And so you reject forgiveness? Sera’s “voice” trembled with anguish. You would dwell in your own Hell forever?
Her despair seemed to flow outward to match his. Sparks of muted bronze floated away from her. Tears?
Only Jessica seemed unchanged. If anything, she burned brighter, yet softer. “You damn well better not reject my forgiveness, goof. You didn’t kill me. You did your best to protect me, the same as I did my best to protect you. Look at me!” She laughed, spread her arms, and twirled, like a little girl in a playground, spinning off ribbons of brightness, “The things I’ve seen! The things I can do! It’s—more than I dreamed—more than I ever thought was possible!”
“I’m so sorry, Jess. Nothin’ happened like it should’ve.” The darkness deepened around him, around all of them. Sera’s “tears” burned through the darkness, cutting glowing paths in it.
Jessie threw her arms around him. “Nothing ever does, lover. Listen. Hell, would an angel love you if you weren’t worthy to be forgiven? Would I? Believe. Believe in me, believe in yourself. Believe this. I forgive you. And death shall have no dominion.”
At those words, there was a moment of anticipation, as everything in that place waited on his answer, his acceptance or rejection of what Jessie offered. And then, John’s body dissolved in an instant of a too-brilliant burst of flame. A new John in the shape of a man took his place, but one of all fire, brightness and pure flame. The darkness that had engulfed all of them burned away in that flash of light and the Song rang out with joy.
It occurred to John that he appeared exactly as the red-headed teen in New York had, before he had died and been carried away by one of the seraphim.
Sera laughed like the ringing of bells, her wings spreading to cover half the sky. Beloved! You see! You understand!
“He always was the most hardheaded sonuvabitch.” Jessica embraced him in a way more intimate than he had ever felt before, except with Sera. “Now that you’re thinking sense, I have to go.” She grinned. “My work here is done. Guess that makes me a big damn hero, huh?”
Will I ever see you again? His fires blazed brightly, flickering in the Light of the Heart.
“Silly. I’m always here, forever—unless I decide to put on another set of clothes and go play with a life again. If you want to see me, you will. If you want to be with me, you will.” She embraced him again. “Now you go be happy while you can. Feel again. Live—don’t just survive—as much as you can. And hang onto that pigheaded nature of yours. You’ll need it on the road ahead.” She changed back into her form of light. “And love your angel. Love is the most important thing there is.”
And then, she was gone, flashing off in every direction, and none. John took a deep breath, and wondered if there was something he should do, or say—Sera had brought Jessie to him, it seemed. Should he thank her? Or—
One comes. Sera’s voice had suddenly changed, sounding as full of awe as his had been. This . . . was not expected. . . .
If he had thought that Sera was “bright,” the newcomer was incandescent. It appeared in an instant, as if it had stepped out of some door that was not visible beside them. It had “wings” that seemed to stretch out forever.
First and Fairest, I . . . we . . . greet you. Sera didn’t exactly “bow,” but that was the impression John got. Beloved, this is one of the First among the Firstborn. He has been called Michael Azir. The being held him, gravely, in his gaze. John held his place. He felt like he had in New York, upon first being Seen by one of the seraphim; like an insect at the end of a microscope, with a giant looking down. It was unnerving, but he didn’t let the slightest ripple of emotion show in his form.
John Murdock. There was a suggestion of a chuckle. Seducer of the Firstborn. You succeed where even the Fallen have not.
Couldn’t say that I’m all that special enough to warrant it; I’m not the strongest, or the smartest, an’ certainly not the fairest. Might be the toughest, but I don’t figure that’s my best selling point.
The being laughed, then sobered. More special than you think. There is . . . will be . . . something extraordinary permitted to you.
It was as if the entire Heart of All Time held its breath. The Song didn’t falter, but muted, still vibrant, but reserved. The tension and anticipation clung to John’s mind.
