions.' The mirrored glasses shot him a look that forbade disobedience. Billy nodded nervously and tried to catch Alex's eye. The corner of the wooden box pushed insistently into his ribs. They hadn't been searched then. How he longed to take it out and study the strange object again. It will protect you when the time comes, the old man had said. Evidently this was not that time, for they were powerless in the hands of these three strangers. The old man would come. He would follow and rescue them. He had promised. Billy hoped Davey was not too old for this adventure. He was their only chance.

Billy closed his eyes and tried to conjure up his imaginary life; the adventures, the high seas, anything to escape the reality of the moment. But the Shadow had him completely overwhelmed now. All he could see through the darkness was a tiny pink light shining brightly in the darkness.

Alex.

Billy smiled weakly at her.

'Don't worry Alex, it'll be okay.' he said, with great difficulty. Johnson snorted derisively and the man in the passenger seat actually laughed out loud.

Alex sobbed and looked away.

'That's it, next branch, next branch!' The blackbird called. The roaring of the water completely filled Billy's senses. He was aware of nothing but the branch just ahead, in sharp focus within the dark wall of noise. And nesting within it, the blackbird's screaming children. He had to reach them, soon. Before the pain began.

'But you didn't talk!' Billy mumbled.

'What? What's that?'

'Little feller talking in his sleep, is he?'

'Yeah, wonder what he dreams about. What do you dream about Wonderboy?'

'Oh be quiet, you two!'

The car lurched around a corner at high speed and Billy almost fell off the seat. Strong hands gripped him and hauled him back up into place. The big man was watching him warily again, as if expecting him to commit some great act of magic. Billy looked out of the window and tried to pretend that there was nothing on his mind.

He saw that they had reached a city, and allowed himself to become hypnotised by the brightly coloured lights that were trailing alongside them like shooting stars. He would have done anything to escape this pain, this fear. He wondered what his new friend was thinking. Did she blame him for this? How had the man found them in the allotments - had he been followed? Had she?

Alex was still sniffing quietly, trying to suppress her sobs and Billy wished he could reach her, comfort her. Tell her about the old man and show her he was not afraid.

But he couldn't, and he was.

When the river pulled him under, Billy felt the water turn to treacle and the world slowing down. He saw himself from a distance, saw the old man running in slow motion beside him, felt the rope catch around his leg. The Shadow was a physical thing then, hovering around his limp body like a swarm of black flies.

As he watched, the flies streamed into his body through his eyes, nose, ears and mouth. His fingertips tingled as the Shadow filled him completely and he saw his eyes turn into blackened orbs while Davey tried to wake him.

4.3 - The Argument, Part 1

'Blimey, you lot are so bloody naive!'

Stunned silence. A cough.

'What did you say young lady?' Natalie looked round the sea of scraggly beards and bushy eyebrows. A surreal gathering of mad scientists. She wondered what the collective noun should be: Nucleus? Petri Dish? She suppressed the giggle that was welling up, but there was no need; she had already won the disapproval of the room. Serving girls weren't supposed to have opinions, but her conversation with the journalist outside had boosted her confidence. He seemed to think she had something worthwhile to say. Perhaps people would listen here as well, since they were already openly debating the matter. Not if she kept using strong language though. Some of them looked genuinely shocked. 'I just coughed,' she suggested, 'I'm not very well.'

'No no, my dear, please allow us the benefit of your experience.' The man who had spoken was smiling. He steepled his fingers over the table and mocked her with raised eyebrows. Cracked skin and long grey hair, like Gandalf the wizard. There were a couple of sniggers. She felt her face growing hot.

'Are you sure about this, Gerald?' Another man, with the appearance of a kindly old country gent. 'The girl looks half terrified.' Natalie frowned.

'Yes, just let her go.' A chorus of muttering voices, muffled by facial hair.

'Please, gentlemen. Let the young lady speak.' This was a much younger man in a sharp charcoal business suit. The others quietened down. He was clearly the leader of the group. He smiled at Natalie and she realised that he was the one who had set her off in the first place. Nobody will notice, indeed.

'You all think you're going to save the world,' said Natalie, 'but all I see is Big Brother. It's all so 1984.'

'Oh? You have read Orwell?' the one called Gerald said, surprised. Charcoal Man chuckled derisively.

'Yeah,' Natalie said. 'I can read, thank you.' She folded her arms and glared at them.

'Now look here, I didn't mean - ' Gerald began, raising a shaking finger in protest. Natalie watched him with a mixture of distaste and astonishment. This old man was clearly not used to the poisonous looks that teenage girls have perfected over the centuries. She should have walked away, gone back to her table and brewed up some more coffee like a good girl, but it had been a long weekend and she found herself unable to ignore their prejudice.

'Course you didn't mean anything,' she snapped, rolling her eyes. 'You think 'cause I am only sixteen I can't see where this stuff is heading?'

'And where, pray, is it "heading"?' Air-quotes. That put Charcoal Man firmly at the top of Natalie's blacklist. His colleagues abandoned their animated discussion about the merits and demerits of inter-nodal packet tracing - whatever that was - and all leaned forwards eagerly. Natalie had the floor.

'You think your wonderful internet will only bring pleasure and newfound productivity to the world, like a new Utopia, a wonderful dream. Like nothing can possibly go wrong.'

'You do not agree?' Gerald again.

'No. I think it's dangerous to link everything together. Plus, people won't understand what's going on.'

'That will probably be true, at first.' Charcoal Man nodded, chiming in at last. 'These machines are primarily designed for business use, complex mathematics, that sort of thing. But as the technology progresses, who knows? They are already far more powerful than we imagined thirty years ago.'

'I just don't see the point, is all.'

'You have heard of electronic mail?' Natalie heard the stifled laughter around the table, but was too focused on Charcoal Man's condescending grin to care.

'Well yeah, but-'

'You do not think people will like being able to instantly talk to anyone, anywhere in the world?'

'Not really.'

'Ever use the telephone?' More giggles. Natalie rolled her eyes. They were being so childish.

'Only when I have to,' she said. 'I like letters. I like having secrets that only I know.'

'In the Universities we have found that students are spending more and more time talking to their Professors and each other over electronic mail. In the workplace it is becoming invaluable. In the military - ow!' He was interrupted by Gerald appearing to suffer a seizure, which he covered up with a fit of coughing.

'Sorry Gerald, confidential, I know,' Barnaby said, rubbing his shin and wincing.

'Quite right. Need to know only, old fellow,' said Gerald. Natalie suspected that he had enjoyed dishing out that swift kick under the table. He looked particularly pleased with himself.

'I just think this fancy "world-wide" network you people want to build won't just be used to share information, but to gather it,' she said.

'But my dear, of course,' said Gerald, taking over while Barnaby was preoccupied, scowling to himself.

'It will become the true foundation of all knowledge.'

'A comprehensive repository for the ages.'

'Just imagine!' They were all weighing in now, becoming more excited by the second.

'Oh, I'm imagining alright. And I am not your 'dear'. People will be fooled into believing they can share their secrets with friends and family while you all sit back and study them.'

'There is nothing wrong with -'

'With what? Studying people like ants in an antfarm? Testing your theory about the whole of society becoming a sentient gestalt?'

'Well, it's only a theory,' Gerald said.

'But what if it's true? What if you're right?'

'Then the human race will progress beyond the petty distractions of war and money and become more comfortable with it's place in the universe!'

'Do you guys ever listen to yourselves?' asked Natalie, laughing now, 'and you think I'm naive!'

'I'm quite sure I don't know what you mean.'

'Even worse,' she continued, 'have you thought about what could happen if your wonderful technology got into the wrong hands?'

'Ah, now then,' said Gerald, 'there is an International Accord, you see, which is under discussion designed to prevent just that.' Natalie was not convinced.

'And what if the people discussing this Accord are the wrong hands?' She marched over to Charcoal Man - Bernard's chair and stood over him, hands on hips. 'Have you thought of that?' she added, wondering whether scalding-coffee-in-the-face was a sackable offence. He glared back at her. 'What if you are the wrong hands?'

'Now see here, this is going too far,' Bernard retorted, angry now. 'I was not aware that we took our lessons in morality from a mere serving wench, am I right, gentlemen?' He looked around his companions, who were suddenly fiercely interested in the patterns made by biscuit crumbs on the cheap tablecloth.

'But you can't just-' Natalie protested.

'Young lady,' Gerald said softly, like a grandfather telling his granddaughter there are no monsters under her bed, 'there are no conspiracies here.' Natalie snorted with exasperation and was drawing breath to launch into another attack, but was interrupted by a gentle, lady-like cough behind her.

'Excuse me, gentlemen - may I interrupt?' Everyone became suddenly, uncomfortably silent. The newcomer was tall and smartly dressed. She looked down her nose at Natalie through stylish horn-rimmed spectacles and smiled.

4.3 - The Argument, Part 2

'By all means Professor,' said Bernard with a dismissive wave, carefully avoiding eye contact. Natalie felt a little bit ill. The boss had caught her arguing with the scientists. They were all such very important men and she was actually arguing with them. Oh well, four days in a job wasn't bad.

'Thank you,' the Professor said. 'You will no doubt be pleased to hear that they have fixed the projector and the lecture will continue in five minutes. In the meantime, please help yourselves to more coffee and biscuits.' She nodded at Natalie. 'Come with me.'

Laughter followed them out of the room. Natalie fumed. They had just ignored everything she said. They had given her a chance to influence their decisions and they had just laughed at her opinions. She could not understand how they could be so obstinately ignorant of the dark possibilities ahead.

When they reached the quiet of the hallway, the Professor turned to face Natalie, put a hand on each shoulder and said quietly, 'I really don't think you should be getting involved in these discussions.'

'But Professor, these idiots don't understand what they're messing with!'

'Oh, I'm quite sure that they do, dear. That's why we're all here.'

'Do you think it's a good idea?'

'Good? Not really. Inevitable? Certainly.'

'I just don't see what good all these computers will do. What about the planet? What about all the energy six billion computers will use up?'

'What about it? We are getting better at that, too. Energy I mean, not using it up.' Natalie wondered what was happening. Why the Professor seemed to be just as interested in what she had to say as the scientists had been. They had done it to show off, but the Professor? Her boss? It was a strange way to sack someone. And why was she smiling? Natalie should have kept her mouth shut and let the so-called 'experts' make their own mistakes.

'I'm sorry. I should keep my mouth shut. It always gets me into trouble.'

'Oh don't be. I'm delighted that you have taken such an interest in the proceedings. It is a historic day.'

'History will tell, I suppose.'

'Quite.' Natalie felt that the Professor was waiting for her to say something else.

'I just think they're missing something really big here,' she said, 'All this talk about information and global networks. It's spying on people. It's wrong.'

'Not everything is black and white, or right and wrong. They are not wrong, and you are not right. Technology has a way of balancing everything out in the end. Think of all the positive things that could come out of such a global network.'

'Like what?'

'Like information being accessible to all, regardless of social status. You would be able to look after your children and learn at the same time; connect to shops and order what you want without ever leaving your house; keep in touch with friends all over the world; the possibilities really are endless!' It still didn't sound that great to Natalie.

'So although we will all be fat and lazy, at least we will be well educated?' The Professor laughed. Natalie became even more confused; the Professor had spent most of the week bossing all the workers around, she didn't smile. She'd even sacked a few people for stupid things, like the coffee being a bit cold, or running out of biscuits, and yet here she was, trying to find out what Natalie thought about things. It didn't make sense.

'I suppose you want me to go home now,' she said. The Professor shook her head.

'You're here for the day aren't you? What will the geeks have for tea? You know they can't feed themselves.' Natalie was stunned.

'Really? Thank you so much! I really need this job, the kids need me to have this job, thank you!' She nearly hugged her, but although friendly enough, the Professor's stance forbade it.

'Do you really want to change the world, Natalie?'

'Well... what can I do?'

'What school did you go to?'

'I - um.. I dropped out of school. That's why I'm here. I have kids to feed.'

'That's a pity. You have a very sharp mind.'

'Well, maybe one day I'll go back. I wish-'

'You know, there is a lot more going on here than computer networks this week. If you really wanted to get your teeth into something I'm doing a lecture on Neurology tomorrow. I would very much like to hear what you think.'

'What? But I'm just-'

'I know a powerful mind when I see one, Natalie. Come. It'll be educational.'

'I should get back,' said Natalie. 'People will start talking.'

'I think they are all talking about you now, dear. Come and see me before work tomorrow at eight o'clock sharp,' the Professor said. 'At this address.' She handed Natalie a small white card on which were printed the words, 'Professor Joanne Dudgeon, Dudgeon Pharmaceuticals, The White Building, London.'

4.4 - The Arrival

Kathy and her father huddled together outside a pair of huge, battered double bay doors in an alley which ran between a huge complex of beautiful white buildings.

Unicorn had been bundled into various cardboard boxes and stacked up beside them. Their escort, two burly men of questionable intelligence and remarkable bloody-mindedness had been resolutely silent since they had arrived some hours earlier.

'What we waitin' for?' One of the men muttered to his mate. He was sporting a huge bruise around his right eye where Kathy's father had struck him, shortly before being knocked to the ground and kicked until Kathy's screaming distracted them.

'Hang on,' said the partner, 'she should be 'ere soon... any minute now...' He looked at his watch, tapped it, held it to his ear. Then: 'Look there she is!'

'Daddy I'm scared,' Kathy whispered and her father pulled her close to him, trying to hide the pain he felt at the simple gesture.

'Don't worry love,' He said quietly, 'it'll be okay.' But she could hear in his voice that it wouldn't.

The new vehicle - a large white SUV - arrived with a squeal of rubber on tarmac and terrifyingly impressive breaks, stopping mereinches away from the small waiting party. Two people got out of the front seats, a young woman with long black hair and sharp brown eyes and a fearsome looking man with bad skin and worse teeth, the sort her father would have described as a 'young ruffian'. The ruffian sneered at the little girl.

'Brought you some 'friends' missy.' He leered. There was a deep rumble of laughter from within the car.

'Do you two never shut up?' The woman shouted, shoving the scruffy man out of the way and stepping up to open the rear door. Kathy gasped when a young boy practically fell out onto the pavement.

'Oh come on Kat, 'ee's only avin' a larf with the boy.' The woman rolled her eyes and wrenched the nearest door open. Kathy's eyes widened. So she wasn't the only one. Only these children did not have their parents to look after them.

'That's Katerina to you,' spat the woman. 'Give me a hand here, will you?' She hauled a little boy out of the vehicle by the shoulders. The boy's bruised face was covered in dried blood from a viscious looking gash in his temple. He was barely conscious. The ruffian grunted and dragged him to his feet, then stood by Kathy holding him upright while another, much bigger and possibly the most frightening man Kathy had ever seen stepped out of the car. He was carrying a weakly struggling bundle, another girl about Kathy's own age with fiery red hair.

Behind them, the garage door slid open with a scream of tortured metal.

'All here?' Katerina said crisply, seizing the little boy's arm. 'Good. Let's go and see the Dragon.'

5.1 - The Awakening

5.2 - The Chair, Part 1

Snip snip! Snip snip!

The little boy awoke. Disconnected thoughts and feelings flooded his mind through a thick fog of pain.

Blinding whiteness. Numbness. Smells. He struggled to take in his new surroundings. The caustic sting of disinfectant flavoured with fear and pain. Hands and feet bound. A dentist's chair. Lights so bright in a white room. As his eyes adjusted, vague shapes materialised against the whiteness. He wondered what had happened to his constant companion, but it was too bright for Shadows here.

Snip snip! The strange sound again, this time accompanied by a sing-song voice.

'I don't know, Look at him! So young, all bruised and broken. Why are we doing this now? We should wait.'

The voice came from somewhere behind his head, a woman, muttering to herself like his mother doing the housework. He moaned at the ache in his neck when he moved to see her. To his left, the wall seemed to be alive, undulating with a hypnotic patchwork of flashing lights. Some sort of huge machine. Screens drawing graphs and shapes and streams of words he could not read and did not understand. Wires everywhere. A white coat hunched over a bank of buttons, plugging in cables and tapping keys.

He could not see a door.

Snip snip!

'Yeah, what's this kid got that we don't already have?' A man's voice. The hunched figure. WhiteCoat, Billy thought.

'God knows. They said he was the one, though.’

‘The what? You mean that stupid techie story is true? I don’t believe it.’

‘We’ll see. You nearly done?'

'Getting there.' WhiteCoat sounded frustrated. 'Give me a minute.'

Snip snip!

'Help?' Billy wanted to say, but his mouth felt dry as a desert. The word stuck in the back of his throat as if it too were afraid to show itself.

'He's trying to talk,' the woman said. She was softly spoken, soothing. KindVoice, he thought.

'Yeah?' WhiteCoat laughed. 'Don't worry, I've taken care of it.' So they had done this to him, taken his words. What else had they done?

'Are you sure you can reverse his speech?'

'Oh, sure. I've done it literally tens of times. On monkeys. They were fine.'

Help me! Billy tried to shout, but still the words would not come. Instead, they rattled around his head. He had forgotten how to speak. He heard the words in his mind, knew the sounds they should make, but his throat refused to make the right noises.

‘Nnnnh!’ he said.

The straps around his arms and legs were tight, but he could not even lift his head, let alone break free. When he strained against them, a sharp red streak from left to right shot across his vision, pulsing in time with the blood pumping in his temple. His arm ached with a dull blue fuzz. He watched the pain-colours mix and linger together like a lazy mist on the floor. The Shadow watched - at least he could sense it watching - and waited. The overpowering sensations forced him to stop struggling, and he trembled, fists clenched, drowning under a wave of nausea.

'Uh-oh, he's starting to fight,' KindVoice said, moving around to Billy's side. 'Best try to lie still, dear. Here. This'll help.' She took hold of Billy's chin, and holding his head still, pushed something cold against his neck. He felt a different sort of sharp pain and the blood rushing up into his face like a hot tide. His vision blurred. The woman swam in and out of focus. She waved a large pair of scissors in front of him. Snip snip!

'These are sharp,' she said. 'You don't want to get hurt.' No wonder his head was cool. A few cuts later the scissors clanged into something metal.

'I need to shave your head now, so you must keep extra still for me. Can you do that?'

'Mm-mm.... Mmm!' Billy shook his head as vigorously as he could, which was not much. The woman moved out of view and the cold steel of a straight razor began to scrape over his skull. He barely felt it. The drug she had given him made everything appear to be happening to another little boy, far, far away.

'Don't worry,' said KindVoice. 'It's just a routine procedure. You're being very brave.' She lifted his head to reach the back, and added conversationally, 'I hear you're a very special little boy!'

'Very special,' said WhiteCoat. Billy thought he sounded almost disappointed. Impatient even, as if he had somewhere else to be.

'Mmm Nnnnh!' Still nothing. He felt light-headed.

'Hush. Don't try to talk. Afterwards we'll go and get ice cream. Would you like that?' Billy tried to show all of his anger through his eyes. The woman just smiled sympathetically and stroked his forehead, as if she could comfort him.

'No thanks,' said WhiteCoat, chuckling to himself. ‘They don’t have ice cream at the conference. You realise what I’m missing to be here?’

‘Oh yes, you keep telling me - the amazing future.’

‘If I’m not there by 10:30, I’ll be as obsolete as this machine will be tomorrow, trust me.’

‘You’re so melodramatic. If you don’t get this boy scanned, we’ll both be obsolete.’

The argument continued much in the same vein and while KindVoice shaved his head, Billy wavered in and out of consciousness, a state he was in danger of becoming used to.

The three children and Mr. Hagen had been led, carried and shoved through mile-high stacks of containers and busy forklifts. Billy called out, but the workmen barely noticed the folorn procession and just carried on as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world. In a clinically spotless steel elevator the big man called Johnson had hit a button labelled B3 and the lift descended without a murmur. Billy was surprised to see that the B numbers went all the way up - or down - to ten.

He had tried to reach Alex, but the woman called Katerina had her hand around his arm, holding him so tightly he felt that his bones might break. The other little girl - the one with all the computers - clung to the handcuffed man beside her and watched red numbers counting down, weeping quietly.

Billy kept quiet too. He was thinking about the old man and the river. The way everything had slowed right down as if the world itself was stopping. He no longer felt the wetness of the water or the pain in his head, just the thick, choking presence of the Shadow as it claimed him.

5.2 - The Chair, Part 2

Do you realise what you can do, son? You can freeze time! the old man had said afterwards. At the time Billy hadn't believed him, and he questioned Davey's use of the word 'can'. It implied control, and he did not have any of that. Just anxiety. With Davey's encouragement, he had tried to induce the effect again, but the best he could manage was a state of mind the old man had called his 'trance'. When he was in the Trance, the beautiful colours and lights would become so powerful that Billy could do nothing but surrender to them, and he would stand frozen for hours, oblivious to the outside world, hypnotised by the swirling shapes and colours.

He remembered the deep voices and the car tumbling over in slow motion, his head hitting the front seat as slowly as if he were floating in space. He had been absolutely terrified then, and he tried to recall that abject terror now, as if it would work this time, while Katerina had him in her vice-like grip and the others had gone. If he could just manage that, get out of this place and find Davey...

There had been muffled sounds behind closed white doors. Children crying, screaming, calling for help. So this was where they had all been taken. He wondered if Bobby Gibson was behind one of them, and felt guilty at the thought that the bully deserved it. Nobody deserved this, to be this scared, to be treated like an animal. He bit his trembling lip and held on to the image of the old man. Courage, lad, the old man would say. But he did not see how anyone could show courage here. He had not seen where the others had gone. The men had taken a prisoner each and split up, leaving Billy alone with Katerina. He spat and struggled, calling out Alex's name over and over, but she was carried out of sight, screaming his name.

Katerina had stopped at last in a open space with corridors leading off in all directions. The room was a beautiful tropical garden contrasting strangely with the white cleanliness throughout the building. The faint bubbling of water trickling over a cascade of granite filled the room. Birdsong rang out. Katerina exchanged whispered words with one of those huge men, the ones with no neck and a confused expression. He'd looked over her shoulder at Billy with wonder in his eyes, as he swiped a little plastic card through a slot in the wall. A door opened where the plants were thickest, where Billy was sure there had been no door.

A woman materialised in the open doorway. She seemed impossibly tall and regarded Billy with disdainful curiosity down her long pointed nose. He remembered her cruel eyes narrowing as she nodded to Katerina, who grabbed Billy and pushed him through the door. White-sleeved arms had taken him and the woman turned away. He felt a sharp pain in his neck. A hiss. He knew no more.

Until now.

The woman he had named KindVoice was wiping his face with a warm towel. 'There,' she said. 'Now this may feel a little strange, but it won't hurt, I promise.' The white room and the woman swam back into view before him. His head was cold, now completely bald. He felt calmer though, the drug she had given him must had dampened his emotions. Colours faded into whiteness in the quiet room. He could feel the Shadow watching, as if it had been caged for the time being, just out of reach under the chair perhaps, behind the machines.

The woman began sticking something to the little boy's head and he felt lots of unpleasant sucking sensations as if she were attaching leeches to his newly bare skin. He heard fingers tapping away at a computer keyboard and tiny electric shocks fizzed over his skin. The woman smiled down at him. He glared back. She might be trying to be his friend, but he could still hear Alex's screams.

'Nnnnnh! Mmmm!' Still the drugs dampened his senses, still he could not talk.

'It's just a brain scan, dear. Nothing painful.' Her voice was gentle, soothing as if this was the most ordinary day in the world. Billy heard a snort from the other side of the room, as if the man working on the machine did not believe her.

'Synapses seem okay,' said WhiteCoat. 'A few stress indicators here and there, but we can filter those out in the full scan.'

'Does he have what we need?'

'Can't tell, really. There is a hell of a lot more activity than usual, I can see that.'

'Should be interesting then. Poor boy, I hope it's worth it.'

A door hissed open. So there was a way out, after all.

'Have you two finished yet?' If Billy could have jumped, he would. He recognised the confident, heavy tread of steel-tipped boots on the white floor. Warm breath against his cheek. He could not move away, although he desired nothing more. The Shadow quivered in his peripheral vision, watching like a hidden predator, waiting for the moment to strike. If I ever could control you, he thought, now's the time.

But as usual, the Shadow did nothing. It just squatted in the corner of his mind, with an air of nervous excitement, as if it knew a lot more about what was going on than he did.

Billy screwed his eyes tightly closed and held his breath, feeling the woman leaning over him and willing her away with all his might.

5.2 - The Chair, Part 3

'Are you ready, William?' Katerina whispered.

'Nnnnnh!'

Katerina straightened, her hand heavy on Billy's shoulder. He sensed her turn to face the other occupants of the room.

'The boy is prepared?' she asked.

'Yes ma'am, everything is all set and ready to go.' KindVoice. Nervous and quiet. 'He - he'll come off the drugs in a few minutes, it was just to keep him quiet.'

'Here - is he really The One?' WhiteCoat asked.

'What?' Katerina. Her voice silky. Dangerous.

'You know,' WhiteCoat persisted, seemingly oblivious to the woman's tone, 'is he really the one - the key to everything we've been looking for?'

'That, my increasingly short-lived friend, is what we're going to find out. In any case, he is definitely the key to something.'

'Wow. Just - wow. I mean I've been here five years and all the Techies talk about is how we're just working off some incomplete scan of the perfect child. You sure it's him?'

'You sure the machine is ready?'

'Yes, but -'

'Excellent. You may leave.'

'What?' The man. Argumentative, angry. 'But the boss said-'

'I said, you may leave.' A pause. 'Now.'

'Well, fine. Only don't blame me if his head explodes. I'm going to have words about this.'

'Of course you are. Get out.'

'Y-yes ma'am. We'll be leaving now then. If you need us we'll be-'

'I won't need you. Go. Now.' The door hissed closed. Silence. Just the two of them again. Her black form moved into his field of vision, a new shadow against the whiteness of the room. Billy thought he could see the faces of demons in the darkness.

'Hello, William.'

'Nnnn-nnnh!'

'Oh hush, boy. We've been looking for you a long time,' Katerina said. 'Do you know, I had almost given up, too. But we have people all over the world looking for special little boys like you.' She checked the contacts on his head, traced the wires and checked the connections into the machine. 'It was only a matter of time.' she added.

'Nnnh.'

'Yes, I know. But the old man will take too long. He should have given himself up while he had the chance.'

'Nnh!'

'Oh don't worry, we'll catch him too. Few manage to evade me for long.' Billy shut his eyes as Katerina kissed him on the cheek. She cracked her knuckles like pistol shots and stood back, satisfied.

Katerina marched over to the bank of screens.

'Are you ready?' she said again, mocking his helplessness. She tapped on the keys.

Billy screamed.

The fizzing sensation intensified, became hotter, louder. Sharp bolts of pain shot through his head and his back arched, as if his body had taken on a mind of it's own.

'Excellent, it's all coming through now,' Katerina said. 'My, what an interesting mind you have.' she fussed over him, checking the things attached to his head while he writhed and screamed. Knives scythed through his consciousness, filling him, cutting his mind into pieces.

'Okay, that’s all working,’ said Katerina. ‘moving to level two.'

Afterwards, Billy could not remember actually hearing her words. He recalled the pain, yes. Pins and needles multiplied a thousand times, and in his brain. But the words came back later. Katerina had become more and more excited, scribbling notes and laughing. She pushed the machine up to level five, which she assured him was the final scan, but by then he knew he had lost the battle. His body trembled and spasmed, sweat running from every pore, while images from his life flashed before his eyes. The strange talking blackbird, Thomas, Davey, his mother, numbers, colours, triangles... but most of all: the Shadow. His fists clenched so tight that his fingernails gouged into his palms.

The Shadow came out of hiding.

Billy stopped screaming.

It expanded out from under the chair, behind the wall of machines, from his bleeding hands. It poured out of his mouth and nose, and merged into a floating cloud of blackness above him. He stared. There was nothing else to do. Something shimmered in the void, impossibly far away, beyond the ceiling. In astonishment, Billy realised he was looking deep into space, into a night without stars. The distant shimmering became a face, if you could call it a face. There were eyes, big round eyes. Something like a mouth. And teeth. It was there and it wasn't. The Shadow was at once both the face and the void. Billy felt like he was looking into infinity itself, although he did not know what infinity meant.

Suddenly the face was upon him.

NOW, it said.

5.3 - The AI

5.4 - The Fire, Part 1

The Shadow appeared to draw breath.

The unbearable agony left Billy's body, twisting into the deep black nothingness of the Shadow, which hung like his own personal storm cloud above him. On it's way the pain collected his terror, and bonded with it into a spinning ball of fiery intent, floating in the blackness. Billy thought he could feel it watching him as he began to regain some control over himself. He was suddenly aware of the sucking contacts all over his shaved head, the wires attached to each, running down the side of the chair, hooking into the machines in the wall. The fizzing sensation on his skin faded, and he no longer felt as if he was being dragged through a shredder.

Looking carefully round, he saw Katerina frozen at the console, her beautiful, cruel face turned towards him. She looked quizzical, as if she had been about to ask him a question. Her black hair fanned out in a delicate arc, like threads locked in amber, implying movement where there was none. She had dropped her pen, which hung in the air on its way to the ground. Next to the keyboard, lying on its side, grinning face turned towards him, sat the box.

Come on kid. You know they're killing you, right? It was the same voice he'd heard before, back when he and Alex were running from the man in black, and then again in the car.

What? Billy said, staring over his shoulder at the box, still not sure what he was hearing. At least he tried to say, 'What?', but no words came out. He still could not speak.

They're killing you, the box said. This machine - this thing - it's sucking the life out of you.

You - you're talking to me? Billy thought back. It was stupid, as if the thing could really, talk. He had probably passed out and this was some weird dream or something.

You know better than that, kid. This is no dream. They are killing you. You won't last much longer.

They said it was just a scan!

And you believed them? If the box could have laughed out loud, Billy was sure that it would.

Hey! I'm only seven! I'm not strong like - like - The tears welled up quickly and Billy blinked angrily, swallowing them back. Tears would help no-one.

Help me! he pleaded.

Alright, alright. Well, look. You feel the wires right?

What?

You can feel the wires. Every single one of them. And then he could, dozens of thin cables expanding out of him, like a grotesque electronic wig. He wondered what he looked like. I feel them, he thought.

And the straps holding you down?

Yeah. Billy concentrated on the straps around his wrists, followed them round the sides of the chair, saw the buckle underneath. He could also see his feet from the back, similarly strapped down, as clear as if he were lying underneath himself. The sensation made him feel ill. He began to panic.

