Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle

by Mercedes Lackey

  Khanjar pondered. “I can see why you did not place me in charge; you need me here with you. I can see why you did not place any of the current Blacksnake officers in charge; after the debacle at the Underground, it is clear they are not competent to devise a good plan or follow it through. And the General . . . ?” She left the words hanging.

  “The General’s goals only coincide with our goals to a point. Beyond that, she is not with us. I’m glad you see this, Khanji.” She could tell that Dominic was expecting something from her now.

  “Well . . . Harmony devised her own op, went underground within Blacksnake, then got herself placed in Echo as a double agent, and remained completely undetected for . . . really, right up until the moment she had to reveal herself.” Khanjar pursed her lips. “I would have said that I doubted her ability as a leader until just now, but it is evident that she has many more layers than I had assumed, and she is intelligent, clever, and a superlative actress. Certainly she doesn’t doubt her own ability to lead. And I don’t think she is inclined to hubris. So I would have to say that of your limited choices, she is probably heads above the rest.”

  “But?” There was still something that he was waiting for. He wanted her to reach the conclusion herself; it was important to him that she do so.

  “She does not serve out of loyalty.” And neither do I, not anymore, but you don’t know that, do you, Dom, dear.

  “It’s one of the most expensive commodities, and requires to be constantly purchased for potentially higher and higher prices. But it’s valuable for that very reason.” He smiled again, self-assured. “Thank you, my dear. Are you hungry? I’m famished.”

  “Chef Hudson probably has something special for you. You know how he loves storms.” She nodded to the door. “As ever, after you, Dom.”

  Yes indeed, after you. And one of these days, if it comes to that, when you turn around and look, I’ll be gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  You’re Only Human

  VERONICA GIGUERE AND MERCEDES LACKEY

  Ramona Ferrari couldn’t remember the last time she had been at her apartment to do more than sleep and exchange one Echo uniform for another. She fumbled her keys in her hand and managed to unlock the door to her apartment. As she stepped inside, a faint blue overlay courtesy of the Overwatch system allowed her to do a brief sweep of the rooms. Icons blinked to show her the pile of mail on the counter, with the most important bills flagged as “due” or “overdue.” In the kitchen, icons popped up to remind her of what was and wasn’t in her refrigerator, what had likely spoiled, what she needed to have delivered from the grocery service that Vickie had recommended, and a list of vetted restaurants that could have dinner at her door in thirty minutes or less.

  The amount of information overwhelmed the detective. The beginning of a headache throbbed at the base of her skull, and another panel of information came up with a list of her vital signs, potential triggers, and no less than four solutions. Ramona gritted her teeth and screwed her eyes shut. This was not a way to relax for the few hours she didn’t have to be on duty. With a curse, she turned off the HUD and kicked off her shoes, only to decide that she didn’t have the patience to put up with delivery food. She summoned enough energy to make it to the kitchen, pour a bowl of cinnamon frosted Ech-Ohs—she smiled at Mercurye’s cheesy grin on the front of the box—and slump at the kitchen table.

  She didn’t bother with milk. According to the readouts, what was left in the fridge had spoiled days ago.

  Ramona thumbed the TV remote and scanned to a small local station not affiliated with the bigger networks. Reality was ninety percent perception, and she wanted to see just how the lesser media saw Verdigris and his gesture of goodwill. As skeptic after skeptic voiced concerns about cost, aesthetics, proximity, and even the continuing failures of Echo to address the greater rebuilding processes in the city, Ramona felt reassured that she wasn’t the only non-meta who saw the man for what he was. People on the street questioned the benevolence of a man so tied to his money, who relied upon an attractive female bodyguard, and who seemed to do things oblivious to the resources of a city so diverse as Atlanta. Even the news pundits wrinkled their noses when they spoke about the dedication and promised complete coverage.

  With some satisfaction, Ramona realized that Spin Doctor had not appeared on this smaller station. She felt certain that Victrix would keep him out of Overwatch until the very last moment necessary, and she agreed wholeheartedly with that decision. The less people knew about the entire operation, the better.

