“No matter how far apart they are?” he said. It was his turn to pull the eyebrow trick.
“Quantum physics says so. In theory, you could be at the other end of the galaxy and it would be simultaneous.” She shrugged. “In practice, we have an untraceable, unreadable, unhijackable comm link and it won’t matter if you are at the top of Everest or the bottom of the Marianas Trench, you’ll read me and vice versa.”
He whistled.
“Having the mic in your mouth means you can whisper and I’ll read you. Even if you’re gagged, you can click Morse code to me, or just ‘one for yes, two for no.’ You can adjust how much info your HUD gives you. If you want to talk privately with anyone else on Overwatch, you can, you just say ‘command: open private’ and their name. It’s powered by body heat, kinetic energy, and the ambient magic energy that’s pretty much all around.” She handed him the little command sheet she had printed up. “Overwatch is a pseudo-AI, so if you don’t like how I made the command-structure, make up your own. All the instructions are in that printout; feel free to explore possibilities, and if you want it to do more things, let me know. Just—I can override anything you have set up if I have to—”
“Vix,” he interrupted her, gently. “I told you. I trust you.”
She flushed. “Thanks,” she said, trying not to show how simultaneously happy and heartsick that made her feel. “Well…just one more thing. It fixes itself. It’s magic, not nanotech; basically if it’s broken, there’s an auto-trigger that tells it ‘you know what you used to look like, fix it.’ I think that’s the grand tour.”
He looked down at the command sheet briefly. “Overwatch,” he said. “Command: HUD off.” Then he looked up. “It’s brilliant,” he said, simply.
She let out a sigh of relief. “I wish you could—” And then it struck her. “Wait! You can!”
“Overwatch: Command: Activate: self cam.” She turned to him for a moment. “I’m going to overlay your visual with what I see. Overwatch: Override, override, override. Command: overlay: self cam feed: Red Djinni visual input.”
She pulled the handful of the Overwatch Redesign out of Storage Space and let it unfold around her, surrounding her again with the exquisite play of numbers and flows, patterns and matrices, and let him see it as she saw it. “There,” she said, feeling again the flood of rare happiness as the design sang and danced around her. “Now you can see magic the way I see it.”
She basked in it a little, then folded it back up and put it away. “Overwatch: Command: reset all Red Djinni plus cancel override Red Djinni.” She sighed, and leaned against the cabinet. “There you are, back in the saddle. Saviour’s teaching hers Russian. Bella and Sovie are experimenting with integrating the medical stuff to the HUD.” She shook her head. “Not my thing, and I wouldn’t know where to start, you know? Just remember that the main job of Overwatch is keeping you guys safer, and if it’s something the computer system doesn’t know how to do yet, it’ll be low priority to what I need it to do for you.” Her lips twitched in a small, wistful smile. “I know it’s brilliant. It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever done. But the question is, do you like it? Because I know damn good and well that if you don’t like it so much it bypasses your need to be a wild card, you won’t use it more than you have to.” Something occurred to her and she held up a hand before he answered her. “Wait a minute, I want to do something.”
She leaned over his shoulder and modified the Override protocol.
“Gonna test something here. Overwatch: Command: Override override override Red Djinni.” She waited expectantly.
“Just got three beeps in my ear,” he said immediately.
“Good.” She canceled the override.
“And three more, so now if you override me, I’ll know. You didn’t have to do that. I told you, I trust you.” He looked at her quizzically.
“And I just confirmed that trust.” She shrugged. “Trust has to be earned, and you have to keep earning it, Red. You know that.”
He nodded, and almost absently, wrapped his scarf around his face again.
“And you haven’t answered my question yet,” she added.
But instead of answering her directly, he stared into her eyes with a sudden, fierce intensity, and a cold fear stabbed her. Had he figured out—
“Vix,” he said. “I want you to promise me something.” He didn’t wait for her reply. “Promise me that you’re going to fight this fight all the way through, as far as you can take it, no matter what. And promise me you won’t let the fight, or anything else, break you.”
