Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle

by Mercedes Lackey

  Christ, this guy’s strong . . .

  “Very clever, schweinhund,” Doppelgaenger growled. “Who was your coconspirator? This ‘Vix’? Of course, that would be Victoria Victrix, the witch. I shall have to see she is rewarded for her diligence. Perhaps I shall send her one of your fingers. Is she nearby, Djinni? Are you still in contact with her, through her accursed magic perhaps? I can only assume so. So much for the pleasantries, we will have to move quickly then . . .”

  Doppelgaenger tightened his grip with one hand, freeing the other to swat away Red’s desperate swings. Red’s eyes widened in panic as he took in the Krieger’s massive build. He had read Doppelgaenger’s file, and nowhere did it mention him being a giant. In fact, he was reported to be of average weight, average height, with slim if toned muscle mass. And he had been, just moments before, beneath the meek and naive facade of “Pike.” Now, he was easily eight feet tall with a powerful build, and each of his hands looked big enough to encase Red’s entire head. Of course. Red’s own file was fairly scant. He had kept much of himself secret. Doppelgaenger was much the same, surviving by stealth, by hoarding secrets. He was a shapeshifter, a chameleon, and it made perfect sense that someone who could alter his appearance at will could bulk up to a muscle-bound powerhouse when needed. Except for Red, of course. At that moment, the ability to morph one’s skin seemed like a very insignificant thing. He considered just how much power Doppelgaenger must possess, how much he had kept under wraps, just for moments like these when necessity called for more than just guile. Red would have done the same, and he still hadn’t seen it coming. Maybe he needed a touch more of Vix’s paranoia. She seemed to plan for everything to go wrong, where he pretty much made it up as he went along.

  Still, he had always considered his ability to improvise as one of his strengths.

  “Say goodnight, Brother,” Doppelgaenger said, and reared back to deliver a knockout blow. “When you wake, we will have much to discuss, you might even say—”

  The giant stopped, cried out in surprise, and released the Djinni with a start, his hand flying back in pain. Red collapsed to the ground and quickly rolled away. As Red came to his feet, his tattered scarf fell away to reveal his face of the day, a dapper rendition of Daniel Day Lewis, and beneath that, a forest of needle-sharp spikes protruding from his neck.

  Doppelgaenger glanced at his hand, which was starting to ooze blood from a multitude of tiny pinpricks.

  “Yes, very clever,” Doppelgaenger sighed. “It seems we will have more to discuss than I previously thought. You play the fool so well. Another act, it would seem; another layer to peel back and discover what delights you hide beneath.”

  “What, you think I’m an onion?” Red said, stalling. “Careful, I might make you cry like the little bitch you are.”

  “Ah, the name-calling portion of the entertainment,” Doppelgaenger said. “Really, Djinni, there will be time enough for that later. As I said, we have to move quickly.”

  It didn’t take Red long to size up the situation. He was hopelessly outmatched here. Even if he could somehow outmaneuver and outrun Doppelgaenger, he had an entire squad of Death Troops to get past. It didn’t look good. He had grossly underestimated what Doppelgaenger was capable of. Having Vix free him of his restraints had been his Hail Mary pass, and it had backfired. On his feet, able to fight, he was now a threat, one that Doppelgaenger and his group of armored goons were forced to deal with violently. If he had only waited, Vix would at least have been able to track them. Instead, he had opted to force their hand, and worse, Vickie’s surge had destroyed any simple means she had of locating him. His only hope now was to fight, to last long enough for Vickie to come to his rescue.

  She’s never going to let me forget this one, is she?

  One of the metal-clad Kriegers raised his energy cannon and aimed it at Red’s heart.

  “Nein!” Doppelgaenger barked. “Hirnlose Trottel! Idioten! Denkst du, wir brauchen ihn am Leben zu bleiben! Stehen im Kreis um ihn herum, ihn zu beschränken. Ich werde ihn kontrollieren.”

  At Doppelgaenger’s command, the Kriegers backed away, their cannons at the ready. Red considered his options as his adversary advanced on him. There weren’t many. He had his back to a wall in an otherwise open area of the old factory floor. No cover to speak of, no handholds on the wall, nothing to get him to higher ground. All that marked his immediate surroundings were dirt, a few structural supports holding up a high ceiling and the smug bastard that was casually strolling towards him.

