Avalanche: Book Five in the Secret World Chronicle

by Lackey, Mercedes

  Red whirled around, his senses screaming at him in sudden danger. In the harsh, blinking light, he found himself face to face with Barron.

  “Works for me,” Barron purred. She reared back and swung a heavy blow across his chest. Red flew up and ricocheted off the side of the Burrower. He felt his neck snap, and he landed in a heap on the smooth balustrade.

  * * *

  “You’d better make this quick,” Bull rumbled.

  “Quick?” Bella said incredulously. “Are you insane?”

  “I knew you would say that,” Bull said, shaking his head. “I knew it, and prompted you anyway…”

  Bella put both hands on the top of the black cylinder that Eight had indicated, and concentrated. She’d put in as much study of their Thulian captives as she could spare time for, and their brains were not all that dissimilar from humans in the way they worked, even though they varied from human in construction.

  But was that because they’re essentially printouts? Never mind. Concentrate.

  With a pattern this simple, once you got past the autonomic functions and the programmed memories that made them fighting machines, you had to give them a very simple set of visual instructions. Who is your enemy? Who is your friend? What do they look like?

  She knew she had it when she touched a part of the mind that held pictures—pictures of simplified humans, of fellow Thulians, and creatures she now knew were the so-called “Masters.”

  “Gotcha,” she muttered, and went to work.

  “Bella, whatever you are doing, you’d better finish it fast.” Bull’s calm, steady voice filtered through her concentration. “They’re getting skin-printed. I think they’re about to be decanted.”

  She doubled down on her concentration, putting so much effort into it that she began to sweat and pant with exertion. And to think…if it hadn’t been for Mel…she would never have learned how to reprogram brains in the first place. She just hoped no one else ever did. This was changing memories…something brainwashers had been dying to achieve forever.

  She felt Bull’s protective bubble spring up around them both, and broke off what she was doing. She spun around, grabbing his substantial shoulder to keep her balance as she went light-headed for a moment. All around them, the fluid had drained out of those cylinders, which were sliding up into the ceiling.

  A hundred or more pairs of eyes opened, and regarded them dispassionately. A hundred or more pairs of feet stepped down off the pedestals, as the newborn Thulian warriors turned to face them. Bull put himself between Bella and the mob.

  A hundred naked Thulian arms rose in the Nazi salute.

  “I believe they are waiting for you to give them orders, Commander,” Eight said brightly.

  “What’s Thulian for we’re under attack, defend your masters?” Bella asked breathlessly. It had worked!

  “Use German,” Bull muttered, before Eight could reply.

  “Wir sind angegriffen, verteidigen deine Meisteren!” she snapped. Over a hundred stark-naked Thulians barked a single unintelligible syllable in reply, turned, and ran out of the room. Meanwhile, the cylinders had slid down from the ceiling again, filled with fluid, and the printing process resumed.

  Bella sagged against Bull; he held her to him, marveling at her. “What…did you do?” he asked.

  “I used the same neural-net reprogramming I used on Mel, except I did it on the pattern brain. I figured the programming would be uploaded to the printouts at the last minute, because they wouldn’t want to bring the brains online until they were ready to decant,” she said breathlessly. “It was easier than with Mel, because it was simple friend-or-foe bit switches. I flipped the switches. Now they’ll all be like that.” She laughed weakly. “Now we don’t have to shut this thing off! It’s making us troops with every printing.”

  Bull grinned at her. “Nice going, lady. Good to see something going right, for a change.”

  The last word had just left his mouth when a harsh alarm sounded off, and blinking blue lights dropped down from the ceiling.

  “Bloody hell,” Bella said in dismay, punching Bulwark in the bicep. “Why would you say…? Are you insane?”

  “Ask me again later,” Bull sighed. “One of these days, I might have a good answer.”

  Bella shook her head and took his hand in hers. “C’mon. Let’s get the hell out of here before anything else happens.”

  * * *

  Barron turned to Vickie, who didn’t hesitate and leapt forward, swinging for Barron’s throat. The giant gave her a pitying look and held up one arm to block the attack. Vickie’s sword cut into the armored forearm with a horrible metallic squeal, and she hissed as it dug in. It was stuck! For one horrible moment, Vickie dangled helplessly from her sword, unable to dislodge it. She tried to rattle it loose, and stifled a cry of alarm as Barron turned in place to hop up on the lip of the now open portal. Barron held her arm out, and suspended Vickie over a seemingly bottomless pit.