You know that the Seraphym—your Sera—may not heal you. But— The being bent to him, and Michael Azir’s regard took on weight. She may save you. At a cost. For a miracle to occur, something equally miraculous must be sacrificed. That is the way in which the Law of Free Will can be upheld. You, John Murdock, will not die just yet. If you choose. But the Seraphym must give over her Grace and become mortal. She will no longer See the futures, no longer be able to Leap here, no longer hear the Song. That is the cost to her. A pause. There may be further cost to you, to her. I cannot say. Even I cannot read the futures this course will trace; this is new, unprecedented. Only the Infinite may know, and it is not permitted to me to See it.
John stayed silent for a moment. And if I decide that the cost is too great? If I choose to die?
Then you die. Nothing is simpler. And she must . . . find another path.
What does that mean?
You choose. You accept her gift and live, or do not and die. It is not permitted to me to say further. Nor is it permitted to any other being to sway your decision. You need not choose now, but choose you must. Not choosing will still be a choice. As abruptly as he had appeared, the being vanished. And without a word, Sera wrapped John in her wings, Sang a single note—
And they were back, as they had been on the broken-down mattress in his squat.
John snapped to consciousness first. He saw Sera as he had when she first appeared to him on the outskirts of Atlanta: a beautiful creature, inhuman, and made of fire and light. He realized in that very instant the enormity of what she was willing to give up for him—immortality, power beyond imagining, and her own sense of self and belonging. Not just belonging to a family, a country, even a people; belonging to the greatest Other there was. She was willing to give up what best passed for Heaven . . . for him. How could he ask her to do that?
A second later, she was back; changed to her more comfortable, more “human” form of an unbelievably beautiful woman with a silken fall of hair so red it defined the word. But as innocently unclothed as Eve. “You want to know,” she said. “You need to know? Would I? Yes. Yes, and yes, and yes again. I would. I can. I will. Because I must. Because I can. Because I love you.”
They did not so much embrace as cling to one another.
For a second, John thought he heard a whisper.
Go on, stud. Be happy. The moment was perfect, in their love for one another and in the sadness of the choice that needed to be made. For John, for them both, and for the world.
He felt rejuvenated. Was that as much because of this new “out” as it was being in Sera’s arms? Or was it because of being in that—place? Whichever, he couldn’t be human, and a man, without having the natural reaction to having a very beautiful naked creature who loved him with all her heart in his arms. And without being blind, she could not have missed that reaction. She laughed soundlessly, and kissed him, and the ancient dance began again. This time he took a lot of care with it, lingering, stretching it out. Not just because he wanted to give her all the pleasure he could, which he did. Because in the back of his mind, his thoughts were in a turmoil.
As wonderful as this new joy was—and was it ever wonderful—he couldn’t shake the feeling, the nagging voice at the back of his mind that he had only traded one set of worries for another. This was all happening too fast for him; he was having a difficult time coping with the curveballs that life kept throwing him. Kriegers, he could deal with. Blacksnake, he could deal with. Dying, he had just gotten used to the idea of dealing with. Loving Sera . . . he was more than happy to deal with that. But what of this offer that Michael Azir had given him?
She may save you. At a cost.
> John had been resigned to losing everything of himself for a long time; he had done his best to hide it, to mask it with honor and duty, but he might as well have been dead the day he “left” the Program. Now . . . he had everything to lose, all over again. Friends like Bella and Vic, his neighborhood people, even a kind of family in the CCCP. And now, most of all, Sera. Against all odds, he’d found love again.
But to keep it, he would have to ask the one person he had come to cherish more than anything to give up . . . everything. Sera kept telling him that he was important to the futures; he trusted her, and now more than ever believed in her and what she professed. What John couldn’t believe was that he was nearly important enough to outweigh what Sera could do, even with the constraints placed upon her nearly immeasurable power.
How can I ask her to give up everything she has ever known? Is life that important to me?
