Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle - eARC

by Mercedes Lackey

  “I don’t know—” Saint screamed. “All right! Stop, god stop it!” His shouts trailed away into one long unintelligible shriek before he started blubbering again. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you what I was giving the Kriegers!” Spittle flecked his lips as he gasped, catching his breath. “In my coat’s pocket, there’s a little black book. It—it’s got everyone in it, all of the people that supply the Kriegers with intel from Atlanta; cops, ECHO, politicians, officials. They’ve got a lot of—god, it hurts!—a lot of people on the take. Just get me to a frickin’ hospital, goddamnit! I don’t care!”

  Natalya fished the booklet from his pocket after a quick search; scanning through it, she saw names, vital information, job titles, and what capacity they worked for the Thulians in. It was everything that Saint said and more; he was an intermediary, funneling all of the information from the traitors to the Thulians, able to go anywhere because of his position with the City Council, keeping them insulated from exposure. “You are lucky piglet, svinya; fascista would kill you themselves if they knew you wrote vital contacts down. Stupid and sloppy, like all bureaucrats.”

  “Commissar!” Georgi was calling from the front of the van.

  “Shto? What is it?” she snapped. “Am busy here!”

  Chug was peering out the back window, so she couldn’t see what was behind them. “Are we in race? We are winning! Yay!” Nat looked around Chug to see out the window; a matte black SUV was on the road behind them, and closing fast. From the lack of insignia or any other sort of identifying marks on it, she concluded that it had to be Blacksnake.

  “Sookan syn. Prosrat!” She somehow managed to get Chug to move aside, picked up Unter’s KS-23 and took aim for the windshield of the SUV. She discharged a shell into the driver’s side, but the buckshot only slightly spider-webbed the glass; it was bullet resistant. She aimed and fired at the front grill, hoping to damage the engine and kill the vehicle that way, but the damage was cosmetic at best. The SUV continued to gain on them until it was keeping pace with the CCCP van; two mercenaries leaned out of the side windows and began to fire in short bursts at the Russians. “Armored vehicle! Vse zayebalo! Pizdets na khui blyad!” Saviour tossed the gun aside. “Chug, move in over here!” She positioned him on the left side of the van, so that his body covered Untermensch’s seat and the prone form of Saint; it wouldn’t do any of them good to have their driver incapacitated, or their captured asset killed. Chug would protect them from the Blacksnake’s rifles, and give her cover to lean out and return fire from.

  Georgi leaned out of the driver’s side window after weaving to the right to avoid a burst of rifle fire; he had drawn his GSh-18, aiming for the SUV’s tires. After expending the pistol’s magazine in a fast but measured pace of shooting, he ducked back into the van. “Airless tires. Language, Commissar. Remember troop morale.” He dropped the magazine from the pistol, slamming another that was resting between his leg and the seat with one hand. “This may be difficult.”

  Natalya charged her left fist before ducking around Chug to fire; the scarlet energy lashed out and met the front bumper of the vehicle. Amazingly, the entire front end of the vehicle shimmered with the energy for a split second before it reflected back towards the point of origin; Natalya and the van. “Khuinya!” she cursed again from reflex, falling backwards as the energy blast ricocheted over the roof of the van, scorching it and screaming off into the night sky.

  “Are you all right, Commissar?” Georgi called back. Between swerving around piles of debris from the destroyed buildings and dodging the Blacksnake guns, he seemed to have his hands full as well.

  “Vsyo zayebis!” She got back onto her knees. “The vehicle is reflective too. Svinya. How am I supposed to have big surprise victory if they anticipate me?”

  “I am having idea. Come up and take wheel.” Georgi swapped places with Natalya, which was an exercise in acrobatic maneuvers that should probably have been an Olympic event, and began stacking boxes together.

  “What in Stalin’s tomb are you doing?” Natalya wondered how Georgi had managed to keep the van moving; the rubble made this road all but impassible, never mind having to deal with the Blacksnake mercs hot on their tail.

  “Fixing problem. Thing learned from fascista in Great War.” He started wrapped duct tape around the stack of crates; there was something stuck in the middle of them that was leaving an open space, but the Commissar couldn’t see what it was from the quick look she was able to steal. “You should drive very fast, then keep steady pace, Commissar.”

