Avalanche: Book Five in the Secret World Chronicle

by Lackey, Mercedes

  Panic flooded Effi’s mind. She had been faced with death many times before; first, in the Ukraine with Himmler. Since then, by the intrigues of those that would have seen her used for their purposes or dead, then through ground warfare, and finally, in the air, as part of a fighter wing. This time was different. She knew, with certainty, that she was to die. She could not dodge, nor ditch from her plane; they were in the open ocean, and she would either drown or have sharks for company when her own ability for flight was exhausted. In response to these troubling thoughts, her throat closed, dry and tight. Her stomach felt like it was made of ice, and she was covered in a cold sweat.

  Her final thought cut through all of that prior emotion and physical reaction like a scalpel.

  I DON’T WANT TO DIE!

  Before she could react further, she saw Heinrich’s fighter cut a perfect maneuver. He was above her and her pursuers, trying to gain altitude over his own attackers, when he suddenly, and inexplicably, performed a textbook wingover, plunging straight down towards Gyrfalcon. He would have hit Gyrfalcon’s plane dead center, except that Gyrfalcon’s reflexes partially saved him. Heinrich clipped Gyrfalcon’s wing with his own, sending both planes into uncontrolled spins to the ocean.

  Effie’s heart fell. She instantly knew that she had finally used her mental abilities to influence Heinrich…and at the same time was ecstatic to be alive still. She watched, almost as if it was happening in some sort of dream state, as both planes spiraled towards the unforgiving waters below. Suddenly, her entire world was drenched in a sickly green light. Her skin felt like it had ants crawling beneath it, and her teeth rattled in her skull.

  As quickly as the otherworldly light had come, it was gone again. She found herself somewhere…else. Above a weirdly curving cityscape, that seemed to somehow stretch from the horizons up into the sky itself. She no longer had control of her fighter plane, and it was all she could do to keep the control stick steady as it plummeted towards an open area in the heart of what appeared to be a plaza. The plaza of a city that had appeared below her, out of nowhere. Small details stuck with her, before the crash; the awful red-orange color of the sky above, the red and black steaming jungle at the outskirts of the city, how the entire world seemed to curve back in on itself at the edges. Most of all, all of the tiny gray figures in that square, growing larger and rushing up to meet her and her plane as she fell towards them.

  * * *

  Her next clear memory had been of lying on a table that wasn’t shaped quite right for her frame, with odd humanoid creatures tending to her wounds. And Doppelgaenger, right there, as if he belonged among them. “Welcome to the world of our secret allies, liebchen,” he had said, with what might have been a faint, very faint, sneer. “And allow me to present their Masters.” He had stepped back, and two more insectlike creatures out of a nightmare had stepped forward—one lavender, and one burnt orange. “Mistress Barron, Master Gero, this is one of the Third Reich’s greatest treasures, the warrior Valkyria.” Only the fact that she was held in some sort of paralysis had kept her from screaming.

  She had come to learn that the truth was much more frightening than her fears; the Masters were certainly monsters, but not of the sort that she had originally conjured. Still, she had been able to entreat with Barron and Gero—they seemed to be the chosen representatives, or leaders, for the rest of the Masters, whomever they were—and secure a place for herself and Heinrich in this new and strange society. The technologies that they commanded would have made the top minds in Germany weep in envy, and the resources that they possessed…were unfathomable. What could we have accomplished, if only we had come to know the Masters and their “Thulians” at the beginning of the war?

  It was plain that they were not human. She only dared to try to read the minds of Gero and Barron once—and she suspected that it was only because they had allowed her to do so, since there was a clear well of telepathic power in both of them. What she saw and heard were completely incomprehensible; the thought processes were too different for her to take in and make any sense of. Two things did stand out, however: greed and amusement. She had met her share of men with wanton tastes, but the Masters…it was an inhuman level of avarice. The Thulians were far simpler, which suited her perfectly; closer to men, save that they didn’t have the same drive, the same spark of will. In the years since her arrival, she had surmised that they were wholly creatures of the Masters, bent to a specific purpose. Still, that left the question: what were the Masters? What were their designs? Why tolerate us, why humor us? Why why why?

