Return to Zero

by Pittacus Lore

  “Did you check in here?” she asked over her shoulder as she nudged open the door.

  “No, not yet. I—”

  Isabela’s shriek cut him off. Caleb jolted forward, pushing into the bathroom right behind her. He half expected to find some Foundation assassin lurking in the shower or a bomb affixed to the shimmering bidet. But there was no threat at all.

  There was only a Jacuzzi.

  Isabela clutched his arm. “Are you seeing this? I think it has a whirlpool.” She brushed her fingers through her hair. “Do you know how greasy I feel cooped up on that spaceship?”

  She didn’t look greasy to Caleb. As usual, her skin was perfect, her hair flawless. But then, that was all thanks to Isabela’s shape-shifting Legacy. Caleb had seen Isabela’s true form, the burn scars that she’d gotten in an accident before the invasion. He squinted at her, trying to see through her façade. Could she really be so cynical about their situation? Would he really be happier if he ignored the tug of his conscience and went full-on YOLO like Isabela recommended? Was he even capable of that? Did people still say YOLO? Even thinking that acronym gave him anxiety.

  Isabela unzipped the Jacuzzi’s cover and shoved it aside. She turned on the jets, steam immediately rising. The gold inlaid wall-to-wall mirrors over the sink began to fog up. She reached around to her hip and unzipped her skirt, shimmying out of it in the same fluid motion as she began peeling off her shirt.

  Caleb gulped.

  She glanced over her shoulder at Caleb like she’d totally forgotten him, although that was obviously just another one of her games.

  “Coming in?” she asked, one arm draped demurely across her chest.

  “No, uh, I—”

  “Then shut the door,” she said with a wave. “You’re letting in the cold.”

  His cheeks hot, Caleb backed out of the room. As he closed the door behind him, he swore he could hear Isabela laughing over the bubbling tub.

  “Seriously, dude? That’s your decision?”

  A duplicate stood next to Caleb. When had he gotten loose?

  “Remember when she made out with us on the beach?” the duplicate asked. “That was dope.”

  “I remember,” Caleb said. “Shut up.”

  Caleb absorbed the duplicate and went in search of Ran and the rest who, hopefully, were all fully clothed. He found most of them gathered downstairs in the villa’s expansive living room—or maybe the rich guy who lived here called it something fancy like a “parlor” or a “salon.” Whatever. There was a big-screen TV mounted on one wall, an endless leather sectional and a bar. That made it a living room, no matter how many nude sculptures stood watch around the edges.

  Duanphen nodded at Caleb as he walked into the room. She sat at the bar, her long legs crossed, idly scratching her fingers across the dark stubble growing in on her once clean-shaven scalp. In the time Caleb had been traveling with her, Duanphen hadn’t said much. She was difficult to read, seemingly content to go with the flow. Like Isabela, she seemed happy just to be out of her past life and in the world uncontrolled. Even seated, there was a readiness about her, like she could snap into action at a moment’s notice.

  “Find anything?” she asked Caleb.

  He shook his head. “You guys?”

  Duanphen dragged her finger across the bar, making a squiggle in the dust. “This man has been gone for weeks. Even the maid stopped coming.”

  “Another dead end,” Caleb said with a sigh. “What should we—?”

  “Morons! Liars!”

  Caleb and Duanphen both turned at the shout. Across the room, Einar paced back and forth behind the couch. He pushed a hand through his hair and left a tuft sticking up. The Icelandic boy had seemed so fastidious when Caleb first saw him in his collection of expensive dress shirts and slacks, but since Switzerland he had stopped taking so much pride in his appearance. Back in Greece, when they rested at the abandoned mansion, Caleb had walked in on Einar ironing one of his shirts. Lost in thought, he’d let the iron linger too long and left a brown scorch mark on the sleeve. Then, he’d thrown the appliance at the wall. Caleb had left the room before Einar noticed him watching.

  “I thought we agreed to not let him watch TV,” Caleb said.

  “You try to stop him,” Duanphen said lazily.

