Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle - eARC

by Mercedes Lackey

  She paused, marshalling her thoughts.

  “We are different. When ECHO was founded, that difference was frightening to people. That was why the CEO was a human. That was why ECHO never fought things like the Extreme Force Act, and agreed to DCOs. We are different, and humans are programmed at the instinctive level to fear what is different. When ECHO was founded, the foundations that were laid down were carefully calculated to allay as much of that fear as possible, while building in protections for us in the form of things we could live with. I know you vets in front of me are well aware of a lot of this; I’ll bet you were all privy to, or even part of, some of the debates, even arguments over a lot of it.”

  Nods, grimaces. A lot of intent looks.

  “We are different. There is nothing we can do about it. We can no more change that than any other human can change things like skin or hair or eye-color. Like them, we can sometimes disguise it, but we can’t change it. What we are defines us, negatively, or positively. Right now, it’s pretty much positive. But that could change in an instant, and as we forge the future, we need to pick a leader who is very much aware of that. ECHO must always be an organization that is run by metahumans, to protect us from abuse and exploitation, the sorts of abuse and exploitation Dominic Verdigris had in mind for us. Those who are not meta will always have the upper hand, ultimately. There are a lot more of them than there are of us—and today you got a good look at how those without powers are still capable of turning those of us with powers to chutney.”

  Nods all across the sea of faces now.

  “But if ECHO is an organization run by metahumans, it must also change to one that is run for humans, meta and otherwise. You all know the comic-book mantra about great responsibility, and you can all look to whatever faith you believe in to give you answers about why you have been triggered with a power and others have not. The point is this: meta is only part of what we are. Deep down, the important thing is that we are also human. Our parents, siblings, relatives, neighbors and friends may not have been granted powers. Our children may not be. We cannot divorce ourselves from the human race and we’re all on the spaceship Earth together. The minute we forget that and think that besides being different, we are also somehow superior, well…we turn into Dominic Verdigris.”

  Vigorous nods, and some approving smiles.

  “And one more thing. The Charter is set up so that the CEO is a lifetime position. As you vets know, for one of us, a lifetime can be very long indeed. The CEO needs to be someone who is flexible, who listens to, acts on—and soliticits!—advice. Because things will always be changing; change is the one constant no one can fight. So when you are voting for the new CEO of ECHO, please remember that, all of it. And choose the flexible person who not only knows what it is to be meta, but to be human, and to embrace everything that humankind means. Thank you.”

  She did not stop to acknowledge the applause. Instead, she stepped quickly down off the podium and to the computer link to cast her vote for Yankee Pride.

  Just as Alex Tesla had wanted. He really was the right man for the job.

  * * *

  Under any other circumstances, Bella would have loved to mingle with all the old vets, most of whom were only faces in history books to her. But after today, all she wanted to do was sit in a corner, nursing a drink. She would rather have been in her office, but that wasn’t possible, Spin Doctor had made that clear as well.

  But it would be a good thing to be able to congratulate Pride…and hand over that burden she’d carried. ECHO Med was burden enough—but at least part of the time she felt up to that task.

  When the voting was announced as closed she really wasn’t paying much attention, concentrating on what she was going to say to Pride. So when the wave of people suddenly engulfed her, startling her out of her reverie, wanting to shake her hand, congratulating her, she was caught completely by surprise.

  Shocked even.

  “Snap out of it, Bells,” Vickie said in her ear. “You’re CEO. By a landslide. Act like it.”

  What? Were they insane?

  “Yep. Almost unanimous. All in favor except one vote.”

  Spin Doctor came up to shake her hand. She felt numb. “It seems that they’re rather enamored of your style of management. Something about grit, tenacity, and smarts. Oh, and the little Scotsman says that blue is his favorite color.”

  They kept coming, wave after wave of them, vets, her own ECHO Med, all of them. Shaking her hand, smiling warmly.

  Even Djinni.

  He came after most of the crowd had thinned out, giving her some space; he took her hand and moved in close, and she clung to it. “I don’t want this!” she whispered to him urgently. “Red, I don’t—I can’t—”

  He squeezed her hand. “Y’know who make the best leaders, darlin’?” he whispered back. “They’re not always the smartest, they’re not always the most charismatic, they’re not always the nicest people around…hell, they’re usually assholes.”

  “Where are you going with this?” she asked. Was he trying to say—

  “…but one thing the best leaders usually share in common, they didn’t want the damn job in the first place.”

  Then he was gone, slipping away into the crowd, which gathered around her again.

  * * *

  Bella closed the door of her office behind her, leaned against it, and put her head back, closing her eyes for a moment before slumping behind her desk. She was still listed as being on-duty, and she didn’t change that. She didn’t want to ruin anyone’s “victory” celebration, but this whole day, start to finish, had been nothing like a win.

  Bruno was dead. So were too many other people, but Bruno was one of hers, one of the Misfits. Someone she’d fussed over, worried about, driven herself crazy over. Someone who’d been awkwardly grateful when Bella had patched him up, had tried to cheer her up, who’d been a lot like that puppy who is always underfoot, and yet was so constantly happy and helpful that you couldn’t help but smile at him even when he was in the way. He’d been so triumphant when he and Scope had infiltrated Harmony’s own organization and put a spoke in the wheels of her plans. And not half an hour later…he was gone.

