Firefight

  But Megan wasn’t a traitor. I didn’t know what she was, though I intended to find out.

  Down below, a car pulled up to the crowd. Prof glanced at it. “Go deal with them,” he said. “I’ll meet you back at the hideout.”

  I turned as the mayor climbed out of the car, along with a few members of the city council.

  Great, I thought.

  Honestly, I’d rather have faced another Epic.

  5

  I left the building as soldiers cleared a path for Mayor Briggs. She wore a white pantsuit and a matching fedora, similar to the other members of the city council. Unique clothing, well styled. That contrasted with the everyday people, who wore … well, basically anything.

  During the early days in Newcago, clothing had been shockingly hard to come by. Everything that hadn’t been on a person’s back had been transformed to steel during the Great Transfersion. Over the years, however, Steelheart’s foraging crews had scoured the suburbs, emptying warehouses, old malls, and abandoned houses. These days we had enough to wear—but it was a strange mix of different styles.

  The upper class, though, wanted to stand out. They avoided practical clothing like jeans, which lasted surprisingly long with a few patches here and there. During Steelheart’s reign they’d had their clothing made, and had chosen archaic designs. Things from a classier time, or so they said. It wasn’t the sort of clothing you could merely find lying about.

  We’d decided that I would be our liaison with Briggs and the rest. I was the only Newcago native in the Reckoners, and we wanted to limit access to Prof. The Reckoners did not rule Newcago—we protected it. It was a division we all thought was important.

  I stepped up through the crowd, ignoring those who whispered my name. The attention was embarrassing, honestly. All of these people worshipped me, but they barely remembered men like my father who had died fighting the Epics.

  “Looks like your handiwork, Charleston,” Mayor Briggs said, nudging the corpse on the ground with her foot. “Steelslayer puts another notch in his rifle.”

  “My rifle’s broken,” I said. Too harshly. The mayor was an important woman, and had done wonders helping to organize the city. It was just that she was one of them—Steelheart’s upper class. I’d expected them all to end up out on their ears, but somehow—through a series of political maneuvers I couldn’t follow—Briggs had ended up in charge of the city instead of being exiled.

  “I’m sure we can get you a new gun.” She looked me over, not smiling. She liked to convey a “no-nonsense” attitude. To me, it seemed more like a “no-personality” attitude.

  “Walk with me a pace, David,” Briggs said, turning to stroll away. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  I did mind, but I figured this was one of those questions you weren’t supposed to answer. I wasn’t completely sure, though. I wasn’t a nerd, mind you, but I’d spent a lot of my youth studying Epics, so I’d had limited experience with social interaction. I mixed with ordinary people about the same way that a bucket of paint mixed with a bag of gerbils.

  “Your leader,” Briggs said as we walked off a little ways from the crowd. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “Prof is busy.”

  “I imagine that is so. And I must say, we truly appreciate the protection you and yours offer this city.” She looked over her shoulder at the corpse, then cocked an eyebrow. “However, I can’t say that I understand your entire game plan.”

  “Mayor?” I asked.

  “Your leader allowed the wheels of politics to put me in charge of Newcago, but I know next to nothing of the Reckoners’ goals for this city—indeed this country. It would be nice to know what you are planning.”

  “That’s easy,” I said. “Kill Epics.”

  “And if a band of Epics joins together and comes to attack the city at once?”

  Yeah. That would be a problem.

  “Sourcefield,” she said, “terrorized us for five days while you furiously planned. Five days is a long time for a city to be under the thumb of another tyrant. If five or six powerful Epics got together and came with the intent to exterminate, I fail to see how you’d protect us. Certainly you might end up picking them off one at a time, but Newcago would turn into a wasteland before you were done.”

  Briggs stopped walking and turned to me, now that the others couldn’t hear. She looked me in the eyes, and I saw something in her expression. Was that … fear?

