United as One (25 page)

Ella looks up at him. “I'll help you, Sam. Don't worry.”

Nine raises his hand. “If we do picture an actual lion's head . . .”

“No,” Ella finishes his thought. “You will not teleport onto a lion.”

I allow myself a brittle smile. They're joking around; in the face of everything that's happened, they can still do that.

“Let's get this done,” John says briskly.

We break up into teams of two to make the deliveries.
Nine and Marina. Me and Sam. Since no one wants to pair up with Five and no one wants to be left behind with him, John agrees to go with him. The rest of our group stays behind. Adam and Rex take Malcolm onto the warship to show him some of the controls, hoping that he can help pilot the massive thing when our attack on West Virginia comes.

“Ready?” Sam asks.

“Ready,” I reply, and, holding hands, the backpack of cloaking devices slung over Sam's shoulder, we touch the Loralite stone and focus on a mental image that Ella telepathically sends to us.

A warm glow of energy washes over us, and a second later we're both shielding our eyes. It's early morning in South Africa, and we're standing on the summit of Lion's Head mountain. There are man-made cobbles set up here that intersect with manicured gardens—a place for tourists to take pictures. The Loralite stone juts up from right beneath them, cracking the cobbles and displacing the plants. The view here is breathtaking and dizzying. We're level with the clouds. If I turn to my left, I see crystal-blue ocean, the sun streaking golden across the waves. If I turn to my right, I see the crowded white buildings of Cape Town.

The scene would be peaceful if not for the helicopter idling just a few yards away. Its rotors make a steady
whup-whup-whup
, trampling over the quiet morning. There's
a group of camouflaged soldiers standing watch nearby. When we appear from thin air, a few of them jump, and a couple point their assault rifles in our direction. Most of them are completely unperturbed. I guess you get used to crazy things happening during an alien invasion.

Two of the soldiers jog over to us and grab the backpack from Sam. They don't say anything to us, and we don't say anything to them. Soon they've all piled into the helicopter and are off to bring down the nearest warship. Johannesburg, I think.

“I mean, a thank-you would've been nice,” Sam complains.

I shrug it off and turn to take in the view. It's beautiful enough to make me forget, for all of five seconds, just what we're doing here and the daunting odds we're up against.

“You know, I've always wanted to see the world,” I say.

“You mean in a context when you're not running for your life or fighting an alien warlord.”

“Yeah,” I say with a sly smile. “I believe you earthlings refer to them as vacations.”

Sam sidles up next to me, and together we gaze out at the ocean.

“Maybe when . . .” He starts to say something, then trails off.

I look over at him. “Maybe when . . . ?”

Sam's eyes search for his sneakers. “I was going to say that maybe when this is over we could take one of those
vacations. I shouldn't talk like that. Making plans. I mean, with everything that's happened. Eight, Sarah, Mark . . .” Sam shakes his head. “I still can't believe it, you know? Can't even wrap my head around it. These people I grew up with, that I've known my entire life. Jeez, the entire world. It's all turned upside down. We're probably going to die in a few hours. And I'm thinking about vacations. It feels wrong.”

I run my hand up the back of Sam's neck, tangle my fingers in his hair and give it a yank. “Nobody's dying, Sam.”

“Ow. Everybody's dying, Six. I mean . . . like, everywhere.”

“We're going to make it,” I say, pulling his face close. “And if you think you're about to die, Sam, I want you to remember this moment. Remember that we're fighting for this, for the future. Our future.”

Sam breathes in deeply. “Okay. Okay, you're right.” He glances over his shoulder at the glowing Loralite stone waiting to take us back to Niagara Falls and then on to our next delivery. “We should get going.”

I tilt my head back and take a deep breath of air—crisp and cool at this height, with just a little tang of ocean.

“One minute,” I say, interlocking my fingers with his. “One minute to look at the world.”

And so we stand there for one minute. Take it all in.

We do the same thing when we teleport into the rolling
sands of the Sahara, the air dry and blistering, the outcropping of Loralite like a glowing oasis.

And again when we reach Mount Zao in Japan, the Loralite stone there next to a volcanic crater lake that glows brighter than even the stone. Snow blows across our faces, and we actually laugh. The Japanese soldiers pick up the equipment and look at us like we must be crazy, like we're wasting time.

