Fugitive Six

by Pittacus Lore

  It was coming from deeper inside the warship.

  Did the Foundation have a prisoner here?

  With a glance back at the battle, Taylor followed the sound of the voice through the hulking ship’s skeletal remains. Her path was illuminated in patches by the glow of the floodlights shining through the cracks in the ship’s roof. She picked her way across debris—broken Mog blasters, torn radiation suits, empty packs of cigarettes.

  As she got closer, Taylor realized the voice was speaking a language she didn’t understand. In fact, it wasn’t one she’d heard before—at least not until that night. The harsh and sharp syllables were Mogadorian.

  Taylor got low, wary now that she’d stumbled into a trap.

  She relaxed as she rounded a corner and entered a vast corridor. At the far end was a blinking communication array, somehow undamaged during the ship crash. The voice emanated from there. Whether it was a live broadcast or a recording, Taylor couldn’t tell.

  As Taylor listened, the Mogadorian girl switched from her guttural language to fluid English.

  “This is Vontezza Aoh-Atet, trueborn daughter of the dead General Aoh-Atet, and current commander of the Mogadorian warship Osiris.” The Mog did everything in her power to sound formal and lofty, but Taylor could tell that she was young despite her big titles. “We remain in our defensive position behind the Earth’s moon as we have for the last four hundred days. Our supplies begin to run low. If there is any section of the fleet still receiving, please respond to our transmission.”

  Taylor raised an eyebrow. She’d heard about this. During the invasion, the Garde had briefly convinced the Mogadorian fleet that Setrákus Ra was dead. All hell had broken loose—some warships held strong while others fought against each other, their commanders vying for the role of Beloved Leader. One ship had even retreated into space. Apparently, that warship was still hanging around up there with this young-sounding Vontezza in control.

  “If John Smith or any of the other Loric are listening,” Vontezza continued, “I wish to meet with you under the flag of peace. What is left of the Mogadorian people have no stomach for further war . . .”

  Based on the Mogs attacking the mercenaries outside, Taylor didn’t think that was necessarily true.

  Vontezza’s message began once again in Mogadorian. A recording, then. Taylor took a step towards the console and her foot squelched down into something warm and sticky.

  At first glance, it looked like the floor of the room was covered in a massive oil slick. But the stuff worming around on Taylor’s foot wasn’t oil—it was thicker and gummier. She took a hurried step back, worried the ooze would eat through her footwear.

  She noticed the vats, then. Huge tanks lined up against the walls, all of them broken open. The black gunk had flowed forth from them. Squinting, Taylor thought she could make out pale shapes floating in the dark bog. Were those half-formed Mogadorian bodies?

  Taylor had no doubt this was what the Foundation was out here collecting. The stuff looked exactly like the sickness she’d seen under the soldiers’ skin.

  Some toxic creation of the Mogadorians. What did the Foundation want with that?

  “They’re falling back!” Taylor heard a soldier shout. The sound of gunfire was waning. The battle was won.

  She didn’t have long to do what she needed to do.

  Of the fifty men who left for the night shift, only thirty-one made it back to camp. It could have been less. Taylor, exhausted now, eyes sunken and heavy, still managed to heal a few dire cases on the way back.

  The look on Jiao’s face when Taylor appeared in their tent, joining the soldiers as they came for healing was priceless. Taylor must’ve looked crazy—haggard, with dried blood smeared on one side of her face, her blond hair tinted crimson. She could tell that Jiao wanted to ask her questions but didn’t dare. The XO hovered nearby, not letting Taylor out of his sight.

  Vincent didn’t say anything either. He didn’t meet Taylor’s gaze. He paid attention only to the wounded soldiers who stepped up in front of him.

  Taylor took off her boots and made Jiao examine her feet. None of the black oil had crept in.

  “She’s clean,” Jiao reported to the XO. She waved her hand at Taylor’s messed-up appearance and bone-weary posture. “Nothing I can do about the rest. She needs sleep.”

  “Not yet,” the XO replied, gently taking Taylor by the arm.

  The XO led her out. Some of the men gave her appreciative nods as she passed. Because she’d saved their lives? Or were they simply acknowledging that she’d fought alongside them?

