Avalanche: Book Five in the Secret World Chronicle

by Lackey, Mercedes

  The little man led the way to another round door, and opened it somehow. To Penny’s relief it was just a room. Metal walls, floor and ceiling. Empty.

  The little man turned towards Miz Vickie once they were all safely inside and the door had swished shut. “So, Vix, you need to hook up your gear with mine for what we’ve mapped? It’s pretty incomplete. This place is bigger than Manhattan…”

  “That’s what Penny’s here for,” Miz Vickie replied, resting a hand lightly on Penny’s shoulder. “No offense to you, Jack, but the guides she can bring us have been here for over half a century. I doubt there’s an inch of this ship they don’t know about. They can go places you’ve been shut out of, and most importantly, they know where the Thulians are. They can keep us from running into anyone.”

  “Fine by me, girl,” the little man shrugged. “But for those of us without our own personal spook guides, I think we’ll need to scope out a bit more. There’s still a few blind spots, and the last thing we need is anyone creeping up on us here. And just between you and me, this boat isn’t big on the nooks and crannies. You want to find someone, it won’t take much.”

  Miz Vickie’s eyes narrowed, and she raised an eyebrow at the little man, then quietly made the “peace sign” with her right hand. He nodded. She raised both eyebrows and nodded back. “All right,” she replied openly. “You two go, but I want you back here the moment you get wind of anything coming towards us. Meanwhile, Penny, it’s time to get Mister Stone and his friends.”

  The Nazi man and the ninja lady left, taking care to close up the room without a sound. Penny took in a deep breath, but not with apprehension. She was going to feel a lot safer with Mistuh Stone here. An angel was…pretty wonderful. But Mistuh Stone was like the best teacher and the best big brother and the best grampa all rolled into one.

  Calling Mistuh Stone was easier than breathing. She just wanted him there, and there he was. He looked a lot like his grandson, “Tomb” Stone, who Penny had met several times back in Atlanta. The only real difference was that Jacob Stone had white hair, which looked odd with his unwrinkled face. She’d asked him why…he laughed and said it reminded him he was supposed to be an “elder.”

  Well, honeychild, looks like we’re ready, he said in her head. Remember what I told you?

  She nodded.

  All right then. Slow and easy. These are my old friends, not someone you need to lasso and shove into a ghost trap and send them on their way.

  Now feeling more confident than she had since they’d left Atlanta, she did as Mistuh Stone had taught her, and “sent out the call.”

  And, after a few minutes, they came.

  The first ghost to arrive was a young man in a leather jacket with embroidered patches on it, one of them a flag with a kangaroo. He was blond, square-jawed, and surprisingly short. Jacob! Cor, mate, yer a sight fer sore eyes! ’Oo’s the little sheila?

  My student, Brumby. Good to see you, my brother! They clapped each other on the shoulders in the weird way men seemed to do instead of hugging. You will be guiding this gentleman and lady to their goal.

  That’d be the big brain, roight. Easy-peasy mate. The man turned and bent down to put his ghostly face even with Penny’s. Oi’m Brumby, missy. Yew can tell yer witchy friend there t’do whatever she needs to so—

  “Huh. You don’t see that every day.” The tall man—JM, Miz Bella had called him?—motioned to Sera. “An’ that’s further proof that I need to get a good leather jacket. Timeless.”

  As the angel nodded, jaws visibly dropped on the faces of most of the group. “You can see them?” said Bella, Vickie, and Miz Mel, at the same time that Brumby said ’E can see me? Crikey!

  “I thought that’s why we brought the kid along, so y’all—oh,” the tall man said.

  “We needed her to call the ghosts in the first place. I was gonna light your guide up so you could follow him, then light the rest up if we needed to,” said Vickie. “If everything goes to plan, they’ll act as scouts for you and perimeter guards for us. If everything goes to hell and we need to take something else out, I can light more of ’em up. Meanwhile Penny can talk to ’em, and she can tell us what they say.” She shrugged. “If you can see ’em, that’s one less thing I need to do.”

  Penny shut her own open mouth. It made sense of course. An angel should be able to see ghosts. But why could that man?

