Firefight (29 page)

Val stood, back to the hatch, watching the city. I walked over to her, then pointed to the unzipped back of my suit. “Little help, please?”

I made sure to keep her positioned away from the opening into the sub. Once zipped, I didn’t look to see if Megan had escaped, but instead put on the spyril. “I have a lot of work to do,” Val said as she passed me and climbed down the hatch. “I’ll be at it for a few hours, at least. So if you finish before then, find a way to entertain yourself. I’ll let you know when I’m ready for you.”

I activated the spyril and jumped out into the water. I didn’t need to worry about my rifle; it would work fine after being submerged.

Val climbed back inside and locked the hatch. I treaded water there for a moment until the sub lowered into the ocean, revealing Megan in the water on the other side, looking wet and miserable.

“N-nice night,” she said, shivering.

“It’s not even that cold,” I said.

“Says the guy in the wetsuit.” She looked around. “Think there are sharks in here?”

“That’s what
I
keep wondering!”

“I’ve never trusted water in the darkness.” She paused. “Well, I don’t really care for it at all.”

“Didn’t you grow up in Portland?” I asked.

“Yeah, so?”

“So … it’s like a port, right? So didn’t you ever go swimming there?”

“In the
Willamette?
”

“Uh … yeah?”

“Um, let’s just say no. I did not.” She glanced toward one of the distant buildings. “Sparks. If I get eaten because of you, Knees, I’m never going to let you hear the end of it.”

“At least you’d come back from being eaten,” I said.

“Doesn’t make me eager to try the experience.” She sighed. “So we swim?”

“Not exactly,” I said. I swam over to her and held out my arm. “Grab hold of me.” She hesitantly wrapped her arms around my chest just under my arms.

With Megan holding on tightly, I pointed the streambeam into the ocean, then engaged the spyril. We rose on jets of water, a good thirty feet in the air. The black, glassy surface of the sea stretched out around us, the towers of submerged Manhattan rising beyond like neon sentries.

Megan breathed out softly, still holding on to me. “Not bad.”

“You haven’t seen the spyril in action?”

She shook her head.

“Then might I suggest you hang on?” I said.

She complied, pulling herself tight against me, which was a not-unpleasant situation. Next, I attempted something I’d been practicing. I leaned forward, turning the jets on my feet
backward at an angle, then pushed my hand downward—not the one with the streambeam, but the one with the smaller handjet for maneuvering.

This kept us from toppling down into the water, the handjet giving thrust upward, the ones on my feet thrusting backward. The result was that we shot across the water, the jet on my hand lending us just enough lift to stay aloft. Twenty-seven and a half times in fifty-four, this stunt ended with me crashing face-first into the water. This time, blessedly, I managed it without such indignity.

Wind whipped at my face, the spray of water cold on my skin. I grinned, flying us toward one of the rooftops. Once there, I gave us a burst from below and used the guiding jet on my hand to slow our momentum forward. We shot high into the air, and another spurt of water from my hand nudged us over the lip of the roof, where we landed.

I stood triumphantly, putting one arm around Megan, looking down to see if she was beaming at me in awe.

Instead her teeth were chattering. “So … cold …”

“But it was awesome, right?” I said.

She breathed out, letting go of me and stepping onto the roof. A few people gawked at us from beside a tent on the far side of the building. “Not particularly
stealthy
,” she noted. “But yes, awesome. And you can stop ogling me now.”

I tore my eyes away from the way her damp T-shirt, underneath her jacket, clung to her skin and bra. “Sorry.”

“No,” she said, pulling her jacket tight and doing the buttons, “it’s all right. I mean, I teased you for looking at other women. That implies I want you to look at
me
instead. So I shouldn’t get mad when you do.”

“Mmm …,” I said. “So you’re gorgeous
and
logical.”

She gave me a flat stare. I just shrugged.

“I’m still not sure this will work,” she said.

“You’re the one who came to see
me
,” I said. “And if you hadn’t noticed, back in the base, that moment in my room … it seemed to be working pretty well then.”

We stood, looking at one another, and I hated how awkward it suddenly felt. As if a fat man at the buffet had suddenly forced his way between us to get at the mac and cheese.

