He points as he talks. ‘You two, see if we can climb the wall behind the cover of these generators. Demolitions, see if there’s any way you could punch through to the sea from here and, if you can—’
‘Sir, I think it’s about to do something.’
Genner spins back to look through the gap. ‘Shit!’
The First stops, midway between the tanks and the bunker. It raises its hands, palms open, then removes its helmet. A face is revealed. A young woman, hairless, pockmarks on her cheeks. ‘I am the First and I am not here to destroy you. Not unless you … invite me.’ The First walks closer, face slack as it thinks. ‘I do not … enjoy the idea of fighting. Something offered is so much more valuable than something taken. This body was given to me. The woman that wore it was sick. Not through contact with my kind. This was an infection native to your world, though no less … deadly for it. I am told such a condition used to be treatable but your science is in retreat, your medicine rare and costly. The woman had neither the friends nor the resources to get the treatment she needed. And her … community was afraid. Could she be infectious? Would her sickness spread? They did not know. The knowledge was lost to them. And so, she came to me. And though your kind would consider her rotten, to me she was … pure.
‘A part of her lives on within my essence. Not in any way that you would understand, but be assured that she does. She had no illusions about what she would become. I tell you this because in taking on this form I made an observation that I would like to share with you.’ The First pauses, seeming to stare through the wall of light to the many eyes on the other side. ‘Humans are desperate to live. Given the choice between an existence of any sort and death, she chose life. Once against the disease, carrying on despite the knowledge that it would kill her, and then once again when she met me.
‘Soon you will have to make that same choice. To die here and now or to continue a little longer. In the heat of the moment, it is easy to court death. But we are not yet at that moment. Wait. Think. Listen to what I have to say. I do not speak to your leaders alone, I speak to every one of you. If you wish to live, it is simple. Shatter your swords and swear yourselves to peace, and to me. I cannot allow the knights to leave but I promise that I will treat them fairly. The rest of you may do as you please. Stay, go, or come with me. Above all else, the Malice must be destroyed. Do these things, these … simple things and not only will I spare your lives, I will see to it that you can return home, or start anew. Whatever you wish.’
The helmet is raised once more, put into place.
‘Consider my words … carefully. I will wait for your answer.’
Behind the barrier of light, all eyes go to Genner, then to the girl leaning over the sword, whispering, frantic.
One Thousand, One Hundred and Twenty-Six Years Ago
Thought fragments float across Massassi’s consciousness, pieces of mosaic, disconnected. They blend with voices, also floating, near her head. She cannot tell which belong to the past, which to the future as she drifts through them, a happy phantom.
Words become clearer, more pressing. She recognises the speaker, identifies the words but their impact is distant, barely felt.
‘… And all I’m asking for is a moment of your cooperation. Then everyone can get on with their lives. Surely, you’d agree, that’s for the best?’
Massassi goes to speak but a mask stops her. Her eyes flare and she coughs, choking on the tube jamming her mouth, running deep.
‘Ah, I think she’s waking up.’
A second voice joins in, less familiar. ‘Let’s not get hasty. The body is recovering, yes, but cognitive function has to be verified if you want her statement to stand.’
Someone bends over her. She tries to bring the shape into focus. It is a head, blurry but recognizable. It belongs to her
‘Sir, I think it’s about to do something.’
Genner spins back to look through the gap. ‘Shit!’
The First stops, midway between the tanks and the bunker. It raises its hands, palms open, then removes its helmet. A face is revealed. A young woman, hairless, pockmarks on her cheeks. ‘I am the First and I am not here to destroy you. Not unless you … invite me.’ The First walks closer, face slack as it thinks. ‘I do not … enjoy the idea of fighting. Something offered is so much more valuable than something taken. This body was given to me. The woman that wore it was sick. Not through contact with my kind. This was an infection native to your world, though no less … deadly for it. I am told such a condition used to be treatable but your science is in retreat, your medicine rare and costly. The woman had neither the friends nor the resources to get the treatment she needed. And her … community was afraid. Could she be infectious? Would her sickness spread? They did not know. The knowledge was lost to them. And so, she came to me. And though your kind would consider her rotten, to me she was … pure.
‘A part of her lives on within my essence. Not in any way that you would understand, but be assured that she does. She had no illusions about what she would become. I tell you this because in taking on this form I made an observation that I would like to share with you.’ The First pauses, seeming to stare through the wall of light to the many eyes on the other side. ‘Humans are desperate to live. Given the choice between an existence of any sort and death, she chose life. Once against the disease, carrying on despite the knowledge that it would kill her, and then once again when she met me.
‘Soon you will have to make that same choice. To die here and now or to continue a little longer. In the heat of the moment, it is easy to court death. But we are not yet at that moment. Wait. Think. Listen to what I have to say. I do not speak to your leaders alone, I speak to every one of you. If you wish to live, it is simple. Shatter your swords and swear yourselves to peace, and to me. I cannot allow the knights to leave but I promise that I will treat them fairly. The rest of you may do as you please. Stay, go, or come with me. Above all else, the Malice must be destroyed. Do these things, these … simple things and not only will I spare your lives, I will see to it that you can return home, or start anew. Whatever you wish.’
The helmet is raised once more, put into place.
‘Consider my words … carefully. I will wait for your answer.’
Behind the barrier of light, all eyes go to Genner, then to the girl leaning over the sword, whispering, frantic.
One Thousand, One Hundred and Twenty-Six Years Ago
Thought fragments float across Massassi’s consciousness, pieces of mosaic, disconnected. They blend with voices, also floating, near her head. She cannot tell which belong to the past, which to the future as she drifts through them, a happy phantom.
Words become clearer, more pressing. She recognises the speaker, identifies the words but their impact is distant, barely felt.
‘… And all I’m asking for is a moment of your cooperation. Then everyone can get on with their lives. Surely, you’d agree, that’s for the best?’
Massassi goes to speak but a mask stops her. Her eyes flare and she coughs, choking on the tube jamming her mouth, running deep.
‘Ah, I think she’s waking up.’
A second voice joins in, less familiar. ‘Let’s not get hasty. The body is recovering, yes, but cognitive function has to be verified if you want her statement to stand.’
Someone bends over her. She tries to bring the shape into focus. It is a head, blurry but recognizable. It belongs to her
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