The Revenge of Seven Page 9

  ‘Nice,’ Sam replies, looking out at the empty windows of Ashwood Estates. ‘So we just took over a Mogadorian base.’

  Before I can bask in any sense of accomplishment, I notice a dark look on Adam’s face. He’s no longer staring down at his father. Instead, his eyes are turned towards the horizon, like he’s expecting to see something bad headed our way at any moment.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask him.

  ‘There was something else,’ he says slowly, choosing his words carefully. ‘I was only on the communications network for a few moments, but I picked up some chatter. Troop movements. Mass relocations of trueborn to the West Virginia fortress. Deployments of warrior groups to population centers.’

  ‘Whoa, whoa,’ I say, holding up my hands. ‘What does all that mean?’

  ‘Invasion,’ Adam replies. ‘Invasion is imminent.’

  10

  Setrákus Ra has some of his minions stick me in a cold room without any windows. No more polite conversations over nasty dinners, I guess. It’s so small in here that I can stand at the center, stretch out my arms and almost brush the opposing walls with my fingertips. There’s a little dome-shaped protrusion in the middle of the ceiling. I bet it’s a camera. Against one wall is a small metal desk with a chair that looks like it’s designed for maximum discomfort. On the desk is a copy of The Great Book of Mogadorian Progress.

  I’m supposed to sit here and study my grandfather’s masterwork. Read three sections and spend at least twenty minutes in deep contemplation of each.

  No thanks.

  I’m not sure if it’s the same copy I used to hit that Mogadorian lady on my first day here. There are a lot of these books lying around the Anubis. It’s like the only thing the Mogs read. Anyway, they’ve chained this one to the desk to make sure I don’t turn it into a weapon.

  Instead of studying, I lean against the wall farthest from the desk and wait for the Mogs to run out of patience. I try to ignore the itching sensation coming from the Mogadorian charm freshly burned into my ankle. If they’re watching me – and I’m almost certain that they’re always watching me – I don’t want them to see me looking uncomfortable.

  I definitely don’t want them to know how disgusted I am at the idea of being connected to Setrákus Ra. The Mogs hate the Loric, but they fall over themselves to please their ‘Beloved Leader,’ even though he used to be one of us. Based on what he told me at dinner, Setrákus Ra turned himself into some freakish hybrid species made from the powerful Legacies of an Elder and the technological advancements of the Mogs. Or so he says. It’s hard to figure out what’s fact and fiction with him. Whatever he is now – Loric, Mog or something in between – Setrákus Ra has spent centuries making the Mogs view him as a savior. As a god. Where he came from doesn’t matter to them anymore. And even though I get a few sideways looks from some of the soldiers aboard the Anubis, to most of the crew, I’m on Setrákus Ra’s level.

  I’m the granddaughter of a self-proclaimed god. So far, that’s keeping me safe.

  As if being blood relatives wasn’t enough, now we’re bonded by his version of a Loric charm. I remember feeling left out when I discovered all the other Garde were connected in the same way, all of them once protected by the same force. I wanted to be part of that. Now I’ve got two thick and jagged bands of scar tissue around my ankle.

  Be careful what you wish for, Ella.

  I’m zoning out, trying to think up a way to test what the charm does without hurting myself, when a noise starts playing in the room. It sounds almost exactly like a smoke alarm. At first it’s like a ringing in my ears, but seconds later it’s amplified enough that it drowns out my thoughts. I cover my ears, but the sound only gets louder. It’s coming through the walls from every direction at once.

  ‘Turn it off!’ I yell to the Mogs I’m sure are watching me. In response, the volume increases. My head feels like it might split open.

  I stumble away from the wall and the volume immediately lowers from a deafening shriek to a piercing whistle. When I take another step towards the Great Book, the volume drops another fraction. I get the hint. When I finally open up the book, the noise drops to an annoying buzz.

  So that’s how Setrákus Ra intends to ‘educate’ me – by making it so the only peace I can find is literally in the pages of his Mogadorian encyclopedia.

  Maybe I should try to make the most of this. There might be some information I can use against him in Setrákus Ra’s painfully boring book. It can’t hurt to skim a little. There’s no way I’ll ever believe any of the lies on these pages.

