The Legend Trilogy Collection

by Lu, Marie

  Too late to lie now. If I owe Day anything, I owe him this. I shift into the space between the soldiers and the hallway. Calculations rush through my head. (The hallway is a little over four feet wide—if I move into it, I can prevent the soldiers from attacking me all at once and break up my opponents into two smaller waves instead of one large one.) “Your Chancellor won’t want me dead,” I lie. My heart pounds furiously. Beside me, the lab tech looks on with stricken eyes, unsure of what to do. “He’ll want me alive, and tried. You know this.”

  “Such big lies out of such a small mouth.” The soldier hoists his gun. I hold my breath. “Move out of the way, or I shoot.”

  If I didn’t see the hint of hesitation on his face, I would’ve done as he asked. No use to Day or Eden if I’m just dead and gunned down. But the soldier’s flash of uncertainty is all I need. I hold my arms up slowly and carefully. My eyes stay fixed on him. “You don’t want to shoot me,” I say. I’m shocked at how firm my voice sounds—not a ripple of fear in it, despite the adrenaline rushing through my veins. My legs sway a little, still a touch unsteady from the experiments. “Your Chancellor doesn’t sound like a forgiving man.”

  The soldier hesitates again. He doesn’t know what the Chancellor has in mind for me. He has to give me the benefit of the doubt.

  We hold our standoff for several long seconds.

  Finally he spits out a curse and lowers his gun. “Get her,” he snaps at his soldiers. “Don’t shoot.”

  The world zooms in at me—everything fades, except for the enemy. My instincts kick into overdrive.

  Let’s play. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.

  I crouch into a fighting stance as the soldiers rush at me all at once. The narrowness of the hallway works instantly to my advantage—instead of dealing with five soldiers at the same time, I only deal with two. I duck the first soldier’s swing, rip my knife out from my boot, and slash his calf as viciously as I can. The blade tears effortlessly through both his pant leg and his tendon. He shrieks. Instantly his leg buckles, taking him to the floor in a thrashing heap. The second soldier rushing at me trips right over his falling comrade. I kick out at the second soldier’s face, knocking him out, and step off from his back to lunge at the third soldier. He tries to punch me. I block his blow with one arm—my other hand shoots up toward his face and smashes into his nose so hard that I feel the crunch of breaking bone. The soldier staggers backward once and falls, clutching his face in agony.

  Three down.

  My advantage of surprise vanishes—the last two soldiers take me on more warily. One of them shouts into his mike for backup. Behind them, Mikhael starts sneaking away. Even though I don’t dare glance in his direction, I know that he must be moving to lock down the corridors in the stairwell, making it impossible for more Colonies soldiers to come swarming up. One of the remaining soldiers lifts his gun and points it at my legs. I kick out at him. My boot hits the barrel of his gun right as he fires it, sending a bullet ricocheting wildly over my shoulder. An alarm blares across the entire building’s intercoms—the stairwells are locked down, an alert’s been sent out. I kick the gun again so that it arcs backward, hitting the soldier hard in the face. It stuns him momentarily. I spin and strike him hard in the jaw with my elbow—

  —but then something hits me hard in the back of my head. Stars explode across my vision. I stumble, falling to one knee, and struggle to swim up through my blindness. The second soldier must’ve struck me from behind. I swing out again, trying my best to guess at where the soldier is, but I miss and fall again. Through my hazy vision, I see the soldier raise the butt of his gun to strike me again in the face. The blow will knock me unconscious. I try in vain to roll away.

  The strike doesn’t come. I blink, struggling to my feet. What happened? When my vision clears a bit, I notice the last soldier lying on the ground and lab techs rushing over to tie their hands and feet. Suddenly there are people everywhere. Standing over me is Tess, pale and sickly and breathing hard, clutching a rifle from one of the other fallen soldiers. I had not noticed her leaving her room.

  She manages a weak smile. “You’re welcome,” she says, extending a hand to help me up.