  “So I ask,” she said softly, “what is your plan? After years of hiding and only attacking Epics of middling importance, the Reckoners revealed themselves and brought down Steelheart himself. That means you have a greater goal, right? You’ve started a war. You know a secret to winning it, don’t you?”

  “I …” What could I say? This woman, who had weathered the reign of one of the most powerful Epics in the world—and who had seized control following his fall—looked to me with a plea on her lips and terror in her eyes.

  “Yes,” I said. “We have a plan.”

  “And …?”

  “And we might have found a way to stop them all, Mayor,” I said. “Any Epic.”

  “How?”

  I smiled in what I hoped was a confident way. “Reckoner secret, Mayor. Trust me, though. We know what we’re doing. We’d never start a war we expected to lose.”

  She nodded, looking placated. She went back into businesslike mode, and now that she had my ear she had a dozen things she wanted me to ask Prof about—most of which seemed attempts on her part to position him and the Reckoners politically. Her influence among the elite of Newcago would grow a great deal if she could parade Prof around as a friend. That was part of why we kept our distance.

  I listened, but was distracted by what I’d told her. Did the Reckoners have a plan? Not really.

  But I did.

  We eventually returned to where Sourcefield’s body lay. More people had gathered, including some members of the city’s fledgling press, who took pictures. They got a few shots of me, unfortunately.

  I passed through the crowd and knelt beside the corpse. She’d been a rabid dog, as Prof had put it. Killing her had been a mercy.

  She came for us, I thought. And this is the third one who avoided engaging Prof. Mitosis had come to the city while Prof had been away. Instabam had tried to lose Prof in the chase, gunning for Abraham. Now Sourcefield had captured Prof, then left him behind to chase me.

  Prof was right. Something was going on.

  “David?” Roy asked. He knelt, wearing his black and grey Enforcement armor.

  “Yeah.”

  Roy held out something in a black-gloved hand. Flower petals in a vibrant rainbow of hues—each petal bleeding between three or four colors, like mixed paint.

  “These were in her pocket,” Roy said. “We didn’t find anything else on her.”

  I waved Abraham over, then showed him the petals.

  “Those are from Babilar,” he said. “What used to be known as New York City.”

  “That’s where Mitosis had been working before he came here,” I said softly. “Coincidence?”

  “Hardly,” Abraham said. “I think we need to go show these to Prof.”

  6

  WE still kept a secret base hidden within the bowels of Newcago. Though I visited an apartment up above to shower each day, I slept down here, as did the others. Prof didn’t want people to know where to find us. Considering that the latest Epics to visit had all specifically tried to kill us, it seemed a good decision.

  Abraham and I hiked in through a long hidden passage that was cut directly into the metallic ground. The tunnel’s sides bore the distinctive smooth look created by tensors. When one of us held Prof’s disintegration powers, we could reduce sections of solid metal, rock, or wood to dust. This gave the tunnel a sculpted feel, as if the steel were mud that we’d hollowed out with our hands.

  Cody guarded the way into the hideout. We always set a watch after an operation. Prof kept expecting one of the Epics who showed up to b
e a decoy—someone for us to kill while a more powerful Epic watched and tried to discover how to follow us.

  It was all too possible.

  What will we do if a group of Epics decides to bring down the city? I thought, shivering as Abraham and I entered the hideout.

  Lit by yellow lightbulbs screwed directly into the walls, the hideout was a medium-sized complex of steel rooms. Tia sat at a desk at the far side; red-haired and middle-aged, she wore spectacles, a white blouse, and jeans. Her desk was a lavish wooden one that she’d set up a few weeks back. It had seemed a strange sign to me, a symbol of permanence.

  Abraham walked up to her and dropped the flower petals onto her desk. Tia raised an eyebrow at them. “Where?” she asked.

  “Sourcefield’s pocket,” I said.

  Tia gathered up the petals.

  “That’s the third Epic in a row who’s come here and tried to destroy us,” I said. “And each had a connection to Babylon Restored. Tia, what’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said.

