скачать книгу бесплатно
“What’s that?” his father asked.
“Maybe Paragon was a cop. In his real life, I mean. Maybe they knew all about him.”
“I doubt it, Colin. Even if he was, he wouldn’t have let anyone know that he was Paragon. The only heroes whose real names we knew were the Daltons. And that was only because they were already rich enough to protect themselves. All the others probably had ordinary lives.” Warren looked up at the television set. “Speaking of which… Only a few minutes to go before Max Dalton’s interview. Right, Colin – put the kettle on.”
“It’s not my turn!”
“It is if you want to stay up and find out what Dalton has to say for himself.”
As Colin carried the mugs of tea into the sitting room, the specially-extended edition of the ten o’clock news was coming to an end. It had already reported that Times Square in Manhattan was blocked with people. The news report had showed a sea of banners and flags, cheering people dressed up as their favourite heroes and mounted policemen attempting to keep the crowds under control.
The TV cut back to the female newsreader. “And after tonight’s exclusive interview with Max Dalton, we’ll be opening tomorrow’s poll: ‘If you had to be a superhuman, which one would you be?’ You can choose between Titan, Apex, Paragon or Max Dalton. We’ll have the results this time tomorrow night, with updates throughout the day.”
The male newsreader chuckled. “Thanks, Diana. No Ragnarök on the list, then?”
“Oh, I don’t think he’d get too many votes, Tom, do you?”
“Guess not! You can vote by pressing the red button on your remote, through the website, or by phone. Calls cost—”
Colin’s father hit the mute button, then said, “So who would you choose, Colin?”
“I don’t know,” Colin said. “Sometimes I’d like to be Thalamus, because he was the smartest man on the planet. But I kind of like Joshua Dalton, too.”
Colin’s mother asked, “Because he was rich and he’s had a string of supermodel girlfriends?”
“Mostly because he has his own helicopter. I’d love to have a go in a helicopter.” Colin turned around to look at his father. “So why do you think that only The High Command survived?”
“Maybe they all survived, Colin. Did you ever think of that? Maybe they all survived and decided that it was time to retire.”
Colin laughed. “Oh yeah, sure. If you had the sort of power that Titan had, you’d never be able to just sit around when some disaster happened. You’d have to try and help. That’s what Titan was like.”
“You don’t think that he could have just decided that he’d done enough?”
“No. I mean, I wouldn’t. Titan was the most powerful man ever. He had a responsibility to use his powers to help everyone else.”
All this talk about superheroes reminded Colin of his earlier conversation with Brian.
“Dad… Remember what I was saying about how Danny saved Susie’s life?”
“Yes…” His father said, cautiously.
“Well, me and Brian were thinking about it. Danny was really, really fast. Maybe he’s a superhuman.”
“How? How could he be? Apart from the Daltons, there aren’t any superhumans left any more.”
“But the way Danny moved…” Colin shook his head. “I saw it myself and I still can’t believe it.”
“The mind can play tricks on you, Colin,” said his mother. “Especially under a stressful situation. It might just have seemed a lot faster than it was.”
“I suppose… But, you see, I was thinking about this, right? Most of the superheroes got their powers when they were teenagers and Danny’s about the right age.”
Warren grinned. “Are you seriously suggesting that your friend Danny Cooper has hidden powers?”
“Well, it seems like it.”
“Then let us know if he learns how to fly. That could come in handy.”
Colin’s mother said, “It’s starting!”
Colin pulled one of the cushions off the sofa and stretched out on the floor, facing the television set.
The screen showed lots of old footage of the superheroes in action – most of it very shaky and out-of-focus – then cut to a black-and-white photograph of a handsome grey-haired man in his mid-forties.
“Maxwell Edwin Dalton,” the presenter’s voice said. “Billionaire CEO of MaxEdDal Pharmaceuticals, first came to public notice when…”
Colin twisted around to face his mother. “What’s CEO mean?”
“Chief Executive Officer,” she replied. “The boss, in other words.”
Colin turned back to see that the screen was now showing the outside of the MaxEdDal headquarters in Manhattan. “At the age of fifteen,” the voice continued, “young Max Dalton discovered that he had the ability to know what other people were thinking, and to some degree influence their thoughts to make them do what he wanted. Yet, unlike most other superhumans, he chose to go public with his abilities. With his younger brother and sister, Roz and Joshua, he formed The High Command.” The screen showed photos of the Daltons as teenagers.
“Is that the best they can do?” Colin asked. “Isn’t there any film of Max in action? You know, actually doing something?”
It was another fifteen minutes before the presenter finally said, “Tonight, Maxwell Dalton will give his first interview since the events of the original Mystery Day. That’s next, coming right up after this!”
The television cut to a commercial. Colin yawned.
“I heard that the TV stations are charging a fortune for these ads,” Caroline said. “Twice as much as they charge for ads during the Superbowl.”
When the programme finally returned the interviewer was sitting behind a desk. To his right, on a long leather sofa, sat Max Dalton. He was dressed in a sports jacket, white shirt open at the collar, and faded jeans.
“He looks, well, kind of ordinary,” Colin said. “I thought he’d be bigger.”
“Shhh!”
“Thank you for joining us, Mr Dalton,” the interviewer said.
“It’s my pleasure, Garth,” Dalton said, smiling. His teeth were the whitest Colin had ever seen.
“Now, first, I guess the most obvious question – and one that I’m sure most people want to know – is why now? Why, after all these years, have you decided to finally break your silence?”