  “Fine by us,” the man said, shrugging and looking at the winged woman. She smiled. “I am happy to meet you, Brumby. I hope that this will discharge your obligations and you may continue your interrupted journey.”

  The ghost scratched his head. That’s the plan, ma’am. We been waitin’ a long time fer this.

  Penny narrowed her eyes and realized that some of the same light—the sort of thing that filled Mistuh Stone and to a lesser extent, Brumby, filled both JM and the angel. So they were connected in some way she didn’t quite understand, but felt was good.

  That’s a fine-lookin’ sheila ye got there, mate, Brumby said to JM with a wink. Hope ye figgered that out, or I might haveta make a play for ’er myself.

  “Oh, she’s spoken for, ol’ fella. Don’t you worry ’bout that.”

  The angel raised an eyebrow and coughed. “I believe I was the one that claimed you, my love. But we should go.”

  “Fair enough, darlin’. I figure we have Casper lead on, an’ we’ll get this done. I’m already hungry again, an’ there’s a mess of Thulians in the way of us gettin’ some steak.”

  “Well don’t just stand there,” Bella said, finally recovering. “Go!”

  * * *

  Sorry you’ll haveta take the long way round, mates, Brumby said apologetically. Bein’ as ye can’t walk through walls. Can ye?

  They were in a hallway not too far from where the enigmatic Jack had brought them into the World Ship. The floors and ceiling were almost entirely comprised of the glistening metal that the Thulians used for their ships and armor. In the most odd places, however, were patches of…well, what looked like flesh. Leathery skin with bristling hairs, what appeared to be muscle fibers exposed to the air, even networks of something like intestines in some places, pulsating with a repulsive energy. All of it felt wrong to John. Alien hands had made this place, and it assaulted his heightened senses at every turn. Back where the infiltrators had first encountered the organic components of the World Ship, Sera had noticed something…beneath. Faint, but at the same time, tortured. Now, after following Brumby, the impression had only grown stronger. Whatever they were going toward, the reading was only becoming more distinct.

  “Not s’far as we know, comrade. Figure it’s not the right time to go experimentin’,” John said.

  Well, we got two ways we can go. The big brain’s across the half sphere, at the “hinge,” I guess we can call it. We can go around, in the corridors, or across, in the open. Buildings, jungle…it’s where most of the Space Nazis live an’ work an’ all.

  “Corridors. It’ll take longer, but we gotta keep the element of surprise. If we let slip that we’re here an’ on task, it’s goin’ to mean a lotta hurt for the rest of our people.” He looked to Sera for her confirmation.

  “I prefer stealth over speed,” she agreed, but her wings flipped a little in that way that meant she was feeling claustrophobic.

  John nodded. Let’s get this done, darlin’. Keep your eyes out, though. There’s somethin’ different goin’ on here, like y’pointed out before.

  Bella is right. This entire ship is alive…and very, very old.

  They continued moving through the ship, Brumby in the lead. Their route was circuitous, going through more of those alien hallways, cutting through maintenance tunnels and service corridors, and once a—thankfully—deserted mess hall. With Brumby’s guidance, they were able to move much faster than if John had been infiltrating the ship on his own. Sera wasn’t experienced in this sort of thing, but she was an amazingly quick study; their telempathic link meant that they didn’t even have to rely on the Ov
erwatch subvocal mics. As fast as thought, John could tell her when to hold fast, how to walk, where to look. The ghost’s knowledge of the ship also enabled them to bypass several patrols or lone wandering Thulians; this place was much more active than Ultima Thule had been. Even so, there had been two instances where John and Sera’s connection to the Futures via their battle-sense had saved them at the last moment from running into Thulians that Brumby hadn’t expected.

  Sorry ’bout that. Activity has been a touch wonky, as of late. Let’s leg it.

  One room that they passed by caught John’s attention. It looked like it was the Thulian equivalent to a computer room; tall machines lined the wall, humming quietly as their screens glowed in that awful yellow-orange light that all of the Thulian electronics gave off. Strangely, except for that, the burnt-orange-cinnamon smell of the Thulians themselves, and the definitely-not-human creatures moving around the room, it could have been an identical data-processing center anywhere on earth. The Thulians were wearing, not uniforms, but a variety of clothing; a couple of them had what looked like thermoses they were drinking from. Three were just standing around chatting in low voices. It was all normal. Creepy, and disturbingly normal.

