The Fate of Ten

  When I turn around, I find that Adam has picked himself up and is now standing over Phiri’s unconscious body.

  “We should kill her,” he says coldly. “There’s no reason to keep her alive.”

  “We don’t do that,” Marina answers, her voice gentle, reasonable. “She can’t hurt us if she’s tied up.”

  Adam opens his mouth to respond, but seems to decide against it. Marina just saved his life, so I guess he feels like he should listen to her. I actually find myself agreeing with both of them—Phiri Dun-Ra is nothing but trouble, and holding on to her is just begging for her to screw us over again. But killing her when she’s unconscious seems wrong.

  “We’ll at least wait for her to wake up,” I say diplomatically. “Figure out what to do with her then.”

  The others nod in silent, glum agreement. We head back to the Sanctuary. I use telekinesis to float Phiri’s unconscious body along with us. Once we’re back, Marina keeps the ice shackles nice and thick until we’ve used an electric cable to safely secure the Mog trueborn to the wheel of one of the many broken-down ships. At this point, I’m pretty sure she’s playing possum. Let her. Marina’s right—she can’t hurt us while she’s tied up, and if she gets free, well, I’ll make sure Adam gets his wish.

  Not sure what else to do, I try the satellite phone again. Still no answer from John. That makes me think of Phiri Dun-Ra telling us that the war had already come and gone. I don’t have any new scars, which means John and Nine are still very much alive, but that doesn’t mean everything is copacetic back in New York.

  “Adam, can we key into the Mog communications from one of these ships?” I ask. “I want to know what’s happening.”

  “Of course,” he replies, jumping at the opportunity to do something productive.

  The three of us climb on board our old Skimmer, Adam settling into the pilot’s seat. He successfully powers on the ship’s electric systems, although the lights flicker spastically and something in the Skimmer’s core groans at the effort. Adam begins turning a dial on the dashboard, picking up nothing but intermittent bursts of static.

  “I just need to find the right frequency,” he says.

  I sigh. “It’s fine. Not like we’re going anywhere.”

  Next to me, Marina gazes at the Sanctuary through the Skimmer’s window. Because we left the floodlights on, the entire temple is lit up, the ancient limestone practically glowing.

  “Don’t lose hope, Six,” Marina says quietly. “We’ll figure this out.”

  When Adam turns the dial again, the static is replaced by a guttural Mogadorian voice. The Mog speaks in a clipped, no-nonsense way, like he’s reading items off a list. Of course, I can’t understand a word of what he’s saying.

  I elbow Adam. “You going to translate?”

  “I . . .” Adam, staring at the radio like it’s possessed, doesn’t know what to say. I quickly realize that he doesn’t want to tell me what news is coming in over the radio.

  “How bad?” I ask, keeping my voice level. “Just tell me how bad.”

  Adam clears his throat and shakily begins to translate. “Moscow, moderate resistance. Cairo, no resistance. Tokyo, no resistance. London, moderate resistance. New Delhi, moderate resistance. Washington, D.C., no resistance. Beijing, high resistance, preservation protocols lifted—”

  “What are these?” I cut him off, losing patience with the droning. “Their attack plans?”

  “They’re status reports, Six,” Adam says, his voice low. “Warships are reporting in on how the invasion is progressing. Each of those cities has one of the huge warships backing up an occupation effort, and they aren’t the only ones . . .”

  “It’s happening?” Marina asks, sitting forward. “I thought we had more time.”

  “The fleet is on Earth,” Adam replies, his face blank.

  “What did that thing mean about preservation protocols?” I ask. “You said they were lifted in Beijing.”

  “Preservation protocols are Setrákus Ra’s way of keeping Earth intact for long-term occupation. If they’re lifted in Beijing, it means they’re destroying the city,” Adam says. “Using it to send a message to other cities that might cause trouble.”

  “My God . . . ,” Marina whispers.

  “One warship alone could destroy a city in a few hours,” Adam continues. “If they . . .”

  He trails off, some new status on the radio getting his attention. He swallows and turns the dial hard, lowering the volume on reports of Mogadorian success.