  The ringing cuts off entirely when I start to read the first page. Even though I resent it, I can’t help but let out a little sigh of relief.

  There is no greater achievement for a species than the shouldering of one’s own genetic destiny. It is for that reason that the Mogadorian race must be considered the most elevated of all life throughout the universe.

  Ugh. I can’t believe this thing goes on for like five hundred pages, or that it’s become required reading for an entire species. I’m not going to find anything useful in here.

  As soon as my eyes drift away from the page, the heinous buzzing resumes, more intense than before. I grit my teeth and look back at the book, skimming over a couple more sentences until something occurs to me.

  I grab the top of the first thirty pages or so and tear them out of the bindings. The piercing noise in my ears reaches siren level, my eyes watering, but I force myself to go on. I hold up the pages so that whichever Mogadorian is watching can see, and then I tear them down the middle. Then I tear them into fourths, smaller and smaller, until I’ve got two handfuls of Great Book confetti to toss into the air.

  ‘How am I supposed to read it now?’ I shout.

  The wailing goes on for another couple of minutes. It gets to the point where my neck and back start to ache from the way my shoulders are bunched up, like they’re trying to cover my ears. I continue tearing more pages out of the book. I can’t even hear the paper ripping.

  And then, all of a sudden, the noise stops. The bones in my face, my teeth – everything hurts. But I’ve beaten them, and the silence in that tiny, uncomfortable room is the best I’ve ever experienced.

  My reward is a couple of hours of alone time. Not that I can even really tell how much time is passing. I sit on the edge of the uncomfortable chair, rest my head on the desk and try to nap. My thoughts sound louder in my head than they should, and the ringing in my ears won’t let me sleep. That, and the feeling that I’m being watched. When I open my eyes, it feels like the room has actually gotten smaller. I know it’s just my imagination, but I’m starting to freak out a little.

  My ankle is itching like crazy. I pull up the hem of my dark Mogadorian gown – a fresh one, not the one Setrákus Ra burned – and stare at the raw flesh on my leg. I’m failing at my goal of giving nothing away, but I can’t help myself. I reach down and massage my ankle, letting out a deep sigh as I do. I press my palm against the brand and wish that the scar will be gone when I lift my hand. Of course it’s still there, but at least the clammy sweat on my palm actually feels sort of good against the seared flesh.

  Something occurs to me then. What if I use my Aeternus to return to a younger age? Would the skin on my ankle heal?

  I decide to try it. I close my eyes and picture myself as I was two years ago. The feeling of getting smaller is like letting out a held breath. At least this time when I open my eyes the room seems to have gotten bigger.

  I look down at myself. I’ve shrunk down a few inches, made myself skinnier, the muscles I’d started developing over the last few months smoothed away. And yet, the jagged Mogadorian symbol on my leg remains, pink and achy as ever.

  ‘Aeternus. We have that in common.’

  It’s Setrákus Ra. He stands in the now open doorway of my little study room. Still in that infuriatingly plastic human form. He observes me with a casual smile, leaning against the door, his arms folded across his chest. ‘It’s
useless,’ I reply bitterly, covering up my ankle. I close my eyes and ease back into my true age. ‘What I get for being related to you. The dumbest Legacy of all.’

  ‘You won’t feel that way when you’re my age,’ Setrákus says, ignoring my insult. ‘You will be young and beautiful forever, if you wish. It will be an inspiration to your subjects to see their leader radiant and ageless.’

  ‘I don’t have any subjects.’

  ‘Not yet. But soon.’

  I know exactly who Setrákus Ra means for me to lord over, but I refuse to acknowledge it. I regret using my Aeternus. Now he knows something else about me, another way for him to try finding common ground with me, like we’re the same.

  ‘Is the charm bothering you?’ he asks gently.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I reply quickly. ‘It’s like it’s not even there.’

  ‘Hmm. The irritation should pass in a day or so.’ He pauses, his hand on his chin in reflection. ‘I know it hurts now, Ella. But in time you will come to appreciate the lessons you are learning. You will thank me for my benevolence.’

  I frown at him, sure that he’s going to ramble no matter what I say. So I don’t say anything at all.

  I glare up at him. ‘So what? You’re, like, protecting me with this thing? Is that the point?’