  There was only one human that she truly feared anymore. Doppelgaenger. Spy, master torturer, and inscrutable bastard. As alien as the Thulians could be, Doppelgaenger was worse in her mind, despite being a fellow Ubermensch. It wasn’t just that he could shift his countenance at a whim; she had grown accustomed to the strange and sometimes distressing manifestations that power could take in a metahuman, as the world at large called them. His eyes, whatever their form, had a tendency to stare through people. Like a shark’s, they were flat, cold and emotionless. The one time she had brushed his mind with her own, she had immediately recoiled. She had only received impressions, since she did not have an opportunity to delve deeper, but they had been enough for her to decide never to try to read him again. Dark, writhing shapes…and hunger that was so all-consuming and disturbing, she had felt as if it would draw her down into its maw in passing. She still felt her flesh crawl whenever Doppelgaenger came near, and she knew that the bastard relished her reaction.

  As time had gone on, especially these last few years as the campaign to conquer the world had been ramping up, Effi had begun to suspect that Doppelgaenger didn’t share the goals that the Thulians and her warriors believed in. That he was simply using the war and her cause as a vehicle for his own endeavors. That she couldn’t figure out what those were infuriated her the most. She had decided early on that he needed to die; for her own satisfaction if nothing else. One couldn’t keep something so dangerous and cold nearby, without peril. At least not forever. Killing him wouldn’t be an easy task, however, and one that she wasn’t sure she could take to completion. At least not on her own. Besides, he was useful…for now.

  She paused for a moment, alone, as she rarely was, in one of the external corridors of the building devoted to all things martial and associated with humans. Despite her position, she was segregated with the rest of the non-Masters, a fact that she resented daily, but was also secretly happy for. She gazed out of a trapezoidal window, across the faintly moving mass of red and black vegetation to the one-way window across from hers. She could not see in—but if anyone stood there, he (or it) could most assuredly see out. There, across from her, was another building in which only Thulians and the mysterious Masters were allowed. Not even her thoughts could penetrate those walls. What went on in there? Whatever it was…it resulted in contradictory orders coming at regular intervals. Orders to pull back at the moment when victory was most assured. Orders to attack an insignificant target when a vital one was momentarily vulnerable. Insanity.

  Those orders did not come from the Thulians, who shared their desire for conquest and the values Effi, Ubermensch, Eisenfaust, and Doppelgaenger had brought with them—and the dream of a Thousand-Year Reich. The Masters ruled over Thulians and humans alike…although Effi and the latest Ubermensch had been weaning some of the Thulians over to their way of thinking, of late. Effi didn’t understand the Masters. That made her fear and hate them above all others. She had been overjoyed at their discovery when she and Heinrich had been brought here. The Thulians had offered her something to believe in again; ubermenschen in power and control of the entire world…in time. She had entreated with them, and convinced her new allies to “rescue” many of the best and brightest Germans before the final fall of the Third Reich. Unfortunately, there had been very few German ubermenschen left alive at that point in the war. That had disappointed Effi, at first, but it came to suit her purposes; she was part of an elit
e, now more than ever. It earned her the admiration of a large number of the Thulians, who counted no ubermenschen of their own in their ranks; they valued strength, and strength Effi had. In those early days the original—and thankfully sane—Ubermensch had done much to help her; Heinrich had further retreated from her after their “capture,” as he called it. She suspected that he had come to know the truth about his selfless act to save her over the ocean; a small part of her mourned their lost love, for a time…but that part eventually faded. She had new purpose, now. If she couldn’t save Germany and the Vaterland…she could at least save herself, and the world as hers to rule.