  Taylor ended up alone in the XO’s tent. He let her sit on his cot, propped up against some pillows. Her whole body ached. She struggled to keep her eyes open as the XO paced back and forth. He accessed a tablet and placed a video call.

  Bea. Her hair was pinned up and she wore a drab nightgown. They’d woken her up.

  “What is it?”

  “We had an incident,” the XO reported.

  He went through the details of the Mogadorian ambush, the number of casualties, and the damage to the site. He explained that Taylor had been out there with the men. Taylor kept her eyes on Bea, saw a hot glimmer of rage appear in the twist of her lips—she was mad at the XO. His negligence had endangered one of her most valuable assets.

  When the XO finished his summary of events, Bea regarded Taylor. Her face was a mask now, calm and collected.

  “Are you all right, darling?” she asked.

  Taylor nodded.

  “How did you end up out there?”

  “One of the soldiers . . . MacLaughlan . . .” Taylor allowed her voice to be shaky. It would make the lies more convincing. “I hadn’t finished healing him before because he was out of line. The XO was there, he saw. He came to our tent . . . he took me. Made me heal him on the way to the warship site. Then . . . I don’t know. I don’t know what else he planned to do.”

  She felt a little guilty besmirching MacLaughlan’s memory, but he was dead. He wouldn’t mind.

  “This soldier? Where is he?” Bea asked the XO coldly.

  “Dead in the ambush, ma’am.”

  “Good.” Bea took a cleansing breath. “Can the excavation continue?”

  “I’ll need some reinforcements, ma’am,” the XO responded. “Lost some men tonight. And I’m not sure how many more of those things are out there.”

  “Hmm.” Bea pursed her lips. “The samples you’ve gathered so far already have a buyer and I can’t tolerate a delay. Select a few trusted men and bring what you’ve gathered to my location. The rest can stay until reinforcements are available.”

  Taylor let loose a small moan and shuddered. It wasn’t entirely disingenuous. The thought of any more time in Mongolia seemed like a nightmare.

  “And bring Ms. Cook along,” Bea added sympathetically. “I think she’s seen enough action for one tour.”

  Before, back on the Mogadorian warship, Taylor took MacLaughlan’s satellite phone out of her coat. She breathed a sigh of relief that it hadn’t been damaged in all the fighting.

  She punched in a number. A number that she’d memorized a couple of months ago, when this plan was first hatched. A number for a cell phone that Professor Nine promised would get answered at any time, day or night.

  Ring. Ring.

  “Where’s the asset?” someone shouted. “Where did you put her?”

  They were looking for her. The battle had ended.

  “Come on, come on,” Taylor murmured, edging back into the shadows.

  Ring. Ring.

  “Find her!” the XO yelled.

  Ring. Ri—

  “Hello?” a young man answered.

  “It’s me,” Taylor said, tears springing into her eyes. “I don’t have long. Please, hurry.”

  “Put the phone up to your arm.”

  Taylor did as she was told, putting the phone against her forearm, right where there would’ve been a recent surgery scar. That is, if Taylor hadn’t healed the wound hers
elf.

  She could still hear the guy’s voice on the phone, though it took on a different quality now. Tinny and robotic.

  “Activate!” he said.

  That’s what it sounded like when Sam Goode used his Legacy to talk to machines.

  “Did it work?” Taylor asked, putting the phone back to her ear.

  “Yes!” Sam said. “We see you.”

  The Foundation’s scans hadn’t discovered Taylor’s locator chip because it hadn’t been active yet.

  Now it was.

  A flashlight beam swept down Taylor’s corridor. She pitched the phone into the Mogadorian ooze without saying good-bye and stumbled in the direction of the searching soldiers.

  “I’m here!” she called. “I’m here!”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  CALEB CRANE

  MELBOURNE, FLORIDA

  CALEB WOKE UP AT DAWN AND GOT DRESSED AS quietly as possible. While the rest of Sydal’s mansion slept, he crept outside and started to jog down the beach. The cold spray from the ocean tickled his skin. He kept up a steady pace until he was clear of Sydal’s property. Once he made it onto the public beach, he started to come across other early-morning joggers. They nodded and smiled at him like he was a normal person.