  ‘I would see no harm come to you, child,’ Setrákus Ra replies.

  ‘Does this charm work like the one the Garde had?’ I take a step towards him and the doorway. ‘If I run out of here and one of your minions tries to stop me, will anything he does to hurt me be reflected back at him?’

  ‘No. Our charm does not work like that,’ Setrákus Ra answers patiently. ‘And I would stop you, granddaughter. Not one of my minions.’

  I take another step towards him, wondering if he’ll back away. He doesn’t. ‘If I get too close, will the charm break?’

  Setrákus Ra doesn’t move. ‘Just as each charm works differently, so does each one have a unique weakness. If only I’d discovered that bringing the Garde together would have broken the Elders’ craven charm sooner, I would have already obliterated the Garde.’ He touches the three glowing Loric pendants dangling from around his neck. ‘Although, I must admit, I have enjoyed the hunt.’

  I try my best to sound casual and sincere. ‘Shouldn’t I know what that weakness is? I don’t want to accidentally go breaking our connection, Grandfather.’

  Setrákus Ra actually grins at me. I’m beginning to realize that he appreciates it when I’m duplicitous. Then, his eyes drift towards the shredded pages of his book and his grin falters.

  ‘Perhaps soon, when you are ready, when you trust the purity of my motives,’ he replies, then abruptly changes the subject. ‘Tell me, granddaughter, besides the Aeternus, what other Legacies have you developed?’

  ‘Only whatever I used to hurt you at Dulce Base,’ I lie, figuring it’s a good idea to keep my telepathy a secret. I’ve tried using it to reach out to the Garde, but the distance from the Anubis to Earth must be too great. Once we land, I’ll try again. Until then, the less Setrákus Ra knows about me, the better. ‘And I can’t control that one. I don’t even know what it is.’

  ‘I was hardly hurt,’ Setrákus Ra scoffs. ‘Your other Legacies will develop soon, dear. In the meantime, would you like me to show you the extent of your power?’

  ‘Yes,’ I reply, almost surprised at my own eagerness. I tell myself that it’s smart to learn how to use my Legacies, even if my teacher is the biggest monster in the universe.

  In response, Setrákus Ra smiles. Almost like he thinks he’s gotten through to me. He hasn’t, but let him go on thinking that I’m becoming an eager pupil. He waves his hand at the mess I’ve made of his book.

  ‘First, clean this up,’ he commands. ‘I will see you have a chance to practise your Legacies once your betrothed arrives.’

  My what?

  11

  Sunset in the everglades would be pretty if not for the massive Mogadorian warship blotting out the horizon. Whatever alien metal the warship is made from, it reflects nothing, the pink and orange light of the dying day simply absorbed into the hull. The behemoth doesn’t land – there’s not enough cleared space in the swampland for it to set down, unless it wants to crush the smaller Mogadorian ships parked on the narrow runway below. Instead, the warship hovers, metal gangways unfurling from the ship’s underside and connecting to the ground. Mogadorians scurry up and down the ramps, loading equipment into the ship.

  ‘We should wipe them out,’ Marina says matter-of-factly.

  Nine blinks at her. ‘Are you serious? I count at least a hundred Mogs and the biggest goddamn ship I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘So what?’ Marina counters. ‘Don’t you love to fight?’

  ‘Fights I can win, yeah,’ Nine replies.

  ‘And if you can’t win, you just run your mouth, right?’

  ‘Enough,’ I hiss before Nine can say anything more. I don’t know how long Marina’s going to hold this grudge against Nine or what it’ll take to ease the tension, but now is definitely not the time to deal with it. ‘Bickering isn’t getting us anywhere.’

  We’re on our stomachs in the mud, shielded from the busy Mogadorians by overgrown tallgrass, right at the edge of where the swamp begins to encroach on the manmade clearing. There are two buildings in front of us; one is a glass-and-steel one-storey that looks almost like a greenhouse, and the other is an aircraft hangar with a narrow landing strip, perfect for small propeller planes or the saucer-shaped Mogadorian crafts, nowhere near large enough for the warship floating above us. Just like Dale told us before he fled, the whole place looks like it was abandoned until recently. The swamp is beginning to creep back in and crack the asphalt, the metal struts of the greenhouse are rusted over, and the NASA logo has almost completely faded from the side of the hangar. Of course, these conditions don’t appear to have deterred the Mogs from setting up a small base here.