  “Ferrari, are you there?”

  Ramona paused, her mouth full of cereal as Pride’s voice came through the Overwatch channel. Even in the confines of her own home, she couldn’t escape responsibility. “Yeah, Pride.” She swallowed and muted the television as the weather folks started to talk about the perfect day for the dedication. “What’s going on?”

  “Logistics for the event.” His voice came in a whisper. “Verdigris called a meeting ten minutes ago, to start in an hour. Were you invited?”

  She set her spoon down with a hard thwack and took a deep breath. Her phone on the counter flashed a small green light to show unread messages. She reached over and scanned through the list of emails, but nothing corresponded to a meeting with Verdigris and his bodyguard Barbie. “Negative, sir. Should I invite myself?” Even as she asked the question, she stood and began gathering her things, putting the half-eaten bowl of cereal on the counter.

  “He’s talking about other memorials to follow this one, including a plaque near Stone Mountain. I think it’s mostly just talk, but I know how you felt about Bill’s situation.” Pride sounded as if he was trying to keep his own temper in check. “How soon can you get here?”

  It took a great deal of control for Ramona to not fling the bowl to the ground in frustration. She had left her car at the CCCP headquarters, trusting the Russians under Vickie’s direction to outfit it per the Overwatch specifications. That left the detective at the mercy of MARTA and the rest of the public transportation system to commute to the Echo campus. “About forty minutes if I leave right now. If you can, tell Spin to flip to the local channels and figure out a contingency plan postdedication. We’re losing face fast among the hometown crowd, and I don’t think we can afford it.”

  A pause, then Yankee Pride’s voice rumbled in her ear. “Will do, Detective. And thank you.”

  * * *

  The mandatory meeting of those Echo personnel that Verdigris decided as necessary to his brilliant public relations demonstration sat in the small press briefing room. In the surveillance video, Dominic Verdigris gripped the sides of the podium and smiled at those assembled. The newer faces, handpicked from the faithful of Blacksnake and appropriately threatened by Khanjar, watched him with varying expressions of interest and curiosity. The others, Echo faithful still mourning the loss of Alex Tesla, showed everything from fear to open hostility. Verdigris noted that Yankee Pride sat in the front row, gauntlets dim and his mouth set in a firm line. He chuckled with satisfaction as the man fought back a scowl.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I appreciate your being here on such short notice. As many of you are aware, the remembrance ceremony for what we have termed the Invasion will take place in less than a week, and it is imperative that you—” The speech stopped as the door on his left snapped open and an Echo detective rushed in. Without any form of apology, she took a seat on the aisle and flipped open a small notebook.

  Verdigris paused the footage and zoomed in on the image of Detective Ferrari. He snaked out an arm to pull Khanjar into his lap, motioning to the screen. “You’re losing your touch, my dear. I think we have a ‘no fat nosy detective rule’ in place, don’t we?”

  Khanjar waited for Dominic’s hand to rest securely on her hip before speaking. “Keeping her out was not advised. As a non-meta, she presents a lower threat, and she was not armed. Consider this a means to test a hypothesis.”

  “Oh, I love it when you talk scientific
method.” He sped up the footage, playing through the speech and watching the detective’s reaction. At one point, she extracted a small tablet from her pocket and began typing furiously. After a few minutes, Verdigris watched in slight shock as she pulled up an invitation list for the event and began checking off those metas who had accepted and would be arriving at the airport. He straightened up, pushed Khanjar from his lap, and increased the resolution.

  “That’s my database! That’s my one-thousand-twenty-four-bit encryption algorithm, and that woman is in my database! Reading my invitation list! During my press conference!” With the grace of a spoiled child, Verdigris pounded the keyboard and pointed an accusing finger at Khanjar. “This is your fault! How could you let this happen?”

  The meta smoothed her pristine white jumpsuit and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. She had endured many of Dominic’s tantrums, and this would pass like all the others. “As you claim, I ‘let’ this happen to prove a hypothesis. Regardless of what you wish to think, that fat nosy detective is your mole.”

