United as One

by Pittacus Lore

  The overhead halogens click off at Sam’s command. Now only Mogadorian blaster fire lights the way. Phiri growls impatiently.

  I get the sense that Sam is leading us somewhere. I turn my head from side to side, trying to figure out where we are. It’s difficult in the dark, and, in the flashes of light from the blaster fire, all I can make out are a series of identical closed doors.

  Over gleeful Mog shouts and blaster discharges, I hear a loud metallic noise, like a heavy bolt being thrown open. Up ahead, a door creaks open. Did Sam just lock himself in somewhere? Did he make it to safety?

  Suddenly, the dark hallway gets a lot quieter. The shooting stops. I hear a grunt of pain followed by a noise like a sharp breath being exhaled.

  That’s the sound a vatborn makes when it turns to ash.

  Phiri Dun-Ra and the Thin Mog exchange a look. We halt as the group leading the way goes quiet.

  From the darkness, I hear metal banging against metal. Rhythmic and echoing.

  Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.

  It sounds like clapping.

  With Phiri Dun-Ra distracted, I manage to get onto my knees. I realize now where we are. Those identical rooms on either side of me are cells. Sam wasn’t locking a door.

  He was unlocking a cell.

  “You seem pretty good at killing, lady,” a familiar voice growls from the darkness.

  Phiri Dun-Ra holds her hand in front of her and creates a ball of fire that illuminates the entire hallway. Then she takes an involuntary step back.

  Five stands in the middle of the hallway about twenty yards away. He wears nothing but his cotton boxers and an open bathrobe. In one hand he holds a Mogadorian blaster, which he bangs against the side of his head, creating the metallic ringing sound. Every inch of his fleshy frame has taken on the same sheen as the blaster’s gunmetal-gray alloy. In his other hand he holds a Mog warrior by the throat. With a squeeze, Five snaps his neck, the Mog turning to dust in his hand, which Five then smears across his bare chest. The flame from Phiri Dun-Ra’s fireball reflects in his remaining eye, wide and locked in. When he speaks, it’s through an insanely wide smile.

  “Let’s see which one of us is better.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  MY HANDS GRIP THE BACK OF LEXA’S SEAT AS I lean over her shoulder. Through the ship’s windshield, I see treetops flying by, the roads below a blur. Even in here, the rush of wind across the ship’s hull is loud, a constant shriek.

  “Can’t this thing go any faster?” I ask her through my clenched teeth.

  Lexa half turns from her controls to give me a look, like, Are you really asking me that?

  There’s a little red triangle flashing on Lexa’s console. Her speed is too high. She’s going to burn out the engine if she keeps this up.

  It doesn’t matter. We need to make it back to Patience Creek. We need to make it there now.

  In the copilot seat, BK stands with his front paws on the dashboard. His furry body is pointed straight ahead, back straight, teeth bared. He’s like an arrow aimed at Patience Creek. He knows our friends are in trouble; maybe he’s got some kind of animal sense about the direness of the situation.

  We lost our connection with Sam shortly after he told us Patience Creek was under attack. Before the connection was severed, I could hear shooting and screaming, all of it human.

  Mogs don’t really scream, I guess.

  Once we lost our connection with Sam, we couldn’t get him back on the phone. Worse still, we couldn’t get any of the numbers for Patience Creek to work. Neither could the Canadians when we asked them for help.

  And that brings us here. Flying in this goddamn ship towards yet another tragedy.

  I glance behind me into the passenger compartment. Nine paces back and forth. He keeps raising his fists like he’s going to punch something, then angrily thrusting them back to his sides. He hasn’t stopped moving since we all climbed on board. I’d yell at him to keep still if I wasn’t feeling the exact same way. Completely useless.

  Marina and Ella sit opposite each other. Ella’s eyes are closed, the girl trying to work some telepathic magic. There’s strain on her face and a spot of blood under her nose. Marina catches my eye and gently shakes her head.

  “She’s not as strong as she was,” Marina says quietly.

  I’ve noticed that the glow of Loric energy that surrounded Ella after she took her header into the Entity’s energy fountain has been fading gradually over the last few days. It looked especially dim after she reactivated the Loralite stone at Niagara Falls. In that meeting with Lawson, she was able to spy on Setrákus Ra telepathically from miles away. Now, trying to reach Patience Creek with her mind looks like a strain.

