Fugitive Six

  “Shoot back, asshole!” The mercenary screamed in her face. He didn’t recognize her, but quickly registered that she was unarmed. “Idiot! Where’s your weapon?”

  Taylor’s heart beat savagely against her breastbone. Adrenaline flowed through her. They’d tried to prepare her for fights like this at the Academy, but training rooms and obstacle courses didn’t get across the blood, mud, and madness. She was in over her head, but that didn’t matter. She was Garde. And why were Garde put on Earth?

  To kill Mogadorians.

  “Here’s my weapon,” Taylor said to the soldier.

  With her telekinesis, Taylor hefted a door that had gotten blown off one of the trucks and sent it careening into the Mogadorian line. She was pretty sure that she sheared one of them clean in half.

  “Ho-ly shit,” said the soldier. He grabbed his walkie-talkie and shouted into it. “It’s one of the assets! XO! It’s one of the assets!”

  Taylor didn’t see the XO anywhere, couldn’t really make out any individuals. It was chaos. The Mogs returned fire and she ran, pushing her way behind a group of mercenaries taking cover beneath the base of a flood light. When a Mog stepped into view, she used her telekinesis to rip his blaster away.

  A mercenary collapsed beside her and Taylor immediately smelled burned skin. He’d been shot in the shoulder, the Mog blaster searing through his armor. Taylor crouched down and pressed her hands against his chest, healing him. The soldier stared at her wide-eyed, then brushed her off, reoriented his rifle, and returned fire on the Mogs.

  “A thank-you would be nice,” Taylor said, her words drowned out by gunfire.

  Someone grabbed her by the shoulder. Taylor reacted by spinning around and elbowing the person in the face. The XO ducked just in time, narrowly avoiding getting his nose broken.

  “The hell are you doing out here, Cook?” he screamed.

  A howling Mogadorian charged into view. These things were practically suicidal. As he leveled his blaster, Taylor jerked on it with her telekinesis, causing him to discharge the weapon right under his own chin.

  She tried not to think about how she’d learned that trick from Einar.

  “I’m helping you not die,” she responded to the XO.

  He smirked at that. Taylor noticed that his mouth was bloody and that there was a sizable cut over his eyebrow. She reached out to touch him but he slapped her hand away.

  “Don’t waste your energy,” he said. “Focus on the ones that need it.”

  Taylor started to turn from him, but then came a piercing shriek of metal. The steel beam holding up the floodlight above them had taken too much fire. It teetered and started to fall, a half ton of metal and spotlights collapsing right into their midst.

  “Go!” screamed the XO. “Take cover inside the ship!”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  DUANPHEN

  A NICE RESTAURANT—SOMEWHERE IN THE UNITED STATES

  DUANPHEN HAD SEEN RESTAURANTS LIKE THIS before, but only from the outside, while she waited with the executive’s limo, scowling at anyone who got too close. Places like this, with its candlelight, white tablecloths, and clinking wineglasses—they weren’t for people like her. They were for the wealthy, the powerful. Standing in the restaurant’s dimly lit vestibule, Duanphen felt the same rising nerves as she used to before a fight.

  “Why do you look like you’re going to barf?” Isabela asked her.

  Duanphen looked down at the Brazilian girl, who had settled comfortably onto one of the posh leather couches in the waiting area. “I feel out of place,” she said.

  “Psh.” Isabela dismissed this with a wave of her hand. “This spot isn’t even that cool. And we are definitely the hottest people here.”

  Both of them wore new dresses—Isabela’s a low-cut red one, Duanphen a more modest black sheath. They had gone shopping just that afternoon, spending some of the Foundation’s money on appropriate attire. Duanphen had been relieved when Isabela offered—no, more like insisted—to pick out clothes for her.

  Duanphen was glad they had kidnapped Isabela and happier still that the girl had agreed to Einar’s plan and stuck around. Einar was very serious all the time, always preaching about how they couldn’t trust humanity. It got exhausting. And The Beast—or, Number Five, as Duanphen reminded herself to call him—wasn’t exactly friendly. Having someone normal in their group made Duanphen feel less insane for joining Einar’s cause.

