United as One (20 page)

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.

I see Mark right away. He stands in the doorway to
Patience Creek, his back to me. Last time I saw him, he was a mess and punched me in the face. Now he's stiff, his head cocked in a strange way.

“Mark,” I say cautiously. “You're back.”

He turns to me, his motions all herky-jerky. I see it immediately—how pale his skin is, the dark-black veins that make a spiderweb across his cheek. Mark's eyes are wide. He's crying, but other than that his face is completely devoid of emotion. I note that his fingers are clenched into claws, like he's paralyzed.

“I'm—I'm sorry, John,” he manages to stammer out.

“Mark—”

“They muh—muh—made me.”

I almost manage to spin around in time. Three tendrils of black ooze lance towards me, the tip of each one sharpened like a drill bit. One pierces the back of my shoulder, the other shoots through my hip and the third penetrates my armpit as I raise my hand to defend myself. It's like being stabbed by something living, something that burrows. I feel the tendrils digging deeper into me. My healing Legacy kicks in, tries to fight them off. When it does, an acidic burning washes over my every nerve ending. I scream and fall to my knees.

“We did make him,” says a cheery female voice. “But we didn't have to try very hard.”

I recognize her from the Mog communicator and
from the others' stories. The trueborn standing over me is Phiri Dun-Ra.

I twist around in the grass to get a look at her. Phiri Dun-Ra's entire left arm is missing, replaced by a writhing mass of Setrákus Ra's black ooze, thick and oily, shaped like a dead tree. The three tendrils spearing me, they emanate right from her. I try to pry them out of my body with my bare hands, but the ooze hardens at my touch, becomes razor sharp, and I only succeed in cutting my palms.

I try to shove her away with my telekinesis. It doesn't work.

Nothing works.

As I struggle, I see sparks of Loric energy pulsing out of me, traveling up my connection to Phiri Dun-Ra and guttering out inside her arm. Her eyes roll back in her head for a moment. Then she holds out her normal arm, palm up.

Phiri Dun-Ra's hand glows. A ball of fire rises up from her palm, the flames tinged with purple.

“Oh, this is nice, John Smith,” she says. “I could get used to it.”

More Mogs begin to emerge from the trees around Patience Creek. I don't know how I missed them, there's so many. But then I see one step out of a shadow—literally step out from where there was nothing before—and I realize that they're teleporting in somehow.

Setrákus Ra has succeeded. Some of these Mogs, like Phiri Dun-Ra, have Legacies. No—I won't call them that. They're sick.

What word did Setrákus Ra use? “Augmentations.” That's what these twisted powers are.

An older trueborn, bald and impossibly thin, comes to stand next to Phiri Dun-Ra. His eyes are completely glazed black. He ignores me, staring instead at Mark. The Thin Mog curls a finger in Mark's direction, and I'm vaguely aware of a sound like locusts moving through leaves.

The ooze under Mark's skin moves, and he's forced into motion. He stumbles down the steps of Patience Creek, his hands pulling out something from inside his coat, each movement looking painfully forced.

“We heard stories about these Inheritances you Loric received from your dead parents or whoever,” Phiri Dun-Ra says conversationally, smiling. “Little keepsakes from your dead planet. Here's a secret, John. . . . Beloved Leader kept some things too. Mementos. Trophies to help him remember his first great conquest.”

Mark holds in his hands something that looks like a rope, except it's deep purple in color and glistening. Something not found on this world.

I recognize it. Of course I recognize it. From a vision of the past.

It's the noose Pittacus Lore once tied around Setrákus
Ra's neck. The one that gave him his scar. I remember from Ella's vision that the material is called Voron, that it only grew on Lorien and that my Legacy won't heal its wounds.

Mark kneels down and loops the noose over my head.

Phiri Dun-Ra grins at me. “Beloved Leader thought you would enjoy the irony.”

“HE DID
WHAT
?” MARINA EXCLAIMS.

Ella shrugs her shoulders and looks down at her feet. “He . . .”

“She heard you,” I tell Ella, my lips pursed. “She just can't believe John would do something so completely stupid.”

