Part 0 of 4
Synopsis: Personal insights into the continuing war between the Tomorrow People and the Saps.
The Kindred Spirits universe is dedicated to the late Philip Gilbert.
This is the ninth story in the Kindred Spirits sequence. Recommended reading order is:
1) Kindred Spirits - Two Aims, One Destination
2) Kindred Spirits - Double Bluff
3) Kindred Spirits - Slipping the Net
4) Kindred Spirits - Consumed by Fire
5) Kindred Spirits – The Stair
6) Kindred Spirits – Stara Majka
7) Kindred Spirits – ZD28-FV6
8) Kindred Spirits – Darkness and Lust
9) Kindred Spirits - Abandoned
Background information: ‘Abandoned’ takes place early in 2021, four weeks after the conclusion to ‘Stara Majka’.
Disclaimer: This story is based on the television series ‘The Tomorrow People’, created by Roger Price and owned by Thames Television/Freemantle Media. It also features original characters and situations created by, and the intellectual property of, Jackie Clark and Elizabeth Stanway, October 2003.
Many thanks to Jackie for helping to shape this story and for letting me share her visions of the future. Also many thanks to Anyta for her valuable input to this piece, and for her thorough beta-reading.
Kindred Spirits stories can be found in the TPFICT archive or on our own websites at:
http://www.effdee.demon.co.uk/tp/Stories/stories.htm and
http://www.oocities.org/tiylaya/KS/index.html
(where additional information, including a timeline and glossary, is now available).
Comments on this story, or indeed the rest of the sequence, would be gratefully received, either by me at tiylaya@yahoo.com or by Jackie at Jackie@the-tomorrow-people.co.uk
Marc did not try to hide his tears, but they were hidden nonetheless, lost amid the rain that ran down his face. Mud seeped unnoticed through the fabric of his slacks as he knelt, gazing at the small coffin that lay in the grave prepared for it. Around and behind him, the Tomorrow People of the Canadian Camp were beginning to disperse. Even Trent, tyrant that he was, hadn't tried to enforce the rules of the Camp and prevent the gathering – the authorities had respected the grief of the Tomorrow People that far at least. Only now were their captors separating them into the small, manageable groups that were the norm in the Camp. It was almost ironic: most of the Saps in the Camp had seemed as shocked at the death as the detainees themselves. The Tomorrow People might live in fear of their lives and at the cost of their liberty, but even so, this had been the first death in their closed world. That it was a child's death, that they feared many more, made the tragedy all the more profound.
Her parents had wept by the graveside as Marc tried to put into words the feelings that all his people shared. What was there to say? That this had been a tragic waste? That they must have courage and hope? That much he could say aloud, but even without their telepathy, there were other thoughts that passed wordlessly between the Tomorrow People of the Camp. Marc wanted to tell them all that everything would be all right. He had wanted to tell them that their sufferings would pass, to tell them that they had neither been forgotten nor abandoned by their friends and family in the world outside. But how could he, when he no longer believed those things himself?
Marc closed his eyes, clenching his fists unconsciously by his sides. It was quiet here, now that friends had helped the distraught parents to shelter. Their weeping had washed against his nerves like a stream of accusations, but it had faded into the distance. Slowly, the sounds of the Camp’s daily routine began to resume. Orders were called out, chores were undertaken, life went on, but no one tried to break into Marc's meditations. They knew perhaps that nothing, least of all hollow reassurances, could ease their leader's pain. In the stillness by the graveside it seemed so easy to tune out the noise, everything but the quiet susurration of the rain. And yet, despite the devastating numbness of Barlumin poisoning, his mind was far from silent.
When the first of the children had fallen ill, suspicion had fallen squarely upon Thomas. After all, the victims had been innocents captured along with their TP parents. Effectively they had been Saps – pre-breakout – so how could Barlumin possibly affect them? No. It had to be something else, and the genetically engineered Malthus virus seemed the prime suspect. It had been designed to affect the youngest children in just this way, preventing them from becoming what nature intended them to be. Of course, Marc knew that Thomas could hardly be blamed. No one even knew whether the genetic tinkering that created him had allowed him to carry the virus past breakout or not. If their Sap overlords had redeveloped the ST4 drug and activated the virus, then Thomas was as much of a victim as the ailing children.
