POSTHUMAN

Chapter One

                                             4th March 2111

Someone knocked three times on the front door. A few moments passed before they knocked again, more urgently this time. By the fifth set of increasingly frequent raps upon his door, Marcus opened it, ready to snap at whoever was on the other side. His neighbour's eleven-year-old daughter, Lynn, stood in the hallway, bouncing a little, "Marcus! There's something going on in the harbour! Ships, but not Canadians, people are saying Europe's made contact!" Marcus couldn't breathe; no one had heard anything out of Europe, Africa or Asia since The Flash. If Europe was reaching out, maybe the world was finally getting back to some semblance of normality. He quickly grabbed his coat from off the hook and let Lynn lead the way. This would prove to be the most interesting Sunday of his entire life.

        People out in the streets made their way towards the harbour, there was gridlock in the roads – Marcus hadn't seen this many cars in one place since before the world went to hell. Lynn raced through the crowds, her youth and small stature allowed her to weave through the mass of prospective spectators. Marcus tried his utmost to keep up with her, to keep track of her strawberry blonde curls, pausing momentarily to catch his breath. It was a clear day, so he saw the helicopter pass overhead, and soon the solitary craft was joined by several dozen others; politicians and a plethora of important people who would not entertain the notion of rubbing elbows with the common man.

        The multitude amazed him, Marcus could see them swamping Brooklyn's Red Hook district. Lynn took his hand and dragged him through the crowd, ignoring the belligerent protests of those she powered past. He could make out the top of the towering superstructure of an immense ship. If he could already see parts of it, then this ship had to be enormous. The further forward they were in the crowds, the more staggered he was by its sheer scale. Watching from in front of the great throng, held back by policemen, Marcus witnessed the ship guided in by tugs. A lengthy gangway was deployed for the warship. The curious masses observed as a group emerged from within the steel leviathan and mounted the gangway. A delegation ferried in by the helicopters, waited anxiously not too far from the other side of the gangway. A police complement, that bordered on a phalanx, accompanied them; blind faith in strangers something no one was foolish enough to have in this day and age. Even at this distance, it was clear the newcomers from the ship were officers – marked out by the braided cord looped through the epaulettes of their dark blue uniforms.

Commandant Judah Nimåfänger was astonished by the multitude who had come to see their arrival. Their impressive Fenrir-class command ship, the HMS Naglfar, one of the largest vessels in the Armada, was undoubtedly a reason for the amazement of the crowd. Although the most obvious reason was the presence of foreigners. The United States had entered a new dark age; his people's satellites noted the mass migration to the north-east of the country. Much of the nation, like most of the world for a while, had fallen completely off the grid. Judah returned from his reverie and directed his gaze to the welcoming party. He was almost amused by the scores of police officers come to keep the peace. These people had no clue as to the scale of destruction Naglfar could meet out. If Judah's commanding officer had wanted to harm the city of New York, he could have done so from fifty kilometres out to sea, with missiles or rail guns. His superior, Colonel Cork, was first to reach the city officials and extend a white gloved hand, his Australian accent just as crisp and clear as that of any Providence officer: "Good morning ladies and gentlemen, I am Colonel Zane Cork, commanding officer of 2nd Livingstone Regiment, 1st Division, 4th Corps of Stormwatch Genesis Corps. I believe we may have the answers you seek."

        "Uh...good morning, Colonel Cork, I'm Francis D'Amico, Mayor of New York City, we spoke over the radio. And you're right, we do have quite a few questions, we're not entirely sure why you're only here now," Mayor D'Amico was a silver haired Italian-American man of average build with a pitiable air, struggling to sound dignified. This was to be expected, Colonel Cork contacted New York during the dead of night. Mayor D'Amico mentioned waiting helicopters as they walked further down the harbour, interrupting Judah's train of thought.

        "So you say you work for an organisation called The Providence? If you don't mind me saying, that's an awfully...err..." D'Amico was searching for a tactful way of expressing what he was about to say.

        "Religious sounding name? Cult like?" Judah's cool, measured Swedish voice acted like a soothing counterpoint to D'Amico's Manhattan tone, "I can assure you, no one's going to force you to worship a golden calf. The Providence is a secular group working in the best interests of humanity. Our sole purpose is the advancement and preservation of mankind. Though the reality of our era is simple, no humans exist anymore. Transhumans, to you, are the new man. To us, they are the old...we are a sub-species known as posthumans. Evolution has been given a helping hand. I would like to welcome you to the age of the daemon." D'Amico stood aside mutely, a peculiar silence fell over the mayor as he took up his seat in the helicopter.

He did not know precisely why, but Marcus Sewell felt uneasy. The crowd dispersed, perversely disappointed by the lack of spectacle beyond the ship's mooring. Marcus stayed for a minute; Lynn impatiently tugged at his sleeve, yet her busy green eyes looking up at the swarm of passing helicopters. The whirring of the rotors went overhead and drifted off into the distance. There was some aspect of this entire episode which did not rest easily within his mind.