United as One Page 18

  Phiri Dun-Ra. Someone, probably the ship’s captain, has Phiri Dun-Ra on the communicator.

  “What’re they saying?” John asks Adam as we gather ourselves and march towards the bridge.

  Adam strains to listen. Small fires, piles of ash and chunks of rapidly melting ice litter the staircase. We ascend cautiously.

  “The commander, he’s reporting that his ship is under attack. He’s begging for reinforcements. He wants to speak with Beloved Leader,” Adam translates.

  “Are reinforcements coming?” John asks.

  Adam shakes his head. “She’s blaming the commander. Telling him he shouldn’t have left his posting in Chicago. Says this is punishment for his lack of faith, that he’s not worthy of command.”

  I snort. “Give us a little credit, Phiri. Come on.”

  We stride onto the bridge like we own this warship because, frankly, we do. There’s a domed-glass ceiling that sweeps down to the floor, so we can see a wide vista of Niagara Falls. There are a dozen little stations with attached chairs, each of these occupied by a Mogadorian tasked with flying the warship rather than fighting. The commander, dressed in a severe black-and-red uniform that’s covered in more ornaments than anyone else, stands in front of a holographic display that’s currently broadcasting an image of Phiri Dun-Ra’s ugly face. She actually sees us enter the room before any of the other Mogs and, without another word to the commander, cuts off her signal.

  “Guess she didn’t want to chat,” I say.

  Most of the Mogs immediately leap away from their stations and bring blasters to bear on us. I rip the guns out of their hands with my telekinesis, and John impales each of them with a javelin of ice. These are trueborn Mogs, not the endless vatborn, and so they don’t disintegrate quite so quickly as the others. In fact, some of them only melt away partially, leaving behind half-formed corpses.

  The commander, wild-eyed, in a gesture that he must know is futile, draws a sword like the one Adam’s father used to carry around and screams at us.

  “You’ll never take my ship—!”

  Before he can even finish his sentence, a burst of Mogadorian blaster fire takes the commander’s head off. We all spin towards a young Mog holding a blaster, his face a mixture of relief and resignation. John raises his hand to dispatch this last-surviving trueborn with an icicle.

  “No!” Adam shouts, and stomps on the floor.

  A seismic wave causes the entire warship to lurch, and the floor where Adam slammed his foot down crumples like tinfoil. John is actually knocked off his feet, but only for a moment. He uses his flight Legacy to float upright, looking bewildered as he stares at Adam.

  “Don’t—don’t kill him,” Adam says.

  The Mog in question, probably about our age and well built, his dark hair cut short, tosses aside his blaster and falls to his knees in front of us.

  “My name is Rexicus Saturnus,” the Mog says, although I’ve got a feeling Adam already knows this. “And I am at your mercy.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE GUY GOES BY REX FOR SHORT.

  It turns out this is the second time Adam saved his life. The first was after an explosion at Dulce Base. Adam nursed Rex back to health after that, and the two traveled together for a while. Rex eventually helped Adam gain access to the Mogs’ Plum Island facility, which is where they were experimenting on our Chimærae. He even helped Adam escape once the Chimærae were freed. Rex justified this as paying his debt to Adam rather than betraying his fellow Mogs, even though it was both.

  “Do you think we can trust him?” Nine asks me.

  “Adam does,” I reply. “They spent weeks together. Adam nursed him back to health.”

  “Yeah, but . . .” Nine lowers his voice. “Like it or not, he’s one of them.”

  We stand on the bridge of the warship, cleared now of everyone but our people. We’re flying the warship slowly up the Niagara River, looking for a safe place to land so that we can pick up the squadron of Canadian Special Ops. Lexa flew Nine and the others up here once the sky was cleared of straggling Skimmers and the Mogadorian ground troops were eliminated.

  The warship took care of them all without even unloading the full power of its energy cannons. Adam and Rex handled the weapons, working together.

  “He killed his commanding officer,” I tell Nine. “He helped us finish off the Mogs outside the warship.”

