Reckoners 01 - Steelheart

of the bullet. Many Epics are weak to specific alloys.”
    “True,” I admitted. “But what would be different about that particular bullet that wasn’t the same for all of the others fired 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 confidence. “Either that or something about the situation. Maybe my father’s specific age let him get through—weird, Iknow, 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 firing on him. Crossmark, an Epic down in Mexico, can only be hurt if five 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 figure 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 off 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 conflict 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 first 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.”
    All 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 floor 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