We can spare a few minutes.

We stop in Portugal. We stop in the Australian outback. One extra minute spent in each place, one minute that serves no purpose other than to see. A five-minute vacation.

Soon enough it's over. The deliveries are done. We're back in Niagara Falls, it's the middle of the night and we've only got one final destination. West Virginia.

Sam and I share one last smile and then we take our positions. We get ready to do what needs to be done.

By dawn, one way or another, all this will be over.

OUR WARSHIP SOARS TOWARDS WEST VIRGINIA.
The night slides by through the vast windows of the Mogadorian bridge. Stars wink overhead while down below, streetlights and houses are lit up, this part of the northeastern United States as yet untouched by the invasion. I wonder if anyone down there happens to look up and see our massive, scarab-shaped vessel. Or are we just another dark cloud passing across the night sky?

I light up my Lumen. It feels good to have my Legacies back in full after what Phiri Dun-Ra did to me. It's like my eyes are able to see color again. I still feel the dull ache of overuse inside me, like a thread that's slowly fraying in my chest, not to mention the burning sensation in my hands that won't go away. I ignore all that just like I ignore the sharper pain of the wound on my neck, still raw from Marina's mostly unpracticed stitches.

I hold my hand out like a blade and make a small, concentrated fire jet out from my fingers. Push the temperature, get it white-hot, a blowtorch of my own making. Then I set to work.

I'm alone on the observation deck, a small balcony designed to be comfortable by Mogadorian standards, positioned over the bridge. Down below, most of the others are at work preparing for our attack. We've got our course set, and, luckily, maintaining altitude and flying in a straight line are things Rex can do on his own. Lexa watches over his shoulder, trying to pick up a few things in case she needs to help pilot later.

There are four weapons stations, one for each quadrant of the warship, and each features an array of buttons that command different guns along with holographic video feeds for aiming. There's also a fifth station that operates the ship's main energy cannon, a smaller version of the one on the
Anubis
that is capable of quickly erasing entire city blocks. According to Adam, there are supposed to be teams of engineers belowdecks to deal with loading power cells and making sure the weapons don't overheat.

I killed them all, so we're just going to have to hope nothing explodes or runs out of batteries.

Malcolm sits at one of the weapons stations, getting a crash course in how to operate the guns from Five. Surprisingly, Five is pretty patient with him. I
remember back in Chicago when they both first joined us, Sam's dad was pretty decent to Five. He's been good to all of us, really. I direct my hearing in their direction as Five's explanation winds down.

“Do you mind if I ask how you know all this?” Malcolm asks Five.

Five runs a hand over the bristles of hair on his scalp. “I was supposed to command one of these,” he says simply. “At least, that's what he told me.”

“I see,” Malcolm says. There's an awkward silence. “Could you show me again how to deploy the chaff?”

“Sure.”

Behind Malcolm and Five, Sam and Adam stand at the commander's station. Adam is drilling Sam on different functions of the warship. He outlines which consoles control the shields, engines and life support. He gives Sam an idea of which systems are absolutely necessary and which we could lose in a pinch. The hope is that Sam will be able to use his Legacy to communicate with the warship, verbally giving the ship commands to replace the roles of the dozens of crew members we simply don't have. Six sits nearby, watching them with a bemused smile. I listen in.

“You know,” Six says, “the last time he communicated with a ship, he almost crashed it.”

“Hey,” Sam replies. “That's not fair.”

Adam frowns at Sam. “Maybe I should be writing some of this down.”

We know the
Anubis
waits for us in West Virginia. The flagship of the Mogadorian fleet stands between us and Setrákus Ra. We need to take it down with an untrained skeleton crew. Both warships are shielded, but the
Anubis
has bigger guns. According to Adam, our shields will degrade faster than the Mogs.

Good thing we're packing more than just their weapons.

I look away from the others at the sound of sizzling in my hands. My white-hot Lumen torch is starting to work.

