Collision: Book Four in the Secret World Chronicle - eARC

by Mercedes Lackey

  “You want to watch that one. Careful you don’t get burned.” Mel gathered up the money and gave him a wink before taking his payment to the till.

  * * *

  How exactly did someone go about finding a supposed angel? John didn’t have the first idea where to look; she certainly wasn’t bunking at CCCP HQ, and going to the Echo campus didn’t seem like the best idea for him. He did have one friend who had a knack for finding things, though.

  John keyed his comm for the Overwatch channel. “Murdock here. Y’awake, Vic?”

  “Hasn’t anyone told you? I never sleep.” He couldn’t read her tone. Was she serious? Joking? Exhausted? He decided to take it at face value.

  “My kind of gal. I need a favor from you, if’n you can swing it.”

  “I have twenty-four hour liquor stores that deliver on call. I know every good pizza parlor, Chinese take-out, taqueria, steak joint and rib crib. Hookers, you’re on your own.”

  “Naw, nothin’ like that; what do I look like, a politician? Naw, I need you t’find someone; an ‘angel’ to be precise. I want to have words with her.”

  There was a long pause, pregnant with things unspoken. “You finished the journal, I take it? The Seraphym’s wired into Overwatch Mark One. I was not going to chance getting the crap fried out of me by wiring her into Mark Two. Just ask Overwatch from now on if you want to find her—or anyone else on the system. Use the ‘Locate’ command.”

  He thought for a moment. “Is that an automatic thing? The request just goes through and such? Or does it go through you first?”

  “I have a very sophisticated near AI setup that doesn’t route to me unless it’s stumped. It’s all automatic, and all voice activated. Use the command ‘Overwatch’ to open a channel to the system, then give your command. In this case, ‘Locate’ followed by who you want.” Another pause. “I know you’re a man, and men don’t think they need to read the instructions, but reading the manual I gave you would save you a lot of hazing on my part.”

  John didn’t feel comfortable having a computer tracking him day in and day out, but that was a discussion that he’d have later. “Thanks, Vic. Murdock out.” He cleared his throat and gave the commands that Vic had told him to. “Overwatch: Locate ‘Seraphym.’” A projection popped up in his in-eye HUD; that was still bugging the hell out of him, despite its obvious utility. Just another thing he’d have to get used to; he had the feeling if he asked Vickie to take it out, she’d refer him to the Commissar, and Red Saviour would give him one of those “excoriation” things and another round of duty scrubbing latrines. An estimated distance and mapped out path appeared before him, pale and ghostly as it overlaid the sidewalk in front of him. Time to get steppin’, old man.

  The entire time that John was walking, he kept on hearing…something. He couldn’t pin it down; even with his new and improved hearing, it was too faint and inconsistent. It sounded like someone talking to him, just out of range of his hearing. More than anything it was getting annoying. As he neared his destination, he heard the faintest strains of some sort of music. It was like someone had left a window open while an orchestra tuned up, only miles away. Now that sounded interesting; he wanted to follow it and find out where it was coming from, but he had just arrived at his destination.

  A cemetery.

  The sun had started to set, so everything was cast in a slanting orange glow, with long shadows creeping over the tombstones. The cemetery was connected to an abandoned church, roofless and wrecked in the Invasion, though it looked as if it had been abandoned long before the Invasion had finished the job on it. Cut off on both sides by destruction corridors, it was isolated, off the beaten path. Once upon a time, this place had been prosperous though. Under the enormous trees that featured huge swags of Spanish moss dripping from their branches, and between the overgrown bushes, were some graves with impressive statuary, and even some ornamented above-ground tombs or the entrances to crypts. Lots of marble and wrought-iron.

  There was one wall of the church building proper that was still standing. Set in it was a multi-colored, almost fractal stained glass window. The setting sun’s light was spilling through it and bathing one particular grave in kaleidoscope colors. It took John a second, but he recognized Sera sitting on top of the headstone; she had been so still that he initially mistook her for one of the statues.

  She didn’t seem to realize that anyone was watching her. And she sat in a peculiar sort of posture—one that he recognized.