  I smile back. She pulls me, trembling, to my feet. When I sway on uncertain legs, she offers me her shoulder to lean on. Neither of us is very steady, but we don’t fall.

  “Ms. Iparis,” Mikhael gasps out as he hurries over to us. “We’ve managed to reach the Elector—we’ve told him about the cure. But we also just received a warning to evacuate the Bank Tower. They say the fake surrender will end very soon and that one of the Colonies’ first targets of retaliation will be—”

  A shudder shakes the hospital. We all freeze where we are. I glance at the horizon—at first the shudder felt a bit like an earthquake, or the rumble of a passing airship, but the shaking is set off in short, regular intervals instead of the sharp roll of a seismic wave or the low, steady hum of airships—and an instant later, I realize that the airship bases’ bombs must have begun going off. I run to the window with Tess, where we look on as bright plumes of orange and gray billow up from the bases lining the horizon. Panic takes hold of me. Day must have made his announcement. Whether or not he survived it, I have no idea.

  The phony surrender’s over; the ceasefire has ended. The final fight for the Republic has begun.

  WHEN I WAS FIFTEEN, I BROKE INTO A BANK IN LOS ANGELES after guards standing at its back entrance didn’t believe I could do it in ten seconds. The night before, I had made a detailed mental checklist of the layout of that bank, noting every foothold and window and ledge, and guesstimated every floor inside. I waited until its guards rotated at midnight, and then I snuck into the building’s basement. There, I set a tiny explosive on the vault’s lock. There was no way I could break in at night without triggering their alarms . . . but the next morning, when guards headed down to the vault to check on the inventory, most of the laser-guided alarms throughout the building would be off. I timed my entrance the next day to coincide. As I taunted the guards at the bank’s back entrance, the guards inside the bank were opening the vault door. And the explosive went off. At the same time, I leaped through the bank’s second floor window, then down the steps, then into the vault through smoke and dust, and made my way out of the building by hooking the bank’s waiting line chains to myself and swinging out of the top floor. You should’ve seen me.

  Now, as I walk straight up the inner ramps of a pyramid dock and toward the entrance of my very first Colonies airship, flanked on both sides by Colonies soldiers, I run through my old bank stunt and feel an overwhelming urge to flee. To swing onto the side of the ship, lose the troops tailing me, and weave into its vents. My eyes sweep the ship and try to map out the best escape routes, the closest hiding places, and most convenient footholds. Walking straight up to it like this leaves me feeling way too open and vulnerable. Still, I don’t show it on my face. When I reach the entrance and a pair of lieutenants ushers me inside, then pats me down thoroughly for any weapons, I just smile politely at them. If the Chancellor wants to see me intimidated, he might be disappointed.

  The soldiers don’t catch the tiny, coin-size round discs sewn into my boots. One is a recorder. If there’s any conversation I want to have to use against the Colonies, it’s this one, to be shown to the entire public. The others are tiny explosives. Outside, somewhere beyond the airship base and hidden in the buildings’ shadows, are Pascao and several other Patriots.

  I hope the people are ready for my signal. I hope they’re listening for my final step, watching and waiting.

  It’s the first time I’ve been in an airship that has no portraits of the Elector hanging on its walls. Instead, interspersed between swallowtail-shaped blue-and-gold flags are ads, screens as high as the walls that advertise everything from food to electronics to houses. I get an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu, recalling the time June and I had stumbled into th
e Colonies, but when the lieutenants glance my way, I just shrug at them and keep my eyes down. We make our way through the corridors and up two flights of stairs before they finally usher me into a large chamber. I stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. This looks like some sort of observation deck, with a long glass window that gives me a view of Los Angeles.

  A lone man stands by the window, the city’s light painting his silhouette black. He waves me over. “Ah, you’re finally here!” he exclaims. Instantly I recognize the smooth, coaxing voice of the Chancellor. He looks nothing like how I pictured him: He’s short and small, frail, his hair receded and gray, his voice way too big for his body. There’s a slight hunch to his shoulders, and his skin looks thin and translucent in some areas, like it’s made of paper and might crumple if I were to touch it. I can’t keep the surprise off my face. This is the man who rules over corps like DesCon, who threatens and bullies an entire nation and negotiates with manipulative precision? A little anticlimactic, to be honest. I almost write him off before I get a good look at his eyes.