For the second time today he had completely shocked her. With a slack jaw and a stunned mind, she found herself nodding in agreement.
“This thing we’re in—it’s too big—” he continued, as if he hadn’t seen her nod. “I know you, I know how strong you can be, and I believe in how strong you can be. You’re the real wild card in this fight, with everything you can do, that you know, that you are. If you don’t break, we can do this. But you have to be that strong. So I’m asking you—and I remember, you promised me I could ask anything of you, so this is what I’m asking, for real now—I’m asking you to bind yourself to this. Promise me you won’t let your spirit be broken, no matter what happens. Promise me that, and that’ll you’ll fight this thing with everything you have to the end. Don’t let anything break you. And make sure everyone knows they can’t break you. People are taking their cues from you and Bella. If you two stand, everyone else will. I know Bella won’t break. I need to know you won’t, and you won’t, if you put your will to it.”
For a moment she wondered if he had been listening to that same song that had been driving her…but whether he had or not…
There was still that promise she’d made him, when she’d swapped bodies with him. It was still outstanding. He’d taken his choice back, but it was still outstanding, and now he was making his wish deliberately, with full knowledge of what he was asking her for. She didn’t have any choice—
—and anyway, whether he was right or wrong about her being the wild card, he was right about her will, and he was right about the fight being too big to let any one person’s desires or needs take precedence.
Strange words, unbelievable out of the old Djinni, maybe. But if nothing else, today proved just how little of the old Djinni was left.
“I promise,” she said, mouth dry, and a lump in her throat. She felt the bindings settle around her again, but not like chains this time. Not like something that was going to weigh her down and sink her. Maybe more like something that was going to help hold her up, no matter how bad it got.
He relaxed, and the little smile lines showed around his eyes again. “Good. Thanks. And in that case…I like it fine, this new Overwatch. I like where it’s going. And hey, maybe Bella’ll forget and leave her cam on in the ECHO Med shower room. Now, how about another drink?”
Mother Knows Best
Veronica Giguere
Now I need to backtrack. Not long after we started the Rebellion, Ramona and Yank decided they were going to look into a…more bureaucratic solution to having Verd in charge of ECHO. They knew ECHO had a founding charter, and they were hoping they’d discover he’d violated some nitpicky little clause in it so they could put Yankee Pride in charge the way he was supposed to be.
But there was no copy of the charter at ECHO. And the road to finding it turned out to be a lot longer and a lot stranger than any of us ever dreamed.
“We can’t keep meeting like this. People are going to start talking.” Yankee Pride pulled the brim of his baseball cap down and folded his arms across his chest. “That is, if they haven’t started talking already. This looks highly suspicious, Detective.”
“Which part, sir?” She pushed up the sleeves of her grey sweatshirt, her back to Pride while she shoved a piece of gum into her mouth. “Our apparent lack of fashion sense, the fact that you and I have been working together after-hours an awful lot, or our continued patronage of what the press has c
heerfully designated the ‘Socialist Safehouse’ in its most recent story?”
He snorted as he leaned against the worn brick of the converted warehouse. “Three for three, detective, although the first doesn’t cause me too much worry.” He ducked his head to feign exhaustion, his voice low enough such that only Overwatch could detect the next few words. “They do know that we’re coming, Miss Victrix?”
“Knowing is only half the battle.” Vickie herself sounded beat on the channel. “Getting to the door is something else entirely. Chug should be there soon.” As she said the words, the door creaked open and a squat, muscular green form lurched onto the step.
“Hey there, Chug.” Ramona smiled warmly and lifted her badge just enough to show him the brass. He looked to Pride, who sighed and pushed one sleeve up to show a gauntlet. It pulsed a bright gold, which was good enough for the CCCP’s impromptu doorman. Chug stepped aside and motioned them both in, then shut the door behind him with a loud thud. The locks whirled and clicked into place while Pride and Ramona followed him to the Commissar’s office.