  “What perfect timing,” I say.

  Marina reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Sam is going to be fine,” she says.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yeah. You don’t know that.”

  “Destiny, Six. Lorien would not have given him those Legacies—him or any of the other humans who have joined our fight—if they were not meant to play an important role in the final battle.”

  “You’ve got a lot more faith than me,” I say to Marina bitterly. “It’s all just random, if you ask me. I mean, if Legacies equal destiny, how do you explain a piece of shit like Five? Or Setrákus Ra?”

  “I . . .” Marina shakes her head, not knowing how to respond.

  Ella opens her eyes, takes a deep breath and snuffs away the blood in her nose. She looks up at me and shakes her head.

  “We’re still too far away,” she says. “I can’t reach anyone. I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “What about John?” I ask. “Could you track him down?”

  “I tried,” she replies. “He’s out of range too.”

  I bite my lip to keep from yelling out in frustration. What a terrible time for John to go running off on his own. Not like he could’ve known that the Mogs were somehow going to track us to Patience Creek, but damn it, we need him with us now.

  “Can’t you like”—I wave my hand at Ella—“juice up your power? Pull him into a dream like you did before?”

  “It doesn’t . . .” Ella frowns and looks away from me. “My brush with Legacy, the power I gained, I guess it was only temporary. I’m returning to normal, and the energy is going back where it belongs.”

  I push my fingers through my hair and squeeze my scalp. “So that’s a no.”

  A shrill beep from the cockpit gets my attention.

  “That’s our warship,” Lexa calls back to me. “They’re trying to open a communication channel.”

  We left Adam, Dust and Rex back in Niagara Falls, manning the warship as best they can with a two-person crew. They’re following after us, but in terms of speed, that mammoth ship isn’t able to keep up with Lexa’s little craft.

  I hop back into the cockpit as Lexa hits a button that calls up a holographic projection of Adam in one corner of the windshield. He’s standing on the elevated commander’s platform of the warship, and, with nothing but emptiness behind him, he looks small and out of place. I expect him to ask if we’ve gotten any word from Patience Creek. However, as soon as Adam sees me, he starts pressing a button on a console in front of him.

  “Guys, I’m going to patch a broadcast through to you,” Adam says gravely, in a rush. “This is going out live right now.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, confused. The idea that there could be something more urgent than what we’re rushing towards just doesn’t register with me.

  “Every warship in the fleet is receiving this,” Adam says. “And from what I can tell, he’s hijacked every still-active satellite to broadcast to the remaining news channels as well.”

  “Who—?”

  Before I can finish my question, Adam goes to split screen. The new feed causes a hitch in my breathing, and I have to sit down on the arm of Lexa’s chair.

  It’s Setrákus Ra. Alive and well.

  “Have I not been patient?” h
e asks, his dark eyes staring directly into the camera.

  The shot of Setrákus Ra is from the chest up. He sits in an ornate chair that’s best described as a throne. Behind him, I can see the stone walls of a cavern. He wears a bloodred silk shirt with the buttons undone halfway down his sternum. It’s a ridiculous look, but it’s also a message. A message for me.

  There’s no scar on his chest. No mark. Nothing.

  “My warships hold your world’s most important cities. It should be clear by now that your planet is finished. And yet, you still resist. . . .”

  Setrákus Ra’s tone is even and condescending. Marina, Ella and Nine crowd in behind me as he drones on.

  “Did he get plastic surgery or something?” Nine asks. “What’s with his face?”

  I take a closer look. Setrákus Ra’s features are as sharp as ever, his head still shaved, the purple scar on his neck still puffy. He’s pale, dark eyed, and yet . . . he looks less haggard than when I last saw him. He doesn’t look so old or nearly so monstrous. He looks much closer to the young version of Setrákus Ra that we all saw in Ella’s vision.

  “He can shape shift, can’t he?” Marina asks.

  “No,” Ella says. “The staff he used for that was destroyed in New York City. This . . . this is something else.”

