World Divided: Book Two of the Secret World Chronicle-ARC

by Mercedes Lackey; Steve Libby; Cody Martin

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Precipice

  Dennis Lee

  I have to say here, I was just about ready to take Alex Tesla over my knee, or better still, haul him up in front of my mom for a good talking-to. Now I wish I had. Maybe with the mom-voice ringing in his ears, he’d have grown a spine.

  Or maybe not.

  Or maybe it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The road that brought us to where we are now was one I don’t think any of us foresaw. Not even the Seraphym.

  Jack wasn’t the sort to have a lot of regrets. His had been a long and remarkable life, and one he planned to keep going for a good while longer. Possessing a meticulous nature and driven by a healthy dose of anxiety, Jack usually found himself ahead of the game; or at the very worst, when everything went to hell, surviving it. This was his modus operandi; to stay on top of things, to keep his options fluid, and to always, always have an exit strategy. Such characteristics lent themselves well to staying focused on the tasks at hand; they also tended to quiet the din of past transgressions. Still, any man had regrets, even if just a few.

  The first he never spoke about. Hell, he made it a point to never even think about her. Whatever recompense was due on that one, he had paid it in full. That’s what he did; it just wouldn’t do to let regrets fester. Unfinished business could haunt a man ’til the end of time, if he let it. And so, this one driven by pride, he had hunted her killers down, had let them appreciate her suffering, and had ended them. It was an early lesson, and a hard one, and he had never sought love again.

  There were things one needed in life, and for most love, ranked right up there with wealth, with family and friends. Jack had scorned most of these; his needs were rooted in survival now. Wealth came and went, family was nothing but leeches, and friends? Friends were an uncertainty even in the best of times.

  Still, unless you were a hermit living on the edge of civilization, friends were inevitable. And there it was, another regret. Gunning someone down was often part of the job, but he had never, ever hesitated like he’d done with Red. He had felt something almost alien with that act. He was so unfamiliar with guilt, so untouched by remorse, that with each slug he had driven into Red’s chest he had fought down a sharp pang of fear. He knew, he felt he was destroying something dear to him, and for what? To survive, of course. The way of the world, of his world, demanded this sacrifice.

  Then, like a bad joke, the world had changed, within seconds, with the arrival of metal giants bent on destruction. Old enemies were forced to band together and when the Djinni had reappeared, apparently risen from the dead, Jack’s assessment of the new world was lit with new possibilities and dangers. Amidst this new chaos, the Djinni could be allowed to live after all. The Invasion would leave a void, a need for individuals such as himself. Such as both of them.

  Possibilities. He could name his price, even one as exorbitantly high as the assassination of one of America’s most elusive crime lords. This new world didn’t have a place for someone like Tonda anyway. There was a new threat, one that would require the attention and focus of all the major players, and suddenly something as impervious as Tonda’s mighty underworld seemed as significant as last year’s reality television. Goodbye Tonda, goodbye kill order, and welcome back Red. Perhaps it could be business as usual, even in the bleak landscape of a world perched on the edge of Armageddon.

  It was wishful thinking. Jack had not considered the notion that Red could partner himself with an organization like Echo. His actions to spring the Djinni from his Echo prison cell had backfired. Red, it seemed, didn’t want to leave after all, and Jack’s regret remained unresolved. He had done wrong by the Djinni and he was determined to make it right. This time, his need was driven by friendship. Save the Djinni, Jack didn’t have any friends now, none who were still breathing in any case. He hadn’t given it much thought, until he had seen Red with his own eyes, collapsing unceremoniously between him and Amethist in the Vault and flashing her a grin from beneath that crappy scarf of his. Red Djinni, oozing blood from a dozen holes in his chest, yet still up, still laughing, still fighting. Jack had felt a moment of wonder, of delight, yet more foreign emotions, and might have laughed in spite of himself if he had been able. He never could laugh. It never felt or sounded right, like some demented hyena choking over a metallic voice box. Red could appreciate that. Red was his friend, after all.

