And today she’d figured out the way to do the last of it, making a talismanic version of the spell that allowed her to crack passwords. “All right, Eight. I’ve got you as good as I can ever get you. Try hacking Gilead’s password without going sys admin and just getting it.”
“4rmyH34L0RZ, Vickie,” Eight said promptly. “That’s a remarkably good one, actually. I don’t think I would have been able to crack it without the Ouija Board Protocol.”
“Try not to use any of the magic stuff unless there’s no other way. The canned spells are going to run out eventually.” She sighed again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you any geomancy, and you won’t be able to use the eyes without me to fly them.”
“So we put the eyes on a stick, or roll them along the ground, or throw them like grenades. We’ll think of something. Perhaps the Metisians can give us some form of levitation and stealth. It won’t matter if they are bigger as long as they can’t be seen. I will put an urgent inquiry into their feed and speak with Tesla and Marconi about it. And we will concern ourselves with that only at the moment we need to. Alert over New York, Vickie.”
She was too tired to swear. “On it. Tell the Colts. Who have we got out there?”
“Sera and John are near enough to make it there in time to make a difference, but it will be a long flight back for them.”
“I’ll deploy ’em.” She checked her Overwatch Op-Board, and saw the Overwatch Operator for New York was listed as off duty, after twenty hours on. Well, that’s why we have Eight. “Marionette is off duty. You take the Apple metas, and have the Colts call in the Air Force. Navy too, if there’s fighter squadrons with the right warheads on their rockets. With luck, we’ll get the bad guys to turn up too, and I’ll handle them. They kind of need the kid glove treatment.”
“Done. Battle zone coming up on your HUD.”
She was supposed to have been out on the Parkour course right now, but she couldn’t face it. Not when every time she looked up she was instinctively looking for that flash of red at the top of the current obstacle. Not when she could hear him playfully berating her whenever she paused for a breath.
This was better. She was thinking too hard to feel, trying to second-guess the Thulians, learning more with every raid about their tactics. The New York metas were excellent, but they were tired, like every meta in ECHO. On the other hand, since this current blitz had begun, they’d gotten reinforcements from metas in organized crime, Italian and Russian Mafia, Tongs and street gangs. When the boat’s sinking, even the Mafia goon helps bail. And just as she thought that, some of those came boiling up out of their dens on the waterfront, in time to hold the Spheres at the Hudson. They had their own comm channel, but they’d given it to her before Red was arrested, and she coordinated them with Eight.
It was a good thing she’d called in the Murdocks, though; Valkyria turned up just as the combined New York metas and the Air Force were turning the Spheres back. But one look at the fireball coming in and the bitch turned tail and ran and took the Spheres with her.
And, at last, the sun was setting. For some reason, the Thulians didn’t like to raid in the dark.
I bet they had no idea the Murdocks were going to be able to reach them and they likely won’t try anything up or down the East Coast now until they figure out JM and Sera were still in DC and not here. I think we can stand down…
“Eight, I’m going to go get a fresh can of dinner. Take over?”
“Of course, Vickie.”
She pried herself up out of her chair with a groan, and plodded dully into the kitchen to open the fridge door and stand for a long time, staring at the row after row of liquid meals. None of which appealed.
But solid food appealed a lot less. She closed the door and leaned on it for a moment, resting her head on her arm. Trying to think of something she could do to tire herself out to the point where she couldn’t think anymore. And maybe get a few hours of sleep before grief stabbed her awake again.
That was when she heard the little electronic blips at the door meaning someone was punching in the code that overrode her locks. She straightened up, because only one person had that code. It was time to lie to Bella again. Somehow convince Bella that she was on her way to bed. Or the Parkour course. Or was going to eat whatever Bella had brought. She was just glad that after the Georgia Dome Incident, Bella’s empathy range had shrunk, though her healing was still as powerful as ever. If she could keep Bella about ten feet away, all it would take would be good acting. Or, depending on how tired and how distracted Bella was, mediocre acting.
