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15:29GMT, July 17th, 2037 - Platform 3, Barnstable Train Station, Devon, EX31 1HG
Just like it's name, British Rail was about twenty years behind the times. Galahad was glad to step out onto the station platform, leaving behind the stale and fetid air of the carriage. Too many journeys, too little bleach and the stench of recycled air as they rode through the urban zones! The scenery had been uninspiring. The country had been taken over by the industrialists and London now seemed to stretch all the way to Devon. Towns and cities of yesteryear had just become district names, nothing more. The only greenery coming from the state sponsored parks required by law.
Galahad made his way through the station a quickly as possible, praying that he would not have to take the public shuttle to his destination. At this time of year, it would be packed with families escaping the humdrum grey existence they were forced to pursue for all bar three weeks of the year. He remembered a time that this was nothing but rolling hills and valleys, almost untouched by human intervention. How times had changed. Now it was the Tourist Zone, one of four parts of the country that the government had set aside for people to visit on their vacations. No industrialisation, no buildings unless the function was entertainment. It had not stopped resorts from popping up like pimples on a teenagers face, but at least the land was not covered in the thick smog that made breathing masks necessary for the rest of the country.
Daylight blinded him for a second as he passed under the entrance arch and into the warm summer sun. His eyes searched the grounds until they finally fell on a figure leaning up against a motorbike. He appeared to be oblivious to all around him but Galahad knew better. He could almost feel the boy's eyes looking at him from under his long hair, watching to see if this was the man that he had been sent to retrieve, looking for any clue that Galahad would care to give. Galahad moved out of the doorway and started to make his way down the pathway. Instinct swore to him that this was his ride, but still he was cautious, still watching around him.
Galahad smiled openly as he gave an old greeting. The old dialect coming as easily to him as it had done earlier that day. For all his preparations, the nonchalance and the scrutiny, the boy still looked shocked as he heard the words he had been waiting for. He stammered the reply automatically. Galahad hid a grimace at the pronunciation and instead shook the boys hand.
"Merlin is waiting for you, Sir." The boys voice was softer than he had imagined but deep. "My name is Tim. If you'll just put this on, we can get underway."
Galahad was handed a rather battered looking helmet and an even more battered looking padded leather jacket. He smiled as he pulled on the jacket.
"Sorry it isn't better, Sir but…"
"I know it was short notice." Galahad laughed, putting the boy at ease. "It has been a few years since I have been on a bike. My last persona didn't have much use for them. He really was a fussy sort of fellow."
Tim smiled and straddled the bike, flicking life into the machine and revving it. Now helmeted, Galahad slid on behind Tim ready to get underway. Part of him was curious to see the old place but yet another part of him dreaded it. Going back there meant that the world was under threat again. Dangerous times were ahead and no matter the outcome, people would be hurt on the way. There was also the matter of the fallout from his little show in court earlier. He knew that minutes after the man had fallen to the ground, his digital bioprint had been sent to every travel port and police station in the country and, of course, rewards offered for his - Ben's - capture.
The countryside flew by in a rush of colour as the bike raced down narrow country roads, bypassing the overcrowded tourist routes but Galahad's head was still back in the courtroom, his eyes still focused on the dark lightening that had come from the man's possessor. His mind raced as fast as the motorbike as he struggled to catalogue every sound, every scent that he had encountered in the courtroom. He would have to tell his brothers and Merlin and he couldn't afford to leave even the smallest detail out, just in case.
He, finally, drew himself out of his memory as he caught that first breath of sea air. His eyes searched the coastline in front of him as he felt the first pull of home. It was a presence that he could feel resonating deep inside him, calling to him. Whether by subconscious signal that Galahad had given or because he felt it, he felt Tim rev again, pushing the bike to its limit to get that last ounce of speed from the bike.
It stood against the sea, a bastion throwback to an old time, a supposedly perfect age. The only visible evidence that the story wasn't pure myth. Reduced to a tourist attraction.
Tim pulled into the car park and flicked off the motor. Galahad slipped from his place behind the boy, pulling off his helmet and running a hand through the flattened curls, fluffing them up as he looked around. Memories flooded through him as he let his eyes caress the castle in front of him.
