Invasion: Book One of the Secret World Chronicle-ARC

by Mercedes Lackey

  “It’s weird to see it so quiet,” Vickie said with an odd hint of relief. “Hard Rock Cafe, Planet Hollywood. Tourist traps, and all empty.”

  “I know of Hard Rock. Is giant one in Moscow on Old Arbat Road.”

  “You’ve been there?”

  “Was thrown through window by giant robot. I think I crushed guitar of Dean Reed. I did not stay long enough to find out.” Red Saviour sniffed. “I do not welcome such capitalist decadence in my country. Old Arbat was once beautiful historical district. Now is magnet for credit cards and spoiled youth. Fortunately, Range Rovers smash robots well.”

  “But your people have embraced capitalism,” Belladonna said. “Democracy, free markets, freedom of the press. Don’t you think these are improvements over the Communist authoritarian state?”

  Red Saviour gave her a cold look. “I am an authoritarian, sestra. My father fought to uphold power of the State and I carry on his legacy.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  “You are surprised?” She indicated the hammer-and-sickle badge on her uniform. “I do not wear this because capitalist outfit is being at cleaners. Law and order requires strong State. Without strict controls, there is no incentive for capitalists to curb their greed.”

  “In America we vote.”

  “You can vote for puppet president, not for plutocrats who are tugging on his strings. Power in this country hides in dark back room filled with cigar smoke and deal-making.”

  “And in Soviet Russia, decisions were made by democratically elected officials? Spare me, please. I may be a lefty but I’m not naïve. How does a Russian make their voice heard in the government?”

  “By getting job with government, like me. I serve the proletariat.”

  “And are you serving them right now, or just being trundled around Atlanta by flunkies while Tesla and your people decide your fate?”

  Red Saviour opened and shut her mouth. Belladonna moved in for the kill.

  “Our leaders may make a lot of noise about patriotic nonsense, but they know the American people won’t let them cross the line. If any politician infringes on our rights and gets caught, there’s hell to pay. We’ve fired presidents for that crap. When’s the last time Russia impeached a corrupt politician without using tanks? 1905?”

  After a pregnant pause, Red Saviour grated out: “You are having lot of nerve to speak to me so.”

  “Nerve is one thing I never run short on.”

  “Ladies, please,” Vickie said. “Can we find a less divisive topic? Or should I drop you off at the gym for a few rounds in the ring?”

  The woman in red and the woman in blue locked eyes over the seat back, jaws clenched, brows furrowed. At last Belladonna looked away with a frown. “She’s the guest here, I suppose. Do whatever she wants.”

  “Da, I am guest. Get me out of this consumer playground and take me to where proletariat lives. We will see how well American Dream is playing out in big city.”

  “That would be south Atlanta,” Vickie said. “It was rough before the Nazis plowed through it on the way to Echo HQ. Now it’s a total mess. Echo sent several teams over to quell riots and looting.”

  “Is perfect. Step on gas…or whatever car uses.”

  Within minutes they had left the gathered skyscrapers behind. By a series of overpasses braided around each other, Vickie entered the sporadic traffic on I-20, the east-west corridor leading to the poorest sections of Atlanta. Military vehicles and ambulances mixed with utility trucks, big rigs and police cruisers. No high-glitz vehicles were anywhere to be seen.

  “I don’t know that part of town so well,” she told Red Saviour, who only shrugged and watched the industrial warehouses pass beneath them. “Are you sure you want to go there?”

  “Of course. Is where action is, as is said in movies.”

  Vickie blew air out her cheeks and hunched forward over the wheel. Red Saviour gave her a sidelong look.

  “You’re frightened. I see it in your shoulders.”

  “Just concerned. Mr. Tesla is counting on me.”

  “To what? Control overbearing Russian metahuman? Ha!” Red Saviour snorted a laugh. “Is good joke I make. No one, man or woman, has ever controlled me.”

  “Not even Worker’s Champion?” Belladonna said with a smirk.

  “Keep testing me, little blue girl, can put ice pack on yourself.” A look of consternation crossed her face as Vickie exited the highway. “Why are we stopping?”

  “I, ah, I need to check something…” Vickie’s voice was small even in the silent car. “Just…just relax, okay?”

