Steelheart (8 page)

“I do,” I said.

“Perhaps,” Prof said.

“Perhaps,”
Megan said. “Perhaps not. Prof, he could have heard of the murders and known of Steelheart’s scar, then fabricated the rest! There’d be no way to prove it, because if he’s right, then he and Steelheart are the only witnesses.”

Prof nodded slowly.

“Hitting Steelheart would be near impossible,” Abraham said. “Even if we
could
figure out his weakness, he’s got guards. Strong ones.”

“Firefight, Conflux, and Nightwielder,” I said, nodding. “I’ve got a plan for dealing with each of them. I think I’ve figured out their weaknesses.”

Tia frowned. “You have?”

“Ten years,” I said softly. “For ten years, all I’ve done is plan how to get to him.”

Prof still seemed thoughtful. “Son,” he said to me. “What did you say your name was?”

“David.”

“Well, David. You guessed we were going to hit Fortuity. What would you guess we’d do next?”

“You’ll leave Newcago by nightfall,” I said immediately. “That’s always what a team does after springing a trap. Of course, there
is
no nightfall here. But you’ll be gone in a few hours, then go rejoin the rest of the Reckoners.”

“And what would be the next Epic we’d be planning to hit?” Prof asked.

“Well,” I said, thinking quickly, remembering my lists and
projections. “None of your teams have been active in the Middle Grasslands or Caliph lately. I’d guess your next target would be either the Armsman in Omaha, or Lightning, one of the Epics in Snowfall’s band out in Sacramento.”

Cody whistled softly. Apparently I’d guessed pretty well—which was fortunate. I hadn’t been too sure. I tended to be right about a quarter of the time lately, guessing where Reckoner cells would strike.

Prof suddenly moved to stand. “Abraham, prep Hole Fourteen. Cody, see if you can get a false trail set up that will lead to Caliph.”

“Hole Fourteen?” Tia said. “We’re staying in the city?”

“Yes,” Prof said.

“Jon,” Tia said, addressing Prof. His real name, probably. “I can’t—”

“I’m not saying that we’re going to hit Steelheart,” he said, holding up a hand. He pointed at me. “But if the kid has figured out what we’re going to do next, someone else might have too. That means we need to change. Immediately. We’ll go to ground here for a few days.” He looked at me. “As for Steelheart … we’ll see. First I want to hear your story again. I want to hear it a dozen times. Then I’ll decide what to do next.”

He held out a hand to me. I took it hesitantly, letting him pull me to my feet. There was something in this man’s eyes, something I didn’t expect to see. A hatred of Steelheart nearly as deep as my own. It was manifest in the way he said the Epic’s name, the way his lips turned down, the way his eyes narrowed and seemed to
burn
as he spoke the word.

It seemed like the two of us understood each other in that moment.

Prof
, I thought.
Professor, PhD. The man who founded the Reckoners is named Jonathan Phaedrus. P-h … d
.

This wasn’t just a team commander, a chief of one of the Reckoner cells. This was Jon Phaedrus himself. Their leader and founder.

“SO …,”
I said as we left the room. “Where’s this place we’re going? Hole Fourteen?”

“You don’t need to know that,” Prof said.

“Can I have my rifle magazine back?”

“No.”

“Do I need to know any … I don’t know. Secret handshakes? Special identifiers? Codes so other Reckoners know I’m one of them?”

“Son,” Prof said, “you’re
not
one of us.”

“I know, I know,” I said quickly. “But I don’t want anyone to surprise us and think I’m an enemy or something, and—”

“Megan,” Prof said, jerking his thumb at me. “Entertain the kid. I need to think.” He walked on ahead, joining Tia, and the two of them began speaking quietly.

Megan gave me a scowl. I probably deserved it, for yammering questions at Prof like that. I was just so nervous. Phaedrus himself, the founder of the Reckoners. Now that I knew what to look for, I recognized him from the descriptions—sparse though they were—that I’d read.

The man was a legend. A god among freedom fighters and assassins alike. I was starstruck, and the questions had just dribbled out. In truth I was proud of myself for not asking for an autograph on my gun.

My behavior hadn’t earned me points with Megan, however, and she obviously didn’t like being put on babysitting detail either. Cody and Abraham were talking ahead, which left Megan and me walking beside each other as we moved at a brisk pace down one of the darkened steel tunnels. She was silent.

