Collision: Book Four in the Secret World Chronicle - eARC

by Mercedes Lackey

  Bulwark had gotten to his feet along with everyone else, the wheeled chair that had brought him here discarded like a toy. He loomed over everyone, a good head or more taller than even Worker’s Champion. His gaze snapped to Natalya at the sound of his name.

  “Bulwark!” she screamed, pointing violently at the animated corpse. “BOMB!”

  Bulwark’s eyes widened. “DOWN!” he thundered, and “Get DOWN!” And as people around him hit the floor, he flung his arms wide, and with them, his shield, which sprang up as visible and rapidly widening bubble with him and Bella at the center.

  Natalya turned back to the examination room; the light there had become so bright, that it seemed to completely fill the chamber. There were more screams; first from the chamber itself, then from the delegates as they realized the danger. She barely had time to drop to the floor before it happened. The light became even more intense, blinding her, and then the muffled whump-BOOM as the blast wave exploded from the examination room and over the delegates.

  * * *

  Natalya choked for a few moments on the smoke, and shook her head to try and get the ringing in her ears to stop; everyone in the room was on the floor, save for Bulwark; his shield had certainly saved all of them. Still, it appeared that the assembled group was dazed; people coughing and stumbling to their feet, calling for help and otherwise getting in the way. She glanced to her right; Moji was already on his feet, doing his best to help squawking generals and their aides. The rest of her party seemed to be intact; Rusalka was still on her knees, but otherwise unharmed, while Flins and Marowit were off on their own at the back, as always. Belladonna! Where is the blue girl?

  “Vix! What the hell just happened?” That was Bella’s voice, but where was Bella? Natalya began pushing her way through the people around her, looking for her friend. No one was seriously injured, but nearly all of them were severely disoriented.

  “Forget that! You’ve got Kriegers moving in on Metis en masse! Get yourselves the hell out of there and anyone you can drag with you! Ramona, is there anything like a bomb shelter?”

  Fascista? Her mind swam. Here? How…did they follow us from Ultima Thule?

  She didn’t see Bella. But she did see Worker’s Champion. He didn’t appear to have been staggered by the explosion like the rest of them. He strode forward, walking with purpose to the front of the congregation. She reached out to him, and was about to speak…but he ignored her completely, moving past her and stepping over the other coalition representatives. He was flanked by two of the his Supernauts; two more stood, still at attention, at the entrance to the room. He is taking charge. Typical of him, but at least someone is. We need to rally a defense, evacuate the city possibly. Uncle Boryets will be able to whip these simpering fools into something approaching usefulness.

  “Everyone, please!” It was Raymond. His once-pristine white uniform was covered in dust and burns, and he had a slight cut on his eyebrow; he and Mabel had been far closer to the blast than the rest of them. “Please, try to remain calm! We have the situation perfectly under control—”

  His words were choked off as Worker’s Champion wrapped a single hand around the Metisian’s throat, then lifted him into the air. Raymond flailed for a few moments, clawing at the massive fingers clamped around his windpipe. Mabel, and the rest of the people in the room, stared on in shock.

  “Nyet.” With a twitch of his thumb against the side of Raymond’s jaw, Worker’s Champion snapped the man’s neck, who went limp in the Russian’s grasp. With a jerk of his arm, Worker’s Champion used the dead man’s body as a bludgeon. Mable was knocked to the floor hard, her right temple hit the marble floor with a wet crack that told Nat she was probably dead, her body skidding across the smooth surface for several meters. Natalya’s mind spasmed; she couldn’t believe what she had seen.

  Boryets pointed at the boxes—the projections of Tesla and Marconi had vanished—and one of the Supernauts obediently picked them up. He waved vaguely at the rest of the room. “Retrieve the target. Then kill them all,” he said, and headed for the door, with the burdened Supernaut following closely behind him.

  Bulwark had, by far, the loudest unamplified voice of anyone in the room. “Sound the alarm! We’ve been compromised!” he thundered. “Noncombatants to me! The rest of you, form up and take them down!”