  The exit ramp deposited the sedan directly on a street, just north of an intersection. Vickie pulled up to the curb and stopped. She lowered her head to the steering wheel.

  “Are you carsick?” Belladonna asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I can cure that in a jiffy. I am a healer, you know.”

  “I’m fine. Can I have a minute?” Her voice almost cracked. “Alone?”

  Red Saviour and Belladonna exchanged a look. “Sure, Vickie. Take your time. The Commissar needs a smoke anyway.” The two women stepped out of the vehicle.

  Red Saviour lit up a cigarette. “Agoraphobia,” she said quietly. “Or maybe panic attacks. Or both.”

  Belladonna raised an eyebrow. “Very good. I saw it too. You have medical training?”

  “Five years in militsya. We received EMT training, victim evaluation, such things. I learned to tell difference between serious threat, drunk and mental patient.” She pointed with her cigarette. “She is no soldier. Was probably seamstress or grocer. Poor comrade is barely holding head on straight.”

  “Our bickering probably didn’t help.”

  The Russian grunted. “She should stay out of Russia, then. Arguing is our favorite pastime.” She craned her neck to survey the street. “Hmm. Very downtrodden, like Moscow ghetto. Economic class disparity in your country astounds me.”

  Belladonna sighed sadly. “It astounds us too, those who care.”

  “I suppose this is what we have to look forward to in my country, unless Communist Party can regain trust of people. Allure of televisions and fashion accessories have wiped memory of Marx from the proletariat’s mind.”

  “Then you’re catching up with the rest of the world. Consumer culture seems to be the norm.” The blue meta snorted; she didn’t seem particularly happy about that.

  Red Saviour peered into the gloom. “It takes many forms. Look.”

  On the next block, a dozen young men, black and white, stood on the corner. Their exaggerated gestures conveyed their bluff machismo even at a distance. One leaned on a stopped car, passing a plastic bag into the open window and accepting a wad of cash in return. The car sped off and the man rejoined his friends.

  “Drug dealers. You have heroin here?”

  “Crack’s predominant in the south. Out west it was meth.” Belladonna screwed up her face in distaste.

  “This is tolerated? Where are being militsya?”

  “Cops? Probably on riot duty. These jerks are small fry.”

  Red Saviour cast her cigarette aside and started forward with long strides. Her hands glowed with azure fire.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” Belladonna ran to her side.

  “Frying small fries. Drug trafficking is crime.”

  “Easy, lady. Echo tries not to step on the local police department’s toes.” She interposed herself between the Russian and the drug dealers down the street. “Plus there’s the Extreme Force law.”

  “Horosho! Now you are talking my language.” Red Saviour grinned widely, appearing genuinely happy. “I approve of extreme force.”

  “No, no. The law prohibits the use of metahuman Extreme Force against non-metas except in life or death circumstances.” She jerked a thumb at the dealers. “It sounds crazy but we should radio this in and let the boys in blue handle it. They get touchy if we steal their fire.”

  “Ridiculous.”

  “Every country has laws governing extraleg
al metahuman organizations like Echo to prevent abuses of power. I’m sure Russia has such laws for Echo.”

  “I am Russia’s Echo, and I am bound by no such foolish law. Are you going to stop me from arresting these perps?”

  “Did you say perps?” Vickie asked.

  “ ‘Perps’ is term learned from military advisor who liked American cop shows,” Red Saviour answered.

  Belladonna chewed her lip. “How will you arrest them? You’re not licensed. You can’t even make a citizen’s arrest.”

  Red Saviour took her hand. “Then I will need you. Come with me, citizen.” She tugged Belladonna down the shoulder of the road. Atlanta was notorious for lacking sidewalks.

  “Listen, Saviour—”

  “Commissar.”

  Belladonna lowered her voice as they came within speaking distance of their prey. “Okay, Commissar, I grant you that these scum are breaking all sorts of laws, but they’re more symptoms of a greater problem. The Narcotics Division works every angle to find these guys’ suppliers, higher up the food chain. Brute-force tactics only interfere with their investigations.”