  He kept that firmly in mind as he watched Bulwark’s trainees trip over themselves on the Echo practice grounds. True friends were judgmental—they owed their friends that much—and by Jack’s estimation Red Djinni was being an ass.

  “Rhythm, Bruno!” Red taunted from his perch high above the Le Parkour course. “Keep up the pace! You’re one stumble from being brain food!”

  Below, Acrobat cursed as he weaved through the shambling mass of automatons. The androids were first generation, able to do little more than home in on their targets, their movements stiff and artificial. No one used these anymore, and there were hundreds packed away in storage bunkers far beneath the main Echo complex. With the sudden influx of raw recruits, the training facilities that had somehow survived the Invasion were in high demand these days and these antique robots were all Bulwark had been able to procure. Djinni’s solution for using crap no one else would bother with had been simple. He had dressed the androids in worn and faded clothes scrounged from the donation bins in the main hangar, dipped their hands in a yellow, viscous slime used to temporarily seal waterlines and with a little creative reprogramming of their voice units had set them loose on the Le Parkour course. The result was a dense corral of makeshift zombies, or “Zombie Paintball” as Red called it. The goal was to elude being slimed as the mob closed in on you, for as long as you could.

  The Misfits had mixed reactions to this new exercise.

  “This is so AWESOME!” Bruno howled as he vaulted over a pack of zombies, ignoring their sluggish attempts to tag him with goop, their hungry moans strangely melodic when heard in unison.

  “This is so stupid,” Scope mumbled. She sat next to Djinni and Bulwark on the observation deck. Her clothes and body were splattered with patches of yellow. She grunted as she leaned forward to watch, in part from the humiliation of being “killed” so early in the exercise, but mostly from the pain. Red had neglected to disable the original programming of the killbots. When they tagged you, they didn’t hold back. The bruises were still fresh, and she wasn’t looking forward to the sting of healing flesh in the days to come. This wasn’t what she did. She stood off, aloof, and struck from afar. She wasn’t supposed to mix it up down and dirty.

  Red shook his head, disappointed. “You tried to shoot bulletproof robots twice your size, five times your weight, thinking that would stop them, much less slow them down. And then you let them flank and corner you. Don’t blame the exercise, Scope. You still have a lot to learn.”

  “Like what?” she snapped. She was shaking with anger.

  “Like how guns don’t solve every problem,” Bulwark said, his eyes still intent on the action below.

  Scope shrank back from the reprimand and turned to watch the others. Her eyes glistened as her hands crept up to rest on her holstered pistols.

  Beneath them, oblivious to their teammate’s humiliation, Acrobat and Harmony continued to elude capture by the mindless horde. Bruno was carried by his momentum, by his talent to duck and weave and fly over his opponents. The sheer exhilaration of his flight made it clear that the boy was having far too much fun. There was no strategy to his actions and the flailing of his arms betrayed the complete and utter joy of a child running haphazardly through a busy playground. It was stimulus-response, rinse and repeat, as he dodged through swinging arms that kept him constantly in motion. In a way, he was as mindless as the androids that chased him. In contrast to Acrobat’s wild dervish dance, Harmony had kept low and in the shadows. She crept along the walls and parapets of the course, seeking moments of opportunity when the horde’s attention was drawn by her teammat
e to silently sprint between concealing structures. She had only been seen a couple of times. Emerging from a squat concrete tunnel, she had found herself trapped between two zombies. As they stumbled towards her she froze, gauging their acceleration, and at the last moment dove forward. The lumbering giants crashed together and toppled over, their arms locked in a grotesque embrace and she sped away into the shadows once more. Like Acrobat she was constantly on the move, but carefully, methodically, and on the few occasions she became cornered was quick to use the environment to her advantage. Bulwark nodded in approval. Harmony was the clear star of the day.

  “Okay!” Acrobat shouted. “I think…I’m tired now…”

  Bruno had come to rest atop a short scaling wall, beyond the reach of the robots, and had slumped over, his breathing heavy and labored. The horde clambered about him, their moans synchronized in an eerie song, their hands banging on the wall beneath him. He managed a weak laugh.

