United as One (13 page)

“Oh good,” Lexa replies.

With Sam engrossed with the cloaking device, I sit down on the arm of Lexa's chair.

“Hey, I'm sorry if I blew you off before,” I say. “I think you're right. Some of those kids probably aren't ready. They did good today, maybe got a little lucky, but other than Ran and Daniela . . .” I shake my head.

“You see what I mean,” Lexa says. “Granted, I'm no Cêpan, but they need training before they do anything.”

“We can't expect all of them to fight. Not yet,” I agree.
“It seems almost cruel to run up against Setrákus Ra at this point.”

“I always thought that about you Garde,” Lexa replies. “And you had years of training to prepare you, thanks to the protective charm. There's nothing shielding these humans.”

Sam looks up from messing with the cloaking device. “I don't know about the other leveled-up humans, but when we go against Setrákus Ra, there's no way I'm sitting out.”

I decide maybe it's a good time to change the subject. “What're you doing down there anyway?”

He holds up the cloaking device. “I thought, with my Legacy, I don't know—maybe I could
talk
to this thing. My dad and those scientists have been trying to duplicate the frequency. Maybe I can help somehow.”

If Sam's right and he can use his Legacy to crack the Mogadorian cloaking frequency, then he's got exactly the Legacy we need. That can't just be dumb luck, right? It's destiny.

I grin at Sam. “If you can figure that out, Sam, when this is over, I'll make sure they build you a statue.”

Sam smiles back at me and then returns to fiddling with the cloaking device. I glance over my shoulder, back into the cabin, and again consider the humans we picked up.

Sam, Daniela, these others . . .

To me, it feels like we're heading towards a final battle. But it doesn't have to be that way for them. We could
throw everything we've got at Setrákus Ra and still not be assured of victory. Or we could protect some of them, leave them ready to pick up the pieces if we fail.

I sigh. I wonder if this is how the Elders felt before they sent us here.

It's not an easy thing, deciding how much to sacrifice.

I'M ON THE WAY DOWN TO MEET THE GROUP
returning from Niagara Falls when I bump into Agent Walker. It isn't so much that I'm surprised to see her trudging from one of the retro kitchenettes to one of the subterranean conference rooms; it's that I'm surprised to see what she's carrying.

A tray of Styrofoam cups filled with freshly made coffee.

When she spots me, Walker looks away, even though the hallway is empty and we're bound to cross paths. It's the first time I've ever seen Karen Walker embarrassed.

“This is what they've got you doing?” I ask, trying to keep any trace of mockery out of my voice. Old habits are hard to break.

Walker grimaces. “How the mighty have fallen, huh? This is what happens when Lawson and his people
want to discuss something sensitive. I get sent on an errand.”

“I don't understand. Why would they want to exclude you?”

She snorts at that. “I was MogPro, John.”

“You
were
MogPro. You're basically the only reason we were able to stop those people.”

“Once a traitor, always a traitor, is Lawson's thinking,” Walker explains. “I don't blame him for being cautious. Hell, I'd be in a jail cell, or worse, if I hadn't helped track you down in New York. They don't fully trust me, probably never will.”

“I trust you,” I say, though the words ring pretty hollow. “More than the rest of them anyway.”

“Yeah, thanks,” she says, waving this off. “Only reason I'm still around is because Lawson thinks I might be able to handle you. How little does he know. . . .”

I chuckle at that, and Walker finally allows herself a thin smile.

A few minutes later, in the hangar, I recognize the truth of what Walker said when I see the scraggly group Six leads off the ship. Four new Garde, two of them hurt, all of them staring around at the heavy-duty military presence like wide-eyed kids on a nightmarish field trip. They all look like they'd fall over from exhaustion if they weren't so overwhelmed and terrified.

Marina and Nine stand next to me to greet the new arrivals. Six and Ella both look relieved and happy to see Marina up and about. Marina flashes them both a quick smile before rushing forwards, immediately pulling aside Fleur and Bertrand and tending to their injuries. If anyone could put these kids at ease, it would be Marina.

Nine opens his mouth to say something. I'm expecting one of his typical boisterous comments aimed at the skittish new kids. He reins himself in, though, and instead turns to me.

“This what you were expecting when you put out the call for fighters?” Nine asks me quietly.

I shake my head, not sure exactly what I was thinking when I suggested a bunch of untrained humans stand up and defend their planet from a vicious enemy with a track record of destroying entire worlds.

Nine puts his hand on my shoulder. “On our own as ever, bro. Forget the army; forget these kids. We do it ourselves. Like always.”