Max paused for a second. “Tomorrow’s the tenth anniversary. I think ten years is long enough to wait.”
“Tell me this, Max… Can you read my mind right now?”
Smiling, Max said, “Garth, I don’t do that sort of thing any more. Those days are gone.”
“Tell us about those days, if you will.”
“Much of what has been written about my life as a superhero is apocryphal at best.”
“Apocryphal?” Colin asked.
“Made-up,” his mother said.
Max continued. “Yes, we fought crime, helped people, tried to make the world a better place. If you’ve been given a gift – like I was – you’re honour-bound to use it for the greater good.”
“And can you tell us what happened ten years ago?”
“Despite what a lot of people have been saying, I wasn’t there. So your guess is as good as mine, Garth. All I know is that Ragnarök had built some enormous machine and was driving it straight for Manhattan. Then… well, who can say? There was a big explosion and that was it. No more superhumans.”
“Except yourself – and your brother and sister.”
Max nodded. “Exactly. I have no idea what happened. Josh and I visited the site the following day. All we found was a lot of wreckage.”
“No bodies?”
“No.”
“Doesn’t that seem strange that you have no more of an idea what happened than we do? Surely you must know something?”
“Now, that’s why I don’t usually do interviews! You have to remember that we lost some very good friends during that battle. Energy, Quantum, Titan, Apex, Paragon… all the others. We fought alongside them for years.”
“I know, but—”
Max interrupted him. “Do you think that if I knew something I’d just sit back and let it go? Would you? If some of your closest friends suddenly disappeared, wouldn’t you want to investigate it? We did everything we could to find out what had happened to them.”
The interviewer said, “Can you tell me, then, why you and the other members of The High Command weren’t present at that final battle?”
“We might have been superheroes,” Max said, “but even we couldn’t be in two places at the one time.”
“But there were other superhumans who weren’t present, and they’ve also disappeared.”
“This is apparently true,” Max said.
“Care to suggest how that might be?”
“No,” Max said. “I mean, I’ve got a few ideas, but nothing concrete. Nothing that hasn’t been suggested before. Maybe they retired from the business, just as I did.”
“And may I ask, why did you retire? If you don’t mind speaking about that.”
“Whatever happened ten years ago… well, as I said, your guess is as good as mine. We do know that every other superhuman in the world disappeared that day, heroes and villains included. Roz, Josh and I talked about it – at length – and we came to the conclusion that with all the supervillains gone, we weren’t needed any more.”
“Yes, but—”
Max interrupted him. “We realised that we could do more good by focussing our efforts on other areas of our lives. MaxEdDal Pharmaceuticals specialises in effective, low-cost medicines that have certainly saved more lives than I ever could have as a superhero.”
“Don’t you miss those days?”
“At times… but I don’t miss the constant struggles, or the fear that one day a new supervillain might emerge who would be powerful enough to destroy the planet. At least we know that if there are no more superhumans, there will be no more supervillains.”
Max Dalton turned to look directly into the camera. “So for better or worse – and I firmly believe that it’s for the better – the age of the superhumans is over.”
4 (#ulink_d9a805d6-62e4-551c-a13f-3dd0bc674e7a)
VICTOR CROSS SAT in a dark room, the only light coming from the two computer screens in front of him.
His fingers flew over the keyboard as, on one screen, computer codes appeared line after line, page after page.
On the second screen, a complex computer-generated image of a large silver ball rotated slowly. Cross watched this as he typed. He didn’t need to watch the other screen. He knew exactly what was on it.
The letters and symbols on his keyboard had been worn away on all but two of the keys: backspace and delete. Victor very rarely used them. He didn’t make mistakes.
Cross was twenty years old, tall with an athletic build. He normally kept his blond hair short, but it had been months since he’d last had time to get it cut, and it now hung over his face.
The phone beside him buzzed once. Victor hit the “Speaker” button. “Talk to me.”
“It’s me. What’s the situation?” The voice was electronically disguised, giving it an artificial, machine-like quality.
“I’ve just heard from the extraction team. They’ve got Joseph.”
“Good. You know what you have to do?”
“Of course. We’re all prepped and ready.”
“The tech team are on their way to you now. They should be there within the hour.”
“Good,” Victor said. “My own team are going to be working around the clock on the nucleus. It’ll take a couple of days. You’re sure that we can contain him for that long?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. Keep me posted.” The call was disconnected.
Victor continued typing at the same ferocious speed.
He had a complete mental image of the computer program he was writing. All his fingers were doing was transferring the program from his brain into the computer.
Even as he typed, his mind was occupied with several other matters. In the background, he was considering ways to speed up the typing process. The ideal solution would be some sort of human-machine interface through which he could upload his programs directly into the computer. That would save a tremendous amount of time.
At the same time, he was wondering how to deal with the coming situation. He knew from experience that not everything would go according to plan, because other people were involved. Computers did what you told them to do, but people had a tendency to do what they believed they were supposed to do.
He set another part of his brain working on ideas for alternative plans, just in case anything went wrong.
Victor was aware that most people didn’t – or couldn’t – use their brains in the way that he used his. The average person could keep no more than six or seven different thoughts going at once, and most of those were of the “What will I have for dinner?” variety.
But Victor could run dozens of different thought processes at the same time; he could program his brain as efficiently as he could program a computer.
A mental alarm reminded him that he’d now been working for eight solid hours and that it was time to take a break.
Victor pushed himself back from the computer terminal, yawned, and ran his hands through his hair.