Sundown, 3rd day after the Taking, 693AD - Pendragon Castle, ½ league from Tintagel.
The men were downtrodden still, those that had survived that is. The last battle had been hard fought and almost nothing remained. The castle was gone. Faded from the land at the same moment that the ferry had vanished from view, hidden by the mystical mists. People were panicking. The King was gone, taken by veiled women and in that moment, a darkness had settled across the country.
Everyone looked to the knights, waiting for them to take charge but they had just lost their friend, their leader. It was possible that they were more lost than the people looking to them for guidance. Three of them stood forward, directing action with confidence that they did not feel. They were warriors, soldiers in the shining army. They were out of their depth but there was no choice. Gathering supplies, they had packed as many people as they could and started moving them towards Tintagel. The castle was at least defensible and would give shelter while they figured out a plan.
Galahad led the convoy, his brothers spreading out and talking with their charges, allaying their fears and reassuring them. The words of the women echoed around Galahad's head. The King would return when the country needed him. He was needed now, wasn't he? A sentinel had been left a Dozmary, a lone watchman to keep a watch for the return and bring the monarch to his familial home.
Day after day, they waited, hoping, praying for their friends return but it seemed as if the deity had turned her back on them. Days had become months. Months had become years. Years became decades, centuries and still he had not returned. The people had grown old, had children and passed on. Generation after generation had lived and died within those walls but still the sentinels watched for his arrival.
17:43GMT, July 17th, 2037 - Tintagel Castle, Tintagel, Cornwall, PL34 0DB
A clear drop of salty water made its way down his cheek as he remembered the years that he had spent watching and waiting for his Lord to come home, of the friends that he had lost over the years. It always seemed to have this effect on him, coming home. He wiped the tear away before anyone noticed and nodded to Tim, who was very obviously not looking at the former Knight. Galahad nodded over and they walked towards the tour guide already starting her spiel on the history of the place.
Galahad regarded the small woman as they approached. Her eyes rested on them as she spoke, but the speech never wavered. Her body language shifted slightly as she waited for some small signal from Tim. A nod of his head and her eyes flicked to the larger figure, Galahad. Her eyes dipped slightly, the only gesture that would go unnoticed by the tourists. Galahad bowed his head slightly as he passed. He smiled to himself, wondering how many descendants still worked here.
The boy moved sure-footedly through the ruins seeming to follow a track known only to him, his feet avoiding loose stones and muddy patches. Through arches and down collapsing stairways, he went, Galahad following behind him, listening to him prattle on about restoration projects and the local historians society so as not to draw the attention of spectators when he passed under chains, sectioning the public parts of the site from the parts where only a select few were allowed. Tim pulled up short, looking around nervously for a second. Galahad did the same, watching for spectators but there were none.
They ducked under an archway and for a brief second, the sound of the sea almost deafened them. It reverberated off stone walls with each breaking wave before settling again in the seconds respite between swells. Galahad moved towards a small slit in the stones, looking out over the headland. Memories threatened to overwhelm him again until a hand on his arm brought him back to the present day.
Another flight of stairs and it seemed as if the earth had swallowed them. No noise penetrated the deep darkness under the castle save for the echoing of their footsteps, the only light the torch in Tim's hand. Galahad felt the muscles in his calves complaining as they approached the half way mark. The long sojourn as a barrister had not left much time for exercise and he was feeling it now. But still he moved, almost anxious to get to the bottom of the staircase.
Tim turned as they reached the bottom of the stairs, waiting for Galahad to take his last few steps. Instinct took Galahad the rest of the way as he placed his hand on a particular stone on the featureless wall. The stone glowed for a moment before flashing green. A scraping noise sounded in front of them as a section of wall appeared to lift and a doorway appeared. Galahad stepped into the room first, stopping just inside the doorway as he looked around.
Monitors filled all available space on the walls of the large room, each showing a different channel. The world events, the news from a hundred different countries was spread out across the screens. Each network with a different spin on the story, each trying to entice viewers from another network, advertising competitions and prizes at neatly placed intervals. Galahad's eyes swept over the panels before settling on the centre console and the giant face shown there, a smile settled on his lips.
