Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle - eARC

by Mercedes Lackey

  “There was some damage,” Khanjar said, reading from her PDA. “Evidently there was thrashing, a seizure of some sort. And screaming. One of the techs is apparently somewhat traumatized. The body has been removed to the lab for autopsy.”

  “Unfortunate about the equipment.” His scowl deepened. “I put some of it together while—I don’t know, sleep-working or something. I had fallen asleep in the workshop and when I woke up it was done; haven’t been able to figure out how the hell I did it. See that the report on the autopsy comes to me directly, of course. Oh, and make sure the technician is taken care of; best care possible, with one of our doctors. If he can’t be discreet or made to be discreet with treatment, make sure he’s taken care of permanently. Whatever your fancy is on that part.”

  Khanjar nodded, tapped a few things on the PDA, and closed it. “Well. Do you wish to launch a search for a replacement subject?”

  Verdigris looked up from his desk, his thoughts obviously having drifted already. “What? No, no time for that. The search I ran found her to be our most stable and reliable candidate; no one else that I’ve found was as strong, for what it’s worth. We’re moving on. After I check the equipment I’ll send it to storage.”

  * * *

  Verd closed up the last panel, irritated and frustrated. There was nothing wrong with the equipment. Everything checked out. Had it been the protocol?

  He had been attempting to use Rachel Hiller’s predictive ability to feel out not just the immediate future as it related to her, but potential futures. Further out than a few seconds or a minute; days, months, years. The computers he had set up were supposed to interface directly with her own brain, to augment her in a variation of the whole “brain-in-a-box” idea. Or maybe more like the wet dreams of the cyberpunks. Essentially, to focus her ability and make sense of the the inevitable jumble that would follow. Her predictive ability relied upon stimuli; if you gave her no stimuli to form patterns off of, she wouldn’t be able to see what was happening. The system he’d set up force fed her stimuli, essentially. Part of it included an induced coma, a truly potent cocktail of nootropic drugs, and micro electic shocks.

  Something had gone wrong, though. From all of the evidence, it wasn’t the machine that killed her. It had been set to keep up with Rachel; the more information she could take, the more it would give her. Looked as if he would have to wait on the autopsy to tell him why she failed. Or…hmm. Didn’t he have a psion somewhere in the building? A telepath? He always made sure he had one on hand; utterly loyal, of course, with safeguards in place to make sure that his mind was sacrosanct. Maybe something got picked up.

  A quick check gave him the first bit of good news he’d had; the tech that was traumatized was his telepath, so chances were good the psion got something. No leaving this to random questioners; he’d go down to sickbay himself and find out.

  But as soon as he cleared the door, the fellow literally shot off the exam table, flung himself across the room, and grabbed his arm. “You can do a wipe, right? I want a wipe! I’ll debrief, but after that, I want a wipe! You’ve got to do a wipe!”

  For a moment, Verdigris was stunned. Two security guards were right behind the tech, and pulled him off of their boss. Verdigris could see the pleading in the man’s eyes; if he was offered a bullet right now, he’d probably take it. He nodded slowly, and the tech broke down into long sobs.

  “She saw it all. She saw everything, everything at once! It burned her up, and it’s going to make me explode…then, there, now, all of it. She got everything, all in a few seconds…and she screamed, God, it was horrible, it just cut through everything, I thought she would never stop screaming and then she did…” The tech couldn’t manage coherent speech after that, just broken syllables mixed with sobs.

  Verd nodded at the medics. “Get him sedated and give him Procedure 342.” One of his own, of course. It wiped out short-term memory. It wasn’t a total brainwipe; that would have to wait. Verd wanted to see if merely wiping the short-term memory would solve the trauma without losing some of the data. There might be something he could salvage out of this.