  She sat as if she was mortally wounded.

  He knew that look, that pose. He’d seen it before, in men who had thought they were invulnerable and suddenly had the shock of discovering they were not. There was a startled fragility about them, even if they had not yet felt the pain of their wounds, as though their bodies understood that they were dying. This is getting awkward, fast. John didn’t enjoy seeing her like this; it made him vaguely uneasy for a variety of reasons.

  “Excuse me? Ma’am?”

  The woman looked up, eyes wide and pupils dilating; her wings immediately began to tremble, the feathers rustling against each other. For a moment, he was sure she was going to spring into the air and flee.

  John held his hands up placatingly. “Sorry t’startle you. I don’t think we’ve properly met. My name’s John Murdock. And you’re Sera, right?”

  “I am.” Her voice was soft, and low. And that was all she said. It looked as if any attempt at conversation was going to have to come from him.

  “Right.” John didn’t know exactly how to proceed; it seemed that after he saw her, he forgot everything he had planned on saying. “How are you?” He winced as he said it, realizing how dumb he sounded as the words were forming.

  “I am…as I am,” she replied. Not a lot of help. “If you seek…company, you should seek it elsewhere. The place of serving liquor, perhaps. I am not a good companion.”

  “Mel’s? It’s alright for a shot an’ a brew, true enough. But I came here lookin’ to talk with you, specifically.” He took a couple of steps towards her, dropping his hands to his sides. “Kind of a grim spot, don’t you think? Gotta admit, it’s pretty this time of day.”

  “It suits me.” No explanation. It sounded like he was going to have to pull words out of her with pliers. John’s patience was wearing thin, but he knew that if he pushed too hard right now, she’d bolt and he’d have to start all over again. Time for a different tactic.

  “I’ve noticed you ’round the neighborhood quite a bit. You’ve seemed to have helped out a lot of the folks there; kids especially seem to have good things t’say ’bout you.”

  She didn’t rise to the bait. “What do you wish of me? You would not have come to me unless there was something you thought I could give you. I warn you, I am greatly lessened. There is much—too much—that I can no longer do.”

  He sighed, taking another cautious step forward. “You’re right. I wanted to talk with you for a reason. I’ve read through this,” he said, taking the journal out from a pocket. “You’re a big part of this; it’s a journal that the other—that I wrote. Before…well, before this.”

  Tears spilled out of her eyes. “You spoke truer when you said the other. You are not he. You do not know me. Possibly, you should not know me. But your face is his face, your voice is his voice, and the sight of you causes me pain like a knife to the heart.”

  “So why do you follow me? I’m not exactly the brightest bulb in the drawer, but I’m not dumb, either. I’ve noticed you when I’m out on patrol, or at the CCCP HQ. You follow me, Sera. There’s got to be a reason to that, since y’don’t strike me as the masochist sort.”

  “I suppose I hoped that…that he would awaken within you. And now you are here, and he has not. So it is not to be, and that is the end to it. Either you should go, or I will.” She stood, and her wings trembled, unfolded, and extended. They caught the colors of the stained glass. “As you say, I am not inclined to masochism, nor chasing after futility.”

  “Listen
! Stop for just a second, okay? Please, ma’am?” He waited, gauging her.

  She hesitated, then folded her wings, though she did not sit down. “I will hear you.”

  “We can’t go on like this; you following me around, me tiptoeing around trying not to get in your way since it’s plain that it hurts you to be…reminded. We need to come to some sort’ve peace, or something.” John sighed, brushing his fingers through his hair. “We’re on the same side; we’re both in this fight together, against the Kriegers. That’s the most important thing. I think it’d be better for everyone, not just us, if we could work together.” He looked soberly into her eyes. “I’m not that guy, the one that fell in love with you. The one you cured. The one that you want. I know that. I’m not going to pretend that I ever will be that guy again; I don’t know what you did that healed…him, or me, whatever. But I want you to give me a chance. I think you could use a friend, if’n nothin’ else, ma’am.”

  Her eyes filled and spilled over again. “If only you had a different face,” she said, her tone fragile and brittle. “If only you had another voice.”