Next to me, Nine winds up and kicks a big tuft of dirt out of the ground. “What the hell, Six? Are we like sidekicks now or something? This is bullshit.”

The four of us stand in a clearing about a mile upriver from Niagara Falls. Our stolen warship is parked a few hundred yards away, dwarfing the sparse trees nearby, its tank-sized exit ramp extended. I keep catching glimpses of the monstrous ship out of the corner of my eye, and every time, I have to resist the urge to run for cover. Hard to believe that's ours now.

Marina runs two hands through her hair. “I talked to
him about this, about controlling his anger. . . .”

Nine chuckles. “Was that before or after you tried to stab Five in the face with an icicle?
Again?
”

“After, actually,” Marina replies stiffly. “I thought he was managing his grief, at least. But flying off alone to do battle with another warship. My God, Six, it's suicide.”

“I don't know,” I reply. “You didn't see him up there. He was pretty much unstoppable.”

“He's not thinking,” Marina says, shaking her head emphatically.

“Part of him truly believes he can do this himself,” Ella puts in. “And another part of him doesn't want to see anyone else get hurt. He's convinced it will be better for everyone if he does this alone.”

We all fall silent for a moment, considering Ella's words. It's pretty obvious to me at least that she plucked those feelings right out of John's brain. No way did he confide that in her.

“Aw, hell with that nobility shit,” Nine says. “This is our war too. I'm going to beat his ass when he comes back.”

“You realize what he's left us with is a pretty big deal, too, right?” I ask, looking around at the others. I don't want to spend any more time talking about John. “Delivering these cloaking devices is going to save a lot of lives potentially. It's the key to humanity being able to win the war.”

Nine scoffs and walks away. Marina sighs and folds her arms across her chest, half turning to gaze out over the
river. Ella just stands there, still holding on to the satellite phone that John gave her. I glance down at my own phone, the one that Sam gave me that's hopefully emulating the cloaking device's frequency.

Seventeen percent battery life. When that runs out, according to Sam, this crappy old cell phone will forget the instructions he gave it. We better hurry up with this test.

No sooner do I start to worry that we're running out of time than I hear the rumble of an engine. A jeep drives into view, bouncing over the rough terrain of the clearing, Lexa at the wheel.

Lexa pulls up in front of me and gets out, the engine idling.

“Good timing,” I tell her.

“The Canadians said they'd prefer if we didn't crash it,” Lexa says with a shrug. “They were real polite about it.”

“All goes well, their car will be just fine,” I reply.

I notice Adam appear at the top of the warship's ramp. Rex stands behind him—more like hides behind him—looking as timid as a mouse. I take a few steps towards the warship and wave to them. Meanwhile, Nine jogs over to my side.

“Is it ready?” I yell, cupping my hands around my mouth.

“Yeah!” Adam shouts back. “The force field is fully functional!”

I squint at the warship. I can't actually see the force
field from this distance. Like before, when we were flying towards it, you can't really see the dull blue energy until you're nearly right on top of it. I edge closer to the ship. Nine puts a protective hand on my upper arm.

“The hell are you doing?” he asks.

I glance down at his hand. “Same question.”

“You don't want to get too close to that shit,” Nine says. “I had to nurse Johnny back to health after he took a header into one of those force fields.”

“I know what I'm doing,” I reply, and shrug Nine off.

I edge as close to the warship as I dare, right up until the force field becomes visible. Then, using my heel, I dig out a line in the grass.

“That's our target,” I say as I jog back to the others. “We push the jeep past that with Sam's cloaking device attached, we know it works.”

“Why bother with the car? Why not just float Sam's device through the field with our telekinesis?” Marina asks.

“We know the Mogs' cloaking devices cover an entire vehicle,” Lexa says. “We don't know that Sam's has the same range.”

“Assuming it works at all,” Nine adds.

I take the flip phone and set it on the jeep's dashboard. Then I back up and look around.

“That's all you need to do?” Marina asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I guess,” I reply. “Sam said it's just constantly sending out the cloaking frequency or the data packet or whatever the hell.”