She really was pretty. And she was probably around my age, maybe just a year or two older. I still wasn’t certain why she’d turned cold toward me. Maybe some witty conversation would help with that. “So, uh,” I said. “How long have you … you know, been with the Reckoners? And all?”

Smooth.

“Long enough,” she said.

“Were you involved in any of the recent kills? Gyro? Shadowblight? Earless?”

“Maybe. I doubt Prof would want me sharing specifics.”

We walked in silence for a time longer.

“You know,” I said, “you’re not really very entertaining.”

“What?”

“Prof told you to entertain me,” I said.

“That was just to deflect your questions onto someone else. I doubt you’ll find anything I do to be particularly entertaining.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I said. “I liked the striptease.”

She glared at me.
“What?”

“Out in the alley,” I said. “When you …”

Her expression was so frigid you could have used it to liquidcool a high-fire-rate stationary gun barrel. Or maybe some drinks. Chill drinks—that was a better metaphor.

I didn’t think she’d appreciate me using it right then, though. “Never mind,” I said.

“Good,” she said, turning away from me and continuing on.

I breathed out, then chuckled. “For a moment there I thought you’d shoot me.”

“I only shoot people when the job calls for it,” she said. “You’re trying to make small talk; you’re simply not very good at it. That’s not a shooting offense.”

“Er, thanks.”

She nodded, businesslike, which wasn’t exactly the reaction I’d have hoped for from a pretty girl whose life I’d saved. Granted, she was the first girl—pretty or not—whose life I’d saved, so I didn’t have much of a baseline.

Still, she’d been kind of warm to me before, hadn’t she? Maybe I just needed to work a little harder. “So what
can
you tell me?” I asked. “About the team, or the other members.”

“I’d prefer to discuss another topic,” she said. “One that doesn’t involve secrets about the Reckoners
or
my clothing, please.”

I fell silent. Truth was, I didn’t
know
about much other than the Reckoners and the Epics in town. Yes, I’d had some schooling at the Factory, but only basic kinds of stuff. And before that I’d lived a year scavenging on the streets, malnourished, barely avoiding death.

“I guess we could talk about the city,” I said. “I know a lot about the understreets.”

“How old are you?” Megan said.

“Eighteen,” I said, defensive.

“And is anyone going to come looking for you? Are people going to wonder where you went?”

I shook my head. “I hit my majority two months ago. Got kicked out of the Factory where I worked.”

That was the rule. You only worked there until you were eighteen; after that you found another job.

“You worked at a factory?” she asked. “For how long?”

“Nine years or so,” I said. “Weapons factory, actually. Made guns for Enforcement.” Some understreeters, particularly the older ones, grumbled about how the Factory exploited children for labor. That was a stupid complaint, made by old people who remembered a different world. A safer world.

In my world, people who gave you the chance to work in exchange for food were saints. Martha saw to it that her workers were fed, clothed, and protected, even from one another.

“Was it nice?”

“Kind of. It’s not slave labor, like people think. We got paid.” Kind of. Martha saved wages to give us when we were no longer owned by the Factory. Enough to establish ourselves, find a trade.

“It was a good place to grow up, all things considered,” I said wistfully as we walked. “Without the Factory, I doubt I’d have ever learned to fire a gun. The kids aren’t supposed to use the weapons, but if you’re good, Martha—she ran the place—turns a blind eye.” More than one of her kids had gone on to work for Enforcement.

“That’s interesting,” Megan said. “Tell me more.”

“Well, it’s …” I trailed off, looking at her. Only now did I realize she’d been walking along, eyes forward, barely paying attention. She was just asking things to keep me talking, maybe even to keep me from bothering her in more invasive ways.

“You’re not even listening,” I accused.

“You seemed like you wanted to talk,” she said curtly. “I gave you the chance.”

Sparks
, I thought, feeling like a slontze. We fell silent as we walked, which seemed to suit Megan just fine.

“You don’t know how aggravating this is,” I finally said.

She gave me a glance, her emotions hidden. “Aggravating?”

“Yes, aggravating. I’ve spent the last ten years of my life studying
the Reckoners and the Epics. Now that I’m with you, I’m told I’m not allowed to ask questions about important things. It’s aggravating.”