  He reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, thought better of it, and set it down on the headstone instead. “If only the Kriegers hadn’t set the world on fire. If only…if only I hadn’t been dying. We can’t focus on what if; doin’ that’ll drive anybody crazy. We gotta focus on the here an’ now. People are depending on us to keep this ball of dirt spinning without swastikas rulin’ over everything.”

  She wiped her eyes with her hand and straightened. “You rightly remind me of responsibility and duty. But…” There was a long pause. “But I fail to see what is so vital that you and I undertake those together. I will cease to follow you. I will ask the Commissar to assign me to a different…shift? I will not trouble you again.”

  “That’s the right word for it, shift. But that’s not what I want. I’ve woken up to a whole new an’ terrifyin’ world here. Nazis and aliens in powered armor, bein’ in a group of Commies, an’ havin’ superpowers; it’s a lot for one fella to take in at once, y’know?” He chuckled, grinning lopsidedly before snapping his fingers, producing a single Zippo-sized flame. “This? This is crazy. There aren’t any others in the CCCP that can do anythin’ like this. I figure that you might know a thing or two ’bout fire an’ how to control it.” He snapped his fingers again, snuffing out the flame. “I could use a friend to help me figure out some of this craziness. Whaddya say?” He held out his hand. “Partners?”

  Her face went blank. It looked as if she was hunting mentally for something, and not finding it. Answers, maybe. She didn’t take his hand.

  “I will consider this,” she said. And before he could say anything further, she spread her wings, leapt into the air, and flew off into the gathering darkness.

  But this time he could tell where she ended up—the top of a building that had a strange sort of fake Greek or Roman temple on it. Completely useless and only ornamental as far as he could tell. No purpose to it—no one these days would build a high-rise like that.

  “Huh.” That could’ve gone worse. She could’ve set me on fire. John started walking back to HQ. As he exited the cemetery, he glanced over his shoulder at the building that Sera was perched on. She blazed against the darkening sky, and looked perfect, like an ancient Roman goddess come to life. Wasn’t the goddess of Victory the one that had wings? He felt strangely comforted, knowing that she was watching over them from above. Time to find out where that music I heard was coming from. With that, he set off in earnest.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Lost Penny

  “Moan is right,” one of the girls said in weary disgust. “Can’t she just shut up?”

  The woman muttered and moaned and spoke, awake or asleep, and none of them could understand a word she said. The Dark Man had come in while she was asleep, given her a shot before she could wake up, and brought her back cleaned up. After that, the rest of the kids ignored her as best they could. The Dark Man kept giving her shots, which kept her from moving much, but didn’t stop the moaning and mumbling.

  He’d also ordered the kids to take care of her. Of them all, only Penny and Joey obeyed that order, squeezing paste from the food pouches they all got, and dribbling water into her mouth, though they left it to the Dark Man to carry her out and clean her up. He’d growled at them for not taking care of that part, but Joey, for once, had stood up to him, hands on hips, and looking up into that scowling face said, “How’re we supposed to do that, huh? We got nothin’ to do that with.” Because, of course, the only things they were allowed were the bedding and their clothing. There was the toilet in the corner, out in front of everyone. It had nearly paralyzed Penny at first, having to go out in the open like that, but now it was just one tiny indignity amid so much worse. There was a sink with a single tap that produced tepid water and had a pump for liquid soap, but how could they get a semiconscious woman over to either when she was chained to the wall? There was flimsy paper for the toilet and little paper cups for water that collapsed and melted so quickly you had to be fast with your drinking; neither of those would be any help. So the Dark Man growled and carried Lacey out, bringing her back wearing a giant diaper. Twice a day, once in the morning and once at night, he hauled her out and brought her back cleaned and changed.

  He must’ve just left her under a shower or something because she always came back with wet hair.

  As Penny had figured, Lacey came with a ghost of her own, too. Most ghosts didn’t show up right away, it was like they had to find the people they were haunting before they could settle in. Lacey’s ghost was a young man, maybe two, three years older than Pike. He showed up midway through the third night she was there.

