The Fallen Legacies (3 page)

“Would you stake your life on this untested creation, Dr. Anu?” growls my father.

“Untested?” I start, jerking against my bonds. I immediately regret the note of panic in my voice; it causes the General to grimace. Dr. Anu flashes me a placating smile.

“We never had one of the Garde to experiment on before, so yes, untested.” He shrugs merrily, excited to test this contraption. “But the theory behind it is very strong. Of the trueborns here in Washington, you are closest in age to the girl, which should make the memory download go more smoothly. Your mind will interpret the Garde’s memories as visions rather than through her eyes. I’m sure your father wouldn’t suddenly want his only son in the body of a little girl, hmm?”

My father bristles. Dr. Anu glances over his shoulder. “Just kidding, General. You have a good, strong son here. Very brave.”

At the moment, I don’t feel very brave. I’d watched Number One get struck down—she was barely capable of defending herself in life; she is certainly harmless in death—yet being connected to her, it renews the feeling of unease I felt on the plane ride back from Malaysia. I almost start to volunteer Ivan to be Anu’s guinea pig but clamp my mouth shut just in time.

Ivan enjoyed watching One die; it’s all he’s been able to talk about. For me, even thinking about it makes my hands start to shake again. I steady myself—
stop being such a coward, Adamus
—this is a great honor, something I should be proud of.

I try not to look at the dead girl as Anu reaches above the chair and lowers a metal cylinder down from the ceiling, covered with circuitry that wouldn’t look out of place on the inside of a rocket. The vast majority of the wires connected to Number One connect to the cylinder. Anu pauses before the cylinder is in place over my head and peers down at me.

“You’ll feel a little shock,” he muses. “Maybe go to sleep for a few minutes. When you wake up, you’ll be able to tell us what this one knew about the other Garde.”

I realize Anu’s free hand is on my shoulder. His grip is tight.

A few days ago my biggest worry was dumbing down essay answers enough to pass my work off as Ivan’s. Since then I’ve seen firsthand the Mogadorian warrior I’m expected to grow into, and I’m not sure I’m up for it. Now I’m being ordered to temporarily share a brain with my mortal enemy. I know it’s my father’s will, and that if the machine works it will help our cause and bring honor to my family. Still. I don’t want to admit it, but I’m scared.

Anu lowers the cylinder over my head until it covers my face. He and my father disappear from view.

I hear Anu shuffle across the laboratory. His fingers click across a series of buttons, and the cylinder begins to vibrate.

“Here we go,” announces Anu.

The inside of the cylinder explodes with light—searing white light that burns my eyes, all the way through to the back of my head. I shut my eyes, but somehow the light still penetrates. I feel as if I’m coming apart, the light tearing through me, breaking me into tiny particles. This is what death must feel like.

I think I scream.

And then, everything is darkness.

CHAPTER 5

It’s like I’m falling.

Bursts of color flash across my vision. There are shapes—indistinct faces, blurry scenery—but I can’t make any of it out. It’s like being stuck inside my TV while Kelly plays with the remote. Nothing makes any sense, and I start to get this panicky feeling, like sensory overload. I try to squeeze my eyes shut, but that’s useless; this is all happening inside my mind.

Just when I feel like my brain is about to be fried to a crisp by the bombardment of colors, everything snaps into focus.

Suddenly, I’m standing in a sunlit banquet hall. Light pours into the room via a skylight through which I can see trees unlike any I’ve ever seen before, red and orange flowered vines hanging off tangled branches.

Although I’ve never been there—have only looked down on it from orbit—somehow I know that this is Lorien. And then I realize that I know where I am because Number One knows.

This is one of her memories.

In the center of the room is a large table covered with strange yet delicious-looking foods. Seated all around the table are Loric, all of them wearing fancy dresses and suits. I flinch when I see them—I’m outnumbered and my first instinct is to run, yet I’m pinned to this spot. I couldn’t move if I tried, stuck in this memory.

The Loric are all smiling, singing. They don’t seem at all alarmed that a Mogadorian has just appeared at their party. That’s when I realize they can’t see me. Of course not, I’m just a tourist in Number One’s mind.