  The room exploded into a flurry of activity. The Supernauts at the back of the room began to spray fire as soon as Worker’s Champion was past them; several Metisians were instantly incinerated, along with a number of the coalition members. Gunshots rang out, deafening in the enclosed space. More Supernaut troopers marched into the room, spreading out and spraying fire as they moved. One of the Supernauts separated from the rest, batting aside anyone that got in its way; at one point it hosed down an Indian general with bullets from one of its mounted machineguns.

  Victrix was on the comm with information. “The Supernauts are set up with fire and projectile weaponry. Boryets has enhanced strength and is more or less invulnerable. Yank, Ramona, Moji, if you can dodge the fire, you can handle the bullets. Nat…do what you do.” Made visible by the smoke, a force-field sprang up to Nat’s left. Now she could see Bella, on her knees, ministering to someone. Mercurye was helping her; Nat watched as he performed insane aerial acrobatics, running and flipping through the air to dodge fire and machine gun rounds as he picked up the wounded and brought them back to be tended to by Belladonna.

  To add to the chaos, a deafening alarm sounded, punctuating the cacophony every few seconds.

  That finally shocked her back to reality. Rusalka had unholstered her sidearm, firing at the Supernauts and probably looking for a water source to exploit. Flins and Marowit, however, were nowhere to be seen; they weren’t front-line fighters, after all. Natalya wouldn’t count them as assets. Moji…where are you?

  It took her a moment to spot him; he was no longer helping the wounded, but sprinting for the same exit that Boryets had taken. For the briefest moment, she thought that he might be in league with the traitor. That notion vanished almost immediately, as he bowled over one of the Supernauts that attempted to block his path. The Supernaut’s armored chestplate was caved in roughly in the shape of a splayed out hand. And just like that, he was gone.

  “Nasrat!” She needed him; even if these Supernauts were blowhard fools like their namesake, they would still be difficult opponents, with their armor and weapons. Natalya felt someone bump into her right shoulder. She whirled, her fist sheathed with glowing energy…to find Yankee Pride, his pose an almost perfect mimic of her own, including his energy gauntlet being fully charged.

  Yank recovered first. “Nat! Go after them! I’ll lay down covering fire!” Suiting his actions to words quite literally, he laid his gauntleted arm over her shoulder and fired at someone behind her. She felt the slight recoil jolt her body, ducked under his arm, and sprinted for the exit, trusting him to do what he said he would. The Supernauts closed ranks in front of her; she spotted two that were specifically focusing on her, while the others seemed concerned with the rest of the room. Her fist still charged, she loosed the ball of energy at the feet of the one on the left. The armored man was taken off his feet as the marble beneath him shattered in a shower of sparks. As he fell, he caught the arm of the other Supernaut soldier, causing the machinegun burst meant for Natalya to go wide. Kicking off on a plume of her energy, she charged both of her fists, screaming as she flew through the air. The Supernaut faltered, trying to bring one of his arms up at the last second as Natalya brought both of her fists crashing down. The pent up energy released, crushing his arm and crumpling the helmet with a satisfying metallic crunch until it was almost level with the shoulder pauldrons.

  Not as sturdy as fortified Krieger trooper armor. Good.

  Natalya spun around, leveling an energy blast at the downed Supernaut just as he was about to release a torrent of flame. The nozzle on the man’s emitter was destroyed, and the weapon backfired; the entire suit became consumed with liquid f
ire, seeping in through the sections that Natalya had damaged. She heard the man scream through the grill on his helmet, but didn’t have time to worry about the pathetic dog.

  The rapid fire of the Supernauts’ machine guns came in retaliation for their screaming comrade. A trio of shots whistled by Natalya’s ear before Ramona threw herself into the path of the rest of them. The other woman’s face contorted in pain, but she shoved Natalya down the hall. “Keep running!” Ramona spat a glob of what looked like metal onto the floor. Most of her exposed skin had taken on a dull gray sheen and she grunted as another volley of shots intended for Nat hit her squarely between the shoulderblades. “Pride and me, we’ve got you covered! Davay, right?”

  She snarled and charged ahead. Two more of the Supernauts converged on her at once. She managed to knock the first aside with a Systema move and concentrated on destroying the face of the second, whirling to deal with the first—

  But her intended target had already found himself in the crosshairs of someone else. Bella was staring at him with terrible intensity, and he was shaking.