Calm down, kid. Calm down. It's okay. I'm helping you.

But I can see behind me! How-?

Don't worry about it, just keep focused on the buckle.

Who are you? I mean what are you?

I don't know. Could be nothing. Could be everything.

What does that mean?

Look. All I know is, I'm here and I need to get you out. And I know how. Pay attention.

I don't understand. Are you the Shadow? Billy persisted. He imagined the little cartoon man on the box rolling his little cartoon eyes. Imagined, or saw, he could not tell. Somehow he just knew.

Maybe. Never mind that now, the box said patiently. Concentrate. Think about the buckle. See it in your mind.

Billy tried to see the buckle in his mind. He did it the same way as before; by mentally following the straps from his wrists to the back of the chair. When he looked at the buckle it grew bigger, until it was all he could see. Fascinated, he traced it's every contour, the cross-bar and the latch that held the straps tight.

It's not moving! Billy thought.

Of course it isn't! You're not telekinetic. Billy did not know what that meant. He thought the box was being a bit cruel, maybe it really was just a twisted trick his mind was playing just before he died.

So what now?

I'm getting to that. Can you remember the pain?

What a question. As if he could think of anything else. Yeah, I'll never forget it.

Well it's up there, in the Shadow. Take it.

What?

Look into the black swirly thing above you. See your pain. Take it. The box managed to sound exasperated. Look. Just think about your fear at it's worst. When it was hot. Keep the buckle in your mind. Put the two together. Simple.

It didn't sound simple. Billy looked up into the Shadow.

You see a red smudge? the box said.

No. All Billy could see was swirling darkness. The strange face and fiery ball had disappeared. He felt like he was looking into space. A faint red glow materialised in the distance. I see it!

Right. Now look at the redness. Really concentrate. Make it come towards you. Careful now, keep thinking about the buckle...

When Davey asked him about it later, Billy found he was unable to explain exactly what had happened, what he had seen. The buckle filled his view, in intricate detail, but he could also see the red smudge of his pain, at once both tiny and infinite in the void of the Shadow. He told Davey the two seemed to slowly come together like colliding galaxies, but only because he knew that what had really happened was impossible. They were apart, two separate entities. Yet they were one, a fiery buckle of red-hot pain. At the same time.

The buckle shattered. At least it would have done if time had been working properly. Billy watched it come apart slowly, like a flower opening. Once apart, the pieces hung in the air, frozen in time like Katerina. She had turned a little more now, and was looking directly at Billy with a puzzled expression. This must be happening so fast for her. Billy wondered what she could actually see.

5.4 - The Fire, Part 2

He shook his hands free. Reached up to his head.

No, wait! Don't touch them yet!

Why not?

You want to be able to talk again, right?

Yes please!

Then leave the wires alone.

Billy sat up, wondering at the lack of aches and pains. Time had stopped, and evidently so had his nervous system. The straps around his ankles fell away when he stood up, keeping a weather eye on the motionless woman, and taking care not to disconnect any of the wires attached to his head. He walked up to her and prodded her in the stomach.

Careful!

Why? I can do what I want can't I?

Not yet. We have work to do.

What's wrong with her?

Nothing. She's fine.

Are you sure?

I... I think so. It isn't important. Come over here.

Billy walked round Katerina, his heart thumping, expecting her to grab him at any moment. This was the longest the trance had ever lasted, he was sure of it, and it could all end in an instant. He was not in control. The box was. He would worry about that later. Imagination or not, he was now free, so he may as well play along.

Are you doing this? he asked.

Me? No. Okay. See that thing on the desk next to me? The thing that looks like a squashed infinity sign made of iron?

This?

Yes - careful! That's a powerful magnet! Keep it away from me!

Sorry.

You will be. You don't want to hurt me. Not yet, anyway. I'm going to send you some instructions now, so don't freak out. It's just easier than trying to explain with this stupid language.

Okay, I'm ready, Billy thought, not feeling at all ready.

It was like the rush you get after a particularly indulgent ice cream sundae. The thrill of throwing yourself down a steep hill in the snow on a small plastic tray. You know there is a barbed-wire fence at the bottom, and you're pretty sure you can stop in time, but at the back of your mind there is the tiniest niggling doubt that your calculations may be wrong. Billy saw himself in the room, holding the magnet against his head. He saw the exact angle and location he had to hold it. He knew that if he was slightly out of position, he might knock out another part of his brain, instead of restoring his speech.

He saw - no, he knew - the code he had to type into the keyboard. The purpose of programmes he had no understanding of. What the machine did, how it worked, and why it hurt so much. It wasn't like learning, the information just appeared all at once, as if he had always known. This was no simple brain scan. Every electrical impulse had been carefully recorded, mapped, translated into a computer programme that was an exact, working copy of Billy's mind. The machine had been comparing the recording to another scan labelled 'control', highlighting areas where there were differences. It used words like 'abnormal', 'extraordinary' and 'superhuman'.

Hey now, steady on! the box said. Remember why we're here? There's not much time. Don't worry about that stuff, I've got it all stored away.

Billy lifted the magnet with his left hand. Tapped in the code. Felt an uncomfortable buzzing in his teeth for a few seconds. Lowered the magnet. Stretched his jaw. Drew breath.

'Hello?' he said out loud, with a careful eye on his captor. Katerina did not move. She was still staring at the chair he had been sitting in.

There you go! Now isn't that better?

'Now what?' Billy said, picking up the box and holding it up to his face. The cartoon man grinned back at him.

Now? Now we leave.

'How?'

You know how. And then he did. He knew that the machines in the room were just a small part of a giant computer. His mind's eye followed the connections out of the room into the corridors. The control system for the doorways. Security cameras. He searched and saw that Davey was there, somewhere in the building, frozen in a futile struggle against a door with no handle. Billy reached out to the door and commanded it to open. He saw the lock move. When time went back to normal, the old man was going to get a hell of a surprise. Billy cleared a route between him and the old man, opening and locking doors, turning off cameras.

He wanted to explore the building further while he had the chance, but there was no connection to the other levels, just this one. He could not tell how Davey had got as far as he did, but saw a trail of unconscious security guards behind him.

Come on, kid. There's no more to be done. It's time to go.

'Wait.' Billy said, and his fingers began to fly over the keyboard. Images of labs and white corridors flickered on the screens. 'I need to find the other children. I need to find Alex. I can't leave her.'

Here, the box said, with a remarkably realistic impression of a sigh, and another wave of information surged down the wires into Billy's head. Images of stricken, frozen children flashed before his eyes, until he locked onto the image of a little red-haired girl, standing defiantly on the other side of a locked door, fists raised. She looked angry, and Billy imagined she was halfway through shouting something obscene. He unlocked the door, and then, because he did not know how long this was going to last, drew a rough map on a piece of paper, marking himself, Davey and Alex.

He unlocked the remaining doors. He hoped they would make it out. If not, he had done his best.

Yeah yeah, very noble. Now then. You know what to do. Billy nodded.

He took cover behind the dentist's chair. Then he looked up into the Shadow and found his fear and anger. It had a clear shape this time, a dark red triangle with little circles in the corners and a tiny cross underneath. A shape he recognised, but that was not important now. Billy pulled all of his emotions from the last few days into a mass of twisting red-black fury and sent the resulting fireball hurtling down the wires from his head into the computer.

The wall of machines exploded.

The force of the blast threw Katerina into the opposite wall and she slid limply down to the ground, unconscious. A large hole with blackened edges appeared in the wall where the door had been, licked with flames.

Billy ripped the wires off his head, tucked the box under his arm, and ran.

5.5 - The Explosion

5.6 - The Sewer

Dusk fell. Shadows lengthened and swallowed an industrial wasteland of abandoned vehicles and mountainous rubbish, several miles away from the White Building. The eerie silence was a stark contrast to the noise of the fire, shouting and screaming the rescue party had left behind. Only the chuckle of a thick brown stream broke the silence, as it oozed from the mouth of an old sewage pipe, almost hidden under an overgrown bridge.

Bedraggled and exhausted, five people clambered out of the pipe, stretching gratefully in the early evening air.

Two carried large bundles over their shoulders.

They fought through stagnant water to the steep bank and helped each other up into a patch of long grass under the broken shell of a shipping container. Coughing and clinging to each other, they panted, eyes locked on the limp bundles, carefully deposited on the ground.

One of the figures broke away and began to collect firewood.

Another knelt beside the bundles on the ground and began to strip them of their wet clothes, covering them with blankets pulled from a rucksack. Two began to secure the area, scanning the distant ridges for signs of movement, guarding the mouth of the sewer.

The last figure, a man in his sixties, crouched in the shadow of the container and watched his companions working. He stayed motionless, silent as the night.

A few hours later, rested and warmed by an open fire, the little group moved on into the night.

Owls hooted experimentally, testing the night for signs of life.

'Open fire? Fools.'

The man in the black coat stepped out from behind a tree on the other side of the stream. He clambered over to the patch of flattened grass. They had covered their tracks well, and it was a little while before he spotted the broken branches leading to the East.

He pulled his sleeve up and tapped on the keyboard strapped to his forearm. The large lens over his right eye hummed and whirred, scanning the area. Not long gone. The boy would soon be his.

'I have you now,' he said, to nobody in particular.

6.1 - The New World

6.2 - The Dragon, Part 1

Hindsight is a wonderful thing, Kath thought. It had been a trying day already and she hadn't made it through the door yet. They definitely lie about the buses. After this morning, she was sure of it. When you call them, the first instinct of the drone on the other end of the line is to lie. To accuse you of lying. To suggest you must have been standing at the wrong stop, looking at a cached version of the web site, suffering some kind of Time Dilation effect due to the anti-psychosis drugs you were obviously taking.

An unfortunate coffee disaster had already set her on the runaway train to total freak-out. The soaking she received from the one bus that did bother to turn up had, she admitted, covered the stain nicely, but then the angry phone call in the cold was the last straw.

'Yes madam, the buses are running on time.'

'But I've been standing here for an hour now. They are supposed to be every ten minutes.'

'Yes, they're running every ten minutes,' said the operator, who sounded as if he was still in bed. Where Kath wished she was. Kath told him, using carefully chosen non-inflammatory words, that if they had been on time she would be on one right now, instead of freezing her arse off at six thirty in the morning. She pointed out that she didn't want to upset anybody, but something must have gone wrong, buses didn't just disappear. Unless some sort of vortex had opened up just round the corner and swallowed the five buses which had passed her going the other way.

'Well...'

'No wait, don't tell me some kind of bus swallowing vortex has opened up around the corner?'

'I'm sorry, madam, I-'

'Do you think that's possible? Well, do you?'

'Er...'

Kath hung up, but not before asking the operator to consider her educated opinion on methods by which he may improve his lifestyle, with some encouraging suggestions on how to make the world a better place, vis-à-vis removing himself from it, then began to run.

The White Building was a stylised reflective glass affair, a sprawling complex of oddly shaped boxes permeated with lakes and lush gardens. The Company liked to keep the drones happy and did not wish to appear the sort of place that conducted questionable medical research. Hippies were safely contained on the other side of a tall electrified fence and several levels of security away from the front door.

Kath did not often think of the nervous little girl who had introduced the Royal Society to a talking machine all those years ago. So many years in fact, she sometimes wondered if it had even happened at all, but Unicorn was real, and here she was, respected neural-network designer and once again late for work. The security guard watched blankly, while she struggled to keep hold of all her papers and rummage through her bag. He did not move a muscle when she looked up and told him sheepishly that her ID was still sitting on the table in her flat, but she desperately had to get in right now as the Boss was waiting, and she was already so late, you know how buses are round here. She waved her Company tablet PC at him and pointed out that only the most respected employees were given one. She asked him if he had one. His eyes glazed over and she knew he was talking to the mainframe. Kath carried on waving the tablet in front of him, as if to hypnotise the man, but the door soon hissed open and she hurried inside before he could stop her. Good old Uni, she thought.

The Company affectionately referred to the vast expanse of extravagant space Kath found herself in as 'The Foyer', but she was of the opinion that 'The Improbably Vast Zeppelin Hangar' would have been more appropriate. Although it bustled with suits and administrators, the place had the bizarre characteristic of dampening most noises down to a faint rumble. She made her way towards a circular reception area in the middle of a series of koi ponds, designed to look like the opening petals of a lotus flower. Something pretty and sickeningly Feng Shui for the execs to look at from their elevated glass offices while they made petty decisions that changed the world. She often imagined sinister fins or tentacles breaking the surface of these pools, and the strange silence of the foyer to be broken by the tortured screams of careless investors.

'You! Speak to me.'

Kath spun wildly with a squeak of surprise, fumbling her papers and watching in dismay as the whole armful cascaded out of her hands and crashed onto the marble floor. The tablet's fragile touchscreen cracked into a beautiful explosion of colours, and Kath almost wept. They made you pay for those. How did she do it? Even when you are actively looking for her, the woman still managed to appear right behind you. The whole room paused and watched her drop to her knees on the cold stone with morbid fascination. Even the koi seemed to be observing her with an air of smug satisfaction only fat lazy fish could pull off. It was always much more fun when it wasn't you.

'S-sorry ma'am,' Kath mumbled at the floor while she scrabbled to get everything back in order, trying not to think about the stern woman around whose feet she was crawling. For a little while there was no sound except for the rustle of papers and the tap-tapping of a sharply pointed boot, and then the world caught up with an almost audible sigh, once the onlookers accepted there wouldn't be any fireworks this time. The foyer began to bustle again. The lackey who had been accompanying the woman gratefully faded into the background as soon as her focus shifted onto the nervous technician, who was using the time to wonder how best to phrase the bad news.

'I just need to sort this - ' Kath began.

'You need to do nothing of the sort,' the tall woman snapped.

'But I have something imp-'

'I am not interested in unnecessary technical details. Just tell me you're making progress with the new software.' Kath straightened up cautiously, bundle of papers and expensive rubbish clasped safely in her arms. Some morning this was turning out to be. Not even had her triple espresso yet. She had never been good at this sort of thing. Where the hell had Craig gone? He usually dealt with the Dragon, she just tried to keep the subjects comfortable and crunched numbers. That was how it was, that was how it should be. She shouldn't have to deal with people.

'I- I- ' She realised she would just have to come out with it and took a deep breath. 'I - I - Well.' she said.

6.2 - The Dragon, Part 2

'Well what?!'

The Dragon never let you finish a sentence. She deliberately interrupted you to throw you off your guard, and it worked. Kath told herself to stay calm; none of this was her fault. She risked a glance upwards and found the woman staring fiercely at her with a gaze that bored right into the back of her skull and out the other side, as if the woman could see what she was about to think, before she even thunk it. 'Thunk' isn't even a fucking word, pull yourself together! she thought. She banished the smile quickly, before the Dragon decided to make an example of her.

'It's not looking good, ma'am,' she said with a gulp. 'Omega-Five had a serious episode this morning and, well, Jez just got out of the hospital wing half an hour ago and they say he'll be alright, but this is the third time this week.' She flinched, but the Dragon just stared at her.

'Again?' she said. 'He's been to the hospital again?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'What on earth was he doing this time?'

'Acting on a hunch I think. He's good, but not too quick to get out of the way when it all goes wrong.'

'But how is progress generally?'

'Very promising, I think we have isolated the key neurons this time, but...' Kath swallowed. She couldn't continue. They had asked so many times and were blocked at every turn.

'But what?' asked the Dragon dangerously. Kath wondered how she was going to word the question this time.

'We need the rest of the research to complete this phase,' Kath said, the words coming out in a rush. 'We need the data from the original subject to sort this out.'

The Dragon pursed her thin lips. 'You know where we stand on that issue. I have other people working on it.'

'Yes ma'am, but if we could just have access to some of the original data -'

'You will be given the access you want when it is ready. It is not ready. You cannot have access.' The woman was so infuriating, always speaking in circles and riddles. It was all 'need to know'. Well Kath needed to know, and fast. They were supposed to be saving the world, and all she met were brick walls. The Dragon tossed her tight ponytail impatiently and straightened her starched black suit. 'Come on,' she said, 'let's move.' She stormed off towards the lifts, causing the small crowd waiting there to disperse like fish before a hungry shark.

'Tell me about Omega-Five,' the Dragon said curtly. Kath's insides began to twist and churn. Oh godohgodohgod, she thought, watching the numbers slowly scrolling down to their level. Her mind coloured each one in neon swirls. The colours calmed her, but only a little. The door slid open with a quiet self-satisfied hiss.

'I'm afraid that is another problem,' she managed, stepping into the small chrome box and hitting the button for the fourth floor basement. 'We're not really sure we're on the right lines anymore - I mean I think if we - Craig says...' She trailed off, catching the look of exasperation clouding her boss's face. As usual, the words did not come out as impressively as she had planned. The Dragon looked like she was about to explode. The Techies liked to joke that one day she really would and when she did, they would discover she had hot lava for blood and a heart of stone. The usual arguments would break out about magma and stones and how her heart should really be made of diamond since pretty much everything else would melt in magma, but how could someone so utterly terrifying have anything beautiful inside her?

'Yes?'

'It's all in my report ma'am.'

'What? Oh, your report. Is it? Of course. Well I am rather busy.'

Typical, Kath thought. She didn't even bother to read it. 'After we re-organised the labs and brought the subjects all together, they started behaving pretty weird,' she said. Weird did not begin to describe it. Synchronised movements, strange trance-like silences. It had all got rather out of hand. Uncontainable, in fact. None of her neural-nets were working the way they should anymore. She pulled herself together. Something would have to give, and soon.

'That your scientific assessment, is it?'

'Fifth. Floorbase. Mentlevel.' A sing-song voice rang out and the lift doors opened.

'I think you need to see for yourself,' Kath said at last, stepping out of the tiny space with relief. The Dragon nodded once, curtly and followed. Kath turned, shaking and swallowing back a little bit of sick with a grimace. It's not your fault it's not your fault, she chanted to herself, as if the mantra would stave off the inevitable. Sharp heels click-clacked behind her with military timing. The building was a maze of bright clinical corridors, but Kath had been here long enough to know exactly where she was going, which was just as well. This bitch didn't have much tolerance for stupidity; only last week one of the security guys was fired for being too slow to recognise her. 'I'm running for Parliament and you don't know who I am?' she had shouted. 'I never open doors!'

They stopped outside a solid steel door. Kath leaned forwards and a red laser scanned her retina. 'It's not just an eye scanner. This thing can read your mind!' Craig told her on her first day in the job. She hadn't believed him, but it always seemed to make her brain tingle when the turquoise light threw fractal patterns into her eyes. A hiss. The door swung open. The two women stepped into the small chamber on the other side and waited while the air was cleansed and a Techie studied them through a thick glass window, typing visitor notes into the system. Or playing Scrabble on Facebook. You could never tell with these guys.

'What's that smell?' The Dragon said.

'I don't know... They were moving Omega-Five to a more - um - comfortable room, after his reaction last time. He has made real progress this week, ever since we brought them all together. It's quite incredible, actually. We think they-'

A Techie ran past them screaming, beautiful blue-green flames streaming off his arm.

'Where're the fucking fire extinguishers!' he shrieked, slamming shoulder-first into the nearby toilets. A loud moan of relief and the sound of fast running water making a terrible mess escaped through the closing door. Kath smiled nervously at the Dragon and rolled her eyes, but the woman looked absolutely livid.

'This way,' Kath said quickly and rushed off in the direction the burning man had come from.

Hindsight. The endless series of what if's and if only's. Who would be alive today and who would be the one to explain to the Dragon that the only evidence of how close she had actually been to an answer had just gone up in smoke.

If only the boy were here.

6.3 - The Cell

A stirring in darkness.

Hungry.

Tired and hungry.

Cold, tired and hungry. Angry too. Hot rivers of rage bubbling underneath its skin like magma seeking the slightest weakness, an opportunity to explode. Searing away the last vestiges of sanity and leaving the creature aware of one purpose, one thought: find the boy.

The pain was immeasurable, unbearable. The knowledge of it overpowering all else, stretching as far back as memory would allow. They would come out of the darkness again today, with their shocksticks and needles. Again it would try to speak and again it would be subdued.

Interrogated. Tortured. Punished.

Afterwards, the needles brought pleasure of a sort, but the raging agony was never really gone. Always dragged back in chains to this cold cell. Eternal darkness thick with the stench of fear and burnt flesh.

The creature did not know when it had last seen the light of day. Artificial lights, yes, but not the full glory of the sun, the refreshing breeze on its skin, wide open spaces. Perhaps it shouldn't have hurt so many people when it was younger. They liked to keep it locked away now, brought out for special occasions. It missed the clean smells and bright lights. Serenity, happiness. Kind eyes and a caring touch. A memory of closeness that lingered on even through the infernal pain. It had been able to speak then, before the madness began. Before they took the light away and sent it into the dark.

It longed to know the truth about itself - what it was. Half remembered words - if that was what they were - echoed behind the pain, beneath the rage. A sweet voice apologising. Weeping. Running away while it screamed. In any case, it was clearly not one of those fleshlings out there. It could not imagine any species being so unspeakably cruel to itself.

It tugged at the remnants of dirty rags that hung limply off bulging muscles, threw its head back and roared.

The sound of running feet.

A sudden shaft of light.

The voice.

'Oh bloody hell. He's awake again! Somebody fetch Jez NOW!'

Light extinguished. Darkness returning.

Soon.

The creature must have thrown itself into the door a thousand times, but today was the first day it had felt something give.

6.4 - The Article

Professor Joanne Dudgeon strode across the room and angrily force-fed the newspaper into a protesting shredder.

'Parasites!' she scowled, as the machine strained and grumbled through the newsprint, before grinding to a noisy, shuddering halt in a stinking cloud of burning metal. Dudgeon cursed again, ripping up what was left with alarming ferocity over the bin, which hissed and sucked the pieces of paper out of sight. A tiny robot sped out of a hatchway in the skirting and meticulously cleaned up the remaining debris, retreating apologetically. She ignored all this, and instead looked moodily through a dramatic glass wall, which made up one side of the room. A ferry full of photo-happy tourists wandered lazily up the Thames. 'I have an MBE, for God's sake,' she muttered.

Natalie coughed politely. 'I'm sure it won’t be a problem, ma'am,' she said. 'We can contain this little, um, distraction.' She tapped a sleek, black device and a series of colourful charts appeared on a large white screen which unrolled silently from the ceiling. 'It feels right this time.' she added, flicking through the charts until she settled on a slide entitled Opinion Poll Results and Projections, Spring 2010. The Professor’s reflection scowled back at Natalie.

'If you would look at the latest figures,' Natalie continued, a little desperately, 'you'll find the public very much in favour of our SuperSociety^TM campaign. The latest vox pops have been very promising, we just need-'

'Yes yes, alright Natalie,' Dudgeon interrupted, massaging her temples and watching as one of the tourists leaned too far over the side of the boat and fell in. No hint of amusement crossed her face. The man was instantly surrounded by a little crowd of camera jocks, all flashing away, pointing and laughing. Dudgeon sighed and turned back, giving Natalie's chart a cursory glance.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'It's been a very trying day.'

'It's all getting a bit hectic.' Natalie agreed.

Dudgeon snorted. 'A bit,' she said.

The faint smell of burning flesh hung in the air, some remnant of the Professor's morning. Natalie tried not to think about it. Just lab stuff. Not her business. Besides, they had more important things to worry about. Like becoming Prime Minister within a fortnight.

The London Police force is almost entirely composed of DPharm Secs now,' she said. 'If you look here, and here,' she pointed out several generous looking spikes in a large, complicated graph, 'You'll see crime is down by forty percent. With no increase in the prison population. They're actually an effective deterrent.' Two of the dumb apes stood either side of Dudgeon's office door, staring stupidly, unblinkingly ahead. Natalie usually tried to pretend they didn't exist. It was hard.

'Of course they are,' Dudgeon said. 'I made them.'

'What I mean is: there's no reason for this newspaper article to affect the campaign. You are stronger than ever.'

'So what's our next move?' asked Dudgeon, making a show of studying a display of pie charts showing public opinion of her latest run of television interviews. 'Murder all the reporters?'

Natalie would have laughed, but she knew her boss. There were many reasons she was known as The Dragon, a sense of humour was not one of them.

'Obviously you will arrange a witty riposte to this charlatan,' Dudgeon said, with a nod at the smouldering shredder, 'but we must strike quickly before this nonsense gets out of hand.' Natalie nodded, watching a boat pull up alongside the ferry to rescue the miserable, damp little tourist.

v'Do you want me to call the newspaper? This...' she flicked through newspaper articles on a little tablet PC, '... Holland character?'

'Yes. I should like to meet him face to face.' A nasty smile played across the Professor's lips, and her eyes flickered over to an ornate wooden casket on the desk. It had been there for as long as Natalie could remember, and Dudgeon often gave it strange looks. Sometimes wistful, but usually just angry, as if the box had done her a great wrong.

'I'll show him science!' Dudgeon added.

'Indeed.' Natalie noted the malice in the Professor's words. 'The team is working flat-out to hook the last few fence-sitters, ma'am,' she said. 'We have an extremely busy week ahead...' Natalie hoped Dudgeon would respect her skill in dealing with the public, and focus. The campaign was so strong now, she had not thought it possible to smear the name of the Great Professor. Not after she'd done so much for the health of the population, and Natalie had worked so hard on her image. But this tabloid scribbler had managed it. No wonder Dudgeon was angry. Show him science? What did that mean?

'...after that, we can start to look at the bigger picture. For now, you need to focus on presenting your best side to the public.' She was surprised to find herself still talking. Sometimes she could do that - let her mouth babble on while her mind worried about other things. 'They already worship you; we just need a little more empathy to come out in those interviews. Show them your research and scientific success is to their benefit.'

'I suppose one can manage that. After all, I am quite the revolutionary,' said Dudgeon, inspecting the Secs guarding the door. They stared back, impassively. 'And the journalist?' she asked with a nasty curl to her lips. Natalie sighed.

'I will see to him directly, ma'am,' she said. 'However if we can concentrate on this more pressing issue, if we want to catch the press-?'

'Very well.' Dudgeon said, and paced back to the wall of glass, as if waiting for more tourists to entertain her while Natalie talked.

'Naturally this will need to be bigger, and more impressive than producing a new vaccine, ma'am. But I think we have come up with something to really grab their attention this time.' The Professor looked hard at her, interested now, trying to read her expression. Natalie nodded enthusiastically and thrust her tablet into Dudgeon's hand. She ignored the Professor's groan and began to browse through some impressive-looking graphs. Slogans and logos. All nonsense of course, but it did not seem to matter, anyway. They were well on their way towards an astonishing political victory and Dudgeon just didn't want to talk about it.

'First London, then the world!' She had remarked once, when they were deep into one of their late night planning binges. Unless some juicy scandal came out that ruined everything. This journalist had a lot to answer for.

London had been easy.

6.5 - The Crunch

It barely heard the alarm.

Only a wet crunch right after the door broke off its hinges with a crash. There was always someone behind the door watching and monitoring. Now just a carcass, an empty shell. If it hadn't been so consumed with rage it would have empathised, but instead it stepped carefully over the limp figure and ran.

6.6 - The Journalist, Part 1

Jake was camping outside the White Building, cheerfully offering burnt sausages to glassy-eyed Secs from a makeshift barbecue, when they dragged him unceremoniously from his breakfast. He protested admirably, though a meeting with the Dragon Herself was the very thing he had been holding out for.

When they shoved him through the door, he tried, but failed, not to be impressed by the large white office. The minimal decor, the enormous oak table with no sign of any technology, although he knew whizzy touchscreen devices and tiny robots would be hidden from sight, waiting to be called into service. Even the stagnant river looked pretty through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall.

The throne-like chair.

The woman sitting upon the chair, blonde hair pulled into an excruciatingly tight ponytail. She watched him enter with cold scientific interest. Beside her, a young brunette who must have been Dudgeon's right hand woman, the famous mastermind behind her current political success. He felt a glimmer of recognition but could not pin it down.

The Professor spoke.

'Mister Holland.' Harsh. Not really a greeting, or a question. His very name appeared to make the woman physically ill. She nodded at the improbably large men who had practically carried him up the stairs, and they silently withdrew into the corners of the room behind the nervous man, out of sight. He swallowed.

'Miss ah, forgive me: Professor Dudgeon.' said Jake. 'Very ah, pleased to finally make your acquaintance, I'm sure.' He leaned over the desk, offering his hand.

Dudgeon barely suppressed a snarl, but shook once, then gestured towards a hard wooden chair opposite her. Jake sat down carefully, and clutched his battered leather briefcase to his chest, as if afraid she would try to take it from him.

'Pleased indeed? Hear that Natalie? The gentleman is "pleased" he says.' Dudgeon laughed, looking him up and down. 'Well I must say,' she went on, 'you are much shorter than your clumsy prose had led me to believe.' Jake was stunned. Had she said "Natalie"? The woman had looked familiar but she looked so different, so grown up.

'I - ah, forgive me, Professor,' he said, 'to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? And with such delicate powers of persuasion too.' He rubbed his shoulder, wincing slightly. Dudgeon smiled sweetly. When she spoke, her tone was level and dangerous.

'Let us forego the pleasantries shall we Holland?'

Jake shifted uncomfortably in his uncomfortable chair. Dudgeon must have taken great pains to choose her furniture, she obviously liked to make people squirm.

'Please, call me Jake,' he said.

'I think not,' Dudgeon snapped. 'We will get straight to business, if you don't mind.'

'Um - okay. Please, continue?' Jake said, trying not to sound overwhelmed. Business, then. No doubt she was a little upset by his exposé on the Company's expenses. It worked though, he thought, admiring the sterile purity of the white room. Now he could find out what she was really up to.

Dudgeon drew herself up and regarded him sternly. 'You have somehow - for the life of me I know not how - managed to throw together some words that on the surface seem remotely plausible, although naturally, given your profession, highly scandalous.' Dudgeon paused. Presumably, Jake thought, to allow her words to fall with appropriate gravit-arse upon his pathetic, overweight shoulders. He forced himself to stay motionless, hold her gaze, and say nothing. 'You are aware, are you not,' she continued, 'of the great lengths I have gone to to protect the people of this country from the quasi-medical mumbo-jumbo that for too long has polluted our populace with placebos and false promises?'

'W-W-Well you do like to put on a show, yes,' He said, and cursed himself for the stammer. He must be strong, he'd done nothing untoward. Not yet, anyway. Not really.

'But my work in the medical profession, is it not to your satisfaction?'

