Steelheart (The Reckoners #1)

“Yes.” Abraham hesitated, then pulled his shirt back on. “It probably would not have stopped a bullet to the face, however. So I am fortunate they did not choose to shoot me there.”

“As I said,” Megan interjected, “they are far from perfect.” She seemed annoyed with Abraham.

“The shield works better with things like falls and crashes— bullets are so small and hit with so much velocity, the shields overload quickly. Any of those shots could have killed you, Abraham.”

“But they did not.”

“You still could have been hurt.”

Megan’s voice was stern.

“I was hurt.”

She rolled her eyes. “You could have been hurt worse.”

“Or they could have opened re,” he said, “and killed us all. It was a gamble that worked. Besides, I believe they now think we are Epics.”

“I almost thought you were one,”

I admitted.

“Normally

we

keep

this

technology hidden,” Abraham said, putting on his jacket again.

“People cannot wonder whether the Reckoners are Epics; it would undermine what we stand for.

However, in this case, I believe it will go well for us. Your plan calls for there to be rumors of new Epics in the city, working against Steelheart. These men will hopefully spread that rumor.”

“I guess,” I said. “It was a good move, Abraham, but sparks. For a moment, I thought we were dead.”

“People rarely want to kill, David,” Abraham said calmly. “It’s not basic to the makeup of the healthy human mind. In most situations they will go to great lengths to avoid killing. Remember that, and it will help you.”

“I’ve seen a lot of people kill,” I replied.

“Yes, and that will tell you something. Either they felt they had no choice—in which case, if you could give them another choice, they would likely have taken it—or they were not of healthy mind.”

“And Epics?”

Abraham reached to his neck and ngered the small silver necklace he wore there. “Epics are not human.”

I nodded. With that, I agreed.

“I believe our conversation was interrupted,” Abraham said, taking his gun from Megan and casually resting it on his shoulder as we walked onward. “How did

Steelheart get wounded? It could have been the weapon your father used. You never tried your brave plan of nding an identical gun, then doing … what was it you said? Sneaking into Steelheart’s palace and shooting him?”

“No, I didn’t get to try it,” I said, blushing. “I came to my senses. I don’t think it was the gun, though.

M&P

nine-millimeters

aren’t

exactly uncommon. Someone’s got to have tried shooting him with one. Besides, I’ve never heard of an Epic whose weakness was being shot by a speci c caliber of bullet or make of gun.”

“Perhaps,” Abraham said, “but many Epic weaknesses do not make sense. It could have something to do with that speci c gun manufacturer. Or instead, it could have something to do with the composition of the bullet. Many Epics are weak to specific alloys.”

“True,” I admitted. “But what would be di erent about that particular bullet that wasn’t the same for all of the others red at him?”

“I don’t know,” Abraham said.

“But it is worth considering. What do you think caused his weakness?”

“Something in the vault, like Tia thinks,” I said with only some measure of con dence. “Either that or something about the situation.

Maybe my father’s speci c age let him get through—weird, I know, but there was an Epic in Germany who could only be hurt by someone who was thirty-seven exactly. Or maybe it was the number of people ring on him. Crossmark, an Epic down in Mexico, can only be hurt if ve people are trying to kill her at once.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Megan interrupted, turning around in the hallway and stopping in the tunnel to look at us. “You’re never going to gure it out. His weakness could be virtually anything. Even with David’s little story—assuming he didn’t just make it up—there’s no way of knowing.”

Abraham and I stopped in place.

Megan’s face was red, and she seemed barely in control. After a week of her acting cold and professional, her anger was a big shock.

She spun around and kept

walking. I glanced at Abraham, and he shrugged.

We continued on, but our

conversation

died.

Megan

quickened her pace when Abraham tried to catch up to her, and so we just left her to it. Both she and Abraham had been given directions to the weapons merchant, so she could guide us just as well as he could. Apparently this “Diamond”

fellow was only going to be in town for a short time, and when he came he always set up shop in a different location.

We walked for a good hour through the twisting maze of catacombs before Megan stopped us at an intersection, her mobile illuminating her face as she checked the map Tia had uploaded to it.

Abraham took his mobile o the shoulder of his jacket and did the same. “Almost there,” he told me, pointing. “This way. At the end of this tunnel.”

“How well do we trust this guy?”

I asked.

“Not at all,” Megan said. Her face had returned to its normal impassive mask.

Abraham nodded. “Best to never trust a weapons merchant, my friend. They all sell to both sides, and they are the only ones who win if a con ict continues indefinitely.”

“Both sides?” I asked. “He sells to Steelheart too?”

“He won’t admit it if you ask,”

Abraham said, “but it is certain that he does. Even Steelheart knows not to harm a good weapons dealer. Kill or torture a man like Diamond, and future merchants won’t come here.

Steelheart’s army will never have good technology compared to the neighbors. That’s not saying that Steelheart likes it—Diamond, he could never open his shop up in the overstreets. Down here, however, Steelheart will turn a blind eye, so long as his soldiers continue to get their equipment.”

“So … whatever we buy from him,” I said, “Steelheart will know about it.”

“No, no,” Abraham said. He seemed amused, as if I were asking questions

about

something

incredibly simple, like the rules to hide-and-seek.

“Weapons merchants don’t talk about other clients,” Megan said.

“As long as those clients live, at least.”

“Diamond arrived back in the city just yesterday,” Abraham said, leading the way down the tunnel.

“He will be open for one week’s time. If we are rst to get to him, we can see what he has before Steelheart’s people do. We can get an advantage this way, eh?

Diamond,

he

often

has

very … interesting wares.”

Al right, then, I thought. I guess it didn’t matter that Diamond was slime. I’d use any tool I could to get to Steelheart. Moral considerations had stopped bothering me years ago. Who had time for morals in a world like this?

We reached the corridor leading to Diamond’s shop. I expected guards, perhaps in full powered armor. The only person there, though, was a young girl in a yellow dress. She was lying on a blanket on the oor and drawing pictures on a piece of paper with a silver pen. She looked up at us and began chewing on the end of the pen.

Abraham politely handed the girl a small data chip, which she took and examined for a moment before tapping it on the side of her mobile.

“We are with Phaedrus,”

Abraham said. “We have an appointment.”

“Go on,” the girl answered, tossing the chip back to him.

Abraham snatched it from the air, and we continued down the corridor. I glanced over my shoulder at the girl. “That’s not very strong security.”

“It’s always something new with Diamond,” Abraham said, smiling.

“There is probably something elaborate behind the scenes—some kind of trap the girl can spring. It probably has to do with explosives.

Diamond likes explosives.”

We turned a corner and stepped into heaven.

“Here we are,” Abraham

announced.





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