  Over the years, her fame and popularity within Thulian society had grown and grown, until she had a large following among their population. With Ubermensch’s help, she began to Germanize many of the Thulians. This led to the establishment and expansion of Ultima Thule, all with the seemingly tacit approval of the Masters; she had been able to use her authority granted by them to convince enough Thulians that it was for the war that was to come, to give a permanent base to launch attacks from. Her ultimate goals, however, were far more personal. She intended Ultima Thule to become the crown jewel of an empire that she would found on Earth, one that would make the Third Reich pale in comparison. She became even more fanatical about the idea after the original Ubermensch’s death; at first only a suspicion, it soon grew to be outright truth in her mind that the Masters had played a part in his demise, which had come so suddenly and unexpectedly. His successor wasn’t half the man that he had been…but he had been much more easily controlled. Another of the moves and tools of the Masters’ that she had co-opted for her own purposes.

  In time, Heinrich completed the break from her when he made his first attempt to escape. It had been futile, a move she had seen coming for years. By that point, she had precautions in place. He wouldn’t even speak to her when he had been caught (an act that had cost the lives of no less than thirteen of her indoctrinated Thulians). She had wanted to keep him for herself, a personal prisoner that she would be able to…work on; it still irked her that she had never gotten past his mental defenses, save for the once. With time and appropriate “persuasion,” she felt that she could succeed, and subsume his will. That was not to be; the Masters exercised their prerogative, taking possession of him for an undefined purpose. While it had initially infuriated her, she came to regard it as a small matter; she had more important things to worry about, after all. Heinrich would have just been another distraction.

  Then, he made the second attempt, and this one succeeded, causing her and Doppelgaenger and the Thulian High Command to accelerate their plans for conquest. Or, more precisely, make the launch for conquest before they were quite ready. Even so, the Invasion had been a stunning success; most of their targets were obliterated with little meaningful opposition. The few pockets of resistance that did crop up suffered extensive losses; many of ECHO’s metahumans, and those of the rest of the world, lost their lives standing up to Valkyria’s forces. She had even been present to witness the final demise of Heinrich. Before she could relish the victory…all of them had been recalled, told to return to base and wait for further orders. Why come all this way, crush our enemies…only to pull back at the last moment, before they capitulate? Another nonsensical order from the Masters that she did not understand.

  After that first glorious and short-lived worldwide battle, the only strikes that she had been allowed to make were small in scale and almost random. Some had purposes she could understand, while most seemed to be…harassment. Recreation, to pass the time until…what? Even with the losses they had suffered in the Superstition Mountain Range, and especially at Ultima Thule, the combined might of the Thulians was more than enough to destroy any that opposed them…if they were utilized properly. She had railed at the High Command, to no purpose. Literally, to no purpose. When she started in on something they didn’t want to hear, they somehow canceled out what she was saying, leaving her voiceless, moving her mouth randomly. It was then that she realized that she lived at their convenience; not as an equal ally, but as a pawn. If she wanted power, she was going to have to take it.

  Fortunately, there was a substantial, and growing, contingent among the Thulian troops who felt exactly the same as she did. Ever since the first attack, she had been grooming them and their leaders. They would not put up with the leash holding them back for much longer.

  And when they threw off their fetters, she would be the one leading them. From the vanguard. As was the only way for an ubermensch.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  * * *

  The Snake

  Mercedes Lackey, Dennis Lee and Veronica Giguere

  Alas, my predictive powers did not go quite as far as I liked. I could predict large moves coming…but not small. Not ones that affected only a single life.

  If you want something done right, do it yourself, Dominic Verdigris told himself for about the tenth time.

  This was, of course, no compensation for the fact that he was doing a servant’s work right now. Washing dishes! Didn’t the wretched woman have a dishwasher? She was one of the founding metas of ECHO! Couldn’t this stupid facility be bothered to give her a freaking dishwasher?

  He would have managed all this much better if he had been in charge.

  On the other hand, their lack of common kitchen appliances was apparently matched by the lack of oversight when it came to their tenants, because he’d been able to have Dixie Belle’s usual maid quietly put away last night, and had slipped in wearing a holographic disguise as her, without any effort at all.