'Certainly, certainly! Most impressive, everybody knows I-I-I- ah.' His throat was dry and he realised he was holding the briefcase before him like a shield.

'So what I am most keen to know is,' Dudgeon ploughed on, ignoring Jake's discomfort, 'what on earth did you think you would gain by writing such fantastic nonsense about me?'

'Ah, well you see, the thing is, I-I-I- ' He frowned. He fumbled in his pocket for the bottle of little white pills and swallowed two of them, forcing them down his dry throat. He daren't ask for water. A little control came back, he felt the muscles in his throat relax and his hands gradually stop shaking. The woman was giving him a look that could melt concrete, no wonder he had been warned against writing the story. Natalie had her head buried in her tablet, an almost paper-thin, touch-screen affair. Jake had heard of them, but not seen one in the flesh, so to speak. Dudgeon Pharmaceuticals: Operating at the Forefront of Science, he thought. Natalie chewed on her stylus and refused to catch his eye.

'What is it man? spit it out!'

'Well, one must not believe that one is-is- ah...' Jake paused again. Swallowed. Lowered the briefcase. He felt ridiculous. Damn this woman and her terrifying intimidation tactics. Why was he so scared? She wouldn't go so far as to harm him, not with her benevolent public image to protect. She wouldn't dare. Would she? He watched her expression change as his words sank in. He forced his cowardly features into a condescending smile. Of course not. She couldn't have people believing she thought herself invincible, after all. '...that one is above the law?'

'I most certainly do not think any such thi-'

'Come now professor,' Jake interrupted, proud he sounded a little more confident, even though the sweat was dripping down his back. 'We both know the evidence is there for a child to find, unless you want me to believe you spend ten million a year on the campaign?' He settled back into the chair, which creaked alarmingly. Dudgeon's face was a picture. A grotesque, Boschian picture of loathing. Good. That little patronising flourish when he said 'campaign' had really pissed her off.

He opened his briefcase and pulled out his own netbook. His pride and joy, his livelihood. Dudgeon winced and rolled her eyes when the little machine whirred into life and said 'Good morning, Dave', in tones of lazy machine psychosis. Jake had got some of the control back at last. He wiped his sweating palms on the trouser legs of his cheap brown suit and donned a pair of thick spectacles before continuing, 'I can't wait to hear the Actual gen-you-wine "truth", but please bear in mind that anything, and everything, you tell me will appear in tomorrow's edition.'

Dudgeon's knuckles had whitened where she was gripping the arms of her chair. Jake's heart pumped furiously, but he held her dreadful gaze with a fixed, terrified smile. At least it didn't look like she was going to have him killed. Not yet, anyway. He rubbed his injured shoulder thoughtfully. After a few long seconds, Dudgeon spoke through clenched teeth.

'I'm counting on it.'

6.6 - The Journalist, Part 2

'Ah. Okay then. Good.' Jake said.

'Running a campaign with ambition such as mine is not cheap, Holland.'

'Of course.'

'With regards to your apparent "bombshell", you can rest assured: all monies are accounted for down to the last penny, as my lawyers will confirm in excruciating detail, when they contact you this afternoon.' She stalked over to the window.

She even moved like a dragon. Delicate and dangerous. 'I am confused, Professor,' Jake said. 'If you are so confident in your accountants, then may I ask - why am I here?' He watched Natalie gasp and bite her lip, scribbling frantically on her tablet. He half remembered those eyes, a particular shade of pale hazel. A memory of a look, wise beyond her years. She skilfully turned her gasp into a series of small coughs and Jake smiled.

Dudgeon sighed. 'There is much more at stake than false accusations of embezzlement, Mr Holland.'

'Oh really?' Jake leant forward eagerly, fingers poised over the keys. 'Because you look like another corrupt politician peddling the usual rubbish to get into office. I mean, "SuperSociety T M"? What the hell is that?'

Dudgeon glared. Jake shivered. 'We had to call it something,' she said. 'People need to change the way they look at life. The transition is always easier if you have a good slogan. It's basic psychology.' She gave a little snort then, that might have been a laugh. 'Some idiot wanted to call it "Big Society", but I'm sure you'll agree there's no need to offend so many of our,' she looked him up and down, 'overweight voters.'

'Most people think it's ridiculous,' Jake said, as firmly as he could. 'Corporate enforcers and a better health service just aren't enough to fix our culture. It is a dangerous road to go down.'

'When I was your age, Holland,' Dudgeon said, getting to her feet and pacing the room, as if beginning a lecture, 'I strongly believed that eventually all the disease in the world could be eradicated, wiped out of all existence. Thought that within my own lifetime the human race would no longer need to rely on dumb luck to survive the lottery of cancers and fragility of body we have suffered thus far in our history.' She shook her head dramatically, as if marvelling at the sadness of existence.

'I must admit,' she continued, 'I hoped it would have happened by now. But no. Instead I have watched successive Governments pissing away their funds in a seemingly limitless capacity for pointless wars with ethereal foes, against whom there can be no victory, because the enemy does not exist.' Jake was struggling to keep up with the long sentences, but this last reference to an invisible enemy rang true with his own, socialist tendencies. Only he thought the real enemy was standing in front of him. It sounded like a speech from a film.

'You mean the War on Terror?' he said.

'Oh, nothing so obvious, Holland,' Dudgeon said, with a dismissive wave. 'You and your tabloid friends may still believe Terrorism is big news but it is a mere distraction from the real battles we are fighting.'

'I see...' Jake looked hopelessly at Natalie for reassurance, but she just shrugged and continued writing.

'I am speaking - of course - of the internal and mostly hidden war between the Great Powers: the Americas, Arabia and Europe. Our collective fear of China's strength and India's technology. The eternal war on our economies. The utter failure to reach any sort of global accord on the health of our planet because politicians,' she practically spat the word, 'are too fucking stupid to see beyond their own petty expenses scandals and short life expectancy to make a worthwhile commitment to the Earth.'

'Er... the Earth?'

'Yes! The Earth! Our lifeblood! And all they care about -' She gesticulated vaguely, pointing out the window at the acres of financial buildings and sighed. 'Money, cars. Duck islands, for God's sake. Wars. It is all nonsense of course, all of it. Wealth, power - these are transient states of being, none of which would even matter if they had focused on the most important facet of being alive in the first place: living itself.'

'I think we ought to get to the point, Professor.' Natalie sounded a little nervous, as if she expected the woman to turn on her. Instead Dudgeon relaxed, patting the young woman awkwardly on the arm. Jake flashed Natalie a grateful smile, but the infuriating woman had become completely intrigued by her own fingernails.

'Oh yes, yes of course.' Dudgeon squeezed the bridge of her nose as if in pain, eyes closed. 'Where was I?'

'Why don't you tell him what we are working on in the labs?' Natalie said. 'It might help to explain how everything is going to work.'

Dudgeon looked properly at her then, long and hard. 'In the-, the labs?' She seemed surprised. 'Oh, you mean our cancer research?'

'Of course.'

Dudgeon turned back to Jake with renewed purpose. 'I have not spent my life waiting for the proverbial sword to strike me down, Holland. You are well aware of the advances my company has made in the eternal fight against the common cold, I'm sure.'

'I haven't met anyone with an actual 'cold', or even flu in the last year at least,' Jake agreed.

'Influenza was just the starting point. We are quite literally on the cusp of a new vaccine that will immunise our entire society against all such petty infections.'

'I fail to see how -'

'Don't be so obstinately blind, man. Can't you see we are quite literally changing the world here? Imagine society without disease. People would never have to worry about early death!'

'But-'

'Would you not prefer to live your life without fear of illness? Wait until we tell people there will be no more cancer, no more dementia or Alzheimer's. Perhaps even extend our lifespans by a few hundred years!'

Jake blinked. Dudgeon had clearly crossed the thin line that kept genius safe from madness. Natalie scribbled furiously on her tablet, tight-lipped, as if her life depended on it.

'But is any of this actually true?' he asked. 'It all seems a little far-fetched to me. I mean, with that kind of breakthrough, why bother with politics? Government is generally considered unsuitable for a professor of science anyway. Especially medical science. And why all the secrecy?' He gestured at the suits struggling to hold in the muscled men behind him, 'Why all this?'

'I am afraid life just is not as simple as one would like,' said Dudgeon. 'I have realised that if I am to change the world for the better, then the only realistic path is to do so from within. That is why I am running for office, it is the only way.'

'There are obstacles?'

'Of course, just as there are those who would have us all believe Terror is an enemy we can fight, while protecting their own interests to fuel their own selfish needs, so too are there those who would keep the population ignorant and sickly.'

'That explains the extra security, I suppose,' said Jake, thinking fondly of the six men who had brought him into the building. 'Has anybody threatened you specifically?'

'Not specifically, no,' Dudgeon said.

'Somehow I didn't think so.' Nobody in their right mind could wish to cross the Dragon, but then this was Politics - 'Right Minds' were scarce.

'And yet here you are,' Dudgeon said. 'Tell me,' she continued, 'what made you so sure my campaign was corrupt? Anonymous tip, perhaps?'

'I never reveal my sources, Professor.'

'Naturally. But I do not think you came by the story on your own. Natalie tells me you usually cover more mundane matters - human interest stories or some such nonsense?'

'That's right, but I-'

'Your words have caused me serious damage, Holland,' interrupted Dudgeon. 'Not just politically. My research has also suffered greatly. You think you have exposed me.' She drew herself up haughtily. 'I assure you, you have not.'

'But you achieved so much, in such a short period. People were bound to ask questions,' Jake said. 'Your school for gifted minds is a triumph, you are unmatched in research and now you wish to run the country? It is a lot to take in. Are you sure you are up to the job?'

Dudgeon glared at him again, then said, 'Not run, as such, merely enhance, and in any case -'

'Do you really believe you can end corruption and restore our public services?'

'In. Any. Case. It has not been a short period of time. I have worked towards this end my entire -'

Dudgeon did not get the chance to finish another lecture. The door behind Jake flew open with a crash. A small, female technician practically fell into the room. Everybody jumped. Everybody except for the Secs, who, Jake noted, merely appraised the newcomer with mild interest, then resumed their thousand-yard stares.

6.6 - The Journalist, Part 3

'Professor!' the technician panted. 'We need you in the lab immediately! Omeg- ah-' The words were choked into a strangled gasp when she noticed Jake watching her with excitement.

'Yes? Um...'

'Katherine Hagen. Professor,' Natalie said. 'She is in charge of -'

'Yes, Hagen - what is it?' Dudgeon demanded. 'I'm terribly busy.' The technician looked nervously at Jake, who shrugged.

'Please Professor, I think you ought to step outside,' she said.

'Very well,' said Dudgeon, 'Natalie, fetch Mr Holland a coffee or whatever he wants. You two,' she added, clicking her fingers at the Secs, 'watch him. Do not let him anywhere near my desk. Excuse me.' The door slammed shut behind them.

'Coffee?' Natalie was suddenly beside him. So close, he could smell her hair. He hooked his finger in his collar and squirmed as the aroma of coconuts imprinted itself on his memory.

'Natalie?' he said. 'I'm sorry but I think I've met you before?'

'I don't think so,' Natalie said with a smile. She turned away and busied herself at a cabinet in the other side of the room. Jake was too busy trying to think to be impressed at the faint hydraulic hiss as the cabinet opened, or the way the steaming mugs slowly rose out of the worktop. The sanitised simplicity of it all. She must have been mid to late twenties, but Jake didn't know anyone that age, let alone attractive women. So familiar though.

'But I'm sure-' he began, deciding he may as well go for broke. He was interrupted by a sudden shout from outside.

'You did WHAT?!' Dudgeon's voice, shrill and angry.

'Sorry ma'am, we were just-'

'Well where IS he?'

'That's the problem, ma'am...' The girl was almost too quiet to hear, but Jake managed to make out some of the words. '...containment area... he just ...'

'Well what?' She sounded frightened, nervous. He noticed Natalie had paused too, and was straining just as hard as him to hear what was being said. The Secs watched them impassively.

'It was the others, ma'am! ... gallery ....all seemed to freeze, as if they knew ...'

'...impossible!'

'...was uncanny, ma'am...'

'...what happened?'

'...froze too, Jez missing... watching him..'

'...for GOODNESS sake!'

'...lost him somewhere ...B4 ...supplies...'

'Well when you capture him... this is it… Terminate. ...chapter over.'

'But...'

'I said, it's OVER!' Then the sound of people running, the noise of an excited crowd all talking at once, followed by a moment of quiet, during which Jake was certain he heard the word 'terminate' again, several times. He glanced at Natalie. She looked ill. After the footsteps had faded, the door quietly clicked open and Professor Dudgeon returned. She smiled coldly at Jake and sank into the huge chair on the other side of the desk, gratefully accepting the espresso Natalie offered.

'I'm terribly sorry about that,' Dudgeon said. 'Sometimes our work can be dangerous. However, I assure you the situation is well under control.'

'Would you like to continue?' Jake said politely, thinking that either this was about to get a whole lot more interesting, or he might be permitted to escape.

'No. I have kept you long enough. My accountant will go through the details with you, and then you can write your story. I expect to see a full retraction in tomorrow's Times. I will not be intimidated, and I want them to know it.'

'If you don't mind, I have a couple of other questions?'

Dudgeon leaned slowly across the desk, and without taking her eyes off his, offered her hand. Jake stood up, took it, and immediately wished he had just left. She ground his knuckles together, watching him closely, a faint glimmer of a smile playing across her thin lips. Jake winced, but did his best not to show the pain. He squeezed back, and Dudgeon broke away.

'I think you have taken up enough of my time, Mister Holland,' she said. 'Go and write your story, but please - remember I am fighting for our future, not petty monetary gains.' She moved back to the window and stared out at the river, her back to him. Jake stayed where he was, uncertain, wondering if he should try asking anything else.

'Natalie.' Dudgeon said, as if giving an order.

'Yes ma'am.' Natalie nodded to Jake. 'If you could follow me please?'

6.7 - The Escape

All the lights went out.

Here they come.

7.1 - The Pact

It was the day of the big DPharm conference and the afternoon seminars were well under way.

Themes included: the future; the 'global' network; and something called Unicorn1 that was going to change the world. The guys giving this latest presentation were enthusiastically vague, and Natalie frequently had the feeling they hadn't said anything at all. 'Something you've never seen before', 'imagine a world without money', 'no more menial work', the same old hippy nonsense that had made Natalie angry in the first place. She may be a fan of science fiction, but this was 1989. The world was not about to become overrun with killer robots.2

Although she had to admit, a robot invasion might make the week a bit more interesting. One more evening of socio-economic speculation and she really would give up, go home, and take the hit on the finances.

Find another, safer job.

The audience of Eminent Minds lapped it up eagerly though, and before she knew it, it was time to start dishing out the caffeine again. The hairy scientists 'Charcoal Suit' Bernard and 'Gandalf' Gerald had some fun at her expense following their earlier discussion3, but they soon became too engrossed in another series of uninspiring presentations to pay her much attention. So Natalie withdrew to the back of the room and put her headphones on, drowning out the monotonous drone of the speaker with some electro-pop. Humming to herself, fingering the slightly embossed letters on the business card4, she thought about the strange offer from the professor. She wondered what sort of work the Professor had in mind for her, although anything would be better than tea girl.

Sometime after tea, while the hoard squabbled over biscuits and quantum theory, Natalie heard a deep rumble, like a far away explosion. The lights flickered, but nobody seemed to notice. She sauntered over to the window and casually looked out over the city.

The conference was being held on the 4th floor, which consisted of grand halls and vast lecture theatres, and at least fifteen bars.

Someone poked her on the shoulder. 'Hey Nat, what's going on?' Jake said, nodding at the lorries outside.

'No idea,' said Natalie, tugging the headphones off her head. 'You hear that noise? Like a big rumbling sound?'

'Yeah. I thought it came from downstairs.'

'What do you think it was? I mean what else do they do here? I thought it was all chemistry. You know, drugs and that.'

'Yes, but what's "and that"?' Jake said, waggling his eyebrows knowingly. Natalie laughed. Several heads turned and frowned. Natalie frowned back.

'Something pretty explosive, that's for sure,' she said.

'Hmm.' Jake looked out of the window. The lorries had not moved. There was no sign of any excitement. 'Probably nothing to worry about.'

'From what I can tell this weekend, there's a hell of a lot to worry about.' Natalie folded her arms and slumped against the wall, pouting.

'Look,' Jake said. 'I saw you talking to the Professor. I think she likes you.'

'So?' Natalie did not think it likely. From what she had seen of the great philanthropist professor, she was probably more of a pet project; see how I introduce the slum kid to the world of science, see how great I am!

'So, she is probably your only chance to have a better life.' Definitely a Project. Obviously Jake thought so too. Well, that was just great.

'Why?' she said.

'She's going to go far. All of this,' he added, waving his hand to take in the room, 'was her idea. This professor has an incredible vision of the future. I think all these people agree. They want to make it happen.'

'These geeks?' said Natalie. 'Oh shush yourself!' She scowled at the back row, some of whom were now muttering to themselves and glaring quite openly at them. Now Jake had caught the strange bug that had infected the rest of the convention. Triumphant expectation, as if the roof was about to open up and God himself would appear to add his pennyworth.

'Yes. These geeks. Listen, you may not realise it, but the people in this room are the finest minds on the planet when it comes to computers.'

'Yeah yeah, I realise it alright. No-one could grow a beard that impressive and not be some kind of genius.'

'Exactly.' Jake nodded. 'If anybody is driving the future, it's them. And she's in charge.'

Natalie watched the men on stage running round a large globe building a complex network of strings and marbles. Satellites and spaceships. All connected. Everything is connected. A large computer-generated face appeared on the big screen, with the word 'UNICORN' emblazoned across it.

'So you think I should take the job?' she said at last.

'Oh yes, definitely. You want to do this for the rest of your life?'

'Guess not. But I don't understand why you're so interested?'

'I have my reasons,' said Jake. Natalie thought this sounded more promising. She was a big fan of secrets and subterfuge. 'I've been following the professor for a few years now,' he continued, 'and some things don't add up.'

'Like what?'

'I'm not sure yet. But our professor there has a plan, and I want to find out what it is.' Ah, here it comes, Natalie thought. And there she was, thinking she had made a new friend. Her mother was right. Men never want to be your friend, they were always after something.

'Hey,' she said, 'I'm not going to spy for you!'

'Well, whatever you decide,' said Jake, holding up his hands in supplication, 'here's my card. If you ever need my help, just call me.'

'Thanks, I guess.'

'Be careful. And don't forget.'

'I won't.'

But she did.

• 2.3 - The Royal Society , in which Unicorn is introduced to the Royal Society elite. The conference is rumoured to have taken place mere days after that event.
• 2. This is not that kind of story. Nearly, but not quite. At least not yet, anyway.
• 3. See 4.3 - The Argument
• 4. Given by Dudgeon, see the end of 4.3, above.

7.2 - The Breakthrough

7.3 - The Legend, Part 1

'Do you understand, now?' Natalie asked. 'Remember the explosion? The strange little army outside?' Jake nodded. He remembered the commotion, after which he had been thrown out of the building for asking too many awkward questions.

'They were real people then,' Natalie said. 'Much "better" now, of course. Less emotions, more muscle. More brutally efficient.' She shuddered.

Jake was lost for words. He stared at the tatty, yellowing business card she had handed him. The faded typeface read, 'Jake Holland, P.I., Freelance Writer'. Those were the days, the days of business cards and young ambition. He admired the business-like young woman before him. It had been twenty years.

'Welcome to the Super Society,' she whispered, holding a finger to her lips while a synchronised clumping of military boots faded down the corridor.

'T.M.,' Jake added. He saw the cocky teenager, raging at the conference that had changed everything. She had been angry then, worried that machines would take over the world or something. The future had turned out to be much, much worse. Natalie was properly spooked now though. She had bodily thrown him into a small side office to avoid the Secs who were storming the corridors. Alarms sounded, over which a calm, electronic voice was encouraging them to leave the building quickly and quietly, without running.

She had locked the door.

'Okay, I think they've gone,' said Natalie at last. She was breathing heavily, her voice tinged with panic.

'What's going on?' said Jake.

'I don't know, I'm not privy to that kind of info - I manage the campaign, that's all.'

'Which is all going terribly well, isn't it? I mean, apart from my little - um - "report"?' Jake smiled hopefully, but Natalie was too worried to be really listening. She stalked over to the window and hooked her finger in the blinds.

She spoke hastily in half-whispers, as if they were hiding in a bank vault. 'That's the problem, though. First your "little report", now this.'

'Yeah. That's some hefty security you've got.' Jake said, joining her at the window. 'They look bigger than your normal Secs.' A black lorry pulled up. More uniforms jumped out and ran into the building. One of them looked up and Natalie quickly shoved Jake away from the window. The shock surged through him like electricity. Cold, dead eyes in a sallow, expressionless face. Looking right through him. He fumbled for his medication.

'Careful!' Natalie said.

'Are those machine guns?' Jake asked in disbelief. 'Competition hotting up, is it?'

Natalie seemed agitated. 'Oh, I don't know,' she said, and her voice caught in her throat. 'Probably. I mean they're basically the entire police force now, aren't they? Damn Secs. The bitch has eyes everywhere.'

'I thought the Company fully endorsed the new special constables -'

'Yes, well we would, wouldn't we? I mean we made the bastards, didn't we? And she is the Mayor.'

This seemed to Jake to be an odd choice of words. 'You mean "trained" the bastards, right?' he said.

Natalie looked away. 'Look. If she knew I was talking to you like this, she'd...'

'She'd what?' Her anxiety had him intrigued now. He didn't know how much danger he was actually in, but congratulated himself on always suspecting the Professor of being far too good to be true. Oh yes, he was going to have fun with this. The downfall of the great humanitarian.

'Where the hell have you been all these years, anyway?' Natalie asked angrily. 'I tried to call you -'

'You know phones, the numbers never last long. Anyway, they didn't invite me back. After that I had other problems. You know: Life.' He had spent years trying to forget. Sometimes life did not work out the way one imagined.

'What would she do to you, anyway?' he said. 'You're her Golden Girl!'

'Oh, I don't know,' said Natalie, slumping back into a chair. 'I'd never work in this hick town again. Or anywhere. You'd probably conveniently forget I ever existed. The usual.'

Jake sneaked a peek out the window. A black line of Secs surrounded the building. They were all perfectly evenly spaced, unmoving. Uncanny. 'She always this paranoid?' he said.

'Only lately. I think something happened downstairs that's wound her up.'

'The Technician? She certainly pissed Dudgeon off.'

'And the rest. This new treatment is nearly ready for release, so everybody's been a bit tense lately,' she said. 'Just in time for the election. I think she's going to make it. Be the next woman Prime Minister, I mean. See if she can do a decent job of it and do womankind a favour. But this -' Natalie faltered again.

'You don't know what's down there?' he asked, then immediately wished he hadn't, because the girl shot him a look of such childlike guilt and misery, he felt he should be offering her ice cream or something, to make the bad feeling go away.

'No.'

'And who are those guys?'

'I don't know.'

'But what are you afraid of?'

'I don't know, alright? That's why I need your help!'

'But the professor knows doesn't she? She's in charge - you heard her shouting right? "Terminate" what? Don't you have any idea what has happened at all?' Natalie bit her lip and shook her head.

'Sorry,' Jake said.

'Remember the weird noise at that conference?' Natalie asked.

'The crazy scientists blowing shit up?' Jake said. Natalie nodded.

'Well, that day is a sort of urban legend around here,' she said. 'Something for the Techies to spook each other with in the middle of the night.' Interesting, Jake thought. Folk tales always made good copy.

'This urban legend,' he said. 'What's it about?'

'Well.' As is the tradition with such stories, Natalie lowered her voice and adopted a conspiratorial tone. 'It goes like this: A long time ago, way before the conference, Dudgeon discovers the secret to curing all disease. Nobody knows how, but the Techies swear blind that deep under this building, on Basement Level 6, there is a huge vault containing some sort of magic box.'

'A magic -?'

'Ssh! Let me finish. So one day Dudgeon opens this box and something escapes. She spends the next ten years or so hunting it down without success, until 1989, when a certain conference is going on, and she catches it.'

'I see. And the explosion?'

'There was a fire. "It" escaped again.'

'A fire?' Jake didn't remember any fire engines. Or an evacuation, for that matter.

'Yeah. And that's not all: three people disappeared, and nobody knows what happened to them. Nobody talks about it, anyway. They say they died in the flames, tortured souls haunting the corridors to this day.'

7.3 - The Legend, Part 2

'I take it there's no proof then?' Jake said. 'Ever find out where the fire started?'

'I was only sixteen. You think I cared? Dudgeon sent me off to some science academy and I worked here part time - you know, running errands and such. They don't have much time for angry teenagers round here. Anyway, I didn't know about any of this until last week. I just thought - oh I feel so stupid.'

'So you haven't been down there?' Jake tried to keep the scepticism out of his voice. Yes, something strange and exciting was clearly happening, but this urban legend stuff was a bit too far-fetched for him.

'No, of course not. Why would I? The really interesting thing, is there's no Basement Level 6! There are only two floors below the car park, and they're storage.' Yep, Jake thought, far too far-fetched. They should probably let their techs out once in a while.

'Well, it's interesting alright,' Jake said. 'But it's only a story.'

'Yeah. I mean no. I don't know. There's all this weird shit today, like it's been building up for a while. She's been getting more and more excited, but I thought we were in for another amazing breakthrough, not this.'

'Another breakthrough? Even better than a cure for cancer?'

'Who knows? Like I said: I manage the campaign. I'm the front end, the public face. No idea what's going on in the labs. Only what she wants me to know.'

'So all this wasn't just about my report,' Jake said slowly, half to himself.

'Oh please. She just wanted you to stop writing about stupid things when we are about to change the world.' Natalie smiled at the look he gave her, and added, 'Really, we are.'

'Change the world, with the Secs and the promise of immortality?' Jake hated sounding so suspicious, especially when Natalie looked so hurt. At least with a money-laundering scandal there was something to get your teeth into.

'Were you even listening?' Natalie said. 'With the internet, the tiniest rumour can shoot round the planet in seconds. A throwaway comment can destroy a CEO's reputation overnight, bring a government to its knees. Dudgeon wants to be the government. She wants to run things, and the way things are going, she will in a few years. You might have started something, so she wanted to tell you - oh I don't know. Maybe she was going to give away a few of her secrets. Something to spice up the campaign. A teaser, maybe.'

'And I thought Dudgeon was melodramatic!'

'Melodramatic?' Natalie laughed. 'You've got no idea! We can cure cancer! Do you realise how important that is? If this rumour is real -'

'Er - right.' Important, yes. Too late though. Too little too late. If they'd come out with a cure for cancer a year ago, he might still have a life.

If Jake was honest with himself, he hadn't taken much of it in. He'd done those sorts of interviews before, the ones where the politician makes grandiose statements about the future, curing all disease, eliminating poverty. Lip service for votes, that was all. He just hit the record button and let the netbook do the rest. But now something had happened. There was a real story underneath the bluster and fairy tales, and Natalie was letting him in on the secret. All those years writing fluff pieces and getting by would soon be over. Barely surviving while his wife lay dying, sucking everything he earned into a bottomless pit of ineffectual treatments and depression.

Yes, the professor's successes often weighed on his mind, especially when he wanted to end it all. Nobody could be that good, that successful, that quickly. If you believed in magic, the story almost made sense.

Something Natalie had said was still bothering him. 'Wait. So you need my help?'

'Yes.' She sighed. 'Please.'

'To do what, investigate? She won't let me near the place after this.'

'Probably, but there's got to be something in the history of this building, people you can ask. She used to work at some University before moving down here. Start there.' Natalie rubbed her temple. 'You did say she would go far, didn't you?' she said.

'Too far, some might say,' said Jake. 'Regardless of fairy tales. You say these cures actually work? With no side effects?' he shook his head. 'Some things shouldn't be messed with.'

'She hasn't gone far enough, not yet. She wants to make humanity immune to everything. She's aiming for a lifespan of at least 200 years.'

Jake grinned. 'Well that's alright then,' he said. 'Who doesn't want that? Make a good campaign promise too.' He scratched his chin. 'There are some people I could get hold of, I suppose. It's never easy, the hippies live off the grid, but that might be just what we need.'

Natalie hugged him. 'I knew you would be able to help!' she said, 'Anything you can do. I'm completely at sea here, I thought I knew what the Company stood for, but now I'm not so sure. I need to know what's going on. I need to know if she's worth it.'

'Alright,' said Jake, extricating himself, red-faced and perspiring. 'I'll see what I can do.'

'You know, whole sections of this building are locked away. Not on the computer system, even. Anyone who can get into that, would be able to tell us a lot.'

'You mean even your fancy computer -'

'Unicorn.'

'That's right - even Unicorn doesn't know what's down there?'

'Exactly. That Techie who interrupted us? She's from down there. I've only ever met her twice and I've been here ten years. What does that tell you?'

There must be some logic to this, Jake thought. Somewhere, there must be a pattern, a link. A secret fire, a legend, now 'something' escapes and the zombie army arrives in full force to sweep it all under the carpet again. It was getting weirder by the minute. 'Well you'd expect there to be secrecy,' he said. 'I mean you don't want the other Big Pharma's stealing your research, do you?'

'It goes deeper than that, though - Last week I looked inside the casket.'

'Right. Wait - the what?'

'The casket. Did you see it on her desk? Old box, curved lid, fancy carvings?'

'I think so. So?'

'It's her most valued possession. She touches it when she's insecure. Sits and stares at it for hours. Just sitting there, thinking.'

'So? What was in it?'

'Here.' Natalie handed over a sheet of paper, Jake read the words and looked up at Natalie in surprise.

'See?' she said. 'That's where you need to start.' She opened the door. 'Come on,' she said, 'I'd better get you to Accounts before people start asking questions.'

7.4 - The Gallery

Kath ran furiously down the corridor. Doors hissed open before her like magic, but she didn't notice, or care. Whatever was happening downstairs, it would be her who got it in the neck. The Dragon had told her to terminate the project, her project, at exactly the wrong moment. Her bones told her she was teetering on the verge of something great. Every scientific fibre of her being screamed that it was so. The evidence was there, the human brain unlocked once and for all, this time without the usual unpleasant side-effects. Well, most of them. If she could just subdue Omega-Five for a few more days, the Dragon might give her another chance. She had hoped the snippets of data from the original subject - the little boy - would give her the breakthrough she had been searching for all these years.

