Prologue (continued):

DECEMBER 1994

"Merry Christmas!"

6-year-old Chloe Scott excitedly took the parcel that her mother held out to her. Without waiting to admire the shiny wrapping paper, she tore it open and tipped the contents on to the floor.

"What's this? A doggie collar? We don't have a doggie!"

"We do now. We wanted to save this until last, Chloe."

The small girl heard the door opening and looked over to see her father entering, carrying a small Labrador puppy in his arms. Chloe gave a squeal of delight. She loved animals, she'd always loved them, and she'd wanted a pet for Christmas more than anything.

"Can I see, can I see?" she cried, holding out her arms.

"Be gentle with him, he's still a bit scared."

Chloe took the little dog from her father and hugged it close to her. The puppy sniffed at her hair and wagged its tail.

"Nice doggie," she said. "Can I call him Ben?"

"Why Ben?"

"It's his name. He likes it."

Her mother looked a little confused at this statement, but put it out of her mind. Her daughter was happy with the dog and that was all that mattered. Mrs Scott smiled and said, "Sure, Chloe, you can call it whatever you want."

"He's Ben."

Forgetting about the other presents she had just opened, little Chloe centred her attention fully on her new pet. She put the puppy down on the floor and watched as it yawned and stretched, then sat down on its hind legs to examine its new surroundings.

"My name's Chloe," she said, as the dog cocked one ear to listen. "Do you want to play a game?"

The dog stood up on all fours and began wagging its tail eagerly.

"Come on, we'll go outside. Mummy? Me and Ben are going outside."

"OK, sweetie. Stay in the garden, don't go into the street."

"OK. Thanks, Mum. Wait in the hall for me, Ben. I'll be down in a minute."

Chloe ran upstairs to put on her outdoor clothes, coming back down to find the dog obediently waiting for her in the front hall. She pulled open the door and, with a bark of excitement, the puppy led the way outside.

Inside the house, Chloe's parents watched their daughter playing with her new pet. It was uncanny really, the way the puppy had taken to her. Normally it would take a lot longer before a young animal became completely happy in its new environment. They watched as she threw sticks for the dog to chase, as she raced up and down the garden with the puppy at her heels, as she stroked its fur then tickled its tummy while it lay on its back.

Eventually Mrs Scott went outside to call Chloe in for dinner. They ate a traditional Christmas dinner of turkey and stuffing with roast potatoes and vegetables, followed by a Christmas pudding with custard. When they had finished their meal, and there was still plenty of turkey meat left over, Chloe's mother suggested that the puppy might like some.

"He doesn't like turkey," Chloe said, shaking her head. "He likes chicken. Ben, do you want some chicken?"

The puppy, who had been curled up in his basket, sat up with his tongue out and wagged his tail. Mrs Scott looked dubiously at her daughter, but nevertheless when turkey was placed in front of the puppy, it turned up its nose and refused to eat. On Chloe's insistence, her mother went to fetch some scraps of chicken from the kitchen, and gave them to the dog. It devoured them hungrily, then settled down in its basket for a nap.

"Chloe?" said her father. "How did you know what the puppy likes to eat?"

"He told me," said the child innocently.

"What do you mean, he told you?"

"I asked him what he liked, and he told me."

Mr Scott smiled, "Chloe, darling, dogs can't talk to people."

Chloe shook her head earnestly, "I can talk to Ben, and he talks back."

"Don't be silly, Chloe!"

The little girl looked over at the somnolent puppy, and called, "Ben?"

Instantly the puppy awoke and looked at her.

"What's my name?" she asked.

The dog barked, then licked its lips and wagged its tail.

"See? He said my name was Chloe," the girl told her father.

"I didn't hear him say anything," her mother said. "Chloe, you're playing one of your little games, aren't you?"

"I'm not!" the six-year-old lost her temper. "I'm not lying! Ben talks to me! Ben? Come and sit on my knee."

Without a moment's hesitation, the puppy rose from its slumber, padded over to the table, and jumped on to Chloe's knee. Her parents exchanged glances.

"Chloe, why don't you take Ben into the front room and play with him?"

"OK. Let's go, Ben!"

The two adults waited until the girl and the puppy had left the room, then faced each other once more.

"Do you realise what this means?" Mr Scott was the first to break the silence.

"That she can talk to animals?"

"No – that she's a mutant. As you know, I used to study zoology. No human being can communicate with an animal like that. It's unnatural."

"Our daughter is not unnatural! She – she's – "

"I know. I don't want to believe it either. But we can't hide from the truth."

"I can't believe it. I don't want to believe it. Chloe, a mutant – "

"You still love her, don't you?"

"Of course I do! She can't help being what she is! She won't even understand what it means, not at her age."

"It means we'll need to protect her. There are plenty of people in the world who fear mutants. We mustn't let this stop Chloe from leading anything other than a normal life."

His wife nodded, and the two of them, though they didn't wish to believe it was true, knew that their child was a mutant. When she was old enough, they'd explain it to her, but for now they would do all that they could to protect her from a cruel world where she and her kind were not welcome.