  Verdigris snorted. “Impossible. She’s a civilian detective, no abilities, certainly average intelligence. I don’t believe you.” He crossed his arms and slumped in his chair, pouting.

  Khanjar offered a small sigh of exasperation as she leaned over Dominic to bring up another series of protocols and video feeds. The images did not have the crispness of the Echo camera, but she could still easily point out the figures of Ramona Ferrari and Yankee Pride leaving the building that was occupied by members of the CCCP. Another series of photographs showed the detective and Yankee Pride in civilian clothing, standing closer than one might have thought appropriate for just coworkers. Finally, a classified report from the investigator he had bribed, with a footnote that Khanjar highlighted to show the suspected ties between Ferrari and Pride, as well as . . .

  “Ferrari and Tesla? Alex Tesla?” Verdigris’ forehead creased, the thought so absurd yet so utterly plausible that he nearly fell out of his chair. Khanjar continued to show photographs, including one showing them sharing breakfast in a diner away from the Echo campus. “That . . . that is . . .”

  “Your problem,” she finished in a crisp tone. She straightened up, noting that his eyes followed the scoop neckline of her jumpsuit. “Not everyone has the same motivations as you do, Dominic. The little people are not always insignificant.”

  “Just easier to squash. Like an annoying mosquito,” he quipped. He drummed his fingers against his desk, biting his tongue as he considered his options. Verdigris flipped through the photos a second time, lingering on the one that showed Ferrari and Tesla outside the trailer that had served as the director’s office. His scowl deepened, but quickly turned into a hard grin as he spun in his chair.

  “Call the boys downtown, Khanjar. I think it’s time to retire the detective, before she can do any more damage to our memorial ceremony.” Fingers danced over the keyboard as he pulled up schematics, maps, and several video feeds from the transportation surveillance. “I didn’t want to invite her, anyway.”

  * * *

  Ramona made it to the MARTA station with less than a minute to spare, the last train of the night giving the alert for the closing doors. She shifted against her seat and tucked up her leg, resting her cheek against the cool metal wall. The thrum of the train made for a steady and soothing vibration as the announcements began and the doors closed. As she was one of the last to leave the Echo campus for the night, Ramona had no company save Vickie’s equally tired voice in her ear. The dim car clicked through the outer areas of the city faster than rush hour traffic, but the winking lights let Ramona know that there weren’t many people out on the streets past midnight in the middle of the week.

  “I’m checking on the intel regarding a memorial at Stone Mountain, but I’m not getting anything. He might have been bluffing, Detective.” The words were calm and hopeful, yet Vickie sounded as tired as Ramona felt. “He likes to talk, and he likes to see what people do while he talks. I think you can stop worrying about him doing anything for Bill.”

  “Thanks, Overwatch.” Ramona stifled a yawn, her eyes closed as they continued north into the city. There was some bit of comfort in knowing that Verdigris wasn’t trying to use the memory of the Mountain for his personal gain. “And thanks for the link to the database. Were you able to contact most of the retired metas to tell them about the charter?”

  “Affirmative. Pride went to talk to the locals face to face, but it looks like everyone’s on board.”

  “He’s a good man,” she murmured. Exhausted, she fought to stay awake against the gentle rocking of the train. “Pride’s one of the good guys, yeah. Shame he’s married to the job, though. Maybe if he was younger . . . nah, too serious. But he’s good-looking in a suit.”

  A tired laugh came through. “Don’t tell me you’re going to give up on Mercurye, Detective. You know when he gets back, you’ll be the first person he’ll want to see.”

  In the dark of the car, a sleepy smile spread across the detective’s face. She thought of the grinning speedster, the awkward science-fiction fanboy transformed into a living hero, still stuck in Metis with a few blue wireframes to keep him company. “Yeah, I know. He’s pretty cute, huh?”

  “If you go for shirtless and blond.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of blue eyes and Trek-obsessed.” Ramona gave a soft sigh of contentment as she let her mind wander back to the image of Rick Poitier sitting in front of her, eagerly discussing the news from Echo, smiling at her with that beautiful . . .