I hold in my hands the Voron noose that once scarred Setrákus Ra and now has scarred me. On closer inspection since it's not tied around my throat, the noose's material looks like a vine you'd find hanging in a jungle, except it has the texture of hardened plastic. Each edge is razor sharp, and as I melt it down, I'm careful not to cut my fingers. The material, found only on Lorien, glows a deep purple as I heat it up and begins to take on a consistency like candle wax. I don't let the melting material drip to the floor. Instead, I catch it with my telekinesis and begin to reshape it.

When I'm done, I've turned the noose into something more like a dagger. It's about the length of my forearm, with a makeshift handle where I allowed the Voron to bell outward into a guard. The blade itself is diamond shaped, with four edges and a wicked point at the end. I turn it over in my hand, test the weight
and slash it back and forth.

This is what I'll use if they manage to take my Legacies away again. I'll put this right through Setrákus Ra's heart.

“Badass,” Nine says from the entranceway.

I was so focused, I didn't even hear Nine approach. He grins at me, eyeing the blade. I float it over to him with my telekinesis, and he plucks it out of the air, taking a few overhand swings with it.

“Not bad,” he concludes, floating it back to me. “I miss my staff, man. Can't believe that shit got broken.”

“Yeah, I miss my shield,” I reply, tilting my head in Nine's direction. “So, what's up?”

“Eh . . .” Nine comes farther into the room and leans against the railing at the edge of the deck. He lowers his voice. “I, uh . . . I wanted to say sorry for that time I beat you up in Chicago.”

I actually snort from surprise at that. “Nine, what?”

“And also in New York when I blew our stealth approach by clapping my hands with those stupid thunder gloves. Sorry about that too.”

“Okay,” I say, holding up my hands. “What are you doing?”

“Pretty much any time that I said something that pissed you off or almost got you killed. I'm sorry for all that.”

“Okay, look, if you're going through all this because
you think we might die down there, it's not necessary.”

“Oh, there's no might for me,” Nine says, locking eyes with me. “I'm definitely living through this shit. You, on the other hand, you've got this whole fly-off-on-your-own-don't-need-friends thing going, like you're just gonna rage until you burn out. Like you don't care what happens to you.” I start to protest, but Nine holds up a hand. “No, it's cool. The rest of them might not get it, but I do. Leave it all on the field. You do what you need to do, man. But I don't want you dying while I've still got all this shit on my conscience.”

“Okay, Nine,” I reply, shaking my head. “You're forgiven.”

“And also,” he continues, “you should know that I'd prefer it if you made it out of this alive with me. You're my brother. And, uh . . . that would be ideal.”

Before I can stop him, Nine has me wrapped up in a bear hug. It doesn't last long, and it ends with him pounding on my back hard enough that I cough.

“You've always been the best sidekick a guy could ask for,” he says.

“Eat shit, Nine,” I reply.

He grins at me. “See you out there, Johnny.”

Nine leaves me alone on the observation deck. I hook the Voron dagger through one of my belt loops. We're closing in on West Virginia now. I should make my way down and get ready. Instead, I linger up here, thinking
about what he said. Is he right? Do I not want to make it through this? I try to imagine an after—a world where we've defeated Setrákus Ra and I'm still alive. Used to be daydreams like that were what I lived for.

Now, I can't picture it.

There's no fear in me. Fear, I guess, is rooted entirely in anticipation. Worrying that things won't turn out the way you've planned, that something will hurt; dreading the sorrow to come—all that goes away when you simply accept finality.

It isn't so bad, knowing there's no future. It's freeing.

On my way down from the observation deck, I bump into Marina. She stands on the stairs, arms crossed, looking out over our friends as they acquaint themselves with the warship. I know exactly where she's staring.

Five. His shoulders are hunched as he sits at one of the weapons consoles, running a diagnostic while Sam and Malcolm look on. He must feel her glaring at him, but he chooses to endure it rather than acknowledge it. When I get close, I notice that the air around Marina is a little cooler.

Marina looks over at me, and her lips quirk downward in a frown.

“I already know what you're going to say,” I tell her. “We can't trust him. He's dangerous. All of which I agree with.”

“And I already know what you are going to say to me,” she replies, mimicking my tone. “He is a necessary evil. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Tell me I don't use that many clichés.” She frowns at me. I rub my hands together to warm them up. “He saved lives at Patience Creek, Marina. He saved my life.”