  The big screen was tuned to the BBC. There was Einar, speaking directly into the camera, his unblinking gaze either passionate or unhinged, depending on your interpretation. Caleb had seen this clip before. He’d been there when it was filmed. The video was captured on Isabela’s cell phone right before the battle broke out. They had never discussed uploading it to YouTube; Einar had gone ahead and done that without asking permission, snagging Isabela’s cell phone while the rest of them slept. He’d expected his speech to be a call to revolution for the Garde suffering under repressive regimes—Foundation or otherwise—around the world.

  “This is how we do it. By banding together. By not abiding by any law they pass to control us. We will not be their pawns. They will not be our masters,” the Einar on-screen ranted.

  Caleb wished they could delete the clip off the internet, but that wouldn’t do any good now. It was out there. Picked up by every news service in the world. At first, Einar had been practically giddy that his message was getting boosted by the mainstream media.

  Now, though, Einar realized his error. They all did.

  He looked like a crazy person.

  Which, Caleb supposed, was pretty accurate.

  The clip froze on a still of Einar where a bit of spit flecked off his lips. That image stayed in the top corner of the screen as the broadcast cut back to the studio, where a prim newscaster sat behind a desk.

  “The Garde terrorist known as Einar would go on to describe humanity as ‘leeches’ before he and his minions, one of which is believed to be an actual Loric alien, murdered the inventor and philanthropist Wade Sydal. Earth Garde assured the BBC that steps are being taken to bring these perpetrators to justice and to prevent further incidents. Two weeks have gone by and the rogue Garde remain at large . . .”

  “Terrorist!” Einar shouted, drowning out the rest of the broadcast. “They didn’t even mention the substance of my argument. They didn’t listen at all.”

  “I am not a minion,” Number Five grumbled.

  The Loric sat on the couch, arms folded, curled in on himself, draped in the same baggy sweat suit he always wore, grass stains faded on the knees from the brawl in Switzerland. Caleb couldn’t swear to it, but he thought Five looked thinner since then. Honestly, he tried not to look in the Loric’s direction too often. Five was sensitive about the inky splotches that disfigured him, had a shorter temper than Einar and had nearly killed Caleb two weeks ago. He wasn’t eager to provoke the Garde.

  An accused terrorist and a psychotic Garde. That’s who he had ditched Earth Garde for. In the heat of the moment, after that bloody battle, it had seemed to make so much sense . . .

  Caleb caught himself fingering the vial of black ooze that he had pocketed back in Switzerland, hidden now in his coat pocket. Sydal had been buying a whole suitcase of the goo from Bea Barnaby—Nigel’s mom, a member of the Foundation; he still couldn’t get his brain around that one. The substance had driven Five into a rage, which Caleb supposed wasn’t surprising, as it appeared to be the same gunk that had disfigured him and still writhed beneath his skin. Caleb hadn’t told the others that he’d swiped a vial. He wasn’t even sure why he’d done it in the first place. Only Isabela knew and she kept quiet about it.

  “Also, we weren’t the ones who blew up Sydal,” Einar continued. “Not that I’m sorry it happened. But these journalists are getting everything wrong.” Einar noticed that Caleb was in the room and glowered. “If only our plan hadn’t been derailed . . .”

  Caleb stared at him, saying nothing. It was Caleb who had broken Einar’s psychological grip on Wade Sydal and the others, preventing him from taking them prisoner. Einar was still obviously bitter about that, and about the beating
that Caleb had put on him. Also, the fact that Caleb could use his duplicates to work around Einar’s emotional manipulation Legacy surely didn’t sit well with him. Einar was used to being in control.

  “Caleb,” a soft voice said. “Can you come here?”

  With a sigh of relief, Caleb turned to look at Ran. Here, at least, was someone he could depend on to not do anything crazy. If Ran hadn’t stepped forward to join Einar’s crew back in Switzerland, Caleb didn’t think he would’ve found the courage to do the same. Caleb knew that, for Ran, this alliance was a matter of convenience. She wanted out of Earth Garde and Einar had transportation and the skills to evade their pursuers.