  “Well if I can be finding a piece of road that does not resemble Stalingrad after siege—ha!” She spotted a relatively clear stretch and made a tire-screaming right-hand turn to get onto it. “Whatever you are going to do, davay!”

  “Keep straight! Need to gauge timing, Commissar!”

  The road, thankfully, looked as if it would cooperate with that idea. Actually it looked as if someone had come through here with a bulldozer shortly after the Invasion and just cleared off a good long stretch. Debris and wrecked vehicles were piled on either side of the cratered asphalt.

  The gunshots continued to ECHO like a hellish typewriter, clacking and ECHOing back loudly among the gutted buildings. Georgi watched the road between the van and the SUV intently, bobbing his hand in time. Then, suddenly, he pulled something from the middle of his duct taped crates and shoved the entire bundle out of the van. The SUV continued after them; both of the mercs that had been firing of them had reloaded after a brief pause, and leaned out to take aim at the exposed Russian. At that moment the bundle went under the SUV…and the vehicle did a violent front flip after a thunderous explosion; it landed on its roof, crumpling it violently down to the frame like it was nothing more than cheap construction paper.

  Nat shook her head violently, her ears ringing from the blast. Glancing back, she saw Georgi pounding the side of his head with the heel of his hand to clear his hearing. Only Chug seemed unaffected; he was clapping his hands. “Do again!” he demanded. “Again! Fireworks!”

  “Borzhe moi, must cut off access to nekulturny Tubbytellys,” she muttered, then raised her voice as she slowed the van to a sane speed. “Georgi! What in name of the Manifesto did you do?”

  “Fascista used to make grenade bundles as expedient anti-tank weapon in Great War. To use Amercanski thinking, I ‘super-sized’; added many more grenades.” He shook his head, sitting down in the van. “Also, added thermite grenade along with regular grenade to detonate. I did not know if normal offensive grenade would have enough generated heat or blast potential to detonate others; stable explosive compounds, you see.” He looked up. “Oh, look. Mercenaries are now being on fire.”

  “Horosho.”

  “Also, profits man is being dead. Or good job of faking.” He turned around to face Natalya. “Apologies, Commissar. Did not kill our enemies fast enough to keep the traitor from expiring before he could be interrogated further.”

  Natalya chuckled. “Good, now is no need of making explanations. Profits man now becomes helpless kidnap victim, rescued by CCCP, but tragically, thanks to pursuing Blacksnake, we could not get to hospital fast enough.”

  Georgi thought for a moment. “Might help if we first are to wipe blood off of gloves. And rest of uniforms.” He shrugged. “Plausibility.”

  “Nyet, is blood of hero we get trying to carry him to safety. Merely smear it around more. Looks more plausible than trying to remove.”

  “And the intelligence documents gained, Commissar? Do we…share this with ECHO along with corpse of traitor?”

  “What intelligence documents?” she dead-panned. “Eh, we share with Daughter of Rasputin. She will know what to do with them. Tragic death of civilian hero will not be spoiled.”

  “Da, Commissar. Very, very tragic. Flowers and such sentiment.”

  “Aha! Look. Hospital sign.”

  There was indeed a much battered and bent-over “H” sign by the cleared road, which explained why it had been cleared in the first
place. Saviour followed the signs, eventually coming out onto regular city streets. There she accelerated, as if her cargo was still alive, and pulled, tires screaming, into the Emergency entrance. She and Georgi did a lot of shouting in Russian, initially, there was a frantic scrambling of emergency personnel, and she made her pre-determined explanation to the inevitable police and an ECHO Support-Op that turned up (while Georgi pretended he only spoke Russian). She even managed to feign sorrow and disappointment when someone came out to report that Saint was dead.

  “Terrible! Terrible! We have much sorrow for his family,” she said, as (how did they learn about these things?) a television crew materialized. “If it had not been for Blacksnake, perhaps we would have come in time. CCCP will send flowers to funeral of this civilian hero. No, no more interviews, spasibo. We must back to headquarters. Chug is hungry.”

