Generation One LLR

  “She swore off her Legacies.”

  “Oh, so it was some other quiet Japanese girl blowing shit up last night?” Nigel asked. “She did what she had to do, when it mattered. To save lives. The world ain’t pretty like we hoped, mate, it’s not sequined leotards and capes.”

  Kopano made a face. “I didn’t imagine sequins.”

  “Makes one of us, eh?” Nigel smirked. “Point is, we don’t have to fight ugly with ugly. We can be the change we want to see in the world. You know that fuckin’ cliché? The Loric didn’t make us monsters and they didn’t make us heroes. They just gave us bloody Legacies and said have at it. We choose what happens next.”

  Kopano nodded along for most of Nigel’s speech, but still couldn’t shake the memory of the broken bodies he’d left in the middle of the highway. “I couldn’t choose last night,” he said quietly and ran a hand over his face. “If I can be made to do that . . . maybe my mom is right. Maybe we shouldn’t have such power, maybe—”

  “I been meaning to tell you,” Nigel interrupted. “Those blokes you roughed up, they were all alive when we left ’em. I should know. I was the one with the foresight to nick what they had in their pockets.”

  Kopano’s eyebrows rose. “Really? I didn’t . . . ?”

  “Nah, mate. Some of ’em might not be walking right for a while, but they’re all still wasting space on our unhappy planet. Even Hulked out, your heart’s still big enough to pull punches, ya bloody softie.”

  Outside, a car horn honked. Kopano poked his head out of the snack aisle and spotted Isabela sitting shotgun in an enormous SUV. An Escalade. His father used to talk about buying a car like that when he struck it rich. Isabela dangled her arm out the window. She caught Kopano looking at her, wiggled her fingers and winked.

  For the first time that day, Kopano smiled.

  He turned back to Nigel.

  “Yes,” Kopano said. “I am ready. Let’s go rescue Taylor.” He paused, then put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Thank you, Nigel.”

  “Wasn’t nothing, mate.”

  Kopano left the aisle, walking out to the SUV. Nigel lingered for a moment. Ran, who had been listening from the next aisle over, appeared quietly at his side.

  “You lied to him,” Ran observed. “Many of those men were surely dead.”

  Nigel’s frown deepened. “You want to tell the big guy that?”

  Ran shook her head. “Such knowledge would do him no good.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  TAYLOR COOK

  HOFN, ICELAND

  ALL SHE HAD TO DO WAS HEAL WHO THEY TOLD HER to. That was the deal.

  “In exchange,” Einar explained, “you will be taken care of. Once you’ve proven yourself to the Foundation, they will build you a place like this. You’ll want for nothing.”

  Taylor stood at the far end of the marble kitchen counter. She still held one of the stainless steel kitchen knives. It made her feel more comfortable and Einar didn’t seem to mind. He sat on a stool and picked at the plate of food he’d prepared for her. Behind them, Freyja lay on the couch, tentatively rubbing the spot on her head that had been cracked open.

  The flat-screen TV, the record player and speakers, the shelves of books ranging from pretentious literary novels to pulp detective stories, the massive collection of Blu-rays. The more Taylor looked around, the more she began to see this place as an extension of Einar—a dream house for a studious young loner.

  “So they built this place for you?” she asked. “Because you proved yourself?”

  He nodded. “They’ve treated me well.”

  “I guess they didn’t kidnap you, then?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “My recruitment was not painless either.”

  “But you gave in, so they hooked you up.”

  Einar didn’t respond. He cut off a corner of cold pancake and swirled it around in a skinned-over pool of syrup.

  “So if I play nice, they’ll build me and my dad a five-hundred-acre farm in South Dakota? Let us live out there in peace except for when I need to go off to heal someone?”

  Einar set down his fork. “I’m sure a farm could be arranged. But you will have to live somewhere outside the jurisdiction of Earth Garde.”

  “That’s what? Iceland, China, Russia . . . the Middle East?”

  “Venezuela,” Einar offered. “Many other nations.”