So her heart sank a bit when the door opened, and she realized all of her acting chops, mediocre or otherwise, were not going to be up to snuff. It seemed Bella had shared the code.
The door swung silently open, and in walked Bulwark.
There was a lot to be said about Bulwark. He had a reputation for sheer willpower bottled up in a giant, and now reinforced, frame. Some joked his protective bubbles were just a logical extension of his personality. Nothing stuck to this man. You chucked anything at him, and it simply rebounded and came hurtling back at you. He was often quiet, understated, except for a few occasions when his roar was said to reverberate with all the righteous fury of the heavens. But for the most part, he kept a sober expression which hid whatever turmoil was buried deep underneath. For his students, his colleagues, and those who were especially close to him, this was extremely unfair. While he rarely revealed whatever emotions might be bubbling beneath his calm exterior, Bull had a way of reading what people really thought and felt. Vickie had long thought that if this ECHO and “saving the world” gig ever gave out for him, Bulwark should seriously consider pursuing a career as a psychotherapist.
“Hi, Bull,” she said, pulling herself up and trying to look halfway normal. “New York got a hit, but we kept them to the Hudson and the Fireball Twins drove them off. I think this hemisphere is done for the night.” Just go away, okay, Bulwark?
“Excellent,” he rumbled. “That should give us a few moments to talk, then.”
Oh great. “I hope it’s not about training. Every time I head for the door, we get an alert.” Well, it’s not entirely a lie. “And in between alerts, I’m loading up Eight’s magic arsenal.” Did I explain that to him? Or Bella? I’m…starting to forget who I’ve told what.
“You have much to do,” Bull agreed. “We all do. I’m not here to get you to stop, you know. I’m here because I’m concerned you’re pushing yourself further than you need to, than you can afford to. We’re fighting for a future, after all, and that speaks of a certain belief of hope, wouldn’t you say?”
She braced herself against the fridge. Hope? What the hell has hope got to do with me?
And again, Bulwark stepped forward and displayed his eerie talent for intuition, as if he could actually read thoughts. “Why else would any of us keep fighting, if not for hope? Hope that tomorrow will be better, that we will live to see it, that we will want to continue in this world. And to do so, we need to see to ourselves first. What I’m saying, Miss Victrix, is that I am concerned you are doing yourself irreparable harm.”
She laughed. Well, it could have been called a laugh. It was a sound, anyway. And bitter words began to pour out of her mouth, without the censor she usually put on them. “I’m sorry, Bulwark, but it’s not possible to follow your wishes. In descending order of importance, I need to make sure Eight can carry on better than I can, because right now we need ten of me and there’s only one. I need to make sure that until that is the case, I handle everything on Overwatch that the Colts and Eight can’t. And I guess no one gave you the memo, but now that Doppelgaenger has finished with her primary target, I’m the new likely primary, so I need to pack as much of task one and task two into whatever time I’ve got before she comes after me. Hope doesn’t enter into the equation.”
“Why bother then?” he asked. Vickie blinked. Somehow, he had silently crept up and was now standing next to her, his arms crossed over his massive
chest. “Why do any of this? You seem quite prepared to lay down and die. Has it occurred to you that perhaps you will come out of this alive? Or is that the problem? Do you even want to?”
I…don’t want to. Waking up to an increasingly empty existence, lying in bed at night until sheer exhaustion overcame the crushing loneliness, the blackness of oblivion beckoned more enticingly with every passing hour. But she couldn’t give in to it. She had promised. For Red. Giving up was not an option. But longing for the hour when something would force her out of this world…that was always with her.
“I…” she choked on her own words.
“I miss him too, you know,” he said.
“He…” and to her chagrin, she lost it. She just stood there, tears pouring down her face. She reached blindly for the fridge again, and instead found herself clutching one enormous bicep. Bulwark had moved again, making himself the thing she needed to lean on. “He said…he loved me…”
“He did,” Bulwark said, nodding. “He actually said it many times. Perhaps not with words, but he did, as did you.”
