World Divided: Book Two of the Secret World Chronicle Read online

  WORLD DIVIDED

  Book Two of the

  SECRET WORLD CHRONICLE

  Created by Mercedes Lackey & Steve Libbey

  Written by

  MERCEDES LACKEY

  with Cody Martin, Dennis Lee &Veronica Giguere

  Edited by Larry Dixon

  BAEN BOOKS by MERCEDES LACKEY

  BARDIC VOICES

  The Lark and the Wren

  The Robin and the Kestrel

  The Eagle and the Nightingales

  The Free Bards

  Four & Twenty Blackbirds

  Bardic Choices: A Cast of Corbies (with Josepha Sherman)

  The Fire Rose

  The Wizard of Karres (with Eric Flint & Dave Freer)

  Werehunter

  Fiddler Fair

  Brain Ships (with Anne McCaffrey & Margaret Ball)

  The Sword of Knowledge (with C.J. Cherryh, Leslie Fish, & Nancy Asire)

  Bedlam’s Bard (with Ellen Guon)

  Beyond World’s End (with Rosemary Edghill)

  Spirits White as Lightning (with Rosemary Edghill)

  Mad Maudlin (with Rosemary Edghill)

  Music to My Sorrow (with Rosemary Edghill)

  Bedlam’s Edge (ed. with Rosemary Edghill)

  THE SERRATED EDGE

  Chrome Circle (with Larry Dixon)

  The Chrome Borne (with Larry Dixon)

  The Otherworld (with Larry Dixon & Mark Shepherd)

  HISTORICAL FANTASIES WITH ROBERTA GELLIS

  This Scepter’d Isle

  Ill Met by Moonlight

  By Slanderous Tongues

  And Less Than Kind

  HEIRS OF ALEXANDRIA SERIES

  by Mercedes Lackey, Eric Flint & Dave Freer

  The Shadow of the Lion

  This Rough Magic

  Much Fall of Blood

  THE SECRET WORLD CHRONICLE

  Invasion (with Steve Libbey, Cody Martin & Dennis Lee)

  World Divided (with Cody Martin, Dennis Lee & Veronica Giguere)

  To purchase these and all other Baen Book titles

  in e-book format, please go to www.baen.com.

  WORLD DIVIDED: BOOK TWO OF THE SECRET WORLD CHRONICLE

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by Mercedes Lackey, Cody Martin, Dennis Lee, & Veronica Giguere

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  A Baen Books Original

  Baen Publishing Enterprises

  P.O. Box 1403

  Riverdale, NY 10471

  www.baen.com

  ISBN: 978-1-4516-3801-1

  Cover art by Larry Dixon

  First printing, February 2012

  Distributed by Simon & Schuster

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Pages by Joy Freeman (www.pagesbyjoy.com)

  Printed in the United States of America

  DEDICATION

  __________

  To the awesome fans and friends of

  the Secret World Chronicles podcasts.

  We could not do this without you!

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  __________

  First and foremost:

  We owe this story to the devs and designers of City of Heroes/City of Villains/Going Rogue, the MMORPG by NCsoft and Paragon Studios where all these characters first were born. They evolved, grew, and changed from their original concepts, but much of that development took place in the world of Paragon City. If you would like to play in our favorite addiction, go to www.cityofheroes.com and give it a try.

  You might have noticed that I (Mercedes) at least like to use song titles for my stories. This time I’d like to acknowledge the talented writers, singers and musicians and tell you which they are and why.

  “Revelations” Iron Maiden. Seems to suit the confrontation of Seraphym and Verdigris.

  “Running on Empty” Jackson Browne. Mercurye in captivity has a lot to think about.

  “Nowhere Fast” The song I had in mind is the classic Jim Steinman tune from Streets of Fire.

  “Every Breath You Take” Sting and the Police. This is perfect for the introduction of Vickie’s Overwatch program.

  “Watch Over Me” George Gershwin. It applies both to Vickie and to the Seraphym where John Murdock is concerned.

  “Baby I’m an Anarchist!” Against Me! This is the quintessential John Murdock theme song.

  “Cold-Hearted Snake” Paula Abdul. Really sums up Verdigris.

  “Thunder Road” Judas Priest. Mostly because it’s good, visceral fight music.

  “She Blinded Me with Science” Thomas Dolby. I’m not sure why it fits, I’m only sure that it does.

  “Respect the Wind” Eddie and Alex Van Halen, from the Twister original soundtrack. This music absolutely is the Seraphym for me.

  “Bad Moon Rising” Creedence Clearwater Revival. As JM notes, the lyrics do sound as if they have been written for the Invasion.

  “Dark Angel” VnV Nation. The lyrics definitely fit the Seraphym. I have to say that VnV Nation songs have come so close to encapsulating the mood of several of these stories that it is as if we had some sort of psychic link.

  “No Illusions” 78 Saab. Such a cheerful melody for such borderline tragic lyrics. Definitely fits Mel.

  “Sleeping with the Enemy” Rodger Hodgson. Oh Jack, this sure sums up everything in this story for him.

  “Total Eclipse of the Heart” Bonnie Tyler. There are lines in this that fit just about everyone in the story.