  “Oh, so many enticing options,” Taylor said dryly.

  “Better than being a prisoner who is forced to fight shadow wars for a corrupt government agency,” Einar replied.

  Taylor raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you aren’t a prisoner?”

  “No. Not like you were.”

  Since Taylor had gotten ahold of herself, she’d been able to better survey her surroundings. There were more cameras than the one Einar had forced her to look at. There was at least one in every room. From her current position, Taylor could see the camera hanging over Einar’s refrigerator, the one positioned beneath his television and the one tucked into the corner aimed at the front door and staircase. She suspected that the glowing gem on Freyja’s choker was a camera as well.

  “They must really trust you,” she said. “To let you live all by yourself out here without supervision.”

  Einar followed Taylor’s gaze to the camera. He sneered. “Please. As if you aren’t under constant surveillance at the Academy.”

  Taylor’s stomach twisted into a knot. Waking up here had been so disorienting, her short confrontation with Einar so infuriating, she hadn’t paused for a moment to wonder about the fate of her friends.

  “What happened . . . ?” Her fingers tightened on the knife’s handle. “What happened to the people I was with?”

  Einar shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s it?” Taylor asked. “That’s all you can say? They’re my friends.”

  “If it helps, those Harvester fools were very poorly trained,” Einar said. “I’d wager that at least some of your friends survived.”

  Taylor fought back the urge to stab him by looking in Freyja’s direction. The little girl had curled into a ball on the couch, staring off into space.

  Another detail popped into Taylor’s mind. Isabela with the dart sticking out of her neck, courtesy of a girl in a hijab.

  “What about your friend?” Taylor asked. “Where’s she?”

  Einar’s expression darkened. She had hit a nerve.

  “I don’t know,” Einar said evenly.

  “Did you leave her behind?”

  “She knew the mission parameters.”

  A tense silence hung over him. Einar picked up his fork again, but didn’t eat anything. Taylor watched him, wondering how far she could push him. Further, she decided.

  “Must get pretty lonely out here by yourself. Why don’t these Foundation people kidnap you some friends?”

  “I have friends,” Einar said somewhat defensively. “There are others. We . . . occasionally socialize.”

  “Until you ditch them.”

  “Shut up. You were unconscious. You don’t know the situation.”

  Taylor tried to make her voice as tender and understanding as possible. “You know, I was pretty weirded out by the Academy. I didn’t want to go there. There’s still some stuff about it that bothers me, like all the army-type training. But this? Getting kidnapped by some . . . charity? Corporation . . . ?”

  “Group of private investors,” Einar said stiffly.

  “Whatever. I mean, this is gross.” She glanced at Freyja. “The Academy never threatened any children to get me to go there.”

  “They didn’t have to,” Einar replied. “They simply arrested and incarcerated you. Forced you to sign your rights away.”

  “What about her rights?” Taylor waved in Freyja’s direction, realized she was still holding the knife and finally set it down. “The Academy’s never killed anyone.”

  Einar chuckled. “They haven’t? What do you think all that combat training is for? Who do you think Earth
Garde fights?”

  Taylor thought of Kopano—the good he talked about doing, the imagined enemies he would one day bring to justice.

  “Bad guys,” she said, realizing how dumb the words sounded only once they were out of her mouth.

  “That’s such a meaningless term,” Einar replied with another infuriating chuckle. “We Human Garde, we’re all still young. What do you think will happen when we’re older? Wars between countries will be fought between our kind, decided by our kind. Earth Garde hopes to get a monopoly on that.”

  “And your precious Foundation doesn’t?”

  Einar stood up, took the plate of food and dumped it into a tall garbage can.

  “The Foundation only invests in Garde with nonviolent Legacies,” he said, his back to her. “The others are viewed as threats to the human race.”

  “Invests,” Taylor repeated with a shake of her head. She waited for Einar to turn back her way so she could study him. “Seriously, you’re acting like this isn’t insane and illegal. Did they brainwash you or something?”

  “No,” he replied curtly. “Feel free to make use of my home. You know what will happen if you do anything stupid. I’m going to take a nap.”