  “Lorien,” I say. “It’s got to be from the Loric energy he stole.”

  “I gave humanity an ultimatum,” Setrákus Ra continues. “Surrender unconditionally and turn over to me those humans infected with Legacies. Only the wise leaders of Russia saw the wisdom in my words. Only they understood that these Legacies now afflicting humanity are a disease, something passed on from an alien species driven extinct by their own hubris. They are a sickness that only I can cure.”

  “I am not fucking extinct,” growls Nine.

  Setrákus Ra puts a hand on his chest, like he’s feeling an emotion. “I understand how paradigm shifts can be difficult. I understand that acknowledging humanity’s subservience is troubling for the unenlightened. I am not a monster. I do not wish to see your cities razed, to shed blood needlessly, and so I allowed the deadline I set to lapse. I gave humanity time to come to its senses. I showed mercy.”

  Setrákus Ra leans towards the camera, and I instinctually lean away from the screen.

  “No more,” he says, his tone suddenly icy. “This transmission is being broadcast simultaneously to the captains of my fleet. My loyal followers, humanity has refused to embrace Mogadorian Progress. They must be shown the way. We will lead them towards enlightenment with fire and blood.”

  Marina covers her mouth with her hand. Ella stares daggers at the screen. Lexa focuses on flying, pushing the ship’s engine beyond its breaking point. Nine’s fists clench, his knuckles cracking. I stare at the spot on Setrákus Ra’s chest where I struck, where I almost killed him. Not good enough. None of it was good enough.

  Setrákus Ra takes a deep breath and bellows.

  “All warships! Open fire!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  FIVE FLIES FORWARD AT TOP SPEED. HE HOLDS his blaster by the barrel, not bothering to shoot it. Instead, he wields the weapon like a club. He hits the line of Mog warriors like a whirlwind, caving in their skulls with his weapon’s handle. As he dusts one Mog, he grabs a second blaster from the Mog’s disintegrating hand. When one of the warriors tries to leap on his back, Five throws a vicious elbow, his metal carapace causing a resounding crunch. He shoves one Mog back with telekinesis, lets him bounce off the wall, then headbutts him to the ground.

  I’ve never been so happy to see Five.

  “Traitor! Beloved Leader gave you everything!” Phiri Dun-Ra shrieks at Five. She unleashes a fireball in his direction. Five ducks to the side—his bathrobe catches on fire—but the heat doesn’t harm his metal skin.

  “He gave me nothing!” Five yells back, and flings one of his blasters end over end at Phiri. It hits her right between the eyes and knocks her off her feet. Dark blood coats her face, her nose broken.

  If I was Phiri Dun-Ra, I would’ve caught that blaster with my telekinesis, no problem. I realize that just because Phiri is capable of stealing my Legacies, that doesn’t mean she knows how to use them. She’s lashing out with one Legacy at a time, trying to do the most damage while not playing any defense.

  It gives me an opening.

  With Phiri stunned, I wrap my hands around the Voron noose and yank it out of her grasp. I pull it over my head before any of her cronies can stop me. Most of them are too distracted with Five anyway.

  Now I just need to get her piercing tentacles out of my back.

  Phiri’s pushed herself up on her elbows, shaking off Five’s blow. I lunge forward from my knees and drive my forearm right into her throat, trying to cave in her windpipe.

  She gurgles once and then reacts. I feel a tearing sensation in my back as Phiri’s tentacles lift me off of her. They turn me over and send me straight up, face-first into the ceiling and then back down to the floor.

  I’m dazed, the wind knocked out of me, a tooth loose in my mouth. I’m still hooked to Phiri Dun-Ra. I can hear her coughing, as well as the dull, bludgeoning sounds of Five working his way through the vatborn squadron.

  When my eyes finally focus, I notice the Thin Mog has edged closer to the fray. He cups his hands in front of his mouth and exhales another cloud of those spores he used to mind control Mark and the soldiers. In the darkened hallway, the only light Five’s smoldering robe, the spores look like a cloud of spiders.

  “Five!” I manage to yell, tasting blood as I do. “Watch out! Don’t breathe those in!”