  “Ladies? Shall we?” Einar said, as he returned from talking with the maître d’. “A table for three just happened to open up.”

  “What did you do?” Isabela asked, standing up. “Mess with his brain?”

  “Why would I waste my energy on something so trivial?” Einar replied. He flashed the thick wad of bills he carried in his suit pocket. “The world’s oldest form of mind control worked just fine.”

  Einar was polished as always. He hadn’t needed to buy a new suit for the occasion, but he did anyway. He held his arm out to Isabela. She laughed at him.

  “What do you think this is, some creepy date?” Isabela asked. “Ugh. Do you have a boner right now?”

  “I—no,” Einar replied. “You aren’t even my type. I was just being gentlemanly.”

  Isabela breezed past him with a snort, following the host into the dining room. Einar followed, Duanphen smiling quietly as she came last. Those two were bickering nonstop, with Isabela usually the victor. Duanphen knew the girl got under Einar’s skin, but no matter how infuriating the exchange, Einar never did anything. He could’ve controlled Isabela’s emotions and made her docile, assaulted her with his telekinesis, or sicced Five on her. Instead, he showed restraint.

  It was one thing to talk about not using your Legacies against other Garde. It was another to actually live by those rules and self-police. Thanks to Isabela constantly needling him, Duanphen had actually grown to trust Einar more.

  The host led them to a booth near the front window, twinkling city lights visible beyond the glass. Duanphen sensed eyes on them. Surely, the other diners must have been wondering how these three teenagers could afford to get a table here. She ran a hand over the stubble atop her head. It was strange to be on this side of the glass.

  “Ah, now this is more like it,” Einar said, settling in across from the girls. “This is how all our kind should be living.”

  Isabela’s eyes flicked around the room. “It’s nice to be off that smelly-ass ship of yours, but aren’t you worried about being seen?”

  Einar waved this objection away. “They won’t expect us to be here. It’s fine.”

  “The Foundation will come back at you for what you’ve done,” Duanphen pointed out. “They’ll come back at us.”

  “Of course. But not tonight. And anyway, they’ve got nothing in their arsenal capable of stopping us. Or him.”

  Einar pointed towards the ceiling. Five was up there, in the air, keeping watch from the sky above the restaurant. He hadn’t seemed offended that he wasn’t invited to dinner. His broken skin would’ve been too conspicuous and Isabela was far from willing to hold his hand during the entire meal.

  “He’ll be hungry, probably,” Duanphen said.

  “Do you see the way he scarfs down that fast food?” Isabela asked. “He is always hungry.”

  “We’ll get him some takeout,” Einar said.

  They studied their menus. The meals were complicated and none of them had prices. When their skeptical looking waiting arrived, Einar ordered himself a lobster. Isabela asked for a medium-rare filet mignon.

  “Just a salad, please,” Duanphen said. “Dressing on the side.”

  Isabela stared at her once the waiter was gone. “I need to teach you how to spend other people’s money.”

  Einar cleared his throat. “Where were you during the invasion, Duanphen?”

  She blinked at him. The question had come out of nowhere.

  “Bangkok,” she said.

  “Did you have your Legacies already?”

  “No. They di
d not come until later.”

  Einar turned to Isabela. “What about you?”

  “None of your business,” Isabela said, her lips pressed together. “Now, is this the part where I ask where you were and you get to the point of this random conversation?”

  Einar breathed out through his nose. “Do you remember how Setrákus Ra went on TV and demanded that Earth’s governments turn over all Human Garde to him?”

  Isabela shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “My father was an investment banker. My mother was an international lawyer. Normal people, I thought. When Setrákus Ra made that request, they tried to tie me up.” The candlelight flickered in Einar’s eyes as he looked out the window. “They were part of a group called MogPro. You know what that means?”

  Duanphen shook her head.

  “Idiot humans who supported the Mogs,” Isabela said. “This makes sense. Your parents would be assholes.”

  Einar frowned at that but continued on. “My own parents were going to turn me over to some alien monster simply because he ordered them to. I was weaker then, didn’t have much control of my Legacies, but I fought . . .”