As usual, Red Saviour sat behind mountains of paperwork, scowling over a dossier with red pen in hand. She did not look up, but simply waved a hand back to the door. “Is not necessary, Chug. Disruptive detective and fellow legacy hero can speak with desk as they choose. Unless they bring someone of importance.” She raised her eyes and arched a dark eyebrow at them. “I am not seeing anything important.”
Chug nodded and copied the same shooing gesture that the Commissar had used with them as they got to the storage room that held Alex Tesla’s desk. Ramona thanked him, smiled, and went through the fingerprint and retinal scans to enter the oversized closet. Pride followed, shrugging out of his windbreaker and setting it to the side, along with his hat. As before, the voice authorization allowed them to open the connection to Metis, and it wasn’t long before the severe image of Nicola Tesla appeared in the center of the desk.
“Good evening, Mr. Tesla,” Yankee Pride began. “I apologize for the late hour, but Ms. Ferrari and I need to speak with you about several matters concerning ECHO. I’m afraid…” He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m afraid that we’ve suffered a setback of sorts courtesy of the new leadership at ECHO.”
Tesla’s face shifted, the blue wireframe adjusting to show sadness. “I see. What sort of setback, specifically? While I appreciate your concessions to your southern heritage in discourse of delicate matters, I assure you that being direct is preferable.” He smiled a bit, the outlines of his teeth luminous. “I was assured once, by my late nephew in fact, that you both have the ability to be quite direct when the situation warrants such behavior.”
Ramona felt her face grow warm as embarrassment crept over her. The noisy confrontation with Alex followed by their hours in the freezer were not a shining example of her professional demeanor. “Quite, sir. We just…”
“It’s difficult, Mr. Tesla,” Pride offered, the apology in his warm tone and genuine smile. No wonder Spin Doctor held him up as a constant example of the face of ECHO while Verdigris tried to turn the campus into his personal playground. Ramona watched him incline his head to Tesla and slip effortlessly into one of the two chairs in the room. “You’re something of a legend, and for my part, I certainly would not want to disappoint a legend.”
The words made Ramona smile, yet the blue wireframe tsked in an oddly paternal manner. “You of all people should be able to communicate with legends, Yankee Pride. In fact, speaking with you is an honor, as you are the living legacy of ECHO.”
Pride didn’t have an answer to that; in fact, Ramona realized, the words made him somewhat uncomfortable. His smile lessened and his chin lifted a bit higher, but he maintained his congenial rolling drawl. “Thank you, Mr. Tesla. The matter at hand concerns Dominic Verdigris and his takeover of ECHO.”
The blue bust of Nicola Tesla gave a snort that reeked of disdain. “As I have said before, I do not care for this man.”
“That makes three of us.” Ramona pulled up the other chair and shifted against the unforgiving wood seat. “He’s weeding out people in ECHO and doing systematic searches of the campus. I’m pretty sure we’ll hear about a full-out merger with Blacksnake any day now, and I’ll tell you right now, it wouldn’t surprise me to go in tomorrow morning and have a pink slip taped to my door.”
Pride nodded in agreement as Tesla’s blue brow furrowed in front of them. “The buyout is particularly troubling. I was unaware that so much had changed, especially considering the charter. You have Alex’s records of that meeting, I presume?”
Ramona and Pride shared a look of confusion, and Pride spoke first. “Which meeting would that be, sir?”
The blue wireframe gave a faint scowl, lips thin as he glanced away. “It would have been sizeable. Every member of the organization, as individual shareholders of ECHO, would have had to turn over their shares. Signatures, notaries, all of the red tape and bureaucracy that allowed for such a provision in the first place. If none of this took place, then it would stand to reason that with enough shareholders…”
“We could kick him out.” Ramona breathed the words, fingertips against her lower lip as she stared at Tesla. “With enough people, we could kick him out.”