  “Precipice” VnV Nation. There is definitely no going back for Jack now.

  “Thunder in Heaven” Ten. More good visceral fight music.

  “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” Green Day. When everything seems lost.

  “Pay It Forward” Thomas Newman, the original soundtrack of the same name. Very emotional.

  “Suffer” VnV Nation. Again, it’s kind of spooky how often VnV Nation manages to write songs that distill the essence of Secret World Chronicle stories. In this case…Vickie and Red.

  “Illusion” VnV Nation. I actually had a dream with the entire sequence of this story playing like one of those wordless movie sequences to this song. That doesn’t happen often and it is amazing when it does.

  “Heroes and Thieves” Vanessa Carlton. A glimpse of hope.

  “Roll the Bones” Rush. John at this point in his life has struck a balance, but believes in nothing but what he can experience for himself.

  INTRODUCTION

  __________

  Victoria Victrix paused for a moment, checked her watch, double-checked her watch against the time on her laptop. Hard to believe she still had almost an hour.

  But there was a lot of story to get through before . . .

  Better get back on it.

  Her fingers flew over the keyboard.

  Still with me, my unknown audience? By this time you’ve read how it all started for us, how the Invasion arrived all over the world concealed in delivery trucks that disgorged horrors right out of a Hollywood science fiction film. How we learned that the enemy was an old one—because he wore the swastika and was led by Nazi metahumans everyone had thought long dead. How we also learned that not all of our enemies were human.

  How Echo, the organization that until
now hadn’t needed to worry about anything more organized than a few gangs of four or five metahuman criminals, suddenly found itself facing an army and losing. And how, eventually, the seeds of real organization against the Society of Ultima Thule came to Atlanta, where in Echo’s ruined headquarters the repercussions were only just starting to shake out.

  And among all those players converging on that southern city, there were a handful that would make a difference. A handful that could save the world. But first—first, we had to save ourselves.

  And there were going to be some we were going to lose. Battles . . . and people. That’s the nature of war.

  For this was—is—a war. Make no mistake about it. Even though the enemy had evaporated into nowhere, anyone who had any brains knew that the Thulians would be back.

  PROLOGUE

  __________

  Dinner Date

  MERCEDES LACKEY AND CODY MARTIN

  The Invasion provided an unparalleled opportunity for anyone who wanted wealth or power to grab both. There were plenty who did. Politicians began to rise or fall based on their “solutions” or lack of them to the “Nazi Menace,” or (more often than not) who or what they chose to point fingers at, agitate about, or scapegoat. It was a free ride for the criminal element. Even—well, especially—the media used the initial Invasion and the subsequent attacks we began to call “pop-ups” as fodder for their nightly barrage of fear-inducing infotainment. Shortsighted? Oh hell yes. But it brought in money, and the world over, “follow the money” will never steer you wrong when you are looking for human motive. It’s human nature to figure that nothing bad will ever happen to you, because you, of course, are so much smarter, faster, better armed than the poor rubes in the Nightly News bodybags.

  But probably the single most self-centered opportunist on the planet was about to take the gloves off and enter the arena. And what was the most dangerous about Dominic Verdigris III was this:

  He actually had the brains to pull off just about anything he wanted to. He just had to be motivated enough.

  When it all came down to it, Dominic Verdigris III, multibillionaire, supergenius and all that and a bag of chips, was a man who liked to enjoy the simpler things in life.

  “I think the shark tank came out beautifully. And ahead of schedule, too!” He folded his arms across his chest, a self-satisfied grin creasing his lips as he glanced at his companion. “Don’t you think, Khanjar?”

  The stunningly beautiful Eurasian woman in the white silk jumpsuit could have been in just about any profession that required amazing good looks. World-class supermodel good looks, almost; save for her being slightly too-well muscled. In fact, she was Verdigris’ personal bodyguard, preferred assassin and lover.

  “Why a shark tank, Dom?” she asked, her cool tone betraying no emotion whatsoever. “Isn’t that a little . . . over the top? Next thing, you’ll want a white angora cat.”

  “Order one, have it shipped to my New York penthouse.” He grinned, the sort of grin that meant he got the joke and didn’t want the cat. “But, my dear, being over the top is the point. People, regular people, like to have everything laid out for them in easy to understand bite-sized chunks. They don’t like to be ordered or forced to believe something is so, but they like to be led to that belief and have it reinforced according to the way they think the world should be. This all plays into the belief that I’m nothing more than a rich, lovable and eccentric scamp. I intend to keep it that way; everything is so much simpler.” He looked back to the shark tank, watching the sleek predators gliding through the water for a moment before turning and walking towards his desk. It was the sort of desk featured in high-end architecture magazines, a long sweep of black plexiglass without even a speck of dust on it, facing the window and the “endless pool” outside. “This lovely villa, for example. I usually prefer something a little simpler, but such extravagant luxury fulfills its purpose. Eccentric billionaire equals brainless twit. But such a nice man.”

  Khanjar followed him, and took a seat on a butterscotch leather chaise lounge. “Speaking of ‘nice man,’ you wanted me to remind you about Save the Seals.”