  “After I drop you in and dispatch your paramour by ripping him to shreds, I will need to report back to my Supreme Oberfuhrer,” Barron said. She sounded bored. “Perhaps I will even have time to see some true combat before we leave this forsaken excuse of a planet. Oh, the menial tasks we must perform in the name of duty. However, there will soon be time to engage in more frivolous pursuits. Like examining this blade of yours. I find it most perplexing. How anything of your primitive technology is able to cut through one of our ultimate Warskins is worthy of inspection. I don’t suppose you would just tell me, and save me the trouble of having it studied?”

  “Bite me,” Vickie snarled.

  “I thought as much,” Barron said, and raised her free fighting arm to slap Vickie away, as one might a pesky insect. “Tell me your name, little one. Allow yourself the honor of being known to me before you perish.”

  Vickie glared at Barron and stuck out her chin in defiance. “The name’s Victoria Victrix Nagy, you asshat.”

  “Victrix?” Barron said, and relaxed her stance. “You are known to me. You are wanted by my Master. How fortunate, we had thought you lost to us. Rejoice, for your life will not end this day. We have a grand fate in store for you. You will know great honor as you serve us until the end of days.”

  “Y’know, I don’t see that happening,” Vickie said. “I’m not so good with the whole slavery thing. I’m funny that way. But then, so are most humans. No matter what you do to me or anyone else, you’ve lost. You lost the moment you activated your planet-buster. Now go crawl away and find some other poor slobs to enslave, and know you never broke us.”

  “Is that what you think?” Barron said. “This was never about enslaving you. Do you truly believe that we, with all our power, would find the least bit of entertainment in enslavement? You flatter yourself, human. You cannot be this simple. You are one of the few on this pathetic rock whose mind intrigues us, deemed worthy to be installed in the Collective. Is it possible that we were mistaken?”

  “Maybe,” Vickie said, and shrugged, even though she was clinging with both hands to Tire Iron’s hilt. “Or maybe I’m just stalling.”

  Barron’s eyes widened in sudden comprehension, as Red came barreling out of the darkness and slammed into her back with his shoulder. She shot forward into the pit, flailing in an unsuccessful attempt to keep her balance, and Vickie grunted as she found herself falling with her.

  “Vix!” she heard Red shout as she fell. “Let go, go limp!”

  Vickie released her grip on Tire Iron, and watched Barron sail over her and plummet into the hole. She gasped as something caught her around her waist, snapping her back like a bungee cord. She looked down and found herself restrained in the grip of elongated fingers, attached to an elongated arm, attached to a breathless Red Djinni who peered down at her from the edge of the pit.

  And then, she found herself falling again.

  “Urk!” she squawked. Tethered by Red’s long and stringy arm, she swung quickly down to collide with the wall of the pit. She heard something
snap and felt a sharp stab in her midsection. Briefly stunned, she grimaced in pain as Red quickly reeled her in, his arm shrinking back to its original size. Gently, he cradled her as he bent down to place her beside him.

  “Good catch. Was this Cthulhu or Indiana Jones?” she asked, panting.

  “You’re hurt,” he said, and ran a hand gently over her stomach. “Cracked ribs. I need to get you out of here.”

  “Priorities. Bomb first, hurt later,” she replied, looking up at the evil thing. She glanced down at the pit. “Think she’s gone?”

  In the distance, they heard a hard crash, then another, and then silence.

  “I really doubt it,” Red answered.

  “Yeah,” Vickie sighed. “Me too.”

  Sure enough, from a distance they heard something like a whistle, and it was growing, a sound Vickie realized she’d heard before—when Barron had flown off from the fight in front of CCCP HQ. “Fasz!” she said, with feeling. “Futui! Blyad! We need to end her! Now!”

  “You’re in no condition to go up against her,” Red said, shaking his head. “Besides, she’s got your weapon.”

  “Not this one,” Vickie said, and held up Can Opener. “Though I’ll be damned if I can think of a way to get close enough to shiv her with it.” The jetlike noise was getting closer.

  “Or have the muscle to make the blow stick,” Red replied grimly. “We’re running out of options here. It’s time to book.”

