“Epics,” Cody said, his voice growing amiable again. “Prof let it drop once. The technology came from studying an Epic who could do something similar. Tia says it happened in the early days-before society collapsed, some Epics were captured and held. Not all of them are so powerful they can escape captivity with ease. Different labs ran tests on them, trying to figure out how their powers worked. The technology for things like the tensors came from those days.”
I hadn’t heard that, and some things started to click into place for me. We’d made great advances in technology back then, right around the arrival of Calamity. Energy weapons, advanced power sources and batteries, new mobile technology-which was why ours worked underground and at a significant range without using towers.
Of course, we lost much of it when the Epics started to take over. And what we didn’t lose, Epics like Steelheart controlled. I tried to imagine those early Epics being tested. Was that why so many were evil? They resented this testing?
“Did any of them go to the testing willingly?” I asked. “How many labs were doing this?”
“I don’t know,” Cody said. “I reckon it’s not very important.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
Cody shrugged, rifle still over his shoulder, the light of his mobile illuminating the tomblike metal corridor. The catacombs smelled of dust and condensation. “Tia is always talking about the scientific foundation of the Epics,” he said. “I don’t think they can be explained that way. Too much about them breaks what science says should happen. I sometimes wonder if they came along because we thought we could explain everything.”
It didn’t take much longer for us to arrive. I’d noticed that Megan was leading us by way of her mobile, which showed a map on its screen. That was remarkable. A map of the steel catacombs? I didn’t think such a thing existed.
“Here,” Megan said, waving to a thick patch of wires hanging down like a curtain in front of a wall. Sights like that were common down here, where the Diggers had left things unfinished.
Cody walked up and banged on a plate near the wires. A distant bang came back at him a few moments later.
“In you go, Knees,” he said to me, gesturing toward the wires.
I took a breath and stepped forward, pushing them aside with the barrel of my rifle. There was a small tunnel beyond, leading steeply upward. I would have to crawl. I looked back at him.
“It’s safe,” he promised. I couldn’t tell if he was making me go first because of some latent mistrust, or because he liked seeing me squirm. It didn’t seem the time to question him or back down. I started crawling.
The tunnel was small enough to make me worry that if I slung my rifle on my back, a good scrape stood a chance of knocking the scope or sights out of alignment. So I kept it in my right hand as I crawled, which made it all the more awkward. The tunnel led toward a distant, soft light, and the crawl took long enough that my knees were aching by the time I reached the light. A strong hand took me by the left arm, helping me out of the tunnel. Abraham. The dark-skinned man had changed into cargo pants and a green tank top, which showed well-muscled arms. I hadn’t noticed before, but he was wearing a small silver pendant around his neck, hanging out of his shirt.
The room I stepped into was unexpectedly large. Big enough for the team to have laid out their equipment and several bedrolls without it feeling cramped. There was a large table made of metal that grew right out of the floor, as well as benches at the walls and stools around the table.
They carved it there, I realized, looking at the sculpted walls. They made this room with the tensors. Carved furniture right into it.
It was impressive. I gawked as I stepped back and let Abraham help Megan out of the tunnel. The chamber had two doorways into other rooms that looked smaller. It was lit by lanterns, and there were cords on the floor-taped in place and out of the way-leading down another small tunnel.
“You have electricity,” I said. “How did you get electricity?”
“Tapped into an old subway line,” Cody said, crawling out of the tunnel. “One that was half completed, then forgotten about. The nature of this place is that even Steelheart doesn’t know all of its nooks and dead ends.”
“Just more proof the Diggers were mad,” Abraham said. “They wired things in strange ways. We’ve found rooms that were sealed completely but had lights left on inside, shining for years by themselves. Repaire des fantômes.”
“Megan tells me,” Prof said, appearing from one of the other rooms, “that you recovered the information, but that your means were … unconventional.” The aging but sturdy man still wore his black lab coat.
“Hell yeah!” Cody said, shouldering his rifle.
Prof snorted. “Well, let’s see what you recovered before I decide if I should yell at you or not.” He reached for the backpack in Megan’s hand.
“Actually,” I said, stepping toward it, “I can-”
“You’ll sit down, son,” Prof said, “while I have a look at this. All of it. Then we’ll talk.”
His voice was calm, but I got the message. I pensively sat down beside the steel table as the others gathered around the pack and began rifling through my life.
12
“Wow,” Cody said. “Honestly, lad, I thought you were exaggerating. But y’all really are a full-blown supergeek, aren’t you?”
I blushed, still sitting on my stool. They had opened the folders I’d packed and spread out the contents, then moved on to my notebooks, passing them around and studying them. Cody had eventually lost interest and moved over to sit by me, his back to the table and elbows hitched up on it behind him.
“I had a job to do,” I said. “I decided to do it well.”
“This is impressive,” Tia said. She sat cross-legged on the floor. She had changed to jeans but was still wearing her blouse and blazer, and her short red hair was still perfectly styled. Tia held up one of my notebooks. “It’s rudimentary in organization,” she said, “and doesn’t use standard classifications. But it is exhaustive.”