  “Prof seems to know,” I said. “He said as much to me earlier, but he wouldn’t give me an explanation.”

  “Then I’ll let him tell you when he’s ready,” she said. “For now, there’s a file here on the table for you. The thing you asked about.”

  She was trying to distract me. I dropped my backpack—the pieces of my rifle stuck out the top—and crossed my arms, but found myself glancing toward the table, which held a folder with my name written on the top.

  Tia slipped away, entering Prof’s room and leaving Abraham and me alone in the main chamber. He settled down in a seat at the workbench, placing his gun on it with a thump. The gravatonics glowed green at the bottom, but one of them appeared to have cracked. Abraham took some tools off the wall and began to work on disassembling the gun.

  “What aren’t they telling us?” I asked, taking the file off Tia’s desk.

  “Many things,” Abraham said. His light French accent made him sound thoughtful. “It is the proper way. If one of us gets taken, we cannot reveal what we know.”

  I grunted, leaning back against the steel wall beside Abraham. “Babilar … Babylon Restored. Have you been there?”

  “No.”

  “Even before?” I asked, flipping through the pages Tia had left me. “When it was called Manhattan?”

  “I never visited,” Abraham said. “Sorry.”

  I glanced at Tia’s desk. A stack of folders there looked familiar. My old Epic files, the ones I’d made for every Epic I knew about. I leaned over, opening a folder.

  Regalia, the first file read. Formerly Abigail Reed. The Epic who currently ruled Babilar. I slipped out a photo of an older, distinguished-looking African American woman. She looked familiar. Hadn’t she been a judge, long ago? Yes … and after that, she’d starred in her own reality television show. Judge Regalia. I flipped through the pages, refreshing my memory.

  “David …,” Abraham warned as I flipped a page.

  “They’re my notes,” I said.

  “On Tia’s desk.” He continued to work on his gun without looking at me.

  I sighed, closing the folder. Instead I began reading the file that Tia had left for me. There was only one page inside; it was addressed to Tia from one of her contacts, a lorist—Reckoner talk for a person who studied Epics.

  It is often hard to delve into who Epics were before their transformations, particularly the early ones, the file said. Steelheart is an excellent example of this. Not only did we lose much of what was once recorded on the internet, but he actively worked to suppress anyone who knew him before Calamity. Now that we know his weakness—thanks to your young friend—we can surmise that he wanted to remove anyone who knew him before, in case they did not fear him.

  Still, I have been able to recover some little information. Named Paul Jackson, Steelheart was a track star in his local high school. He was also reputed to be a bully of some stature, to the point that—despite his winning record—he was not offered any major scholarships. There were incidents. I can’t find the specifics, but I think he might have left some fellow teammates with broken bones.

  After high school, he got a job working as a night watchman at a factory. He spent his days posting on various conspiracy theory forums, speculating about the impending fall of the country. I don’t think this was precognitive—he was just one of a large group of eccentrics who were dissatisfied with the way the United States was run. He frequently said he didn’t believe that the common people were capable of voting in their best interests.

  That’s about it. I will admit, however, that I’m curious why you want to know the past of a dead Epic. What is it that you’re researching, Tia?

  Underneath, scrawled in Tia’s handwriting, were the words, Yes, David, I’m also curious what it is you’re digging to find. Come talk to me.

  I lowered the paper, then walked over toward Prof’s room. We didn’t use doors in the hideout, just sheets of cloth. I could hear voices inside.

  “David …,” Abraham said.

  “In these notes, she told me to come talk to her.”

  “I doubt she meant right away.”

  I hesitated by the doorway.

  “… these flowers are an obvious sign that Abigail is involved,” Tia was saying inside, speaking in a low voice. I could barely hear.

  “That’s probable,” Prof replied. “But the petals themselves are very obvious. It makes me wonder—either a rival Epic is trying to turn our attention toward her, or …”

  “Or what?”