  “We can’t!” Vickie hissed, and pointed to the bomb. “Not until we stop that thing! If we don’t do that, everyone dies. We die here maybe, but at least die trying, not hiding, waiting for everything to go kaboom! I’m done with hiding!”

  “Then we’re screwed!” Red shouted. Vickie watched him sag, his head drooping in defeat. “We can’t fight the unbeatable bad guy, and we can’t leave without destroying the invincible weapon. We’re out of options here, Vickie. We’ve got nothing left.”

  “You’ve got me,” Vickie said, and handed him her dagger. “And you’ve got this. She wants me alive, so I’m the distraction. Don’t know if you’re going to get more than one shot with it. Make it count.”

  Red took the blade from her, and nodded. Shaking his head, he drew himself up.

  “I’ve got you,” he breathed.

  “Yeah, you do,” Vickie said with a small smile. “And I’ve got you. So c’mon, let’s see what a couple of Misfits can do on a hope and a prayer.”

  * * *

  This is hopeless.

  Red pressed his lips together, afraid to say the obvious. Vickie was right. They couldn’t retreat. Somehow, they had to stop the bomb, and somehow, they had to get past the hulking invulnerable alien to do it. As they backed away from the lip of the pit, waiting for Barron to fly up to them, he glanced at the small blade hidden in his hand. He supposed he could put some muscle behind it, and drive it into Barron somewhere, but it had to be a killing blow. The problem was, he drew his strength from his size. He had not tested the limits of that yet. Just how big could he go? He suspected he could grow until he was enormous, large enough to dwarf even Barron, to fill up most of this enormous chamber, if need be. But there were limitations with growing bigger. Even now, he was definitely slower. All that mass was weighing him down. He idly considered sacrificing some of his protective shell, and immediately decided against it. There was no way he could survive for very long against Barron without some armor. And then there was the issue of wielding the dagger itself. The thing of it was, the dagger wouldn’t grow with him. He couldn’t hold it properly as it was, its length barely the size of one of his fingers. If anything, he reasoned that he should shrink back down, even if it cost him strength. Harden the shell, get a better grip on the blade, and drive it home at the base of Barron’s skull. And how was he supposed to do that? He was no stranger to fighting with a blade, but having seen Vickie in action, he knew he was nowhere near her level of expertise. Vickie was right. He had one shot at this, and he simply didn’t trust his skill enough to get the job done.

  “I don’t suppose she’ll just stand still and let me stick this into her eye,” he muttered.

  “We’ll flank her again,” Vickie said, clutching one hand gingerly to her side. “Try and get behind her, look for your opening.”

  “We’ve seen her fight!” Red hissed. “It’s like she’s got eyes in the back of her head. She’ll see my clumsy swing, and she’ll just dodge out of it.”

  “You’re going to have to be patient then,” Vickie replied, through clenched teeth. “Don’t let her see it until you’ve got an opening.”

  This is hopeless, he thought again. We’re gambling everything on a long, long, long shot. But what else do we have? What else, dammit?

  The sounds of Barron’s jet grew louder. She was almost upon them. Red took a moment, and looked down at Vickie. She was so strong, so sure of herself now. He felt a brilliant flash of love and pride as he took her in. She was everything he had ever hoped she could be. If this was to be their last few moments, at least they had that. With all they had endured, they had come out stronger at the end. And more, they had each other, finally, at last, they had each other.

  “We have each other…”

  Vickie looked up, and favored him with a sad smile. “Yeah, we do.” She reached out, twining her small fingers between his.

  Red gasped as Vickie’s touch gave him a sudden jolt, and from some shrouded corner of his mind he heard a voice, and not just any voice.

  “No one has to be alone.”

  “What…?” Red flinched as he remembered. It seemed so long ago, before she was Karoline, before she was Doppelgaenger. Back then, she had just been Mel, another in a long line of broken souls that had found a way into his bed. After, they had shared a harsh moment of truth, and with a simple touch, she had said something that had stayed with him, always in the back of his mind, no matter how dark things got.

  “No,” he whispered. “No one has to be alone. But how is it enough?”

  He almost heard Karoline chuckle and he stopped, his breath caught in his throat, as her ghostly voice rang out in his mind. “Show me what love is, Red. Show me what love can do.”