  And that’s where I recognize the Chancellor I’ve spoken to before. His eyes calculate, analyze, and deduce me in a way that chills me to the bone. Something is incredibly wrong about them.

  Then I realize why. His eyes are mechanical.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” he says. “Come on over. Enjoy the view with me, son. This is where we’ll have you make your announcement. A nice vantage point, isn’t it?”

  A retort—“The view’s probably better without all the Colonies airships in the way”—is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it with some effort and do as he says. He smiles as I stop beside him, and I do my best not to look into his false eyes.

  “Well, look at you, all young and fresh faced.” He claps me on the back. “You did the right thing, you know, coming here.” He gazes back at Los Angeles. “Do you see all that? What’s the point of staying loyal to that? You’re a Colonian now, and you won’t have to put up with the Republic’s twisted laws anymore. We’ll treat you and your brother so well that you’ll soon wonder why you ever hesitated to join us.”

  From the corner of my eyes, I make note of possible escape routes. “What’ll happen to the people in the Republic?”

  The Chancellor taps his lips in a display of thoughtfulness. “The Senators, unfortunately, might be less happy about the whole thing—and as for the Elector himself . . . well, you can only have one real ruler for one country, and I am already here.” He offers me a smile that borders on kindness, a startling contrast to his actual words. “He and I are more alike than you might think. We are not cruel. We are simply practical. And you know how tricky it can be to deal with traitors.”

  A shiver runs down my spine. “And the Princeps-Elects?” I repeat. “What about the Patriots? This was part of our deal, remember?”

  The Chancellor nods. “Of course I remember. Day, there are things you’ll learn about people and society when you get older. Sometimes, you just have to do things the hard way. Now, before you work yourself up into a panic, know that Ms. Iparis will be unharmed. We already have plans to pardon her for your sake, given that you’ll be helping us out. Part of our deal, just like you said, and I do not go back on my word. The other Princeps-Elects will be executed along with the Elector.”

  Executed. So easy, just like that. I get a nauseous feeling in my stomach at the memory of Anden’s botched assassination. This time he might not be so lucky. “As long as you spare June,” I manage to choke out, “and as long as you don’t hurt the Patriots or my brother. But you still haven’t answered my first question. What will happen to the people of the Republic?”

  The Chancellor eyes me, then leans closer. “Tell me, Day, do you think the masses have the right to make decisions for an entire nation?”

  I turn to stare at the city. It’s a long drop from here to the bottom of the naval base; I’ll have to find a way to slow myself down. “The laws that affect an entire nation will also affect that nation’s individuals, yeah?” I reply, goading him. I hope my recorder’s picking all this up. “So of course the people have a right to contribute to those decisions.”

  The Chancellor nods. “A fair answer. But fairness does not power nations, Day, does it? I have read histories about nations where every person is given an equal start in life, where everyone contributes to the greater good and no one is richer or poorer than anyone else. Do you think that system worked?” He shakes his head. “Not with people, Day. That’s something you’ll learn when you grow up. People by nature are unjust, unfair, and conniving. You have to be careful with them—you have to find a way to make them think that you are catering to their every whim. The masses can’t function on their own. They need help. They don’t know what’s good for them. And as for what will happen to the people of the Republic? Well, Day, I’ll tell you. The people as a whole will be thrilled to be integrated into our system. They will know everything that they need to know, and we will make sure they are all put to good use. It will be a well-oiled machine.”

  “Everything they need to know?”

  “Yes.” He folds his hands behind his back and sticks his chin up. “Do you really believe that the people can make all of their own decisions? What a frightening world. People don’t always know what they really want. You should know that better than anyone, Day, what with your announcement so long ago in favor of the Elector, and with the announcement you’ll give us today.” He tilts his head a little as he talks. “You do what you need to do.”