Nevertheless, the unwelcome reminder of Thomas’ nature had come between Marc and his young charge. The thirteen-year-old boy had become as withdrawn and anxious as he had been during their first difficult days in the Camp. In the end the confusion and dismay expressed by the Camp’s second in command, David, had convinced Marc how wrong he had been. Not once, in their two years in the Camp, had the man shown any sign that he doubted the necessity of what he had done to Marc and his people. If David were behind this illness he might be regretful, but he would not conceal his belief in what he had done.
It wasn't until a dozen more children were lying in their dormitory, heavily sedated and drifting in and out of consciousness, that Marc had begun to realise the truth. Even then, he had tried to hide it from David and the Camp's commander, Trent. There had still been a chance that the innocent children would be sent away from the Camp for medical treatment - after all, if they weren't Tomorrow People there would be little chance of their escape. Only when this lost child had lain in the dormitory, slipping deeper and deeper into her coma, had Marc given in and told David the truth, pleading for something to be done.
Breakout, he had told David simply.
The children were breaking out.
Most of the Tomorrow People in the Camp had adjusted to Barlumin exposure in the long weeks after their arrival. Even alone, recalling the conversation with David, Marc's eyes glazed for a moment. He gazed into nothing as he thought, and he shuddered. The Saps could never imagine what Marc and his people had lost, or the pain they had experienced. That first agony had passed now - as long as they didn't try to actually use their gifts, they could survive. They had believed that the children were luckier. The youngest, those many years from breakout or those who might never break out at all, didn't feel a thing when exposed to the Barlumin, but for those in between …. The adult TPs had underestimated the power of breakout, the life-changing transformation that each of them had passed through long before.
When Tomorrow People broke out they used their powers, without any conscious desire to do so, all the time. Objects would fly though the air at the merest thought of the nascent TP and their telepathy would reach out instinctively in search of love and understanding from those around them. The young children in the Camp were, almost without exception, second-generation Tomorrow People with emergent powers that even their parents couldn't always understand or control. Now they were coming of age and trying to use their gifts without realising it. The breakouts couldn’t help themselves and, with their powers gone, there was nothing the other TPs could do to help either. The Barlumin was burning the children’s minds from the inside out. Marc shook his head hopelessly. David had been sympathetic; despite his moral objection to their existence, the man had little desire to see the children suffer. That was no help. The children needed to get out, away from this place, and not even David could authorise that, even if he seemed to want to. At least the sedatives seemed to be helping ... most of the time. If they could get the victims through the first stage of breakout, their unconscious minds seemed to adjust and just stop trying. Marc hated to think what that would mean for the children if they ever got out of this place.
When! When they got out, not if. Marc tried to make himself believe that it had just been an aberrant thought, but he knew better. Slowly, he raised his eyes from the grave to look with yearning at the distant perimeter fence. Somewhere out there life went on, unaware of small tragedies in his small world. Somewhere out there other Tomorrow People were living lives that might be overshadowed by fear and concealment but which, nonetheless, bore little relation to this perpetual captivity. Somewhere out there Abigail was free.
Had she forgotten him? Had she forgotten them all? When two thousand of the Canadian Tomorrow People had been captured, her life must have been torn apart and yet, in almost two years, they had seen no sign that TPs in the world outside even remembered the Camp’s existence. Marc had been certain, at first, that Abby wouldn’t abandon her people. He had been certain that she wouldn’t abandon him.
Perhaps he had been wrong.
*****
Slowly, Marc stood and turned away from the grave. Each movement was heavy and hopeless, but duty was calling. Despite their captivity the TPs had a certain degree of autonomy and there was a Camp to be run. There were rotas to be organised, disputes to be arbitrated and children to be cared for. In one of the Camp’s cabins, a newly captured Tomorrow Person was lying, in pain and only now becoming able to move as she adjusted to the Barlumin pall. Not even this small world could grind to a halt, even for a child’s death.