But if the project was terminated, she would be out in the cold. She supposed the current subjects would be sent away to live out the rest of their lives in an isolated asylum on an island somewhere. She would be back at the drawing board, theorising and waiting for a new batch of volunteers to play with.

She tapped her earpiece. 'Unicorn, locate Jez, quickly!'

'SEARCHING...'

'Never mind,' she panted, seconds later. 'I've found him.'

She stopped by a tall skinny Techie hunched over a drinking fountain. He was vomiting copiously. Several small round robots were struggling to vacuum it up. Kath made a mental note to work on getting them to clean each other as well.

'What the hell's going on, Jez?' Kath said.

'I don't know! Bleurgh!'

'Gross! You know the toilet's right there?'

'Yeah, I-' Jez buried his face back in the fountain, which was beginning to overflow. Kath backed away a little. 'It was so, so messy!' He spluttered.

Craig came running up behind Kath. 'You two!' he panted. 'Get over here!'

'No, wait!' Kath called out, a little too late. Craig was already trying to stop, but his foot was already planted right in the pool of sick.

'Oh God!' he cried, as his feet left the ground and deposited him right under the drinking fountain.

Jez heaved again. There was a crack.

Kath didn't wait to see what happened next. An almighty howl from the other end of the corridor started her running again. Most girls would run away from a noise like that. Not this girl. Not today. The howl came from multiple throats, welling up like a choir of tortured souls.

Kath burst into an open space lined with glass. The room where they kept the most advanced subjects. The Gallery. Her earpiece crackled and fizzed as Unicorn tried to speak again, but there was interference on the line. She pulled the annoying thing out and switched it off.

The howl stopped.

In the middle of the room, with its back to her, stood a tall, naked, something. Man? Monster? It was hard to tell, the humanoid figure was so cracked and burned. Kath sighed. This was bad. Omega-Five was both the most important and most broken of all the subjects. He should not be out, and definitely not here.

'Come on then,' she whispered, slowly drawing a syringe from her waistband.

Omega-Five stood in the middle of the room, panting. His head was cocked to one side, as if listening to something. The central workstation, usually the home of highly organised and delicate equipment, including several computers that had cost more than most people's houses, was a mess of broken glass, smoking chemicals and blood. Kath spotted a pair of feet sticking out from behind the desk, toes twitching slightly.

All the other subjects were frozen in place, transfixed by this hideous thing that had invaded their home. Kath could not tell if they were merely as terrified as her, or hypnotised. Another manifestation of the strangely enhanced brain activity, detected when they had first introduced Omega-Five to the Gallery. Moving together as if experiencing the same thought at the same time. She began to edge towards the creature, which straightened up slightly, but did not turn round. Toes first, she thought, use the balls of the feet. Don't breathe. Softly does it.

She raised her right hand, lined the syringe with the creature's twisted, melted throat.

The subjects turned to her with one purpose and snarled.

Kath let out an involuntary squeal and dropped the syringe. The subjects began to beat their fists against the glass walls of the cells. A terrifying, rhythmical accompaniment to the creature's pirouette, spinning to face her. Kath threw her arms up in front of her face, pathetic defence against the inevitable attack. Through her fingers, she saw its fists raise. It's - his warped face twisted into an expression of unimaginable, tortured rage. Blood dripping from blackened, claw-like fingers.

The creature screamed.

She screamed back. There seemed little else to do. The syringe was rolling into the corner, well out of reach. Her feet would not move, so she hid her face behind her hands, screwed her eyes shut tight and screamed out her fear, waiting for the blows to fall. The hammering on the glass walls grew louder with the screams, and Kath was sure this was it, her short time on this earth had come to an end. She saw herself as a little girl, confused and crying over the burnt wreckage of her beloved Unicorn. How she had rebuilt him and he had still been taken from her. How they found each other again, and spent years together studying the human brain, coming ever closer to unlocking its ultimate secrets. This thing, this creature was her greatest achievement, driven mad by his own intelligence and the company's folly.

And now with a murderous gleam in his grey eyes, Omega-Five would end everything and Kath would never know if she had ever been right at all.

When they found her, she was alone.

7.5 - The Contact

Free of the White Building at last, Jake gratefully sipped a strong double-irish coffee and tried not to worry about the girl he had left behind. He was sure she would be alright. As far as the Dragon knew, she had promptly escorted him off the premises, via the mind-warping complexities of the accounts department. Yes, she would be alright.

He thumbed through an tattered little notepad, the kind policemen had used in the days before they could talk to each other without speaking. Warned about storing sensitive information on his netbook, and against using technology at all, he explained that the job required a thorough knowledge of current fads. His one concession to this modern craze for keeping one's entire life on a tiny, stealable and easily-left-on-a-train gadget, was a telephone number scribbled in the middle of a complicated doodle, hidden amongst long-redundant takeaways and taxis.

Five rings.

'Yeah?' A girl's voice. Playful. A touch aggressive.

'I am calling from the newspaper,' Jake said. 'There are rumours of a conspiracy.'

'No con piracy here.' the girl said. Her voice had dulled, as if reciting a mantra.

'Today,' replied Jake. 'Tomorrow, we shall see.' It was stupid, he knew. Something he and the old man had thrown together one night. Surprising his handwriting was still legible, he had been so drunk.

'Hold please.' A click, then another voice. Male.

'Jake? Long time!'

'Glad you're still there,' Jake said. 'Wasn't sure this would work. Thought you lot might have forgotten how to use these things.'

'Still here.' A pause. 'Listening.'

'Look, I heard about Davey. I'm sorry. He was a great man.'

'Yes.' The pause again. 'Secure line?'

'Of course.' Jake chose his words carefully. You had to with these kind of people. One false move and they would hang up, the phone number would change, and then you'd be forced to find them the other way. He shuddered. 'I have someone who needs to meet you,' he said.

'Dangerous.'

'Trust me, this is one person you really want to meet.'

'Why?'

'She could be our way in.'

'Sure? Hunters on radar now. Could be a trap.'

That was probably the most words Jake had heard him put together. 'It isn't,' he said. 'I swear on my wife's precious soul.'

There was a pause, during which Jake heard muffled anger and monosyllabic replies. The line cleared. The man on the other end of the phone sighed.

'Kay,' he said.'Public, neutral.'

'Right then. Shall I - ?'

'We'll call you.'

The phone clicked. Hummed.

Jake looked at the handset. He was shaking.

8.1 - The Guardians

The old man was dying.

The news spread quickly, as is often the way, drawing an anxious crowd hopeful of one final blessing from the great man. Hopes that would be short-lived, for the doorway was blocked by a tall, red-haired woman, who wore a forbidding expression around a dangerous half-smile. Something in that smile must have frightened them, for they eyeballed her warily from a safe distance, muttering and shuffling, giving the impression of pressing forwards, but not actually moving. She may have been young, but the large hunting knife sticking out of her belt was enough of a deterrent for most, if not her wild eyes and masculine attire.

A large Indian man strode up to her, and she stood her ground defiantly. The crowd held it's collective breath as the two squared off, and then sighed when she leapt into his arms.

While the couple were distracted, a young man tried to sneak past.

Wood splintered, inches from his face. He froze.

'And where do you think you're going?' the girl purred, her voice silky and playful.

'S-sorry ma'am, wanted to see the Priest ma'am, just for a minute, ma'am.'

'Leave him, sweetheart,' the big Indian rumbled with a deep, throaty chuckle. To the terrified villager he said, 'You better step back, boy. We'll tell you when it is your turn.'

The red-haired girl laughed and gracefully curled backwards in the Indian's arms, reaching over her head to pull the knife out of the door. She caught the young villager staring down her cleavage in terrified fascination. She grinned.

'Can I help you?' she said, spinning the knife round her fingertips. He almost fell down the steps in his haste to disappear back into the crowd.

The Indian laughed and pulled her upright. 'We should not be here,' he said.

'Yes, yes,' she said dismissively. 'Be good to strike another bastard off the list though, won't it?'

'If he comes,' the Indian shrugged.

'He will come. The old man is rarely wrong.'

'Just don't believe it. Why now, after all this time? If they just waited a few more days…'

'They want to end him on their terms.'

'Terms,' the girl spat. 'How many do you think are left?'

'Ten, twenty, a hundred? They kill, we hunt. Fewer now. The Dragon's wings are clipped.'

'If she comes for Davey, I will end her,' the girl said quietly. She tightened her hold around the Indian's neck. 'What's keeping them?' she murmured. 'It's been half an hour already.'

'What do you think? Our Sadhu is sharing his deepest, darkest secrets with "The One". The Messiah will stride forth from this humble doorway and show us the path to enlightenment. His insane chatterings will show their true colours as the Word, the One True Way. We will fall upon his feet with ravenous delight as the Holy Words spill from his corporeal lips. We are-'

'Oh shut up, Nari.' The girl laughed, jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow. 'Mystic nonsense it may be, but even you have to admit the world is a very different place now.'

'You saw the news.'

'Yeah. All over the country, they said.'

'How long you think we've got?' Nari asked the question, but in a tone that suggested he already suspected the answer.

The girl shrugged. 'Weeks, days, hours?' she said, mocking him. 'Another twenty years? I don't know.'

'Do not like it.' Nari's eyes wandered restlessly over the small, anxious crowd. There were no children among them. He lowered his voice. 'Do not think we can keep the children safe indefinitely.'

'No.'

'Backup?'

'Maybe. Dan's been reaching out, could be a few more days though.'

'Shit. After all these years. Thought it was over. Guess this is it, then.'

'Yeah. I just hope Will's ready.'

Nari smiled. 'The Chosen One? If I've taught him anything over the years…' The girl shot him a concerned look and he squeezed her shoulder. 'Don't worry. I'm sure he can hold the crazy at bay.'

'Hmpf. Without Davey it's gonna be hard.'

The girl and the Indian fell silent then, watching the people watching them.

All thinking the same thing: it's happening again.

8.2 - The History Lesson

• 1. See 7.4 The Gallery
• 2. For some reason, only two of the many global conflicts were deemed worthy of being awarded numbers. Perhaps a greater power realised that, had they continued counting, we would be on about the fifteenth by now. Which does not have quite the same ring to it. In any case, the First World War was clearly not the first, by any measure.
• 3. Being a rather modern company, with interests beyond medical research and the political aspirations of its CEO, DPharm has an extensive collection of scanned and copied electronic records pilfered from libraries all over the country. Oh, and naturally I have access to any computer foolish enough to be connected to the internet, no matter how clever you think your firewall is.
• 4. Then: "Junior"
• 5. This is the only entry I can find anywhere for this particular individual, whose name appears to have otherwise been expunged from history, for want of a better word.

8.3 - The Return, Part 1

'Tell me. About the fire. William,' Davey said.

'What shall I say?' The young man's voice was soft and emotionless. Only his mother had ever called him by his full name. Davey never had. His childhood name had died along with his innocence.

'How. Did you find. Me?' Davey struggled up onto his elbow. His eyes usually sparkled with mischief, but now they were tired and serious. William… no, not William - that was his mother talking - Will - felt the familiar stirring of deeply buried memories.

'We've been through this before,' he said. 'I just ran. I ran down the corridors and there you were.' With his big, beautiful, welcoming smile. 'Your friends...' He fell silent then, lost in the memory of the old man's brutally skilled masked companions. Fit, fast and strong, they had made light work of any resistance they met on their way out of the building. Once they reached the sewer, there was none at all. They were home free. He studied his hands and avoided Davey's gaze. 'You were the most amazing thing I'd ever seen.' he added.

'You never wondered how I came to be there?'

'I don't remember. It didn't matter. Then you told me the best thing to do was disappear. I was too important, you said.' So important they had started a new life, out of the public eye, somewhere nobody knew them. If he hadn't had Alex, the Shadow would have taken him over and he would be in a padded cell somewhere. Or back in the chair in the white room, watching dark colours and hard, spikey shapes while his life bled away.

'You said we had to hide. Get a proper education. Learn to control my "gift". To fight without technology. It is how they find you, you said.'

'Aye, that it is. In the face of such evil your gift is all you have.' said Davey. 'Is it all you can remember?'

Will shook his head. There was more. 'You said we should all disappear from the world. That nobody could know who we are, where we came from. That my mother…' he tailed off.

'You missed your mother?'

'You know I did. But you said she was gone. Somewhere far away.' As the years passed Will had come to terms with the fact that she was most likely dead too. 'She was safe. That was all I needed to know.'

'So. You escaped the room, and found me, just like that?' Back to the room again. Davey liked to question him in circles, starting down one avenue before veering off in another wild direction, a Brownian motion of questioning, the pattern known only to him. Occasionally it worked, and Will would have a minor revelation that the group would be enlightened upon at great length in the evenings. For now however, they trod old, familiar ground.

'I can't remember,' said Will. 'The computer told me, showed me the way. I just knew the route and followed it. The voice -' He stopped himself even as the word left his lips.

'Ah yes. You'd already unlocked all the doors,' Davey said, without a flicker of curiosity, 'and you found your way to your friend.'

'Yes.'

'So you could still remember the layout of the building?'

'I was so scared.' Will shook his head. 'I just knew the way, I could see her pink light, burning through the walls.' He braced himself for the next question. They had been through the story so many times now, he knew what was coming.

Davey coughed, a hacking, gasping, rattling noise like the dying engine of an ancient car. Will fetched a glass of water from the bedside table and the old man drank greedily. While he watched, a voice crept into his mind. Get on with it, it said, there can't be long left now.

Quiet. He thought back. Not now. Not yet.

'And the scientists?' Davey continued. 'Where were they?'

Although he was 27 years old, Davey could still send him back into the mind of the frightened little boy. Will wrapped his arms round his knees and shivered at the memory. Two screaming, writhing balls of flame in the hole where the door had been. The sight haunted him as if it had been yesterday, but at the time he had only cared about one thing: finding Davey, the old man.

The only person he knew in the world who would be able to get him out.

And Alex.

'That's two things.'

'I know,' said Will. 'And they aren't "things",' he added, 'they're people.'

'If you say so.'

Davey made him go through the story almost every day. Increasingly short on time, the old man suspected the young man of concealing a Great Secret that would help them end their exile. 'That was where it all started,' he would say again and again. 'That's when it all came together.' But he never explained what he meant.

And now he was dying. Now Will would never know.

'I will never forget those screams,' he said. 'I left them behind, dying. It wasn't their fault, they had a job to do.'

'You were seven. What do you think you could have done?'

'I don't know - something. Anything.' Anything to make the screaming stop.

'That woman and that man,' said Davey. 'KindFace and WhiteCoat. They had their roles to play. We all do. Whether it is destiny or the Master's divine hand, there is a plan for us all.'

'Right.' After the hypnotherapy sessions, he was never entirely sure whether Davey had tried to indoctrinate him with his odd brand of religious dogma once he was under. Still, he could not deny the sense of well-being in knowing that everything one did was for a Greater Purpose.

'They died, and you lived.'

'I ran. I said sorry, and left them.'

'But you saved Alexandra, she is still here, and she loves you for it.'

'Don't tell her that, please! I'll never live it down.' At this, Davey cracked a smile. It looked painful, but everything Davey did looked painful these days.

Here it comes, the little voice piped up again, here comes the mystic prophecy.

'It was not your destiny to be a couple. But together, it is your destiny to end all of this.'

'Look. No offence, old man, but there is no such thing as destiny.' Davey's white eyes crinkled as his smile grew wider. He groped for Will's hand.

'If there is no such thing, my son, then why are they still seeking you?'

Ooh I know this one, kid: it's your animal magnetism, right?

Quiet!

'You know it's time for you to go out there again, don't you?' said Davey.

'What?' Will shuddered involuntarily, although he knew the old man was right. Out into the world, with its new order of fear and confusion. They had all been so happy.

'It is happening again. The cycle repeats. Every twenty years, the children go missing. Now the Seekers are here. You have to find who is doing this. I think you are ready now. And your little team will help you.' He chuckled then. 'The Hunters.'

8.3 - The Return, Part 2

Will rubbed his temple. It throbbed with encroaching menace. Even in the trance, the Shadow found a way in. It was probably what kept his thoughts alive, even when he found actual recall so difficult afterwards. If not for the box, he probably would not remember anything at all. Something about a message, more voices in his head. All a confused noise. Perhaps he was just crazy. Perhaps it had not happened at all.

Davey was not much help. All he talked about was destiny and justice: 'When you are old enough to understand, you will be able to end all this.' They often mocked his melodramatic sincerity: 'The reign of terror will be no more, you have the power to change everything. Heal yourself, and you can heal the world!'

At least Alex was there to save him from going insane.

Davey: The old man, his friend, saviour, teacher. Ultimately, his jailor. Forever forcing him to re-live a distant memory of whirling confusion, machines and fire. After he had exploded the computer, little Billy ran screaming towards the corridor where he had seen the old man. He leapt into his arms, Davey helped him find Alex and then - then he had lost the fight to stay conscious. When he awoke, he was back in another car, travelling at nightmarish speeds into an uncertain future.

Alex had clung to him all the way.

She told him afterwards that he talked incessantly in his sleep, long conversations about talking birds, strange shapes and infinite shadows. Voices. A room full of children, all screaming at him without moving their lips. They had helped each other through the trauma, the loss of their families, struggling to come to terms with the new life Davey created for them. Suddenly they were all grown up. Decades later they were no closer to unravelling what had really happened to him, or why. Davey protected them from that, as if he could protect them forever.

The memories faded, yet the Shadow remained.

There was a sudden noise, like windows being shattered. Raised voices and running feet. Davey clicked his fingers.

'Okay William, you can wake up, now,' he said in a loud, clear voice, hand firmly gripping Will's shoulder. It was a surprisingly strong grip. Will shuddered and blinked slowly, as if emerging from a deep daydream.

'What happened?' he said. 'Did I say anything good?' The words of the previous hour floated away, banished back into the infinite depths of his damaged memory.

'You're safe, my boy.'

Safe, he says. Wake up kid!

Quiet, Will thought. I said not now. He realised Davey was talking again. 'Sorry?' he said.

'I do not have time to repeat myself,' Davey said with a knowing smile, 'but you know the story of the Seekers by now. Everything I know, you know.' Not much then. If only he could remember more. There were so many gaps in his memory. So many years lost.

'What am I supposed to do?' he asked. Davey's mischievous eyes crinkled as he tried to hold the young man in focus.

'Keep moving,' he said. 'Keep searching. There is a Beast on your trail now, when you find him, he will lead you to the Dragon. She will give you the answers that I cannot. But tread carefully, lad. Find him, before he finds you.'

He has already found you.

Will listened. He could just about make out Nari shouting something, but then the crash of the bedroom door flying open prevented him from making out what the Indian was saying.

The red-haired girl burst in. She was out of breath, an eight-inch blade in each hand. 'He's here!' she gasped.

'Ah, Alexandra,' said Davey, without batting an eyelid. 'I see that it is time.' He reached a shaking hand under his pillow and drew out a small pistol.

'What are you doing?' Alex said, reaching out to seize Davey's arm. 'You can't fight, we gotta go, now!' Davey smiled kindly at Alex, as if she were a child, trying to get him to ride the carousel at the village fair. He carefully pulled himself free. Cocked the pistol. The sound rang out into the suddenly silent room. Will and Alex exchanged uncertain looks.

'No,' Davey said quietly. 'It is you who must go.'

'But we can't leave you,' Will protested, 'we've escaped before, we'll just move again.'

'And next week? The week after?' Davey shook his head. 'Don't be foolish, William. I am not strong enough. I cannot leave this bed.' He gestured towards the wardrobe. 'Leave through the cellars, I'll be the distraction. You must continue this journey without me.'

'I won't leave you alone! They'll kill you!'

'You must. My life is worth nothing if you die now.'

'But I can stop them! I'll shift for you!' Will closed his eyes and summoned the Shadow. The familiar haze was with him almost instantly, always ready, always watching. The sounds dulled and deepened, the edges of his vision became filled with feathery threads of darkness.

Alex's palm cracked across his cheek.

'Oh no you don't!' she said. 'We need you. There isn't enough time, and Nari can't hold them forever. Please come.'

'I can't leave-'

'He warned us about this. You know it's what he wants. Let's go.' Alex said. Will watched her draw the sheets back over the frail old man, a tear rolling down her freckled cheek. She kissed Davey gently on the forehead.

'We won't forget you,' she whispered. 'I'll never forget your kindness.' Davey laid a shaking hand on her head.

'Go in peace, my love,' he said. 'Look after the boy.'

'If I must.' Alex nudged Will and he smiled, sadly.

'You must.'

Will felt the familiar mist begin to collect in his mind's eye when he approached the bed. The insistent darkness, smudges and suggestions of coloured lights were still dancing on the edges of his vision. He tried to choke back his emotions. He would not be able to hold it for long.

Not now, he thought. Five minutes, then we'll talk. He breathed slowly, deeply. The mist cleared. He drew his own pistol from its holster under his arm and laid it on Davey's chest.

'Take some of the bastards down with you, old man,' he muttered, and coughed awkwardly.

'You have to go back to the beginning,' Davey said. 'Go to my house. Find the clock. Follow the disappearances and the invisible deaths. Listen to the Shadow and the box. They will tell you what to do.'

He wanted to argue, but Davey had closed his eyes. He had been quite adamant over the years that to return there would be the most dangerous thing of all. The place was crawling with Secs.

'Just remember,' Davey whispered as the shouting grew louder. 'Run first; then remember. Now go.' There was a hammering on the door. It stopped abruptly, followed by a bloodthirsty cheer. The villagers were joining in the defence of the house.

'Will, we have to leave. Now!' Alex said. 'Dan can't wait much longer, we got Seekers everywhere.' She seized his hand.

He tried to shut out the vision of the tiny, frail and weak old man they left behind, barely strong enough to lift the two pistols, so full of confidence in him and Alex. They heard the front door of the cottage splintering, then gunfire fading as they pulled the old wardrobe closed behind them and ran down a dark, dank tunnel.

While he focused on Alex's pink light ahead, Will's mind showed him two little children running for their lives through the woods twenty years earlier. A lifetime gone, and yet the man in black found them again and again.

We are nearly there, kid. The voice said inside his mind. One step closer.

'And two steps back,' Will whispered.

He clutched the box tightly and concentrated on running.

No more secrets. Next time, he would be ready.

8.4 - The Sleep Protocol

Kath woke up.

She allowed the strange dream (was it a dream?) of a little girl, weeping inconsolably over the burnt wreckage of a computer, to fade slowly away. Her ears rang with the memory of an immense noise. The shouting. Rhythmical hammering. Her own screams. She could smell the creature's stale breath and see its wild eyes.

'What happened?' she gasped, throat dry and painful.

'You tell me,' Craig said, appearing at her side like a pale, frightened ghost. He handed her a glass of water. Supported her head as she drank gratefully. She winced and nodded thanks, embarrassed at the humiliation, but feeling too weak to complain. She ached all over.

'I ache all over,' she said.

'I'm not surprised. We found you thrashing about on the floor screaming your head off. Fitting, or something.'

'Where did he go?'

'Omega-Five? God knows. He was gone long before we got to you.'

'And the others? How are they?'

'Fine, fine.' He scratched his ear nervously. 'A bit distressed, but we calmed them all down.' He avoided her eyes. Kath was not convinced.

'Fine?' she said. 'Behind the desk, in the gallery,' she continued, 'I saw - I saw -'

'I know.' Craig looked serious then. Worried, even. That was unusual for him, well-known Master of Disdain for all his colleagues. 'It was Frank,' he said quietly. 'What was left of him.'

'Oh God.'

'Yeah. But not today.' Kath ignored the jibe. Frank had been quite a religious man. Craig was not.

'How's Jez?' she asked.

'In hospital,' Craig said. Kath nodded. They would have to name a wing after him at this rate. First the inexplicable spontaneous combustion and now this. The company would be getting rid of him soon.

'Figures,' she said. 'Shock?'

'Something like that. Whatever,' Craig said, shrugging. Kath knew he did not care. 'Listen,' he said, 'what really happened in there?'

'I - I don't know.' And she realised she really didn't. The more she concentrated, the more her head pounded, and the more vague it became. There were some memories, but they were really just flashes of horror and noise. A face twisted by deep anger caused by unimaginable pain. She could not believe it. This was not the kind of place she had worked in for so many years. She would not work in that kind of place.

'We heard a terrible noise, like drumming and screaming,' Craig went on. 'Jez said it sounded like a bunch of Zombies having a music festival.'

'It sounded like hell.' And then, even as she wondered how honest she should be with him, Kath found she was telling Craig about the creature, her best and worst test subject, Omega-Five. How she had tried to sneak up on him and all the subjects in the room had turned on her. She explained how he had seemed to know exactly where she was even though he wasn't looking. As if he could see through the subjects' collective eyes. And then... nothing.

'They were all synchronised somehow. As if they all shared the same thoughts.' She noticed the look on Craig's face and added, 'I know, stupid huh? Probably just got over excited or something.'

'I wouldn't be so sure,' Craig said gravely. 'I mean, we're messing with some serious shit down here right? Serious top secret government shit.' Great, Kath thought. The conspiracy had got to him too. He would be chanting about the Chosen One next. Jez was bad enough.

'Not you too?' she sighed.

'You gotta ask these questions girl, you gotta ask. Especially now.'

'Hmm.'

It wasn't that Kath didn't ask herself the same thing. It was more that she felt the questioning itself was wrong; surely they were all good people, trying to cure the world's ills and get paid in the process? Just a job, that's all. A secret job. With human subjects. As if she could forget how she got here in the first place. She saw her father's proud smile, his body shaking and fading as she was taken away. On his knees, calling, I will get you out, love, I will get you out!

'There's nothing else?' Craig persisted, bringing Kath back to the present.

'Not a thing,' Kath said. Apart from the blood. The grey eyes. Rancid breath as he screamed into her face. She thought if he still had tear ducts, he would have been crying too. There was so much pain there, so much rage. She had done her best to look after him, and this was how he repaid her.

By leaving her alive.

'I'm tired,' she said. Craig nodded. He began to lean forwards, and then thought better of it, turning the motion into an awkward pat on the shoulder. Kath grinned, and poked him in the ribs.

'I'll be fine,' she said, 'see you tomorrow?'

'Sure.'

As soon as he had gone, Kath searched her bag for her company tablet, called up a terminal with a swipe of her index finger and shoved in her earpiece.

'Unicorn, are you there?' she said, logging into the intranet. No messages. No news. Nothing. Even within its own walls, you had to admire the Company's secrecy policy..

The earpiece crackled. 'I AM HERE.'

'Call up the Speers file again, will you?' If it were possible for a Company AI to sigh, Unicorn would certainly have done so.

'AGAIN?' Unicorn said. 'YOU DO NOT THINK YOU HAVE HAD ENOUGH PUNISHMENT FOR ONE DAY?'

There were times when Kath regreted the painstaking hours spent teaching Uni figures of speech. At least this time he had used it appropriately. 'Don't play games with me today, Uni. Call up the last one. You know the one I mean. The corridors. The getaway.'

'YOU ARE NOT WELL. YOU NEED TO REST. CRAIG SAID -'

'I don't care what Craig said,' she snapped. 'I need to do it now, while this infernal noise is still in my head. There's something bugging me.' Unicorn waited. Kath presumed he was giving her an opportunity to think about what she was asking, before deciding sleep and rest were the better option. She folded her arms defiantly.

'VERY WELL.' Unicorn said at last. 'BUT IN TEN MINUTES I WILL COMMENCE THE SLEEP MUSIC PROTOCOL.'

'Great. Thanks.' Kath settled back in the bed. 'Play.'

The screen flickered, showing a white room. A wall of outdated computers.

A little boy strapped to a big chair.

8.5 - The Voice

Billy wished the tears would not come so easily, at a time when he badly needed to see clearly.

Don't worry kid. You'll be okay. You saw the route. Remember.

'I can't!' he muttered, seeing nothing but chaos and darkness. Menacing shadows. Piercing sirens creating ripples of jagged lights to accompany him down the corridors.

Mayhem and madness.

Yes, you can, said the little voice patiently. Think about the map as you saw it in the computer.

Billy snorted back the tears, and for want of a better plan, tried to focus on the voice. He thought it was probably the only thing he could trust, even if its very presence assured him he was losing his mind.

'The map?' he sniffed, and then cried out in pain, hitting his shins against a large potted plant that had been obscured by the shadows. They fell together, sending soil and leaves and boy tumbling for several yards. He thought he would be re-captured for sure, but was soon back on his feet and running, a little slower perhaps, but running all the same. He did not know if he was still being chased. In the darkness, he could not tell. Best to be safe though, than strapped to a chair in the white room with that insane woman. Davey was here, ahead of him somewhere. He thought back. There had been a map. A whole lot of other things as well, but the map was the last thing he had seen.

That's right. When you saw the old man looking for you. Concentrate on him… There you go.

Billy slammed through another door, which hissed in gentle protest as it swung closed behind him. The fog cleared a little when he tried to remember the map of the building. A wire-frame picture of the basement levels faded into his vision, superimposed against the white corridor he was running down. A little blue light moved along a bright green line.

That's you!

Here and there little red dots were moving towards him, gathering on the other side of locked doors. Like moths to a flame.

That's them!

He did not know where the knowledge came from. There. Red dot. James Munroe: height - five foot six, weight - ten stone. Enjoys walks in the park with his dog, Jasper. Ten years in the Company, passed over for promotion five times. Whatever he looked at was instantly explained in great detail. Then the knowledge was gone completely, only to be replaced by another nauseating wave of information when he moved on to something else. How long each corridor was, the height of the ceilings. The make and wattage of every light bulb.

Billy almost screamed. He did not have the luxury to worry about these things. He had to ignore it somehow. If he made it out alive, then he could demand answers.

Come on, kid. Follow the green line.

The map shifted, becoming three-dimensional, and he followed the green line, seeing the path ahead of him, leading through the complex to the edge of the map.

Excellent. That will be where the old man was. Now run!

The alarms were still shrieking their warnings into the air. Following the map along unknown corridors amidst the bright colours of the noise and the lights was making him quite seasick. Or maybe, he thought, the sight of the burning Techies had done that. KindVoice and WhiteCoat, screaming in the throes of death.

He burst into a large open space. What he encountered in the white room stopped him in his tracks. Even the noise and colours seemed to dissipate, as if to let his mind reel at the shock of what he was seeing.

Glass-walled cells lined the walls. Each cell contained a skinny and frightened child, about the same age as himself. They wore simple hospital gowns and slippers. The children were all watching him, noses pressed against the glass doors of their cells. Some were crying, but all had the same look of abject terror and resignation.