  He was different, though. He just stood there, staring at Lacey, and not saying a word. It was an intent stare, as if he was trying to get something out of her, or maybe wake her up just by staring at her. He was strange and non-threatening enough that Penny felt safe to watch him, size him up. What could Lacey have done that would make a young man like this come to stare at her? All the other ghosts had obvious grievances, or were just plain crazy-acting, but this was different, and much more intense. Penny wondered and watched; it was easier to ignore the others when she had him to concentrate on.

  It was only towards sunrise, when the others had started to fade, that he seemed to suddenly sense that Penny was watching him. Before she could glance away, he swiveled her head and looked at her, his stare going right into her, so hard she gasped under the impact of it, feeling her head reel as if he had actually struck her.

  Then he was gone, like the others. But she knew he would be back.

  Like the others. And now he knew she could see him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Dead Meat

  Mercedes Lackey and Cody Martin

  “…We are still getting details from reports coming in from around the world concerning last week’s second ‘Invasion’ by Krieger forces. Despite Krieger forces being estimated at matching—if not exceeding, in some areas—the numbers from the first attack, property damage and loss of life was unexpectedly minimal. Many credit the preparations made by national security forces, NATO, and metahuman police forces. Here in Atlanta the attack seemed centered on the ECHO campus and the ‘CCCP’ headquarters building. The bulk of the Kriegers were handled by ECHO personnel, while a smaller contingent was dispatched by the members of the ‘CCCP.’ On the scene we have Daryl Vickers, who spoke to the police commissioner early today. In the commissioner’s own words, the collateral damage left by the Reds is ‘deplorable,’ and—”

  “Bah!” Soviet Bear switched the television off. “They interrupt Matlock for this rubbish?”

  John Murdock stood up from the battered couch he had been sitting on, zipping up the front panel of his coveralls. “If you’re watchin’ the news to get anythin’ but entertainment, you’re doin’ it wrong, Pavel.” He checked his watch. “Time for me to start on my patrol for the day. Y’need anythin’ from t
he store on my way back?”

  Bear thought for a moment, then held up a finger. “Da! Ravioli. And TV Guide. And ingredients to be making fluffernutter. And—”

  “There is Ravioli by case full in storage, old Bear,” interrupted Untermensch. “And you are not to be eating flufferm—fluff—nasty sandwich, by order of Red Saviour. Was to be a day getting sticky off where you left in couch.”

  John turned to Unter. “Are y’ready to head out, partner?” John and Untermensch had been paired up frequently lately; he suspected it was so that the older Russian could evaluate him, keeping an eye on him for the Commissar.

  “Nyet. Check duty roster for assignment. I am being stuck with Old Bear today. The joys of service to the proletariat never cease.” Untermensch waved at the bulletin board where a thin sheaf of papers pinned to the cork with what looked like the broken tip of a knife waved forlornly.

  John walked a few steps over to the board, quickly scanning the duty roster. Murdock—“Seraphym.” Huh. After reading his journal, and the few encounters that he had had with the “angel,” John was still rather curious about the woman. He had tried to keep it at that, a sort of detached interest, professional. That idea had not worked out so well; they kept on running into each other, and the interactions weren’t always what he would call positive.

  That she was curious about him had been another side of the coin. He’d been catching glimpses of her out of the corner of his eye for—well, since he’d woken up. She’d always flee if she thought he’d seen her, though. He wasn’t sure what her motivation was. It probably should have felt creepy, as if she was stalking him, but for some reason, it didn’t.

  After their meeting in the graveyard and…well, when they had saved each other in turn during the second “Invasion,” it seemed they had reached a sort of truce. Or something. As much as he was intrigued by it—his past self’s love for her, her nature, how she was acting now—he was also confused as hell as to what to do about it. He was pretty sure that he didn’t love her. He just didn’t know her; how could you fall in love with someone that you didn’t know the first thing about? But then there was that little voice in the back of his head that always had an answer… You’ve done it before, smart guy. Twice, by all accounts. First “Jessica,” the woman from the Program. Then this Sera. Even though she tried to hide it, he could see how much pain she was in, especially when he was around. That just can’t stand.