  Maybe his newfound bulk will slow him down.

  Red waited until Doppelgaenger crossed an invisible threshold, close enough to distract with a quick feint to his left. He followed with a sudden reversal and dove right, rolling with a nimble tuck and tumble to weave past his foe.

  He felt Doppelgaenger’s knee slam into his stomach, and he was driven back against the wall. Red saw stars as he lurched to his feet.

  Nope, he’s as quick as ever.

  Red yelped as he ducked Doppelgaenger’s punch, a solid blow which pounded into the concrete, raining dust and rubble down onto the Djinni’s head.

  And still strong as an ox.

  Desperate, Red landed a palm strike against Doppelgaenger’s midsection and was rewarded with a grunt of pain. He attempted another tumble, but was caught by the scruff of his neck and slammed face-first into the wall.

  “I would advise you stop resisting,” Doppelgaenger said, as he brought Red’s limp form back and slammed him against the wall again for good measure. Red remained still, but groaned, still conscious. Doppelgaenger shook his head in impatience, and turned back to his troops. “What is our ETA?”

  One of the Death Troops answered in German, an eerie and low, metallic-sounding noise accompanied by heavy breathing.

  “Ten minutes?” Doppelgaenger barked. “Did the transport get caught in traffic? Unglaublich, it would seem I have much to attend to on our return.” He turned back to Red. “Yours will not be the only blood spilt this day, it would seem.”

  “Yer damned skippy!” Red shouted, his head snapping up, and drove a newly clawed hand into Doppelgaenger’s stomach. He felt his own stomach threaten to heave, as his hand tasted the cesspool of Doppelgaenger’s guts.

  Oh, Christ, is that headcheese?

  With a roar, Doppelgaenger brought a fist down, shattering Red’s claws, and hurled Red to the side. Red tumbled away and collided with a nearby support column. He heard the concrete support, already weathered and crumbling, crack from the impact. He was showered with more debris as the ceiling groaned and shifted under the strain. Short of breath, eyes tearing from the pain, he got his arms under him and managed to push himself up on his elbows. He glanced up at Doppelgaenger, and witnessed a truly terrifying sight.

  The giant stood at attention, his face contorted in a grimace of pain, his belly now bleeding profusely from the five jagged claws embedded in his gut. His breathing slowed to a measured beat, and Red watched in horror as the claws were slowly engulfed by the big man. They simply slid into him. The wounds began to . . . eat the claws, making wet, slurping noises as they sucked the razor-sharp shards in. After a moment, the wounds healed, the bleeding stopped. Doppelgaenger looked down at his hand, concentrated, and in moments the pinpricks from Red’s neck spikes were gone. Relief spread over Doppelgaenger’s face and he smiled down at Red.

  “Rapid healing,” he sighed. “That is a most useful talent you possess, Herr Djinni.”

  Red shuddered, and collapsed. He was beaten.

  * * *

  As he waited for his tardy carrier to arrive, Doppelgaenger amused himself by snapping the thorns off of Red Djinni’s neck, one by one, as one might do with flower petals. The Djinni, it seemed, was still conscious, and Doppelgaenger was rewarded with muffled gasps of pain with each fracture. He was pleased, he was beyond pleased. His quarry was remarkably resilient. It would be such a pleasure to break him, to delve into him, and retrieve the answers he had sought after for so long.
r />   “She loves me, she loves me not . . .” he sang, happily.

  Suddenly he was thrown up and back by a spike of dirt and broken concrete erupting right at his feet.

  “She loves you not, widernatürlich Scheisskerl,” snarled the tiny woman peering from behind a concrete pillar. She had an automatic pistol pointed at his head. “Take your brown-shirted thugs and go home while you still can. And be grateful that my concern for my partner trumps my wish to splatter your brains on the wall behind you.”

  “Scheisse!” Doppelgaenger swore as he rose to his feet. “Of course, the rescue attempt. Is it not the way of things, Fräulein? To truly enjoy something, you must earn it first.” He looked around. “Or not. I hardly see how this is much more than a minor inconvenience, like a bug to an eagle. Surely, there are more than just you, kleine Kaefer?”