  They’re just like a couple of guys on break, like you’d see on any normal job site, darlin’. John shook his head in disbelief, wondering at the absurdity of it. It makes sense, but it still doesn’t change how goddamned unnervin’ it is.

  The banality of evil, Sera reminded him quietly. That is what makes evil so pernicious—and so dangerous. It is when it appears normal that it is at its worst.

  He nodded as they continued down the hallway, following Brumby. I just wonder if those bastards have any clue what they’re a part of, or if they’re just cogs in a larger machine. Like I said before, things are goin’ to be really interestin’ when this war is over, if we win. What to do with all the leftover Thulians, for starters. He sighed. Stuff to worry ’bout later. Let’s keep movin’.

  What seemed like miles later, Brumby stopped them again. Roight. We got no choice ’ere, mates. We gotta go through this room. Yew gotta walk loike yew belong ’ere, an’ yew gotta walk quiet at th’ same time. Unnerstand? Foller roight behind me, don’ look around an’ don’t stop.

  Why? Sera asked. What is in this room?

  Itsa storage area, Brumby said.

  Are we expectin’ company in there? John looked from Sera to the apparition.

  Only if yew wake it up, said Brumby, and nodded towards the door at the end of the dead-end hallway they’d been following. Being a ghost, obviously he couldn’t open it. Itsa a janitor storage room.

  So, a storage room for janitor supplies? Well, that’s not all that bad—John palmed the plate that opened the door, before Brumby spoke, and the door opened just as the spirit corrected him.

  Not supplies, mate—janitors.

  The room revealed was at least fifty feet long and fifty feet wide, with a narrow clear space down the middle of it, leading to another door. The rest of the room was filled with what could have been industrial shelves, except what was lying on the shelves were Thulians, dressed in coveralls, eyes closed. There were little blinking modules under their heads where pillows would have been. They were stacked eight high. There was zero evidence of any sort of comfort here.

  Let’s…get through this room. Now.

  QUIET! Brumby urged. Noise wakes ’em up! Stuff what don’t sound right wakes ’em up!

  Quiet I can do, Casper. Darlin’, shall we? John nudged Sera through their connection; dropping into their battle-sense could only help avoid anything silly, like tripping over a loose grate or bumping into any of the racks.

  They moved quietly and surely down the narrow corridor between the two sets of racks lining it. As Brumby had cautioned, they did not try to move stealthily. But when they finally reached the door on the end, and were on the other side of it, John heaved a sigh of relief.

  Brumby led them down the rest of the corridor to where it ended in a T intersection. Yer way’s right, mate, he said. There’s a big empty room what looks loik it useta have stuff in’t but got stripped a long time ago, then a door, an’ that’s the brain room. I’m headin’ back to keep an eye on yer mates. Thet alrioght with yew?

  We’ll take it from here, Casper. Thanks for your help. It’s been real.

  Sera smiled at the ghost. Well done, thou good and faithful one, she said. Your long watch is nearly done.

  Brumby snapped off a crisp salute…and then walked through a wall.

  Sera looked after him, as if she could see him still. “It is a wonder he did not go mad,” she said aloud. “It is a wonder they did not all go mad. Most spirits who linger begin to lose themselves after a year, or even less. They cannot recall their names. Their forms fade and they go mad. The wills of this Lost Squadron must be…phenomenal, to have waited here for half a century for us to bring the battle to the enemy.”

  “They had a mission, darlin’. Guys like that…they don’t give up. An’ they also had each other.” John unslung his rifle, pulling back on the charging handle to double-check that there was a round chambered. “Time to finish this. We’re on the clock.”

