“Stitches? That’s serious.”
“I’ve had stitches before,” said Connie.
“Can I see it?” asked Tia.
“It’s just a stab wound.”
“Can I see it?”
Connie lifted her shirt to show the puffy, swollen flesh around the stitched-closed wound. The bruised blue-and-yellow skin made it look worse than it was.
Tia glanced from the road and back again. “Wow. That’s ugly.”
“I’ll be fine. I have a nanotechnology kit somewhere at home. Slap on a bandage and six hours later, good as new. Not even a scar.” She covered up the bruise.
“I should’ve been there,” said Tia. “This wouldn’t have happened if I’d been there. I’d have done something to distract the bad guy. Hey, jerk, don’t do that!”
Connie smiled skeptically.
“I work better under pressure,” said Tia with a frown.
“It’s fine. I’ll live, and even if you are officially my sidekick now, you are not responsible every time I’m a little slow and get stabbed or punched or thrown into a pit.”
Tia asked to see the wound again, and Connie reluctantly obliged.
“Have you thought about what you’re going to tell Byron?” asked Tia.
“The truth,” said Connie. “He knows about how things work.”
“Yes, he does,” said Tia.
She didn’t say what Connie already knew. She’d come home with bruises and scrapes before, but nothing quite like this raw slash emblazoned below her ribs. This day was inevitable, but she could only hope he took it in stride.
• • •
Byron didn’t take it well. To his credit, he tried to fake it.
“Does it hurt?” he asked after she showed it to him.
“Yes,” she said, “but I’ve had worse.”
“Oh.”
The way he said that bothered her. Like he was realizing things. Things he probably should’ve realized a while before but was only now seeing.
“It’s not a big deal.” She took his hand. “I wasn’t in any real danger.”
“But you said it was a swordfight with a deadly assassin.”
“If the world’s most dangerous swordsman could kill me, I’d be dead a long time ago,” said Connie with a laugh.
He didn’t laugh. He managed a slight smile.
“This doesn’t have to be a big deal,” she said as she put her hand on his cheek. The move caused her side to sting, but she hid the pain. “I thought you knew to expect this sort of thing.”
“I did. I do. It’s just . . . It’s like that thing with the cheese zombies. I know intellectually what you do, but seeing it up close is a different thing. This is up close.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“I know. I guess it’s just dumb, but I always imagined you living a charmed life. Close calls and narrow escapes, but in the end, you never get hurt. And now . . . this. It’s my problem. Not yours. I’ll get used to it. It’s like your dad told me. Worrying is just part of having Connie in your life.”
“My parents haven’t worried about me since I was ten.”
“Connie, you do know your parents worry about you, right?” asked Byron.
She laughed. “Why would they worry about me? I can handle things.”
“You were a little girl off fighting criminals and solving mysteries. Of course they worried about you.”
“Okay, maybe then. But not once I grew up.”
Byron said, “Wait. You don’t think your parents worry about you, even now? Connie, you’re their daughter. They’re going to worry.”
She thought of all the times she’d disappear for hours or days or weeks at a time. Then she’d show up out of the blue, and Dad would make her favorite waffles while Mom would talk about the neighbor’s dog digging up the rosebushes or some other unimportant thing. They’d both adjusted. They’d accepted the path Connie had taken.
Hadn’t they?
“What did Dad say, exactly?” she asked.
“That it wasn’t always easy, and how I’d have to just accept certain things.”
“That’s out of line,” she said.
“They were just being honest.”
“They? Mom was part of this conversation?”
He looked away as if unable to look her in the eyes while confessing. “She might have been in the room.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic.”
“It’s not . . . They were just . . .”
“Just what? Just screwing with the only good relationship I’ve ever had by trying to scare you away? Just sticking their noses where they don’t belong?”
“That’s not fair,” he said.
“I cannot have this conversation,” she said. “I was almost killed barely a day ago.”
“So, you were almost killed.”
“Almost doesn’t count,” she said.
“That hole in your gut says differently.”
She searched for a rebuttal. The best she could do was redirect the conversation.
“I’m not crazy about my parents and my boyfriend, the most important people in my life, conspiring about me.”
“Goddamn it, Connie,” said Byron. “Maybe it’s not about you.”
He sounded mad.
He never sounded mad.
He said, “They weren’t trying to scare me. They were just preparing me. It’s like what Tia told me—”
“Oh, Tia is in on this too. Wonderful.”
“Jesus, Connie, all of us love you. That’s what matters.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She stamped down her irritation. “Dad said there were things about living with me. What sort of things?”
Byron hesitated. “I’m not sure I should say anything else. It was a private conversation.”
“A private conversation between my father and my boyfriend. About me.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“But you did.”
She stalked her way to the bathroom. She rifled through the medicine cabinet. “Have you seen a little white box?” she shouted, aware of the edge in her voice.
“Haven’t seen it,” he said from behind her, making her feel stupid for yelling.
She closed the cabinet and glared at his reflection in the mirror. “It has a little caduceus on it.”
He shrugged.