“Data packet.” Nine groans. “This is boring. You know, I'm actually hoping the jeep blows up so we can see some action.”

“Real nice, Nine,” Marina says.

I wave him off. “Ready to push this thing?”

Lexa puts her hands on the back of the jeep, which continues to idle in neutral. “Ready,” she says.

We all stare at her. Finally, Nine laughs.

“Aw, lady, we don't push like that,” he says.

Lexa stands back and the four of us—me, Nine, Marina and Ella—all concentrate on the jeep. We shove it forward with our telekinesis. It kicks up dirt and grass, the wheels spinning, moving fast.

“Easy,” I warn the others. “We don't want it to explode if it hits the force field.”

“A real vote of confidence for your boyfriend's work,” Nine mutters.

I frown. It's going to work and—even if it doesn't—at least Sam is trying, not just complaining about not getting to kill things like Nine is. I open my mouth to respond sharply, but Marina gets there first.

“Do you think it is just coincidence, Nine, that one of our closest allies should manifest exactly the Legacy we need to fight off the Mogadorian invasion?” Marina shakes
her head passionately. “It is the will of Lorien itself that we received this gift.”

With that I feel Marina increase her telekinetic push on the jeep, speeding it along at a breakneck pace towards the force field. Nine shuts up and watches with the rest of us. Hidden from the others, I cross my fingers.

The jeep crosses the line I made in the dirt.

Its front end heaves upwards like it just hit a tremendous bump. The windshield and all its windows shatter inwards. There's a resounding magnetic hum from the force field that I can feel in my teeth.

But it goes through. Mostly intact.

Marina and Ella let out simultaneous cries of triumph. I turn to Nine and grin. He shrugs at me. “Props to Sam,” he says.

Adam runs down the warship ramp to examine the jeep. From the other side of the still-active force field, he yells to us, “It was a little rough, but it worked!”

Adam reaches into the jeep and pulls the cell phone off the dashboard. He tries to hold it between two fingers but ends up dropping it—even from here, I can tell that the thing is smoldering. A wisp of smoke rises up from where the phone burns the grass.

“I think it's a one-time deal, though,” Adam concludes.

“Better than nothing,” Nine says.

Excited, I take the satellite phone from Ella and dial the number for Sam's phone.

“Sam!” I exclaim as soon as I hear his voice.

“Hey!” he responds, sounding relieved. “We just heard. Did you guys really steal a whole warship?”

“Never mind that,” I reply. “But yes. Listen—your thing, the cell phone, it worked! It blew up right after and maybe wasn't the gentlest ride through the force field, but it
worked
.”

I hear a muffled cheer from Sam. He's probably covering the receiver with his hand. “It worked! My Legacy worked!” I hear him yell to whoever else is in the room with him. There's an immediate clamor of voices.

“This is amazing,” Sam says, speaking to me now. “I've made more since this morning, just in case it paid off. The other guys here think, now that we've got Earth-made technology aping the frequency, maybe it'll be easier to replicate. You know, without using a superpower.”

“You're a hero, Sam,” I say with a grin. Next to me, Nine rolls his eyes, but he's smiling too. “We're going to start delivering cloaking devices soon. Get your stuff ready so we can pass it out.”

“I will,” he replies. “I—”

A loud bang on his end of the phone cuts Sam off. In the background, I hear Malcolm say, “What on Earth was that?”

“Sam?” I ask, my brow knitting with concern.

“Hey, sorry,” he says. “Something just exploded. Probably the new kids training.”

Before I can respond, I hear an unmistakable popping sound from Sam's side. The noise sounds like fireworks going off in the distance, but I learned long ago what that sound really signifies.

That's gunfire.

And it isn't letting up.

Now, the voices around Sam are hushed. Everyone's listening. My grip tightens on the phone. I feel a clenching in the pit of my stomach.

“Sam, talk to me.”

Hearing the strain in my voice, the others around me stop what they're doing and draw closer. The smiles from our successful experiment with the warship all slowly fade.

“Six . . .” Sam's voice is pitched just above a whisper. “Six, I think we're under attack.”