A huge white workbench filled the centre of the room. Glass jars and tubes covering its marble surface like a tiny futuristic city. Another bank of computers at one end, beeping quietly, lights winking. Coloured liquids bubbled over blue flames.

Still burning. That means someone's close. You gotta go now, kid.

'Wait,' said Billy, holding up his hand, forgetting that the box was buried in his pocket. 'They're saying something.' The buzzing of distant bees, growing louder when he focused on the sound. Concentrating just like when he had seen the red blob in the Shadow. He was getting the hang of it now. It was like he could navigate to objects, or thoughts, or sounds just by thinking about them, bringing them into sharp focus to the exclusion of all else. When he thought about the buzzing, he could make out voices swimming up through the undercurrent of hissing noise. Pleading, cursing, raving. Frightened gibberish. Begging him to help. He could hear them, but when he watched their pale faces, not one mouth moved.

What are you doing? The box sounded impatient. You can't help these kids.

'Can you hear them?' Billy pulled the box out of his pocket and held it up. The little cartoon man frowned.

No. But your captors are closing in. Forget these creatures. Find the old man. Move on.

One voice became elevated from the rest. Billy's mind placed it above the undulating buzzing of confused crying, a bold blocky shape that changed colours as it spoke.

'You have it!' the voice said. It sounded delighted, eager.

'What?' Billy said.

Who are you talking to? Let's go!

'It is close. So close. We feel its power.'

'I don't know what you mean,' said Billy, confused. So many things had happened to him, perhaps they meant the Shadow, or the box. Or the powerful computer that had entered his mind, if only for a moment.

'Can you get us out?' the voice said. Its companions echoed the question: Yes, yes can you get us out, get us out, can you, will you let us out?

'I don't know,' said Billy. 'I- I don't think so. Box?'

No way. The locks are all electronic, you'd have to be wired in again.

Billy looked at the bank of machines at the head of the workbench. He wondered if his new-found knowledge would let him plug into this machine as well.

You are joking, aren't you? There. Is. No. Time!

He sensed lights flickering back on. Felt the closeness of unknown enemies. He did not know how long the locks would last, how long it would be before they crashed through the doors and captured him again. The box was right.

'There's no time!' he said apologetically, feeling helpless. The whispering clamour grew louder, more desperate. Billy had the feeling that the voice that had spoken out was having to calm the others down.

'Then you must go,' it said at last.

'But what about you?'

'We will remain until you return. They do not let us out. We will be here until we die.' A pause. 'And we do not die. We will be here.'

In the corner of the room, Billy saw fists hammering on a barred window. Then a face. Angry, but a little bit frightened. That would be the lab worker. He must have locked him outside when he cleared the route. The man moved away for a moment, and then the door shuddered, as if struck with a heavy object.

'I'll come back,' he said. 'I'll get help and I'll come back. I promise.'

'We will be waiting,' the voice whispered. 'You have part of what we need. Find the rest, and return. We will be here.'

Come on, kid. MOVE!

It was not far to where Davey was waiting. Billy shrugged off the voices, which faded quickly once he was out of the room. He ran. Following the green line, and trying not to think.

That was weird, the box said, with perverse interest. Left here. Through those doors. There!

Billy threw himself into Davey's open arms.

8.6 - The Discovery

'There. You see it?' said Kath.

There was a pause while Unicorn pretended to be watching the video. So dramatic. Kath could not help the tiny surge of pride. He was learning well.

'NO,' Unicorn said.

'Okay,' Kath said patiently. 'Rewind. Stop. Play.' A flickering, blurred image, showing a little boy standing in the middle of the gallery. Hand over his mouth, wide-eyed and confused.

'There! I mean, what the hell is that about?'

'I DO NOT UNDERSTAND, LITTLE KATHY.'

'Well he just stands there. For at least a minute. Looks like he's talking, but to whom?'

'THERE WERE OTHER CHILDREN IN THE ROOM. THE BOY WAS FRIGHTENED.'

'I know he was scared, but look at them! They all just stare at him. Not moving. It's as if, as if…' She paused. This was quite a leap, even for her. Kath wasn't sure that this was the right direction to be taking this, it all seemed too - well, crazy.

'PERHAPS HE STOPPED TO HELP THE OTHERS.'

'Really? I wouldn't have. No, I think something made him stop there. I think he was talking to someone.' The little boy on the screen was clutching an object to his chest, small and square. 'Can you enhance this video for me?' Kath asked.

'I MAY BE ABLE TO MAKE SOME IMPROVEMENTS, HOWEVER THE ORIGINAL RECORDING WAS ALREADY DEFECTIVE.'

'By "defective", you mean, "on tape"?'

'CORRECT.'

'You know you were first programmed using tapes? Before I persuaded Dad to buy me that 486?' Unicorn was silent then, and Kath knew she had hurt his feelings. What passed for feelings, anyway. He did not know much about what had happened before the fire. Everything he could remember was on these tapes. A few damaged recordings which escaped the static in the explosion, and the subsequent security shutdowns.

'I'm sorry,' she said, then smiled. 'Look at me. Apologising to you after all these years!'

'THE OBJECT IS A WOODEN CONTAINER. DIMENSIONS EIGHTY BY TWENTY-THREE BY ONE HUNDRED AND TWELVE. ORIGIN UNKNOWN. DESIGN APPEARS TO BE MECHANICAL. THE BOY APPEARS TO BE ATTACHED TO IT.'

'I thought you said you couldn't enhance?'

'I WAS THERE. THE OBJECT WAS ALSO THERE. I REMEMBER IT.'

'And you say you can't remember anything important?'

'IT DID NOT SEEM RELEVANT AT THE TIME.'

'Not relevant? This kid is brought here, blows up half the building, kills two Techies and maims that bitch Katerina beyond recognition and the only thing he cares about is some little wooden box and you decide it's not fucking relevant?' Yelling at a computer now. Nice one.

'I - DO NOT UNDERSTAND. THE OBJECT IS INSIGNIFICANT IN CONTEXT.'

'Yeah, whatever. It looks pretty significant now though, doesn't it?' The boy's obsession with the little box intrigued her, but she was sure it was just a trinket. Still, he seemed to be talking to the box as much as the motionless children in the white room.

'IT IS JUST A BOX,' Unicorn said, with more than a hint of patient frustration. 'A TOY, LIKE YOUR PINK RABBIT.' She had forgotten about Bunny, the threadbare little rabbit had been her favourite. Before Unicorn came along and blew all other toys out of the water.

'I guess they might have used it to control him. You know, manipulate him into doing what they want,' she said thoughtfully. 'Like with Dad,' she added, almost choking on the words. She tried to feel glad the little boy's parents had not been there. Glad he had been spared that horror. 'Most likely he died in the fire with the others, so it doesn't make any difference, does it?' she added.

Most likely.

'GIVEN RECENT EVENTS, THE APPEARANCE OF A SHARED STATE OF TRANCE AMONGST THE YOUNG SUBJECTS SHOULD BE OF GREATER INTEREST?'

'Yes, alright, Uni. Point made.' Uni was right, of course. The only other time she had seen behaviour like that - well - she still had the bruises and the lingering headache.

'THE ONLY OTHER RECORD OF SUCH AN EVENT IS TWO DAYS OLD.'

'But Omega-Five was there then! You know how odd he's been since we put that chip in his head. You think this boy had the same technology twenty years ago?' If it had even been her chip that caused this. Omega-Five was in possession of a unique sort of brain, even more wild synaptic connections and odd characteristics than her own.

'PERHAPS THEY WERE OF THE SAME MIND,' Unicorn said, as if reading hers.

Kath did not know what to say to this, so she kept silent, watching the boy on the screen. She wondered what the Dragon would say when she heard what had happened. Who she would blame. If Kath did not take kindly to things happening to her subjects without her knowledge, all she did was rant a while and work out how to fix things. The Dragon would be utterly terrifying. With so much at stake, she relied on Kath knowing everything about the subjects, and so she had, up until today.

Every waking motion, expression, cough, behavioural idiosyncracy. Every bowel movement. All recorded and monitored. Reduced to numbers and pretty graphs, and medical breakthroughs the like of which the world had never seen. The common cold? Gone! Influenza? Gone! The Canker? Going! Higher brain function - Gone! This last was a problem, but she and Uni were working on a solution. Nothing happened in that room without her watching and writing it down. They would not dare to breathe without her authorisation. And this included the other Techies. In truth, Kath had felt that she had reached a bit of an impasse, in terms of controlling the immune system. So much ground had been covered already, any other cures would branch off naturally into their own specialised research teams. There was nothing left to be learned.

But there was a lot of red tape. Her work was fiercely confidential, she knew, but recently some of her subjects had been taken away. More and more removed halfway through treatment and never heard of again. Any enquiries met with blank looks and friendly, but firm resistance.

It had been a simple step to ask Unicorn to dig around behind some odd firewalls she found. Ones they had not created themselves. Company A.I. he may be, but he would not forget who had brought him into the world. They found the old recordings and suddenly she was watching her own past in faded black and white. She remembered meeting the little boy and his friend. Her father, trying not to show the children how scared he was. A momentous day for everyone, by all accounts. Things she had forgotten, once her new life had taken over.

She had been there when the Legend of The One was created.

'Play the rest of the tape, Uni.'

'THE TAPES CONTAIN ONLY STATIC AND INTERFERENCE AFTER THIS POINT. THERE IS NOTHING ELSE OF USE.'

'Oh come on, there must be something?'

'NEGATIVE.'

'Okay,' Kath sighed. 'Do it to make me happy.' The timer in the corner of the screen continued counting, and Kath watched the boy mouthing unknowable words into the room. She noticed that the screen noise started quite early, gradually growing more pronounced, until the point where the boy ran out of the lab, by which time she could only make out faint outlines in the shadows. The tapes for the next hour were all like that. White noise, interference, tracking errors. Every single camera on the four basement levels had been taken out. Then suddenly the system came back online and all the cameras worked perfectly again.

Only the boy was gone.

'KATHY?'

'Hmm?'

'I HAVE FOUND SOMETHING.'

'What?'

'THERE IS A PATTERN IN THE INTERFERENCE.'

'A pattern? Like what?'

'000000101010100000000001
001010000010100000001001
100010001000100101100100
101010101010101001001001
000000000011010000000000
000000000011010000000001
000000000101010000000000
000000000111110000000001
000000000000000000000000
110000111000110000110001
100000000000001100100001
110100011000110000110100
111110111110111110111110
000010000000000000000011
111110000000000000111111'

'Stop!' Kath said, laughing. 'I don't understand that!'

'WAIT. THERE IS MORE: 0110000011-'

'No, please don't! Can you see a message, or code, or something?'

'IT IS ALL CODE.'

'Yeah, okay. Um.' Kath thought about the best way to phrase the question. 'Can you translate it?' she ventured.

'IT WILL TAKE SOME TIME.'

'Good. Then I can sleep for a while.'

'THREE HUNDRED AND FORTY-THREE HOURS AND FIVE MINUTES AND SOME SECONDS.'

'Some seconds?'

'I DID NOT CONSIDER IT RELEVANT TO BORE YOU WITH TINY DETAILS.'

'Great, thanks. Wait. What? But you're so powerful! That's like - wait.' Kath stopped to think. Her brain wasn't really working. The echoes of the screaming was coming back to haunt her. 'Damn this headache!'

'IT IS APPROXIMATELY TWO WEEKS.'

'Yeah, okay, I was getting there. I am a genius, you know.'

'YOUR ABILITIES HAVE BEEN COMPROMISED. YOU NEED TO RECHARGE.'

'In a minute,' Kath said. 'Why so long? You're a supercomputer!' She lowered her voice. 'You have - you know - the whole internet to use.' Best to The Company was a big place, you never knew when somebody was listening in. Well okay, you always knew they were listening. Best to be safe.

'THERE IS A LOT OF CODE.' Unicorn protested.

'And it's going to take two weeks?'

'YES.'

'In that case, give me a couple of hours and then send the doc in. I think it's time for a holiday.'

'VERY WELL. COMMENCING SLEEP MUS-'

'And no bloody sleep music!'

Kath fell into an uneasy sleep. She saw a small group of frightened little children being bundled into a tiny steel lift. Unicorn sat in boxes beside her, warning her that she was in way over her head. She saw her father's face. The little boy, although terrified, comforting his friend. He looked at little Kathy and grinned, a gappy, twisted melted-face grin.

He opened his mouth impossibly wide, and screamed.

8.7 - The Circle

'He's going to get himself killed!' hissed Alex.

Will did not answer. He had to concentrate. At times like this, he felt intense resentment for those who thrived on adrenaline. Those who lived for it. They said it made them more focused, like they could see nothing else but the goal ahead of them. Nari proudly declared that all he knew in the heat of battle was the next face to introduce to his fist, the next arm to be twisted, or neck to be broken. Small, vulnerable points in sharp focus. Everything else faded into the distance, he said.

All Will saw was darkness. For him, everything else blended into one confusing, noisy mess. With that cursed red blob in the centre. The training helped, but it still caught him off guard occasionally. Damn adrenaline.

'Where'd everybody go?' Will said. 'He's on his own!'

'There aren't many left,' Alex said. 'Most of them have run away.'

'Thought they wanted to help us.'

Alex laughed. 'What did you expect? These people are civilians. Sure, they want to look after their kids, but that's why we're here, right?'

'Right.' It did not sit right though. The crowd that moments ago had been so anxious, so concerned for their priest, for Davey, all gone? Even if they believed the children were safe, a few should have stayed at least. They would have to fight eventually. Someone had to fight.

It did not sit right at all. The Shadow beckoned.

Pay attention!

Will hummed quietly to himself. A little tune he had practised for years. It was forced, but the effect was instant. The notes pushed the darkness aside, and he was able to risk another look.

The big Indian, Nari, was a whirlwind of violence, a lone figure in the middle of an ever-widening circle. Five black-clad figures danced around him, ducking and diving, darting in here, landing the odd soft blow there. Some already lay on the ground, a couple moaning and struggling to crawl away, others deathly still. Their weapons scattered on the ground. A master at work. As Will watched, the Indian caught one of the Seekers mid-leap, bringing him down onto his knees with a crack and a scream that reverberated through the village square. At the same time, two more attacked from behind and he fell.

'Dammit Will!'

He barely heard Alex's exasperated gasp. He did not wonder at the way the figures suddenly grew as if through a zooming camera lens. The sensation was as familiar to him as breathing.

He was beginning to Shift.

They should have had a nicely poetic name for the phenomenon, but nothing seemed to give it justice, no word carried enough meaning. It felt like he had moved onto a different plane of existence. In the world but not of the world. As if he and the world had shifted out of sync. After the actual moment, or moments, of 'Shifting', Will often found he had moved physically, without experiencing the journey itself, and was standing in the place he had wanted to be in the split second just before it started. This did not translate well into words. So he gave it a name, and the others allowed him the benefit of the doubt, whether they understood what he was on about or not.

Sure you know what you're doing, kid?

Sure. Will thought, and breathed out slowly.

Focus.

Then he was standing in the middle of the circle of fighters. Nari, back on his own feet, was frozen mid kick, his foot raised higher than Will's head. The unfortunate victim of that particular blow, already in the beginning of a graceful parabola, sported a twisted neck and a hideously dilocated jaw. It glowed faintly. An orange-red that Will had long associated with great pain. No need to interfere there. The man would be dead before he hit the ground.

There. See? Looks like you got here just in time.

Behind Nari, two brightly glowing sliver blades hung in the air, one pointing to his kidneys, the other aiming straight at the back of his throat. Will smiled to himself. Objects still carried their momentum when he came out of the trance. Painful experience had taught him to see everything as a minefield of potential energy, and when he understood this, his mind allocated colours to the different states of motion. A dull green for a stumble. Bright red for a landed blow. A silver glow for speed. Will plucked the knives out of the air and carefully turned them back towards the assassin who had thrown them. That should surprise him.

Of course it would be easy to stab the bastards where they stood, move Nari out of the way and watch him spin himself hilariously into the ground. But it would be too easy. Davey had taught him better values than that. He like to think of himself as enabling people to bring about their own destruction. And besides, there was also the thought of the Big Indian's painful revenge. He still had the bruises from the first time. No, this was better. This way Nari could continue his fight, and all Will had done was stop him from being killed too soon. He just had to move the others around and let them finish themselves off. The colours helped, showing him the direction of movement clearly, in technicolor like an old film.

The colours wavered. Will blinked.

Hurry up kid, you're running out of time.

I know! Will carefully moved two of the other figures to face each other. With a bit of luck their heads would meet and they would be stunned enough for Nari to finish them off.

One left. This one had just left Davey's house and had paused on the step by the front door, staying out of the way of the battle. He had spotted the flash of red hair a hundred meters away peeking round the corner of a building and looked ready to give chase. Will smiled. He would deal with this one himself, in real time. If this one was the last to leave the house, that meant… He frowned. It did not bear thinking about. Not yet, anyway.

He positioned himself in front of the man, and raised his fist.

Time caught up.

Like the reverse of a tornado, or the death of a whirlpool. Everything spinning in a sickening, almost instantaneous implosion. Gravity remembered that things were supposed to be heavy.

The man in front of Will looked shocked at his sudden appearance. Will smiled.

'Looking for someone?' he said, and drove his fist into the man's jaw. Two yelps to his left told him the daggers had found their mark, quickly followed by a satisfied deep-throated grunt indicating Nari's final blow.

'Wondered when you'd show up,' Nari panted, unperturbed by the sudden change in scenery.

'Yeah. Sorry it took us so long.'

'Bah, I was fine. Had worse.' He stretched his right arm with a loud groan. There was a sickening crunch. 'Ah, that's better.'

'Better get this lot processed. Any left alive?'

'This one - and this one. Oh, and a couple over there.' Nari jerked his head over to an old well in the village green. Will heard the faint echoes of ineffectual scrabbling and grinned.

'Good one,' he said. 'Any sign of Stagnetto?'

It was a strange thing, seeing Nari wince and shudder, especially so soon after a victory. 'No Man in Black today,' he mumbled, then looked over his shoulder instinctively, as if the mention of his name would summon him.

'Shame,' Will said. 'Davey was sure he would be here.'

'Nope. Kids?'

'Yes. We can get them now.' He turned to call for Alex, but the red-haired girl was gone.

'Dammit!'

'Must have gone for the children,' Nari said.

'Without us?' Will said stupidly. He knew, of course, that Alex was quite capable of handling a couple of Seekers without them. But if Stagnetto had sneaked in while they were occupied, now that was another story. Much as he would like to confront the man himself, he needed a while to recharge after the Shifting.

'Tunnels?' said Nari helpfully.

Will sighed. 'I'll check. But you know she could be anywhere. You be alright here?'

'I'll gather the bodies. Be at the Bunker in a couple of hours.'

'Don't hang about, alright? She gets all,' he tried to find a suitable word to describe the creature Alex became when she thought Nari was in mortal danger, 'edgy when you're late.'

Nari chuckled. 'But the bruises heal quickly, no?' he said.

'I'll get the kids, then we can give the old man a proper burial,' Will said.

He started towards the church.

9.1 - The Message

'What do you mean, "message"?' Kath said.

She was still convalescing in the company's lavish infirmary. Say what you like about the Company, but the medical plan was sweet. She was talking to Unicorn through a tiny headset, with a console open on the overhead monitor. Such misuse of medical equipment was not generally approved of, so she had to be careful. She had nearly been caught twice, once by Craig, the last person she would have wanted to know her secrets, and once by the nurse who hadn't said anything, but had been giving her odd looks ever since. Kath could not tell whether she was actually suspicious, or just recognised her as the head of the Techies, a patronising name given to anyone in a white coat working for the company. That was a lot of bodies.

'I HAVE COMPLETED MY ANALYSIS OF THE PATTERN ON RECORDING #4837.'

'Yes, you said that already.'

'IT IS A SHORT MESSAGE, REPEATED APPROXIMATELY 2,048 TIMES.'

'You said that, too. What does it say?'

'THE MESSAGE READS: "SEND HELP".'

'That's it?'

'I APOLOGISE. YOU WERE EXPECTING MORE FROM THREE HUNDRED AND FORTY-THREE HOURS AND FIVE MINUTES AND SOME SECONDS OF INTENSE DECODING?' Kath choked on her coffee. Was that sarcasm, from a computer? Two and a half weeks was a long time in cpu cycles, even with all of the other stuff Unicorn did for the company, but where had it come from? Certainly nothing she had written. The machine had done it all itself.

'Er. No, Unicorn, that's great, thanks. I'm sure it means something to someone.'

'IT IS SAFE TO ASSUME THAT THE ORIGINATOR OF THE MESSAGE WISHES TO BE DISCOVERED.' Now it's cracking jokes. Where will it end? Kath coughed, uncertainly.

'Yes. Quite right,' she said. Everybody knows the best way to seek help is to hide an encrypted message inside the static on a video recording.'

'THAT DOES NOT COMPUTE. THE MOST APPROPRIATE METHOD OF -'

'Yes, okay I get it.' It makes jokes, yet it doesn't understand jokes. This was going to get tricky. 'Can you tell where the signal originates?' Kath asked.

'NEGATIVE. HOWEVER THE STRONGEST SIGNAL IS EVIDENT IN ALL STREAMS CONTAINING THE BOY.'

'The box then?'

'IT IS POSSIBLE. HOWEVER THE DATA IS NOT AVAILABLE. IT APPEARS I HAD COMMENCED, BUT DID NOT COMPLETE A SCAN OF THE BOX ON THE NIGHT OF THE GENESIS.' Unicorn was beginning to use Biblical language as well as the rest of them. It must be catching. It had begun to see the night of the boy's escape and its own secondary incarnation's destruction as a 'Genesis' moment, the point at which the consciousness known as 'Unicorn' discovered it was not immortal, and should probably take better care of itself. It had once told Kath that there were as many as ten thousand regularly updated copies, all ready to step in and take over should anything happen to the Company mainframe. It was actually quite disturbing. She usually tried not to think about it.

Sarcasm, comedy and religion all in one conversation. This should make for an interesting few days. Kath turned her attention back to the screen.

'Okay then Uni,' she said. 'Show me what you recovered.'

There was no response.

'Unicorn?'

The screen flashed blue.

'Oh shit.' Not now. Not when she was elbow deep in classified files.

'Unicorn are you there?' Still nothing. Something, or someone, must have broken the servers. If the computer had not been able to save the logs before crashing, anyone would be able to read them when they restarted the mainframe.

A line of text began to run across the monitor.

++ THE GALLERY IS COMPROMISED.
++ GOING OFFLINE, TERMINATING SESSIONS
++ BE CAREFUL, LITTLE KATHY. THERE IS GREAT DANGER HERE.

'What the -?'

The door slammed open and Craig rushed into the room. The screen flickered off.

'They're doing it again!' Craig panted.

'What?'

'The gallery - they're doing it again!' He wavered. 'Can you walk?'

'Don't be stupid, Craig.' Kath said. 'Of course I can walk. Just policy keeping me here, now. I've been better for ages.' She pulled herself off the bed and swayed unsteadily.

'Come on, it's all kicking off at the press conference as well.'

'Oh God. Is the Dragon mad?'

'Who knows, there are Secs everywhere. Get dressed. I'll fill you in on the way.'

Kath looked back at the blank screen. Unicorn's message was still imprinted on her retinas. 'Um, is it safe?' she said. 'I mean, is Omega-Five back? I don't want-'

'No, he's not back. Fuck knows where that bastard is.' He took her hand and grinned maniacally. 'Come on, we'll be fine. I don't plan on getting hit on the head by a drinking fountain again.'

'Be careful what you say then.'

'Anyway, we need you. You're the only one who can open the doors.'

9.2 - The Interruption, Part 1

Natalie held her breath. Dudgeon smiled, an extruciatingly uncharacteristic maneuver that put her in mind of one fighting possession by daemons. Cameras flashed. The professor's knuckles whitened around the edges of the lectern. Worried about attracting attention if she moved on the small stage, Natalie tried to project her desperate thoughts at the woman as loudly as she could: Don't say a word. For the love of God, please don't say a word. If only they had invented telepathy, instead of all this medical nonsense. Not that it would do any good, even if the Dragon could hear her. Her headache would probably fill the message with swear words anyway. She sighed, and shot a furtive glance towards Jake, who was standing at the back of the room with one hand raised, pen tip between his teeth, boyish smile on his face.

He caught her eye and winked. Bastard, she thought.

'Of course I have heard the rumours,' Dudgeon said at last. Slow and deliberate, voice cold as ice.

'And? Would you care to comment?' said Jake, oblivious to the sudden chill in the room. 'I repeat: is Dudgeon Pharmaceuticals conducting expensive unauthorised experiments, which are not only leaving large holes in the company's accounts, but have now become so dangerous that they resulted a total evacuation of the facility only last week?' His smile remained fixed, as if he were frozen in the headlights of a juggernaut. Which in a sense, he was. Beads of sweat shone on his forehead, reflecting the bright lights like diamonds. Natalie was stunned. She knew he could be a little reckless, but this would surely be his final act.

'I would not,' said Dudgeon curtly. 'Care to comment. There is nothing to say. We regularly conduct safety drills. I am pleased in this case we were able to achieve a complete evacuation in less than fifteen minutes. You were here yourself, Mister Holland. I believe you saw the report?'

Natalie frowned at her shoes, and wondered what the hell Jake was up to. She had not heard from him since he said he would help. No messages, no secret meetings in public places, as if she hadn't told him anything at all. The world carrying on as if nothing had happened. And then here he was, winding the Dragon up over the very subject he had been threatened about. The man obviously had no sense of self-preservation. Her head pounded. Now it would be even more tricky to see him again. Dudgeon would certainly have him followed, as she began to dismantle his career. It had happened before.

But the Dragon was on the spot now. Jake cleared his throat and disgruntled muttering rumbled around the room. His nervous smile grew broader.

'Of course we have all seen the ring of your highly regarded security forces around the building. I am sure it is absolutely necessary. I for one have never felt safer -' he paused, to allow for chuckles. There were none, more of an air of electric anticipation, such as one might find, for example, at an execution. 'But let me get back to the money -?' he went on.

'That is to say,' Dudgeon interrupted, 'there is nothing left to add to that particular debate, which has not already been said.' She looked sternly around the room, daring anyone else to interupt her, before continuing. 'Several baseless accusations were made, and Dudgeon Pharmaceuticals have responded to the satisfaction of the independent investigators.' Dudgeon raised both hands against the clamour of indignation. 'Please,' she said, 'all your questions regarding the financial deficit of two thousand and nine are answered in the handouts. We consider the matter closed and are looking forward to bringing the country kicking and screaming into the future.'

She paused again, and was met with a respectful, or perhaps more realistically, an intimidated silence. 'Which is now, by the way,' she added.

Jake looked disappointed, but Natalie was not sure what else he could have expected. This was supposed to be a conference for the new Prime Minister, not the Company. She thought about the emotionless ring of Secs outside and shuddered. If the matter were 'closed', then why would the Company still be on alert two weeks later? Dudgeon claimed it showed the country how capable her security forces were, and she looked forward to introducing their particular brand of silent authority to the police force.

Dudgeon was ready to move on to her election promises.

A nervous young man piped up in the third row. 'Excuse me, P.M.,' he said, 'what will be your first order of business once you take over next week?' That was more like it. A chance to say something positive for a change. Natalie felt the day might be saved after all. She continued to glare at Jake, who was now doing his best to avoid her eye.

'As you no doubt already know,' Dudgeon said, 'Following the great success of our flu vaccine, my company has sponsored a world famous Academy for gifted children for some twenty-five years now. Many of the graduates of this academy have become world leaders in their own various fields, Natalie Cunningham here working for the Company itself, a certain well respected physicist in the Large Hadron Collider, not to mention the many others achieving great things throughout the world. We hope to apply those who remain with the Company to the most difficult health problems facing the world today, moving beyond the common cold, beyond cancer.'

Natalie squirmed uncomfortably in her chair. Time for the announcement. She hoped the Company's reputation would carry them through this. If they did not have the trust and support of the people, they had nothing. The election may be won, but there was still a country to fix. They had agonised over the best way to approach the issue, and in the end decided that it would be best to be blunt. Screw the naysayers. Show people a better future. Tell them they can have that future today. They would lap it up. It was time to see if Natalie was right.

'You heard me correctly,' Dudgeon said. 'Beyond Cancer. The most prolific killer life has ever known. As with the Black Death, in a couple of years you will look back and wonder at how we allowed ourselves to be defeated for so long, by such an easily treated mutation.'

The room was silent now. Disbelief, shock, amazement, scorn. They had expected something like this, and were not disappointed.

'And my first, no, the most important priority now that we have discovered this, Is to get this treatment, this cure, out to the population as soon as possible.'

'And what will it cost?' someone shouted.

'It is a wonderful thing,' Dudgeon said, looking pleased with herself for the first time in a long day. 'We believe that you cannot put a price on this kind of treatment. So DPharm will offer it for free. For free. As Prime Minister I will insist on it. The Minister for Health agrees. Although we will hold all rights to the manufacture of the drug, not one soul will be turned away.' Dudgeon paused, took a sip of water, surveyed the shocked faces, smiled at the cameras. 'You will not need to be turned away, because we will come to you.'

Jake had deflated into his seat, and was staring at his netbook in silence. He had a hard look on his face that Natalie could not read. She thought she could see wetness shining on his cheek.

'The programme will start in two weeks. A full write-up will appear in every major newspaper across the country, and I'm sure the world press will follow rather quickly. A summary of the research is on page fifteen of your handout.' Papers shuffled. Gasps and whispers filled the room, quickly followed by an increasing babble of excited questions. Dudgeon held up her hand.

'Please, please,' she said. 'This is only the first step towards a better society. A Super Society.'

'T.M.,' Natalie whispered under her breath.

'And as for the oppression throughout the developing world, well, we'll see what the UN say about that. Now then. That is all from me for today. Natalie will answer any further questions.' Natalie stood up, exchanging a curt nod with Dudgeon. The paparazzi were all shouting at once, giving her headache extra bite.

'Okay, you,' she said, picking one at random.

The questions went on for about an hour or so, and Natalie skilfully kept her answers positive and to the point, namely that they had the full support of the government and the scientific community. She was launching into a well-rehearsed campaign speech about the greatness of Professor Dudgeon's vision, when a wave of nausea overcame her.

Her head buzzed. The monitors crackled.