  He must have made a little choking sound, because Vickie glanced up at him, meeting his stunned look with eyes that were, oddly enough, at peace, and full of trust. She didn’t have to say anything. That trust was there and had been, he realized, for a long time now. But he had to ask anyway.

  “Do you trust me?” he breathed.

  A flash of puzzlement, then peace—and yes, trust—were back in her eyes. She nodded once, decisively. “Whatever you need. I’ll back you.”

  “Go limp again,” he whispered. “We’re about to dive into that irrevocable kind of weird.”

  Vickie smiled up at him, laid her hand gently on his face, closed her eyes, and went limp in his arms. Red took a deep breath and held her in a tight embrace. He let himself flow around her, drawing her in…

  * * *

  …until they were One.

  This should have been the Mindscape. Instead, they were just…as they had been, staring at the pit where Barron would emerge, any moment now. There was no Mindscape. Why was there no Mindscape?

  “Tim Torres? Seriously? Your real name is Tim?” Amethist rolled over on her side to stare at them, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

  Partly embarrassed, a little annoyed, but this was Vic, and how could they be angry at her? Until she added, “What? Like Tim the Enchanter?”

  And they felt a chill. “Don’t call me that,” they snapped, shoving memories they didn’t want to face back into their closet. “Don’t ever call me that…”

  The hell? Why were they thinking that now? Oh, because they wanted to know what their real name was. Real names were important. Real names had power…

  They held the sword up to the light, eyeing it critically. Unlike most of the other blades that had been handed out to their classmates, this one was short, about the length of a Roman gladius, suited to
their diminutive size. It was perfect, of course. Perfect length for them, perfect balance, perfect weight. And magic-forged, that went without saying.

  “What are you naming it?” Paul asked excitedly, as the rest of their classmates, one by one, thought of the “perfect name,” thrust their blades up in the air with melodramatic gestures, and shouted it out.

  “Naming it? Nothing,” they replied, testing the heft. “It’s a tool, a thing. Paul, for godssake, you should know this. Names are important! You put a name on something, and you make it into something more than a tool, you turn it into something you cherish, something you aren’t willing to sacrifice, or to lose! No sword is worth that—you sacrifice for living things, not for objects!”

  “Then name it as a tool, Miss Nagy,” the Headmistress said mildly. “You have to give it some name, or it won’t bind to you and accept your magic.”

  “All right then,” they replied, resting the blade lightly on the palm of their left hand. “Tire Iron. I name thee Tire Iron.”

  Two or three of the kids closest to them—all of whom had given their blades pretentious names like “Braveheart” and “Adamant”—turned to gape at them. But the sword responded, glowing brightly for a moment before settling back to normal. The Headmistress smiled.

  “Good. Now the dagger.” She raised an eyebrow at them. “I assume you have a similarly utilitarian name in mind?”

  They just smiled. Of course they did. Can Opener.

  Suddenly it all settled into place. Why was there no Mindscape? There was no need for the Mindscape. Why were they reliving memories? It was a brief moment of adjustment, of settling into their new consciousness. Together, they were somehow seamless, something neither Red nor Karoline had ever experienced with another. And there was power, and certainty, and purpose…gone was the pain and loneliness, and any imperfections. Together, they seemed perfect in every possible way.

  Perfect trust. Perfect love. They smiled at the quotation. Probably not what the original writers had had in mind.

  There was a feeling of discomfort and they rid themselves of it; Vickie’s suit of chainmail, lined with leather, then canvas, then the softest of linen, dropped out of them to the ground. It was somewhat magical too, and it was a pity they couldn’t wear it…but they were going to have to be bigger than it was and there was no way, with so little time to spare, to make it fit. The dagger was still in their hand, but now it fit itself into their hand exactly as if it had been made for them. They seemed smaller, and larger, than they were. It hardly seemed to matter. Size made little difference now. The magic that made up Victoria Victrix Nagy spread out with ease, touching every part of their body. They were infused with all of Vickie’s skills—all of her training with the arcane, with combat and strategy. And they had all of Djinni’s cunning and agility, honed from years of fieldwork as an operative, a thief, an assassin, and most recently, as a trusted member of ECHO. They were one with all of it, as they were with the full potential of Red Djinni’s unbounded power.