  * * *

  With the infiltration teams in place and heading to their destinations, it was up to the assembled militaries of Earth to provide a world-class distraction. The Thulians undoubtedly had some sort of visual detection equipment, even if radar hadn’t spotted the stealth barges which were close enough now that trying to conceal the attack any further was pointless. So, they went big—an opening fusillade the likes of which had probably never been seen before, all directed at the energy shield. Even with all of the massed firepower, they wouldn’t be able to penetrate the shield, of course; their intel said as much. But their intel also said that the Thulians liked a good show, and thought themselves superior. So, the diversion had a second purpose: let the Thulians think that they were completely safe behind their shield. They don’t learn very quickly; hubris will be the undoing of these fascista. That, and a hell of a lot of bullets.

  If this had been any other battlefield, Untermensch would have surveyed the area with grim satisfaction. ECHO had dragged out every single bit of their science-magic that was even approaching “operational status” for this fight. Decommissioned pieces of materiel were made to work, old surpluses were raided, and even some museum exhibits had been brought back to life on the chance they might be needed. He sincerely hoped that nothing would explode in their faces. So many soldiers, so many different nations and command structures…recipe for disaster, even in best of circumstances. Then again, if Earth did not win here…they would all certainly lose everything. Now was not the time to hold anything back.

  There were several ECHO generators set up to provide all of their high technology with wireless power. Well armored, and situated at the rear of the craft, they were expected to be early targets for the Thulians. Until then, they powered some of Tesla’s wonders. The most fantastic—and loudest—were the Tesla death ray cannons; the first and only prototype had been destroyed in the battle for the North American Thulian HQ, but with the direct help of some of the Metisian scientists, it appeared that they had fashioned more. There were also the automated turrets with their special, anti-trooper payloads; they were silent, for the moment, but Unter suspected that they wouldn’t be for much longer. Many of the troops had been issued rocket launchers that were outfitted with those same warheads; hopefully, the combination of all of that firepower and the effect of the ECHO generators would be enough to protect them from the Thulians, at least for a few minutes.

  Unter winced as another salvo of artillery shells from the distant battleships were fired at the World Ship’s energy shield. He adjusted his earmuffs as he looked over the craft. Tanks, artillery, mortar teams, and armored personnel carriers all fired again and again. Above, jets and bombers—sent in endless cycles from aircraft carriers miles and miles away—dropped their payloads at specific points on the shield. Every few second
s a barrage from shipborne guns would slam into the shields; the barrages were punctuated with several rounds from the Americans’ newest rail cannons.

  The soldiers that weren’t assigned to man artillery pieces or the various collection of armor were all on deck or in the APCs, ready to storm the ship. And every metahuman that had any sort of distance weapon at all deployed it now against that shield. Most of them were doing so from the “safety” of the floating platforms; it probably wasn’t a good idea to be in the air right now, with so much ordnance flying through it. The Commissar was the only ranged meta that Unter could see who was not firing. Instead, she watched with dark determination as the explosions, lightning death rays, and metahuman powers crashed into the shield. Occasionally, she would speak, presumably ordering an adjustment to an artillery piece or to the approach of one of the jets. With her Overwatch suite, she had the entire battlefield mapped and projected onto her HUD, with each of the units color-coded and tied directly into her comms. Eight-Ball was undoubtedly much more efficient at managing all this information than Victrix was, and yet…Untermensch wished he could hear Victrix’s voice, and not that of the AI.

  Thinking computers, science wonders from pulp magazines, and space fascista, and what I am thinking about is the comfort and humanity of a little witch’s voice. I am growing soft.

  Bear plodded up to him, grinning and cradling his PPSh in his arms like a child.

  “I am seeing that you are not joining the others in the fusillade, Old Bear,” Unter said, casting a glance to the cyborg.

  “Nyet, Georgi. Little papasha here doesn’t have the range, and I am to be saving energy for running dog Thulians, not shimmering bubble.” He shook his head, still smiling. “Cannot wait to get in there, tovarisch.”

  “Just do not step off of boat. You would sink like a rock, and I am not willing to jump after you. Will hold party, though.” He looked down at the rocket launcher at his feet, still in its case. Water lapped at the bottom of it, but Georgi was unconcerned; sturdy Russian technology, protected by the case, wouldn’t be undone by a little salt water. “Soon.”