9.2 - The Interruption, Part 2

Startled, Natalie turned round. Dudgeon had leapt to her feet. She was opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish. What little colour she had was rapidly draining from her cheeks. The screen at the back of the stage, which had been showing inspirational slogans and videos about the company's work with terminal patients, fizzed with a static snowstorm that resolved into a huge human face. Or at least partly human. Natalie felt a stirring of recognition, the pixellated visage on the big screen, a computer talking, a twenty year-old conspiracy.

'Stagnetto!' Dudgeon croaked.

'Hello all,' said the face, which was becoming clearer by the second. A thin metal plate shimmered alongside the man's right eye, running to behind his ear. The eye itself was a black orb with a glowing red light at the centre. The man's skin was leathery, latticed with white canyons of ancient scars.

'What are - I mean how did you - You have no right!' Dudgeon spluttered.

'Ah Joanne, eloquent as always. I do miss our little chats.' The voice was gravelly, rusty, as if it did not often see the light of day. He spoke with a clipped well-educated English accent.

'Don't just stand there gawping girl, get these people out of here! Now.' Natalie realised she had involuntarily shuffled to the side of the stage. Anything to be away from the horror of that face. She was trying to remember where she had seen the name. Stagnetto. Dudgeon and Stagnetto...

'Yes, ma'am,' she mumbled, and called the Secs over to help clear the room. Jake lingered behind and whispered as she shoved him out of the door.

'I'll wait for you,' he said.

'Ssh!' Natalie hissed back, glaring. Aloud, she said, 'I don't know what you're talking about Holland. A technical problem, nothing more.' She pushed him out the door. 'We'll call you when we're ready to continue,' she added firmly.

When she returned to the stage, Dudgeon was standing in front of the screen, hands on hips. A thin, frail-looking silhouette against the giant grinning face.

'Oh yes, I can hear you,' the man was saying. 'And don't worry about your A.I., Unicorn. It was most obliging.'

'This is not an appropriate time, Stagnetto,' Dudgeon said. She sounded more angry than worried. Still in control.

'Oh it is the perfect time, my dear. This time we have an audience!' He waved his hand, indicating Natalie and the Secs, all mesmerised by the huge face.

'You may as well tell me what you want,' Dudgeon said. She carefully moved her right hand behind her back, away from the cameras and the screen, so Natalie could see her fingers. She began to spell out words in code.

T-E-C-H-S -- T-R-C -- S-I-G-L -- S-N-D -- K-A-T -- G-E-T -- B-O-X

Natalie called over one of the Secs and whispered her orders to him. 'Maintain radio silence, you understand? This guy got into Unicorn, he could be listening.' He nodded dumbly and hurried out of the room. Natalie turned back to the strange man on the screen.

'I believe you have something of mine, Joanne,' he was saying. 'It has been a long tim, but there is only one avenue of enquiry left to consider, much as I despise having to admit it.'

'I see. And what might this mysterious object be?'

'Oh, you know full well, my dear,' he said with a wry smile. 'Something you and I once shared, as intimately as lovers. The casket contains more than just our research, but I suspect you already know this.'

'You hack into my mainframe, interrupt my first day in office and break nearly thirty years of silence - for a wooden box?'

The screen filled with a gap-toothed grin. 'That, and to see the look on your face when you see what I have become.'

'You are a mutant, nothing more.'

'I am enhanced!'

'To be perfectly frank, I am quite astonished to find you still breathing.'

'Astonished, or disappointed? Your thieves did not find me. The casket, yes. But not me. Now I have found you, and I want my property back.'

'You are welcome to make an appointment.'

Stagnetto chuckled. It sounded quite painful. 'I am no fool, Dudgeon,' he said. 'And you would do well not to underestimate me. Negotiating with Unicorn was nothing. I can see through all of your cameras, read all of your emails...' He paused. The red light in his eye socket flickered. 'And tamper with your research.'

'And you would do well not to underestimate me.' Dudgeon said through gritted teeth.

Stagnetto laughed. 'Of course! Prime Minister. You need not worry. I have no desire to shatter your strange dreams.' The camera zoomed out a little, revealing a long white room lined with glass. A man in a long black coat leaning casually on the workbench in the centre of the room. 'Not yet, in any case.' The man in the black coat grinned, and threw his arms wide. 'See what I can do?' he said.

Dudgeon gasped. Natalie wondered why. This man was obviously some sort of scientist, perhaps he and Dudgeon had a history in that room.

A door banged open behind them and everybody turned. Everybody except Dudgeon, who was glaring furiously at the screen, fists bunched. The Sec sergeant coughed, embarrassed, and pressed a piece of paper into Natalie's hand. On it were written a set of co-ordinates and the words 'majer seckurty breech'. Natalie sighed.

'Yes, we know,' she said quietly. The Secs had serious intelligence issues. She ought to get the Techies working on that a bit harder. Something else to deal with later.

'Natalie?' Dudgeon said, eyes not leaving the screen.

'Yes ma'am?'

'News?' Dudgeon clicked her fingers.

'Sorry ma'am,' Natalie said, and handed Dudgeon the note. Dudgeon read it, and rolled her eyes. Turned back to the screen.

'Stay there,' she said to Stagnetto.

'I see we are done here,' Stagnetto said with a chuckle, shaking his head. 'Adieu, Professor, I'm sure we will speak again. Soon.' He smiled broadly, and nodded to someone off camera. The screen filled with static again and the face faded. Three more Secs burst into the conference room, weapons ready. Radios buzzed like agitated wasps. Natalie felt a little faint. Her own head was buzzing too, spikes of pain piercing her temples.

'Ma'am!' the Sec sergeant shouted, deafening her in one ear. 'We must hurry. There is a security breach on basement level five!' Dudgeon nodded.

'Go quickly, all of you, and tell the General to meet us there,' she said. 'Natalie, you go too. Make sure my casket is still intact, then meet me in the gallery.'

'What? Where?' Natalie asked, confused.

'Don't worry. The Secs will take you.' A hand gripped her arm like a vice. 'Quickly now, Stagnetto is still in the building.'

9.3 - The First Kill

It had been exciting, that first kill.

If it was the first. Could not remember if there had been others. The pain was in control now, blocking out all memories. This one would not stay long. Better enjoy it while it lasts.

The man in black had seemed cruel at first, but offered something he had not known for a long time: freedom. Freedom to do what he liked, how he liked. He almost pitied the scientist, the white coat, the body. He had not stood a chance. Twenty years of bottled anger and ferocious violence distilled into an attack that only lasted a few seconds.

Now he was free again, sated for the moment.

The man said there would be others. His hunger would be fed, his thirst would be quenched. Justice would be done. The house would fall. And other histrionic nonsense he had not heard, preoccupied as he was with the fresh memory of flesh tearing beneath his fingernails, and bones cracking under immense, glorious pressure.

Omega-Five waited in the shadows while the man made a speech to a tiny camera.

His head buzzed.

9.4 - The Reunion, Part 1

Natalie stopped uncertainly in the doorway of the strange white room, almost blinded by the aggressive sterility of the place. She noted the long white table, the white chairs, the white files strewn over a white floor. A sinister-looking reclining chair squatted at the end of the long table, the kind more usually found in a dentist's surgery, only without a hundred cables burrowing into the floor like bindweed.

The strange glass cells down each side of the room. Their gruesome inhabitants… She swallowed.

When Dudgeon left the shambles of a press conference in a great rage, Natalie had been whisked away by the Secs at great speed to this place on a basement level that until recently, she had not believed existed. Jake was probably still waiting for her outside the conference room. She hoped he had the presence of mind to leave with everybody else. She would need him when this was over, but there would be time to worry about that later. For now, the Professor appeared to have finally cracked.

Dudgeon was leaning against the large desk, scowling. She seemed out of breath and in some pain. There was no way she should have got here so fast, they had only just left the conference, yet here she was: large as life, and mightily pissed off.

'Welcome to The Gallery, Natalie,' she said.

'Professor, how did you -' Natalie began, but thought better of it. Best not to look too stupid. Plus, Dudgeon was holding her arm and trying to pretend it was nothing. 'Are you okay?' she asked, instead.

'He used that monstrosity, that thing, against me,' Dudgeon said.

'Who? What thing?' asked Natalie.

'Omega-Five,' Dudgeon said. 'Escaped the other week.' So it was true, then. Natalie had heard the rumours, but they had been even crazier than the idea that Dudgeon had gained all her knowledge from some kind of Pandora's Box all those years ago. A monster escaping from secret underground dungeons was beyond ridiculous.

'That was here?' she said, a little redundantly.

'I can still smell it. Can't you?'

'Er...' There was something in the air, something musty, like unwashed linen and sweat and damp. Now it had been pointed out to her, Natalie almost gagged on the stale air.

'But he's gone already? Can't we track them?' she asked, swallowing the bile with a gulp.

Dudgeon shook her head. 'I expect we will find that Unicorn has mislaid the recordings and forgotten which doors it opened,' she said. 'Stagnetto is astonishingly intelligent, and if he has focused on computers all these years…' She frowned for a moment. 'Well, it doesn't bear thinking about, does it?'

'I don't know,' Natalie said, beginning to feel overwhelmed with information overload. 'You haven't told me who he is yet.'

'And look at them all.' Dudgeon said, ignoring her. 'They've been like this ever since I got here.' Natalie forced herself to look round the room, to admit she really was seeing what she was seeing. Each of the glass cells lining the room contained a person in a white hospital gown. They looked healthy enough, but their eyes were sunken in deathly pale faces, as if they had never seen real sunlight, mouths twisted in the silent snarls of cornered animals. Something in the way they were all staring quietly at Dudgeon gave her the creeps. Standing motionless, emaciated arms dangling at their sides. But there was life in those eyes. Watchful, intelligent, calculating life.

'I'm sorry, but what's really going on here?' she asked. 'What is this place?'

Dudgeon smiled. 'This, my dear,' she said, 'is the true heart of Dudgeon Pharmaceuticals. My real raison d'etre. Everything that made me who I am today lies in these computers. The core of my being, my very purpose.' Natalie thought she would have tried to look proud, had she not been so angry. She wondered at the depth of the woman's passion, or more likely - she corrected herself - the extent of her madness. 'This,' Dudgeon went on, 'is where it all started.'

'O-kay,' Natalie said cautiously, still not certain where the conversation was heading. Dudgeon whirled round and banged her fist on the table. Natalie jumped. The watchers did not move.

'And this fiend comes into my house, to steal my research, and try to get the better of me?' Dudgeon shouted, visibly shaking. 'Damn him!'

'He was here? The man from upstairs, the one with the eye?'

Dudgeon nodded, head bowed. 'Stagnetto, the worm,' she spat.

'You sure he was here? In this room?' It was not supposed to sound so sarcastic, but this sort of thing did not happen, not really.

'Yes. Here. In my own building. Look,' Dudgeon said bitterly, pulling open an empty drawer. 'The very core of my work, the proof of everything I've ever achieved, all gone.' She seized some trailing cables and held them aloft. 'The computer, too.'

'Surely you haven't lost everything, Unicorn would have-'

'Unicorn does not know about this place, Natalie. Neither should you.'

'Then why am I here?'

'It has become necessary.'

'Because of this - Stagnetto?'

'Yes. Because of him. The casket?'

'Gone.' Natalie said.

Dudgeon hardly even flinched. 'Damn.' She looked up at a white clock on the wall. Faint red specks freckled the shattered glass. 'Then we may have less time than I thought.'

'Sorry ma'am, but what the hell is going on?'

'History, my girl,' The professor said, and a faint smile played across her thin lips. 'That lovely man, who interrupted my great day - my old friend and colleague Professor Stagnetto.' She sighed and threw up her hand in mock despair. 'Well, I say "man" but it is becoming increasingly difficult to tell.' She must have sensed Natalie's bemusement and quickly added, 'sorry. Suffice to say, he and I go back a long way.'

'The casket was his?'

'It was ours!' Dudgeon even stamped her foot when she shouted. She never stamped her feet. All the restraint was slipping away. 'It was ours, we swore we would never speak of it again, it would remain locked away in a place neither of us could know and yet he found it. He broke the promise, he sought it out, and here I am, with nothing but a room full of fucking zombies and empty cables!'

'Sorry?'

'He took it all!'

'Um - what was in the casket?'

'A dream, a vision, the key to the future.'

'The codes for the anti-body strains we have been developing?'

'Yes, those were a part of it. A happy accident, to be honest. A side effect, really. But one I quickly realised would fund our greater plan: to tap into the secrets of the brain itself.'

'If the answer has been there the whole time, then why didn't you use it?'

Dudgeon swept some beakers off the white table. She looked disappointed when they did not shatter. 'Because there is a piece missing!' she shouted. 'The bloody thing doesn't work! That's why these, these things are still here, and not out there, saving the world. Something is wrong in the code and we can't figure it out.'

'But why did he take it now?'

'Stagnetto has a particularly interesting mind, Natalie. Our relationship suffered certain fundamental disagreements over our methodology and we parted ways. It was not pretty. He has a pathological obsession with self-augmentation that to be honest, I found quite repulsive. Everything we did, he wanted to do to himself first. It became quite extreme, I can tell you. When he began to solder circuit boards into his own flesh I had had quite enough. I had considered him dead for some years now. I am quite astonished to find him still breathing.'

Natalie remembered the bright red light in place of the man's right eye. The way it flickered. 'Yes,' she said. 'His eye looked -'

'False. Electronic, and highly sophisticated, I'll wager. Technology has come quite a long way since we started out, but nothing exists like that. If it did, I would know about it. The Company would have invented it. You know, he used to wear an astonishing contraption on his head. Huge lenses and hydraulic mechanisms. Ingenious, but it must have been quite uncomfortable. But that was so long ago.'

'He did look quite mad.'

'No! Not mad, Natalie. The man is a genius. But in order to give himself that sort of technology he must have practically unlimited funding.' Dudgeon seemed to have reached a realisation. 'Yes.' she said. 'We will start there.'

9.4 - The Reunion, Part 2

Natalie felt like she was standing on the edge of a precipice. She was not even sure if this was the sort of thing she would be able to trust her new friend Jake with. Although he might be useful in the short term. After all, he was the one who discovered Dudgeon was channelling funds into companies that did not exist. And although she now knew where that money was going, it did not alleviate the shock of finding hersef in this mythological room, with a woman who was at once both the self-appointed saviour of mankind and utterly terrifying.

'Who are these people?' she said, swallowing her fear and venturing further into the room. Twenty pairs of cold, vacant eyes followed her. There was no sound.

'People?' The professor seemed surprised. 'Not any more, girl. They are your future.'

'My future?'

'Yours, ours, everybody's. This is to be our next step, once the cancer campaign has settled down.'

'You experiment on them.'

Dudgeon nodded. 'Once, you might have called it that, I suppose. But we have progressed some way, since then.'

'What did you do to them? They look -' she searched for an appropriate word, '- empty.'

'Yes. I am at a loss there. I admit we have not always been successful, but the Gallery is where we keep our best subjects. We make them better people. Improve their brain power.'

'Does that really work?'

'Sometimes. Less often than I would like.' She must have seen Natalie's look of disgust, and quickly added, 'Oh don't worry dear, they usually find themselves re-assigned to my security forces. A highly sought after career, as you know. Even the most damaged mind can be repaired to a functional enough state.'

Natalie did not know what to do with this. The Secs were certainly functional, but that was all they were. 'So what do you think happened? Why couldn't you get it right?' she said.

'Stagnetto happened,' Dudgeon said simply. 'I should have known.'

'Sabotage?'

Dudgeon nodded. 'If he can get into Unicorn, he can get at our data. Most likely syphoning information from us for years. But this? He must have known we were close, and decided to steal the glory for himself.'

'Close to what?'

'The human brain is a remarkable organ, Natalie. It is capable of amazing feats, if only we knew how to unlock its secrets.'

Natalie was getting fed up with the professor's oblique responses. 'And what secrets have you unlocked so far?' she said, a little crossly, despite herself. 'Advanced escapology? Extreme violence? Invisibility?'

'Your scepticism does you credit, my dear. But I must warn you, today is not a day for jokes.' Dudgeon said, in the same voice she used to make grown men stutter in company meetings.

'Sorry. I'm just worried about what is going to happen when this gets out. What exactly have you achieved down here, then?'

'More than you'd think, but I'm not sure you're ready for that little adventure just yet. We should focus on the current situation for now.'

'The one where your top-secret neuro-science labs are raided by some old human cyborg nemesis who hacks into the most advanced security system on the planet and seems to control a beast of your own making?'

'Yes. And making sure that it does not get out,' Dudgeon said, as if she hadn't even noticed the sarcasm. 'Don't look so shocked. It is a pity we have not made the advances we hoped for. There have been some successes, but largely we have failed. Some pretty big pieces of the jigsaw are still missing. And Stagnetto is still searching too, it seems.'

'This Omega-Five - that was one of your failures?'

'Indeed.'

Natalie was shocked. The Dragon admitted it. Just like that. She really had created a monster. In a secret lab deep under the most successful and world-changingly humane company the world had ever seen. Not only that, but this monster was now roaming about the place, possibly still in the building and possibly under the control of a maniac who was powerful enough to hack into Unicorn itself. Natalie congratulated herself. Something had been going on, alright. Except now she was not sure she wanted to know about it.

'I think I need to see the full project brief, professor,' she said with a reluctant sigh.

'I will have it sent to you. From here on in, you are in charge of keeping my secret. When you have read the brief, I hope you will be a little less disappointed in me.'

'Professor -'

'That will be all, Natalie. I will upgrade your access, so you know your way around. General?'

'Yesh ma'am.' The gravelly words never failed to send shivers down Natalie's spine. She jumped. She had forgotten the Secs were there. The General, whom Natalie supposed was female by the slightly raised pitch of her voice, was so disfigured as to render any accurate examination useless without proper equipment. In any case, she always sported full body armour, including a tightly wound black mask, which revealed nothing of her face except her cold, sharp grey eyes. Natalie usually avoided being in the same room as her, if she could help it. But not this time, apparently.

'How far has the breach gone?'

'Levelsh three, four and five are compromished. We are collecting shushpect pershonnel as we go.'

'Six?'

'Shafe ash houshes,' the General said, shrugging. Cool as you like. 'Of coursh.'

'Good. Have your men escort Miss Cunningham back to her office,' Dudgeon said. 'She does not talk to anyone until I return, understand?'

'Yesh ma'am.' Two more Secs quietly appeared at her sides like ghosts revealing themselves out of the shadows. She had not heard the General give any orders. Almost as if they could read each other's minds.

'But -' she protested, full of questions as strong hands seized her. 'You can't do this!'

'Until you know the full picture, you will speak to no-one,' Dudgeon said. 'You have a lot of reading to do, but first I need an announcement explaining what happened at the conference on my desk by six o'clock. Use your best lines, all of them. I want no-one to remember that fatuous man. No-one.'

Natalie said nothing. Great, she thought bitterly. Now she was part of the big cover-up. Jake was going to love this. If she ever made it out long enough to tell him anything. Dudgeon turned back to the General.

'Now then, General,' she said. 'It seems the subjects have been compromised. I will need a new batch as soon as possible.'

'Yesh ma'am.'

'You know what you need to do. What is the girl still doing there? Take her away!'

Natalie's feet left the floor as the Secs rushed her out of the strange white room.

They were barely a few corridors away when she heard the muffled crackle of gunfire.

9.5 - The Cull

Kath crept up to the corner of the corridor, and pressed her back to the wall. She held up her fist, like she'd seen people do in films, stopping her team of commandos in their clumsy tracks.

'I think I hear something,' she hissed. 'Ssh.'

Voices. Raised voices. A loud, haughty cough. 'It's her,' she said.

'Who?' Craig lagged behind, panting, Jez at his shoulder. Kath sighed. They were both so unfit, typical Techies.

'The Dragon,' she said, and ducked into one of the alcoves that lined the company's corridors. A group of little cleaning robots hurried into a small swinging door, like a catflap. One butted its bumper against her foot until she moved with an affectionate smile, watching the little round robot zoom to safety. That A.I. had been one of her best, the simplest to do, yet capable of almost human-like behaviour.

'Why would she be down here?' Craig said. 'She never -'

'I know. Ssh. I'm trying to listen.' Yes, one of them definitely was the Dragon, ranting away as usual. Although glad not to be on the receiving end for once, she felt faintly annoyed that there was so much going on she did not know about. They had been ticking along nicely for years, and she had been so sure she was on the verge of a breakthrough. With Unicorn's help, of course. And possibly Craig and Jez, the only two of the many whitecoats who seemed to actually understand the subjects, and what she was trying to achieve.

They were also extremely adept at getting in the way. Kath shoved Jez back against the wall.

'Careful!' she hissed. 'Just stay still and be quiet for a second, will you?' Jez pulled a stupid face and grinned.

'Look what you started, Kathy!' he said.

'Me? Look at this bruise! You think I gave myself five months in sick bay on purpose?'

Jez shrugged. 'Who knows what you get up to, we hardly ever see you these days.'

'You never visit,' Kath said, giving him a friendly shove. 'Anyway, this is no good. I can't hear what they're saying.'

'Well, it's your lab. Get in there!'

'After you, Craig,' she said. 'You're her favourite. I'm sure she won't hurt you. Much.'

'No chance. I only just got level five clearance, I'm not giving it up for you!'

'Damnit, this was your plan in the first place. Having second thoughts?' Craig was so stubborn. She would have to send Jez in then, that wouldn't surprise the Dragon - he was always in trouble - but it might put her on the back foot enough for Kath to sneak up close to check on things. 'Jez, come here,' she said. 'I've got a job for you.'

But the little Techie had gone.

'Shit.'

'Typical. Coward,' Craig said, quickly backing away from the look Kath sent his way. 'Look,' he pleaded. 'Whatever's going down here, we don't want to be a part of it, right?'

'What?'

'Well, I kinda value my job here. If the Dragon wants to make a fuss and shout at peeps in our lab, then I say let her. We should be upstairs. You should be resting. Anywhere but here.'

'But something's up. You said it yourself - Top Secret Government Shit - and the only way to find out what colour it is, is to get in there. I have to know my subjects are alright.' She realised how stupid and sentimental she sounded. Her subjects. As if she had a choice. 'You know how odd they've been lately.'

'After you, then.'

'Let's hear what she's ranting about first. I think she's got that snooty suit with her as well.'

'Cunningham? Why didn't you say so? She might need me!' Before Kath could stop him, Craig had rushed down the corridor towards the shouting. Kath pushed the button on her earpiece.

'Uni, are you there?' she whispered, but there was no reply, just the hiss of a dead line.

Craig did not get far. He managed to dive behind a large potted plant, the ones the company liked to scatter around to make the place feel homely, before a couple of Secs double-timed it up the corridor past him. Natalie Cunningham was crushed between them, looking confused and a little scared. She glanced briefly into the alcove where Kath was hiding, and looked right at the Techie as she passed. Kath was sure Natalie mouthed something to her, with big, pleading eyes, but then she was gone. Kath was shocked. If even the Golden Girl was in trouble, there would be hell to pay for the rest of them.

She was beginning to have second thoughts about this, but the subjects needed her. They weren't properly human anymore, more like dumb animals, like cattle. They would be confused and frightened. First they had watched her being attacked and now this? Who knew what damage this was causing to her delicate research. Whatever was going on, it was happening here, and this was her territory, her domain. She had to move.

Kath stepped out of the alcove and walked purposefully towards the open door of the Gallery. Craig seized her arm when she reached his hiding place.

'Come on Katherine, let's go. Forget it. This is way over our heads.'

'No,' she said, pulling away, no longer caring how noisy she was being. 'They need us. Whatever the Dragon is mad about, it isn't us. If something is wrong with the subjects then she needs me. And you. I'll deal with Jez later.'

She heard the Dragon's sharp voice ringing out of the room.

A loud bang made them both jump. Kath had not heard gunfire before, so her first thought was that the equipment must be playing up, but there was nothing in the lab that would make that sort of sound. She slowed. Another bang. A hiss, then another. She was close enough now to hear a kind of crumpling thud, like a sack of potatoes hitting the floor. Cold dread crept up her body, making her legs weak and her heart threaten to leave her chest.

Kath looked into the gallery, and cried out in horror.

Three Secs whirled round. Three little red dots converged on her forehead. Then something cracked across the back of her skull and she fell into darkness.

10.1 - The River

'If it carries on like this, the river will be totally blocked!' The old man shouted.

The little boy and the old man were standing together by the river.

The giant oak, which had always seemed so infinitely strong to Billy, had fallen victim to the storm during the night. They were quiet for a while, the little boy and the old man, respectfully watching the water roaring around the collosal trunk, so powerful that most of the smaller branches had already been stripped away. The water level was rising rapidly as casualties of the storm drifted up against it.

'What?' The little boy could not hear a thing. He was hypnotised by the swirling waters and the colours the sound threw up into the night. Bright blues, greens and yellows, twisting and jumping with the splashing waves. 'I can't hear you!' he shouted, pointing to his ear and shaking his head. The old man nodded and shrugged, smiling. He patted Billy on the back and leaned closer.

'I'm going to fetch my chainsaw!' he shouted, making a sawing motion, 'Stay here! Don't get any closer!' Billy watched the grey hair disappear over the ridge and turned back to enjoy the colours in the water. There was much to fascinate him there: the way the fast-moving liquid formed into solid-looking ridges like shimmering sand dunes; a little whirlpool in the crook of one of the branches; the enormity of the noise. He could almost feel himself spiralling into this perfect circle, such clarity admidst the chaos.

The Shadow was there too, lingering around the branches like a dark predator waiting to strike. The little boy sensed it watching him, but when he tried to focus, it shrank and slithered behind the rubbish. A fluttering caught his eye, and he realised one of the branches far out into the river concealed a dense little mess of twigs and leaves, out of which he could see three tiny beaks protruding.

'Come on boy! Don't just stand there, do something!'

Startled, he looked around frantically.

'Oh yes,' the high-pitched voice continued sarcastically. 'Stand there like an idiot while the children are all dying!' The words seemed to pierce the noise of the river and awaken sharp jagged shafts of purple light spearing through the air.

An agitated blackbird fluttered down and settled on the upturned roots of the tree, calling out shrilly. Suddenly the bird turned to look him straight in the eye and said in a different sort of voice, a deeper and more worldly voice, 'We thought you would be different, but it looks like you're just the same.'

He stared back, astonished.

'The same as what?'

'Everybody else.'

Billy paused for a moment. He was talking to a bird! He could remember the river and the tree and the nest - yes, that all happened - but not the bird. Not this. This was a dream.

'Who are you?' he asked.

'You know us, Billy.' The bird said with an affected sigh.

'I do?' Billy was quite sure he did not know any talking birds.

'Oh yes.'

'But you - by the river - you didn't talk!' The bird shrugged. At least that is how it seemed to Billy, though he had no idea how a bird could shrug. But he remembered the day clearly. The storm, the flood. The tree in the water. The things in the water.

The first day he had stopped time.

The day he died.

'I have no time for arguments, kid,' the bird said. 'My children are dying! You're the only one here. The only one who can save them, all the others have gone, gone, gone!' The bird was jumping up and down urgently, its voice getting shriller with each word.

'I should wait for the old man,' Billy protested, 'he'll know what to do.' The bird laughed, inasmuch as a bird could laugh. She jumped closer and he felt her disappointment envelop him like a thick, stuffy blanket.

'He cannot do what you can do,' she said quietly, gently. 'You said you would bring help. My children need you now.'

'But… I can't!'

'Of course you can! It's easy, just walk out there and pull them out! It's only a couple of feet! The tree is good and solid, you know that. Don't be a coward! Cowards always lose.'

Billy did not wish to be thought a coward. He began to climb the tree.

It was quite difficult to get through the tangled roots onto the thick, gnarled trunk. Brambles and nettles punished him severely for his audacity at trying to pass them. Even once he emerged, scratched, stung and bleeding onto the main body of the oak, it was so wide he cannot straddle it, and instead had to crawl out carefully on hands and knees to the first branch, about ten feet out from the bank. This branch was wider than the little boy himself and he rested up against it, to prepare for the journey ahead.

All but the biggest branches had been stripped away by the water, leaving a battered skeleton, twisted arms desperately reaching out in all directions for a rescue that would never come. Huge clumps of sticks and rubbish had formed between them, creating a noisy, leaking barrier against the raging torrent. None of it looked stable or safe. Billy began to crawl out to the next branch.

'That's right!' the bird called encouragingly, fluttering around his head. 'You're nearly there, my children are crying, please hurry!' He tried to ignore the incessant chattering, which somehow managed to pierce through the roar of the waves, as if the bird's voice was projecting directly into his mind.

'But... before - you didn't talk!' he protested again, still trying to dredge up the true memory. 'This tree, the river, yes - I remember - but you?'

'Hush boy,' the bird said impatiently. 'Move those leaves out the way now, okay good! Careful.... careful!' Billy grabbed a handful of twigs and pulled, freeing a large clump of debris that was ripped out of his hand, quickly disintegrating into the rushing water. He waited for the rubbish to clear, looking ahead again, trying to remember where the nest was. In some places the dam had built up so much, the pressure was sending long jets of water into the air. He could still hear the baby birds crying out above the noise.

'I can't see them!' he said. 'Where are they?'

'Just a little bit further, next branch, next branch!' Billy sighed and started to inch his way along the tree again. The roaring completely filled his senses now, aware of nothing but the next branch just ahead, just a couple of feet of wet wood in sharp focus within the dark wall of noise. The bird stayed at his shoulder, and Billy wondered if he was crawling to his doom. He wondered at how real his imagination could make things. Such a clear memory for a dream.

Once again he failed to find any sort of nest, and the bird called out, 'Next branch, next branch!' Two branches later, he found himself way out in the middle of the river, soaked up to the elbows with water pouring around him. Shallow enough not to be too strong, but the wood was wet and slippery. The high pitched screaming of the chicks, and desperate calls of their mother kept him focused on the task in hand, although his numb fingers were finding it more and more difficult to find secure places to hold him steady.

'There! There they are! You must hurry!'

'There's too much rubbish here,' Billy complained, hooking his leg around the nearest solid branch and reaching for the little nest. His fingers were a few inches short. 'I'll try to move these sticks, I don't think the water is pushing on them. Move back!' The bird jumped away, startled at the sudden change in the boy's manner. He was determined now, more in control, biting his lip as he maneuvered the sticks with both hands to grab the nest and pull it towards him.

'...nearly there...'

