Bard Constantine
Merlin Woods: Fortune Hunter
Other Books in the Havenworld Universe
❖ Havenworld: Tales from the Cataclysm and Beyond
❖ Silent Empire
❖ The Troubleshooter: Four Shots
❖ The Troubleshooter: New Haven Blues
❖ The Troubleshooter: The Most Dangerous Dame
❖ The Troubleshooter: Fears in the Rain
❖ Vigiclass="underline" Knight in Cyber Armor
❖ Nimrod Squad
❖ Syn City: Reality Bytes
❖ The Gunner Chronicles: Fire and Brimstone
After the Cataclysm nearly wiped out humanity, the remnants survived in Havens: city-sized constructs built to reboot society and usher in a new age of humanity.
However, the new age was not the type the architects had envisioned. The same greed and lust for power that existed before the Cataclysm resurfaced, and the Havens quickly became quagmires of political and economic conflict that threatened to destroy the future envisioned by the Haven's founders.
This is the world of a girl with many gifts: sired by an Elite super-soldier, raised by a famed assassin. She is genetically superior, exceptionally talented, and lethal in combat. She will be feared and hunted by those threatened by her existence. She will be forced to fight for her survival. And in the end, friends and foes alike will know her name.
She is…
1
I leaped out of a plane at an altitude of fourteen thousand feet over the Saint Francis Haven. The cargo plane rumbled by as more skydivers jumped from its interior. I immediately nosedived, rapidly accelerating to two-hundred-seventy miles per hour as I streaked toward the city. Normally I would have taken it all in, absorbed the freefall sensation, and the incredible view of the world's massiveness. The feeling was like nothing in the world — adrenaline and astonishment wrapped together so tightly that I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. For a few precious minutes, I soared and felt like nothing was impossible.
The announcers in the roadside booths hyped up the crowd as we dove, leaving multicolored trails behind from the smoke flares on our belts. We were the entertainment darlings, the gladiator madcaps risking our lives performing insane stunts for the chance to win the ultimate prize: five-hundred grand, the Harbor Trophy, and bragging rights for the year. Of the twenty-five contestants, I was the youngest at seventeen years old. No one under eighteen had ever won the San Fran Tourney, but many gamblers put their bets on me once I advanced to the Finals. Everyone in the Bay Area was locked to their screens, cheering for their favorite contestants, throwing Tourney parties, and celebrating the district holiday with barbecues and fireworks.
I couldn't concentrate on any of that. I focused on the mission, mind performing calculations and rehearsing the complicated and crazy plan we hatched.
Mouse's voice buzzed over the com in my helmet. "Gonna want to slow down before you pull, Merlin. At least to a hundred fifty. No point killing yourself to win this."
"No can do. I'm not slowing until Jonesy does."
"He won't."
"Then I won't."
"C'mon, Merlin. This isn't funny."
"I'm not laughing."
The city flew toward me, growing larger as I approached. The other divers had already spread out to slow themselves. I took a look to my right, where Jonesy still plummeted headfirst like a human bullet. His face was covered by a helmet fashioned after a grinning skull, but he still managed to give me a mocking nod when he caught me looking.
Mouse's voice turned anxious. "Merlin. I'm not kidding. Slow down before it's too late."
A smile spread across my face. Mouse was determined to worry for both of us, and I was grateful for his preoccupation. That left me free to focus on the daredevil stuff.
Jonesy kept glancing over as we streaked like missiles toward the Haven below. I smirked, keeping my eyes fixed on the shimmering surface of the Haven force-shield. Nearly impenetrable, we'd splatter against it like insects on the windshield of a race car. And unlike the digital thrills of an online Elysia tournament, we wouldn't instantly respawn with full health a few seconds later — we'd just be dead. That added level of danger was why the Tourney gained more fans, sponsors, and viewers every year. When the stakes were real, the event meant something. When lives were on the line, everyone wanted to watch.
Jonesy finally caved, yanking his ripcord right before we hit the negative zone — that area of space where a parachute was rendered useless, unable to deploy in time to make a difference. His momentum stalled as his chute opened, while I fell faster than I thought possible, heading straight for the shielding and a suicidal death. I imagined all the people below — in homes, restaurants, and bars, holding their breath at the first casualty of the game.
Instead, I slapped a hand against the button on my harness, activating my hidden wingsuit.
The microfilm sheath sprang from my belt and attached to my wrists and ankles, creating a membrane airfoil shape that enabled lift and the ability to soar through the air as if on wings when I spread my arms and legs. Instead of smashing into the shield, I glided just above it, close enough to feel the heat and hear the galvanic hum of its energy. The battle between gravity and motion was enough to strain my muscles and rattle my teeth, but I wanted the residents of the Haven to see me. I'd never been inside, but like any outsider, I dreamed of getting a residency one day. At that moment, I could only fly by the dome of near-transparent energy. Through the radiant surface, I saw the glimmering towers of Saint Francis; architectural dreams come true in a city of wealth and influence. Fireworks exploded in the air, and somewhere down there, I knew crowds chanted my name as I circled the dome on my way down, using the spherical momentum to launch myself across the choppy Bay waters toward the shores of Yerba Buena Island.
Skimming past a flock of startled seagulls, I scanned the coastline. "Where are you, Mouse?"
"Where do you think?"
I spotted him when he popped a smoke flare, leaving a purple cloud in his wake as he zoomed across the shoreline in his rumbler bike, fat wheels slinging sand behind him. I practiced the run in VR with every crew member, but Mouse was the only one with the skills to toe the line, even in a virtual environment. Like me, he was different than the others.
Like me, he was special.
"You're coming in too fast, Merlin."
"Stop nagging — I got this."
Pulling a ripcord activated a small parachute that opened from my back pouch, catching drag and pulling me back as Mouse roared underneath on his bike. At the exact millisecond, I tapped the RELEASE button on my harness, severing the chute and dropping me on the back of the bike directly behind Mouse. We had a one-in-a-million shot of pulling it off, and somehow we made it look easy. The crowds that lined the beachline erupted in wild cheers when we zoomed by, a roar of amazement that washed over me like a sonic wave. I flipped my visor open and raised a fist in response, clutching Mouse's waist tightly with my other hand. The industrial district's rusted buildings blurred by at our speed, but the crowds were mainly fans from Oakland — my neck of the woods. Most of them were there to see my team win the trophy, and I wanted to give them a show to remember.
Most importantly, my team score flashed on the screens: five hundred — the max for the Sprint and more than double that of any other teams.
Behind us, the rest of the contestants crossed over using the Bay Bridge, a haphazard line of speeding vehicles all trying to play catch-up. The rules required that the team move only when the jumper lands, and that meant teams met on the bridge ever since the contest was initiated. I pictured the judges scrambling to verify if my move was legal, but I'd already extensively checked to make sure it was. My team led the pack, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Jonesy's sponsors might have been able to get him the best gear and upgrades, but they couldn't think outside the box. He was losing his touch, and it was time for a new champion to hoist the trophy.