  Shto? Natalya decided to take advantage of his situation and moved in…unfortunately, just at the moment that he went into a full-out, spasming seizure. An actual attack she could have predicted and countered—this unpredictable flailing caught her off-guard, and his right arm, with all the unrestricted power of his servo-motors behind it, caught her across the stomach, drove all the air out of her, and sent her flying across the room. She felt her spine impact with the wall, and stars swam into her vision.

  Everything looked surreal. The flames, the gunfire, the people running. Blasts from Pride’s power gauntlet left rainbow streaks in her vision. She saw Bulwark holding a huge shield firm against bullets and keeping Supernauts beyond an effective distance for their flamethrowers, and Mercurye crawling past her on hands and knees after another victim. Finally, she focused on Art of War. Four of the Supernauts had him cornered, separated from the rest of the generals. They weren’t firing at him, however; just advancing, arms spread wide. It occurred to her that they didn’t want to kill him, though for the life of her she couldn’t fathom why at that moment. They are traitors. They are supposed to try to kill us. Why hold back?

  The Supernauts surged forward in concert. Arthur was ready for them, however. He rolled forward from the half-crouch that he had been positioned in, scooping up a shard of marble as he did so. He jammed it, hard into the knee joint of the middle Supernaut soldier, sawing it back and forth until it found purchase—and blood. The soldier screamed in agony; Arthur swung his shoulder underneath the soldier’s knee, then lifted with all of his might; the armored man fell backwards, his mounted machine guns and flame emitters firing at the ceiling of the chamber. Arthur swept his hand across the floor, never staying still; like magic, another shard of marble was in his hand. This time he shoved the jagged piece of rock through the armpit of the next Supernaut; the man cried out, and his arm went limp. Arthur positioned himself behind the disabled soldier, grabbing the dangling left arm in one hand. With the other hand, still holding the makeshift knife, he twisted. The soldier’s weapons began discharging; flame and round after round of machinegun fire issued forth, sweeping over the other two Supernauts.

  One of the Supernauts went down quickly; the other only took grazing wounds, and waited until the soldier that Arthur had control of wrenched his arm away, swiping the intact one in a brutal arc at Arthur’s head. The general ducked underneath it, jamming the shard into a gap in the armor near the soldier’s kidney. The injured Supernaut fell backwards, giving Arthur enough time to scuttle over the soldier’s chest and jam the piece of marble into the man’s unprotected throat, snapping it off in a sputter of blood. The final Supernaut took advantage of having Arthur’s back turned to him; he ran forward, armored feet clanking against the marble, as he lifted up the metahuman in a bearhug from behind.

  They want to kidnap him. He’s one of their targets; they want his abilities! Natalya willed her limbs to move, but they were sluggish and refused to obey her commands. She tried to summon energy to her fists, but produced only a weak flash of glowing sparks that dissipated as soon as they manifested. She watched, helplessly, as the scene played out before her.

  Arthur wriggled and writhed, trying to slip from the rock-solid hold of the Supernaut. The soldier had begun marching towards the exit; the other Supernauts were providing covering fire for it. With Natalya out of action, there was no one between the armored soldier holding Arthur and the exit.

  For the briefest moment, their eyes met. It wasn’t a long moment, but it was clear he saw her, and could see she was clear of the fight. She felt paralyzed by his gaze.

  Arthur was somehow able to slip an arm free from the bear hug the Supernaut soldier had him in. With a final shout, he thrust a fist backwards, still holding the shard of marble he had used so effectively earlier. The shard penetrated one of the feeder lines for the flamethrowers; the pressurized fuel ejected from the breach in a aerosolized plume…and then caught on the pilot flame at the end of the weapon emitters. The explosion enveloped the pair, and two more Supernauts, leaving a blinding afterimage in front of Natalya’s eyes. Blinking hard, it took her several moments before she could see anything coherently again. Where Arthur and the Supernaut had been standing…was only charred wreckage. The two other Supernauts caught in the blast were most certainly dead; both lay unmoving and smoldering near the exit.