“There are standard classifications?” I asked.
“Several different systems,” she said. “It looks like you’ve got a few of the terms here that cross between the systems, like High Epic-though I personally prefer the tier system. In other places, what you’ve come up with is interesting. I do like some of your terminology, like prime invincibility.”
“Thanks,” I said, though I felt a little embarrassed. Of course there were ways of classifying Epics. I hadn’t the education-or the resources-to learn such things, so I’d made up my own.
It was surprising how easy it had been. There were outliers, of course-bizarre Epics with powers that didn’t fit any of the classifications-but a surprising number of the others showed similarities. There were always individual quirks, like the glimmering of Refractionary’s illusions. The core abilities, however, were often very similar.
“Explain this to me,” Tia said, holding up a different notebook.
Hesitantly, I slid off my stool and joined her on the floor. She was pointing toward a notation I’d made at the bottom of the entry for a particular Epic named Strongtower.
“It’s my Steelheart mark,” I said. “Strongtower shows an ability like Steelheart has. I watch Epics like that carefully. If they get killed, or they manifest a limitation to their powers, I want to be aware of them.”
Tia nodded. “Why didn’t you lump the mental illusionists with the photon-manipulators?”
“I like to make groupings based on limitations,” I said, getting out my index and flipping to a specific page for her. Epics with illusion powers fell into two groups. Some created actual changes in the way light behaved, crafting illusions with photons themselves. Others made illusions by affecting the brains of the people around them. They really created hallucinations, not true illusions.
“See,” I said, pointing. “The mental illusionists tend to be limited in similar ways to other mentalists-like those with hypnotism powers, or
mind-control effects. Illusionists that can alter light work differently. They are far more similar to the electricity-manipulation Epics.”
Cody whistled softly. He’d gotten out a canteen and held it in one hand while still leaning back against the table. “Lad, I think we need to have a conversation about how much time you’ve got on your hands and how we can put it to better use.”
“Better use than researching how to kill Epics?” Tia asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Sure,” Cody said, taking a swig from his canteen. “Think of what he could do if I got him to organize all of the pubs in town, by brew!”
“Oh please,” Tia said drily, turning a page in my notes.
“Abraham,” Cody said. “Ask me why it’s tragic for the young David to have spent so much time on these notebooks.”
“Why is it tragic for the boy to have done such research?” Abraham said, still cleaning his gun.
“That’s a very astute question,” Cody said. “Thank you very much for asking.”
“It is my pleasure.”
“Anyway,” Cody said, raising his canteen, “why do you want so badly to kill these Epics?”
“Revenge,” I said. “Steelheart killed my father. I intend-”
“Yes, yes,” Cody said, cutting me off. “Y’all intend to see him bleed again, and all that. Very dedicated and familial of you. But I’m telling you, that ain’t enough. You’ve got passion to kill, but you need to find passion to live. At least that’s what I think.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. Studying Steelheart, learning about Epics so that I could find a way to kill him, was my passion. If there was a place I fit in, wasn’t it with the Reckoners? That was their life’s work too, wasn’t it?
“Cody,” Prof said, “why don’t you go finish working on the third chamber?”
“Sure thing, Prof,” the sniper said, screwing on the lid of his canteen. He sauntered out of the room.
“Don’t listen too much to Cody, son,” Prof said, setting one of my notebooks on the stack. “He says the same things to the rest of us. He worries we’ll focus so hard on killing the Epics that we’ll forget to live our lives.”
“He might be right,” I said. “I … I really haven’t had much of a life, other than this.”
“The work we do,” Prof said, “is not about living. Our job is killing. We’ll leave the regular people to live their lives, to find joy in them, to enjoy the sunrises and the snowfalls. Our job is to get them there.”
I had memories of the world before. It had only been ten years ago, after all. It’s just that it was difficult to remember a world of sunshine when darkness was all you saw each day. Remembering that time … it was like trying to recall the specifics of my father’s face. You forget things like that, gradually.
“Jonathan,” Abraham said to Prof, slipping the barrel back onto his gun, “have you considered the things this boy said?”
“I’m not a boy,” I said.
They all looked at me. Even Megan, standing beside the doorway.
“I just wanted to note it,” I said, suddenly uncomfortable. “I mean, I’m eighteen. I’ve hit my majority. I’m not a child.”
Prof eyed me. Then, surprisingly, he nodded. “Age has nothing to do with it, but you’ve helped kill two Epics, which is good enough for me. It should be for any of us.”
“Very well,” Abraham said, voice soft. “But Prof, we have spoken of this before. By killing Epics like Fortuity, are we really achieving anything?”
“We fight back,” Megan said. “We’re the only ones who do. It’s important.”
“And yet,” Abraham said, snapping another piece onto his gun, “we are afraid to fight the most powerful. And so, the domination of the tyrants continues. So long as they do not fall, the others will not truly fear us. They will fear Steelheart, Obliteration, and Night’s Sorrow. If we will not face creatures such as these, is there any hope that others will someday stand up to them?”