  As the tech continued to sob—though it seemed now it was with relief—Verd left. So. The machine hadn’t broken Rachel, Rachel had broken the machine. It ran itself out trying to feed her new stimuli through the relays; kaboom, shortly after she expired. Evidently there was no way that the human mind could see all of the futures at once and still stay sane. He had the feeling that when the autopsy report came back, the cause of death would be aneurysm or at least look suspiciously like one.

  Maybe a metahuman psion…but…no. No, Mathew March had been a metahuman as well as a psion, and he’d set fire to himself rather than live with what was in his head. Probably the only thing that could survive that sort of barrage and make sense of it would be a precognitive with a relative-time-dilation talent. In other words, an Op. 4. Even an Op. 5, if there was such a thing.

  Which left him only one option. The one creature he knew that could do everything he wanted, but was certainly not going to be as easy as Ms. Hiller to bring into the company. Back to Plan A.

  “Angel-napping.” Khanji would have a cow. Better not tell her. He cued up his PDA, this time using voice. Nothing for Khanji to “accidentally” run across that way. Good thing his PA knew when to keep her trap shut. “Miss Grancher? Would you please send a nicely worded invitation on the appropriately respectful stationary to People’s Blade for a meeting at her earliest convenience? Khanjar does not need to be informed.”

  “Sir?” the PA said, before he could disconnect. “You need to supply a new head of ECHO Medical.”

  “Oh, right, I had completely forgotten.” That’s what he had originally been working on before the unfortunate business with Rachel had cropped up. He opened a new window on his PDA, scanning through the files linked from his desk computer. “Let’s see…this one. Bella Dawn Parker. Send the relevant paperwork to my desk; you know the drill, Miss Grancher.” He had to grin at that a little. She wasn’t an MD, she was a rebel against the rules, and on top of that, her chief claim to fame was as the fanbois fave hottie from the “Sexy Healers of ECHO” calender. He could justify the promotion on the basis of ECHO needing a fresh take and a friendly, well-known face. She would have everyone mad at her within twenty four hours of taking the desk. In forty-eight, ECHO Medical would be in chaos. And as soon as his plan to weed out the trouble-makers moved into high gear, they would be losing metas almost as soon as they hit triage.

  At least one thing had gone right today.

  Leap Of Faith

  Mercedes Lackey and Cody Martin

  “What the hell have I done?” John stared out over the Atlanta skyline, beer forgotten in his hand. It was late. He hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d been playing that interaction with the—well, she thought she was an angel—in his mind, over and over. She thought she was an angel, which didn’t speak too well for her mental stability. And he’d gone and kissed her.

  Why did I do that? Everything had been going so well. She was strange as hell, granted; she had her delusion, she knew things that no one else did, and seemed capable of anything. But she never really asked anything of him; she was just there with him, sharing moments without taking.

  But this was a complication. He didn’t need complications. Especially right now. Life was complicated enough. So far, he’d had Blacksnake “come calling,” twice, and neither time had been exactly a laugh riot. ECHO had tried to recruit him too, though with a damn sight less “prejudice.” He was still settling in with the CCCP; they were a whole different kind of weird on their own. Between Bear’s antics, Unter’s grousing, and Natalya’s penchant for throwing ceramics at people, it was a lot to take in and adjust to. He’d been his neighborhood’s version of law enforcement and “physical conflict mediator” for awhile, but being part of a uniformed and sanctioned force again was going to take a lot of getting used to.

  Then there was what had pushed him into the arms of the CCCP in
the first place; ECHO, Blacksnake, and of course the ever present shadow of the Program. The first two had taken a keen interest in him once things had started to come back together somewhat after the Invasion. ECHO was too busy to waste too many resources on him. Blacksnake was another matter; they had already sent two “recruiters,” with the caveat that refusing the offer included a ticket to the morgue. Whether they didn’t want to draw any heat down on themselves from the CCCP, or if they were just tired of having teams go missing completely, John couldn’t say. He hadn’t run into any more of their goons since, but that could always change in an instant.