  While he scrubbed, she sat in the living room with some dog-eared book and one of those maddening news talk radio shows filling the quiet. The woman couldn’t even occupy herself with soap operas and knitting like a normal geriatric. She hadn’t said much to him all afternoon, other than a greeting at the door and an indication of the work in the kitchen. So, when she finally called from her seat, he realized that the opportunity might finally present itself.

  “Millie? Could you bring in my tea when you finish?” She leaned forward and smiled toward the kitchen. “No rush, of course.”

  He bobbed his head in feigned deference. “Yes ma’am,” he drawled. The vocal synthesizer matched the brief selection of speech he’d recorded in the moments before dear Millie’s departure. “Just a minute.”

  The electric kettle might have been the only nod to real convenience on the woman’s counter. A container with the words “Time for Tea” contained what he needed, and he put together the elderly meta’s last request. He didn’t need to do any more to the drink, as such base methods of poison were beneath someone of his intellect and resources. Interactions made toxicologists suspicious, and residues were something he never left behind.

  “Here we go.” Dominic scurried over to the chair, teacup on saucer.

  And the cup and saucer fell from his hand, dropping to the carpet and bouncing, as the elderly woman seized his wrist in a grip of iron.

  “Who are you,” she asked calmly, “and what do you want?” The hand crushed his wrist, and he remembered in rising panic that Dixie Belle had been…and apparently still was…possessed of superior strength. “I knew you weren’t Millie the minute you walked in the door, but I had to be absolutely sure. Millie would never have served me anything but sweet tea. Now who are you?”

  In a panic, Dom shoved his hand in his pocket and came out with a hypospray. Before the old woman could react, he jammed it against the side of her neck and emptied the contents—more than enough to kill a dozen elderly metas, even if they’d had hyperacute resistance to drugs and poisons.

  The combination took effect almost instantly. The hand on his wrist relaxed and let go, as Dixie Belle collapsed against the back of the sofa. A moment or two more, and it was over.

  Still in a panic, Dom fled the scene. It looked natural enough. She could have been drinking her goddamn tea when the heart attack took her. He didn’t want to spend another moment in
that cursed house. Thank god he’d been wearing form-fitting fake hands with Millie’s fingerprints on them.

  I am never doing wetwork again, he swore as he got into Millie’s beater of a Chrysler and it chugged away. Why in hell couldn’t Khanji have been available? Then he remembered; he’d sent her to take care of something in Seattle. Dammit. I need better help.

  * * *

  The flicker of red and blue lights broke apart into a million tiny fragments against the pale yellow walls of his mother’s kitchen. They complimented the patriotic decorations, white stars on a field of blue that provided a backdrop for dozens of framed photographs. Some in restored color, others in black and white, they told the story of the woman who had risen above so much in her service to her country and to ECHO. Some had nothing to do with the moniker the media had given her during wartime, a name meant to embrace the Hollywood starlet persona of a willowy blonde woman with blue eyes. They showed a long-legged teenager with tight curls and dark brown skin, her eyes full of laughter as she stood with a group of airmen from Tuskegee, Alabama.

  That was her third favorite picture, she liked to tell people. Third, because his godfather Benny was in the picture. Third, because her second favorite was the picture they took of a handsome meta in red, white, and blue standing off to the side in perfect salute to them, and who insisted on saluting until the ranking airmen in the group dismissed him. Third, because she always said that her favorite was of him on the day he officially joined ECHO.

  Ramona placed a hand on Pride’s shoulder as he sat at his mother’s modest kitchen table. His tea sat cold and untouched. Large calloused hands trembled against the blue and yellow placemats. He flinched at her touch, then dropped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes. She didn’t need to be an empath to feel the grief that rolled off of him in waves. He had wept in silence as she drove him and Gilead to the gated community. They had met Blaze at the front door, her own tears soundless as she leaned against one of the nurses for support. Ramona had left Ms. Everitt to explain the details to Pride, while she and Gilead had gone to speak with the police.