Thomas waited perhaps ten metres away, in the lee of the Camp's chapel. The ever-present guard, assigned to watch both Thomas and Marc himself, hovered at the boy’s shoulder, but both Thomas and Marc had long since tuned the young man out of their awareness. Thomas’ eyes were haunted, desolate. He had found the last few weeks hard, old animosities towards him stirred by the tensions in the Camp. Studying the pale and anxious face, Marc regretted every moment of his own suspicion, but what had been done could not be undone. New bridges would have to be built and new confidence developed. For now, he laid a hand reassuringly on his charge’s shoulder, turning him back towards their dormitory and the people waiting there for them.
The dedication Marc felt towards all his people swelled inside him, and once again he buried his private doubts deep inside. Perhaps they had been abandoned by everyone outside, but the Tomorrow People of the Camp hadn’t abandoned hope. This conflict with the Saps couldn’t go on for ever and it had only one possible conclusion. One day a better world would remember this place with horror, and remember their sacrifices with respect.
Thomas wasn’t sure if he believed that was possible any more. David had been the only constant through the thirteen years of Thomas’ life. Back at the Malthus base, with his brothers and sisters, Thomas had been happy. He had lived as much in the minds of others as in his own and had never questioned the hatred of Tomorrow People that he had seen wherever he looked. The Tomorrow People were wrong, a mutation, a freak of nature. Thomas had been created to destroy them and he was proud and arrogant in his special role. Even when Operation Malthus had been raided, and his siblings had been spirited away by their enemies, Thomas had not questioned his destiny.
The move to Canada had been a shock, and his new handler Trent had been abrasive and unpleasant, but the nine-year-old Thomas had accepted both without argument. His military foster parents had been kind enough, if a little distant, and David had been there to watch over him, just as at Malthus, comforting Thomas when he was lonely and helping him to settle into his new home. Of course, hatred for the Tomorrow People had always been a constant in David’s thoughts. Well, perhaps hatred was the wrong word. Distaste, maybe? A desire to be rid of the problem without any personal animosity towards the individuals involved. Until the Malthus raid, at least. Afterwards there had been something more personal there, in the messy and emotional part of the adult human mind that seemed to drive so many of their actions. Whatever it was that drove David’s dislike of the Tomorrow People, it had just brought Thomas and his mentor closer together … until Thomas had broken out.
New faces and new minds had come into Thomas’ world then. Abigail and Marc were everything that Thomas had been taught to loathe, but their thoughts rang in his mind with fear and concern for him, not with the devious plans he had expected. At first Thomas had kept his secrets – from everyone. Even then he had known what would happen. He had known that David would reject him, and that he would be treated no differently from the other Tomorrow People that he had betrayed. He had known he would be torn away from even the small comfort of his foster home. But after a lifetime of training, a lifetime spent in David’s thoughts, how could he have chosen otherwise?
He had never dreamed that David would share his captivity, forcing Thomas to face his abandonment anew every day.
Now working with David had become a necessary evil in Marc's world, purely through his duty to those he had been responsible for in the world outside and led even here. Watching them had become perhaps the most difficult part of Thomas’ life since Marc had taken him in, protecting him from the wrath of the other TPs. Trent, assigned command of the Camp as a punishment, had shown himself to border on being a pure sadist. Only David's moderating influence had given the Tomorrow People the limited freedom they had inside the Camp's tight confines. Left largely alone to organise their own affairs, life remained bearable, just. Still, there were some things that couldn't be forgiven or forgotten for duty's sake alone. David had torn Marc and two thousand of his people from their everyday lives, aiding and abetting the deaths of hundreds. He had utterly rejected Thomas, a child he had known since infancy, for becoming a Tomorrow Person. And repeatedly, throughout their first year in the Camp, the resolute and dedicated man had stood by, watching in silence as Marc was tortured.
By sheer force of will, Thomas pushed thoughts of his one-time guardian aside. From his quiet corner of the room he focused instead on the cabin, and on the man who had adopted him as a lost and confused child.
The arrival of new Tomorrow People in the Camp was an event that the longtime inmates both dreaded and guiltily longed for. While their captivity could mean nothing but hardship and pain for the poor newcomers, news from outside could bring colour and variety into otherwise grey lives. Today of all days, Thomas was glad of that. Marc needed the boost. The funeral this morning had been hard on everyone and on Marc in particular. If only this new captive could bring some kind of word that would lighten the load!
