Return to Zero

by Pittacus Lore

  The military would make sure of that. There were thousands of soldiers down there. Kopano recognized the white helmets of Peacekeepers but also the green fatigues of the US Army and Marines. There were tanks stationed in the parking lot. Kopano could only see so far, but the roads appeared to be blocked off for miles.

  An open stretch of beach was marked off and flagged for the landing zone. There were barricades and trenches set up around that, heavily armed soldiers manning them. There was only one clear path leading away from the landing zone—that was where they’d walk the Mogadorians—and it led to dozens of armored vans that would be used for prisoner transport.

  They set all this up in less than a day, Kopano thought. What chance would the Academy have against an attack of this magnitude?

  I don’t know. But even this much manpower won’t break through the force field I want to build, John replied. I’m going to take us in closer, look for the command tent. Miki, make sure I don’t screw up. Wouldn’t be great if we just randomly popped out of thin air.

  They flew in lower, down towards the parking lot where tents were set up at a safe distance from the beach. They circulated through soldiers smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee out of thermoses. Next, they swept over a cordoned-off area where reporters and their crews were setting up to get coverage of the warship’s arrival.

  The military encampment was organized like a nervous system, so they found the command tent at the heart. A group of very serious men hung out there, going over satellite images of the surrounding beach. Ray Archibald was among them. None of them noticed when a stray gust of wind ruffled their papers.

  Okay, I’m going to break off from you guys here, John said. I’ll keep the telepathic link going as long as I’m able. Miki, there were some rocks overlooking the landing site that I think you guys could wait at unnoticed.

  I saw the spot, Miki replied.

  You aren’t worried they’ll try to capture you or something? Kopano asked.

  No. At least, not until the warship is down, John replied.

  He separated from them and Miki took full control of their wind formation. Surprisingly, they moved quicker and Kopano felt more secure—Miki was better at this. As John appeared above the command tent, making himself known by gently floating down to the ground with his hands raised, the rest of them flew up to the cliffs that overlooked the beach.

  Miki put them down on a narrow ledge high above the landing site. An outcropping of rocks blocked them from sight by the soldiers below, but it was possible for them to peek over and take in the army’s sprawling show of force. The ledge fed into a shallow cave and, as his body regained its shape, Kopano became aware of the taste of salt and the fluttering of bat wings.

  Kopano’s legs wobbled beneath him. Vontezza straight collapsed onto her hands and knees, letting loose a full-body shudder.

  “Gah! I hated that!” she cried.

  “It was dope,” Kopano said. “After spending the last year cooped up on a warship, I’d think you’d love the open skies.”

  “You thought wrong,” Vontezza replied.

  Miki sat down on the rocks with a weighty exhale. He looked pale and drained. The journey south had taken something out of him.

  “You good?” Kopano asked.

  Miki nodded. “Even with John doing most of the work, that was a long way for me. I haven’t practiced much.”

  “You’ll be okay to take us back?”

  Miki bit the inside of his cheek. “Yeah. Yeah, don’t worry.”

  Vontezza stood up and pressed herself against the edge, glaring down at the warship’s welcoming committee. “This pathetic army would be no match for the Osiris if it was at full strength.”

  Kopano chose not to respond to that. “So. What do we do now?”

  “We wait,” Vontezza replied. “The sky is lightening. It won’t be long.”

  She was right.

  Guys, John’s telepathic voice made Kopano jump. It’s here.

  Kopano looked up. At first, the Osiris was nothing more than a dark disc against the pale sky—it could’ve been a drone up there, Kopano thought, or a really high-flying Frisbee. That didn’t last. From down below, Kopano heard soldiers yelling and the metallic creak of missile systems aiming. Fighter jets screamed by overhead, flying in formation towards the warship. They looked like insects buzzing in front of a moon.

  “It’s enormous,” Miki whispered.

  Kopano could only nod. For once, he was at a loss for words. The beach darkened as the Osiris blotted out the sun. Seeing the warships on his tiny TV in Lagos had not done the massive vessels justice. The scarab-shaped war machine made Kopano’s knees shake. As it got lower and lower, descending obediently towards the landing zone, Kopano was amazed that he’d once thought the army below was impressive.