  “Can’t slime what you can’t reach, morons!” he wheezed. “Guess I’m just too smart for—”

  His taunt was cut short as the wall broke in half. The zombies had rallied, their blows hammering through the dense wood, and Acrobat fell amongst them. The androids were suddenly upon him with heavy blows.

  Bulwark shook his head and pressed the flashing safety switch on his touchscreen tablet. Below, the zombies stopped their assault and became still, their groans ebbing away as the light faded from their eyes.

  “And then there was one,” Red laughed. “Harm takes the prize today.”

  “She did good,” Bulwark said, and Scope sank further in her despair. Bull glanced at her, and told her to sit up straight.

  “A little help down here?”

  They peered over the edge, and saw Acrobat groaning as he struggled in a mess of broken lumber and mud. Harmony came over and extended her hand, pulling him awkwardly to his feet.

  “It was a good run, Bruno,” she said shyly, favoring him with a timid smile.

  “Thanks, Harm,” Acrobat said. “It was fun, wasn’t it? Except for that last part. Jeez, those things hit hard…”

  “It was pathetic,” Bulwark barked from above. “That was sloppy and childish, Acrobat, racing off like that at the start. You left your teammates to fend for themselves.”

  Bruno winced, bowed his head and scratched absently at his neck.

  “Scope,” Bulwark said, turning to his lieutenant. “What were you trying to prove, racing after him? This exercise wasn’t a contest pitting you against each other. This was a test to see how well you three worked as a team—a team you are supposed to lead, I might add. You still haven’t tempered your ambition, girl. I am at my wits’ end with you, I am so disappointed.”

  Scope also bowed her head, and nodded. “Yessir,” she said, her dead voice a transparent mask to her shame.

  Bulwark looked away, and down at Harm. “Together, you three might have lasted a very long time. Harmony, you had the right idea. You even tried to rally these two idiots to your plan at the beginning before they chose to tear off on their own; I heard it. Alone, without their abilities, you managed to survive the longest. Well done.”

  Harmony blushed, and muttered a weak thanks.

  “Aw, c’mon Bull, you’re being too hard on them,” Red Djinni said. “Yeah, Harm rocked the joint, but you have to admit, Bruno totally Gene Kelly’d his way around the field for twenty minutes.”

  Acrobat beamed up at Red. Scope also glanced at Red, her eyes questioning.

  “Not you, Scope,” the Djinni said. “You sucked ass. The point is, part of this test was to keep a clear feel for your surroundings. Harm somehow kept tabs on the whole playing field, even when she was hiding. Bruno managed to snake his way through every opening he could find. That was key, man, to stay alert, to stay completely aware of your—”

  Red gave a shrill cry as a thin line flew about his neck and locked into place. Far below, Jack tightened his grip and drove down with his enormous arms, tearing the Djinni from his perch. Though the ground was soft and giving, Red fell hard on his back and gasped for breath.

  Jack stood over him, and sighed. “I used to tell you the same thing,” he grunted. “You always were my worst student.”

  “You would be well advised to step away from him.”

  Jack looked up, and felt the wry smirk creep across his face. Despite their poor showing on the training field, it occurred to him that he was, in fact, facing a well-trained team. There had been no hesitation. In a heartbeat they had positioned themselves, and now he faced four Echo operatives, spread out around him, each with a firearm aimed right at his heart—two, in Scope’s case.

  Jack let the line drop, held his hands up and backed away from Red.

  “Sorry,” Jack said. “Wasn’t my intention to start it this way. I just always found it best to put Red in his place once he gets his condescension on.”

  Bulwark watched him for a moment, looked down at Red, and then back again, his gun never wavering. “Harmony, check Red. Scope, Acrobat, drop him if he so much as takes a step forward. And you—” Bull thumbed the power setting on his pistol to maximum “—you start talking. Your name, and why you’re here.”

  “His name’s Jack,” Red coughed, motioning to Harmony that he was fine, and came softly to his feet. “As to why he’s here, you’ll never get it out of him unless he wants you to know.”

  “How did you get in here?” Bull demanded. “Our security perimeter…”

  “Needs work,” Jack interrupted. “A little sloppy. Timed a few patrols, and I breezed right in. Wasn’t hard.”