  “FERRARI, GET DOWN!” The voice screeched in her ear, jolting her up from the light sleep. In the light of the coming station, Ramona could see the first set of charges detonate against the concrete supports. The metal supports groaned and snapped, sliding forward to push the train sideways off of the track. “ACTIVATE THE DISPLAY!”

  Ramona blinked, the display from the implant coming into view. Her vision blurred briefly, too much information about the car, the charges, and the crumbling concrete that pressed against the windows. More information flashed to the right and left, telling her that the first set of charges had triggered a rush of neurotoxins into the forward area of the car. “Overwatch, I’ve got chemical contamination! You’re going to need to prep an evac, this isn’t going to be—”

  A second set of charges exploded ahead, tearing through the metal train like tissue paper. The force of the blast threw Ramona to the floor, the momentum of the car sending her sliding to the side of the car. Her head hit the side of the bench with a loud crack, and the detective flopped like a rag doll as blood poured from her face. Glass shattered, concrete and rebar coming through the window. Ramona tried to throw an arm over her face, but her shoulder hung limply and she couldn’t feel her fingers on her left hand. She struggled to lift her head, blinking to refresh the view. A small oblong icon showed at the rear of the car, a few feet from where she had been sitting. The tiny timer displayed a very brief countdown to ignition. “Overwatch? Can-cancel evac. There’s no—”

  The final charge under the back of the last car peeled the metal forward and forced it from the track. Ramona felt the shock wave push her away from the car, the bottom giving way as the car bowed out and tumbled to its side. A rush of heat burned over her, her face raw and wet for an excruciatingly long moment. The heavy night air replaced the heat, and Ramona found herself faceup in the twisted metal, unable to comprehend the flurry of voices in her ear. Something like sleep pulled her away from Vickie’s frantic voice, and Ramona slipped beneath the rush to a place absent of noise and pain.

  * * *

  The Seraphym alerted, like a dog catching a scent. Ramona Ferrari. Not once, but now twice she had Seen this woman in the futures. She paused in her conversation with John Murdock, her eyes far away and distant as she felt the ripple in the fabric of the futures. She bowed her head and left the rooftop in a surge of light and fire, with the barest of apologies on her lips.

  In the end, they w
ould all need this woman. She had to bring her to them, in the dead of night, in order for the futures to take hold. The Seraphym touched the broken earth, scorched and torn around the broken body. The briefest bit of life remained; she held onto that life and cradled the woman in her arms. Another step, and she stood once again on the rooftop, eyes full of tears as she gave the woman to John. He held back as many questions as he could, the now-frantic voices of Vickie and Bella filling the Overwatch channels.

  The Seraphym nodded her thanks and waited, John’s sure steps down the stairwell soon echoed by the frantic footfalls of the CCCP medical team. A high-pitched voice gave orders and demanded answers, and the Seraphym knew she would be needed again to assist the young medic.

  Thankfully, this was permitted.

  * * *

  Soviette hooked the Echo detective up to life support, and began her own frantic efforts to keep the woman alive psychically. In the end, she was quickly exhausted and barely holding Ramona Ferrari in a precarious state of stasis when Bella shoved in the door of the medbay.

  The blue medic swore steadily under her breath as, with practiced motions, she plugged herself into a repurposed hemapheresis machine, and placed her hands on the blackened flesh. And then paused with shock.

  “Sovie. Vic. We have . . . shit . . .”

  “What?” Vickie all but shouted, as Soviette blinked and echoed “Shto?”

  “She’s meta.”

  “Say what?” Vickie blurted. “She can’t be! She’s never triggered, not even during the Invasion; she’s a norm!”

  “I’m telling you, I read it. Whatever she was before this, she’s meta now. She’s got the healing factor, it’s partly triggered and it’s the only reason she’s still alive now, and . . . something else, tied to the healing factor.” Bella kept both hands on the unconscious woman, but she was fighting a losing battle and she knew it. There was only one way she could save Ramona Ferrari.