  And despite Verd running like a scalded cat, this had a far too high probability of turning into a public relations nightmare. With Verd out of reach, people would start looking for someone else to blame, and there was ECHO, the big, fat target-du-jour. Unless they came up with some miracle-victory and soon, people were going to start asking if maybe Verd had been right all along…maybe someone like Dominic Verdigris should have been in charge of ECHO. Maybe the US Military should take it over. Spin Doctor was already at work on heading off the inevitable avalanche. She’d sent him the Twins. And the espresso machine from Verd’s office. But what she needed was a miracle. A really decisive victory against the Kriegers. Because it was only a matter of time—maybe by tomorrow morning—before the people out there stopped congratulating her and started asking what she intended to do about the real enemy.

  She’d tried to give up the job. Pride was making noises about how he wasn’t going to “let” her step back and just head up Echo Med. Hell, she didn’t even want to head Echo Med, much less the rest of this! It had been one thing when it had just been her taking charge of her friends, but this…this was all of Echo, and Pride wanted her as CEO? They all did? How in hell was she supposed to be a wartime leader? She’d never wanted to be a leader at all!

  Who can I persuade not to go back to Sunny Acres that remembers what it was like in the last go-around? At least she had Saviour, and Unter to count on for advice. Even Bear. He might be insane, but his memory of the last round with the Nazis was just fine as long as you ignored all the stuff about his sexual prowess. But she thought about Acrobat, thought about how many more people were going to die before this was over, and put her head down on the desk, too overwhelmed even to cry. She’d asked Dixie to take Scope out to the vets—the ones that were feeling their own losses. They’d u
nderstand, and give the “young soldier” the kind of support she needed right now. But there was no one Bella could turn to for company right now. Everyone else was either hurting too much, or like Saviour, relishing this pyrrhic victory too much to offer sympathy.

  Never had she felt so utterly, completely alone, or so crushed by the burden of responsibility that she had never wanted, never asked for. But there was literally no one else to take it off her shoulders, so somehow, she would have to try.

  She buried her face in her elbow, wishing with all her heart she could hide from the world and knowing there was no way in hell that was possible.

  * * *

  Vickie watched poor Bella putting her head down on her arms, and felt her throat aching. Bell had turned her Overwatch rig to “private,” but she’d forgotten about the security cam in the corner.

  She only took up being the leader of the coup because there really wasn’t anyone else who could that wasn’t also being watched day and night. There was nothing in our plans that would have led us to think Verd would do what he did today. And now she’s been “rewarded” by being slammed with even more responsibility, and heaven help her if she screws up. Meanwhile, the wolves outside the door that are howling for Verd’s blood are going to come looking for someone else’s if they don’t get some meat from somewhere. Borzhe moi, what a cluster. And there she is all alone, and too aware that anyone else who might serve as a shoulder is hurting too…or someone she doesn’t want to give the wrong signals to.

  Well…there was at least one good thing she might be able to do. “Overwatch. Open Bulwark, private,” she said, her voice shaking. “Overwatch to Bulwark.”

  “Operative Victrix—this is—”

  She took a deep breath. “This isn’t Operative Victrix, Bull. This is Vix. Something…something I want to tell you. Bella’s alone in her old office in ECHO Med, and I’m the only one who knows she’s gone off to hide from everyone short-sighted enough to think we won this one. If you want to keep everything on the pro level with Bella, go hit the bar or deal with how you feel right now on your own.” She could almost hear him stiffen. But she kept right on going. “If you want to stay just her friend, go to her and give her the same stiff upper lip talk you’d give any friend who was also your superior officer. She’ll probably be grateful for it, and it will send her a very clear signal about how you want the future to look between you. Both of those choices are perfectly valid. But there’s a third choice too.” She took another deep breath. To say that Bulwark was intensely private about his feelings was like saying that Everest might be a little tall. If she were in person…he’d probably walk out before she could get very far. He’d probably be tempted to punch her in the nose—not that he actually would, ever, but this would test even his legendary patience. Fortunately, she was literally in his ear and he couldn’t shut her off before she finished. “If you want more than that, this is your chance to get that door open in the gentlemanly fashion you prefer. I know her, and I think I kind of know you. You are both dying inside right now. You both need someone to lean on for a while. Go help each other through it, and you’ll come out the other side with something pretty damn special. That’s it, all I have to say.”

  There was silence for a moment. “Operative Victrix…I would appreciate it if you would mind your own business,” came the dispassionate answer.

  “Yes sir, Bulwark. Overwatch out,” she replied, and closed the channel, and then shut down the system except for the usual 24/7 monitoring, which she could do from her bed. Because right now she needed a shoulder too. She’d stayed “with” Rider until the last moment, watching him in the train’s security cam, solitary witness to his bravery. Frank had heard her frantic call and said he was on it, and she had just left him to deal with the threat alone, assuming he’d be all right.