Usually conversations with newcomers went slowly, even after the detainees had assured themselves that their new companions were genuine TPs. There were always so many questions both sides wanted to ask and so few that either could answer. This cabin was routinely swept for bugs with cobbled-together equipment, but nonetheless they would have to be circumspect. It took practice, although there were oblique ways of speaking that the new arrival would soon pick up on. However, Thomas realised quickly, today no one was talking obliquely.
“John’s gone?” Marc repeated what he was told in a tone of dismay and disbelief. His voice rang loudly in a suddenly silent room. The newcomer, still weak from the effects of Barlumin poisoning, laughed mirthlessly and then coughed, leaning back into the pillows on which she had been propped.
“Gone, skedaddled, upped and left without a word. Even the high-ups off …” The young woman’s voice trailed off and she looked around her nervously, suddenly aware that they might be overheard, before going on. “Even the Lab leaders don’t seem to know where he’s gone.” Her voice became quiet, and for the first time, Thomas recognised the sense of betrayal that she had hidden beneath her bravado. “Face it, Marc. There are rumours that all the seniors have gone off on some Federation business. No one knows for sure – I mean, with security the way it is they daren’t risk telling us lowly mortals anything. But everyone knows that Earth is a lost cause for us now. John knew that too and he’s given up. He’s abandoned us all.”
“Abandoned,” Marc whispered softly and Thomas knew without telepathy that he was thinking of their life here, of Abby, and of the life that he had lost. Thomas also felt the resonance of the word. Images of David filled the boy’s mind.
“No!” The exclamation came anonymously from somewhere in the crowd and soon it was echoed from every throat. “No!” Thomas let himself sink to the ground, his back still against the wall and his legs stretched out in front of him, trying to take it in. The noise level was rising steadily in the cabin, but there was no point in trying to keep this conversation secret. Even the Saps knew about John, the eldest of the Tomorrow People and the one who had given them shape and direction. For decades he had guided the Tomorrow People and they had never questioned that guidance. If he had truly walked out on them … if he no longer believed they were worth the pain ….
“John wouldn’t leave without a reason.” Marc spoke quietly, but everyone listened nonetheless. Of all the Tomorrow People in the Camp, only Marc had actually met the near-mythical John. “If he’s really gone, he’ll come back.”
The newly arrived Tomorrow Person gazed at her new leader with something approaching wonder.
“You have hope,” she said softly. “Despite everything, you cling on to your dream that one day we’ll make the world a better place, because you can’t believe that this Camp is all we’ll know for the rest of our lives.” She looked about her, gazing at pale face after pale face, and her lank brown hair framed her own pallid skin. Leaning forward, she peered into Marc’s eyes and struggled to read the feelings there after years of total dependence on her telepathy. The effort seemed to exhaust her and she slumped back against her pillows. “And now that I’m one of you, I guess I can’t believe it either. We’ve been abandoned by one and all, but we’ll hold on to our hope. We have to, because, to be honest, I’m not sure anyone else out there has any hope left any more.”
*****
Thomas slipped away after that, letting himself out of the cabin and into the rain-drenched night. He couldn’t go far, of course. With so many of the Camp’s prominent TPs inside, the cabin was surrounded by guards. They stood cold and miserable in the drizzle, trying to shelter in the lee of nearby cabins. Only the single guard personally assigned to Marc and Thomas stood in the porch of the cabin, tightly wrapped in his waterproof coat. With the ease of many months practice, Thomas ignored the man and sat on the wooden balustrade at the other end of the porch. No more than a faint murmur reached them above the beating sound of rain upon wood, and Thomas was grateful for that. He didn’t want to hear any more.