  A scary thought occurred to him. “You’re sure—you’re sure your people won’t snap and open fire,” Kopano said to Vontezza. “Right?”

  The Mogadorian girl stared at the Osiris with pride. “I disabled most of the offensive systems before I left,” she said. She stroked her fingers across the mace on her hip. “I left my weaponsmith Koramu in charge. He would not betray my wishes. He is madly in love with me.”

  Kopano blinked. “In love . . . you have a boyfriend?”

  “No,” she said sharply. “Can you shut up now? I wish to enjoy my people’s last moments of freedom.”

  For as threatening as the Osiris appeared, Kopano still picked up details that hinted at its tumultuous last year. One side looked as if it had a bite taken out of it; jagged barbs of metal pointing outward indicated that a massive explosion had emanated from inside the ship. Black curls of smoke drifted up from gaps in the warship’s armor. The cannon along the Osiris’s belly drooped uselessly, thick icicles melting along its sides.

  The ship touched down with a groan that shook the valley. Helicopters circled overhead and Kopano edged back into the shelter of the cave, touching Miki’s shoulder so that he would do the same. Vontezza, however, kept up her vigil from the rocks.

  The surrender went down faster than Kopano would’ve thought. A booming voice on a megaphone bellowed instructions at the warship. A ramp unfurled from its side. The soldiers below readied their weapons.

  The Mogadorians exited the warship in a regimented two-by-two column, unarmed and without armor, their hands on their heads. Kopano edged closer so that he could watch with Vontezza. He expected all the Mogs to be upright and hard-edged like her. Instead, they looked mostly bedraggled and sad, skinny and underfed. Many of them limped or stumbled as they made the walk down the gangway and along the cordoned beach path. These weak ones were shouted at by soldiers brandishing assault rifles. There was a moment when Kopano worried a soldier might shoot up the entire crew just because one starving Mogadorian fainted. When the line of Mogs reached the soldiers, they were handled roughly—thrust down to their knees, patted down and zip-tied and then hustled towards the armored transports.

  Vontezza sucked in a shaky breath. When Kopano turned to look at her, she had hidden her face behind Rabiya’s scarf.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Shut up,” she replied. “Yes.”

  Kopano looked down at the shuffling horde of Mogs. “Kinda sad, really.”

  “Reminder that they would have enslaved our entire planet,” Miki said.

  “Still,” Kopano replied.

  “You’re weak,” Vontezza said quietly.

  Hey. John Smith’s telepathic intrusion made them all jump. The crew is clear of the ship, but the soldiers won’t be doing a sweep until all the Mogs are locked down in the transports. This is your chance to get in. Be quick.

  Miki stepped forward, hands extended. “You heard the boss. Ready?”

  Kopano took Miki’s hand, but Vontezza hesitated.

  “You remember the map of my ship, yes?” she asked. Miki nodded. “There is an antechamber near the entrance. Take us to it. It will be safest to approach the generator from there.” />
  Vontezza snatched at Miki’s hand and then they were aloft again, floating down from the cliffs, a gentle breeze with a purpose. Kopano got an up-close look at the Mogs—pale, skinny, dead-eyed—as the soldiers wrestled them into custody. “Freaks aren’t so tough now,” a soldier said. He was glad when they’d passed over them and breezed through the open entrance of the Osiris.

  The interior of the warship was as forbidding as Kopano expected. He tried to take in as many details as possible as Miki swooped them through the cavernous hallways. The Mogadorians didn’t design for comfort but for functionality. They also seemed extraordinarily partial to chrome panels and muted crimson lighting. There were signs everywhere of the mutinies Vontezza had described—collapsed ceiling panels, scorch marks, deep laser-caused scars in the walls. Discarded equipment littered the floor—armor and blasters and other gear—as if the Mogs had just dropped all that weaponry on their way out the door.