  And Bruno. Bruno. She would never stop seeing him in the back of her mind, and he would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  On her watch. Dead because of her. And despite everything she could do, the literal magic, she had not been able to save them.

  She shuffled off to her room, and Grey jumped up on the bed before she threw herself down on it. ::Come have a good cry, kitten,:: he said with sympathy, and she buried her face in his fur and did just that, crying for all she wished she could have done.

  * * *

  Bulwark listened to the faint white-noise of the closed channel, then set his rig to “private” mode. He looked down the hall. To his right, was the way out. Although he wasn’t a drinking man, he knew which bar the retired vets would be at tonight, and he knew that he would be welcome and understood among them. Toasts would be made. Stories told. Old pain eased a little in the sharing. New pain, too.

  To his left, this corridor would lead him to the cross-corridor that ended at Echo Medical. The offices would be empty, except for one; the injured had all been stabilized, patched, stitched, and otherwise mended and were in their hospital rooms upstairs. The Med staff, the metas, anyway, would be taking a break before getting back to work. For the next few hours, the ECHO injured that had survived would be in the hands of the purely human staff, and the metas had gone off-duty, unless they were paged for an emergency.

  All but one. One, who was still very much on-duty, and probably would not go home tonight, or for many nights to come.

  He hesitated another moment longer, then turned to the left.

  Here With Me

  Mercedes Lackey and Cody Martin

  John was still sore all over, the latest Op had been…interesting, to say the least. More than anything, he was just glad that it was over. He was looking forward to getting patched up, to checking on the neighborhood, to a cold beer…and, of course, Sera.

  It still amazed him how things had turned out with the two of them. John, who had spent the last few years on the run and making sure that he had no personal connections, had fallen in love with an angel. He hadn’t used the “L” word yet, but he knew it was there. Somewhere deep down, he also knew the truth about Sera. His rational mind wouldn’t allow him to admit that to her, either; it’d be an affront to his pride as a devout unbeliever. The world has gone insane, all right, an’ I’m right there with it.

  First things were first; since he had taken more than the usual battering on this mission, he had been ordered to check in with the med bay and get himself looked at. He was starting to feel weak again, too; just another thing to worry about. This nonsense has been going on too long; time to bite the bullet and have Jadwiga figure out this deal with my energy levels, and why my abilities have been up and down. Can’t have another weak moment during an Op.

  Not that he was looking forward to it. But, oh well…that was part of the job, get banged up, get poked and probed. He straightened his back and headed for sickbay.

  * * *

  Jadwiga was doing a good job of keeping the emotion out of her face. All except for her eyes. It helped that she was a beautiful woman, and not the modern, so-skinny-as-to-be-sick, super-model sort of pretty. She was classically beautiful, and very Russian. The Commissar was a bit of a caricature sometimes with her zeal and heavy-handedness; still there were times when she seemed more “old fashioned cop” of any nationality than particularly Russian. But the “Soviette” screamed Russian with her every move; even in the maternal, yet slightly stern way she cared for the personnel of the CCCP.

  And her eyes said that the news wasn’t good. It looked to John like she was about to pronounce sentence on a patient in triage, rather than reporting what he had expected to be a dull and routine summary of his physical.

  John didn’t stop looking at her while he buttoned up the top of his jumpsuit. “You’re awful quiet, Doc. What’s the prognosis?”

  “You have been coughing blood. Yes?” She didn’t wait for his nod. “This is not something trivial, comrade. Da or nyet?”

  Again, she didn’t wait, and she must have seen the assent in his eyes. “This is the sign that things are being too far. You have great da
mage in your lungs. You do not smoke, you have no tuberculosis, you should not have such damage, and it is new. I then take tissue sample, With primitive equipment as Moscow allows us…” She grimaced. “Is looking to me that cells are being in apoptosis. Ischemic damage is resulting; thus the much coughing, dizziness, lack of appetite, disorientation, and bouts of weakness. Is being why your power goes—” She made a little “poofing” motion with her fingers. “I do not know what is being cause this. But is fatal.” She took a deep breath. “Without knowing cause, is being no cure. If is a cure possible. Is nothing I am studying, and is nothing in conventional medicine can being help.”

  John felt sick to his stomach. This had been going on for awhile, but the symptoms hadn’t been anything he couldn’t explain away due to the aggressive and often violent nature of his new job. Not willing to give in to the shock and slowly twisting horror in his belly, John seized on the word he hadn’t understood as a possible handle…something that would show him a way out of this. “What’s’is…apoptosis?”

  “Your cells are being suicide,” she said bluntly. “Cells are always being die, da, but not like this. Too many, and just…disintegrate, from inside. This is making big damage, and is happening all over you, but most in lungs. No cells, no oxygen, no oxygen—” Her eyes were sad, but there was nothing in them to give him the escape route he wanted out of this.

  “So, there’s nothin’ that can be done ’bout it? We don’t have any pills, medicines, or surgeries or anything for this? Apoptosis and ischemia?”

  “Nyet in conventional medicine. You are metahuman. That is not always being…positive.”

  He mulled this over for a moment. “Who do we know that’s the best with metahumans, then?”