  Just then Chug poked his head out of the back door of the van. “Commissar?” he rumbled in Russian. “Was Chug good? Can Chug have waffles?”

  No one but Nat and Georgi understood him, of course, but the television crew hastily agreed that it would be a good thing for Chug to be fed. Saviour and Untermensch piled back into the van, and pointed it back in the direction of CCCP HQ.

  Unter glanced over at her. “Commissar, you are reminding me of wolf with calf in her mouth.”

  Nat realized she was grinning. “Eh, is just good to be back in action, da, comrade?”

  Unter snorted. “Is very good, Commissar. So long as there is no paperwork, is very good.”

  Brothers In Blood

  Dennis Lee and Mercedes Lackey

  I had to get out. I had to. I could see where my path was going otherwise, locked in a small room with nothing but a coffee IV and computers. Because, frankly, the idea was incredibly seductive. Maybe it doesn’t sound that way to you, but look at it from my point of view. It was now possible for me to be incredibly effective without ever unlocking my door. Djinni was even letting me channel magic through him. Why would I ever need to leave?

  Except that…what if I had to? What if the Thulians figured out who I was and what I was doing and came to blow down the building? Would I die because I couldn’t bear to cross my own threshold? Or what if someone was in trouble out there, one of my friends, and I was the only one that knew or could get to them in time? Would I let them die because I was housebound?

  Of course I couldn’t. And Djinni was right. So. I started working on getting out. Little did I know how soon I would need to.

  Vickie’s eyes felt like someone had poured a pint of sand in each. Her nerves were fried, and her stomach sour from all the coffee she’d been drinking. She hadn’t had anything close to a decent night’s sleep in…longer than she could remember right now with her brain all fogged up.

  And her bed did not beckon at all. In fact, she was doing everything she could to hold off sleep with both hands. Not that she didn’t need it…she knew all too well that if she didn’t get some soon, she was going to start making major mistakes. But because sleep was going to bring anything but rest.

  Bella had warned her that the “desensitization” they were doing was going to make things worse before they got better, and Bella had no idea how much worse it had gotten. Sleep had become an ordeal. She’d soundproofed her bedroom to keep from terrifying the neighbors, because if she didn’t wake up literally screaming, she woke up crying. Either crying because she and Red were an item in the dream (like that would ever happen), or crying because as soon as she woke up, she realized she’d been dreaming herself back into that 18-year-old body she used to have, about how things used to be, and when she woke up, she woke up to the reality that they never would be that way again.

  I am too damn old to be waking up in tears because I can’t have a guy in love with me. Why can’t I get my brain wrapped around being grateful to have Djinni as a friend? Crying about being a half-cripple, though…that was probably reasonable.

  If this kept up, she’d have to feed herself through a tube, because she’d either rot out her stomach with coffee, or her stomach would decide it was never going to hold anything solid again.

  Just as she was trying to figure out if coffee or green tea or a nicotine lozenge would be the best option to gain herself one more precious nightmare-free hour—

  All her magic-senses exploded with overload. Though her Overwatch room was always dark, it flooded with golden light. And she suddenly felt—crushed. Not emotionally crushed, but as if the room had suddenly acquired a second occupant that was much too large for it.

  The normally-cold Overwatch room also turned warm, and the air filled with the scents of sandalwood, vanilla, and cinnamon.

  And all of her arcane senses shrieked Kneel! Bow down in the Presence! as her gut knotted with awe and terror.

  She didn’t even bother to look; she knew what this was, she’d encountered it once already, and she followed her instincts. She slipped from her chair to her knees, eyes squeezed shut, head abjectly bowed.

  “Oh. Bother,” said the voice in her head and her ears. “I am sorry. It is much easier to get your attention than certain other blockheads.” The Presence and the awe and terror faded, replaced with an aura of kindness and compassion. Cautiously, Vickie raised her head a little, and cracked her eyes open.

  It was the Seraphym, all right—the first time Vickie had seen her, except at a distance, since the Invasion. Fire-wings folded neatly, body clothed in flame, hair like a bonfire and eyes like embers, she was not the sort of thing to inspire welcome or pleasure in a pyrophobic.