“Think about something else.”

“There
is
nothing else. Not to me.”

“Girls.”

“None.”

“Hobbies.”

“None. Just you guys, Steelheart, and my notes.”

“Wait,” she said. “Notes?”

“Sure,” I said. “I worked in the Factory during the days, always listening for rumors. I spent my free days spending what little money I had buying newspapers or stories off those who traveled abroad. I got to know a few information brokers. Each night I’d work on the notes, putting it all together. I knew I’d need to be an expert on Epics, so I became one.”

She frowned deeply.

“I know,” I said, grimacing. “It sounds like I don’t have a life. You’re not the first to tell me that. The others at the Factory—”

“Hush,” she said. “You wrote about Epics, but what about us? What about the Reckoners?”

“Of course I wrote it down,” I said. “What was I supposed to do? Keep it in my head? I filled a couple notebooks, and though most of it was guesswork, I’m pretty good at guessing.…” I trailed off, realizing why she looked so worried.

“Where is it all?” she asked softly.

“In my flat,” I said. “Should be safe. I mean, none of those goons got close enough to see me clearly.”

“And the woman you pulled out of her car?”

I hesitated. “Yeah, she saw my face. She
might
be able to describe me. But, I mean, that wouldn’t be enough for them to track me, right?”

Megan was silent.

Yes
, I thought.
Yes, it might be enough
. Enforcement was very
good at its job. And unfortunately, I had a few incidents in my past, such as the taxi wreck. I was on file, and Steelheart would give Enforcement a great deal of motivation to follow every lead regarding Fortuity’s death.

“We need to talk to Prof,” Megan said, towing me by the arm toward where the others were walking ahead.

PROF
listened to my explanation with thoughtful eyes. “Yes,” he said as I finished. “I should have seen this. It makes sense.”

I relaxed. I’d been afraid he’d be furious.

“What’s the address, son?” Prof asked.

“Fifteen thirty-two Ditko Place,” I said. It was carved into the steel around a park in one of the nicer areas of the understreets. “It’s small, but I live alone. I keep it locked tight.”

“Enforcement won’t need a key,” Prof said. “Cody, Abraham, go to this place. Set a firebomb, make sure nobody is inside, and blow the entire room.”

I felt a sudden jolt of alarm, as if someone had hooked up my toes to a car battery.
“What?”

“We can’t have Steelheart getting that information, son,” Prof said. “Not just the information about us, but the information on the
other Epics you collected. If it’s as detailed as you say, he could use it against the other powerful Epics in the region. Steelheart already has too much influence. We need to destroy that intel.”

“You can’t!” I exclaimed, my voice echoing in the narrow, steel-walled tunnel. Those notes were my life’s work! Sure, I hadn’t been around
that
long, but still … ten years of effort? Losing it would be like losing a hand. Given the option, I’d rather lose the hand.

“Son,” Prof said, “don’t push me. Your place here is fragile.”

“You
need
that information,” I said. “It’s important, sir. Why would you burn hundreds of pages of information about the powers of Epics and their possible weaknesses?”

“You said you gathered it through hearsay,” Tia said, her arms crossed. “I doubt there’s anything in it that we don’t know already.”

“Do you know Nightwielder’s weakness?” I asked, desperate.

Nightwielder. He was one of Steelheart’s High Epic bodyguards, and his powers created the perpetual darkness over Newcago. He was a shadowy figure himself, completely incorporeal, immune to gunfire or weapons of any kind.

“No,” Tia admitted. “And I doubt you do either.”

“Sunlight,” I said. “He becomes solid in sunlight. I’ve got pictures.”

“You have
pictures
of Nightwielder in corporeal form?” Tia asked.

“I think so. The person I bought them from wasn’t certain, but I’m reasonably sure.”

“Hey, lad,” Cody called. “You want to buy Loch Ness from me? I’ll give you a good price.”

I glared at him, and he just shrugged. Loch Ness was in Scotland, I knew that much, and it seemed that the crest on Cody’s cap might be some kind of Scottish or English deal. But his accent didn’t match.

“Prof,” I said, turning back to him. “Phaedrus, sir, please. You have to see my plan.”