“They need our protection,” I say to Nine. “And more training than we can give them in twenty-four hours.”

Nine puffs out his chest a bit. “You let me think about their training, Johnny. I'm good at that kinda shit.”

“Come on,” Sam says to the humans, now that Marina is done healing them. “We'll take you inside and show you around. Sorry to say, it's as weird and Big
Brother–y as it looks. But it's safe.”

Nine and I watch as Sam and Daniela lead the four across the underground hangar towards the elevator. That's good. They'll probably find it easier talking to other humans than they would talking to me; Sam and Daniela can be like camp counselors in this bizarre new world they've landed in. I see the four of them stealing looks at me, especially the British kid, Nigel, and I force what I hope is a welcoming smile. He looks away. I wish I had another speech to give, but I don't. I'm just about out of words.

Six walks over to Nine and me, her hands thrust into her pockets.

“How'd it go?” I ask her.

“Well, they took down three Skimmers' worth of Mogs before we got there,” she says. “That's no joke.”

“I'm sensing a ‘but'. . . ,” Nine says.

“They don't seem up for it,” Six concludes. “I mean, maybe if we had a couple of months or even a few weeks to train them. Right now, it's all raw power.”

“What's your problem with raw power?” Nine asks.

“I'm not saying they wouldn't be useful, if you want to look at it that way,” Six says. “It's just that . . . I don't know. I can tell some of them wouldn't make it. I know the Elders were cool with losing a few of us to protect the majority. Not sure I am.”

“Soldiers die; that's how it goes,” Nine says, glancing
over to the elevator. The new kids are just now piling on, and we all get a look at Bertrand's butt, exposed from where he got sprayed with blaster fire. Nine sighs. “But those sure as hell aren't soldiers.”

“I called them all to fight,” I say quietly, looking down at the floor. “I should've told them to focus on surviving. Like we did the first years. Now, instead, I've drawn them into a battle they might not make it back from.”

“I mean, only the ones dumb enough to listen to you in the first place,” Nine adds with a shrug.

“Their best chance of surviving long-term is still finding us and getting training,” Six counters. “What we need to do is make sure those Loralite stones you sent them to are safe and secure.”

At that moment, Ella wanders over to us. She'd been standing at the exit ramp of the ship, staring up at the domed hangar ceiling. “I can help with that,” she says.

“Ella knows where all the stones are,” Six reminds me.

Ella looks up at me. “Can we talk alone, John?”

I'd been planning to corner Ella when she got back anyway. I need her to teach me how to mimic her telepathy—being able to communicate with the others will be integral to everything we've got planned. Yet, for some reason, I get a real sense of foreboding when she asks to speak with me.

“Sure, Ella. Right now?”

“In a little while. I need to prepare something,” she says, then wanders off to the elevator. Mechanics working on the vehicles in the hangar stop what they're doing to stare at the trail of Loric energy that sparks out from her eyes, how it floats through the air like a comet's tail and then dissipates to nothing.

“What was that about?” Nine asks quietly.

I shoot Six a questioning look.

“Your guess is as good as mine, John,” she says. “I think the girl's got a lot on her mind.”

I should've asked Ella exactly where she wanted us to meet. I spend more time than I should wandering the subterranean halls of Patience Creek looking for her. At one point, I pass by the laboratory where Sam and Malcolm are hard at work on reverse engineering the Mogadorian cloaking device. From the hallway, I can hear Sam repeatedly saying, “Broadcast at that frequency,” almost like it's a mantra. Six mentioned that he's developing a Legacy that lets him communicate with machines. So far, it doesn't sound like the cloaking device is willing to listen.

As I walk by, Bernie Kosar trots out from the Goodes' laboratory, where he's been hanging out with the other Chimærae. I pause to reach down and scratch behind his ears.

Want to help me track down Ella?
I ask him, using my animal telepathy.

BK wags his tail and begins leading me down the hallway, back the way I came. He seems excited to have something to do, his little beagle legs pumping, tail straight out behind him. We end up at the elevator, and, once inside, BK hops up on his back legs so he can push the button for the top floor with his snout.

What would I do without you, BK?

The elevator doors open, and right in front of me is a wooden wall. I push against it with two hands, and it easily slides forward, its hinges well-oiled. I step into a retro-looking bedroom, now on the top level of Patience Creek, the aboveground level, the part of the complex that looks exactly like an abandoned bed-and-breakfast because, for all intents and purposes, it really is one. The room I'm in smells musty, the double bed looks like it hasn't been slept in for years and dust motes hang in the air. Through the window—a real window with actual sunlight, not like the simulated ones in the subterranean rooms—I can hear birds chirping away the late afternoon. I push the hinged bookcase back into place so the elevator is concealed.