“How do you survive this?” she whispered, and barely noticed as Bulwark drew her into a warm embrace. “How do you want to?”
“You cling to the one thing that is important to you,” he murmured. “And you have faith that you will see it again, someday. But only if you stay true to yourself. Only if you stay true to him, and what he wanted for you. Take it from someone who knows, who lost someone that was everything. You will fight and you will do what is right and you will see them again. I did. And someday, I will again.”
All the grief she had been holding off with both hands avalanched over her; she all but collapsed at that point, her knees giving way and her legs buckling. He picked her up bodily and carried her over to the couch, but rather than putting her down on it, he put her on the floor, and sat down on the floor next to her, with one arm curled around her as she wept into his chest. And she babbled. The governor was off her mouth and the words were coming straight out between sobs, in no particular order. How all she wanted was to go back in time and disobey Red and stand there and fight and if need be die beside him, because all she could think was how she’d failed him. How terrified she was. How all that was keeping her sane was the promise she’d made to Red. How very much everything hurt and how the world was empty with him gone. Most of all, how utterly, utterly lost she felt without him and that most days she might well welcome the sight of DG coming in through the door except for the fact that DG would certainly break her and she’d spill everything she knew. Finally she just ran out of words, and cried until she couldn’t cry anymore.
“I guess if you wanted revenge on me for Bruno, you’ve got it now,” she whispered bitterly.
“Stuff and nonsense,” Bull muttered. “I’ve never been about revenge, Victrix. You know that. We are called upon to make hard choices. That, really, is what separates us from our enemies. I wouldn’t have made that choice, but I cannot blame you for it. I see that now. It was yours to make, and you will always have to suffer the burden of it. If you really want me to, I suppose I could muster up a tongue-lashing, give you some righteous rage and all that. But, really, I’m just prepared to be here for you. You should know, through all of this, you have had my respect and my admiration. People call me a rock, but I think I would have been pulverized to pieces if I had to go through all that you have. So, no, I’m not really offering anything but my support. And not just mine. You have people who love you, Victoria Victrix. And we’re all here to stand by you.”
She was so exhausted at this point that all she could do was to bury her head against his chest and slowly leak tears. And it all didn’t hurt any less…but somehow…she didn’t feel quite as alone anymore.
“As far as Doppelgaenger goes, I think we should move you under maximum security at HQ.” Bull patted her arm gently. “How quickly can we get you out of here?”
“It shouldn’t take long,” Vickie said thickly, blotting her eyes with the backs of her gloves. “I can crate it up fast enough, I suppose, but I’ll need help moving it.”
“I can have a team here immediately to help you,” Bull said. He paused. “And I can help, too.”
She was about to object, because everything was already set up and calibrated and it would take hours to set it all up again, but then she realized something: literally everything in this apartment reminded her of Red. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to move the Overwatch suite out to some new surroundings. And maybe Eight could help with the calibration.
And that was when the speaker in the other room came alive again.
But it wasn’t one of the Overwatch Operators, or one of the ECHO or CCCP metas with implants.
It was the raspberry of a…tweet private message? Which could mean Jack.
“That might be something urgent,” she said, reluctantly getting to her feet, staggering a little from exhaustion. She padded awkwardly to her command center, Bulwark close behind, and stared in sudden horror at the monitor.
@oracle4thewin: GET OUT. DG IS COMING.
“Oh God, Jack,” Vickie gasped. “He promised he’d warn me. Bull, we don’t have a day. She’s coming…now!”
But Bulwark was already barking orders into his Overwatch rig…
* * *
As Bella ran in through the door, followed quickly by Corbie, and Ramona and Merc, and Spin Doctor, and Gilead, and more and more people arrived to secure the perimeter and carefully dismantle things at her direction and carry them away, it hit Vickie like a blast of light, cutting away the suffocating darkness that had enveloped her heart. All those people…had been sleeping, or eating, or recovering from the latest raid, and all of them had dropped everything and come on the run.