“I should be going,” she said. “Thank you. For being willing to talk. For not turning me in. For … being you.”

“I’m pretty good at being me,” I said. “I’ve had all these years to practice—I hardly ever get it wrong these days.”

We stared at each other.

“So, uh,” I said, shuffling from one foot to the other, “want to go with me to check up on Obliteration? If you’re not doing anything else important, I mean.”

She cocked her head. “Did you just invite me on a date … to spy on a deadly Epic planning to destroy the city?”

“Well, I don’t have a lot of experience with dating, but I’ve always heard you’re supposed to pick something you know the girl will enjoy.…”

She smiled. “Well, let’s get to it then.”

35

I
pulled out my mobile for a map of the area and Megan looked over my shoulder and pointed to the south. “That way,” she said. “We’ve got a walk ahead of us.”

“You sure you don’t want to …” I gestured at the spyril on my legs.

“What part of ‘spying’ involves flying through the city and drawing the attention of everyone nearby?”

“The fun part,” I said, sullen. I’d practiced for a reason. I wanted to show off what I knew.

“Well,” Megan said, “it might not matter, but I’d rather be quiet about this. Yes, Regalia wanted me to seduce you, but I don’t want to be blatant—”

“Wait, what?” I stopped in place.

“Oh, um, yeah.” Megan grimaced. “Sorry. I meant my explanation
to be way better.” She ran her hand through her hair. “Regalia wanted me to seduce you. I’m not sure how much she knows of my background with the Reckoners, and I think she came up with the idea of me and you on her own. But don’t worry; I decided before even coming here that I wasn’t going to actively work against the Reckoners.”

I stared at her. That was kind of a large bomb to drop on me, just like that. I knew it was stupid, but suddenly I found myself questioning the affection she’d shown me earlier.

She wouldn’t have just told you if she were really planning on doing it
, I told myself pointedly. I’d already decided to trust Megan. I’d just have to do it on this issue too.

“Well,” I said, starting off and giving her a smile, “that’s good. Even if being seduced kind of sounds like it would be fun.”

“Slontze,” Megan said, visibly relaxing. She took my arm and steered me across the rooftop. “At least if we’re spotted, I think Regalia will assume I’m just trying to do as she said.”

“And if something goes wrong,” I noted, “we can use your illusions to distract her.”

Megan shot me a glance as we reached a narrow rope bridge to the next roof. She started across in front of me, presenting a fine silhouette. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to use my powers,” she said softly.

“You aren’t.”

“I sense a very large
but
.”

“Funny, because right in front of me, I see a—”

“Watch it.”

“—very attractive, um, set of calves. Look, Megan, I know I told you not to use your powers. But that was just a first step, a way to reset and gain control. It’s not going to work long-term.”

“I know,” she said. “There’s no way I’ll be able to resist.”

“I’m not just talking about that,” I said. “I’m talking about something bigger.”

She stopped on the bridge and looked back at me. We swung gently above the waters below, some four stories down in this case. I wasn’t worried about the drop—I was still wearing the spyril.

“Bigger?” she asked.

“We can’t fight the Epics.”

“But—”

“Not alone,” I continued. “I’ve accepted it. The Reckoners only survive because of Prof and because of things like the spyril. I spent years convincing myself that regular people could fight, and I still think we can. But we need the same weapons our enemies have.”

Megan inspected me in the darkness. The only light came from spraypaint on the ropes of the bridge. Finally, she stepped forward and picked at something around my neck. Abraham’s necklace, which I wore under the wetsuit. She pulled it out.

“I thought you said these people were idiots.”

“I said they were idealistic,” I clarified. “And they are. Heroes aren’t magically going to show up and save us. But maybe, with work, we can figure out how to … um … recruit a few of them.”

“Did I tell you why I came to Babilar?” she asked, still holding the necklace by its small
S
pendant.

I shook my head.

“Word is,” Megan said, “that Regalia can enhance an Epic’s powers. Make them stronger, more versatile.”

I nodded slowly. “So what she said to me the other day …”

“She didn’t just make it up then. This is something she’s been claiming, in certain circles, for at least a year now.”