He gazed up at the night sky, trying to imagine the distant stars, which were blocked from view by the storm. All around, lights were being extinguished in cabin after cabin, vanishing like stars slipping behind cloud as the captive Tomorrow People settled down to sleep. On the edge of the Camp lights still burned in the children’s dormitory as anxious volunteers tended the sick and prayed for those still untouched to be spared. Somewhere more distant, beyond the fences that defined Thomas’ small world and beyond the fog of Barlumin that concealed it from telepathic view, there were others. Other Tomorrow People like Marc; even a few other children like Thomas himself, his brothers and sisters stolen away so long ago by the other Tomorrow People. Did they think of him, from time to time? Did they think of the children and all those with them? Or were they forgotten?
Abandoned?
Hidden like stars in the rain.
David’s fist clenched unconsciously, crumpling the communiqué he held like the useless litter it was. He closed his tired eyes for a moment, trying to block out the words that marred its white surface. ‘Unreasonable demand’! How could any of the politicians and administrators sitting smug and safe in their whitewashed offices claim to know what was reasonable here and what wasn’t?
The rain beat in an unceasing stream against the window of the dank hut that housed David’s office. Its rhythmic drumming on the roof was almost soothing; a reminder of the drills and military bands that had formed the soundtrack to David’s basic training. It eased briefly as a gap between clouds passed overhead and David sighed, the memories fading. All that had been so long ago, before his innate abilities had seen him sidetracked into Intelligence, elevated through the ranks and finally shipped across the pond to end up in this godforsaken scar on the face of Canada. He forced himself to open his hand and smoothed the communiqué flat against the table before filing it neatly, letting his hands work on automatic. He did his job mostly now through force of habit alone. Certainly there was no enthusiasm left to see him through the long days, and duty … well, duty was something he rarely dared to think about any more.
On his feet in front of the filing cabinet, David looked back with distaste at the piles of paper littering his desk. No, he decided, reaching for his heavy waterproof coat and heading for the door; the rest of his work could wait until the morning, or even tomorrow night if need be. He left his office and wearily trudged through the rain and murk to his quarters. Every day there seemed to be more paperwork to get through. Every day brought more responsibilities, more problems. The message from their Canadian paymasters had merely been the straw that broke the camel’s back. Even before it had arrived, he’d spent the entire evening, with only a short break for coffee and sandwiches, filing a report on the current situation in the Camp for the benefit of his superiors in London. Now he wondered dispiritedly whether anyone would even bother to read it. Deep inside, he knew that it was highly unlikely that any changes would be made merely as a result of one child’s death. But after the funeral this morning, after looking into Marc’s eyes, he’d had to try.
Surely it was preferable for children to remain with their parents? David could almost hear the false concern in the voice of General Walthorpe, or whichever of the interchangeable Sandhurst graduates had replaced him. After all, they had argued before and would again, the days of the workhouse and splitting up families were long gone; contemporary attitudes were more enlightened. The irony of adopting that paternalistic stance seemed to have escaped them entirely. ‘Enlightened’? Oh, yes. Internment, imprisonment without trial, torture of prisoners - so humane! Guilt tinged the edge of that bitter thought. Of course, he was far from innocent here. Wasn’t he the one who had once decided that Homo superior were not human enough to deserve human rights? He had thrown the Geneva Convention to the winds, denying its mandate in this situation, even as he convinced himself that he was fighting a just war. But he was out here now, on the front line of this battle. He had seen close up just how mortal the Tomorrow People really were.
David paused, his feet sinking slightly into the thick mud that formed the surface of the Camp’s wide avenues. He gazed towards the distant children’s dormitories, obscured by a haze of rain and the intervening buildings. They didn’t have a clue back in London, he thought glumly. He was surprised that no children had died yet in the British camps. Or maybe some had, but the facts were being hushed up, for who could tell what was happening in the other camps? No one wanted to know; that was the trouble. Even those in charge of the other camps were doubtless cut off from reality, just like Trent.
