Smasher Read online

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  PART I: CHARLIE THE COWARD

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  PART II: FREE WILL

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  PART III: GENEVA’S SURPRISE

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  PART IV: SKELETONS IN THE CLOSET

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  PART V: THE WAY THE WORLD ENDS

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  CHAPTER 61

  CHAPTER 62

  CHAPTER 63

  CHAPTER 64

  CHAPTER 65

  CHAPTER 66

  CHAPTER 67

  CHAPTER 68

  CHAPTER 69

  CHAPTER 70

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  A Remote Mountain Hamlet Outside the Village of Eamsford, 1542

  Tackled by bullies and slammed into mud, Charles couldn’t know he would soon encounter far more dangerous enemies. In fact, he would travel through space and time to face a power so terrible it threatened to end civilization. But every tale has a beginning. This one begins with a frog.

  “Open yer mouth.” Felton Thadwick’s heavy knees pinned Charles to the rocky ground.

  “No!”

  “Open yer mouth. You want yer frog’s guts squashed on yer face?”

  The smaller boy kept his jaw clenched, his lips tight.

  Seamus sneered. “So keep yer mouth closed, yeh prat.” He and Rodrick held Charles’s wrists and feet.

  “Guts on yer face!” Rodrick cheered. All three bullies wanted to see it.

  They weren’t bluffing. Charles was faster and usually got away. But this time he had slipped on the riverbank.

  Felton squeezed Charles’s traumatized frog in his meaty fist. Its insides squished. Its eyes bugged out.

  Charles couldn’t stand it. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth. At least it isn’t a spider.

  Seamus and Rodrick trembled with excitement. Felton stuffed the terrified frog into Charles’s mouth, rear end first.

  The boy gagged.

  “Got somethin’ to say in yer stupid accent? Close yer mouth! Careful — yeh’ll bite its head off!”

  Charles fought the urge to vomit.

  Felton pushed on Charles’s jaw, squeezing the frog harder. All three Idiot Brothers roared.

  “One punch to the chin, Orphan Boy, and it’s double pleasure fer me — I get to punch yeh, and watch yeh bite the head off a frog.” Felton wound up.

  Charles braced himself. I should have left the frog behind. Grandfather will be furious.

  “Hey, Fatty!” A voice yelled before the punch came. Felton froze. He looked up. “Yeah, you, Fatty! Why don’t you pick on somebody your own size? Oh, right! Because there aren’t any kids your size, you bloated, chicken-bully loser!”

  Chicken-bully? Loser? The Idiot Brothers peered into the bushes, stunned. That was a girl’s voice. And it wasn’t local.

  Charles strained to see. Who dared challenge Felton Thadwick? He tried to wriggle the frog out of his mouth, but Felton jammed it in deeper.

  “Where are yeh?” Felton demanded, still peering into the woods. “Who are yeh?”

  Silence.

  Pinned on his back, Charles could only look up. Suddenly, in the tree above, a creature he’d never seen before crept through the branches, camouflaged in the thick leaves. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t because of the frog in his mouth.

  Blending into the rough bark, the creature descended the tree with the grace and silence of a panther. As it inched closer, Charles almost choked.

  It was a girl.

  Her mouth moved, but her voice came from a bush off to the left.

  “Over here, Fatty!” Felton spun to follow the sound. “No, this way!” Her voice jumped again from a tree to the right, then from a sapling directly ahead.

  She crept up behind the Idiot Brothers, throwing her voice to distract them. The leafy pattern on her clothes and skin made her almost invisible, but Charles could still see her raise one finger to her lips to silence him.

  “Bullies never change, Fatty.” Her accent was unrecognizable. “You’re all the same — cowards. Three of you ganged up on one kid half your size. But if you had the guts to fight fair, you wouldn’t be a bully, would you, Fatty?”

  Felton was red with rage. “Go do something!” he shouted at Seamus and Rodrick. They looked at him uncertainly. Seamus started to run.

  Then the mysterious girl struck.

  She grabbed Seamus by the neck and yanked him backward, flinging him straight into Rodrick. Both boys crumpled.

  Charles squirmed against Felton’s grip but still couldn’t move. Seamus and Rodrick scrambled up and tried to run, but they weren’t fast enough. Seamus yowled as they flew through the air. Splash! Straight into the river.

  Who was she?

  Felton was sweating hard. Salty drops spattered Charles’s face. The second Felton’s grip relaxed, Charles spat out the frog. “Run while you can, Thadwick!”

  “Big words,” Felton shot back at Charles. “Yer the one on the ground.”

  “Not for long,” said the girl. “I’d listen to him, Fatwick. Running would be a good idea right now, coward!”

  Felton bolted.

  Charles coughed out the last of the frog slime, then wiped his face. The silence unnerved him. Am I next?

  A pair of bare brown feet appeared. It took all his courage to look up at her face.