To help her. To save her. Bull had said that there were still people who loved her. And they had just proved that was actually true.
Guess I’d better go earn it.
* * *
Doppelgaenger chucked the headless, naked body into a dumpster, and pulled on the ECHO OpOne’s gear after assuming his shape and face. She had been extremely cautious when she had arrived in the neighborhood of the witch’s flat, and it appeared she had been right to take precautions, because the building was surrounded by nondescript ECHO agents, all heavily armed.
It was irritating, to say the least. The last thing she needed were further complications to what was, really, a very simple plan. Get in, knock the bitch out, take her to the Masters, and finally be rid of her. Of course, it couldn’t be that simple, it had never been that simple. ECHO knew what they had in Vickie. Assuming that one could bypass the formidable defenses of Vickie’s abode and take her by surprise, there were the constant ECHO air traffic patrols concentrated over various parts of Atlanta, here included, and a few contingency plans in place masterminded by Bulwark himself that would have any number of meta-powered squadrons and swift jets in hot pursuit within a matter of minutes. Doppelgaenger was privy to all of this, having access to those plans herself over the past year as one of Bella and Vickie’s personal aides. That was how Bela had managed to take Vickie the first time. A bit of planning, the element of surprise, and having the bulk of ECHO’s forces amassed at the other end of the city for Dixie Belle’s funeral were key elements to success. This time, the element of surprise was gone. Clearly. They obviously knew that Victrix was still a target. Vickie probably had her defenses back up. If anything, security would have been tightened around her.
Still, Doppelgaenger wasn’t terribly concerned about any of that.
The getaway itself would be child’s play. The Masters had granted her the use of a Swift Sphere, which boasted aerial maneuverability, speed and cloaking technology far beyond anything ECHO had managed to assemble, even as a prototype. The Swifts were seldom if ever used, in part since they didn’t make for especially entertaining viewing (how could one enjoy a chase scene when the quarry was invisible?) but mostly to keep their very existence a secret. It was how the Masters safeguarded their best toy
s. Doppelgaenger supposed it was a testament to just how badly they desired Victoria Victrix, and how close they were to the end-game. Doppelgaenger had not even made the request for a Swift. They had offered her one, with only the slightest hesitation.
As for the guards and Vickie’s defenses, she had difficulty imagining any of them as more than a brief nuisance. She was hardly her old self, after all. The amalgamation of two highly compatible and hyperaccelerated meta-powered bodies had accomplished all that she had hoped for…and more. Any damage to this new, supercharged form seemed to heal almost instantly. Her shapeshifting abilities had transcended mere chameleonlike mimicry, exhibiting biomorphic adaptive reflexes and even conscious manipulation of her body, right down to the cellular level. She was still testing her new limits, though initial attempts had successfully produced temporary armor plating, enhanced cardiac tissue, muscle enhancement, and quickened neuronal transmission times. In short, she was tougher, stronger, faster…and soon, she suspected she would have conclusive data that she was, in fact, immortal.
You would think she would be elated. But there were concerns…
Not the least of which was the way she could plunge into a state of utter depression without warning, whenever something reminded her of Red. Oh, certainly that proved, if nothing else, that what she had felt for him was love, real love…didn’t it?
It took every bit of her willpower to drag herself up out of that depression, and then she would find herself overwhelmed almost immediately by fatigue, utterly overwhelming befuddlement that made it hard to think, and moments when she actually blacked out and came to somewhere else, with no memory of how she had gotten there. Surely, surely this had to be a temporary state of affairs. Surely it was just her own body adjusting to the integration. And yet…
“I’ll show you what love is!” he had screamed as he jabbed the claw into her head.
The past few days had not been easy for her. When she had come to on that cold floor, there was nothing in her but a very deep and dark hole. She had lost him, and more, she had been cursed with his final gift.
Avalanche: Book Five in the Secret World Chronicle Page 50