  “Desperation,” Nine responds. “Dude would’ve done anything to save his own ass. You know those trueborn ones don’t give a shit about the vatborn. He’d probably blow up a million of them if it meant he could keep breathing.”

  “Maybe.”

  Nine and I stand on the commander’s perch overlooking the various stations down below. From here, we can watch Adam and Rex pilot the ship and talk between them without being overheard. Six and Marina are down below with the two Mogs, looking over the controls and talking with Adam.

  “You don’t think they’re capable of change?” I ask Nine. “Adam changed.”

  “Yeah, but I always thought that was because he banged Number One or something.”

  I give him a tired look.

  “What?” he replies.

  I shake my head. “Anyway, Rex is only one Mog. Even if he wanted to betray us, what do you think he could really do?”

  What I leave unspoken is that I’ve just killed an entire ship’s worth of Mogadorians. One left alive isn’t going to stop what I’ve got planned. As for my question about Mogadorians learning to change, I’m not sure I want to know the answer to that myself. It’s easier if I imagine them as vicious enemies that would never listen to reason, that are incapable of knowing justice or mercy. But the more I get to know Adam and now Rex, the more I see of Mogadorians like that one who died thinking his “god” Setrákus Ra had abandoned him, the more I wonder if they haven’t just been completely brainwashed as a people. Given time, could they change? I’m not going to stop fighting and ask the invaders if they’d like to be rehabilitated. It’s too late for that. But I wonder what will happen once I cut off the head of their twisted society—once I kill Setrákus Ra.

  I intend to find out soon.

  “He doesn’t have any bad intentions.”

  Nine visibly jumps, and my shoulders tighten as Ella creeps up behind us. She smiles a bit, and for a moment I wonder if she’s having some fun with how spooky she’s been lately. Her eyes spark with Loric energy as she scans the two of us.

  “Goddamn, Ella,” Nine says, catching his breath. “Did you read his mind or something?”

  “Yes,” she responds. “He has harbored doubts about the morality of his people ever since he first encountered Adam. He’s been too frightened to act on them until you gave him an opportunity, John.”

  “Well, that’d make me sleep easier if I planned to sleep anywhere on this gross-ass ship,” Nine says, already losing interest. “Maybe we should just have Adam talk all nice to the rest of the Mogs, huh? Go all social worker on ’em.”

  Ignoring Nine, I turn to Ella. “The Loralite stone near the falls that you turned off. Can you reactivate it?”

  “Yes,” she replies.

  “Then let’s go.”

  “Okay, bye,” Nine says, frowning as we exit.

  I lead Ella through the empty halls of the warship. The traces of my battle with the ship’s crew are everywhere: burns, debris, damaged panels. The two of us don’t say anything until we’re almost at the docking bay. Ella finally breaks the silence.

  “You’re mad at me.”

  I run a hand through my hair, find it sticky and matted with sweat. “I . . . no. Yes. I don’t know.”

  “You wish I had warned Sarah. Or warned you.”

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?” I slow my walk down and turn towards her. “In your visions—”

  “I told you; I’m not looking at the future anymore.”

  “When you were, then. Did you see me like this? Did you see what I’d become?”

  “W
hat have you become, John?” Ella asks, tilting her head.

  I bite the inside of my cheek before answering. I remember the looks I was getting from Six and Adam during our attack on the warship.

  “Something my friends are afraid of.”

  Tentatively, Ella reaches out and brushes her fingertips against mine. “They aren’t afraid of you, John. They’re afraid for you.”

  I shake my head. Whatever that means. I’ve already wasted too much time here. There’s still so much to be done.

  Of course, even though I’m doing my best not to show it, I’m feeling tired in a way that I’ve never felt before. It’s beyond exhaustion. It’s like my every atom is splitting apart, like I’ve exploded, except my body doesn’t know it yet. Pushing so much power through me, using so many different Legacies, it takes a toll. I was running on adrenaline by the end of the battle.

  But I’m still standing. That means I’m still fighting.

  We enter the docking bay. Lexa stands next to her ship, the Loric vessel sticking out like a sore thumb among all these Mogadorian Skimmers.