  But Red Saviour had reached the outer fringe of the group. In the orange light, Belladonna’s blue skin appeared to be a dusky—and normal—brown. The men hooted at the two women and made lewd suggestions.

  “Hey, baby,” said the man who had sold drugs to the occupants of the car. He smoothed his overgrown mullet. “Damn, you look fine. What can I do for you?”

  Red Saviour jerked a thumb at Belladonna. “My friend here is wanting to know name of your supplier.”

  “My—huh? Why?”

  “So she can move up food chain. Please to give name and location.”

  The other dealers gathered behind him, muttering suspiciously. The mullet-haired man shook his head and chuckled. “I can’t do that, darlin’. You want sweets, you buy from Timmy T.”

  With lightning speed, Red Saviour decked him. His jaw broke with a loud, sickly crack. “Is wrong answer, Mr. T. I will ask your friends.” She stepped over his writhing form to face a massive black man with cornrows. “You, bolshoi big man. Give me name and location of your supplier.”

  “Hell I will,” he said, balling up his meaty fist and swinging at her. With Systema’s deceptive casualness, she caught his arm and slammed him into the ground. Bracing her foot, she twisted his arm until the bone snapped, and let the arm flop to the ground. The bone jutted out from the skin. The man shrieked and bled, and stayed down, clutching at the break.

  “Christ,” Belladonna said, sounding both appalled and in awe.

  “I will ask again,” Red Saviour announced. Her next target flinched away from her. She grabbed his collar. “Your supplier, svinya! Be smart and spill beans.”

  “Lemme go!”

  “My friend is being authorized to arrest you.” She pulled the man to her. “All I can do is hurt you.”

  The dealer’s eyes were wild. “You a cop?”

  “Nyet. I am a Communist.” At her grin, the man strained to escape.

  Belladonna stepped forward. “Echo OpTwo Belladonna Blue. You boys are all under arrest for selling illicit substances.”

  Two of the men laughed. Two looked worried. Several pulled aside their oversized jackets to reveal handguns.

  “There ain’t but three of you,” one man said. “How ’bout we whip your asses like them Nazis did?”

  “Three?” Red Saviour glanced back to see Vickie, as pale as a sheet, standing behind them. “You should stay in car, sestra,” she said softly.

  “Belladonna’s right. This is a police matter,” Vickie said, her voice thin. “I’ve made the call.”

  “Cops don’t care. They ain’t comin’,” the dealer said with a sneer. “This town’s ours now.”

  “Not while I’m here,” Belladonna said, her voice hard.

  “Or while I visit.”

  “Right.” Vickie took a deep breath. “I can subdue them until the police arrive.”

  “Nyet. Extreme Force law, yes? No powers.” Red Saviour twisted her captive’s arm behind him. “Will have to restraint them old-fashioned way.” She kicked out his legs and threw him to the sidewalk. His squeal of pain was cut off by a quick kick to the head.

  The swift act of brutality ended the standoff. As one of the dealers surged forward, Red Saviour grabbed the fist of her first attacker, broke it, and kneed the man in the stomach as he sailed past her. She spun around him and punched another dealer in the face.

  “Davay, davay! Come on, my friends!” There was no mistaking the savage joy in her cry.

  Belladonna hesitated. “I’m a DCO now. I’m not supposed to fight!” Nevertheless, she performed an aikido throw on the man who dove at her. “I’m a healer!”

  “Someone has to be hurt before you can heal them,” Red Saviour called back. “Must I do all work myself?” A fist caught her in the jaw. She grinned and wiped blood from her lip, then seized the man’s arm and cast him at a nearby attacker with a club.

  “Look! A weapon. This qualifies for life or death, nyet?”

  “Nyet,” Belladonna said. “Has to be lethal.”

  “Club can be lethal,” the Russian said, pouting. “Vickie! I am needing backup from you. Please to injure someone.”

  Vickie backed away from two advancing thugs, hands up to ward off their attacks. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I…can’t. I can’t! Stay back!”

  “I’ll give you a reason to cry,” her attacker said. “You better bring your game, you gonna mess with us.”

  She stumbled out of the way as the other man lunged at her. His laughter was the harsh laughter of a sadist with a victim in his sights.