  She felt a hand under her arm, hauling her to her feet. “Dammit, Nat, they’re getting away!” Yank shoved her out the door, then turned to face the developing carnage in the room, covering her escape. She almost fell onto her face, half falling and half running. Find him, and kill him! She didn’t have time for any other thoughts. She had to stop Worker’s Champion. He had the boxes that contained the consciousnesses of Tesla and Marconi; the traitor’s masters could not be allowed to take possession of them. Her veins felt like they were pumping acid and her breath burned in her lungs as she ran, her arms and legs driving her forward like pistons.

  Everything came into focus for her. She knew what she needed to do, then. Kill Boryets. Get the boxes back. She didn’t allow herself to think too hard on it; that invited questions, even madness, at how her mentor, her adoptive uncle, could betray her and every ideal they had ever held. She just knew that she had to kill him; that was the only way to make sense of any of this. The rest was a blur; she saw thick, black smoke, in stark contrast to the white surroundings. Explosions in the distance, and the all too familiar shape of Thulian Death Spheres. There was lightning, as well; some product of the Metisian defensive measures. It was having an effect, but she couldn’t gauge how much; that didn’t concern her, at the moment. Only vengeance, and retribution. It was a craving that consumed her until there was nothing else in her mind.

  Natalya turned a corner…and it felt as if the world lurched to the side, hard. She almost fell over, stopped in the hallway with her arms thrown out to catch herself. She shook her head…and then recoiled in horror. The ground in front of her was strewn with corpses, and she recognized all of their faces. Georgi, Pavel, Molotok, Thea and Gamayun, Jadwiga; all of them lay dead, burned, broken. Even Murdock and Sera were there, and Chug. Zmey and Perun were there, as well. Petrograd, his armor shattered and burning. Protestors from the day of the Invasion. All of them were looking at her, their eyes accusing her. Your fault! Failure! Useless! Where were you when we needed you?

  She fell to her knees, a wordless cry on her lips. She felt the air catch in her lungs; she couldn’t breathe, didn’t want to, just wanted to die. The walls felt like they were closing in, and her vision grew dark. The accusations grew louder in her mind, and she couldn’t look away from the eyes of the dead. She wanted to join them, she deserved to join them, nothing else would wash the stain of her failures away. They were right! Where had she been when they needed her? What did the Amerikanski call it? Grandstanding! Showing off.…

  A single gunshot sounded, and her world wen
t stark white for a moment. She felt her body lurch forward, her arms barely able to catch her before she hit the ground. Natalya vomited. When her stomach was empty, she looked up. The hallway was empty; no bodies, just white floor and walls. The voices were gone; the only thing she heard were explosions and the wail of alarms. She turned…and saw Marowit, slumped to the floor and clutching a bullet wound in her throat, blood seeping through her fingers. Her eyes bulged as her stare met Natalya’s gaze. She raised her hand, reaching for Natalya. She’s using her powers on me! Natalya fumbled for her pistol, still disoriented. It took what seemed like years for her to remove it from her holster, disengage the safety, and raise it. She was close enough that she didn’t use the sights; in her state, she wouldn’t have been able to anyways. She fired, again and again, until the magazine was completely empty. Her point shooting was accurate enough; Marowit was very dead, now; most of the rounds had hit her in the head and throat, where the nanoweave armor didn’t offer any protection.

  There was movement somewhere behind the dead metahuman; Natalya whirled, bringing her empty pistol to bear. Flins walked forward slowly; a Makarov, identical to Natalya’s, was in his hand. He dropped it to the ground when he was over Marowit’s body, his face still emotionless.

  “No more dreams. No more control,” he said in monotone Russian. Then he turned to look at Natalya, those dead eyes studying her for a moment before closing in concentration. She recognized what was happening; he was going to kill her, just like Marowits had tried. The scene during the battle in Ultima Thule played through her mind; Kriegers with blood streaming from their eyes and ears, dead before they could hit the ground. She pulled the trigger for her pistol—-it clicked loudly on an empty chamber. She knew that she was going to die; there was no time for her to reload, or to summon enough energy to her fists to blast at Flins with. Everything seemed to slow, and take on unnaturally sharp detail. Was this part of his power, or merely her own reaction to imminent death?