  “A nap. You’re going to take a nap?”

  Einar nodded and went around the counter—taking the long way so he wouldn’t come into stabbing range—and headed for the stairs. “We have an appointment later. Well, you do. You’ll want to be rested, too.”

  Taylor couldn’t rest. Now that the effects of the tranquilizer had worn off, she felt too energetic. Instead, she explored Einar’s Icelandic hideaway.

  For all his movies and books and expensive gadgets, the first thing Taylor noticed was that the place lacked a computer. Maybe there was a laptop or something up in his bedroom, but Taylor suspected that wasn’t the case. Just like the Academy regulated their internet use, so did this shadowy Foundation.

  After a little poking around, Taylor went to the front door. Her hand hesitated over the handle. Was she allowed outside? She figured there would be a hydraulic lock like the one on her bedroom if the outdoors was off-limits. Taylor tested the knob. The door opened easily.

  Cold air rushed in. After a few months in California, Taylor wasn’t used to the chill. And she was still wearing the flannel pajamas she’d woken up in. She opened a nearby coat closet and found a pair of fur-lined moccasins and a heavy leather jacket. They were Einar’s. She could smell his sandalwood cologne on the coat and it almost changed her mind about going outside. She took a breath, shrugged on the coat and stepped into the bracing air.

  Oddly, the seclusion reminded Taylor of home. She looked around the rocky landscape as she stepped away from Einar’s cabin—not another house in sight. There was a dark blue hatchback parked along the side of the house. She could make that her getaway vehicle if worse came to worst.

  Taylor laughed bitterly. Wasn’t this already the worst? When she developed her powers, she couldn’t have imagined a more bizarre fate. She’d resented having to go to the Academy, but at least she was settling in there. The instructors were kind, she had friends, she was learning about herself. This . . . this Foundation situation, it was on a whole different level of strange and disturbing.

  She heard footsteps crunch behind her. Little Freyja had followed her outside, snuggled up in a blanket.

  A dark part of Taylor’s mind reminded her that she hardly knew this girl. She could make a run for it. If she could live with Freyja on her conscience . . .

  No. She couldn’t. She would never be able to live with herself. Taylor glanced once more at the car. There wouldn’t be any escape. Not if she couldn’t figure out how to save the kid, too.

  Taylor looked up at what she thought was Einar’s window. She wondered how the Foundation had convinced him to join them. Did he have a Freyja, too? He was so cold, it seemed unlikely.

  “Thank you,” Freyja said quietly, arriving at her side. “For healing me.”

  “You’re welcome,” Taylor replied. “I’m sorry that you have to go through this.”

  “Me too,” Freyja said. “Do you know when I’ll get to go home?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “When you give them what they want, right?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Will that be soon?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The two lapsed into a melancholy silence. Taylor trudged towards the crystalline lake, Freyja following a few steps behind her. A chill wind swept in over the water, bobbing the chunks of vivid blue ice that floated on the surface. She could hear the ice crackling and shifting as the blocks bumped against each other.

  “It’s beautiful here, at least,” Taylor said.

  Freyja said nothing. Taylor looked over at her, saw that she was worming her index finger under the choker.

  “It’s cold on my skin,” Freyja said with a sigh.

  “Do you remember what happened before?” Taylor asked. “When you fell down the stairs?”

  “This . . . this shocked me,” Freyja said, dropping her hand away from the collar as if she were scared it would happen again. “I fainted.”

  “Jesus Christ,” muttered Taylor. “This is demented.”

  Taylor turned away from the frozen lake and headed around the side of the house. She wanted to see the place from every angle.

  “What’re you doing?” Freyja asked, dutifully following behind her.

  “Just looking around.”

  “For what?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  On the back of the house, Taylor found a small wooden sunporch, the reddish timber coated in a thin layer of frost. The porch overlooked a rock garden. Polished stones were stacked atop of each other, some of them decorated with hardy vines. A small fountain stood in the middle of it all, although it was turned off at the moment.