Connie went to the corner of the bedroom where they’d thrown the boxes she hadn’t unpacked yet. She knelt down and groaned as her side ached. Byron hung back by the door as she searched through the boxes.
“I know it’s here,” she said.
“He said that you’re away a lot,” said Byron.
Connie paused. She looked over her shoulder at him. He stared down at his crossed arms.
“I said I knew that,” he continued. “But he said it wasn’t just that you’d be away. I’d have to accept that you had this whole huge part of your life that I could never be a part of, that I’d never understand, no matter how hard I wanted to. I said I knew that, too.”
She thought she should say something. She returned to looking through the boxes.
“We’re just a small part of your life, Connie,” said Byron quietly.
She was irritated. She didn’t know if that was because of her stinging side or him.
“That’s not true, Byron.”
“Yes, it is. It’s true. True for most everyone. The difference is that your life is full of danger and intrigue, and it’s really hard to relate to sometimes. And sometimes, a lot of times, it’s even a little bit scary.”
She found the medkit and sat on the bed. “You said you understood.”
“I understand. Doesn’t always make it easy.”
“I knew I should’ve had a secret identity.”
He sat on the bed beside her. “You can’t expect us not to worry about you.”
She held the box over her wound. It scanned the damage and beeped, spitting out a bandage. She slapped it on the scar, and a tingle ran through her as the nanites went t
o work.
“I know,” she said.
13
Thirty-two hours later, another call from Larry had Connie and Tia aboard one of three experimental jets soaring over the Ténéré Desert. They sat strapped in beside each other, not saying much of anything, surrounded by sixty-eight Siege Perilous commandoes. The silent commandoes stared straight ahead with barely a muscle twitch. The steady roar of the engines was the only sound for the last fifty miles.
Tia adjusted her bulletproof vest and tightened her helmet. “I still think I should have a gun.”
“You’d only hurt yourself,” said Connie, inspecting her Kalashnikov. She’d done it several times already, but it killed time.
“Why do you have that thing? You never use guns.”
“I don’t like guns. Doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use them. It’s just a precaution.”
“What are we walking into here?” asked Tia.
“Siege Perilous lost contact with this research lab a month ago. Dispatched an inspection team to check on it. Didn’t hear anything from them. Sent another team in a week after that. No word.”
“And now it’s our turn,” said Tia. “Could I get a handgun maybe? Some pepper spray? A knife?”
“You won’t need it,” said Connie. “Just stick close.”
“I didn’t think sidekicking meant I had to be unarmed. Even Robin gets batarangs. Robin-rangs?”
Connie unholstered her pistol and handed it to Tia. “Don’t shoot anybody, especially not yourself. That’s the safety. Aim before pulling the trigger. Don’t pull the trigger, though.”
“I know how to operate a weapon,” said Tia. “What the hell is up with you, anyway?”
Connie didn’t reply, hoping Tia would assume the loud, steady engine thrum swallowed the question.
“You’ve been weird since we started this mission,” said Tia. “Is this about Byron and Larry?”
“This isn’t the time to talk about this,” said Connie.
“You always do that,” said Tia. “You’re always using adventures as an excuse to avoid having difficult conversations.”
Connie smiled humorlessly. “Is that what you told Byron?”
“Is that what this is about?” said Tia. “You’re mad because I talked to Byron.”
“No, I’m mad that you talked to Byron about me.” Connie sneered at the commando sitting across from her, though she wasn’t aiming at him. She had to sneer somewhere, though, and it was hard not to hit someone. “And I’m not mad.”
She turned to Stone, the craggy lieutenant assigned to the mission. “What’s ETA to target?”
“Twenty minutes, ma’am.”
She imagined herself sitting there for twenty more minutes, not talking to Tia. It could be done, but they’d have to have the conversation eventually. Now was as good a time as any.
“What did you say to Byron?” asked Connie. “And don’t try saying it was a private conversation. I have a right to know.”
“I told him the truth. It’s not always easy to be your friend, but it’s usually worth it.” Tia frowned at the same commando Connie had earlier scowled at. He didn’t seem to mind. “Usually.”
“You wanted to come along,” said Connie.
“I’m on board with commando missions. I’m talking about your tendency to shut down when you don’t like the way things are going.”
Connie laughed mockingly, and the soldier across from her who had been scowled and sneered at lowered his head. Whether to hide his hurt feelings or avoid an unpleasant situation remained to be determined.
“Excuse me for finding it irritating that people in my life are all sharing secrets about me.”
“We can’t always talk about this stuff with you, so we talk to each other. You’re telling me you let me know everything about everything.”
“No, but that’s for your own protection.”
“Right, so when you withhold information, you’re being noble, but when we do it, we’re being sneaky.”
“I still don’t like it,” said Connie.
“Who does? But your family and friends are going to talk about you sometimes. So, what were they researching in this place, anyway?”
“Psychic supersoldiers.”
“Telepathy or telekinesis?”
Connie tossed the file to Tia. “Telepathy and telekinesis and clairvoyance and everything else. The whole ball of wax.”