  “I’m armed,” she pointed out. “You aren’t. David killed Goliath with a bullet. I expect I can do the same.”

  Doppelgaenger laughed, and spread his arms wide. “By all means, Fräulein Victrix, fulfill all your biblical fantasies . . .”

  She didn’t hesitate, not for a second, and she didn’t take just one shot. She unloaded three rapid and well-spaced slugs into his chest. Then she paused, waiting to see the effect. Doppelgaenger clutched at his heart, grunted, and drew his hand away with her bullets. She watched as the wounds healed before her eyes.

  “And what now, Herr David?” he asked.

  She dropped the mag and reloaded, muttering. “Dammit, I knew I should have led with incendiary rounds.” She aimed again.

  “Perhaps you need a bigger gun?” Doppelgaenger offered, sweetly.

  An energy blast slammed into the wall between him and the Djinni, knocking them further apart. Doppelgaenger spun around, his eyes darting about to spot the source of the blast.

  “Bigger gun, as you wish. Get your filthy hands off him, fashista svinya,” spat Red Saviour, swaggering into a patch of light coming from an overhead light fixture. “That wasn’t a miss. The next one will flatten your nekulturny head. I will be extremely pleased to kill you.”

  “Chyort voz’mi!” Vickie swore, whirling to stare aghast at the Commissar. “What do you think you’re doing, jumping the gun like this?”

  Saviour examined her nails. “Too much talking, time for smashinks,” she said casually. Her fists began to glow as she turned her attention back to Doppelgaenger. “Inferior heir to Ubermensch could not kill me, dolboeb. You will not be givink me sweating.”

  Doppelgaenger sneered. “So, Mother Worker’s Champion sends the supermodel instead of the real Red Saviour. Is the dog too old to bite?”

  “The old wolf sees no reason to waste his teeth on inferior, mongrel meat, huiplet. The young wolf needs a chew-toy. You’ll do.” She bared her teeth.

  Doppelgaenger signaled his armored troops to move in. “I think the young wolf is about to break all her teeth and be whipped. I could use a pet to tie to the foot of my bed.”

  “And I could use a new dummy at the target range. I wonder how many slugs you can absorb before you look like a lace shawl?” Saviour snickered.

  “Enough of this,” Doppelgaenger said in disgust. He motioned to his troops, who began to ramp up their cannons. “Tötet sie jetzt! Schlagt sie auf—”

  He faltered as he heard the pounding of very heavy feet behind him. He turned, too late, and was struck by an enormous fist, encased by a small shimmering force field. Doppelgaenger flew back and collided with two of his troopers, bowling them over.

  “Was?!” Doppelgaenger cried, struggling to come to his feet.

  “Big Gun, reporting for duty,” Bulwark said. He placed himself directly between Red Djinni and Doppelgaenger, and raised his glowing fist in defiance.

  “It took you long enough,” Saviour grumbled, as she and Vickie raced to Bulwark’s side. “What did you do, take the route with scenery and be smelling flowers?”

  “Bubble is a go!” Bulwark barked, ignoring her. “Execute!”

  Doppelgaenger watched as they spun to face him. Under different circumstances, he might have admired their subterfuge. But today, so close to his goal, he suppressed an urge to scream. He had let them cut him off from the Djinni.

  Idiot! You let them play you for a rank amateur!

  They moved as one. Red Saviour brought her hands up and away, her fists glowing with a hellish blue light. She took aim and fired off two blue and brilliant bolts, shattering two opposing, weight-bearing columns. The ceiling groaned ominously. Vickie thrust both her hands into the air, palms upward, and Doppelgaenger heard an awful bubbling sound as the earth opened up in front of him, in front of all his troopers, as individual payloads erupted out of the very soil at their feet. His eyes widened as the rocket-shaped devices split open, contents mixing with each other and the air. Then there was nothing but white-hot fury, flames licking upwards as if from hell itself, engulfing his men with liquid fire. His troops began to scream, and he found he was screaming as well, when he witnessed Bulwark’s force bubble blaze into existence around the heroes, just as the ceiling came down on all of them.