  At the back of the rock garden stood a high wooden fence. Taylor approached, walking the perimeter of the fence. It was a square, about twenty feet in each direction. On the side nearest the porch was a door with a keypad just like the one on Taylor’s room.

  “What’s he got back there?” Taylor wondered aloud.

  “I don’t know,” Freyja replied, her teeth chattering.

  “If you’re cold, you can go inside,” Taylor said.

  Freyja remained stubbornly nearby. Was she afraid that Taylor would try to escape if Freyja let her out of her sight? Taylor couldn’t blame her.

  With her telekinesis, Taylor knocked over one of the stone sculptures and floated a good-size block of granite over to the fence. Freyja jumped out of the way.

  “What’re you doing?” Freyja asked.

  Taylor hopped up onto the stone. If she jumped from there, she could reach the top of the fence. “I want to see what’s in there.”

  She leaped up, grasping the wooden barrier with both hands. She pulled herself the rest of the way, managed to swing one leg up so that she was straddling the fence.

  Down below, inside the cube of fence, was just another rock.

  But not just any rock. This one glittered cobalt blue, but in a shade different from the ice on the lake. The rock made something in Taylor vibrate. It called to her.

  Loralite. That was Loralite.

  Taylor knew the stories. All she had to do was hop down and touch the alien rock, visualize another stone’s location and the Loralite would teleport her across the world. This must be how Einar brought her here.

  Freyja let out a sharp cry. Taylor turned her head in time to see the wide-eyed girl clutch at her choker.

  “It—it shocked me!” Freyja yelped.

  With a frustrated grumble, Taylor climbed down from the fence. She landed next to Freyja and gently stroked the girl’s shoulder.

  “Sorry. Guess whoever’s watching wanted to give me a warning.”

  Freyja said nothing. She rubbed her neck and stared sullenly at Taylor.

  “Come on,” Taylor said. “Let’s go inside.”

  Halfway to the
back porch, both of them stopped in their tracks. They heard the crackle of gravel and the purr of an engine.

  Someone was driving up the solitary road.

  Without stopping to think, Taylor ran around the side of the house, Freyja a few steps behind her. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do, exactly. If this was some random Icelandic police officer or the mailman—she couldn’t very well involve them without risking their life too. Still, she wanted to see who came to this remote location. Maybe it would give her an idea.

  Taylor caught sight of the car coming down the road before she fully rounded the cabin’s corner. Something about the vehicle gave her pause. It was a green Jeep, mud-splattered and dented from hard driving, with chains on the wheels. There were four men inside, but from her viewpoint Taylor could make out only the one sitting shotgun. He had reddish-brown hair, a thick beard and bulging neck muscles. Even at this distance, Taylor could see the fat scar that ran from his eye to the corner of his mouth.

  These were not friendly neighbors.

  The Jeep parked in front of the house. Taylor waited a few seconds, hidden around the corner, curious to see what they would do.

  Nothing. The men just sat there. One of them rolled down a window to smoke a cigarette.

  Freyja was at her side, one of her hands on Taylor’s arm. “Who is it?” she whispered, then peeked around the corner to see for herself.

  The girl nearly tripped over her own feet in her hurry to backpedal away. Freyja’s face had gone ghostly white. She recognized them, Taylor realized. And she was terrified.

  “Who are they?” Taylor asked.

  “Those are the men,” Freyja replied. “The men who took me.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ISABELA SILVA

  OUTSIDE SILVER CITY, NEW MEXICO

  IT WAS A FOURTEEN-HOUR DRIVE TO SILVER CITY. They bought a map from the gas station to help navigate.

  “We want to stick to back roads, yeah?” said Nigel. “Don’t want to be spotted.”

  Isabela drew a random pattern on the Escalade’s tinted window. “No one will spot us. And no one will be looking for this car.”

  Caleb traced his finger east across the map. “There aren’t really any back roads, anyway. Or it’s all back roads. I can’t tell.” He held up the map so Nigel, driving, could see. “All the way through the desert.”