“We’re walking into a nest of supersoldiers that can move things with their minds, read ours, and predict the future? You’re right. There are some things I don’t want to know.”
“I’m immune to mind control, so we should be fine.”
“Who said anything about mind control?” Tia flipped through the files. “I don’t see anything about mind control.”
“Just an assumption on my part,” said Connie.
“Just promise me that you won’t kill me if I become a psychic thrall,” said Tia.
Connie smiled. “We’ll see.”
The trio of aircraft set down on the compound’s landing pads, and as the troops deployed, Connie and Tia surveyed the desert stretching for miles around them. The commandoes secured the area with efficient gusto.
“Should we be nervous that there were no people to greet and/or attack us?” asked Tia.
“It’s not a good sign,” admitted Connie, “but with some luck, they won’t need us to keep a lid on the situation.”
The bay doors opened and out stepped an unarmed scientist in a white lab coat. He approached Lieutenant Stone.
“Hello. Very pleased to have you join us. Won’t you please come this way?”
Stone asked, “What’s the status of this outpost?”
The scientist smiled, slowly, like an android having been programmed with the expression only an hour before. “All your questions will be answered soon enough.”
“Oh, that’s not ominous,” whispered Tia to Connie.
The scientist turned his head toward Connie. “I can assure you, once you see what we’ve created here, you will find your fears unfounded.”
He turned and walked back into the compound. Once the scientist was out of sight, Stone turned to Connie.
“Ma’am, I’ve got a bad feeling on this. I suggest we fall back and bomb this place into oblivion.”
“I’m with him,” said Tia.
“We can’t just drop a nuke because we’re suspicious,” said Connie.
Stone’s weathered face creased with what she could only assume was a frown. It was hard to tell. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Tell you what,” said Connie. “I’ll go in with a squad of your eight best. If you don’t hear from us in an hour, you have my permission to order a bomb strike.”
He might have smiled. Or it might have been gas. He saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”
Connie and Tia led the squad deeper into the complex. The scientist greeted them at the bottom of a flight of stairs.
“This way, please,” he said mechanically as he led them deeper into the heart of the base.
In the depths of the complex, they passed scientists, technicians, and custodial staff all carrying on with their jobs. All wore the same blank, unfocused stare and moved with mechanical efficiency.
“We agree this is mind control, right?” asked Tia.
“Obviously.”
A buzz vibrated between Connie’s eyes. She’d had enough experience with telepathy to know when someone was trying to poke around in her mind. Her psychic defenses were formidable, and that made the experience all the more unpleasant. Tia and the soldiers were open books and most likely oblivious to the mental eyes running over their pages. Connie’s book was sealed shut, and the prying attempts made her want to ram a wire up her nose just to scratch her frontal lobe.
The scientist stopped before a door and stepped aside. “She’s waiting for you.”
“Who?” asked Tia.
His mouth smiled. His vacant eyes didn’t. “Why, the future master of the world, of course.”
<
br /> “Can’t keep her waiting, then, can we?” said Connie.
They stepped into the room, decked out with all the usual secret-science bells and whistles. Dozens of technicians busied themselves with their duties, which seemed to involve staring at monitors and pushing buttons. Six or seven engineers and mechanics worked on a cylindrical machine standing thirty feet high in the center of the room.
“No guards,” said Tia.
Someone laughed. It echoed through the room as a giant chair on mechanical spider legs tromped loudly from behind the central machine. “Guards are for lesser intellects.”
A bluish woman with a giant head sat in the mobile chair. Her massive head, a veiny mass of throbbing green-and-blue flesh, was secured and supported by a series of elaborate braces designed to keep it from crushing her under its own weight.
“So, they’ve sent the legendary Constance Verity. I must say, I expected us to meet sooner or later, but I had calculated it at later. I already know who you are, but you can call me . . . Debra.” She scowled. “I’m trying to come up with something better, but all the good supervillain names are taken.”
“Gets harder every year,” agreed Connie. “Mind Mistress?”
Debra shrugged, and her massive brain trembled. “A little on the nose. Oh, you won’t need those silly little toys here. Put them down.”
The soldiers and Tia dropped their weapons on the floor. Connie’s hand loosened on her own rifle, but she didn’t let go.
Debra chuckled. “Do you really think you can simply shoot me? As if I would allow you to walk in here if you were any threat to me at all. I am no longer the simple experimentation subject I once was. I now operate—”
“On a level I couldn’t possibly understand,” interrupted Connie. “You have evolved unto goddesshood. You have already calculated every possibility, and your triumph is inevitable. Only a fool would dare challenge you, and I’m only still alive because it amuses you. Also, I’m perhaps the only person alive who can appreciate your genius, and it’d be a shame if I died before witnessing your inevitable victory.”
Debra glowered.
“That was what you were going to say, wasn’t it?” asked Connie.
Because she couldn’t turn her head, Debra turned her whole chair instead. Its spider legs clomped with clicks and whirs. “Not necessarily.”
Constance Verity Saves the World Page 10