  But now, it looks like they’re packing up.

  ‘Marina, do you sense anything?’ I ask. At this point, we’ve got nothing else to go on except this intuition of hers. It’s gotten us this far – right into a swarming nest of Mogadorians. Might as well let it take us a little further.

  ‘He’s here,’ she says. ‘I don’t know how I know, but he’s here.’

  ‘Then we’re going in,’ I say. ‘But we’re doing it the smart way.’

  I reach out and grab both of their hands, turning the three of us invisible. If a Mogadorian was to look over here now, we’d be nothing more than three strange indentations in the mud. As a group, we stand up, confident that the horde of Mogs won’t be able to see us.

  ‘Marina, you lead the way,’ I whisper.

  As we step out of the swamp, Nine trips over a root and nearly topples over, our chain almost breaking. That would’ve been the shortest covert mission in history. I squeeze his hand hard.

  ‘Sorry,’ he says quietly. ‘It’s just weird not being able to see my legs.’

  ‘That can’t happen again,’ I warn him.

  ‘I’m reconsidering that whole rushing-in-and-killing-them-all thing,’ Nine replies. ‘Being sneaky isn’t exactly my strong suit.’

  Marina makes an annoyed noise, so I squeeze her hand hard, too.

  ‘We need to move as a unit,’ I say through gritted teeth, hoping we can regain some of that instinctual teamwork we managed during the earlier fight with Mog scouts. ‘Take it slow, be quiet and don’t bump into anything.’

  With that, we start slowly forward. I’m not too worried about the noise our footfalls make on the uneven pavement; the Mogadorians are busy loading heavy gear from the greenhouse to the warship, the wheels on their dollies squeaking and grinding. I’m used to moving around while invisible, trusting my instincts, but I know that it can be hard for the others. We approach slowly, grasping on to each other, keeping as quiet as possible.

  Marina takes us towards the greenhouse first. The Mogs are concentrated around that area, wheeling out carts load
ed up with bizarre, mad scientist – looking devices. I watch as one Mog pushes a wheeled shelving unit cluttered with potted plants – flowers, patches of grass, saplings – all of them things found on Earth, and yet all of them veined with a strange gray fluid. They look droopy, on the verge of dying, and I wonder what kind of experiments the Mogs were running on them.

  There’s a tall Mogadorian at the base of the ramp leading to the warship. His uniform is different from the usual warrior garb – those Mogs are at least sort of trying to fit in on Earth, even if they’re dressed like gothic weirdos. This guy is definitely some kind of military officer, his attire formal and severe, all black, covered in shining medals and studded epaulets. The tattoos across his scalp are much more elaborate than any I’ve seen. He holds a computer tablet in his hands, checking items off with a swipe of his finger as the Mogs load them on to the ship. He barks the occasional order at the others in harsh Mogadorian.

  Marina tries to move us closer to the greenhouse, but I tighten my grip and plant my feet. Nine bumps into my back, letting out an annoyed grunt that we’re stopped. The path in front of us is like a Mogadorian obstacle course – they’re everywhere. Any closer and we run the risk of a stray Mog walking right into us. If Eight is in that greenhouse with their experiments and cargo, our only chance to get him would be a full-on assault. I’m not ready to go down that road yet. Sensing my reluctance, Marina’s hand grows a little colder in mine.

  ‘Not yet,’ I hiss at her, my words barely louder than a soft breath. ‘We check the hangar first.’

  We make it about ten more steps before an animal groan stops us in our tracks. From the greenhouse, a team of Mogs wheel out a large cage. Inside is a creature that might have been a cow at one point but has since been transformed into something seriously nasty. The animal’s eyes are wet and jaundiced, painful-looking horns jut out of its skull, and its udder is immensely swollen and covered in the same grayish veins I noticed on the plants. The creature looks lethargic and depressed, barely alive. Whatever experiments the Mogs were running down here are truly disgusting and, like Nine, I’m starting to reconsider Marina’s idea of just wiping out all these bastards, massive warship or no massive warship.