  I grab him by the shoulder. “What is it? What did you hear?”

  “New York . . . ,” he begins grimly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “New York, Garde-assisted resistance . . .”

  “That’s us! That’s John!”

  Adam shakes his head, finishing the translation. “Garde-assisted resistance overcome. Incursion successful.”

  “What does that mean?” Marina asks.

  “It means they’ve won,” Adam replies darkly. “They’ve conquered New York City.”

  They’ve won. The phrase repeats itself in my mind.

  They’re taking over and we’re stranded down here.

  Because I don’t have a better target it for it, I punch the console where the dull buzz of Mogadorian progress drones on. Sparks erupt from the dashboard and Adam leaps out of the pilot’s chair, startled. Marina gets onto her feet and tries to wrap her arms around me, but I shrug her off.

  “Six!” she yells after me as I jump out of the cockpit. “It isn’t over!”

  I stand atop our Skimmer feeling rage burning inside me, but having nowhere to channel it. I look at the Sanctuary, bathed in light. This place was supposed to be our salvation. Our trip down here hasn’t changed anything, though. It almost got us killed and now we’re out of the war. How many people are dying because we’re not there to help John save New York?

  I feel an itch on the back of my neck. Someone’s watching me. I turn around, my gaze drifting to the runway and the other ships. Phiri Dun-Ra is awake, tied up right where we left her.

  She grins at me.

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  WHEN ELLA SPEAKS, A JOLT PASSES THROUGH me. Suddenly, I can move again. I leap up from my operating table and try to shove the Mogadorian doctors surrounding Ella.

  My hands pass right through them, like they’re ghosts. They’re frozen in space now, unmoving, the moment a snapshot before me. I need to remind myself that this is all happening inside my head, or Ella’s head, or somewhere in between. In our dreams.

  “Don’t worry about them,” Ella says. She sits up, passing through the ooze machine that’s attached to her chest, and then the Mogs as she hops down from her table. “I can’t even feel what they’re doing to me.”

  “Ella . . .” I don’t even know where to begin. Sorry for letting you be kidnapped back in Chicago, sorry for not saving you in New York . . .

  She hugs me, her small face pressed into my chest. That much feels real, at least.

  “It’s okay, John,” she says. Her voice is almost serene, like someone who has accepted her fate. “It isn’t your fault.”

  There’s the Ella I’m hugging and then there’s the Ella frozen in time, still pinned down to the operating table beneath the Mogadorian machines, surrounded by enemies. I can’t help looking past the Ella in my arms and staring at the horrific results of her Mogadorian imprisonment. She looks pale and drained, streaks of gray running through her auburn hair. There are already black veins visible beneath her skin. A chill runs through me and I force myself to look away, squeezing Ella a little tighter.

  The hug ends and Ella peers up at me. This version of her looks almost as I remember—wide-eyed and innocent—although there’s a tiredness around her eyes, a kind of weary wisdom, that wasn’t there the last time I saw her. I can’t imagine what she’s been through.

  “What are they doing to you?” I ask, my voice quiet.

  “Setrákus Ra calls it his Gift,” Ella says, her lips
curling in disgust. She looks over her shoulder, watching herself get experimented upon, and hugs herself. “The stuff he’s putting into me, I’m not sure where it comes from. It’s the same weirdo genetic crap he grows the vatborn warriors from. It’s the stuff he used to augment some of the humans—you know about that?”

  I nod, thinking of Secretary of Defense Sanderson and the cancerous resistance I felt in his body when I healed him.

  “He’s doing it to you. His own—” I still hesitate to say this part out loud. “His own flesh and blood.”

  Ella nods sadly. “For the second time.”

  I remember how out of it Ella seemed during the battle at the United Nations. “He did it to you before the big public appearance,” I say, putting the pieces together. “Drugged you up so you couldn’t ruin his moment.”

  “It was punishment for trying to escape with Five. The Gift . . . it makes it hard for me to focus, at least when I’m awake. I’m not sure how, but he uses it to control me. It could be related to one of his Legacies. I tried to figure out everything he can do, John, I tried to stop him, but . . .”