  “Did you kill them?” Duanphen asked.

  “No, I . . .” Einar drummed his fingers on the table. “I used my Legacy to turn them against each other. My mother hit my father in the head with a sculpture. He hasn’t woken up. She is in prison.”

  “Are we all going to share our tragic backstories now?” Isabela asked, although Duanphen noticed there was less venom in her voice than before. “Is this supposed to be bonding?”

  Einar shrugged. “Maybe. I want you to trust me, Isabela. I thought it might help if you knew where I came from.”

  Isabela leaned back and crossed her arms, considering this. Maybe Einar was telling this story for Isabela’s benefit, but Duanphen was curious, too.

  “What happened then?” she asked. “How did the Foundation find you?”

  “During the invasion, there were other members of MogPro like my parents started rounding up Human Garde on Setrákus Ra’s behalf,” Einar replied. “But then, the Mogadorians lost. MogPro failed. Many of them were running scared. However, MogPro knew the identities of some Human Garde. One woman had the idea to snatch these Garde up, to hoard us before Earth Garde could be formed, to use us for profit. That woman was Bea Barnaby.”

  “You’re wrong about Nigel, by the way,” Isabela snapped. “He didn’t have a clue his parents were involved in that.”

  Duanphen had heard this Nigel boy brought up before. The son of the executive. She had heard the story about how Einar almost killed him. She watched him closely now, saw the shadow in his eyes. Shame.

  “I believe you,” Einar said. “I was so angry. I wanted to hurt him to hurt Bea. I assumed he was a spy. That was foolish of me. After all, I was ignorant of my parents’ evil deeds until they tried to kill me. Why should Nigel be any different? The two of us are a lot alike, really.”

  Isabela snorted. “No, you aren’t.”

  “Well, we have a lot in common,” Einar said. “The Barnabys took me in. They helped me train my Legacies. Granted, the way they used me—taking me to board meetings, negotiations, auctions, and having me manipulate the outcomes—it was always for their benefit. But they made me think they really cared. Bea, especially. I was alone in this world and she felt . . . she felt like a mother.”

  Their waiter arrived with a basket of bread and some olive oil. During his speech, Einar’s eyes had filled with water. He took a moment to blot at his face with his napkin. Isabela scrutinized him. Duanphen watched them both, taking it all in.

  “I can’t tell if you’re full of shit or not,” Isabela said, tearing loose a chunk of bread. “Lagrimas de cocodrilo.”

  “I’m being honest,” Einar said, recovering smoothly. “After months with her, I think Bea realized how powerful I was becoming. That I was too dangerous to keep close. She started sending me on more fieldwork. Keeping her distance. I began to realize how disposable I was. In the end, our Legacies will always make us a threat to them. The humans. That’s why the Foundation exists. That’s why the Academy exists.”

  “You act like they’re the same thing,” Isabela said.

  “Not the same thing, but part of the same system.” Einar leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Your Academy is guarded by Peacekeepers armed with anti-Garde technology. Those weapons are manufactured by Sydal Corp, a company whose owner has a standing arrangement with the Foundation. Sydal develops his weapons using alien materials he buys from the Foundation. He tests them on Garde that the Foundation rents him. And then, he turns around and sells those weapons to both the Foundation and Earth Garde. Everyone benefits except for us.”

  “You know everything,” Isabela said with a snort. “But the Academy is not in on this conspiracy.”

  “Ignorance doesn’t make them less complicit.”

  “You want to talk about complicit, cabrão?”

  Duanphen interjected before the argument could go any further. She thought it best if they avoided making a scene in this fancy restaurant and she was also genuinely curious.

  “What is it like?” she asked. “Your Academy?”

  “Uh, good, I guess,” Isabela said, swallowing. The question had caught her off guard. “Boring. They try to teach us stuff. Treat us like kids. Really dangerous kids.” She glanced in Einar’s direction and scowled. “Whatever. I’m not in love with the place, but there are some good people there who actually want to help us Garde. And we don’t really have . . .”