  You do what you need to do. Echoes of the philosophy of the Republic’s own former Elector—echoes of something that, no matter what country I’m in, never seems to change. On the surface, I just nod, but inside, I feel a sudden hesitation to go through with my plan. He’s baiting you, I remind myself, lost in the struggle. You are not like the Chancellor. You fight for the people.

  You are fighting for something real. Aren’t you?

  I’ve got to get out of here, before he works his way deeper into my mind. My muscles tense up, ready for the announcement. I study the room from my peripheral vision. “Well,” I say stiffly, “let’s get this over with.”

  “More enthusiasm, my boy,” the Chancellor says, clicking his tongue in mock disapproval, and then gives me a serious look. “We thoroughly expect you to sell your point to the people.”

  I nod. I step forward toward the window, then let two soldiers hook my mike up to broadcast from the airship. A transparent, live video of me suddenly appears on the glass. Shivers run down my entire body. There are Colonies soldiers all over the place, and they’ve ensured that if I don’t make my move just right, I’ll have sentenced myself and most likely all of my loved ones to death. This is it. There is no turning back from here.

  “People of the Republic,” I begin. “Today, I stand here with the Chancellor of the Colonies, on board his very own airship. I have a message for all of you.” My voice sounds hoarse, and I have to clear my throat before continuing. When I shift my toes, I can feel the bump of the two tiny explosives on the bottom of my boots’ soles, ready for my next move. I hope to hell that the markers that Pascao, the other Runners, and I left across the city have done their work, and that the people are prepared.

  “We’ve been through a lot together,” I continue. “But few things have been more trying than the last few months in the Republic. Believe me, I know. Adjusting to a new Elector, seeing the changes that have come around . . . and as you all know by now, I haven’t been doing so well myself.” My headache throbs as if in response. Outside the airship, my voice echoes across the city from the video feed playing from dozens of Colonies airships and hundreds of Los Angeles JumboTrons. I take a deep breath, as if this might be the last time I ever speak to the people. “You and I will probably never get a chance to meet. But I know you. You have taught me about all the good things in my life, and why I’ve fought for my family all these years.
I hope for great things for your own loved ones, that they can go through life without suffering the way mine have.” I pause here. My eyes turn to face the Chancellor, and he nods once, coaxing me on. My heart is beating so loudly that I can barely hear my own voice.

  “The Colonies have much to offer you,” I say, my voice growing stronger. “Their ships are now in our skies. It will not be long before you see Colonies banners flying above your children’s schools and over your homes. People of the Republic, I have one final message for you, before you and I say farewell to each other.”

  It’s time. My legs tense, and my feet shift ever so slightly. The Chancellor looks on.

  “The Republic is weak and broken.” I narrow my eyes. “But it is still your country. Fight for it. This is your home, not theirs.”

  In the same moment that I see the Chancellor’s enraged expression, I spring from where I’m standing and kick at the glass as hard as I can. Colonies soldiers rush toward me. My boots hit the window—the explosives embedded in my soles give two brief pops, sending tremors through my feet. The glass shatters.

  And now I’m midair, sailing through the open space. My arms whip up and grab the top edge of the broken windowpane. A bullet zips by. The Chancellor’s furious shout rises up from inside. Guess they’re not going to try keeping me alive after that. All my adrenaline rushes forward in a flood of heat.

  I shimmy up and out into the evening air. No time to waste. My cap threatens to blow off—I hang out the window for a second and try to adjust it more snugly onto my head. Last thing I need right now is to have my hair blowing around like a beacon for anyone on the ground to see. When the gusts die down a bit, I pull myself completely out and cling to the window frame. I look up, gauging the distance to the next window. Then I jump. My hands grab on to the bottom ledge of the frame, and with difficulty, I manage to pull myself up. I grunt from the effort. Never would’ve had a problem with this a year ago.