  Ella’s shoulders slump. I place my hand gently on the back of her neck.

  “You did everything you could,” I tell her.

  She snorts. “Uh-huh.”

  I take a long look at the machine Ella’s hooked up to, trying to memorize the details. Maybe if we ever manage to hook back up with Adam, he can shed some light on how exactly this thing works.

  “He’s not controlling you now,” I say, gesturing around to the frozen-in-time Mogadorian operating theater. “You’re doing this. You’re still fighting him.”

  “I’ve been able to hide that I’m telepathic,” Ella replies, straightening up a bit. “Whenever he hurts me, I hide inside my own mind. I practice. My Legacies are getting stronger. I could sense you down there from on board the Anubis. I was able to pull you into my, um . . . my dream? Whatever this is.”

  “Just like in Chicago,” I muse, trying to work this out. “Only, you needed to touch me that time.”

  “Not anymore. I guess I’m getting stronger.”

  I give Ella’s shoulder a squeeze. This should be a proud moment, her coming into her own, learning to master such a powerful Legacy when she’s still so young. But our situation is too dire for any real congratulations.

  I look across the medical bay towards the door, then back at Ella.

  “Can you show me around?” I ask. “Is that even possible?”

  Ella manages a shaky smile. “You want the tour?”

  “It might come in handy to know what the ship’s like. For when I get up here and rescue you.”

  Ella lets out a mirthless laugh, looking away from me. I hope that she hasn’t given up hope. The odds might seem bad now, but I won’t let her stay Setrákus Ra’s pet grandchild forever. I will find a way. Before I can tell her all that, Ella nods.

  “I can show you around. I’ve been all over this ship. If I’ve seen it, then it’s stored up here,” Ella says, tapping her temple.

  We step out of the medical bay and into the hallway. It’s all stainless metal walls lit by dull red lighting, a cold and economical place. Ella leads me through the Anubis, showing me the observation deck, the control room, the barracks, all these areas completely empty. I try to commit every detail to memory so that I can draw a map when I wake up.

  “Where are all the Mogs?” I ask her.

  “Most of them are down in the city. The Anubis only has a skeleton crew now.”

  “Good to know.”

  Deep down in the ship, we pause in front of a glass window that looks into another laboratory. Inside, the floor is completely taken up by a vat of viscous black liquid. There are two catwalks crisscrossing over the vat, each one equipped with a variety of control panels, monitoring equipment and, oddly enough, heavy-duty mounted blasters. Growing out of the liquid is an oblong shape that vaguely resembles an egg, except it’s covered in dark purple mold and throbbing black veins.

  I press my hand to the laboratory glass and turn to Ella. “What the hell is this place?”

  “I don’t know,” she replies. “He doesn’t let me in there. But . . .”

  Ella knuckles her forehead and appears to strain for a moment. Inside the laboratory, figures suddenly manifest. A half-dozen Mogs wearing gas masks stand on the catwalks, silently operating the strange machines. Standing among them is Setrákus Ra himself. Seeing him there causes me to flinch towards the glass. I have to resist the urge to attack him, reminding myself that this isn’t exactly real.

  “Is this . . . is this a memory?” I ask Ella.

  “Something I saw, yeah,” she answers. “I think—I don’t know. It might be important.”

  As we watch, Setrákus Ra lifts his stolen Loric pendants over his head. He holds them in his thick hands for a moment, considering the blue Loralite jewels. He’s got several of them—three from the Garde he killed and the rest were probably taken from the Garde he captured at one point or another. He seems almost nostalgic for a moment as he gazes upon his trophies.

  Then, he drops them into the vat. Four tiny little mouths open up on the egg and suck in the pendants, smothering their glow.

  “What was that?” I ask Ella, feeling like I might be sick even in this dream state. “When did this happen? What’s he doing?”

  Setrákus Ra’s gaze suddenly shoots towards us and he shouts something. A second later, he and the rest of the Mogs disappear back into thin air.

  “That’s when he caught me spying,” Ella explains, biting her lip. “I don’t know what he was doing, John. I’m sorry. Everything’s a bit . . . fuzzy.”