  Caleb understood Ran’s position. She’d been treated horribly—tagged with an Inhibitor chip and forced into a spy program with the mission to bring down Einar. Caleb thought it was odd that Earth Garde hadn’t bothered trying to take down Einar until he started killing members of the Foundation. Didn’t they know about Einar when he was going around kidnapping healers for the Foundation? Had the Foundation simply covered their tracks or had Earth Garde turned a blind eye? Judging by the symbiotic relationship between Earth Garde, Sydal Corp and the Foundation, Caleb thought it was a little of both.

  Every day since Switzerland, Caleb dreaded that Ran would decide she was better off on her own. He swallowed as he followed her out of the living room and back down the hallway she had emerged from, hoping that they weren’t about to have that conversation. She glanced in his direction and must have read the worry in his expression because she reached out to touch his shoulder.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing, I—” Caleb checked behind him to make sure they were out of earshot. “Just wondering what we’re doing here.”

  “In Italy?”

  “With these people.”

  “Ah.”

  “Do you think we made a mistake?” Caleb asked. “Two weeks and we haven’t made any progress. Heck, I’m not even sure what progress would look like . . .”

  “They are a means to an end,” Ran replied. “I will never trust Einar after what he did to Nigel. But he is right about one thing: We have a better chance surviving together than apart.”

  Caleb nodded and fell silent. He reflected on the speech Einar had given, the one they were now using clips of on TV to label him a terrorist. The funny thing was, Caleb actually agreed with what Einar had said about the Garde needing to find their own way, about them not being able to trust the people in power. It had actually inspired Caleb to take Einar’s side.

  Not that he would ever tell Einar that. It was the right message coming from the absolutely worst messenger.

  Ran led Caleb through the dining room and out onto a wide terrace that overlooked a cobblestone backstreet. The villa was only a few blocks from the tourist-filled Piazza di Spagna, but here it was quiet. Nestled across the street were a small café and a pasta shop, neither of them crowded. The midafternoon sun was shining and Caleb took a deep breath of the brisk air. A bell tolled in the distance.

  “It’s nice out here,” he said. “Too bad the rest of the place sucks.”

  “At the café,” Ran said quietly. “Do you see that woman? Careful, do not make it obvious we have noticed her.”

  Caleb edged closer to the terrace’s railing, peeking down at the café’s outdoor seating. Of course he saw the woman—she was the only one there. She was middle-aged, dark-haired, dressed in pants and a heavy knit sweater. Totally ordinary.

  “What about her?” Caleb asked.

  “She has not ordered anything,” Ran said. “Before her, there was a man sitting there. He also did not order anything. He left and she came minutes later. Sat in the exact same spot.”

  “Hmm,” Caleb grunted.

  He took a closer look at the woman and, as he did, her eyes flitted in his direction. Caleb edged back so she couldn’t see him.

  “Definitely weird,” Caleb said. “But I’ve felt paranoid nonstop since leaving Earth Garde. So maybe let’s not jump to any conclusions about some lady.”

  “If the Foundation knew enough to evacuate the people we’ve been looking for because of Einar, would it not stand to reason that they would post sentries here to trap him? To trap us?”

  “We didn’t have any problems in Greece,” Caleb said thoughtfully. He took another look at the woman. She held her hands out in front of her, staring at them, like she was checking her nails.

  “I have a bad feeling,” Ran said. “I know Isabela wanted to stay here. We could all use some time off that ship. But this is not right.”

  “What’s going on?” Einar appeared on the terrace, Five and Duanphen behind him. Caleb could tell he was still angry about the news report and suppressing a scowl.

  “I think we are being watched,” Ran said.

  Einar came to stand next to Caleb so he could get a look at the woman. When Einar appeared, she looked straight at him, blatantly staring now, not even bothering to hide it.

  “She could be anyone,” Caleb said cautiously, suddenly more worried for the woman’s safety than their own. “Or nobody.”

  Five put a hand on Einar’s shoulder. “Step back. She might recognize you.”

  “Just some woman,” Einar said, looking at Ran. “Is that all?”

  Ran hesitated. “There was a man before. Same spot. It seemed like surveillance.”

  “I see,” Einar replied. He clapped his hands, a disturbing vigor in his eyes. “Shall we go say hello?”