Long after Sera had closed her eyes to rest in his arms, John lay awake, thinking and fearing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Fire on the Mountain
MERCEDES LACKEY, DENNIS LEE, CODY MARTIN
As fast as I could get parts, plans, and bullying to techs on the ground, there was a copy of Overwatch Mark One Point One (without the magic part) in every Echo comm room. I even sent cases of parts and the plans to Saviour Senior in Moscow, though with that supreme tinkerer, Petrograd, gone in the Invasion, I had no idea if they’d ever be able to implement their own version of Overwatch. One Point One was pure tech, Echo-tech headset, HUD, and pinhole camera mounted in a helmet—because the days of jaunting around helmetless with your hair flying in the wind were over. Unless you were one of the handful of truly invulnerable, a headshot from a Krieger, or even a good sniper, would take you out. The Kriegers had plenty of energy weapons and Blacksnake had plenty of snipers . . . So helmets for all, thankyouverymuch. That made it trivial to integrate Overwatch into them. Some Echo Ops used the HUDs, some didn’t; all the HUDs were external retinal projectors and not everyone liked them. My newly recruited operators couldn’t hack security, ATM, and traffic cameras as fast as I could, but most of them were hackers I personally tracked down and recruited, including the totally awesome Captain Hackatron of Texas, and they’d learn. They’d never be me, but they would, gods willing, never have to be me. Some of them would be better, much better, at the hack than me on a pure skill level, because I cheated with magic. Overwatch One Point One was a crippled version of the first, but it was also far less of a kludge: a smoothly integrated, fully tech system with easily replaced parts. Including the operator. And let me say, the Colt brothers turned out to be supernaturally good at being Overwatch Sentinels. So good they even got callsigns: Sentinel Alpha and Sentinel Omega.
Another advantage was that now if anyone talked about Overwatch . . . I was no longer “it.” I was now one herring hiding in the shoal.
Yes. I am that paranoid.
We did keep one little thing. I was still “Overwatch,” or sometimes “Overwatch One.” Everyone else was a “Sentinel” in the “Overwatch Network.” So the herring still had a red tail. But it was better than being the only prey-fish in an ocean full of sharks.
I rushed this through as fast as Bella could sign the orders. Because when our ass-saving, face-saving, “Yes, Echo is doing all it can to defeat the Kriegers” intel finally came through from Tesla and Marconi, I wanted the Network to be in place.
It was. Not one moment too soon, either.
* * *
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have our miracle.”
That was how Bella had put it, in a joint meeting of her Advisory Council; even Red Saviour was an unofficial part of it, listening and commenting via Vickie’s Overwatch. They had their miracle, something to make it clear to the world that Echo was not weak, not ineffective, and not sitting on its collective hands. Something to prove that not even the loss of Alex Tesla and the machinations of Dominic Verdigris could blunt their edge.
Something to prove that they were more than willing to take the fight to the Thulians. Just in time too; after the all-too-brief honeymoon, the US military and the press were starting to make impatient noises.
“We have our miracle. Tesla and Marconi have given us the location of the Krieger North American HQ. It’s payback time.”
“Testing,” said Vickie. John blinked a little, jarred out of the memory. The new implants made it sound as if she was standing right next to him. He’d been using them for some time, but he still had not become used to them.
Not everyone had the implants, of course, just the Infiltration Team and the commanders for the ground teams, along with a select few in other areas. The rest had to make do with earbuds and throat mics and HUDs in their helmets. As ground commander, Red Saviour had both. As a former member of the world’s most technologically advanced military, John was always wowed and in favor of more gee-whiz fun things that made his job easier. But he still liked to have at least a rudimentary understanding of the tech, too; this new stuff, particularly anything dealing with magic, gave him the creeps. Results counted, though, so he accepted it. The HUD was particularly weird. Some sort of tiny device that fed information into the optic nerve inside his eyes. What he saw, floating between his eyes and the rest of the world, looked just like standard HUD projections, like stuff from the Future Warrior project that was all the rage for a while.
John fidgeted in his control harness. He had been—back when the universe made a modicum of sense—a patient man, and had understood that it was a required trait for being a member of the Special Operations community. Right now, he just wanted to get on with things, take the fight to the enemy and do something that had an impact. Not like I have all the time in the world to do so, anymore. He shifted again, trying to brush off his imminent mortality. “Are we still on schedule, Vic?”