“Theoretically, yes.”
Yankee Pride frowned. “Theoretically? How did this go from being a sure way to remove a slimy waste of skin and bones to just a possibility? Surely there are enough people in ECHO, especially if you look at the retired members of the organization.”
The corner of Tesla’s mouth turned down in an expression of disgust. “There are, but such a meeting would require a copy of the original charter. As you may have guessed, I do not have one. My current state of being is quite lacking in pockets.”
Ramona gave a weak laugh at the joke, but Yankee Pride leaned forward to study Tesla more closely. “This charter. Who would have had an original copy?”
“Hmm?” The blue wireframe tilted its head to the side. “Well, the original board members. The founding metahumans of the organization. Certainly, your parents have copies of the charter?”
Yankee Pride shook his head slowly and leaned back, passing a hand over his forehead. Ramona hadn’t noticed it until now, but Pride had at least ten years on her. In uniform and on the field, he covered it with a cheerful smile and professional demeanor. In this dingy back closet in the CCCP headquarters, he looked like just another guy who needed a beer after a long day’s work. He let out a long sigh, not looking at Tesla while he spoke.
“When Dad passed on, most of his things went to the museums. The paperwork that he had, anything that wasn’t classified, it all went to Eastham Foundation of Metahuman History. What they didn’t use went to the National Archives.” He slid forward, elbows on his knees. “If I’d thought about it more carefully, I’d have kept more of it here.”
“That is unfortunate.” Tesla began to say something else, but he glanced back quickly as a small shuffling came from somewhere beneath him. “We shall discuss this more. Perhaps Enrico will have some ideas. A pleasure, as always.” He gave a final terse nod and faded into nothing above the desk.
Ramona let out a long breath, suddenly exhausted. “Well, that’s something,” she offered hopefully. “At least we know where to start, right?”
Pride didn’t answer; instead, he stood and pushed his chair to the wall. “If you’ll excuse me, Detective, I should be getting home. Searching through the records of the Eastham Foundation may take several days, and it’s not something I want to attempt without sleep.”
Something had touched a nerve during the conversation with Tesla. Ramona moved her chair next to the wall and leaned against the door. She studied the floor as she spoke, trying to be as delicate as possible. “Sir, with all due respect, did I miss something back there? You seemed upset.”
He ignored her question with a polite smile, ballcap back on his head as he tipped the brim down ever so slightly. “Have a good evening, D
etective. We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”
* * *
The Eastham Foundation’s main building at 435 West Avenue had suffered a moderate amount of damage during the early waves of the invasion. Memorials for recently fallen heroes filled that part of the campus, with the broken concrete wall bearing a tidy engraving of names, ECHO-issue and civilian, along with dates of service to the organization. Inside, the exhibits devoted to specific heroes as well as innovations attributed to ECHO had a steady stream of visitors. Yankee Pride stood back from the crowd as the teenager next to him snapped a few pictures with an elaborate camera phone.
“Quite the exhibit, hmm?” The assistant director for the museum came up to Pride, a kind smile on his face. “We’re in the early planning for Mr. Tesla’s memorial. Considering everything that he did for ECHO as well as the city of Atlanta, it only seems fitting.”
Pride nodded quietly, his hands in his pockets. He had purposely worn civilian attire, khaki pants and a neat blue oxford buttoned at the sleeves. “A unique man, certainly. I enjoyed working for him.”
The man frowned, not recognizing Yankee Pride out of uniform. “You work at ECHO? Security?”
The lack of recognition brought a broad smile to Pride’s face. “Something like that. I’m here doing a bit of research.”
“Ah, wonderful! How can I be of assistance?” He motioned to the wall where a large touchscreen showed the ECHO insignia over a silhouette of the Atlanta skyline. “Perhaps you’d like to start with our database?”
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