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I tell her.
She does something in VR, mumbling under her breath.
“Is she doing math in the middle of all this?” Ariel whispers.
“Maybe she’s trying to triangulate where the bomb would need to be located to create that blast radius,” Felix says. “That would narrow things down a bit, but not enough for anything actionable.”
Kit turns into Itzel but without the mask. In Itzel’s voice, she says, “I heard gnomes find calculations soothing.”
“Hmm,” the real Itzel mumbles. “It just might be possible. And if anyone could—” She yelps and give us all a confused look.
Valerian must’ve done something startling to her with his power to remind her of our existence.
“Did you figure out the link?” he asks her with exaggerated calmness.
“The Vega reactors,” she blurts.
“That’s the power source on Gomorrah,” Felix whispers loudly to Ariel. “Supplying electricity and such.”
“Everyone knows that.” Itzel gives Felix a baleful glare, and he shuts up. “Purely in theory,” the gnome continues, “that technology could be modified to create a device that would release a surge of energy all at once. The resulting explosion might have the blast radius you described.”
I smack myself on the forehead. “Of course. Your grandfather invented the Vega reactors. If anyone could turn them into bombs, it would be him.”
Felix’s robot hands jam into the armpits of his suit. “But surely those reactors are guarded.”
Valerian shakes his head. “If Icelus are smart, they’ll make their own reactor from scratch, then use that as the basis for that bomb.”
I sure am glad Valerian is on our side; he always seems to know exactly what the bad guys should do.
“Is it hard to make the Vegas reactor thing from scratch?” Ariel asks.
“Vega,” Felix corrects.
Itzel gives Felix another glare. “It would usually take a team of engineers, but if a single person could, that would be Gramps. He’s done it before.”
“Not good.” Felix tries to wipe the bead of sweat off his forehead with his gloved hand and nearly gives himself a concussion.
Valerian puts a finger to his lips.
Everyone stops talking.
Valerian messes about in VR for a few seconds, then looks at us in frustration. “I just heard from the team of Enforcers dispatched to capture the Filthy Bastards. The hope was that someone else in that gang knew something.” He gestures at something in his VR. “They didn’t.”
Kit turns into some of the gang members we fought earlier. “That was fast.”
“Sometimes even the Senate can mobilize quickly,” Valerian says. “Speaking of—I just sent them your theory. They want me to patch them into the car.”
“Do it,” I say for everyone.
Valerian gestures, and the car windows turn opaque before becoming screens. A second later, Senate chambers—familiar to me from the media—appear on the screens around us.
“Wow,” Felix mutters.
You can say that again. All the Senators are perched on gravity-defying throne-like seats—except for the mere-folk, who float inside specially designed water tanks.
Each Cognizant type that officially lives on Gomorrah is represented, except for rare ones, like centaurs and cockatrices. Also missing are the types not allowed residence—like necromancers and giants—but the rest are there, including orcs, dwarves, and elves.
“We didn’t see the point of you coming here in person,” says an elf Senator I’ve seen in the media.
Valerian doesn’t look the least bit impressed or intimidated. “Do you have an update for me?” he asks imperiously.
“The Enforcers are en route,” the elf replies. “They’ll watch everyone going in and out of every morgue. We also sent out most of the Senate Guard to help.”
Valerian’s jaw tenses. “Do not let them go in without me.” His gaze moves from Senator to Senator. “With my illusion power, I can cloak them. Otherwise, we risk the terrorists committing suicide.”
“Would that be so bad?” an orc Senator asks.
“There were many people at the meeting, and they mentioned a High Priest—a leader of some sort,” Valerian says. “We know nothing about any of these individuals, so unless we get very lucky and they’re all there with the puck-masked one, extracting information has to be our top priority.”
“Agreed,” a dryad Senator says and gestures in the air. “I’m sending you the list of morgues. We looked into the owners, but no one rang any bells.”
Valerian nods. “Can you also let me know which morgues already have Enforcer backup waiting for me?”
“Done,” the dryad says, gesturing some more.
“Me?” I whisper to Valerian. “Don’t you mean ‘us?’”
“Later,” Valerian whispers back. To the Senate, he says, “Are you keeping the information contained?”
“It’s been classified,” booms a dwarf Senator. “Only the Enforcers, the Guard, and the Senate know anything. And we’re not even evacuating, as you can see.”
“Nor are you helping the Enforcers,” is what I don’t say. I’m willing to bet they will evacuate before regular people get the chance. They’re politicians, after all.
Valerian locks eyes with the dwarf. “Just to confirm regarding my compensation…”