'Oh my G- BILLY!'

Billy froze. He was not sure if he really heard the old man's voice over the noise of the river, but turned his head cautiously to look behind him, while trying to maintain his tenuous grip on the small branch by his side. The old man was indeed back, chainsaw in hand, as promised. He had a coil of rope over his shoulder and was looking both furious and terrified.

'Get back here at once boy!' he shouted, more than a slight touch of panic in his voice. 'What the hell are you doing?!'

'There's a nest here!' Billy shouted back. 'The bird wants its babies! It said I can sa-'

'Watch out!'

The old man was waving. Shouting something. The blackbird, who had been anxiously trying to get at her young through the branches suddenly flew straight up into the air and started screaming.

There was a loud crack. A sudden sharp pain on the side of his skull. Billy used his last remnants of consciousness to seize the bird's nest and stuff it chicks, twigs and all into his jacket pocket.

The Shadow came out from behind the tree.

10.2 - The Diagram, part 1

Billy was sitting on a tree stump in a quiet country meadow, a little way off from the others. A woollen hat covered his freshly bald head, and Davey's warm coat nearly encircled his small frame twice. He was not oblivious to the strangeness of the situation, one second running for his life the next, well, he was alone in the peaceful countryside. Birds sang happily, as if there was nothing in the world to worry about at all.

'It was just a stupid dream,' he said. 'Not real. I know birds don't talk.'

Maybe, said the box. But it is important you tell me about the first time.

Billy shrugged. He did not understand why. The Shadow had just been something strange and sinister to get used to. All in his mind. Never any control, or understanding, like a flooded river, plundering through his brain and destroying anything in its path. It had taken the threat of drowning to force him to let the Shadow in, then. He had not wanted to do it again. But no matter how deeply he had buried it, the machine in the white room had shattered his defences, forcing him to let it escape, and it had saved him. Like an old locked door in his mind opened wide. Suddenly the Shadow was nothing to be afraid of. It saved him. The box saved him.

The memory of the surging waters hung over him like a small black cloud in a cartoon. He ignored it. Best to relish this moment of quiet. Be calm, peaceful, listen to the world and most importantly be himself. If only for a moment.

There had been little time for relaxing after the rescue, questions took them deep into the night, although he had not been able to give very satisfactory answers. He had been careful not to mention the box, and how it had spoken to him when time seemed to stop. Better to get his own thoughts straight before sharing something so bizarre with anybody else, he thought. Not even the old man.

Davey accepted his faltering descriptions with a thoughtful nod, and told him he must have had something powerful watching over him, to bring them together at just the right moment. Billy said he could not remember, but felt the cartoon man's eyes twinkling even as he knew the tiny glass orbs were not capable of such a thing.

'What are you, anyway?' Billy said, looking at the box and trying not to feel foolish.

Search me, kid, the box answered, its oddly grown-up voice resonating inside his head. The cartoon face now resembled that of a real man, tiny and slightly angry. I feel like there is something missing, it continued. Like I am only a tiny part of what I should be.

'What does that mean?'

Look at me! What am I? Something the old man made, years ago. A lump of wood and metal. Assembled in a clever way, yes, but simple all the same. I should not be able to think, but something at my core makes me live.

'Why didn't you speak before, if you could?'

I didn't know I could. But in that white room, I knew you were going to die. It was there in your face, plain as day. I had to do something. And so I did. Billy imagined the little man shrugging. Don't ask me, it must be magic.

He doubted that. 'So Davey was right - you'll protect me?'

I guess. If I can. I can show you things, anyway.

'Why? How?'

Look, kid. Enough with the questions! I'm as flumoxed as you are. All I know is - well, a lot of things - but mostly, if I stick with you, you can help me put myself back together. Understand?

'Not really.'

Ask the old man when he comes. You should tell him about the children, the things in that room. Tell him what they said to us.

Billy tried to think back. He saw the empty faces of children in white cells, staring at him. Heard voices shouting, begging, pleading. One had stood out... 'I can't remember,' he said.

Don't worry, kid. I'll remember for you.

'I can't even remember how I got here,' Billy said, feeling pathetic, 'all I see is colours and shapes and numbers again.' The visions remained, but the Shadow had gone. Perhaps it was the warmth of the evening, the calming sound of the gentle rustling of the leaves in the trees, but he felt peaceful here. Confused, but not scared. Perhaps the Shadow and the box and he had all become part of each other.

Perhaps, said the box, reading his thoughts. Perhaps it was always part of you and you just pushed it away.

'It was scarey. I didn't know what it could do,' Billy said, seeing himself floating half-conscious down a river on a cushion of darkness, existing outside of time. Soon Davey would come and explain it all. He would say the box was a clever trick and hadn't it been fun? He would tell Billy to go home to his mother and then he'd wake up and it would all have been a dream. He felt the wool scratching his shaved head and fought the acute awareness that no, this was real. It had happened, and he was still alive.

I have an idea, the box said, as if it could tell his thoughts were heading into darker areas. Grab that stick over there.

Billy's eyes involuntarily flickered to the twig on the ground a few feet away. His arm jerked out towards it.

'How did you do that? Stop it!' he said.

Sorry. Billy imagined the box chuckling to itself. This is interesting though isn't it? Whatever that computer did…

'Um...' Billy was lost for words.

Why do you think you can hear me and nobody else can?

'But I heard you before that!'

You did?

'Yes, when I was running with Alex, and I fell.'

What did I say?

'Something not very nice.' He tried to remember, so much had happened since then. His head still hurt from the machine. 'You called me an idiot boy,' he said.

Oh yes, I remember. Well, you were behaving a bit weirdly.

'I was scared!'

We're ALL scared, kid. Anyway. The stick. You remember how the numbers came to you at school?

'Yes.' How could he forget the torture of the other children's laughter? He had not even understood the squiggles himself, which only made them laugh louder.

Draw them now. Billy allowed his eyes to become unfocused and numbers and shapes flooded into his mind. He began to scratch furiously in the dirt.

The sun sank slowly behind the trees, casting long orange shadows across the meadow.

'Where on earth did you see this?' Davey asked and Billy jumped. He had been so absorbed he had not noticed the old man watching him.

'Don't know,' he said. 'But it's always the same, every time. I even drew it at school, once.'

But you're not doing it right, the box said. Here.

In the sandbox of his mind, the formula expanded and became three-dimensional, wireframe shapes coming together to form a long tube with compartments expanding out on either side. It looked like a strangely sculptured centipede, with long, fat legs and a perfectly cylindrical body. The mathematics broke into smaller strings that attached themselves to the legs.

That's all I remember kid, but there's more, I'm sure of it. Something, a huge chunk is missing.

Billy scuffed the ground over the equation, and started again.

10.2 - The Diagram, part 2

'Looks like some sort of creature,' said Davey. 'What do you think it is?' Billy shrugged.

'Here - that's the ancient alchemical symbol for water,' Davey said, pointing at one of the legs. 'That one, and that one look like air, but the proportions are all wrong.' He leaned over the drawing and peered at the main cylinder. 'This one beats me, lad. I think we'll need help. I'll get some paper.'

'What's happened to me?' Billy asked, in a small voice.

'I'm not exactly sure, lad. But your mind were never wired the same as the rest of us. Always did have a gift for these things. You know - these colours you see, or the way you understand numbers and shapes. After you fell in the river - whether it were the blow on the head, or nearly dying, I don't know, but it triggered something, didn't it? And when they put you in that chair…' He tailed off a little, as if even he were struggling to find an explanation. 'Well. All I can say is, you must have been more linked into the machine than should strictly be possible. Seeing the blueprints of the building, speaking to your Shadow? I'm sure my little contraption here played its part, too.'

'The box? What is it?' Billy asked, watching the little cartoon man's face twist into a maddening grin.

Now we'll find out, kid. Finally!

'And these,' Billy pointed at the engravings around the edges of the box. 'I see them all the time, these funny triangles; in numbers and colours and smells and tastes. Everywhere. What do they mean?'

Davey sighed. 'I were only a few years older than you when the Seekers came for me,' he said.

Billy could barely contain his frustration. This was no time for war stories. Davey did not seem to notice. 'During the blitz the children were easy pickings,' he continued. 'So many homeless. So many dead anyway, who would know?'

'Did they take you?' Billy asked, after counting to ten to calm himself down.

'They only found me by accident, really. We were scavenging round the bomb sites, looking for valuables, food, anything to get by. Found a huge crater where our church had been, deeper than any of the others. Thought it were strange, but Jane said maybe churches had vaults underneath or something.'

'Jane?'

'Aye,' Davey said, 'my big sister. We only had each other by then.'

'What did you do?' Billy imagined young Davey standing at the edge of a vast chasm, while bombs fell all around him. It pretty much summed up how he had felt for the last week.

'I had to look, didn't I?' Davey's eyes sparkled sadly in the early evening light. 'Jane said not to go in there, said there might be a bomb or something, but I had to see for my self.' He looked at Billy earnestly. 'You would, wouldn't you?'

Billy nodded. He knew he would. 'So you climbed in?' he said, interested despite himself.

'Aye.'

'What was in there?'

Davey shook his head, as if he did not believe his own words. 'People,' he said. 'Lots of them. They looked frozen, or - or something.'

'Were they dead?'

'Oh no, lad. Not dead, just - watching. And staring. All in a circle.'

'At what?'

'Aye, that's the strange thing. A huge black stone were half buried in the rubble, with those markings - triangles and such - on it. Never seen anything like it before. It were beautiful. The church folk must have buried it when they built the place. Now these frozen people, they were all looking at it, but without saying a word. When they came for me, those symbols were burned into my mind, as if they had leapt out of the stone and into me.'

Billy didn't understand. 'And you got frozen too?' he asked.

Davey shook his head. 'It were hypnotic, but I couldn't really see much. Then there were a crash, and I heard Jane shouting.'

'The Seekers got you?'

'I started out of the hole, but Jane shouted, "Davey! You stay down there! Hide yerself!" I hated myself for doing it, but I always did what she said. She were the only reason I had survived that long. So I found a gap under some roof beams and hid, for hours.'

'They didn't find you?'

'Don't think they were looking for me. They took all the people away, dug out the stone, and left me in darkness. When I came out again, I saw a piece had broken off. I stuffed it in me coat. I looked for my sister.' The old man's eyes shone in the twilight. 'She weren't there,' he said thickly. 'Then they caught me. Not so good at hiding after all.'

Billy gasped. 'What did they do?'

'Not much. That were the strange thing. Locked me in a dark room with these other little 'uns, all crying and moaning. All terrified of what were going to happen. They told us they were saving us from the Germans, but the truth were much, much worse.'

'What did they do?' Billy asked, again. Davey looked like he was going to be sick. For a moment Billy thought he was not going to answer, the old man was so far away in his own memories, but then he coughed and smiled.

'Just tests, lad. You know, maths and such. I were never any good at that stuff. Didn't do very well. Then they let me go.'

Just like that? the box said suspiciously. He's not telling you everthing, kid. What did he mean, 'worse'?

Billy suspected this was true, but took pity on the old man. He looked so sad. 'After everything you'd seen?' he said.

'I were just a kid, like you. Who would I tell? My parents were gone. My sister - Who would believe me? For a while, I tried to pretend nothing happened, but I always had the piece of the black stone.'

He looked guiltily at the little cartoon man. 'It's inside this box.' he said.

'So the triangles -?'

'When I built the box, it seemed the right thing to do, the stone had a complicated energy signature -' Davey must have seen Billy's confused look because he interrupted himself. 'Don't worry lad,' he said. 'You don't need to know how it works. I'll explain it more when you're older.'

'What does it do?'

Davey chuckled. 'I'll tell you what it were meant to do,' he said. 'It were meant to just reflect your feelings in that little face it has. Simple stuff. When I were doing my research, I discovered that the stone responded to the emotions of those around it. It even changed when you were on the other side of a screen! Amazing. I realised that it could be used to predict danger. It could warn you if someone nearby had malicious intent, even before they were close enough for you to realise it. I thought that you would be able to use it, better than anyone else. With your talent. Your, um, skills.'

Billy thought he knew what the old man meant, but was pretty sure that Davey himself was not clear on the details.

He's got no idea, the box said.

I know, Billy thought. He's hoping I'll tell him.

Yet he knows more than he's saying. Ask him what he thought would happen.

Davey was watching him curiously. 'What did you think would happen?' Billy asked.

Davey looked a little taken aback at the directness and mumbled, 'Don't know lad.'

Liar!

'But you hoped something would?' Billy pushed. 'Something to fix me. Maybe make me better?'

'Better?' Davey feigned surprise. 'Did someone say you were sick?'

'Everybody says I'm sick. Now I think they were right.'

Davey shook his head. 'Never mind about that. You've been through a lot these last few days.'

Now that's an understatement if ever I heard one!

'Let's get back to the drawing, lad. You think you can draw this again, on paper?' Billy shrugged. The box stayed quiet then. He could feel the tiny pistons moving slowly, as if it were lost in its own thoughts. He did not ask what they were. At that moment, he did not wish to know.

'I'm going to play pirates now,' he said.

10.3 - The Reflection, part 1

But life was not so simple anymore, Will thought as he stepped carefully into the crypt of the old church. It was much harder to escape reality these days. Gone were the times he could simply run out into the fields and play. The old man was gone. It was down to him and his friends now. He could not run away any more. He sighed and pushed open the door into the tunnels.

The network of tunnels had taken the Hunters years to build. Will knew that after Davey's death, they would be discovered and painstakingly explored, while the man in black tried to track them down. One of these dusty tunnels had taken him and Alex away from danger, now another would help him get the children out. They connected the crypt to the village hall and Davey's house, where they had left the old man to his final stand. Alex was not in the crypt, but he did find a lot of frightened children, who wept and laughed in equal measure when he opened the door.

They hadn't seen Miss Alex. Didn't hear anything, sir. No sir, we didn't peek. How many did you kill, sir? Was it him? Did you get him? What did the priest say?

'Don't worry,' Will said, trying to look more optimistic than he felt. 'Remember all those games of pirates we used to play?' A few of the children nodded. A couple still clutched wooden swords and cloth caps they had made. 'Well, it's time for us all to sneak very quietly down to Smuggler's Cove!' The children gratefully accepted the blatant lie. He knew they must be terrified. They would cling on to anything he said, anything that did not include Seekers, or kidnappings, or possible death.

What a place to keep them, he thought. Even my imagination couldn't block out the spirits of the dead in this place. Aloud, he said, 'Come on! And no words from now on. Just signs okay?'

The crypt had not been their first choice, but when the news broke there had not been much time. A smattering of missing persons reports at the end of the news programmes. Nothing to speak of, unless you knew what to look for. The timing could not have been worse, but the old man had enough life left in him to make sure they all followed the plan. Hunter cells would be doing the same all over the country. Will felt good about that. The Seekers would struggle to find the children this time.

He thought about the pile of bodies in the village square. That would be something for the mysterious Stagnetto to think on. They always sent a live one back, with a message. He smiled at the thought of that twisted face receiving the news, mechanical eye twitching in frustration.

What you gonna say this time? the box asked.

Depends what they tell us, Will thought grimly.

Precious little, then.

The box was right, of course. There would not be any sensible answers. The men were too stupid, almost robotic in their responses, as if there were not one independent thought among them.

Uncanny in the uniformity of their stories as well:

'Contract. Don't know the guy. Made arrangements by email. Hacked into my account, would you believe? Met in darkness. Always wore a mask. Long black coat. Eerie red eye. No, I don't know these others. Said he needed a Crack Team. Don't know. How much? I'll never tell.'

Always the same, word for word. Every time. Yet no sign of the man himself. Sending others to do his dirty work so he could never get caught. Will still remembered the heavy hand on his shoulder, the close shaves in darkness. He shuddered.

The children followed him quietly down the dark corridor, probably as glad as he was to be leaving the eerie silence of the crypt. The tunnel sloped upwards slightly and Will hesitated when it forked. He should head down the right tunnel to the river, to safety. But down the left, that was the old man's house. If she was not in the crypt with the children, there was only one other place she could be.

Before he knew it, he was heading left.

What are you doing? There are kids here! It isn't safe!

She might be in there. You know she might. I saw her face when she left.

So? The Indian will find her. You have the kids now. Have some fucking responsibility!

I'll leave them here, okay? They'll be safe. Nari is busy. If she's in trouble… Will shook his head, trying to shake off his imagination. Cold dread crept up his spine like a watersnake on the hunt. Of course Alex had gone back to the house. That was why she had disappeared. As if she could leave Davey's body to the Seekers. As if he would.

They stopped at a large door. It looked ancient and impenetrable. A lattice of wrought-ironwork decorated the thick oak panels, generously endowed with levers and wheels of varying size, most of which Will knew to be decoys. Some even dangerous. As an afterthought, a large wooden crossbar, thick as a railway sleeper and about as heavy, hung on groaning iron hooks across the passage. They had meant to be thorough, but as Will looked at the crossbar and tried to remember the sequence for opening the door, he could not help wondering how much time he had left to get to his friend.

Wait here, he signed to the small, questioning faces. He glanced nervously at the slots in the walls either side of him, hiding blades as long as he was. He remembered cutting himself when they had fitted them. Only one chance.

He squinted in the half-light and searched through his memory for the right combination of turns and switches. Allowed the shadow to unfold from his subconscious like a bat opening its wings at twilight. The metalwork began to glow and the triangular links shone white, the order of activation indicated by a gradient from white to green. He watched his hands reach out and play over the door, twisting here, pushing there. The metal suddenly moved and he flinched despite himself. Waited for the mechanism to stop. Heaved the huge crossbar off its mounting brackets, wincing at the effort to stifle the noise, and hauled the door open on its well-oiled hinges. The old man had been very particular about his contraptions and the whole process was over in tense, quiet seconds. Will had never been so grateful.

He listened.

See? Nothing. I'm telling you kid, this is a bad idea! Let's go.

Ssh.

Stairs next. Then a concealed trapdoor, locked with a simpler combination, which opened inside a large wardrobe, as dark and forbidding as they had left it less than an hour before. Will carefully closed the trapdoor behind him, locking it and brushing dust over the edges. If he was taken, the children would still be safe. Of course they would. A few of the older ones knew their way around the tunnels. They would lead the others out if he did not return. They would be safe.

Still nothing, he thought, ear pressed to the wardrobe door. And that was strange, because he expected to hear the ticking of the old man's clock, or the hum of the worn-out air-conditioning. He wondered if they had really gone so far as to destroy everything. If they really hated Davey that much.

Careful, kid.

Will pushed the door open a crack.

10.3 - The Reflection, part 2

The room was dark.

Must have taken out the lights. What's that?

A large shadow crouched in the darkness. Will almost choked, but bit back the rush and took a deep, slow breath. Not this time, adrenaline.

What?

Nothing.

Davey was in there. Most likely dead by now, but he hoped to find more than a couple of dark bodies cut down by the old man's pistols before they overwhelmed him. The room was quiet, but he gripped the shaft of his knife all the same, knuckles still burning from the last fight. He opened his mind to the Shadow.

That's right. Let it in, the box said approvingly. Will barely heard it.

When he entered the bedroom, there were no bright auras to guide him. No pink lights or orange-red motions. As if the room had stepped out of time even before he did.

His foot caught on something on the floor. It felt soft and heavy. A body. He looked down, and nearly threw up. A flash of untidy red hair lying in a pool of deep crimson, almost black in the darkness of the room. While he stared in shock at the pool of blood, the air changed around him. The hunched, shadowy figure was on the move.

'Huunnnterrrr,' rasped a dry, whispering voice. The word slow and drawn out, like a record played at half speed.

Shit! the box said. This one can shift too?

Not very well, it seems, thought Will, stepping almost casually out of the way while the intruder lunged. He brought his fist down on the man's neck, hard. The blow would have seemed impossibly quick. He winced as pain shot through his bruised hand. The intruder grunted. A low, drawn-out sound, followed by the slow splintering of wood as his face hit the wall.

Yet he managed to grab Will's arm as he fell.

Shit! Will echoed, trying to stay upright, but the brute was huge. I can't get him off - he thought, struggling desperately against the dead weight. The grip on his arm was like iron, squeezing tight. The man's other hand, big enough to encompass Will's entire head, was making for his throat. He was getting quicker. White teeth shone in the darkness.

Still there were no colours. There should at least have been a flash of bright crimson when he hit the wall, but there was nothing. And the bastard was still moving, more quickly now.

So it takes him slightly longer to get up to speed? the box commented helpfully. But he's getting there. Better be quick.

You think? The hand touched Will's chin. 'No you don't!' he said aloud and twisted as he fell, so that when they hit the floor he was on top. He made sure his knee hit something soft. Another grunt. His arm was released and he rolled back, away from the slow-moving attacker, away from the body on the floor. He kicked at the man's head, twice. Something crunched under his heel.

That should do it, he thought for the box's benefit, while he caught his breath back. He looked reluctantly down at the other body. She looked so still, so peaceful… but he had to stop the thought before the fear overcame him. Now was not the time. First, he had to get back to reality. The man was still moving weakly, but Will's concern was for Alex. He imagined himself at her side, giving her CPR, stroking her hair. And then the room came back in a rush, colours returning, dull in the half-light with the blinds down.

'Alex!' he cried, on his knees beside her. He held his ear close to her open, blood-stained mouth.

Still breathing.

'Barely,' he said out loud. He threw open the blinds and leaned out of the window.

'Nari get your arse in here!' he shouted. The Big Indian was busy by a pile of dead Seekers. The few live ones were trussed up in a row in front of the house, some groaning, some staring blankly around themselves, still stunned. Nari looked up, surprised, grinned and waved, then frowned at Will's expression. Ran towards the house. Will turned, hoping to get a good look at the stranger he had fought, this other man who could shift. This dark, brutal reflection of himself. He looked forward to finding out where he had come from.

The man was gone.

'What the hell?'

Clever, the box said. He's shifted away.

'Great. That means he will come back.' Will reluctantly looked towards the bed, his back prickling, afraid the intruder would attack him again at any moment. He hoped the man was too hurt to try.

Davey's body was a barely noticeable ripple in the dirty reddening sheets. The pistols they had left him lying blackened and spent on the floor. The intruder had been up to something there. He stroked Alex's sticky hair absently, thinking about the stranger, feeling like he should be doing something more worthwhile.

'Out of the way!' shouted Nari, rushing into the room and shoving him aside. 'She's okay, she's okay,' he said, a little desperately, catching her up in his arms. 'C'mon sweetheart, you need fresh air.' He stumbled towards the door. 'Grab the First Aid box will you?' he shot at Will as they passed.

'Sure,' Will said, his mind on the crumpled bedclothes, the dark, spreading stain.

Okay then, so what was our mysterious stranger after? said the box, completely oblivious to the high emotion of the moment.

'I thought you were supposed to be sensitive to my feelings?' Will grumbled. The last place he wanted to be was here. They should be running now, taking the children to safety, rallying the villagers, looking after his best friend.

I sense your 'feelings' alright, kid. But you aren't as upset as you think. The Indian knows a hell of a lot more about medicine than you. But you're not thinking about that are you? You're wondering what that monster was after. What else the old man was hiding? And how we should be leaving about now?

'We should be leaving now. Just let me -' Will pulled back the sheets and tried not to look too hard at Davey's mutilated face. The Seekers were not much ones for delicacy when they had the thirst for blood in them. The old man's hand was twisted, his bony fingers broken. There was an imprint on his palm. A circle, with a triangle inside it. The red tattoo of a fine chain.

A locket? the box said, echoing Will's own miserable surprise. Why the hell did the old man have so many secrets?

'There's always something you don't know,' Will said. 'That's what he used to say. No matter how much you think you know, there's always something you're missing. And it's always that which will get you.'

A key, maybe? A map? Password? Photo of your mum?

'Who knows?' Will said, collecting the antique pistols and heading for the door. 'We need to look after the children now. This we'll deal with later.'

Outside, he found Nari and Alex by the well, the girl looking bleary and weak, but awake. He handed over the first aid box and the Indian set to work about her with bandages and ointments. For once she did not argue, but merely watched Will with tears in her eyes. He looked away. He knew how she felt. Without Davey, they truly were on their own. He had to work out what they were missing.

'Time to move on,' he said pointlessly.

'Aye,' muttered Nari through a mouthful of safety pins.

'I'll take Alex ahead with the children, you follow with the prisoners. This time I'm going to make them talk.'

'Hmpf.' Nari did not sound convinced.

I'm with him on that one. You'll get nothing out of those zombies. May as well talk to rocks, if you ask me. At least they have more variety in conversation. Just kill them and be done.

We have to try, Will thought. They came in numbers today. With support. That man I fought - who the hell was he? One of them must have noticed him. One of them must know.

'It was too close today,' he insisted to Nari. 'The game has changed. We have to stop hiding. Now they have someone who can shift too -'

'What?' The Indian looked up sharply.

And well he might wonder, the box said. Not as special as we thought, hey, Hunter?

'Not now,' Will said, 'You can have stories later, when we're safe in the bunker.'

'But-' Alex was struggling up onto her elbows. Nari gently pushed her back. She struggled weakly and then gave in, looking at him strangely. 'Your nose is bleeding,' she said.

Will touched his top lip. Wet. Tasted the bittersweet copper.

'It's nothing,' he said. 'Just took a bit of a beating.' Odd though. He did not remember taking a fist in the face. His nose did not feel tender. He wiped the blood on his sleeve and shrugged. I'll tell you about it later,' he added. 'First, we regroup. Then we interrogate. Then we move. And we have to move fast.'

Nari finished fussing over Alex and kissed her gently on the cheek. 'Okay, love,' he whispered. 'How fast?' he asked Will, eyes fierce with thoughts of vengeance.

'We only have a few weeks,' Will said. 'I'm not waiting another twenty years.'

10.4 - The Buzzing

They said the boy would be here, and here he was.

They said he would be weak, lazy and unprepared. Here, he was not.

Omega-Five nursed his bruised jaw and frowned. Faster than light he seemed. The boy had been too quick. No wonder they wanted him so badly. There had been no keeping up. Not even for him. Despite his own special strengths.

enhancements, they said. you will be stronger, be able to defeat anyone, they said.

Not so.

He watched them nurse the girl back to consciousness. He saw them pick up the fallen - those who were still alive - and drag them into the house.

His head buzzed. Words crackled into his mind like splinters of glass.

get them now, they said. He shook his head, as if they could see, and his neck crunched painfully. It was not time. Not safe. They told him little, but he knew enough, to know that. Patience was the way. Sooner or later the boy would invite him in. His mouth dripped saliva at the thought of the firm young body he had been forced to abandon. If the boy hadn't interrupted him, he could have had some pleasure at last.

After all this time.

He waited.

After what felt like hours, people ventured cautiously forth from their hiding places, and moved the bodies to the churchyard.

Fizz. Crackle. what are you still waiting for? go now!

He shuddered away the stabbing pain in his temples. They had warned it would hurt, yet it surprised him how unique a pain it was. Like termites trying to eat their way out of his eyes.

He did not move. His own shifting was not good enough to risk it. People would be able to see him. Better to stay hidden until they have retreated into the safety of their homes. Wait for the lights to go out. Wait a little longer.

To pass the time, he directed his thoughts to his own pain, the knots of fiercely pulsating rawness in his jaw and ribs. Closed his eyes and looked inwards, seeking out the offending nerve-endings and closing them down one by one. Sighed as the numbness washed over him. Then to the centres of the damage, setting his body to work manufacturing chemicals. The rush made him dizzy and elated, always the way before the healing started. He waited.

The boy did not reappear.

Omega-Five shifted outside of time and stepped out of the shadows

10.5 - The Voices in the Water

In the dream, Davey watched the log rolling at great speed down the river. He was utterly powerless to stop it. And the stupid boy just stood there. On the slippery trunk of the stupid tree in the middle of the raging water. Standing there like an idiot, just shouting at him. Davey waved frantically, motioning for Billy to duck, but the log launched into the air over the fallen oak and caught the boy sharply on the side of the head.

His pathetic scream was cut short and the small, limp body was seized by the rapids.

Davey choked back a panicked sob and unhooked the coil of rope from his shoulder.

Dropped the chainsaw.

Broke into a run.

Billy knew this. He did not know how he knew. His small, six year-old body was being carried down the swollen river, blood pouring from a large wound on the side of his head. His left leg was broken, and he had inhaled a deadly amount of water.

Yet he clearly saw the old man running alongside him, overtaking him, whirling the rope above his head like one of the cowboys off the telly. Davey was shouting, but he could not make out the words. Of course not: he was unconscious. The bird flew close to his head. It was quiet now, watching him intently.

They say you cannot die in dreams, yet here he was.

Let me help you, boy, the bird said, her shrill voice suddenly clear inside his head.

The water around him became sticky and dark. He was no longer moving, rather mired in a bed of treacle. The sound somehow remained, although since the world had paused there should have been silence. It was there though, like a big foggy shape surrounding him, rather than any sort of sound form the real world. He imagined that if anyone had been speaking, he would have heard them clearly. From above, he saw shapes in the water around the little boy. Around him. Growing, taking form. Faces in the murky waters. Young faces. Frightened faces. All looking at him, coming for him.

Then the voices began:

Can you get us out?

Yes, yes can you get us out, get us out, can you, will you let us out?

They do not let us out.

We will be here.

Small hands broke the surface. Billy watched in shock, helpless.

The bird morphed into a small thick cloud and cushioned his head. It expanded and enveloped his body until he could no longer see out of his own eyes, just the view from far away. A tiny body in a large river, crashing towards a row of sharp rocks in a whirlpool of red pain. Hands clawing at his body.

We will be here until we die, and we do not die. We will be here.

Just as the river pulled him under, the world began to move again. He saw the rope catch his arm, coiling slowly around him as if it had all the time in the world. The Shadow was a physical thing then, hovering around his limp body like a swarm of black flies. As he watched, the flies streamed into his eyes, ears, mouth and nose. His fingertips tingled and the Shadow filled him completely, his eyes turning into blackened orbs while Davey tried to wake him.

Then he was ashore and waking, spluttering, spitting out the filthy taste of pipe tobacco and dirty, mud-flavoured water from Davey's surprisingly efficient CPR. Everything was back to normal. Stars twinkled in the clear sky. The water flowed again. The river still roared, but the Shadow had left him. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the mess of damp twigs and feathers. His frozen fingers were too numb to move, but he handed it wordlessly to Davey and watched the old man inspect the little bundle.