  Five slams one of the last vatborn to the ground just as I finish my warning. He turns his head, confused, and sees the spores coming at him. His chest puffs out as he tries to hold his breath, but they’re already all over his mouth and nose. They move with a mind of their own, forcing their way up his nostrils and through his lips.

  No. If they mind control Five, all will be lost. No one will survive this place.

  I try to shove myself towards the Thin Mog, but Phiri’s tentacles are still digging into my back. I’m too weak.

  The telltale black veins are already spreading across Five’s face. His grip loosens on his blaster, and his skin goes back to normal. His back arches as the burning robe comes in contact with his normal flesh.

  “Yes . . . ,” the Thin Mog commands. “Don’t fight it.”

  Five glares murderously at the Thin Mog. He’s frozen in place, though, his muscles twitching, out of his control.

  “Hey.”

  The Thin Mog manages to half turn at the voice. That’s the last thing he does. Sam, having crept out from one of the nearby cells, pulls the trigger on a blaster at point-blank range. The shot takes the back of the Thin Mog’s head clean off. The hallway is suddenly filled with those spores, like a piñata burst. It’s like the Thin Mog’s entire head was packed with the moldy growths, the things now floating harmlessly to the floor, where they wilt and turn to ash.

  Rattled, Five sneezes and spits, shaking off the Thin Mog’s grasp.

  “John—,” Sam starts to say, but then his eyes widen, and he dives back into the cell just ahead of a jagged piece of dark-colored ice.

  Phiri Dun-Ra is back on her feet. She reels me towards her using her tentacles. With most of her backup dead, her eyes are suddenly wild and desperate.

  “Extraction!” she shrieks into an earpiece. “I need extraction!”

  Five rams into her, grabbing her around the throat with two hands. His skin is the speckled white and black of the tile floor. Phiri lets a gout of fire loose in Five’s face, but it only singes his carapace and makes him angrier. His hands tighten around her neck.

  It’s a relief when one of Phiri’s tentacles slides out of my back. That feeling doesn’t last long. Phiri lashes the oily appendage around Five’s neck and lifts him off the ground so that his feet are no longer touching the tile floor. His skin loses its hardened coating—now it’s back to normal—and
Phiri is able to squeeze his throat closed with her tentacle.

  Now’s it’s Five wheezing for breath.

  “Let’s see what you have for me, boy,” Phiri says. The sharpened end of her tentacle slaps across Five’s face, seeking out his empty eye socket. She’s going to attach herself to Five like she’s attached herself to me.

  That’s when I see Five’s blade lying abandoned on the floor. One of the Mogs he dusted must have been carrying it.

  “Five!” I shout, trying to get his attention as he starts to turn blue. I stretch my leg out as far as I can and kick the blade towards him. I hope he can hear it skittering across the floor.

  Before Phiri can plug into Five, he uses his telekinesis to yank his blade towards him and strap it to his arm. It’s so smooth, I get the sense that’s not the first time Five’s practiced that move. And what comes next . . . well, I know Five’s got experience in this area.

  With maniacal glee, Five stabs at Phiri Dun-Ra. He hacks away at the tentacle around his neck until it’s nothing but pulp and he’s able to drop to the floor. His skin takes on the hardened tile texture again, just in time to absorb a desperate burst of fire from Phiri. Undeterred, Five goes right for the mass of ooze attached to her shoulder, mutilating it until the tentacles attached to me drop loose and wither to ash. Phiri screams in frustration, even as her sick appendage keeps regrowing. Every time it does, Five seems almost glad to get another chance to slash it apart. I’d almost forgotten how sadistic he is.

  “Just kill her, Five!” I yell, edging backwards across the floor and grimacing as I notice the size of the blood trail I leave behind.

  “Don’t rush me,” he snarls.

  The Shadow Mog emerges from the darkness behind Phiri Dun-Ra. This must be the extraction she was screaming for a few seconds ago. He wraps his arms around Phiri’s waist and yanks her backwards, the shadows like liquid around them, swallowing them up.

  Except Five doesn’t let go. He buries his blade in Phiri’s shoulder and launches himself through the shadows after them. The teleportation is completely soundless. One second they’re here and the next the hallway is completely still. Wherever the Shadow Mog brought Phiri to, he took Five with them.