"Merlin," he started. "Good to see you again."
The face on the screen smiled back, pixels shifting to imply happiness.
"Galahad, it's been too long… I was starting to think you didn't care." The voice rose and fell in proper cadence but there was still something artificial about it, something not quite right. "You have gotten yourself into a spot of trouble this time, haven't you?"
Galahad laughed lightly, not bothering to deny the charges, instead moving forward to take a seat in front of the controls of the computer. He heard Tim move up behind him and turned to see where the boy was sitting.
The boy had sat at one of the other seats in the room, his eyes and ears covered by his multi-sense headset. Galahad saw him push up a sleeve and pull loose a patch of skin. Galahad could not help but shiver each and every time he saw someone expose their interface plugs. Too many years without computers gave him an uneasy feeling surrounding this new fad of inserting foreign components into the body. Tim pulled a wire free and pushed it into a port on the computer console. For a second nothing happened, the boy simply seemed to hang there, lifeless, but then he burst into activity, his fingers dancing over some imaginary keyboard. Galahad knew that behind the visor, unseen strings and variables were being sorted and filed. He shivered again before forcing himself to look away from the boy and back at the computer screen in front of him.
"How bad is it, Merlin?" Galahad asked.
The face in front of him seemed to go grim before it was replaced by one of the hundreds of news reports. A smartly dressed woman with a serious expression stood just inside the doors of the New Bailey, electronic notebook in hand.
"Yes, Trudy, that is true. A substantial reward is being offered for information leading to the capture of the former barrister. But the metropolitan police are asking us to stress that none of our viewers approach this man. He's considered armed and extremely dangerous."
"Do they have any idea what caused today's events in court?" The news anchor, Trudy, asked, a fake concerned look on her face.
"Not as yet, Trudy," the reporter answered, "but one of London's leading psychiatrists has been given the vid of today's proceedings and has offered the opinion that it is possible that the man simply had a psychotic break. He continued by saying 'what else could have caused him to pull a sword in the court room and savagely cut down a witness'."
"And speaking of that vid," Trudy continued, the screen fading back to her. "we have been granted special permission to show our audiences the events surrounding this tragedy. Some viewers may find this disturbing."
Galahad sat back as he watched himself looking around the courtroom, his expression that of a possessed man, head moving as he looked at the windows, hands covering his ears as an unheard voice screamed in his head. He watched himself fall to his knees, groping for something unseen beside him. He couldn't help but agree with their experts opinion. Sprouting armour and a sword was not normal practice. He turned away from the screen and sighed.
"Merlin, delete all traces of that identity. I don't want to take any chances." Galahad said, regret tingeing his voice.
The machinery hummed for a moment before the computer's voice sounded out. "All traces have been removed."
Galahad nodded. The world had moved on somewhat since the last time he had been so publicly outted of his identity. At least then he had not had to worry about video feeds or news at ten. His hand brushed over his dark beard, falling back into old habits.
"Merlin, is there anything you can do to nuke the footage? To make this a nothing story?"
Magic was one thing, long dismissed as nothing more than a flight of fantasy, a subject for fiction, an idle thought but now it could be more. Nutcases would be coming out of broom closets around the country, claiming that they had been practicing for years. Fear coursed through him when his mind went back to a time not too long ago when he had watched women burn on pyres for no reason other than lack of understanding. He did not want that again. It might not be fire this time, but a life under a dissection scalpel would not be a pleasant one.
The computer hummed again, but no voice sounded out for the longest time. Finally, just as Galahad was about to ask again, the computer whirred to life, all the screens blinking out to static within seconds of each other. "All news networks are temporarily off air. It appears that a massive virus has infected the news net and deleted any segments of video currently being shown as well as a few minor clips on archive servers to cover up the tracks."
Galahad nodded again, standing up and starting to pace around the room. "Thank you, Merlin."
"Would you like to contact the others, Sir?" The voice asked again.
Galahad looked up at the face that had retaken the central control. Their faces were mirrors of each other, each grim, each seeming to wish that any situation barring the current one had reunited them. The knight nodded.
"Yes, they will need to be told."
A ringing echoed around the room as the call was made. A click answered the phone and Galahad spoke.
"She's back."