“Which explains why so many High Epics have come to Babilar,” I said. “Mitosis, Sourcefield, Obliteration. She promised
to increase their power in exchange for doing as she demanded.”

“And if there’s one thing most Epics want,” Megan agreed, “it’s more power. No matter how strong they already are.”

I shifted, feeling the bridge rock beneath us. “So you …”

“I came,” Megan said softly, “because I figured if she really can increase an Epic’s powers, she might be able to take mine away. Make me normal again.”

Silence hung between us like a dead wombat on a string.

“Megan …”

“A foolish dream,” she said, dropping the necklace and turning from me. “As foolish as yours. You’re as idealistic as Abraham, David.” She continued across the bridge, leaving me.

I hurried to catch up. “Maybe,” I said, taking her by the arm as we reached the other side. “But maybe not. Let’s work together, Megan. You and me. Maybe what you need is a pressure valve of some sort. You use your powers a little here and there, in a controlled situation, to scratch the itch. That lets you practice restraining the emotions. Or maybe there’s another trick, one we can discover together.”

She moved to pull away, but I held on tight.

“Megan,” I said, stepping around her and meeting her eyes. “Let’s at least
try
.”

“I …” She took a deep breath. “Sparks, you’re hard to ignore.”

I smiled.

Finally, she turned and pulled me toward an abandoned tent, really just a cloth propped up on one side by a pole mounted in the rooftop. “If we’re going to do this, you have to understand,” Megan said softly, “that my powers are not what they seem.”

“The illusions?”

“Not exactly.”

She squatted down in the shadows of the abandoned tent, and I joined her, uncertain what we were hiding from. Likely she just wanted to be sheltered as she talked, not so out in the open. But there was something very hesitant about her.

“I …” She bit her lip. “I’m not an illusion Epic.”

I frowned but didn’t object.

“You haven’t figured it out?” Megan asked. “That time back in Newcago in the elevator shaft, when you and I were close to being spotted by guards. They shined a flashlight right on us.”

“Yeah. You made an illusion of darkness to hide us.”

“And did you
see
any darkness?”

“Well, no.” I frowned. “Does this have to do with the dowser?” It was the device—a real piece of technology, so far as I knew—that scanned a person and determined if they were an Epic or not. The Reckoners tested everyone in their team with some regularity. “I never
did
figure out how you fooled it. You could have created an illusion on the screen to cover the real result, but …”

“The dowser records its results,” Megan finished for me.

“Yeah. If Tia or Prof ever looked back at its logs, they’d have noticed a positive identification of an Epic. I can’t believe they never did that.” I focused on Megan, her face lit softly by some glowing spraypaint beneath us. “What
are
you?”

Megan hesitated, then spread her hands to her sides, and suddenly her wet clothing was dry. It changed, in an eyeblink, from a jacket and fitted tee to a jacket and green blouse, then a dress, then rugged camouflage military gear. The changes came faster and faster, different outfits flickering over her figure, and then her
hair
started changing. Different styles, different colors. Skin tones soon joined the mix. She was Asian, she was pale with freckles, she had skin darker than Mizzy’s.

She was using her powers. That put my hair on end, even though I
had
been the one to encourage her.

“With my powers,” she said, a hundred different versions of her face passing in a few moments, “I can reach into, and touch, other realities.”

“Other realities?”

“I once read a book,” Megan continued, her flickering features and clothing finally returning to her normal self, wet jacket and all, “that claimed there were infinite worlds, infinite possibilities. That every decision made by any person in this world created a new reality.”

“That sounds bizarre.”

“Says the man who just flew through a city using a device powered by the corpse of a dead Epic.”

“Well,
research
derived from a dead Epic,” I corrected.

“No,” Megan said. “An actual corpse. The ‘research’ involves using bits of dead Epic and drawing their abilities forth. What did you think the motivator on that machine was?”

“Huh.” Mizzy had said the motivators were each individual to the device. So … like, individual because they had a piece of a dead Epic in them?
Probably just the mitochondrial DNA
, I thought. The Reckoners harvested it from dead Epics, and used it as currency.… That was what made the motivator work. It made some sense. Creepy sense, at least.