  And yet that all-enveloping blanket of compassion managed to keep Vickie where she was, and not running for the door. She squeaked, cleared her throat, and finally managed to croak, “Wh-what—how can I—h-help you? Eldest?” All the while thinking Either I have lost my mind completely and I’m hallucinating, or she’s really here, and any second now the last nerve I have left is going to fry, or she’s going to give me some quest or other, or…

  “You have earned a boon, magician.” Those ember-eyes regarded her with sympathy. “And you are at the end of your strength. What is it you need? Ask.”

  Oh, she knew this story. It began with “Be careful what you ask for…” Every magician knew this story. The greedy and the thoughtless got exactly what they deserved, and she could ask for just about anything, but if it was selfish…

  Tears of exhaustion trickled down her face. This was a bad, bad time to be given such a decision, because she was sure to make the wrong choice. Words were power…words were spells…oh, don’t ask for Red to love you, that will only end in tears. And don’t ask for your old self back, Uncle Bela will really come after you and everyone around you then.

  Finally…”Rest?” she whispered. “Please? If that’s…all right? Just a little rest? But not if I’m needed, not—not if someone is going to be in trouble if I’m not available—”

  “Enough. Your need is great, and your wish pure.” The Seraphym smiled. “And your understanding is sound. From this moment, you shall sleep peacefully, and rise rested, little magician. No more nightmares. Those dreams of the past that cause you grief, and those of longing, though you may have them, you shall not recall them on waking. You shall have rest. Go.”

  She waved an arm and a wing at the door, and Vickie rose and stumbled past her, pausing only with her hand on the doorknob. “If I’m needed—” she said, turning.

  But the Seraphym was gone, and it was all she could do to make it to her bed before blessed, empty sleep, sleep flooded with gratitude, claimed her. And she never noticed that, as usual, her hand closed around the fragment of Djinni’s claw she kept under her pillow.

  * * *

  With Bulwark back, Red had taken a back seat on training the new recruits. Bull had been to limbo and back, and the docs couldn’t find one good medical reason to keep him off active duty, which the huge man had immediately seized upon. The way Red heard it, Bull had snapped off the monitoring tabs they had stuck to his body, climbed into his uniform
and simply walked out. Bella had tried to talk him down, of course, scolding him about needing emotional, if not physical, rest. Bull would have none of it, and had simply marched into the barracks, selected a team of new recruits not yet assigned a trainer, and had gone to work.

  For some reason, Bull had avoided Red who, with the exception of the occasional recruiting run, had found himself with little to do. He was still working with Victrix, making sure she kept to her training schedule on the parkour course and overseeing her marksmanship on the range. At least Vix was improving, though she still didn’t seem able to acknowledge it…

  Vix. When had he started calling her Vix? It seemed important for some reason, like it crossed a vague but certain line between colleague and friend. He found he was calling on her more and more these days. She was really the only person there he could call a friend. Most of the people at ECHO still avoided him. He was a bit of a jerk, he supposed.

  Of those left, well…

  Scope and Acrobat were still AWOL, and things just got weird around Bella. The Rebel Alliance, or whatever they were calling themselves this week, had kept her pretty busy. Right now the best hope lay with Ramona and Yankee Pride and their Administrative Coup, or Hostile Takeover, depending how it went. If it worked, it would be mostly bloodless. Not that anything involving Verdigris was going to be completely bloodless. The man was vicious. Bella had the unenviable task of keeping on top of him, all the while keeping up the appearance that she was a blundering idiot, completely over her head and lost in the details of running ECHO Medical. The few times they had run into each other, the awkward pauses were brief as she was rescued by yet another emergency. They seemed to follow her around these days.

  She was also spending a lot of time with Bull. Red understood. Bull would be vital to that plan; no one knew and understood strategy, tactics, administration and bureaucracy like he did. He could sure see where Bull would be more useful to Bella and Pride than he was. Bull had been skating his way around petty bureaucrats to keep doing things his own way for…probably as long as he’d been in the military, much less ECHO. There were other reasons, of course. When he had tagged a ride with the Seraphym, Red had become privy to a lot of things he probably shouldn’t have been, including how Bull and Bella privately felt about each other.