  He left the veranda without waiting to see if the others would follow. Ran and Caleb exchanged a look, then went after him.

  “Let’s not overreact,” Caleb said.

  “Haven’t you been complaining that all our Foundation leads are garbage?” Einar asked. “Well, that is a lead down there.”

  Caleb could already tell Einar wouldn’t be talked out of approaching that woman. But at least he could make sure no one got hurt and that they didn’t get in any deeper trouble.

  “Uh, Five . . . ,” Caleb began, clearing his throat to keep his voice from cracking. “No offense, but you’re pretty conspicuous. Maybe you should get up in the air. There are a lot of narrow streets around here. If there’s an ambush coming, you’ll be able to spot it and scoop us up.”

  Five stared at Caleb with his single, unblinking eye. “Einar?” he asked, after a moment.

  “Yes, yes,” Einar replied. “That sounds like a good plan. Our ship is still hovering up there. We’ll need you to bring us back to it if a hasty exit becomes necessary.”

  “What about me?” Duanphen asked. It took Caleb a moment to realize that she was talking to him and not Einar.

  “Get Isabela,” Caleb said. “She’s in the bath.”

  “Of course she is,” Ran murmured.

  “Watch our backs from the terrace,” Caleb continued to Duanphen. “Tell her to get ready to shape-shift into a diversion. The pope or something.”

  Duanphen nodded and jogged towards the stairs. Five went with her, heading for the roof, a more discreet place for him to leap into the air than the veranda.

  Seconds later they were on the street, Einar leading the way, Ran and Caleb on his heels.

  “We aren’t going to hurt anyone,” Caleb said, trying to match Einar’s determined gait.

  “That depends on her, doesn’t it?” he replied.

  The woman at the café had gotten up while they made their way downstairs. She was already halfway down the street, heading for the crowded plaza beyond. She walked backwards, eyes on them, lips curled in a smile. Baiting them.

  “Enough,” Ran said. “This is a trap. We’d be stupid to follow.”

  Ran’s warning didn’t stop Einar. He stalked down the narrow lane with his fists clenched at his sides.

  “Where are you going?” Einar called to the woman. “Why don’t you stay and have a chat?”

  “Oh, I know how you like to talk, talk, talk,” the woman replied. She stopped walking and stood in the mouth of the alley. “Reckon
I wouldn’t get a word in edgewise with you, Einar.”

  Her English was perfect. In fact, she sounded to Caleb like she had a Southern accent.

  “If you know me,” Einar said through his teeth as he continued towards her, “then you know that I’ll make you talk. But I don’t want to waste my time chasing around some flunky. Tell us who sent you and where we can find them and I might let you leave breathing.”

  “You ain’t nearly so scary as on TV.” The woman sniffed the air. “You stink, though. I can smell your rot from here.”

  A bent old man turned the corner and nearly bumped into the woman. She reached out and squeezed his hand in apology. And then, much to Caleb’s surprise, all hell broke loose.

  The woman started screaming. “Dove sono? Dove sono?” Her eyes cast about wildly. “Un diavolo mi ha posseduto!”

  “What the hell?” Caleb said.

  Einar stopped advancing as the woman fell to her knees, people from the plaza beginning to trickle into the street to see what the commotion was about.

  “We should go,” Ran said. “She’s drawing too much attention.”

  Meanwhile, the old man continued down the street towards them like nothing happened, completely oblivious to the commotion. In fact, he seemed more interested in the three Garde than he did the panicking woman behind him. It was the old man’s smile—an odd twist of his chapped lips—that set off an alarm for Caleb.

  “What’s with him?” Caleb said, pointing out the approaching octogenarian.

  Ran and Einar, both distracted by the woman, turned their attention to the old man only when he was almost on top of them. He reached out a gnarled hand towards Einar’s face.

  “Judgment has come for you, abomination,” the old man pronounced, his accent somehow just like the woman’s had been before she started shrieking in Italian.

  Einar shrank back, pushing Ran and Caleb away as he did so. Then, with a telekinetic force that made the hair on Caleb’s arms stand up, Einar sent the old man flying into the nearest wall.