  Kopano lost track of the twisting and turning hallways. Luckily, Miki had been paying attention to the map. He set them down in the middle of a branching chamber. As he got his legs under him again, the smell nearly knocked Kopano over. The warship stunk—refuse, fuel spillage and overcooked meat all mingling together. His eyes watered.

  “Nice place,” Miki said warily.

  Kopano’s eyes darted around, scanning for danger. Surprisingly, this section seemed to have been kept much cleaner and battle-free than the other spaces they passed through.

  Vontezza grabbed a stray backpack from the floor and approached the far wall, which was covered floor-to-ceiling in small drawers labeled with Mogadorian script. She selected one of these drawers, tugged it open and withdrew three small pouches, which she deposited into her backpack. When she moved onto another, Kopano stepped forward.

  “Uh, what are you doing?”

  She pointed down the hallway. “The generator is that way. My people should have left the way unlocked.”

  “What about all the radiation leaks?” Kopano asked.

  Vontezza sighed. “I lied about that. Go. Do your errand. I will catch up.”

  “But—”

  She spun to face him, shaking a pouch in his direction. It sounded like it was filled with dirt.

  “These are our honored dead,” Vontezza said. “I will not allow their remains to fall into the hands of the humans. Let me do what I must and then I will join you.”

  Kopano exchanged a look with Miki, the smaller boy shrugging in response. Without another word, they jogged off in the direction of the core.

  They didn’t encounter any traps or stray Mogadorians on their way, just more battle-scarred walls, discarded ration bags and broken bits of armor. Within minutes, Kopano bounded down corrugated steel steps into the engine room. Just like in the blueprints, the armored generator waited in a central location. The room was hot—the engines still cooling from the warship’s descent—and eerily silent.

  Kopano cracked his knuckles and looked at Miki. “Ready?”

  Miki motioned to the generator. “All you, large one.”

  “I really don’t want that nickname to catch on,” Kopano replied.

  Kopano went transparent and stepped through the generator’s armored shell. He slipped by the first two layers without an issue, then paused as he reached the innermost carapace, the one made of the same obsidian material as Vontezza’s mace. He took a deep breath of air and reminded himself that he was doing something heroic for his friends. Then he pushed forward.

  Kopano gasped as an icy sensation coursed through his every molecule. It was as if millions of needles were stabbing into his cells. The urge to harden his form in self-defense came over him, but it would be deadly to do that now, and would leave Kopano bonded to the Mogadorian alloy permanently. He focused on enduring the pain and urged his body forward.

  The generator came into view. The confines of the innermost shell were tight; no room for Kopano to go fully solid. He wrapped his arms around the generator, got in as tight as he could, hugging the thing close. Even then, his back was still partially inside the obsidian, his spine howling in pain.

  Kopano concentrated. It was like surgery, in a way. He pictured the schematic of the generator, reminding himself which pieces he needed to take with him and which he could sever and leave behind, just as John had instructed. Then, he tuned himself to the machinery, aligning its molecules with his own, while struggling not to expose himself to the dangerous material behind him. He was pretty sure he had a grip on it.

  “You can do this,” he whispered to himself.

  Holding the generator, Kopano threw himself backwards. A shower of sparks cascaded downwards as the generator disconnected from its coils. Miki had to jump aside as Kopano and the refrigerator-size piece of equipment tumbled back into the relative safety of the engine room. He stood up carefully, still holding the generator—it was weightless as long as he maintained his grip. Now that he could see it in full, it looked like a giant battery. He set the piece down in a clear area and, with a happy exhale, turned himself solid.

  “Easy,” Kopano declared to Miki. “No problem.”

  Miki pointed at his chest. “You’re bleeding.”

  Kopano looked down. Indeed, splotches of blood were soaking through the front of his shirt. He peeled it away from his skin and saw that his chest and arms were covered in tiny pinpricks, so small that Kopano didn’t even feel any pain. For a moment, he felt faint. What would have happened if he’d stayed pressed into that alloy longer?

  “Okay,” Kopano breathed. “Maybe not so easy.”

