Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle

by Mercedes Lackey

  “I’ve replaced it,” she said, simply. “With what’s in here.” She held up the box. “Tested it on me, then Bella and Sovie, then the Commissar. There’s just a few catches, so far as you are concerned, and the big one is . . . I have to implant the pieces. They’re permanent.” She grimaced. “I know how you are about your privacy and—”

  He held up a hand. “Hold it. Vix . . . I trust you. Let’s do this. Then you can give me the sales pitch, or the test drive, or whatever it is.”

  She thought her jaw was going to hit the floor. She could hardly believe it. He . . . trusted her. Trusted her with his privacy. It was so stunning that she actually forgot to breathe until Grey swatted her ankle with a pinpick of a claw to remind her.

  “Uh. Okay then.” She swallowed. “Thank you. Thank you for that.” She shook her head a little. “All the magic’s been done except the implantation process; we can do that here rather than my workroom. Ready?”

  He finished his drink. “Sure.” Without being asked he took off the scarf. He was Brad Pitt today. She chuckled a little, despite still feeling breathless. Part scared, part wanting to . . . well, that was never happening. Part nerves. Maybe it was a good thing the welter of emotions was so complicated; he’d likely never be able to pick out the lovelorn part.

  “Ear first. This is both a microphone and a speaker, and it goes in your middle ear. I’ll be able to hear everything you do, you’ll hear me normally . . . and I’ve got a gain rider on both input and output so even if I get hysterical and start screaming, I won’t deafen you, and even if you get ’sploded, I won’t get deafened at my end.” She leaned forward with the tiny green lozenge, about the size of a large bead, on the end of her finger. “This is made by the same setup that makes the Echo nanosurgery bots.” She was extremely pleased with herself that her hand didn’t shake as she touched the device to just behind his ear and “told” it where to apport itself. She double-checked the placement with Overwatch. It was seated. Good, now part two.

  “Now the voice pickup mic. This replaces your throat mic. Open wide.” She extended her finger towards his mouth, which he obediently opened. The red one, the size and shape of a grain of rice, went up into his soft palate.

  “Now the hard one. This replaces the camera. And it adds something more. You’re getting a heads-up display.” She grinned as his eyes widened a little, despite the churning of her guts. It was nice to surprise him. “It gets better. This is where techno-magic becomes magic-tech. There’s no camera. There will be nothing for anyone to see if they look in your eyeball, or to interfere with a retina scan. It won’t be in your eye. It wraps itself around the back of the eyeball between it and the socket and plugs into the optic nerves. No camera needed. It reads what the nerves send to the brain, and projects the HUD info directly to the brain from Overwatch. Unless someone gouges your eye out—may that never happen—they will never know it’s there. It’ll work with a gunsight, or anything else you use too. So, right or left?”

  “Works with a sight—right, then, I guess.” He licked his lips. “Can I have another drink first?”

  She poured for him. “Now . . . this one has to migrate, so I need you to hold still while it does its thing. It’ll feel creepy, until you stop feeling it. When you stop feeling it moving, it’ll have settled in place.”

  He finished the drink, and she leaned forward and put the blue ovoid in the corner of his right eye and told it to start on its journey. “Don’t touch your eye,” she warned him, as his hand twitched. “Here, have another drink.”

  About the time he finished it, the HUD in her own eye reported Red Djinni: Camera: Placed.

  “Feel anything?” she asked.

  “Not now,” he replied cautiously.

  “Okay, the next step is for me to activate it, but not bring it up live yet.” She sketched the activation diagram in the air between them, and said, “Fiat: Red Djinni Overwatch Interface: Activate. Let’s go to the Overwatch room. I want you to see the whole boat. Bella and Sovie didn’t care, and Saviour was so enamored with the new toy she just wanted to go out and do some smashings. I think you’ll appreciate it.”

  It took about a minute for the whole array to get itself seated, verify that it was in the person it was intended for, and get ready for coming up live. She relaxed a bit more; only one hurdle to go. It took about the same amount of time for things to settle in as it took them to get to her Overwatch room. She motioned to him to take her chair. When he’d done so, she gave the final command. “Overwatch: Command: Red Djinni: Live, go. Command: Red Djinni: Feed: Monitor Four.”

  Monitor four opened up a window, showing—her, of course, with the HUD graphics coming on in Red’s vision, and then as Red swiveled the chair, the view of all of the monitors, the HUD identifying all of them for him, obligingly.

  “Overwatch: Override, override, override. Transfer control: Red Djinni: Red Djinni,” she said with satisfaction. “There. Red, you are completely in the driver’s seat for your implants. It’s got voice recognition. No one can override your implants but me now. If you want to go completely dark, just say the word ‘privacy’ and however long you want to go dark for.” She raised an eyebrow as he swiveled back to look at her again. Huh. Didn’t know I was that good at the eyebrow . . . “Mind you, if you go longer than eight hours, it will give you an alarm and you’ll have to reinstate it. And I’ll get the alarm as well. And if you go over the amount you specified . . . again, we’ll both get alarms. The last thing I need is for another Detroit situation to come up.”

  “Yeah, well, I still cannot believe the mouth on you. I’ve heard five-dollar hookers who didn’t swear like that. In—what? Three languages, so far? And the idea of finding myself in the middle of another lightning strike is . . .” He looked back at her, and the Overwatch system ID’d what she expected it to ID. She saw, on the monitor, what his HUD was telling him. “. . . Vix . . . why are you packing heat?”

  But his reply had allowed her to release tension—and a nagging fear—that she’d had even though the devices had responded perfectly to him. “Because,” she said, taking the Glock out of her waistband, and laying it down on top of a cabinet, “if you hadn’t given me the right answer to the ‘Detroit’ cue, I was going to unload the full mag into you, reload, empty the second, and run like hell.”

  He considered that, and nodded.

  “I was ninety percent certain it was you, because the devices are tuned to the recipient and only the recipient,” she told him. “Even if someone was to dig them out of you, he couldn’t use them, unless he was identical to you on the DNA level and the magical level. Still . . . better safe, and this was my last test. I don’t know how good a mimic DG is . . . Anyway, you’re you, so let’s get on with the tour. The comm works by using Quantum Twinning and the Laws of Unity, Contagion and Similarity. I have crystals twinned and tuned with the ones in the implants in sockets in an array back there, and we actually do not use anything like a frequency. Quantum Twinning says that twinned particles always react the same, no matter how far apart they are. So when your crystal picks up or sends information, so does mine.”

  “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 autotrigger 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 that 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 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?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  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 gray 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 cheerfully 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 . . .”