Reckoners 01 - Steelheart

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