Trent, who constantly refused to see reason, who every evening retreated to his quarters, seeking oblivion in a bottle of whisky. Even the guards were tiring of his increasingly irrational behaviour, while David generally had as little to do with him as possible. Quietly, he had shouldered the burden of the base commander’s work as well as his own. Now David was caught in the middle of the battle of wills that had developed between Trent and Marc. The commander took a sadistic pleasure in making life uncomfortable for their captives in a myriad of small ways, tightening the chains that bound them. Their leader had been singled out for Trent’s special attentions. Trent continually sought to break Marc’s spirit. On several occasions only David’s intervention had protected him from the worst of Trent’s cruelty, yet the Tomorrow Person remained defiant, even when placed in solitary confinement. A week ago Trent had punished Marc for some minor infringement of Camp rules by ordering the guards to deprive him of sleep. Three days later, with the TP leader barely conscious, David had gone to Trent and demanded an end to the mistreatment. For a long minute David had thought that the long-suppressed animosity between the two of them would come into the open there and then, but to his satisfaction, Trent had backed down and Marc was allowed to return to his cabin. Nonetheless, this couldn’t go on forever. Sooner rather than later, Trent and David would have it out once and for all and he wouldn’t be surprised if only one man walked away from that final confrontation. Truth to tell, David’s attempts to restrain Trent’s excesses probably resulted as much from his dislike and contempt of the man as from any sympathy he may have felt towards Marc. Certainly he’d seen little sign of gratitude from him or any of the other Tomorrow People.
*****
Now, in his cramped and shabby quarters, David undressed for bed and brushed his teeth. When he had next seen Marc, the Canadian had begged him to save a child’s life and David had been unable to do anything. They had not spoken at the funeral that morning, but David sensed that he was being unjustly blamed for the death. Yet what more could he have done to prevent it? No doubt there would have been other deaths, were it not for the sedatives David had approved. He had spoken to the Camp doctor just this morning regarding the breakout children and it was agreed that the continuous sedation seemed to be working, in most cases. That was one small victory at least; something he could take pride in. Until this evening, when that communiqué from Trent’s superiors had shown his pride for the vainglory it was.
He gritted his teeth and splashed cold water over his face in an attempt to wash away the thought. He had done all he could. If ever an inquiry were to be held into the running of this camp, then he, David Barton, could in all honesty testify that he had done his best for the Tomorrow People. His conscience was clear.
But then why should there ever be an inquiry? Trent’s words when the Camp was opened echoed in his memory. The commander had been right: no one cared about the Tomorrow People. And now, as if they were tainted by association, it seemed that there was no one who cared about Trent, and no one who cared about David himself.
He stared despairingly into the cracked mirror above the washbasin. His face was strained taut into lines, etched from nose to mouth and furrowing his brow with fatigue and worry. He frowned, causing the lines to deepen. He’d given the best years of his life, his very youth, in the service of his country and the struggle to preserve humanity from the menace of the Tomorrow People. And for what reward? His efforts had gone unappreciated. His secondment to the Camp, seemingly as punishment for his failure in the Malthus project, now looked to be a permanent posting. His superiors had simply stranded him here in this remote spot along with the TP no-hopers, abandoned by men and gods. What future could he hope for? He was a prisoner, no better off than Marc.
Lying in the dark, trying to calm his thoughts towards the sleep that eluded him, David found his mind drifting to the world outside the narrow confines of the Camp. He remembered what it was like to walk under blue skies - no fences in sight, no decaying wooden huts marching off towards the horizon. In the curious lassitude that heralds slumber, his mind drifted into memories of sunlit green hills, a walking holiday in the Peak District. He remembered glancing over his shoulder to meet brown, almond-shaped eyes that filled with laughter and indignation as he teased his companion for her short legs and urged her to keep up. Happy days with hope for the future, just weeks before Alex was to join them, instantly giving them the family they both wanted.
Light from a full moon broke through the ragged clouds and the window of his room, falling on his face and rousing him from his half-dream. The rain had stopped now and the sky was beginning to clear. He gazed at the moon and imagined seeing it, a hazy disc of diffused light, through the thin canvas of the tent they had shared that night.
No. Best not remember her. She too had abandoned him, put herself forever beyond the pale by choosing a life with the Tomorrow People. His relationship with her had always been based on a lie, he reasoned. Yet it was strange how she stole into his mind at quiet moments, even after all this time.
He turned restlessly on his bed, trying to find a more comfortable position – anything to distract himself from the memories that still haunted him. He had a new life, no matter how distasteful and monotonous. And as for her, Kershia, or whatever she called herself these days, what was she doing right now? Did she even think of him any more, or was he a forgotten line in the story of her life?