  We move on. Eventually, Ella brings me to the docking bay. It’s a huge area with high ceilings, filled by row after row of Skimmers. It’s from here that the squadrons of Mogs currently terrorizing New York City first took flight.

  “They’re always coming and going from here,” Ella says, waving at the big metal doors at the end of the docking bay. “You might be able to get in through there, if they’re open. It’s where Five and I tried to escape from.”

  I make a note of the docking bay doors. We’d just have to figure out a way to make the Mogs open them up. It’d be pretty easy to get on board if we had someone who could fly us up there.

  “About Five . . . ,” I say, hesitating, not sure how much Ella has heard. “Do you know what he did?”

  Ella bites her lip, looking down at the floor. “He murdered Eight.”

  “But he also tried to help you escape,” I say, feeling her out. “Is he . . . ?”

  “You’re trying to figure out how evil he is?”

  “I’m looking for him right now. I’m trying to figure out, when I find him, if I should kill him.”

  Ella frowns and walks away from me, looking at a dented spot on the floor. I assume it’s from when she and Five tried to escape.

  “He’s confused,” she says after a moment. “I don’t know . . . I don’t know what he’ll do. Don’t trust him, John. But don’t kill him.”

  I remember the last time Ella sucked me into one of these dream states, back when her Legacy was first manifesting and out of control. It was back in Chicago. That time, she didn’t bring me to her present location. Instead, we were trapped in a vision of the future, watching Setrákus Ra lord over the people of Washington in a world where the Mogadorians had won the war.

  “Don’t we know what he does, though?” I ask, my fists clenching on reflex. “You showed it to me. Five goes back to Setrákus Ra. He works for the enemy. He captures Six and Sam . . .”

  I trail off, not wanting to further dredge up the memory of witnessing my friends’ execution. I don’t want to remember that doomed prophecy of how we’re going to lose. Ella shakes her head. She opens her mouth, and suddenly I realize that there’s something big she isn’t telling me.

  “That future doesn’t exist anymore, John,” she says after a lengthy pause. “My visions . . . they aren’t like the nightmares Setrá
kus Ra used to give you guys. And they aren’t prophecies. We aren’t locked into them, like Eight thought. They’re premonitions. Possibilities.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Ella thinks for a moment. “I’m not sure. How do you know how to make fireballs? You just do. It’s instinct.”

  I take a step towards her. “So that vision of D.C., where everyone was dead and you were . . . ?”

  “I can’t see it anymore. Something in the present changed what will happen.”

  “If it’s a Legacy like my Lumen . . .” My eyes widen as I consider the possibilities. “Can you control the visions now? Can you look into the future at will?”

  Ella’s eyebrows are scrunched, like she’s not sure how to describe what she’s seen. “I can’t control it exactly. The visions . . . they aren’t reliable. I don’t know if that’s because of me, because I’m just learning or if it’s because the future is so unstable. Either way, I’ve spent a lot of time searching through them . . .”

  Now I know why Ella looks so exhausted even in this dream space, why she’s suddenly so wise beyond her years. She mentioned before how much time she’s spent hiding in the safety of her own mind. I wonder how much of that time was spent wrestling with visions of the future. It must be agonizing to sift through all those possibilities.

  “What have you been searching for?” I ask her.

  Ella hesitates, avoiding my eyes. “I wanted . . . I wanted to see if there was a future where I die.”

  “Ella, no,” I say, my voice sharp. Five told me about the twisted Loric Charm that Setrákus Ra used on himself and Ella, the one that binds them together so we’ll have to kill her to get at him. “We’ll figure out a way to break the charm. There’s gotta be a weakness.”

  Ella shakes her head, not believing me. Or maybe already knowing that I’m wrong.

  “I’m not putting myself before the whole world, John. I wanted to see a future where Setrákus Ra is killed, no matter the consequences.” Now she looks right at me, fire in her eyes. “I wanted to see a future where someone has the guts to do what needs to be done.”

  I swallow hard. I’m not sure if I really want to know the details of Ella’s visions, but I can’t stop myself from asking.