  She was unlike anyone he’d ever seen. The leafy pattern that disguised her had changed. Her face was now light brown, like tea with milk. Her long, dark hair was luxurious and thick, and she stepped so lightly she almost seemed to float. The suit she wore was all one piece, and it clung to her body like a second skin. Was she a traveling acrobat?

  “My name’s Geneva.” She held out her hand.

  He took it and stood. She was maybe fourteen or fifteen — not much older or bigger than he was. How had she done that?

  “Thank you,” he said shyly. “I’m Charles.”

  “Charles, huh?” She grinned. “That’s a little formal, don’t you think?”

  “Formal?” She’s pretty, he thought, and exotic. Her high cheekbones, blue-gray eyes, and tea-colored skin were a sharp contrast to his freckles and sandy brown hair.

  “Yeah, Charles. Are you
a prince? Charles is a name for a king, don’t you think? Or an old man.”

  Well, that was rude!

  “No, I’m not a prince. You are not from around here, are you?”

  “Nope. You could say I’m visiting. And you know what, Charles? Your fancy name’s not gonna work for me. Too stuffy. How about Charlie?”

  “Charlie? Is that a woman’s name?”

  “Hardly. Where I’m from, Charlie is a cool boy’s name. Something you’d call a good friend. Are you all right?” she asked. “Do they pick on you a lot?”

  “Only if they catch me. But I’m fast, and they’re big and stupid.”

  “You’re the smart one?”

  “I’m very good with puzzles and mathematics.”

  “I bet that’s an understatement,” she said with a knowing smile. “I’m guessing you’re a genius.”

  He nodded, unsure of what to say. He didn’t talk about his skills. Only his grandfather knew their extent. Have I said too much? Something is wrong here. His mouth got dry, and he took a step back.

  “And you’re good at something else, aren’t you?”

  Now his face blanched.

  “Something secret,” she whispered.

  “No! Puzzles. That’s all. People like to watch me solve them. If you have heard anything else, it’s not true.” Her smile no longer seemed friendly.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell. But I know about you.”

  He was silent. The Hum. Now he felt it all around them. Could she?

  “How’s your grandfather?” she asked abruptly.

  “What?” His stomach did a backflip. “How do you know about him?”

  “I’ve been looking for you, Charlie. It’s no accident I found you here.”

  He swallowed hard. “What do you want?”

  “I want to take you somewhere,” she said. “Don’t you want to see the world, Charlie? Fantastic inventions beyond your wildest dreams?”

  “How do you know that?” Charles broke into a sweat. After this morning, he didn’t think he could stand one more day with his grandfather. He’d packed to run away. “Who are you?”

  “Geneva,” she said. “I told you that. I’m not from around here, remember?”

  The power of the Hum grew. “Is it you?” he asked quietly.

  “No, Charlie. It’s you. Your secret is what brought me here.”

  “There isn’t any secret!” This was how they caught you — the Interrogator’s spies — they tricked you into talking about it. He would not say a word.

  “I need your help, Charlie. In fact, a lot of people do.”

  “My help?”

  “I’ve traveled a long, long way to find you, Charlie. You’re very special — and you might be able to save a lot of people. Nobody else can do it. Only you.”

  “Is this a prank?”

  “No! This is real.”

  “Tell me where you are from,” he challenged.

  “You won’t have heard of it. And you won’t believe me.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s not important.”

  “I am leaving.” Charles took a step back.

  “Stop!”

  “Tell me.”

  She sighed. “I’m from a city called LAanges.”

  “Lahn-what?”

  “I told you it was a place you wouldn’t know.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Far away. LAanges. In another language it means ‘angels.’ I said you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Are you an angel?”

  She laughed. “No! I’m just from a city a long way from now.” Then she became serious again. Urgent. “I need to take you there. Everything depends on it. Please help.”

  “What if I don’t want to go?”

  “But you do. I can see it in your eyes. And you want to know more, don’t you? Admit it.”

  He didn’t move. He felt dizzy.

  “I promise you won’t be sorry. Meet me here tomorrow at dawn. Be ready to travel.”

  “Where do you want me to go?”

  “To LAanges — a world that could fall apart unless you help. See you at sunrise, Charlie. Terrible things might happen if you don’t go. Unspeakable things. Everything depends on you. Everything.”

  “What if I don’t want to go?” he asked again.

  She didn’t answer. Her clothes shifted back to camouflage, blending into the brush behind her.

  “Wait!” Charles cried.

  Crack! A flash of light lit the woods, accompanied by a deep rumble and a wet, slushy rattle. Geneva had completely disappeared. His stomach flipped again.

  The Hum. It had to be. Why else would a stranger come from a foreign place to find me? He shivered. My father. My grandmother. My mother. Am I next? Hundreds of his kind had been hunted down, tortured, and put to death. Of course he was afraid.

  “Geneva …” He said it under his breath.

  Her words echoed in his mind.

  I’ve been looking for you, Charlie…. Looking for you … It’s no accident …

  The City of LAanges, 2042

  “Mr. Foxx? Your evening appointment is here.” Evelyn Rasmussin’s voice chimed over the expensive VisaFon on Gramercy Foxx’s vast mahogany desk. The phone’s camera revealed only the back of Foxx’s leather chair. He spoke without kindness.