He found himself lying on his back, wondering if she were gazing at the same lunar disc. Eventually he got up and irritably pulled down the blind. As it descended with a loud clatter, shutting out the moonlight, David returned to his bed with a sigh.
Alone at midnight in Luna Lab’s control room, TIM studied the latest reports from the Trig and from the fraught world he called home. As always, condensing the thousands of individual articles into a coherent whole would keep even the biotronic computer occupied for some time. If only the word were better. In recent years there had been precious little good news for TIM to bring to his young charges in the morning report. In the four weeks since John and the others had been forced to leave, the task had seemed harder still.
The news from the Trig was poor. The senior Tomorrow People had barely begun the defence of their world against the intransigent bureaucracy of a Federation grown complacent in its own worthiness. Already though it was clear that their task would, of necessity, be a slow and difficult one. Would John’s presence have helped? Even his companions of many decades’ standing had been shocked by John’s sudden and wordless departure, just hours before this trial began. Despite their confidence in John, TIM knew that they had felt betrayed and abandoned in their hour of need. Nonetheless, they hadn’t questioned him as closely as they might. All the senior TPs guessed, as TIM himself knew, that wherever John was, he was serving a greater need still.
That was little comfort to those left behind, as TIM was left behind now by all those he had raised from childhood. The unsharable anxiety, knowing that John had placed himself in danger for all their sakes, ate into the normally imperturbable biotronic computer. The Federation inquiry merely compounded that concern. Despite knowing that Timus had always supported his young protégés on Earth, TIM wondered how much influence the veteran Federation chairperson could really bring to bear. The Federation that had helped create TIM, Timus and all their clone brothers was now on the verge of abandoning hope for the future of the Earth. Increasingly it felt as if the Tomorrow People on the planet below, and in the Luna Lab complex, were doing the same.
True, uneasiness was growing in Earth’s general population about the way the Tomorrow People were being treated. That meant little, given the harsh reality of the Mass Breakout world in which they lived. Every day, in every country of the world, small atrocities passed unnoticed by all except those who had lost friends and loved ones. Every morning TIM had to report to Abigail, Kershia, Jimmy and the others on the progress of a secret civil war that had engulfed their planet. It was grinding them all down. John’s apparent desertion had given the morale of the Tomorrow People worldwide a blow, the like of which it hadn’t suffered since the catastrophes in Toronto, London and elsewhere. The Tomorrow People felt forsaken, and none more so than the young TPs who had inherited John’s burden.
The news from the Canadian Camp would not lighten that load. Around the deserted control room, monitors lit up. Once again, TIM summoned the unsteady recording that his pin-sized and rain-buffeted remote cameras had made that morning. Marc grieved by the graveside, and helplessly, TIM grieved with him. He tried to place himself in the young Canadian’s place. Could Marc possibly understand how impossible it would be to free him and his people? Could he know how many other camps there were and how many others lived their lives in captivity? Could he know how much Abigail and the others yearned to help? Or was he confused and afraid, feeling abandoned by everyone he had loved?
Despite himself, distraught in his powerlessness, TIM momentarily felt abandoned too. John and the others were gone; only the youngsters remained, and they were TIM’s to protect and guide, not to burden with his own pain.
In the morning he would have to be the strong, calm biotronic computer once again. He would have to have to tell Abby, Kershia and the others what had been happening on the Trig, and harder still, what had happened in the camp that haunted Abigail’s dreams. He would weather whatever storm came of that with reassurance and compassion. But, alone and to himself, TIM could admit that he was not looking forward to the difficult report.
TIM’s sigh blew through the darkened room like the breeze that it would never experience, and wearily, he activated his internal cameras. The funeral faded from sight as monitor after monitor lit with views of corridors lined with sleeping people, rooms packed beyond capacity with displaced families, and rooms with others sleeping on the floor between machinery that pounded away through the night to keep Luna alive. Refugees one and all, they had fled here in need of security and in need of hope. They had that, and if that were all that TIM achieved, then for now at least it would be enough.
With love for his young charges pouring through every element of his biotronic heart, TIM promised himself that whatever was about to come, he at least would never abandon them.