The steel-walled room went quiet, and I held my breath. The words were nearly the same I had used earlier, but coming from Abraham’s soft-spoken, lightly accented voice, they seemed to hold more weight.
Prof turned to Tia.
She held up a photograph. “This is really Nightwielder?” she asked me. “You’re sure of it?”
The picture was a prize of my possessions, a photograph of Nightwielder beside Steelheart on the Day of Annexation, just before his darkness had come upon the city. As far as I knew, it was one of a kind, sold to me by an urchin whose father had taken it with an old Polaroid camera.
Nightwielder was normally translucent, incorporeal. He could move through solid objects and control darkness itself. He appeared often in the city, but was always in his incorporeal form. In this picture he was solid, wearing a sharp black suit and hat. He had Asian features and black shoulder-length hair. I had other pictures of him in his incorporeal form. The face was the same.
“It’s obviously him,” I said.
“And the photo wasn’t doctored,” Tia said.
“I …” That I couldn’t prove. “I can’t promise it wasn’t, though its being a Polaroid makes that less likely. Tia, he has to be corporeal some of the time. That photo is the best clue, but I have others. People who have smelled phosphorus and spotted someone walking by who matches his description.” Phosphorus was one of the signs of him using his powers. “I’ve found a dozen sources that all match this idea. It’s sunlight that makes the difference-I suspect it’s the ultraviolet part of sunlight that matters. Bathed in it, he turns corporeal.”
Tia held the photo before her, contemplating it. Then she began scanning through my other notes on Nightwielder. “I think we need to investigate it, Jon,” she said. “If there’s a chance we can actually get to Steelheart …”
“We can,” I said. “I have a plan. It will work.”
“This is stupidity,” Megan cut in. She stood by the wall with her arms crossed. “Sheer stupidity. We don’t even know his weakness.”
“We can figure it out,” I shot back. “I’m sure of it. We have the clues we need.”
“Even if we did figure it out,” Megan said, throwing a hand up into the air, “it would be practically useless. The obstacles in even getting to Steelheart are insurmountable!”
I locked eyes with her, fighting down my anger. I got the feeling she was arguing with me not because she actually disagreed, but because she found me offensive for some reason.
“I-” I began, but Prof interrupted me.
“Everyone follow me,” he said, standing up.
I shared a glare with Megan, and then we all moved, joining him as he walked toward the smaller room to the right of the main chamber. Even Cody made his way in from the third room-unsurprisingly, he’d been listening. He wore a glove on his right hand. It glowed with a soft green light at the palm.
“Is the imager ready?” Prof asked.
“Mostly,” Abraham said. “It’s one of the first things I set up.” He knelt beside a device on the floor connected to the wall by several wires. He turned it on.
Suddenly, all of the metal surfaces in the room turned black. I jumped. It felt like we were floating in darkness.
Prof raised a hand, then tapped on the wall in a pattern. The walls changed to show a view of the city, presenting it as if we were standing atop a six-story building. Lights sparkled in the blackness, shining from the hundreds of steel buildings that made up Newcago. The old buildings were less uniform; the new buildings, spreading out onto what had once been the lake, were more modern. They had been built from other materials, then intentionally transformed to steel. You could do some interesting things with architecture, I’d heard, when you had that option.
“This is one of the most advanced cities in the world,” Prof said. “Ruled by arguably the most powerful Epic in North America. If we move against him, we raise the stakes dramatically-and we’re already betting up to the limits of what we can pay. Failure could mean the end of the R
eckoners completely. It could bring disaster, could end the last bit of resistance against the Epics that mankind has left.”
“Just let me tell you the plan,” I said. “I think it will persuade you.” I had a hunch. Prof wanted to go after Steelheart. If I could make my case, he’d side with me.
Prof turned to me, meeting my eyes. “You want us to do this? Fine, I’ll give you your shot. But I don’t want you to persuade me.” He pointed to Megan, who stood beside the doorway, her arms still crossed. “Persuade her.”
13
Persuade her. Great, I thought. Megan’s eyes could have drilled holes through … well, anything, I guess. I mean, eyes can’t normally drill holes through things, so the metaphor works regardless, right?
Megan’s eyes could have drilled holes through butter. Persuade her? I thought. Impossible.
But I wasn’t going to give up without trying. I stepped up to the wall of glistening metal overlaid with the outline of Newcago.
“The imager can show us anything?” I asked.
“Anything the basic spynet watches or listens to,” Abraham explained, standing up from the imaging device.
“The spynet?” I said, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. I walked forward. This device was remarkable; it made me feel as if we really were standing on top of a building outside in the city, rather than in a box of a room. It wasn’t a perfect illusion-if I looked around closely I could still see the corners of the room we were standing in, and the 3-D imaging wasn’t great for things nearby.
Still, so long as I didn’t look too closely-and didn’t pay attention to the lack of wind or scents of the city-I really could imagine I was outside. They were constructing this image using the spynet? That was Steelheart’s surveillance system for the city, the means by which Enforcement kept tabs on what the people in Newcago were doing.
“I knew he was watching us,” I said, “but I hadn’t realized that the cameras were so … extensive.”
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