  “Send him in. Then go home, Evelyn.”

  “Yes, Mr. Foxx.” Uncertainty crossed her face as the screen blanked. The camera on his end was rarely on. She could never tell if he was watching or not, so she kept her smile in place during video calls, even after regular work hours. Better safe than sorry.

  She was relieved she could leave. Having worked for Foxx for more than five years, Evelyn should have felt comfortable with her boss. But the business he conducted after hours left her uneasy.

  Almost as unsettling was the man’s face. He slept in the private office and residence on the 199th floor, assuming he slept at all. But his face … It never showed any sign of exhaustion. She knew that some nights he worked until dawn without sleep. Yet Foxx always appeared fresh and rested. It gave her a creepy feeling.

  Foxx spent more time at the office and less time in public than any other CEO Evelyn had encountered. She didn’t think he had set foot outside the new TerraThinc Building since they moved in a year ago.

  “You’re late, Lawrence,” Foxx snapped when the towering double doors to his office swung open. The skinny young man with pocked skin pushed his glasses up, grateful that Foxx’s back was still turned.

  He wasn’t the only one.

  A shadowy figure, clinging to the corner ceiling above a potted plant, blended into the leaves. It waited. And watched.

  Lawrence Yates was taken aback by the view. From the 200th floor, the night lights of LAanges stretched far into the distance, twinkling through the haze below. He made out three or four wildly expensive and largely illegal Sky Cars, Foxx’s newest craze. The flying dots crisscrossed above the traffic-clogged freeways.

  Foxx ruled his empire from the top of one of the tallest and most technologically advanced skyscrapers in the world. He had built the TerraThinc Building to house the headquarters of his corporation of the same name. The thin haze blanketing the city was a remnant from decades of smog. TerraThinc had been instrumental in much of the terraforming of the last ten years, which had stopped the onset of climate change caused by global warming. The cleanup hadn’t saved the ice caps, but visibility had increased by miles.

  But Foxx didn’t appreciate the view. He expected it. His TerraThinc Building was the newest mega-skyscraper among those being built by the super-wealthy. The recent economic collapse had only strengthened his dominance over his corporate competitors. The view went with the territory.

  “Mr. Foxx, I told you I don’t meet with clients. I made it clear we would only work over the web. This had better be important.” Lawrence Yates was talking to the back of the leather chair. He had promised himself he would take a strong first step. He didn’t allow ot
her rich clients to push him around. Why should he let Foxx? “For you to insist on meeting with me to review this virus is so far out of line that —”

  “Silence,” Foxx commanded, his back still turned. “You write computer viruses — good ones. They will grow even better under my direction. But that is all you do. I make the decisions. I determine the strategy. I move the pieces. Is that clear?”

  Yates nervously bit the inside of his cheek. His throat made a clicking sound — a nervous tic that came out under stress. Yates stood to make more in the next month than he had in five years.

  “Yes, we’re clear,” Yates said, barely hiding his resentment.

  “Good. I see you have delicate hands. My last programmer lost the use of his fingers. He was so accident prone. Isn’t that sad? Show me our creation.”

  A trio of shimmering AquaFase immersive screens across from Foxx’s desk entered phase-change. Yates’s attempt to be strong with Foxx had fallen flat. Now the pressure was on. Click click.

  “I brought the code,” Yates said quietly. His hand trembled, jingling the magnets of his Data Bone bracelet. He brought it close enough to pull the data. A chair creaked. Foxx must have finally turned to face him. Yates was too frightened to look over his shoulder. His program displayed on the AquaFase plasmice screen.

  “My worm can penetrate most corporate firewalls, and it can launch from any web browser.” Click click. “It works like your garden-variety email viruses, too, launching as an attachment. And it root-kits under the OS — any OS — even the lightweight net stuff. But the best part is that it can exploit router and switch firmware, converting one form of traffic to another. It can dodge pretty much all forms of antivirus and anti —”

  “Yes, of course,” Foxx interrupted dismissively. “Lawrence, I’d like to show you some of my work tonight. One programmer to another.”

  “You’re a programmer, too?” Before Yates realized what he was doing, he turned to look at Foxx. His stomach dropped when he saw the man’s face.

  Gramercy Foxx had appeared in every form of media for more than a decade. Before he had gone into seclusion, he had appeared in 3D-casts and even some of the new hologram shows he had pioneered. But the camera, even with the triple-lens 3D, did not capture the inhumanity within his taut and timeless face.

  He looked as if he could be in his forties. But something intangible suggested he was far older — fifty, sixty, eighty — it was impossible to tell. His face was perfectly preserved, and it lacked the stretched look of plastic surgery. Yates sensed that Foxx’s pale blue eyes had seen countless years, though they revealed nothing. The only other signs of age were the silver streaks at his temples in his slicked-back, deep brown hair.