  He waved his hand. “Oh, of course. Pick a nice round number, six digits, and donate it to them. And at least three other charities or funds that are obscure enough to not be passé, but still do well in opinion polls. I’ve got the schedule set for when each should be done, so that the PR from one cascades nicely into the next.”

  “Not Weasel Welfare, then?” Khanjar deadpanned.

  “Wouldn’t want any of my competitors to get a dime, so no.” He laughed at his own joke. “Anything else that needs attending to?”

  “There’s the meeting and attendant press conference that you’re doing with the families of some of your employees who were killed during the Invasion attacks. Scheduled next week, Friday, in California. Everything is already booked.”

  “Ah, right. I’ll put in the paperwork to start a trust for that one office supervisor who died saving some people, include it in the ceremony.” He frowned. “Why, whenever things go seriously tits-up, are there always Nazis involved?”

  “Speaking of Nazis, what do you want me to do with that Blacksnake assassin we caught in the garden?”

  “Him?” The villa’s automatic traps had gotten the merc before he’d penetrated too far. “Scrub him of identity, kill him, and dump him once you find out where he came from. Don’t bore me with the details unless it’s interesting, and try not to have too much fun. If anyone is going to wear you out, it’s going to be me.”

  Khanjar gave him a little bow, and left the room. Verdigris sighed happily; having someone he could be comfortable with and depend on to make sure things happened his way truly made everything easier and more enjoyable. Still, it was time to work. He settled down at his laptop, calling up several different encrypted emails and communication programs. This was all trivial stuff, no need to wake the desk up for it. Just a few finishing touches were needed for some issues; final orders and payoffs to ensure that a military junta that he was backing would succeed in toppling their country’s corrupt government, more bribes to a slew of officials to ensure that the right people would look away when large shipments of drugs were crossing their routes, and that a reporter who had been causing problems for one of his shell companies would meet an unfortunate end. Typing rapid-fire, he was able to finish everything over the course of five minutes. Some of these plots were the result of careful years of planning and dealing, others mere footnotes for other larger schemes. It’s all in the details.

  A thought occurred to him as he finished. Tapping the touch-surface that activated his voice-recorded notes, he said, “Follow-up; need to order more research concerning potential and heretofore unknown OpFive metahuman or metahumans first encountered during the Invasion. Colloquially called ‘angels’ by mainstream media sources. End note.”

  The desk alerted him to the fact that it had more camera feeds on the “Mountain Incident,” and he spared a moment to watch them. Tesla had bungled that one badly, and he found himself shaking his head over it once again. If there was one thing that Dom knew how to micromanage, it was the perception of his employees. He would never, ever, in a million years, have allowed some petty bureaucrats with an itching outbreak of Not In My Backyard dictate what he did or did not do with any of his employees, even one as problematic as the Mountain.

  Hell, given the Mountain’s case of profound depression, the disaster that had unfolded when the governor of Georgia essentially ordered him deported was something even a moron could have predicted. They were all just lucky it hadn’t been worse, that the Mountain had killed so few and wrecked so little on his final rampage into the sea. He watched all the camera feeds of the behemoth’s walk out into the ocean, correlating them with coordinates and ocean currents from NOAA buoys, adding it all to the mix. Everyone assumed the Mountain was dead—drowned, crushed by the depths—

  Not bloody likely. So far as Dom had been able to judge, the Moun
tain didn’t breathe and only used air to speak. And he was solid rock; how would the pressure at the bottom of the Marianas Trench bother him? Most likely, he was in a depressive coma down there, like some Japanese movie monster.

  Dom aimed to retrieve him. Leaving him down there was a waste of an incredible resource, and given his treatment at the hands of Echo and the US government, it should be no problem whatsoever to recruit him once he was reawakened. Dom already had a staff of six shrinks standing by to turn him into Dom’s most loyal employee ever—barring maybe Khanjar.

  Khanjar strode back into the room just then, stopping in front of his desk.

  “Perfect timing, my dear!”

  “Dinner will be ready in half an hour,” she announced. “Chef Ausanat also asked me to remind you to stop stealing in there to snatch food and ruin your appetite.” Dominic held up his hands in mock innocence. “If you’re finished, then the matter in the upper observation room is ready for you to attend to it. Before it starts bleeding on the carpet.”

  “Right. Let’s not delay then, shall we? The carpet up there is worth more than he is.” Standing up, Khanjar led him up a flight of metal stairs blended into the wall of the room. The glass door opened soundlessly as they approached, closing behind them. The observation room gave a commanding view of the bay below; from this vantage point, Verdigris could see his own personal yacht at port, as well as his sport fishing boat bobbing among the waves. He had loaned it to some of his lower-tier security operatives and engineers for the weekend; they deserved the break. With Verdigris, results counted, and he always made sure to reward those of his people who produced results. Several of the companies he owned openly appeared every year on those “best companies to work for” lists. He rewarded his shadow staff even more generously. The best way to ensure loyalty was to buy it and reward it. If you worked for Dominic Verdigris, and someone tried to bribe you, your best course of action was to report it. You would be rewarded by a bonus of at least twice the size of the bribe, and sometimes a promotion.