And there she is, seated at the head of the table. She’s so young, maybe five or six, her blond hair pulled into two braids that dangle down her back. When the adults finish singing, she claps her hands in excitement, and I realize this is her birthday celebration. We don’t celebrate such foolish occasions on Mogadore, although some great warriors are known to mark the anniversary of their first kill with a feast.

What a useless memory. The General won’t be impressed if all I come back with is intel on Loric birthday parties.

Just like that the world goes blurry again and I’m falling. Time passes in a rush and I’m swept along, feeling sickeningly out of control.

Another memory takes shape.

Number One wanders through an open field, her hands extended so that the tall grasses tickle her outstretched palms. She’s maybe a year older than at the birthday party, still just a child, happily wandering around her undestroyed planet.

Boring.

One bends down and picks some flowers, twining the stalks together, then wrapping the flower chain around her wrist like a bracelet. How much of this am I going to have to sift through?

Maybe if I focus I can get some control of these memories. I need to see the other Garde, not this girly, happy Loric crap. I try to think about what I want to see—the faces of the Garde, their Cêpans—and then the memory in the field flashes away and I am somewhere else.

It’s nighttime, although the darkness is lit by dozens of fires raging nearby. The two Loric moons hang on opposite sides of the horizon. The ground shakes beneath my feet, an explosion nearby.

Number One and eight other children rush across a secluded airstrip, headed for a ship. Their Cêpans hurry them along, shouting orders. Some of the children are crying as their feet slap against the pavement. Number One is not; she stares over her shoulder as a Loric in a sleek bodysuit fires a cone of freezing cobalt energy into the face of a snarling piken. Number One’s eyes widen in admiration and fear.

This is it. The First Great Expansion. Exactly the memory I need to see.

“Run!” the Loric in the bodysuit shouts at the fleeing group of young Garde. His Legacies fully developed and powerful. Still, he’ll die on this night, just like all the others.

I sweep my eyes over the children, trying to take in as many details as I can. There’s a feral-looking boy with long black hair and another blond girl, younger than Number One, being carried by her Cêpan. Number One is older than most of the other kids, a detail that I know will help my father construct profiles of the remaining Garde. I count how many of them are boys and how many are girls, and try to memorize their most distinguishing features.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The voice is clearer than the thunderous sounds of war from the memory, as if it’s being piped right into my brain.

I turn my head and realize Number One is standing right next to me. Not the child Number One of the memory—no, this is Number One as I last saw her: blond hair flowing down her back, shoulders squared defiantly. A ghost. She’s looking right at me, expecting an answer.

She can’t be here; that doesn’t make sense. I wave my hand in front of her face, figuring that this must be some kind of glitch in Anu’s machine. There’s no way she’s really seeing me.

Number One slaps my hand away. I’m surprised that she can touch me, but then I remember that we’re
both
ghosts here.

“Well?” she asks. “Who are you? You don’t belong here.”

“You’re dead,” are the only words I can muster.

One looks down at herself. For a moment, the massive wound on her abdomen flickers into being. Just as quickly, it’s gone.

“Not in here.” She shrugs. “These are my memories. So in here I guess you’re stuck with me.”

I shake my head. “It’s impossible. You can’t be talking to me.”

One squints at me, thinking. “Your name is Adam, right?”

“How do you know that?”

She smirks. “We’re sharing a brain, Mog-boy. Guess that means I know a thing or two about you, too.”

Around us, the fleeing Garde have all boarded their ship, the engines now rumbling to life. I should be scanning the ship for any helpful details, but I’m too distracted by the dead girl sneering at me.

“Your scary-ass pops is going to be so disappointed when you wake up with nothing juicy to tell him.” She grabs me by the elbow, and the feeling is so real that I have to remind myself that this is basically just a dream.

A dream that Number One is suddenly in control of.

“You want my memories?” she asks. “Come on. I’ll give you a guided tour.”

As the scene changes again, I start to understand what’s happened.

I’m trapped in here with my sworn enemy. And she seems to be in charge.