  “Or she herself is trying to taunt us into coming. I can’t help but see this as a gauntlet thrown down, Tia. Abigail wants me to come face her—and she’s going to keep sending people to try to kill my team until I go. It’s the only reason I can think of that she’d specifically recruit Firefight.”

  Firefight.

  Megan.

  I pushed into the room, ignoring Abraham’s sigh of resignation. “Megan?” I demanded. “What about Megan?”

  Tia and Prof stood face to face, and both turned on me like I was a piece of snot on the windshield following a sneeze. I lifted my chin and stared back at them. I was a full member of this team; I could be part of …

  Sparks. Those two really knew how to stare. I found myself sweating. “Megan,” I repeated. “You’ve, uh, found her?”

  “She murdered a member of a Reckoner team in Babilar,” Prof said.

  The words took me like a punch to the gut. “It wasn’t her,” I decided. “Whatever you think happened, you don’t have all the facts. Megan isn’t like that.”

  “Her name is Firefight. The person you call Megan was just a lie she created to fool us.”

  “No,” I said. “That was the real her. I saw it in her; I know her. Prof, she—”

  “David,” Prof snapped, exasperated. “She is one of them.”

  “So are you!” I shouted at him. “You think we can just keep doing this, like we’ve been doing? What happens when an Epic like Backbreaker or Obliteration comes to town? Someone who can simply vaporize the entire city to get at us?”

  “That’s why we never went this far!” Prof shouted back at me. “That’s why we kept the Reckoners secret, silent, and never attacked Epics who were too powerful! If this city is destroyed, it will be your fault, David Charleston. Tens of thousands of deaths will be on your head!”

  I stepped back, shocked, suddenly aware of what I was doing. Was I really arguing with Jon Phaedrus, head of the Reckoners? High Epic? The air seemed to warp around him as he shouted at me.

  “Jon,” Tia said, crossing her arms. “That was unfair. You agreed to attack Steelheart. We’re all culpable here.”

  He looked to her, and some of the anger left his eyes. He grunted. “We need a way out of this, Tia. If we’re going to fight this war, we’ll need weapons against them.”

  “Other Epics,” I said, finding my voice.

  Prof glared at me.

  “He might be right,” Tia s
aid.

  Prof turned that glare on her instead.

  “What we’ve accomplished,” Tia said, “we’ve done because of your powers. Yes, David brought down Steelheart, but he’d never have survived long enough to do so without your shielding. It might be time to start asking ourselves new questions.”

  “Megan spent all of those months with us,” I said, “and never turned against us. I saw her use her powers, and yes she got a little cranky afterward, but she was still good, Prof. And during the fight with Steelheart, when she saw me, she came back to herself.”

  Prof shook his head. “She didn’t use her powers against us because she was a spy for Steelheart and didn’t wish to reveal herself,” he said. “I’ll admit, that may have led her to be more reasonable—more herself—during her time with us. But she no longer has a reason to avoid using her abilities; the powers will have consumed her, David.”

  “But—”

  “David,” Prof said, “she killed a Reckoner.”

  “It was witnessed?”

  Prof hesitated. “I don’t have all the details yet. I know there is a recording at least, taken when she was fighting one of our people. And then he was found dead.”

  “It wasn’t her,” I said, then made a quick decision. “I’m going to go to Babilar and find her.”

  “Like hell you are,” Prof said.

  “What else will we do?” I asked, turning to leave. “This is the only plan we have.”

  “This isn’t a plan,” Prof said. “It’s hormones.”

  I stopped at the doorway, blushing, then glanced back.

  Prof picked at the flower petals that Tia had dumped on the dresser. He looked at her, still standing with her arms crossed. She shrugged.

  “I am going to Babylon Restored,” Prof finally said. “I have business there with an old friend. You may accompany me, David. But not because I want you to recruit Megan.”

  “Why, then?” I demanded.