“Yes, I heard about his . . . performance,” she replies, a note of distaste in her voice. “Sam told me how he relished what he was doing, how he could've simply killed Phiri Dun-Ra but instead repeatedly chopped at her arm. If we let ourselves become that ruthless and that brutal, do we really win?”

I think about how many Mogs I killed during my attack on this warship. And then I remember how Five looked at me when I first spoke to him at Patience Creek. How he told me I was like him now.

A shadow must pass over my face, because Marina squeezes my arm.

“I'm sorry. I don't mean to lecture,” she says. “I just want us to remember, where Five is concerned, killing a common enemy does not make him an ally. Using him as a weapon does not mean he's willingly saving lives.”

“Usually, I'd agree with you. But not tonight.”

Marina nods slowly, resigned to the fact she'll be
fighting alongside Five. “And what about after, John? Will he pay for what he did?”

There's that word again. “After.” I look away from Marina.

“After will be up to you,” I tell her.

She starts to ask me another question, but I'm already hustling the rest of the way down the steps. Adam catches my eye as I stride onto the bridge.

“We're almost there,” he says. “I don't want to get us too close, in case they've got scouts deployed.”

“All right,” I reply, and glance over at Ella. She sits at one of the abandoned stations massaging her temples. “Were you able to create that map?”

She nods. “I scanned it in. Malcolm helped with estimating the scale.” At that, Sam's dad tips an imaginary hat.

“Pulling it up now,” Adam says.

A wide section of the bridge's floor-to-ceiling window goes opaque, and, a second later, a three-dimensional map of the Mogadorian mountain base appears on screen. It isn't exactly blueprint quality considering Ella and Malcolm produced it by hand and from memory. But it's accurate. Those memories were drawn from me, from Nine, from Six and Sam and from Adam. We'd all been inside the mountain base before; we've all carried around visions of its interior, even though they're colored with panic or chaos or torture.
Ella sat with each of us for a few minutes, plucked out those memories and turned them into something tangible.

“All right, once we've dealt with the
Anubis
, we're attacking here.” I indicate the mountain's cavernous entrance. While the entrance is at ground level, it's at about the midway point of the map. The Mogs have hollowed out the mountain both above and below the entrance. “We've got one cloaking device still hooked up to Lexa's ship. She'll drop us through the base's force field and then pull back to a safe distance until we need extraction. It'll be me, Six, Marina, Nine, Adam and Five down there.”

Sam's brow furrows at that, like I expected it would. “Wait. What are the rest of us doing?”

“At first, Ella will be coordinating the different groups telepathically. In the event that Setrákus Ra takes away our Legacies, I want a backup team to bring in Ella so she can use her Dreynen and even the odds.” Ella nods at that, although she looks uneasy at the prospect of facing her great-grandfather again. “Until then, the rest of you will be flying this warship and destroying anything that comes out of that mountain that isn't one of us. With your Legacy, Sam, you'll do more good up here.”

Nine snaps his fingers at Rex and gets the wide-eyed Mog's attention. “And don't try any bullshit. My man
Sam Goode here will kill you.”

Sam sighs and looks apologetically at Rex. “I'm not going to kill you,” Sam says, although he immediately reconsiders that statement. “I mean, I will if you try something, but you seem like an okay guy so, yeah, don't do that. I'll mess you up.”

Adam pats Rex on the shoulder. The other Mog shakes his head and becomes real interested in the schematics in front of him.

“We're expecting to hit heavy resistance in the fifty yards between the force field and the entrance,” I continue. “We're going to use blunt force to fight our way in.”

Five and Nine both smile at that.

“Except for Five,” I continue, and his face falls.

“What?” he asks.

I turn to him. “You're going to fly Six and Adam through the entrance—while invisible.”

Six looks in Five's direction. “You're sane at the moment, right?”

“Yes,” Five answers brusquely. He keeps his eye pinned to the map and takes a deep breath. “It's a good strategy.”

“No one was asking you,” Marina says.

I press on before this can get any more heated.

“Once they're in, Six and Adam will attempt to disable the base's shields.” I point to an elevated section
above the entrance. “We're not exactly sure where those controls are, but Adam thinks they're around here. While they're doing that, Five will hit the Mogs from behind.”