  Red Saviour pushed through the mob gathering around her to reach Vickie. “Fight them!” she shouted. A drug dealer grabbed her hair and pulled her back into the arms of his cohorts. A dozen hands clawed at her. She had lost her advantage of mobility.

  “Damn it,” Belladonna said, clenching her fists. The blue girl’s orders crippled her, Red Saviour realized. As a Damage Control Officer—a role that Soviette filled in CCCP—she was to let her teammates do the fighting, and instead concentrate on healing and protecting bystanders. Yet Vickie was as helpless as a bystander, and the rest of Bella’s “team” consisted only of Natalya. If this was law enforcement in America, Red Saviour wanted no part of it. The FSO council of old men were permissive in comparison.

  “She mine,” a cruel voice nearby said, and with a glint of steel gave Red Saviour the opening she needed. A knife glittered in his hand, and his smile promised that he knew how to use it.

  “Knife!” Red Saviour strained to be heard over the chaos. “Is life or death?”

  “Yes!” Belladonna said.

  “Horosho.” Energy had been surging inside her, excited by the danger of the fight. Now she could release it. Her fists glowed once again. Those restraining her jumped back in alarm. So did the knife wielder.

  “Oh man. Take it easy, lady,” he said.

  Red Saviour laughed and unleashed a blast of blue-edged energy. It enveloped the man and hurled him out into the street, a limp lump of flesh.

  “Medic! Please to fix him.” She cast about for the thugs menacing Vickie. Neither they nor the metahuman were anywhere to be found.

  “We have lost Nagy,” she said. “Let us finish quickly.” With a glowing hand, she swatted a man away with a disturbing crunch of breaking bones. “Fix him next.”

  A cluster of dealers had backed away and drawn their guns. Red Saviour launched into the air on a column of energy and hurtled down into their midst. Her fists struck the ground; the resulting explosion of energy sent the remaining criminals sprawling.

  “Oops. More damage to control.” Red Saviour grinned. “Medic on team is being very useful. I do not need to restrain myself.”

  Belladonna cradled the knife fighter’s body. “If you don’t mind leaving these men as cripples.”

  “I will lose no sleep over it.” She sent a blast into the back of a fleeing d
rug dealer. “These svinyas have made their choice. I am the consequence.”

  A wounded drug dealer raised his gun and took aim at Red Saviour’s back. Belladonna spotted him from her vantage point on the ground and hurled a bolt of psychic energy at the man’s mind. His eyes bulged and he collapsed in a quivering heap with a strangled squeak. Red Saviour spun on her heels, fists ready.

  “Got your back,” Belladonna said with a hint of satisfaction.

  “Spasibo. I think we have run out of citizen arrests to make.”

  “Where’s Vickie?”

  “Borzemoi! I had forgotten her.”

  Belladonna flicked on her comm unit. “Come in, Vickie. Where are you?”

  A plaintive voice with a metallic twang came over the tiny speaker. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.” Vickie said. “I’m so sorry…”

  The blue girl frowned. “We need your location.”

  They heard only the sound of sobbing.

  “She’s losing it,” Belladonna said. “She couldn’t have gone far.”

  “She is in that alley.” Red Saviour pointed down the street.

  “How do you know?”

  “I could hear voice resonating on ventilation grill. Enclosed space.” She began to build up energy. “Tend to wounded. I will bring her back.” Blue light illuminated them as she released a burst of energy from her feet and shot into the sky. She arced over the street, towards the alleyway.

  A pair of large mounds of concrete and asphalt guarded the entrance to the alley, making it inaccessible to cars. Victoria Victrix huddled against a dumpster. She had closed off from the world, arms covering her head. Blond hair fell in a curtain over her face. She shook with sobs.

  The two drug dealers who had pursued her were nowhere to be seen.

  Red Saviour cut off her propulsion and let her momentum carry her into the alley. She hit the ground and rolled into a crouch. The American showed all the signs of a full-fledged panic attack; using a blast of energy to land like a rocket would only upset her further. She noted with mild satisfaction the metallic grate over the woman’s head.

  “Sestra.” Red Saviour laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. Victoria pulled away with a gasp. “Victoria, please listen to me. You are being safe. I am here now.”