CHAPTER 6

This time the memory shift is different. Before, I was falling through time, falling through memory. Now I feel still, and suddenly I’m standing outside a secluded ranch in Coahuila, Mexico. In this memory, One and her Cêpan are carrying boxes into the house. It’s moving day. This is the first place One and her Cêpan—Hilde, her Cêpan’s name was Hilde—settled after the Garde landed on Earth and parted ways.

Wait—how do I know all this?

It’s strange. In addition to finding myself existing here, observing this particular moment in One’s life, I also have a general sense of her memories of the time. I know the things that she knows and remember what she remembers. The memories are so vivid, it’s like they’re my own.

It’s like I’m her.

Ghost-One appears next to me, watching with me as the younger version of herself and Hilde unpack dishes in the kitchen. It’s creepy to have her here, gives me a feeling like vertigo. I try to ignore her, but she just keeps talking to me.

“We stayed here for a while,” she says, sounding almost wistful. “Then Hilde thought she saw some of your peeps snooping around the city, so we had to leave.”

The Garde move a lot, city to city, country to country, their movements unpredictable. My father will want to know this. It’s completely the opposite of the way we Mogadorians have done it, consolidating our power in bases across the globe. That’s why they’re so difficult to track.

“She was sort of a drag sometimes,” says One, watching her Cêpan. “Probably a lot like your dickbag dad. Except, you know, not eeee-vil.” She rubs her fingers together and cackles an eeee-vil cackle in punctuation.

“Shut up,” I spit, sounding angrier than I even realized I was. “You don’t know him.”

I find myself studying Hilde in spite of myself. She’s in her late fifties, and her face is wrinkled, both with the natural lines of age and the premature weathering of stress. Her gray hair tightly bound in a stern braid. Her eyes have a hardness to them; her voice is steely and measured, even when just telling One—the “real” One—which cupboard the plates belong in. Truth be told, she does remind me of the General.

“I loved her like a mom, though,” says ghost-One, sadness breaking her voice. My mind drifts to the dead old woman we left to rot in Malaysia, and I feel something like guilt but quickly push it away. She’s messing with your head, Adamus.

“I wish you’d stop talking to me,” I tell her.

“Yeah? Well I wish your people hadn’t killed me.”

After Mexico, One and Hilde move to Austin, Texas. I try to push my way out of these memories, to get back to that night on the Loric airstrip where I can actually find out something useful, but One won’t let me. Somehow she’s blocking me.

I may be an uninvited guest in her mind, but it’s still hers. She can’t kick me out entirely, but she does have some control over which rooms I’m allowed to visit.

Most of the time when I try to force my way through her memory, One makes me sit through one of her and Hilde’s training sessions.

“I used to hate these,” One says, grinning. “Hope you feel the same.”

Hilde is a master martial artist, though it’s a fighting style that would never make it into Mogadorian training, where brute force is prized above all else. Hilde’s is a defensive martial art, one that uses an attacker’s own momentum, focusing strikes on nerve centers that will temporarily incapacitate the enemy.

Stuck in these memories, when boredom sets in, I find myself aping Hilde’s movements, practicing alongside young One. I know that none of this is real, that it’s all in my mind. Or One’s mind. I’m not so sure there’s a difference.

My slight frame has never served me well in Mogadorian combat training, much to the disappointment of my father and the amusement of Ivan. But in One’s memories, I never get tired. Even if this training is basically imaginary, it feels good to finally move in a way that suits me.

Besides, I’m supposed to be gathering intelligence. How the Garde fight is essential information.

In the earlier training memories, One is an eager pupil. She practices with Hilde from dawn until sunset, listening rapt as Hilde tells stories of the Loric heroes she’s helped train. Hilde is full of tales of honorable competition, of noble battles fought on Lorien. They’re meant to inspire, to demonstrate to One the Loric spirit of perseverance. Compared to the stories in the Great Book, there is a surprising lack of bloody violence and decimation in them.

“One day,” says Hilde, “you will take your place among them as a great hero to our people. You will be known as the One who protected the Eight.”

I can feel the pride Number One takes in Hilde’s words, but also the doubt. There’s a part of her that wonders how she can possibly stand alone in opposition to the Mogadorians that conquered her entire planet in a single night.