“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.”
“Your plan?” He didn’t seem surprised that I’d worked out his name.
“For killing Steelheart.”
“You have a plan?” Prof asked. “For killing the most powerful Epic in the country?”
“That’s what I told you before.”
“I thought you wanted to join us to get us to do it.”
“I need help,” I said. “But I didn’t come empty-handed. I’ve got a detailed plan. I think it will work.”
Prof just shook his head, looking bemused.
Suddenly, Abraham laughed. “I like him. He has … something. Un homme téméraire. You sure we aren’t recruiting, Prof?”
“Yes,” Prof said flatly.
“At least look at my plan before you burn it,” I said. “Please.”
“Jon,” Tia said. “I’d like to see these pictures. They’re likely fake, but even so …”
“Fine,” Prof said, tossing something to me. The magazine for my rifle. “Change of plans. Cody, you take Megan and the boy and go to his place. If Enforcement is there and looks like they’re going to take this information, destroy it. But if the site looks safe, bring it back.” He eyed me. “Whatever you can’t carry easily, destroy. Understood?”
“Sure,” Cody said.
“Thank you,” I said.
“It’s not a favor, son,” Prof said. “And I hope it’s not a mistake either. Go on. We may not have much time before they track you.”
It was getting quiet in the understreets by the time we neared Ditko Place. You’d think that, with the perpetual darkness, there wouldn’t really be a “day” or a “night” in Newcago, but there is. People tend to want to sleep when everyone else sleeps, so we settle into routines.
Of course, there are a minority who don’t like to do as told, even when it comes to something simple. I was one of those. Being up all night means being awake when everyone else is sleeping. It’s quieter, more private.
The ceiling lights were set to a clock somewhere, and they colored to deeper shades when it was night. The change was subtle, but we learned to notice it. So, even though Ditko Place was near the surface, there wasn’t much motion on the streets. People were sleeping.
We arrived at the park, a large underground chamber carved from the steel. It had numerous holes in the ceiling for fresh air, and blue-violet lights shone from spotlights around the rim. The center of the tall chamber was cluttered with rocks brought in from outside—real rocks, not ones that had been turned to steel. There was also wooden playground equipment, moderately well maintained, that had been scavenged from somewhere. In the daytime the place would fill with children—the ones too young to work, or the ones with families who could afford not to have them work. Old women and men would gather to knit socks or do other simple work.
Megan raised her hand to still us. “Mobiles?” she whispered.
Cody sniffed. “Do I look like some amateur?” he asked. “It’s on silent.”
I hesitated, then took mine off the place on my shoulder and double-checked. Fortunately it was on silent. I took out the battery anyway, just in case. Megan moved quietly out of the tunnel and across the park toward the shadow of a large rock. Cody went next, then I followed, keeping low and moving as quietly as I could, passing large stones growing lichen.
Up above a few cars rumbled by on the roadway that ran past the openings in the ceiling. Late-night commuters heading home. Sometimes they’d throw trash down on us. A surprising number of the rich still had ordinary jobs. Accountants, teachers, salesmen, computer technicians—though Steelheart’s datanet was open only to his most trusted. I’d never seen a real computer, just my mobile.
It was a different world above, and jobs that had once been common were now held by only the privileged. The rest of us worked factories or sewed clothing in the park while watching children play.
I reached the rock and crouched beside Cody and Megan, who were stealthily inspecting the two far walls of the chamber, where the dwellings were cut. Dozens of holes in the steel provided homes of various sizes. Metal fire escapes had been harvested from unused buildings above and set up here to give access to the holes.
“So, which one is it?” Cody asked.
I pointed. “See that door on the second level, far right? That’s it.”
“Nice,” Cody said. “How’d y’all afford a place like this?” He asked it casually, but I could tell that he was suspicious. They all were. Well, I suppose that was to be expected.
“I needed a room by myself for my research,” I said. “The factory where I worked saves all of your wages when you’re a kid, then gives them to you in four yearly chunks when you hit eighteen. It was enough to get me a year in my own room.”
“Cool,” Cody said. I wondered if my explanation passed his test or not. “It doesn’t look like Enforcement has made it here yet. Maybe they couldn’t match you from the description.”
I nodded slowly, though beside me Megan was looking around, her eyes narrowed.
“What?” I asked.
“It looks too easy. I don’t trust things that look too easy.”
I scanned the far walls. There were a few empty trash bins and some motorbikes chained up beside a stairwell. Some chunks of metal had been etched by enterprising street artists. They weren’t supposed to do that, but the people encouraged them, quietly. It was one of the only forms of rebellion the common people ever engaged in.
“Well, we can wait here staring until they do come,” Cody said, rubbing his face with a leathery finger, “or we can just go. Let’s be on with it.” He stood up.
One of the large trash bins shimmered.
“Wait!” I said, grabbing Cody and pulling him down, my heart leapi
ng.
“What?” he said, anxious, unslinging his rifle. It was of a very fine make, old but well maintained, with a large scope and a state-of-the-art suppressor on the front. I’d never been able to get my hands on one of those. The cheaper ones worked poorly, and I found it too hard to aim with them.
“There,” I said, pointing at the trash bin. “Watch it.”
He frowned but did what I asked. My mind raced, sorting through fragments of remembered research. I needed my notes. Shimmering … illusionist Epic … who was that?
Refractionary, I thought, seizing on a name. A class C illusionist with personal invisibility capabilities.
“What am I watching for?” Cody asked. “Did you get spooked by a cat or something—” He cut off as the bin shimmered again. Cody frowned, then crouched down farther. “What is that?”