  * * *

  The CCCP van sounded as rough as it looked, but it seemed to have plenty of power, and someone had done a righteous job on the shocks and springs to allow it to get over the churned-up streets in this destruction corridor. Red Saviour had wanted to blast the siren, but Vickie shouted her down. It was bad enough they had to do this in broad daylight, and there was no sense in drawing even more attention to themselves. Besides, it was the destruction corridor. It wasn’t like traffic was an issue here.

  Vickie’s heart was racing. They had done it! Bull had gotten out mostly on his own two feet, though even his trademark stoicism seemed to falter as he gingerly gripped his chest and sides. Cracked ribs and internal bleeding again, she figured. Even with the meta-powered Echo Med staff patching him up, it seemed a miracle this man had any intact organs left at all. Saviour had picked up and carried Djinni over his weak protests. They had made their way out of the demolished warehouse, piled into the van and been just enough ahead of Doppelgaenger’s incoming transport that either the Kriegers didn’t spot them speeding away, or they’d been too busy thinking about digging their boss out to care.

  The van had been modified to serve as a makeshift ambulance, with two gurneys in the back and a fully equipped emergency unit “liberated” from Echo. Bulwark and Red lay on the gurneys. Red Saviour was behind the wheel (Vickie was too short to reach the pedals), and was perhaps enjoying her rare chance to drive a vehicle a little too much. She rocketed over potholes and only occasionally swerved to avoid the larger pieces of debris in what was left of the road. The van swayed dangerously, but whatever modifications had been done to it meant at least it wasn’t bottoming out or breaking its spine. Gamayun remonstrated in Russian over the radio, while Vickie strapped the two broken men in. To save everyone the explosion that would occur if the two were presented to Bella, they were heading for the CCCP medbay and the tenderer mercies of Soviette. Anyway, it was closer, and any verbal flogging these two deserved, Vickie was going to deliver herself. She felt it was more than owed to her at this point; she had earned it, and by all the gods, she was going to have the pleasure of flaying them within an inch of their lives. She suddenly understood why Saviour always grinned wolfishly when about to unload an “excoriation.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you two bucks were butting heads over that got both your panties in a wad,” Vickie said, glaring at both of them as she belted herself into the passenger seat. “But you—” she pointed an accusing finger at Bull. “You are kibaszott disgrace as a Marine! I’ve got half a notion to call Retired Master Sergeant Hosteen Stormdance down here from DC and have him break your goddamn saber over his knee. You should know better. No man left behind. That’s right up there with Semper Fi, you moron! I don’t care what the man on your team did to you, said to you, you don’t leave him behind. You don’t even think about leaving him behind. You don’t hesitate.
And you know that.” She turned to glare at Red. “And as for you, you oslayob, you are polnyi pizdets, and I have just one thing to say. Stop being a kutyafasza. We get it. You’re a free bird, a maverick, a smartass, a loose cannon—all that and a bag of stale chips. And we are tired of it. Keep it up, and I swear to Herne, I am going to magic your mouth shut and have Bella feed you through a tube. Labagiule!”

  Vickie slammed the divider closed, though she continued to shout curses from the passenger’s seat. Thankfully, her voice was greatly muted by the thick steel divide. Red counted profanity in at least two more languages, not including the three she had used on him—Hungarian, Russian, and Romany. Romany? Where did she learn that one? Last he saw they didn’t give lessons in the gypsy tongue in college . . .

  “She’s right,” Bull said, finally. “What you said before . . . disturbed me, gave me pause.”

  “She was right?” Red croaked. “Do me a favor, don’t ever tell her that.”

  They lay in silence, entertained by the muffled sounds of Vickie’s ongoing rant and Saviour’s persistent chortling. From the sound of things, Vickie had been keeping a lot bottled up for a long time, and she was letting it all out with the fluency of a dockside whore.

  “You really thought about ditching me?” Red asked.

  “For a moment, yes,” Bull admitted. “But I didn’t.”

  “No,” Red said. “No, you didn’t. Y’know, she did pretty good back there. Was that plan hers?”

  Bull nodded, wincing as the pain flared up in his ribs. “She was the only one who could come up with it on the fly. She had the intel, the connections at her fingertips, and no time to explain it all. All she needed was a bit of a push.”

  “She did?”

  Bull nodded again. “Just a little one. I’d say she pulled through just fine.”

  “So I wasn’t pushing her too hard, was I?”