JANUARY 2001

Chris Garcia had spent all of his 14 years living on the back streets of Leith, in one of the worst areas of Edinburgh. He had dropped out of school at the age of twelve, but re-enrolled a year later on the advice of his uncle. Living in poverty since the day he was born, he had learned to steal at an early age, and had joined together with a group of friends his own age to form a gang of sorts. Today was just another ordinary day for him: stealing food from the shops, being spotted by the shopkeeper, then having to outrun the police on his way home.

"They're right behind us!" he cried to his friends. "Move faster!"

He was the first to reach the gate that led to the river. The gate had been locked for years, for safety reasons, and was now rusted shut, but the fence was only wooden and easy to climb over. The four youths scaled the fence, jumping down to land on the riverbank on the other side. They turned and saw, with dismay, that the two police officers were climbing over the fence in pursuit. Chris swore. Normally the pigs, as he called them, would stop at the fence.

"Come on! Keep going!" he urged the others.

Hurrying down the riverbank to an area where they knew the water was shallow, the boys splashed across the river and pelted up the bank on the other side. Glancing over his shoulder, Chris saw the two pigs were still in pursuit. He and his friends continued running along the bank, towards the spot where they knew they'd lose the police: a small gap in the chain link fence that led to the main road, too small for an adult to crawl through, but easy for a child. He'd used this escape route many times. By the time the pigs had found an alternative way round the fence, he and his friends would have vanished into the warren of dark streets that led back to their homes.

"Come on, hurry! They're nearly across!" he yelled at the first of his friends who was wriggling underneath the fence.

The boy got through, and the second followed him. Chris watched the pigs struggling in a deeper area of the river, but climbing up on to the bank nonetheless, and running towards him. The third boy was now through the gap in the fence, and Chris got down on to his front to crawl through the gap. He knew he'd been growing a lot recently, and some day he'd be too big to use this route. Hopefully today wouldn't be that day. His hands clawing at the tarmac on the other side, he pulled himself through the gap.

Damn! He was stuck! Looking back, he saw that his feet couldn't fit through the hole. His feet had been growing steadily larger over the last few months, and he'd had to steal a new pair of shoes since his old pair hadn't fit him any more.

"Come on, Chris! They're nearly on you!" one of his friends yelled.

With an almighty effort, Chris tried to tug himself through the hole. One of his friends took hold of his arms to give him extra pulling power. It was to no avail. He simply couldn't fit his feet through the gap. Desperation overtook him and he began to panic. He couldn't let the police catch him. If they found out who he was, he'd be chucked out of school and sent to a juvenile detention centre. His cousin had spent time in one, and told him what it was like. He couldn't let himself be caught. He strained with every last muscle, trying to pull himself through. The pigs were only yards away now. His mind screamed at his body, move! Get through the hole!

Suddenly, without warning, his body responded. Using powers he didn't know he had, Chris watched with wide-open eyes and a gaping jaw as his feet began to liquefy. This was impossible! What the hell was going on? He couldn't believe what he was seeing, but had the presence of mind to pull his dissolving feet through the gap before either of the policemen could grab him. He was safe at last. He relaxed, and his feet began to solidify once more.

"What the hell happened there?" one of his friends gasped.

The policemen had hurried away to find another way round the fence, and the four boys knew they'd have to be gone by the time the pigs got there. Chris got to his feet gingerly, testing them to make sure they still worked, then the four of them hurried down the nearest alleyway. They stopped, and Chris looked at his friend and shrugged, "I dunno. It's never happened before."

The smallest of the boys, speaking with an Irish accent, said, "That was a mutation, so it was."

"What? You mean he's a mutant?"

"Must be. No other explanation."

Chris shook his head, "Nah! Don't be stupid! Mutations are – "

"Are what?"

"I was going to say they're one of those things that happen to other people. But to everyone else, I am 'other people'."

"Whatever. You're a mutant."

"You already said," Chris retorted. "What are you going to do now? Run away? Scared because I'm a mutant?"

The other boys exchanged glances, then the Irish boy shrugged, "We don't care. Society hates mutants, but society hates us poor kids too. If society hates them, I reckon they're all right."

Chris grinned, "You know what, you guys? You're all right too. The world hates all of us, so we'd damn well better make sure we stick together."

"Right. People can't help who they're born to be."

"That's it exactly," Chris nodded. "Anyway, we'd better get home. My mum'll be wanting the food I nicked."

The four boys left the alley, and headed in the direction of their homes. Inwardly, Chris smiled. He'd seen and experienced a lot of trouble and suffering during his short life, and now he tended to take everything more or less in his stride. Discovering he was a mutant might have come as a shock to most people, but he accepted it as his lot, and gave it no more thought. If that was the way it was going to be, that was the way it was going to be. There was nothing he could do about it. He was glad his friends weren't bigoted mutant-haters like the so-called 'higher' echelons of society. A grin spread across his face as he realised that being a mutant might not be such a bad thing after all. He still didn't know how he'd done what he'd done back there, but if he could do it again…hey, it might get him out of a lot of tight spots. Chris Garcia smiled to himself and thanked whatever twist of fate had bestowed this gift upon him.