  He found his way to a beachside juice bar. With a few bucks from his Earth Garde living stipend, Caleb bought himself a peanut-butter-and-banana smoothie. Drink in hand, sweat damp on his back, he settled into a chair on the store’s porch, which looked out over the ocean. Occasionally, Caleb glanced down at his watch.

  He was supposed to meet Wade Sydal that morning at nine so the inventor could run some tests on him.

  It was ten before he finished his smoothie.

  “Oops,” Caleb said.

  He didn’t make his way back to the beach house until a couple of hours later, when he was sure that Sydal had to have gone into his office. He was right. The place was pretty much deserted.

  Caleb found Daniela out by the pool, soaking her feet while she finished the last few pages of her novel. She tipped her sunglasses down to look at him.

  “Yo, everybody was looking for you,” she said.

  “I went for a jog and lost track of time,” Caleb said, the lie practiced.

  “Uh-huh,” Daniela replied. “Wade was all disappointed you didn’t go to the office with him, but Melanie volunteered instead. I guess she’s going to lift a bunch of shit while Sydal measures the energy stored up in her muscles.”

  “Great,” Caleb said, plopping down next to Daniela and sticking his feet into the pool.

  “Honestly?” She lowered her voice a little. “I don’t really want that dude running tests on me either. I made some chunks of stone for him to analyze. He seemed cool with that.”

  “It’s weird, right?” Caleb said, relieved that Daniela was on his side. “It’s like he wants to figure out how Legacies work so he can cut us out of the process.”

  Daniela held up her hand. “Okay, whoa. I just don’t want him poking me and ogling me like he does his assistants. I’m not going in on a whole conspiracy thing with you.”

  Caleb and Daniela both turned as the screen door behind them snapped open. Lucinda, the Sydal assistant who had caught Caleb in the workshop the other day, stood there with a raised eyebrow.

  “Aha,” she said. “There you are, Mr. Crane.”

  Lucinda wore a pencil skirt and a blouse that she’d tied off to show a little midriff. Caleb hadn’t realized the word “sashay” was in his vocabulary until he watched Lucinda approach them.

  Lucinda stopped in front of them, her hip cocked to one side, and smirked. She eyed Caleb for a moment before speaking.

  “Mr. Sydal was very disappointed you missed your appointment this morning,” Lucinda said.

  “Um, yeah,” Caleb said, swallowing. “I went out for a run and lost track of time. Tell him I’m sorry.”

  “You can tell him yourself, at dinner,” Lucinda said. “You’ll be there, right? Or are you planning to disappear again?”

  “No,” Caleb said. “I’ll be around.”

  “Good,” Lucinda replied. She started toying with the knot on her shirt while she spoke, which Caleb found incredibly distracting. “Mr. Sydal would also like to know if you guys are okay with steak for dinner?”

  “Uh,” Caleb replied. “What?”

  Daniela snickered. “Yeah, that’s cool. Thanks.”

  Lucinda smiled at Caleb, then swayed her way back into the house. Daniela elbowed him.

  “I think she was flirting with you, man.”

  “Seriously? No way.”

  Daniela patted Caleb’s shoulder. “Accept that we’re superpowered rock stars.”

  There had been guests at dinner every night since the Garde had arrive in Florida—officers from Sydal’s company, representatives from NASA and the military, rich friends—but tonight’s crowd was relatively small. It was just Sydal’s entourage and the Garde. Sydal sat at the head of the long table on the sunporch, a fire-pit crackling nearby, the smell of grilled meat heavy in the air. He was flanked by four of his assistants—two guys and two girls, one of them Lucinda—the ones that were currently staying at the beach house to jot down Sydal’s thoughts and see to his needs whenever they popped up. Was Sydal hooking up with one of his assistants? Caleb and Daniela had discussed that and come to no conclusions. He was affectionate with all of them, perhaps inappropriately so. Maybe that explained why Sydal’s lawyer, a frumpy older man fresh from the golf course, was also present.

  The spread was delicious, even if Caleb didn’t want to admit it. Juicy steak, corn on the cob that was somehow fresh despite not being in season, potato wedges, a bunch of different salads—all served and bussed by Sydal’s jovial live-in waitstaff. Someone was always nearby to top off Sydal’s wineglass.