  “Don’t let him fool you,” Red muttered. “Our security here is tight, but that wouldn’t stop him. Speaking of sloppy, it’s not like you to just step out in the light like this, not before the work is done. What’s your move here?”

  “To talk,” Jack said, shrugging. “I figured showing up was the best way to do that.”

  “Ever hear of a phone?” Red asked.

  “Would you have taken a call from me?” Jack countered. “Besides, you’re not the only person I’m here to see. I want to talk to Alex Tesla.”

  Red laughed. “I doubt he’d clear his schedule for a Blacksnake agent.”

  “This guy is Blacksnake?” Acrobat blurted.

  Jack ignored him. “He probably wouldn’t, under normal circumstances, but I’m here to talk business. Oh, and I’m not just an agent.”

  Red waited for it.

  “I’m the new chief, the Grand Poobah himself.”

  “Chief?” Djinni said, his tone incredulous. “The top dog? How’d you manage that?”

  “Internal office politics, childish pranks, name calling…” Jack said, waving it off as inconsequential. “I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details. The point is, this is legit. I’m here to talk about an alliance. We’ve got bigger troubles than this stupid feud between our organizations, and Tesla knows it. He’ll want to talk. I’m talking redirection of our precious remaining resources at the common threat and not wasting it on each other.”

  “You don’t need me for that,” Djinni said, his eyes narrowing. “Hell, I have no pull with the top brass here. You could have gone through official channels…”

  “We don’t have time for that,” Jack said. “Do you know all the crap involved in setting up a meeting like that? It would have taken weeks just to convince Tesla’s toadies this wasn’t just a crank call.”

  “All right then,” Red conceded. “You could have gone straight to him. I know you. You would’ve found a way to get into the man’s own bedroom and had a private chat without security being the wiser. Why reveal yourself to us, why now?”

  “That would’ve taken time to plan as well,” Jack sighed. “The outer perimeter is one thing, but the heart of Echo itself? Besides, I have other unfinished business to take care of first.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You, Djinni,” Jack said. “I’m here to make things right with you.”

  Red stared Jack down.
There was no outward look of surprise or suspicion, but Jack knew better. Red’s mind was racing now with questions and for his part Jack would try to answer them all. There would be a sweet satisfaction to all of this. It was an elegant and neat solution to his problems. He would do right by the Djinni—hell, for both Echo and Blacksnake, by negotiating a deal to bring the two organizations together. And best of all, he would begin to scratch a terrible itch that had been gnawing its way deep inside of him for years. He suspected an alliance would counter Verd’s true intentions for Echo and Blacksnake, whatever they were, and that would do for a start. Verdigris thought of him as a professional, as a cold mercenary who could be bought off in any situation. Verd had never grasped just how much he had taken from Jack. In the wake of Khanjar’s bomb, so close to the prize of being an eternal, Jack had instead tasted death. Stripped of anything but pain, Jack had become an animal for a time. The extent of his wounds were so severe that as much as his body needed time to heal, his mind needed more to knit together the pieces of his sanity. Today, he would take his first steps in repaying that old insult. Immortality, a long-sought-after-prize, was a luxury that could wait. This was about need, a need to fix another regret.

  This was a need driven by revenge.

  ***

  “Bull, can we trust this guy?”

  Bulwark acknowledged Acrobat with a look, but didn’t answer. He watched as Red and Jack stood apart from the group, speaking quietly. At times, Red looked as if he were about to make some sort of outburst. Each time, Jack held up his hands and spoke quickly, talking the Djinni down with calming gestures. And Bull continued to watch.

  “No,” he said finally. “I don’t think he’s the trustworthy sort. Helluva thing, though. I can’t shake the feeling he’s telling the truth.”

  “How do you know?” Scope asked.

  “No sure way of telling,” Bull grunted. “He’s got the walk, he’s got the weight, this old boy’s been around for a while. He knows how to play, but something tells me he’s on the level with this one. Got nothing to say it’s one way or the other, really. Just instinct.”