  As bad as Blacksnake was, the Program was far worse. Just because he’d knocked out one facility, that didn’t mean there weren’t more. They didn’t get tired of losing people. They didn’t run out of money. They didn’t worry about pissing anyone off. If they wanted something, they got it, or they killed it. Maybe both. Joining the CCCP was more about getting extra protection for the neighborhood from any fallout that might befall him than it was about saving his own hide. He just hoped that when—not if—they came for him, that not too many other people would get hurt. It was too late to run again; they’d tear up the entire neighborhood and everyone in it, if they had to; he didn’t have any doubts about that. It wasn’t about the money and time spent, or the effort; knowing the sort of people behind the Program, they’d keep coming after him simply on principle.

  John, in typical boneheaded fashion, had just made things that much worse. With a kiss.

  “It would’ve been better if she slapped ya, moron.” But Sera had reciprocated. And what did that mean? “That’s she’s crazier than I am, prolly.” Damnit all. He knew exactly why he’d done that; he wanted to, simple as that. But why did he want to kiss her? Why did he want her? It wasn’t as if he couldn’t get women. Even Bella had flirted with him—she hadn’t meant anything really by it, but he could probably work on that. He wouldn’t abuse his position to trawl around the neighborhood, but there were plenty of other neighborhoods in Atlanta. What the hell kept him around her, as opposed to anyone else?

  This was another thing he couldn’t run from. Things had changed for him; it was slowly draining from his constitution to be able to run from the big problems. The Program had done that to him, turning him into a fugitive. The Invasion and everything since…well, it had changed everyone. John couldn’t deny his growing feelings for “Atlanta’s Angel,” and he sure as hell couldn’t stop them. Right now he just wanted to understand the whole stinking mess. And maybe try and figure out if he had done something unbelievably stupid.

  He could just tell her not to come around. He could just cut all of his contacts to the most impersonal level.

  He could, but he already knew that he wouldn’t. Besides, he doubted that very much in this world could keep her from seeing him if she wanted to.

  He could try, though. If he really wanted to…

  But just the thought of that…made his insides knot up a little. Made him feel hollow inside. And gave him an ache in the back of his throat.

  You don’t want her to stop coming around, bonehead. God, even his own self-deprecating thoughts were starting to sound like Vic’s chiding. This was eating at him; he had to figure it out. Part of it was safety; he cared about her, and didn’t want his past to catch up with the both of them. He just couldn’t let this rest, or else he really wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore. There was one thing that was digging at the back of his mind, the key to this. It seemed like it was just out of his reach, but if he could get it he’d know.

  “Well, genius, let’s go ’bout this logically. Somethin’ is different. Yeah, yeah, besides the fact that ya like a gal.” He took a swig of his beer absentmindedly. “Somethin’ is there now where there wasn’t anythin’ before. Nothin’ else has been doin’ it all these years on the run. So what is it?”

  Well, for the first time, he’d been concentrating on something other than pure survival. He had a squat, regular meals, and a sort of security in CCCP. He wasn’t living hour to hour. So now he had time to think…and to feel again.

  He brought the beer bottle up to his lips again, but stopped short. It had hit him. I’m not lonely anymore when I’m around her. I feel accepted; like I’m a part of the damned world again, instead of a shadow up against the edges. John set the beer bottle down on the ledge, unfinished. “I’ll be a son of a bitch. That’s it.” He stared out at the city, mulling over this revelation. “Okay. Now what do I do with that?”

  John had already made his mind up; he couldn’t shut off his feelings anymore, even if he wanted to. It would’ve driven him over the edge if he still could. But he was still worried; what happened if the worst happened?

  Well, Sera seemed able to take care of herself, but that fact didn’t shake his fear. He’d already lost enough people; he wouldn’t let hubris claim another one, especially someone that he’d finally come to genuinely care about after so long utterly alone.