  “Need a ride back down?” Lexa asks, seeming eager to get off the warship.

  “That’s okay. I’ve got it.”

  I pick up Ella around the waist, and we fly through the reopened docking bay blast doors, into the blue sky. My body aches from the exertion, but I’m not wasting even the seconds it would take for Lexa to power up the ship.

  It’s a short journey back towards the falls and dormant Loralite stone. Down below, I catch glimpses of Skimmer wreckage, the result of our turning the Mogs’ own guns against them. I can also see the bulk of our Canadian friends, now securing a perimeter around the Loralite stone.

  “You’re getting good at this,” Ella says as I set us down.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  The nearby soldiers gape at us. Still not used to seeing people flying around, I guess. As we walk towards the Loralite stone, Ella turns to me.

  “You’re going to go after Setrákus Ra soon, right?”

  I nod.

  “You’ll need my Dreynen,” she says.

  “I know.”

  “Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t tried learning it already.”

  I look up at the warship hovering above us. “I needed the other Legacies first. Needed to make sure I had the power to push through Setrákus Ra’s guards and get to him. Dreynen’s only got one use.” Like all the Legacies I’ve observed, I think I can feel the Dreynen lurking inside me. A negativity, a vacuum, a cold absence. In truth, I haven’t wanted to try it out. It feels wrong.

  As if reading my mind, Ella gives me a grim look. “When I was prisoner on the Anubis, Setrákus Ra made me practice on Five. It wasn’t fun.”

  “Practicing on Five. I should’ve thought of that,” I say, only half joking.

  “Setrákus Ra can take away Legacies with a thought. I haven’t gotten to that level yet. I’m still stuck charging objects. Maybe you’ll learn it faster than me. . . .”

  “That’s a stretch,” I say. “I haven’t even tried yet.”

  Ella purses her lips. “Actually, that might be for the best. Make a Dreynen-charged weapon, like Pittacus Lore had. That way, even if he stops your Legacies first, you’ll still have that to fall back on.”

  “Good idea,” I reply, subconsciously touching Five’s blade, which is sheathed and concealed on my forearm. “Thanks.”

  From our left, one of the higher-ranking soldiers timidly approaches holding a satellite phone. I pause to acknowledge him, and Ella wanders on, heading for the Loralite stone.

  “Your CO is on the line,” the soldier says, holding out the phone.

  “I don’t have a CO,” I reply. The soldier only shrugs, like he’s just the messenger.

  I take the phone from him, knowing that it’s going to be Lawson expecting a progress report. Before speaking with him, I watch Ella wrap her arms around the Loralite stone. It goes from dull, ordinary gray to a glowing azure in a matter of seconds. Some of the soldiers watching ooh and ahh. Ella rests her cheek against the stone, letting its restored energy pulse over her.

  “This is John,” I say into the phone.

  “What’s this I hear about you taking over a Mogadorian warship?” Lawson barks into the phone.

  “I figured since I was already up there . . . ,” I reply.

  Lawson sighs into my ear. “Well, I suppose that’s one less of the big bastards we have to take down. On the other hand, probably only pissed off Setrákus Ra even more. Feel like this cease-fire won’t last much longer, you keep taking his ships.”

  “It won’t have to,” I say. “We got what you wanted. You get coordinating with the other armies. Tell them to go to the Loralite locations I showed you, and I’ll have my people deliver the cloaking devices.”

  “I hope it’s enough,” Lawson grumbles tentatively. “Eggheads here haven’t made much progress. Then again, if all we need is you to bring down these warships . . . Hell, you know we’ve got ones hovering over Washington and Los Angeles still, right? Not to mention the big bitch herself in West Virginia.”

  I peer up at the sky while Lawson speaks. Could I do it again? Take on another warship the way I’m feeling? I flex my hands, feeling the burning sensation in my fingers that I haven’t been able to shake. I asked Marina to use her healing Legacy on them, but she said she couldn’t sense anything wrong. The only explanation is that I pushed my powers too far, and this is my body showing it. Just like we can’t heal exhaustion, we can’t heal Legacy burnout.