  Miki went to the generator and laid a hand against it, ready to transform again. “Where’s Vontezza and John? We should bail.”

  “John Smith,” Kopano said aloud, at the same time as he forcefully thought the words. “We’re ready to go.”

  There was no response. Kopano hadn’t noticed it happen, but it seemed as if the telepathic link was severed.

  Miki sniffed the air. “Do you smell—?”

  Smoke. It hit Kopano’s nostrils before Miki could finish his sentence.

  An anguished scream echoed from above. Kopano and Miki both spun around as Vontezza staggered into the engine room, crashing hard against the landing above.

  She was on fire. The Mogadorian girl’s entire back was enveloped in flames, her clothing and flesh crackling, peeling away. Her dark eyes sought them out.

  “Go!” she screamed hoarsely. “Run!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  RAN TAKEDA

  EINAR’S SKIMMER—DURANGO, MEXICO

  THEY REACHED MEXICO WITH THE SUNRISE. RAN had spent the entire flight looking after Duanphen, which meant that neither of them had slept. Duanphen lay on one of the cold metal benches in the narrow auxiliary room attached to the cockpit, and Ran sat on the opposing bench with her legs curled beneath her. Sunlight filtered through the grates in the wall and Duanphen sat up a bit, shielding her eyes.

  “How are you feeling?” Ran asked. She touched the other girl’s forehead, relieved that she didn’t have a fever. That was good. It meant her wound hadn’t gotten infected.

  “Light-headed. Exhausted,” Duanphen responded. “You?”

  Ran shrugged one shoulder. “Complicated.”

  Duanphen squinted. “Is that . . . is that a feeling?”

  Before Ran could answer, Number Five called back from the cockpit.

  “We’re almost there!” he shouted. “Everybody, get your shit together.”

  Ran stood. Duanphen sat up gingerly, still favoring her wounded arm—Five’s improvised stitches looking red and raw.

  “Are you sure you’re up for this?” Ran asked, speaking quietly so the ones in the cockpit wouldn’t overhear. Their plan for attacking the Foundation’s prison was haphazard at best. It was desperate and Ran had the feeling that everyone onboard this skimmer was careening towards a certain death.

  Duanphen nodded once. “I’ll be fine. Besides, what other choice is there?”

  “We could drop you
on the way,” Ran replied. “If you aren’t up for fighting . . .”

  “The fighting will find me, eventually,” Duanphen said. “It always has.”

  Ran frowned at that but put up no further argument. They all knew what they were getting into when they joined Einar. Ran herself had been looking for a way out from Earth Garde’s control, a way to avoid using the Legacies that she often hated. But today she would almost certainly use them again. To hurt people. It would be for a good cause, she told herself, to liberate other Garde from the control of the Foundation. To stop Lucas from harming anyone else. That was reason enough.

  Ever since the invasion, it felt to Ran like she had been propelled along a dangerous river. From Patience Creek to the Academy to Iceland to Switzerland to here. And every time she tried to break free of the current, the waters caught up to her. Maybe this was her fate—all their fates—to always be fighting.

  The skimmer felt very small, suddenly. She wished that she could go outside and run until she stopped thinking.

  “I’m going to get the others,” she told Duanphen.

  Ran padded into the rear compartment. She headed towards the storage closet that Isabela had turned into her private bedroom, pausing in the hall outside when she heard voices. Caleb was in there with her.

  “You talk in your sleep,” Isabela said, the complaint softer than usual.

  “Sorry,” Caleb replied quietly. “I . . . I dreamed about the hotel.”

  Ran peeked around the corner. Caleb and Isabela lay on the floor, propped on some pillows, Caleb’s head resting on her chest. Isabela idly played with his hair, staring up at the ceiling. They didn’t notice her, so Ran popped her head back out and leaned against the outside wall. She suddenly missed Nigel very, very much. Someone to talk to, someone to rely on and trust. When this was over, she told herself, she would have to make amends with him.

  “The knife was just sticking right out of his neck,” Caleb said, his voice near a whisper. “I keep seeing it.”