Steelheart: Part Three

A plaintive squeak came from the pulley system with each draw, as if I had strapped some unfortunate mouse to a torture device and was twisting with glee.

She heaved the crate onto a dolly and wheeled it over to stack it with the others.

"It only looks easy. Just like abstract art."
I grunted. "Abstract art?" I asked, heaving on the rope.
"Sure. You know, guy paints a black line on a canvas, calls it a metaphor, sells it for millions."

"It is not a matter of trust. We must keep some things secret, even within the team, should one of us be taken captive. Steelheart has his way of getting to what one hides—nobody except Prof should know everything we are doing."
It was a good rationale, and it was probably why I couldn't know about other Reckoner cells either, but it was still annoying.

The stories aren't meant to bolster him—or if they are, he has an odd way of going about it. Most of the stories are about atrocities he's committed.

Anyway, many of these stories are accompanied by documentation claiming they were devised by Steelheart himself. It even notes their falsehood, and the need to substantiate them with made-up facts.

If we don't fight, humankind is finished. We slowly become sheep to the Epics, slaves and servants—stagnant.

"In the end," Megan said, "they don't get to be masters of their own destinies. They get to be dominated by Steelheart or left to fend for themselves—at least until another Epic comes along to dominate them again."

"But doesn't it bother you?" I asked.
"Not unduly," Abraham answered simply, putting his necklace back on.

"So why the dour expressions?" Cody asked, hopping up beside us on the crates. "You two look like a pair of coon hunters on a rainy day."

"Nightwielder's been out in the city. People are reporting him all over, passing through walls, looking in on dens of miscreants and lesser Epics. It has everyone on edge."

I tapped the series of photographs—each was a shot of Firefight taken on a different day, usually with Steelheart and his retinue.

A cavalcade of cars drove beneath, like a military convoy.

I've thought it through and, despite Firefight's reputation, he doesn't seem terribly dangerous. I can't squarely attribute any deaths to him, and he rarely fights.

"I know. Power duality—melding two second-tier abilities creates a first-tier one."
Tia smiled. "You've been reading my classification system notes."

"I wasn't certain how deep the bank room ended up sinking, or even if it retained structural integrity."

The room had settled at an angle, with the floor sloping downward. The skewed perspective only enhanced the surreal sensation of this place.

There was almost no dust, though some motes dodged lazily in the air, creating little halos around the white lanterns Tia had set up.

I continued forward until I could see the sterile little mortgage cubicle I'd hidden in.

Its windows were now opaque, but I could see in through the open front.

He was a hero, son. He stood up to, and killed, Deathpoint—an Epic who had been slaughtering wantonly.

There was a hallowed feeling to the room—like I somehow had to show respect—and I think the others must have sensed it too.

"Mostly mementos or keepsakes of no intrinsic value. Anything among them could be our culprit, theoretically. But then there's a chance it was something one of the people in the room was carrying on them. Or it could be, as David seems to think, something about the situation."

"It's very rare for an Epic's weakness to be influenced just by proximity to something mundane," I said, shrugging.

"Piping is the most sublime sound y'all have ever heard," Cody explained, gesturing widely as we walked down the corridor toward the hideout.

"A sonorous mix of power, frailty, and wonder."
"It sounds like dying cats being stuffed into a blender," Tia said to me.

Cody looked wistful. "Aye, and a beauteous melody that is, lass."

"I mean, you could use something less rare, like ivory. But if you're going to be a purist, it has to be unicorn horns."

I don't think I'd ever heard her laugh, really laugh. Not chuckle, not part her lips in wry mockery, but truly laugh.

"David," she said between gasps, "I think that is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard anyone say. The most outlandishly, audaciously ridiculous."

He's faced other Epics with impunity. What he seems to be afraid of is a big battle, where bullets are flying around.

She was Nightwielder's assistant, the one who had been with him at Diamond's. She was probably a liaison to Enforcement; it made sense for her to be in the limo.

Most people have never seen a High Epic in their glory. That's what we call it when they summon their powers in earnest—when they rise up in their might, their emotions kindled to wrath and fury.

"I feel like I've been in a centrifuge," Cody complained, groaning. "I think the Scotsman drained to my feet and the American floated up to my ears."

"Two of us will have to ride tandem."

She seemed to have recovered from whatever lapse had almost led her to drive us right into a blockade.

In a moment of lucidity I stuck one of the blasting caps on the cycle's fuel cell.

The armor collapsed with a resounding thud as Prof leaped forward and drilled his fist through the second armor's leg.

One foolhardy member of Enforcement tried to charge Prof, who stood over the fallen armors.

Jaw clenched, eyes seeming to blaze with intensity. There was contempt in those eyes, and the sight of it caused me to stumble back in shock.