  How much more fighting can I do before I need a serious rest? A rest. That’s funny. As if there’s time for that with warships still hovering over twenty-odd cities, simply waiting for Setrákus Ra to finish his sick experiments, finish getting stronger, before finally attacking. There’s no time to rest. So the question becomes, how far can I push myself—how much damage can I do—before I finally collapse?

  Guess I’ll find out.

  “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, make sure your people are ready to launch the attack as soon as possible.”

  Before Lawson can respond, I hang up.

  Finished with the Loralite stone, Ella walks back over to me. I toss her the satellite phone, and she catches it with two hands.

  “Tell the others they should coordinate with Lawson on delivering the cloaking devices,” I say. “We’ll meet in West Virginia. Bring the warship. We’ll take down the Anubis and finish off Setrákus Ra.”

  “Um, okay,” Ella says, and raises an eyebrow. “What are you going to do?”

  I gaze in the direction of our stolen warship, still visible on the horizon.

  “I’m going for a repeat performance.”

  Ella’s eyes widen. “Another warship?”

  “I’m just getting warmed up.”

  “Wait, John—”

  Before Ella can try to talk me out of it, I’m back in the air, streaking away from Niagara Falls. This is how it has to be. I need to keep going. No matter how tired I feel, I need to keep fighting.

  The sun is already getting low in the sky. It took the better part of the day to get up here, to take that warship, to organize everyone. Too slow. Pushing myself to fly faster, an odd sensation that’s a bit like diving upwards into a pool, I decide that I’ll head for DC. I’m not a GPS, I don’t know exactly where I’m going but I figure that if I head southeast I’ll start to see landmarks and cities that I recognize and, eventually, my target.

  I tell myself that I’ll be faster this way, more efficient, and that it’s ultimately safer for the others. Even so, I think, I should’ve at least brought Bernie Kosar along. He and Dust watching my back was invaluable, and he would’ve fit right into the pocket of my vest until I needed him.

  Oh, damn it. My vest.

  I look down at myself and cringe. I’m an idiot. I took some major volleys of blaster fire during my assault on that warship. The cloaking device I had strapped to my chest along with the battery pack that provided its jui
ce are both completely fried. I’m flying around with two useless pieces of plastic strapped to my body.

  With a disgusted shake of my head, I unclip the vest and let it fall to the ground below.

  I can’t go back to Niagara Falls. Ella will have definitely told the others by now, and they’ll try to talk me out of going off on my own. Part of me knows this is a crazy idea that wouldn’t stand up to Six and Marina getting in my face. No, can’t go back there.

  I’ll have to make a stop at Patience Creek. I’ve got a better chance of not facing any lectures there.

  Luckily, I’m not too far from Lake Erie, and once I get close it’s not all that hard for me to retrace the flight path that Lexa took earlier today. After only a few swoops in wrong directions—and one stretch where I found myself stuck in a bank of clouds unable to navigate—I see the faux bed-and-breakfast on the lakeshore. Even with the wrong turns, the trip was still quicker than in our ship. And I’ve only just begun pushing this flight Legacy.

  My plan is to fly in through the cavern a few miles south of the complex, shoot through the tunnel and enter directly into the underground garage, where I know the cloaking devices are kept. In and out. Except when I glide by the main cottage, something doesn’t look quite right.

  The sun is just beginning to set, causing the trees to cast long shadows across the grounds. I know for a fact that Lawson had a few soldiers hidden out here, acting as sentries. Maybe the weird lighting is messing with my vision, but I swear I don’t see them.

  I fly lower and notice something else. There’s a black government SUV parked in the gravel driveway right in front of the house. That’s unusual. This place has been kept such a secret because everyone uses the cavern entrance. None of Lawson’s people would be dumb enough to park a blatant government vehicle right in front of this top secret location.

  But then I remember, I loaned one of those cars to someone else. For a personal matter.

  Mark James.

  I come in for a landing a few yards from Patience Creek’s porch. To my left, the tire swing attached to an old maple tree sways gently back and forth. Everything seems quiet and normal, but I’m getting a weird sense that I’m being watched.