  She trailed off, staring down at the crumbs on her plate. Duanphen cocked her head, waiting for more.

  “A choice,” Einar said, finishing Isabela’s thought. “Is that what you were going to say? That you don’t really have a choice?”

  Isabela glared at him. “So what if I was?”

  “What if there was another option?” Einar asked. “One where you were free? Where you didn’t need to do the bidding of some organization?”

  Isabela let out a huff of breath, then turned to look at Duanphen. “You buy into all this?”

  Duanphen fingered her crystal water glass, considering her words.

  “When I first got my Legacies, I tried to use them to help myself. When I was discovered, I was put to work. First, for Bangkok gangsters. Later, for the Foundation. Not until Einar found me did I really feel in control. Instead, we must learn to rely on each other.”

  Einar folded his hands in front of him and flashed a satisfied smile. Isabela’s eyes narrowed and she studied Duanphen’s face, perhaps looking for signs that she was being controlled. But these emotions were Duanphen’s own. She couldn’t remember the last time she had spoken so much or so plainly. It felt good.

  Their meals came. The three of them ate in silence, all of them considering what had been said before. Only when they were nearly finished did Einar nod his head in the direction of the restaurant’s bar.

  “She’s here,” he said to Isabela.

  Isabela feigned a stretch, peering in the direction Einar had indicated. “Yeah. I see her.”

  “We’ll follow your lead on this one,” Einar said to Isabela. “Tell us what you want us to do.”

  They hadn’t come to this fancy restaurant only to eat dinner.

  Who would travel all the way to Florida just for that?

  Chapter Thirty

  TAYLOR COOK

  BAYAN-ÖLGII PROVINCE, MONGOLIA

  NEVER IN TAYLOR’S GRIMMEST NIGHTMARES WOULD she have imagined a scenario where she’d be running towards a Mogadorian warship.

  And yet, here she was.

  Blaster fire burned the air around her. Taylor was pulled along with the pack of mercenaries towards the cover of the warship. She hated the Mogs more than anything in that moment. Hated them for making her fight alongside the Foundation.

  A streak of energy took the legs out from beneath one of her escorts and he fell screaming in the snow. Taylor tried to go back for him, but the XO had a tight
grip on her arm and shoved her ahead. Looking over her shoulder, she saw two Mogs descend on the soldier as he tried to find his feet. These ones didn’t have blasters—they had swords. Serrated, silver, nasty things—they plunged the weapons into the soldier and then started stripping him of his gear.

  The XO hit Taylor in the chest with something. A pistol. His secondary weapon.

  “You know how to use that?” he asked.

  “I’ve seen movies,” she replied.

  They took cover in what used to be the warship’s docking bay, hiding behind smashed Mogadorian Skimmers that had already been stripped for parts. The mercenaries were efficient, setting up a perimeter and providing cover fire for their comrades who were still exposed. Taylor joined in, squeezing off bullets into the darkness, not sure if she was hitting any Mogadorians. When her clip was empty, she used her telekinesis, twisting Mog weapons away and flinging them into the night.

  A stray blast shaved a panel off the Skimmer Taylor was hiding behind. It came down right on her head. She was lucky—a glancing blow, but she was still cut. New warmth seeped into her hair, which was already frozen with sweat, blood trickling down into one of her eyes. She fell onto her butt, more stunned than anything.

  The XO spotted her immediately. “Asset is hurt! Get her the hell inside!”

  “Stop,” Taylor mumbled as another mercenary grabbed her under the arms and dragged her aboard the warship proper. “I’m fine. I’ll heal it.”

  The soldier didn’t listen. He dumped her inside the warship, leaving her next to a pile of canisters and broken gears.

  Taylor stumbled to her feet. She touched the cut on her head and let her Legacy do its work, cringing at the cold nugget of emptiness that formed within her whenever she used her healing on herself. A little woozy from the knock on the skull, she nonetheless started back towards the sounds of fighting.

  A noise stopped her in her tracks. Was that a girl’s voice? It definitely was. Taylor couldn’t quite make out the words, but that was definitely someone calling out.