“That’s a Rog. Countdown is on your HUD. Want some music?” She sounded quite calm as if she didn’t know she was talking to a dying man. Or a walking dead man. Maybe that was her way of keeping him sane.
“Naw. Just keep me updated.” He glanced at the first team leader, an accomplished Echo meta named Bulwark. John didn’t like Bulwark very much, and he was sure that the feeling was more than mutual. Bulwark, while just as professional as John, was a company man. To him, John was probably dubious. John had all the moves and the manners of the military, but an unknown background and on top of that, was part of the CCCP . . .
Then again, the Echo operative was riding herd on Red Djinni. Compared to the Djinni, John probably looked like a Boy Scout.
He wished, with a profound ache, that Sera was here . . . but she said she had to stay in Atlanta. She didn’t tell him why, and he didn’t ask. Maybe it was to keep that rat-bastard Verdigris from trying anything while most of Echo was out here. Verd still had Fei Li. It wouldn’t be out of character for him to put a hit on Bella if he thought he could get away with it. Sera had filled him with that strength and energy of hers before he left, and to most people he was passing as his normal self. But he felt fragile, like a thin glass bottle holding white-hot plasma.
Mamona piped up from the back of the cramped crew compartment, sandwiched between Motu and Matai. “What happens if they figure us out?”
“Simple, comrade; they blow us out of the sky.” John flashed a wolfish smile over his shoulder.
“They won’t figure you out as long as everything works right.” That was Vickie. “And I have contingencies on my contingencies.”
The Death Sphere they were riding in had been recovered several months previously from Lake Michigan, one of the captured Thulian orbs that a mysterious “Doctor Dusk” had brought down undamaged. This “Doctor Dusk” character hadn’t been sighted before or since the Invasion; for an unregistered metahuman, he would’ve had to be something else to take out a Thulian orb all on his lonesome, and without damaging it to boot. Bulwark was the only one that was granted clearance to get minimal training for the craft. John wasn’t very happy about that, since he’d still
rather have cross-training for the rest of the team. No telling what would happen once they were on-site; having another trained pilot for one of these gizmos might save their hides. But orders were orders and it was too late for it now.
“CCCP is in place. Echo Squad One is in place. Echo Squad Two is moving in. Hammer is online and downrange. Air Support is on-station.”
John unhooked himself from his chair. “Equipment check, everyone. Smoke ’em if you got ’em, and get your kit ready. Once everything starts, there’s no turning back.” John crouch-walked through the cabin, being careful not to step on anyone. The conditions in the Thulian vessel were extremely cramped; they had eight people in a space built for five. He function checked weapons, made sure everyone had extra ammunition, quizzed them on passwords and callsigns, and inspected to see if anyone had any gear improperly secured; noise discipline was going to be tantamount for this mission.
Satisfied that everyone was ready, he took his place next to Bulwark. “We’re ready to go, Vic. Just give the command.” The Death Sphere was located in one of the western peaks, in relation to the Thulian HQ. It gave a commanding view of the entire valley where the battle was to take place, as well as the whole of the HQ’s exterior. Bulwark and John, with the help of Gamayun, had consulted the Commissar personally about their positioning, using terrain maps and satellite pictures to get an accurate idea of the elevation changes.
It was inhospitable country. There was a reason why the Park Service strongly recommended no one go off the trails in the Superstition Mountains, and a reason why the BLM flat-out forbade prospecting. Right now, out there, the temperature was 110 in the shade. Sure as hell glad I’m gonna be inside for my part of the fight. Hope everybody packed enough H2O.
“Echo Squad Two is in place. Echo Squads Three and Four are moving in. Hammer is on-station and holding.”
John held his breath. This was it. The seconds ticked off, and time moved by at a crawl.
Revolution: Book Three of the Secret World Chronicle Page 60