  To Caleb’s relief, Sydal spent most of dinner deep in conversation with his lawyer, the assistants taking notes. Meanwhile, Melanie sat across from the Garde, looking bored. Eventually, she forced herself to make conversation.

  “What’d you guys do today?”

  “Chilled by the pool,” Daniela said.

  “Nothing,” Caleb said.

  Melanie sighed. “Cool. I hung out at Wade’s office all day because someone no-showed, but he didn’t even have time to experiment on me.”

  “Tragic,” Daniela said.

  “He’s going to give me a spaceship to apologize,” Melanie replied. Caleb wasn’t sure if she was joking or not.

  “Sorry I missed our appointment,” Caleb mumbled to Sydal when the CEO caught his eye.

  “Caleb, my man, no worries,” Sydal replied. “Like Melanie said, today was actually really busy for me. We got some offers on the Shepard-One. Seems like we’re going to up our production schedule.”

  His lawyer, done eating and now busy with a tablet computer, slid the device in Sydal’s direction.

  “We’ve already got patent license offers from Northrop and Lockheed,” the lawyer told Sydal, his voice low but not low enough to avoid Caleb’s ears. “The navy and air force both want to know if you see any applications for ICBMs.”

  Sydal smiled. “Lots. Obviously. The propulsion system would scale perfectly. The range would be basically limitless.”

  Caleb shook his head and shoved another forkful of steak into his mouth. They were talking about intercontinental ballistic missiles. Of course the military would be interested in that. He imagined his dad and his brothers back at the base, discussing the farthest distance they could kill from.

  “Also,” the lawyer continued in Sydal’s ear. “We heard back from our contacts in Europe. They’re ready to sell. But the deal is happening in Switzerland and it has been requested that you come in person within the next twenty-four hours.”

  Sydal stroked his chin. “Switzerland, eh? I could do some skiing, I sup—”

  “Excuse me, but why would you want to put your technology on something meant to kill people?”

  The table fell silent and everyone turned t
heir attention to Caleb. He raised his eyebrows and swallowed an uncomfortably large bite of steak.

  The duplicate that now stood behind Caleb’s chair didn’t have anything in his mouth. He fixed Sydal with a churlish sneer—it half reminded Caleb of Nigel, in that moment—like a student challenging a teacher.

  Sydal’s lawyer looked uncomfortable but at the sight of the duplicate the man himself grinned.

  “Finally! A demonstration! It’s as cool as advertised!” Sydal clapped his hands. He looked from Caleb to the duplicate and back. “I’m not sure which one of you I should even look at. Amazing! To answer your question, the primary purpose of missiles is to act as a deterrent not to, you know, actually kill anyone. But that’s not what’s important right now. Seriously, buddy, Caleb, we have got to run those tests. Like, I want to go back to the office tonight.” Sydal, mind working perhaps as fast as his mouth, glanced at Lucinda. “You see this? That’s matter creation right there. Imagine the implications if we could crack that. Got one potato? Boom. Now you’ve got twenty. No more famine.”

  “If I’m a potato,” declared the duplicate, “then you’re a death merchant.”

  That drew some murmurs from the rest of the diners. Caleb chanced a glance up from his plate and saw that the assistants were all giving him dirty looks. All of them except for smirking Lucinda.

  Daniela put a hand on Caleb’s forearm. “Damn, dude, chill.”

  Again, Sydal didn’t seem to take exception. He was unflappable.

  “Death merchant,” he said. “That’s a good one. Would look cool on a business card. But no, Caleb, I don’t think of myself that way. I’m an entrepreneur, a philanthropist, an inventor. I like to say that I’ve got my fingers on the pulse of the future—”

  The duplicate put his hand on Caleb’s shoulders. “We were attacked by weapons you made. Shock collars, grenades, all kinds of shit. And not just at practice in school. These were hillbilly Bible-thumpers shooting at us. You made that happen.”

  “I’m sorry that happened to you, but—”

  “Wade is just trying to keep the world safe,” Melanie interrupted, glaring at Caleb. “In case one of us loses control of our powers or something. Like what’s happening right now.”