Calamity (Reckoners, #3)(79)
“Yeah?”
“Did I tell you who we tested on?”
“You have them already,” I said. “That’s why you’re so eager for Prof’s cells. You’ve already built devices to replicate his powers.”
“We built them together,” he said. “He and I.”
“In your room,” I said. “The one with the mementos of fallen Epics. One didn’t have a plaque. A vest and gloves.”
“Yeah. We destroyed all his tissue samples after we discovered how much it hurt him. I think that all along he’s been worried I would get another sample from him. He’s certainly kept his distance from me.” Knighthawk’s mannequin rubbed his chin, as if in thought. “Guess he was right to worry. You send me those cells, and I will be able to get you devices mimicking his powers almost instantly. But I’m going to try his healing powers on my wife first.”
“You do that, and he’ll know immediately,” I said. “And he’ll come kill you.”
Knighthawk gritted his teeth.
“You’re going to have to gamble on us, Knighthawk,” I said. “Send us the devices. We’ll turn him, and then we can try to save your wife. It’s the only chance you have.”
“Fine.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s self-preservation at this point, kid,” Knighthawk said. “The drone I send will reach you in six hours. The return trip with your tissue sample will take another six to reach me at my safehouse. Assuming the cells are good, I can get to work on a full set of motivators for you. Forcefield projection, healing powers, and tensor abilities.”
“Will do.”
“And David,” Knighthawk said as his mannequin started the jeep. “Don’t get cute. This time if he doesn’t turn, do what we both know you need to. After killing Tia…sparks, what kind of life is he going to live going forward? Put him out of his misery. He’d thank you for it.”
The line went dead, Knighthawk’s face vanishing. I sat there, trying to process everything that had happened tonight. Tia, Firefight, Prof’s face in the shadows. A patch of dark grey metal on the floor.
Eventually I put aside the mobile, then turned and—ignoring the protest of my splinted legs—pulled myself across the room until I was beside Megan. I rested my head on her chest and wrapped my arm around her, listening to her heartbeat until I finally, at long last, fell asleep.
I woke up in a sweat. Again.
Those same images haunted me. Sounds garish and terrible. Harsh lights. Fear, terror, abandonment. None of the normal relief that came with waking from a nightmare. No comfort from the realization that it was only a dream.
These nightmares were different. They left me panicked. Raw, flayed, bruised, like a slab of meat in a boxing movie. After I awoke, I had to sit there on the floor—broken legs aching—for what seemed like an eternity before my pulse recovered.
Sparks. Something was very wrong with me.
At least I hadn’t woken any of the others. Abraham and Cody slept on their pallets, and during the night sometime I’d found my way from Megan’s pallet to my own, which the others had set out for me. Mizzy’s was empty; she’d be on watch. I reached beside my pillow, where I was pleased to find my mobile—repaired by Mizzy—waiting for me.
Checking the mobile showed that it was six in the morning, and its light revealed a glass of water and several pills on a box set beside my pallet. I gulped them down, eager to get some painkillers into my system. After that, I pulled myself to a sitting position beside the wall, noticing for the first time that my side and arms ached as well. I’d done some real damage to my body during that mission.
I felt at my back and found a set of strange bruises shaped—best I could tell—like quarters. The growing pain of my legs and accumulated wounds was bad enough that I had to sit there for I don’t know how long until the meds started to kick in. Once I could think clearly, I started searching through my mobile. Abraham had forwarded the entire team the data package Tia had recovered, so I dug into it, trying not to worry whether I’d eventually have to wake up Abraham or Cody to take me to the restroom.
Regalia’s writing was clear, careful, straightforward. I felt like I could hear her voice as I read. So certain, so calm, so infuriating. She’d stolen Prof from us in a deliberate, destructive act—just to sate her own lust for an immortal legacy.
Still, the reading was good. Regalia’s plan was incredible. Audacious even; I couldn’t help but feel a growing respect for her. As I’d guessed, Regalia had summoned Obliteration not because of his ability to destroy cities, but for his teleportation powers.
Her plot reached back some five years, but she’d eventually run up against a final and unanticipated deadline: her own mortality. Epic powers could not cure natural diseases. She had found herself terminal, and so she’d looked for a successor in Prof. Someone who could travel to Ildithia, make a motivator from Larcener, then teleport to Calamity and do the unthinkable.
Despite the plan’s insane brilliance, it was filled with holes. By our best assumptions, Calamity was the source of all Epic powers. But who was to say that you could even steal his abilities in the first place? And if you did, wouldn’t that simply replace Calamity with another host who acted exactly the same?