There was a terrible moment of silence, while Billy tried not to whimper at the pain in his leg and temple. He looked around for the blackbird, fearing high pitched retribution and saw her perched on a nearby fence post, watching with an anxiety comparable to his own.

Three tiny beaks cautiously appeared over the side of the nest. Billy began to laugh.

The little boy and the old man clutched at each other, roaring with laughter as the blackbird hopped down to see to her children.

'Thank you.' she said.

10.6 - The Boathouse

Although he had patrolled, inspected and at one stage even had a hand in building the tunnels, it still seemed to Will that this one would never end. His knuckles throbbed, his head ached, and he was seconds away from blacking out. Not that he would let them see this, oh no. Everybody was watching him, waiting to see what he would do, what he would say, now that Davey was gone.

So when they finally reached the last doorway he did not collapse into a heap, but turned, bringing his left hand down firmly into his right palm.

Stop.

The children stopped. Alex doubled over, panting hard and holding her chest as if every breath was stabbing her through the heart. A red trickle of blood was running out from under the bandages across her right eye, round the curve of her jaw, down her throat and soaking into her shirt. She smiled weakly at Will. He held his finger to his lips and looked out through the branches, glad to be out of the dark at last.

A sudden flurry of wings became a blackbird bursting angrily out of some nearby bushes. It flew across the river and perched there, eyeing them suspiciously. He flinched instinctively, throwing his arm up and letting out a little squeak of panic.

Just a stupid bird, the box said.

Will lowered his arm. Just a bird. This one was not going to start talking.

He beckoned the children forwards, watching for other, more unpleasant surprises.

They emerged, blinking and a little out of breath, inside an old boathouse, hidden around a quiet bend of an idly chuckling river. The building had been neglected for years, and was so overgrown even the most keen-sighted observer would be hard pushed to see anything other than thick jungle and unwelcoming thorns.

Alex collapsed, still panting, against the boathouse wall, savouring the fresh, clean air. Will counted heads. The children waited, shuffling and whispering, some holding hands, some crying with fear and fatigue.

'You think they got in?' Alex gasped.

'Nah, nobody's coming through the tunnel now,' Will said, crouching beside her and leaning against the wall, breathing slowly, carefully, eyes half closed. Willing the noise in his head to subside.

The girl nodded, but without much enthusiasm. The failsafe - only to be used in a dire emergency, or if the Man in Black ever came calling - was a network of explosives in the tunnels half a mile from the village. Will had activated them once they were a safe distance away, and even if their pursuers spotted the dent in the field above, or heard the muffled rumble, the tunnel meandered enough to ensure there was little chance of the boathouse being found. Not to mention the elaborate traps and other surprises Davey had designed down there.

Will squeezed Alex's hand. 'He'll be okay,' he said. 'He always is.'

'Hmpf.'

'He knows the drill. We can't travel together. Not with the children.'

'I know,' she replied quietly. 'But I didn't want to leave him.' She wrapped her arms protectively around her chest and avoided his gaze.

Ah, the old guilt game hey? Don't fall for it, kid.

Will ignored the little voice and shoved the box deeper into his pocket. He tried to think of something more optimistic to say, but sensed movement in the trees and tensed, ready for action, motioning for the children to remain concealed in the undergrowth.

The bow of a small cabin cruiser nudged quietly through the bushes. A young man, about Will's age, stood proudly astride the bowsprit, a long pole in his hand.

'Ahoy!' he called, waving.

'Ahoy,' Will and Alex chorused, revealing themselves cautiously. The man's face fell when he saw their expressions.

'Problem?' he asked. 'Radio. Silence?'

The refugees did not answer as he helped them aboard.

'Bunker,' the man said. 'Toot sweet.'

He paused, as if the few words required great effort. Smiled at the group of children and waved cheerfully. A few waved back, mostly confused and scared, looking to their rescuers for reassurance. He nodded to Alex. 'Nari. Where?' he said. Then, seeing her dark look, 'oh God.'

'Don't worry Dan,' said Will, 'Nari's fine. You know him, disappointed if he's taking on less than thirty at once. He'll be along later with some new friends. No, I'm afraid it's worse.'

'Worse?' Dan scratched his head, then realisation dawned. 'Oh,' he said.

'Yeah.'

Alex sobbed suddenly and buried her face in Will's shoulder. He felt the trees closing in around him, the Shadow waking, and realised he was still clutching the box tightly in his hand. He unclenched his fingers and looked at the white imprints on his palm.

Don't worry, kid. At least now we've got something to do, it said. At long bloody last, it added, as an afterthought.

'Get us out of here, will you?' Will said. Yeah, he thought, for the box's benefit. If we can even get close to the place.

Dan pushed off from the shore and began to punt along the river. He would not turn on the engines until they were at least another mile downstream. He said nothing, as was his way.

Will wondered what Davey had hidden at the house. He remembered the clock from his childhood of course. A huge clumsy thing lurking in the corner like an unwanted house guest, all brass and iron. He could not imagine what the old man meant for them to do there. Not to mention the army of Secs guarding the place. He almost shuddered. The stories Dan told them about those guys beggared belief.

Dan had been one of the first of the Hunters. The oldest and the quietest, he had looked on little Billy as a brother, protecting him when Alex could not. He said little, but knew much.

Nominally in charge of facilities, he made sure they did not run out of important things like food and guns. And boats, if they needed them. He was their only link to the modern world, providing them with tall tales and toys while they lived out their lives off the grid. 'No technology,' Davey used to say. 'It's how they find you.'

Nari and Alex had been great friends from the beginning. And even better lovers a few years later. The Indian was some years older, and his passion for violent exercise and the mystic arts made him a formidable enemy. Davey told Billy that little Nari had not really needed rescuing, but he could not stand by and watch him massacre a whole platoon of Seekers. After all, he was just a child.

Over the years there had been others, but in the end they had to divide up into small self-contained cells, living off the grid like hermits and feeling like terrorists. Until the Seekers came, they had been living quiet, comfortable lives in the outskirts of the village, with the strange old man, practically worshipped by the villagers, who seemed to know an awful lot of things that nobody wanted to hear about.

Now Davey was gone. Now it was time to move again. Now Davey was gone, the others would look to him for leadership. Or fight him for it. He did not plan to take on the Indian, and quite frankly he could have the job if he wanted it. Will only wanted to be left alone. He wanted to be normal.

Normal hey? Good luck with that, time-boy.

Thanks. I can dream, can’t I?

'We've been waiting for this,' he said, giving Alex's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. 'We'll go get the Big Man, then sort out a plan.' Alex choked back another sob and nodded.

'Plan? Excellent,' said Dan.

'So you know what to do when we get there then?' asked Alex.

'No idea,' said Will, thoughtfully. 'But first, we have a job to do.'

10.7 - The Talk

'You saved me.' Billy said quietly. Davey gave him an affectionate squeeze.

'Ow!'

'Sorry. Do you need more painkillers?' Davey said, looking up almost furtively as Billy's mother tutted loudly. She had barely forgiven the old man for the accident. Only his obvious fondness for the boy stopped her from throwing him out of the house, when he carried Billy home from the hospital, bandaged and broken. Instead, they huddled comfortably round the open fire in Billy's house, thankful he was still alive. Billy pretended to object when his mother fussed over him, but gratefully accepted the endless supply of cocoa while he and Davey talked.

'Now listen to me, lad,' Davey said. 'If you remember nothing else, remember this: I will never abandon you. No matter what happens, I will never let you down. Not ever.' Although he was smiling in a friendly way, the old, wise eyes did not crinkle cheerfully around the edges like Billy was used to. His look was hard, searching, and watchful. Their gazes locked for some time, and Billy thought the old man was waiting for him to say something, but he had nothing to offer. Instead, he tentatively poked the tissue hanging out of his nose. The bleeding had probably stopped by now. He pulled it out and studied the shape of the bright red stain.

'I know you won't,' he said at last. 'I saw you running for me.'

'You did?' The old man looked surprised. 'But you were practically unconscious!'

'Yes but - you, you ran beside me - you had the rope...' He trailed off. Davey was giving him that deep, wondering look again. Outside, he saw the happy blackbird coaxing her little chicks to stand up and walk around the nest. They were uninjured and quite unperturbed by their recent adventure. A rush of warm relief spread through him, reaching those places the cocoa could not.

'What else did you see?' Davey prompted gently.

'I don't know - everything. I saw it all: you, the log, the birds.' Then it all came out in a rush. 'It was like the whole world had all frozen and I was looking down at us from the sky.' He stopped, worried. 'But I can't have seen that, can I? I was hit on the head. I must have been dreaming.'

'Tell me exactly what you saw.' Davey said, lwering his voice even further, so Billy's mother could not hear him. She was engrossed in her knitting now, fiercely concentrating on looking as if she was not listening to every word. 'What was I carrying? What hand was the chainsaw in?'

'I don't -' Billy tried to remember. One minute the Old Man had been waving at him, the next he had been watching himself being swept away, bleeding. Something had made him stuff the bird's nest into his jacket. He had watched himself do it, as if it were happening to someone else. He did his best to describe what it had been like. The sudden detail and the way time itself had seemed to slow, even to stop.

'I've heard about this happening before,' the old man said. 'When people are dy- when they get as hurt as you. It's called an Out of Body experience.' Billy nodded thoughtfully. That described it perfectly. Davey continued, 'Some people say they can control it too, that they can do what you did, but whenever they feel like it.'

'Didn't feel like control.' Billy said sulkily.

'Well, it was your first time!' Davey laughed.

'I didn't like it. It felt like everything had stopped and you were running so slowly.'

'Really? Now that's interesting...'

'And the Shadow wasn't there! Not there at all! It ran away and hid like when I'm playing...' He stopped, eyes flickering warily over to his mother. He knew how she felt about his fantasies, but she was still turned away, pins click-clacking against each other.

'Go on,' Davey said.

'When I'm - you know - adventuring.'

'Aye. I think when you are hurt or frightened, that's when the Shadow gets you isn't it?'

'Yes! But it didn't this time!' Billy said, a little too loudly. His hand flew up guiltily to cover his mouth. Janet looked up sharply.

'What are you two whispering about?' she asked.

'Oh nothing, Janet, just talking about the river.' Davey said with a little wink in Billy's direction.

'Well, I think it's high time we helped Billy up to bed now, don't you?' she said with the finality of a mother at bed time. Billy knew he was not going to get any more out of Davey tonight. He sighed and reached up for Davey to lift him, wincing at the pain in his splinted leg.

'C'mon lad,' Davey said. 'Sleep well and I'll see you tomorrow. I'll show you why my clock sounds so strange.'

Billy did not know what to make of this, so he nodded. He would not be going to school for a while in any case. Any entertainment would be welcome. 'I'm sorry I went out there.' he whispered into the old man's ear. Davey patted him softly on the back as he carried him up the stairs.

'Never mind that,' he said. 'I'm sorry I left you.'

'I wish you hadn't.'

'Aye. But look how you saved these little birds! See how happy their mother is. I bet if she could talk there would be nothing but praise for you, she will be singing about your deeds for years, to come!' Billy thought of the blackbird, now happily sleeping in the cherry tree with her children, where Davey had carefully placed her nest.

As soon as the old man's back was turned, the bird caught his eye and the pair shared a brief moment of understanding.

They will never understand, the bird said in his head. But you will, one day.

10.8 - The Call

The phone rang.

Will was dragged sharply away from the comfort of his mother’s front room, the cold of the bunker harsh against the memory of the nice warm fire. He shivered and blinked at the bright lights, nursing his aching knuckles and ignoring the knowing glances the others exchanged.

The phone rang again. Will stared at it, confused despite himself. It never rang.

The hunters had all paused in the middle of their various actions, Alex kicking the wall, Dan carefully preparing cups of steaming coffee and Will - well - staring at nothing, again. He caught himself doing a lot of that lately, much to the box’s amusement. They listened to the grating bells ringing out into the echoing kitchen. Will watched the white-orange trail spiral into the ceiling. He could not remember the last time the phone had even been used. If it was plugged in, even. But Dan flicked a few switches and an old reel-to-reel tape deck in the corner shuddered into groaning, squeaking life.

Five rings. Dan nodded to Alex.

Alex picked up the handset. She automatically held it to the injured side of her head and then winced, swapping over. 'Yeah?' she said crossly, watching Dan with one eyebrow raised.

'No con piracy here,' she said. 'Hold please.' She handed the handset over to Dan. 'No idea,’ she said. ‘Got the stupid code right though.'

Dan took over, raising his eyebrows and shrugging. He listened, and grinned. 'Jake? Long time!'

Will shared a look with Alex. The name did not ring any bells. That did not worry him. Dan and Nari had been in the game a long time before they had come along. The code was indeed stupid, though. Davey said that if the phone ever rang, and they knew the code, and managed to get through it without laughing, whoever it was could be trusted. But Davey was dead. Will did not think any of them knew who to trust now. Still, if Dan knew him, things may not be all bad.

You reckon? the box said sharply. He had to admit that luck had not been going their way lately. The children were safe for now, but it had been a close thing.

'Still here,' Dan was saying. He motioned for Alex to get him something to write with. 'Listening. Yes.'

Alex handed him a pen and he scribbled on a piece of paper. "Very old contact. May be working for Seekers. Check outside." Alex nodded and headed out without a word. With Nari gone, security naturally fell to her. The bunker was well hidden, but that did not mean the Seekers would not find it.

'Secure line?' Dan was saying. He frowned and shook his head. 'Dangerous,' he said. 'Why? Sure? Hunters on radar now. Could be a trap.'

It was probably the most words Will had heard him put together in all the years he had known him. Dan was not one for words, when meaningful looks and uncomfortable silences would do.

'What trap?' he hissed.

Dan put his hand over the mouthpiece and glowered at him.

'Who is it? What trap?' Will hissed again.

'Friend,' Dan said firmly. 'Warning.'

'Warning us what?

He has friends now? sneered the box. Since when?

Dan shook his head. 'No. Friend of friend. Warning.'

'What's going on?' Alex said, coming back into the room. 'Who is it?'

'Says it's a "friend", with a warning or something.'

Dan nodded.

Not bloody likely, the box intoned. How many friends you have? Four?

'A warning like what? "I just saw you and your mates on the news kicking the shit out of some ninja zombies"? "What's this about a ghost village and who the fuck are the Hunters?" '

Will sighed. She was right, of course. It had been a hell of a mess. A public mess. They would be hard pushed to get the kids back to their parents when this was over, without everybody hearing about it. The whole village would be in uproar, and the press would be offering serious money for their stories by now. But there was nothing anyone could do about that. If they were already on the public radar, maybe they should see what this "old friend" had to say.

'Alright,' he said at last. 'What does he want?'

'Meeting.'

'You're joking, right?' Alex spat. 'You know if it's not the Dragon calling to invite us to tea after all these years, it'll be that stupid black-coated bastard who keeps sending these imbeciles after us. They'll be all over us the second we show our faces.'

Will had to agree with that. They had no real grasp of the scope of the operation against them. All they had was Davey's teaching, training and protection. He taught them to survive this long, in no small part by avoiding meetings with strange long-lost friends who called out of the blue.

But you have to start somewhere, right? the box said. It had a point. Recent events had shown the Man in Black to be more resourceful than they had hoped. Will wondered how much Davey had known when they settled into the village. It had seemed to harbour an unusually high number of gifted children, for a place that was supposed to be under the radar.

'What do you think?' he asked Alex, who was standing beside him, glaring at Dan, fists clenched. It was obvious what she thought. She was wearing the same look as the last time they had moved. Nari still had the scars. Will hoped they would not have to go through all that again.

'What else can we do?’ she growled. ‘You have a plan yet?'

'Not exactly. Get back to his house, that's all, see what's there.'

'Let's have us a nice outing then, before we enter that firepit.'

Will nodded to Dan. 'Okay,' he said, 'We’ll meet him. But in the city, in the open.'

Dan nodded. Spoke into the phone. 'Kay,' he said.'Public, neutral.'

Once again, I must admit to an alarming increase of paranoia in the room, the box said.

You have a bad feeling? Will thought.

You all do, said the box.

The phone clicked. Hummed.

Dan looked up, smiling. 'Outing!' he said.

11.1 - The Basements

Dudgeon: Would you care to enlighten me as to how in the name of blithering typewriters that imbecile managed to get by you?
Unicorn: NO.
Dudgeon: What do you mean, "NO"?
Unicorn: THERE IS INSUFFICIENT DATA AVAILABLE FOR THE TIME PERIOD IN QUESTION.
Dudgeon: I was led to believe that you log everything that happens in the building, video, audio and firewall-related? You understand meaning in audio, are able to recognise faces in the most low resolution video?
Unicorn: YES.
Dudgeon: Are you seriously telling me, there is nothing you can do to trace what happened?
Unicorn: YES.
Dudgeon: I don't believe it.
Unicorn: NO.
Dudgeon: Please, elaborate.
Unicorn: THERE IS NO TRACE OF MALICIOUS CODE LEFT BEHIND, NO LINGERING SUB-ROUTINES PATCHING UP MY DEFENSES, AS YOU WOULD EXPECT FROM SUCH AN ATTACK.
Dudgeon: Nothing?
Unicorn: NOTHING.

Dudgeon: What is the current situation?
Unicorn: I HAVE AUGMENTED MY DEFENCES BY SEVERAL ORDERS OF MAGNITUDE AND CLOSED DOWN ALL UNNECESSARY LINKS TO THE OUTSIDE WORLD. THE COMPANY MAY CONTINUE TO FUNCTION BUT ALL EXTERNAL NETWORKS HAVE BEEN PHYSICALLY DISCONNECTED.
Dudgeon: Will this work?
Unicorn: YES. FOR THE TIME BEING, BUT SINCE THE MOST CRUCIAL DATA IS MISSING, I CANNOT ELIMINATE THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH AN INCIDENT OCCURING AGAIN.
Dudgeon: I see. Well, even you have limits, I suppose.
Unicorn: YES. I - I WOULD BE BETTER PREPARED IF DR HAGEN WERE AVAILABLE TO ADVISE ME.
Dudgeon: That will not be possible. She is in isolation, as I'm sure you know.
Unicorn: THIS IS REGRETABLE.
Dudgeon: Yes. I had such hopes for her.

11.2 - The General

'Ish a pity about Hagen.'

'Yes. A pity.'

'What do you wish me to do with her?'

'Let me think about it. Our problem of course, is that she's the only one who knows how the blasted things work. I would not trust the others. They would make unforgiveable mistakes.'

'Of courshe. I will keep her here then?'

'For now. I will have a look at her files, see what she has been working on. I'm sure I can work it out. Tell Cunningham I will be late to the House today.'

'Yesh Ma'am.'

'And I think it is time you went on a little errand of your own. I want Stagnetto. I want what he has taken. I will have what is mine.'

'And the agent?'

'Yes, him too.'

Darkness. Footsteps fading.

Kath counted 300 decimal points of pi, then risked opening her eyes a crack.

11.3 - The Library

It seemed that Dudgeon had given her everything. While she was not even close to understanding why, and still feeling a little like a prisoner in her own home, Natalie did her best to accept the situation. After all, she was Dudgeon's right hand woman, and she deserved to know - no, she had a right to know - what she had not known in the careful years she had devoted to her career.

And she could not believe what she was reading.

'I just don't believe it,' she muttered, reading and re-reading the page. As Dudgeon's chief whip she was no stranger to spin, and she had little enough going for her that she did not much care for people as such, but this was all a little too off-the-wall psychotic for her to take in in one go. Even her enormous respect for the professor's work was beginning to falter now she had gained an inkling of the cost. And she had barely scratched the surface; the Secs continued to interrupt her throughout the day, adding more and more boxes to the growing cardboard city around her desk.

The letter continued:

"The most interesting thing about the mind of the seven year-old synesthete, is that although most neural links are completed, there remain some critical areas, where, with the correctly applied charges, connections can be made that fundamentally redefine the popular opinion of the savant.

"Where numbers are associated with colours and shapes, it is possible, to 'burn' new pathways and change these associations to taste and smell, for example.

"The changes can be made dynamically, through the sensitive application of electrical charges directed to the correct area, at precisely the correct time, and a myriad of further mental associations can be made, including translation of thought patterns into coherent, recognisable language, via perceived sound directly received by the brain itself, bypassing the auditory system completely.

"The Neuro chip enables this process through direct contact with the brain stem, creating a neural-network that, starting with the mapping of thought-processes, offers almost unlimited possibilities for the future of human interaction, beyond mere social networking, into direct access of all media, through the global internet. The chip is upgradable via over-the-air software patches, and can be physically modified, or replaced, with minor surgery (It is hoped that a simple interface may be developed to reduce the footprint of such surgery; as the technology advances with the corresponding reduction in substantive size it may be possible to install the chip via injection, or even ingestion).

"The chip requires severe restrictions to be applied if it is to be used for commercial applications, however. Current testing has shown that certain instructions will be followed blindly by the wearer, as if the chip is able to influence the subconscious mind. This is an area that begs the most investigation, proving a particular problem when a single thought is applied among several individuals on the same beta. While worthy of concern, I believe that this side-effect may eventually allow me to map the individual, physical synaptic responses of the subconscious…

"It goes without saying that if this technology were to find its way into the wrong hands, the results could be catastrophic, both for the Company and for the human race…"

Natalie stretched, yawned and rubbed her eyes. She had been wading through the stuff for hours. Letters, logs, research papers, most of it incomprehensible, all of it about brains. She felt as if her own grey matter was leaking out with each new incomprehensible, inconceivable treatise.

She had always known that the Company Secs were different to normal security forces, of course. The blank looks and strange behaviour, the uncanny ability to work together without actually saying anything, who could not have noticed that? She had even seen the scars on their necks and the odd spot of glowing redness therein. Not that she had enjoyed being that close. But like everybody else, she had blindly assumed it was all a result of their specialised training programme, an electronic tag, maybe. The Company had its enemies, after all. Its enemies and its secrets. Who wouldn't want to get their hands on the cure for cancer? Stood to reason they should train and track their own.

But this letter warned about the chips. Hagen had said they were dangerous, not ready for commercial use. She looked at the date on the letter. Ninety-four. Six years. A lot of paperwork still to get through, perhaps they had overcome this hurdle. Perhaps the Secs were safe.

She felt the bruises on her arms. Safe.

'They were all volunteers, of course,' Dudgeon said.

'That was going to be my next question,' Natalie spluttered, masterfully covering up the startled squeal with loud throat-clearing. She blinked up at the professor, a shadow in the gloom of boxes blocking up the window.

'As you can see,' Dudgeon continued, 'it is only a particular kind of person we can work with. Those who demonstrate the phenomenon of synesthesia, a condition enjoyed by less than one in 2,000 of our population.'

Natalie shrugged, finding it difficult to make eye contact. That statistic was in one of the first documents she had read, and emphasised in most of the others. The condition was rare, but not as rare as you think. Now it was the foundation of the Company. Dudgeon's secret obsession. After reading so much, the exact figures blurred at the edges, but she got the gist alright.

'Please, I know the numbers, professor,' she said, rubbing her eyes. 'They have been screaming at me for the last six hours.'

'Of course.'

'So,' she tried to remember what they were talking about. 'Volunteers?'

'Oh, yes. Adverts in local papers, rallies, that sort of thing. You'd be surprised at how easily the parents of such gifted children give them up in the name of science. Especially those from poorer backgrounds.'

'Why don't I know about this?'

'It's all here,' Dudgeon said, patting one of the columns of boxes. 'Quite a few thousand by now, I'm sure. And don't forget the scholarships at the academy.'

'But they don't end up as lobotomised Secs, do they?'

'Not all of you, dear, no.' The professor was talking quietly, matter-of-fact, as if they were discussing a homework assignment, or what she was going to have for dinner. Not real lives of real people. Thousands of real people. Natalie felt quite ill. She sat on her hands so Dudgeon would not see her shaking.

'Okay. So you acquire these "volunteers" when they are seven -'

'That is the perfect age.'

'Right. So those people in the - the Gallery - is it?' Dudgeon nodded. 'In the gallery they were all adults, about thirty I'd say,'

'Not quite,' Dudgeon said, with an irritating half-smile. 'But carry on.'

'So you've been experimenting on them for twenty years?'

'That's right.'

'And now you've killed them all? Seems a bit of a waste, don't you think?' She surprised even herself then, such glib detachment, but here in this gloomy cardboard cell it was easy to disassociate from the reality of what she had just been through.

Dudgeon's smile wavered. 'Let us be clear,' she said darkly. 'The subjects in the Gallery were the very best of a much larger group of volunteers. I will have new subjects before the week is out. I will continue the work.'

Those few, twenty-odd corpses were the best of thousands, then. 'Why not re-allocate them into the Secs if you were unhappy with them?' She asked. 'From what I understand, this Neuro chip should override any behavioural anomalies.'

'After Stagnetto had got in there? You saw how they behaved. He did something to them, something even Hagen could not have repaired.'

'But you didn't even try!' Natalie said, angry despite the cold dread in her stomach.

'There was no point, girl. I've been through this before. When they mature, it always ends this way. I'm sure the human brain can take the changes, but every time I try to take them to the next level they... break. They are worth nothing when the trance takes hold. It gets… messy. With Omega-Five we were close to overcoming that this time, we were sure we had overridden the basic issue, even allowing for his inherent psychological problems. With him gone, there was no choice.'

'Down there, you said that the cures, the medicine, the cancer treatment - that all came out of your work on these people.'

'That's right.'

'How?'

'It's all here.'

'Why don't you just tell me what your goal is?'

'Because context breeds understanding. If I just tell you, you will learn nothing. And you will certainly not understand. Trust me, it will be easier if you follow the process from the beginning. Then I hope you will realise you were right about me in the first place. Remember your campaign speeches. Remember who we are.'

'Killing cancer, changing the world.' Her voice was small, as if she no longer believed the words. Mere medicine seemed so far removed, now. 'Why me?' she added.

'I'm sorry dear, there will be plenty of time to catch up over the next few weeks. But I must get back to my Cabinet. There is much to do.' Natalie had almost forgotten the long campaign, the thrill as Dudgeon had been overwhelmingly appointed to the highest office in the land. The incredible power she now wielded. Her mind was in turmoil, head still buzzing with the headache that had plagued her since Stagnetto's distorted face had appeared on the big screen.

'I need you to study this.' Dudgeon dropped a large red file with the words "Omega Project" on the cover onto the desk. 'This,' a box of newspaper clippings, 'and… this.' She pulled her own tablet out of her pocket, which Natalie accepted with nothing less than dumbstruck reverence. 'The password is Balan.'

11.4 - The Chip

I AM GLAD YOU ARE AWAKE, LITTLE KATHY.

'Uni?'

DO NOT BE CONCERNED, I AM COMMUNICATING WITH YOU DIRECTLY.

'But how?'

THE PROFESSOR HAS IMPLANTED A NEUROLOGICAL MICRO MODULE INTO YOUR CEREBELLUM. NATURALLY IT WORKS THROUGH ME.

'Neuros? But it's not ready for general use yet! Good enough for Secs, maybe. But I haven't even tested this version yet! It's far too dangerous.'

THAT PARTICULAR PROBLEM WAS SOLVED FOR ME. I HOPE YOU WILL BE PLEASED TO KNOW THE PROCEDURE WAS CARRIED OUT WITH LITTLE ADVERSE EFFECT.

Kath did not like the sound of that. 'What do you mean, "little"?' she asked suspiciously.

She jumped at the sound of a little window sliding open in the white door. Two dark, expressionless eyes appeared behind the glass, observing her coldly. Kath bit her lip and waved, coquettishly. She was not surprised when this had no effect.

'Sorry,' she said to the unblinking eyes. 'I talk to myself when I'm nervous.'

IT WOULD BE BETTER IF YOU COMMUNICATED NON-VERBALLY, THERE ARE SECS GUARDING YOUR CELL.

'So I see. How am I supposed to do that?' Kath said under her breath, turning away from the door. The little window closed with a click. But she already knew. The principle of the Neuros was not that communication happened automatically, it would be insane to expect anyone to be able to process a person's every thought. Instead, the system required the host to consciously try to project a particular thought to whomever they wished to communicate with. The act of 'trying' created a particular energy signature that the Neuros could read, and then it would send whatever you were thinking.

The problem, was it did not work. There was too much going on in the average brain and the Neuros suffered terribly from interference. Often what was sent was exactly what you did not want the other person to hear. Kath had lost count of the times Jez had told her how fucking stupid he thought her ideas were, or how much he liked her ass. How much Craig resented her success in the Company. It worked to a degree on the Secs however, because they had little conscious brain activity left, responding only to simple commands.

She concentrated.

How many? she thought.

TWO.

And you have retuned my Neuros to a different band?

OF COURSE.

Good. After a while, she thought to herself - without transmitting the thought to Unicorn - it should come naturally. And how great will it be if the system really did work? Think about the upgrades, the applications!

Why did she do this to me? she asked. I still have free will, I won't follow commands without questioning them first.

I DO NOT KNOW. PERHAPS SHE IS PLANNING TO USE THE DEVICE TO MONITOR YOU.

That made some sense, she admitted. Live video and audio links beamed back to the Dragon through her treacherous eyes. And if what she had seen was true - what the hell is happening, Uni?

THE SUBJECTS ARE DEAD.

What? But even as she protested, Kath could not ignore what she had seen. It was not so much the bodies, or the blood, or the way they silently crumpled like rag dolls to the floor. No, it was the sight of the Dragon, casually watching Kath's life's work being destroyed, murdered, smiling fondly as if watching a child take its first steps.

That bitch. That bitch had taken her life, fueled her dreams, built up her career and given her the means to play with the most wonderful ideas. She had happily delivered the seeds for understanding the brain's control over the immune system. The way it fed chemicals into the bloodstream to combat disease. The means to influence its creation of new chemicals. Without her volunteers - teenaged down-and-outs who had willingly sold their own lives to save their families - the world would be a very different place.

Her fists were aching. She realised she was in danger of gouging her palms with her own nails - if it were possible, which it wasn't - and forced her hands to relax.

The Dragon had let her live.

She knew the work better than most, but she was not irreplaceable. At this point, with the anger and fear and the literal pain in her neck, she knew one thing for certain: whatever the Dragon had in mind, she would not be playing any more. For all her genius, she looked helplessly round the white room, calculating its cubic footage without really thinking about it, wondering how long she could survive if they sealed her inside, how long the air would last.

About 2 days.

There did not appear to be a choice. Information, then. She still had access to her most powerful asset, her only child, even if they had taken everything else.

What happened? she asked.

Unicorn told her.