  He was fighting with shadows, though, and he knew it. There was really only one course open to him; keep going as best as he could, and hope that the worst didn’t come to pass.

  More than that, he hoped he got to see her again soon.

  * * *

  Sera had a new perch; the Suntrust Tower was too exposed, too many people could see her there, even though it offered her an unparalleled view. She had found a most peculiar structure, a sort of Greco-Roman temple placed, for no apparent reason, atop one of the other high rise buildings. It pleased her. It afforded her some measure of concealment; the best view of it came from an expensive restaurant and the sorts of people who frequented such a place were very unlikely to see her unless she intended them to. The same held for those who had offices in the surrounding buildings. Without all of those eyes on her, she felt more herself.

  The place also had an excellent view of the CCCP headquarters and John’s squat. Not a trivial consideration.

  She never actually rested as such; her mind was always working, sifting through futures, on the alert for moments when she was needed. But tonight, for a few moments, all those things had been shunted aside, in favor of a single astonishing sensation.

  A kiss.

  It was one thing to have the memories of billions of human kisses and caresses of all sorts available to one. It was quite another to actually experience such a thing.

  John could only have surprised her in this way because his future, his present, increasingly his past, and his thoughts were all so opaque to her. In fact, she was almost certain that she had known more about him before she came to know him better. It was as if the Infinite was removing her access to that information, so that she had to rely on what he revealed to her himself.

  This was a little unnerving. She was not at all used to the Infinite leaving her on her own, blind, relying only on a single, mortal, fallible source.

  But John himself was unnerving. Though…in a good way, she thought, suddenly. Certainly…that kiss…

  It was, most definitely, a sign, though not in the “sign from God” sense. His barriers were breaking down. He was willing to share things with her, things he had kept hidden from everyone. And he had finally made a firm emotional contact with someone.

  With her.

  Instinctively she put her hand to her lips. It had not been chaste, that kiss. Not the “kiss of peace.” Not demanding either, nor aggressive. Playful? Perhaps…

  Permitted?

  He had asked her “What do you want me to be?” And she had been astonished. For no one, ever, had asked her what she wanted. She had said as much aloud. And then he had kissed her, and for that short time, she had not thought of anything else.

  She had told herself such a thing could surely be permitted. All things that brought creatures together were permitted…but had she known this, or merely told herself so because this was how she wanted it?

  The fact that you can ask the question tells you the answer, Seraphym.

  Well…there it was. Not the exact answer
to her question, but certainly implied, by virtue of the fact that all good was in the realm of the Infinite, and that which was not good…was not.

  So, there remained, what to make of this? She was flying blind here, with John, with these very mortal things, with emotions. And what to do about it? Should she pull back? No, that was unacceptable; it was needed that he should become more human, more connected, not less, and withdrawing from him would only put back all those walls he was pulling down. Should she foster only friendship, as Bella did?

  Or should she just stop trying to calculate, and to steer, for once? Should she just…see what happened? Just let go?

  Was that why the Infinite was holding information from her? To force her into the position where there were no maps and guides? To make a leap of faith into the dark, and trust that she would find the way?

  I think…that is exactly what I must do. And…strangely…the thought comforted.

  She looked down upon John’s roof, and saw the lonely figure there, gazing out over the city. But just at that moment, she felt it—the sudden need for her, and knew that she must not yet answer it, and John would be alone with his thoughts a bit longer.

  Not tonight, friend John, but soon…soon.

  The Seven Deadly Virtues

  Mercedes Lackey and Cody Martin

  The obliviousness of the ultra rich never ceased to amuse Verdigris. Out there, just inland from the Port of Savannah, there were entire stretches of major cities that still looked like the aftermath of a nuke strike. But here he was, with a thousand of his closest “friends,” partying the night away on his own little “island”—one of his many company container ships, the deck mostly stripped of the containers—which had been transformed into a snapshot of any one of those Destruction Corridors. Only clean, sanitized, and with caviar and champagne.