With all the action and facilities underground, and considering the vehicle entrance is about two miles away via tunnel, no one spends much time up here. I know Lawson's got a few guards posted on the grounds,
just in case, but Patience Creek has survived this long because no one's interested in an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere. Especially not invading aliens.

BK leads me onwards, out of the bedroom and down a wood-paneled hallway, leaving a trail of paw prints on the floorboards. I could find Ella myself now; she left her own trail in the accumulated dust, but I don't mind having BK along.

We find Ella in what was once a lounge area adjacent to Patience Creek's unmanned front desk. I glance to the space over the desk where there's a mounted moose's head. There's a hidden camera in there. I remember that from scanning the security feeds last night. I wonder if anyone is watching me now. I imagine Lawson's got eyes on me and the others near constantly. It's what I would do if the roles were reversed. At least he hasn't been pushy or tried to interfere with anything I'm doing.

The walls in the lounge are lined with bookcases filled with either yellowed volumes from the seventies or smooshed board game boxes. All the furniture is under tarps except for the central dining table, which Ella has uncovered. She's taken a heavy-duty atlas down from one of the bookshelves and is in the process of marking it up with a blue pen when I enter.

“Almost finished,” she says, without looking up at me. She flips to a page dedicated to the western coast of
Africa and begins scratching a thick blue dot onto the southern edge of the continent.

BK sits down next to me, his tail thumping the floor. I tilt my head, trying to get a look at Ella's project.

“You know, we have computers downstairs,” I tell her, feeling a need to break the silence.

“I didn't want to risk putting this information into the system before you had a chance to look at it,” Ella replies matter-of-factly. “And I had to get it down before it fades from my memory.” She flips to the front of the atlas, where a world map is already covered in her little blue dots, then pushes the volume across the table in my direction, her glowing eyes fixed on me. “Done.”

“What is this?”

“A map.”

“I see that.” I stare down at the fifty-odd locations scratched into the world map, then page through to find the same dots reproduced on more-detailed maps right down to the longitude and latitude.

“Six probably told you, I tapped into the Loralite stone at Niagara Falls. I could see them all. The stones, the new growths. It was beautiful, John. Like roots growing through the entire world. I can do that because of my melding with Legacy. It isn't going to last, though. I'm beginning to feel my connection slipping away, my brain going back to normal. I'll miss it but I won't, you know? It makes me feel connected to
the world but distant from people. Anyway, I'm rambling. Sorry.”

I shake my head at Ella's burst of conversation, still paging through the atlas. “These are all active? A Garde could use any of these to teleport?”

“Yeah. You should give this to Mr. Government. He needs to get these sites secured. New Garde could be teleporting themselves into danger.” Ella pauses, still studying me. “Unless you've got a better idea.”

I frown at the idea of turning this information over to Lawson. Still, what other choice do I have? I can't keep all the Garde safe on my own. I need to come to terms with that. I need to accept help, even if it's coming from people I don't really trust.

I close the atlas and put my hand on the front cover.
World Atlas 1986.
I trace my fingers over the embossed drawing of the earth.

“We really changed this place, didn't we?”

“That's our legacy,” Ella replies. “It won't be a bad thing, if we can save it.”

“Is that a prophecy?” I ask. “Did you see the future?”

Ella looks away from me. “No. I'm making it a point to stop doing that.”

My immediate reaction is to think about all the strategic value we'd lose if Ella was to ignore her visions of the future. I lean forward, putting both my hands on the table in between us.

“Why would you do that?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral.

“Sometimes I don't have a choice; a vision just comes to me,” Ella explains, choosing her words carefully. “Those are hard enough to deal with. But when I go looking for something, with all the variables, all the possible futures . . . it just complicates matters. Knowing a thing will happen, it inevitably changes the way we act, which changes the possibilities, which changes the future, which means there was no point looking ahead in the first place. Or, even worse, sometimes you know what's coming and are still powerless to make a change. Never know which of those scenarios you're stuck in until it's too late.”

I think back to a conversation Ella and I had in her mind space. I asked her if she'd seen a version of the future where we come out victorious against the Mogs. She told me that she had, but that I wouldn't like the cost. I assumed that she meant I would die in the battle—I wasn't entirely comfortable with that idea at the time, but I've been warming up to it these last few hours.

Now, I'm not so sure that's what she meant at all.

“Ella, did you know what would happen in Mexico? Did you know what would happen to Sarah?”

“Yes,” she replies.