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A HISTORY FACTORY’. Behind her, the army had been decimated, torn apart by a moral minefield. She saw the last of her boys running towards her, but one false step and he was gone, blasted into tiny obsidian splinters.

For a second, Roz couldn’t remember which of the two Roz Forresters she was.

The sharp-winged flying machine passing overhead made her duck again, but it was marked with her army’s colours, the red, white, and blue of democracy and Reason. The plane turned above the shining city, dropped something, sped away.

Roz watched as the heavy metallic shape of the bomb – the Bomb – fell towards the enemy capital.

In the silent moments before it hit, Roz found herself wondering exactly where the Bomb would land. Everybody knew the name of the city that the first atomic weapon had levelled, natch, but the detail... had it landed in a park? A square? On the roof of a corner-store? Had it dropped onto somebody’s home, or into somebody’s yard? Had the owner looked up and wondered what was happening just before the device had detonated and their atoms had been –

The Bomb hit its target. A wave of heat and silence knocked Roz off her feet.

The room had a curious exotic smell that Daniel Tremayne couldn’t place. The walls were covered with circles of brass, and everything was lit with a cool, creamy lamplight.

‘I can hear whispering,’ said Daniel.

‘Naturally,’ said one of the brass circles, as it erupted into a mouth. ‘This is the place where history is remembered.

You’ve heard the sounds before?’

Daniel nodded. ‘Ever since... down Catcher’s cellar.’

‘And that was the first time?’ asked the room.

Daniel had to think for a moment. ‘No. Even before that.

Sometimes I get... memories. Dreams.’

‘About what, may I ask?’

‘Things. The Revolution. I can see men, marching in snow.

Fighting. Dying.’ He shook his head. ‘If I think about them hard enough, I can hear the voices. Telling me about history.

But I don’t care about history.’

‘You seemed very concerned about the Bomb.’

Another shrug. ‘They were going to drop it on people. Kill people. Lots of people.’

‘Not as many as died in the Revolution.’

Daniel didn’t know what kind of answer the room wanted.

‘Listen to me. Please. The human race is a gifted species, Daniel Tremayne. A long time ago, certain... powers...

conspired to ensure that your species developed special skills.

Special instincts. In the future, those instincts will be called

"psychic", but not yet. Now they’re just feelings. Not scientific phenomena, just... possibilities.’

‘Instincts?’ That struck a chord, somehow. ‘Have I got these instincts, then? Is that what you’re telling me?’

‘Yes. And yours are more blatant than most. In the past, your race put its faith in gods and monsters. Humanity believed in the power of higher forces. It doesn’t matter whether those forces were demons or kings, the Devil or the English. Either way, mankind was at the mercy of something greater, something it didn’t aspire to understand.

‘That’s changing, now. The human race is ready to take responsibility for its own actions, rather than leaving its fate in the hands of supernatural beings. That’s the true meaning of the Age of Reason, Daniel. Control. Control over one’s own destiny. It might take millennia for you to understand it fully, but that’s what’s starting to happen.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Daniel. ‘What’s that got to do with these instincts you’re telling me about?’

‘Your world is changing. And your race’s abilities are changing to suit it.’ The mouth paused for a moment, and Daniel guessed it was remembering some kind of bad experience. How could a mouth have a bad experience?

‘Earlier, there was a woman in this room named Marielle. She had blatant powers, also, but she was from a slightly earlier generation than you. Her abilities allowed her to seek out the monsters and the angels and the spectres. As a side-effect, she could also detect other anomalies, such as myself and my crew.’

‘You’re talking like