The Fate of Ten

by Pittacus Lore

  Comforting as it was to see Eight again, it was still saying good-bye. I can’t imagine what Marina’s going through. She loved him and now he’s gone. Again.

  Marina stops and glances back at the temple, almost like she might go back inside. Next to me, Adam clears his throat.

  “Is she going to be okay?” he asks me, his voice low.

  Marina shut down on me once before, back in Florida, after Five betrayed us. After he killed Eight. This isn’t the same—she isn’t radiating a constant field of cold, and she doesn’t look like she’s on the verge of strangling whoever comes close. When she turns back to us, her expression is almost serene. She’s remembering, storing that moment with Eight away and steeling herself for what’s to come. I’m not worried about her.

  I smile as Marina blinks her eyes and wipes a hand across her face.

  “I can hear you,” she replies to Adam. “I’m fine.”

  “Good,” Adam says, awkwardly looking away. “I just wanted to say, about what happened in there, uh, that I . . .”

  Adam trails off, both Marina and I looking at him expectantly. Being a Mog, I think he still finds it a little uncomfortable to get too personal with us. I know he was amazed by the Loric light show inside the Sanctuary, but I could also tell he felt like he didn’t belong, like he wasn’t worthy enough to be in the presence of the Entity.

  When Adam’s pause stretches on, I pat him on the back. “Let’s save the heart-to-heart for the ride, okay?”

  Adam seems relieved as we walk back towards our Skimmer, the ship parked alongside a dozen other Mog crafts on the nearby landing strip. The Mog encampment in front of the temple is exactly the way we left it—trashed. The Mogs that were trying to break into the Sanctuary had cleared jungle in a precise ring around the temple, getting as close to the temple as the Sanctuary’s powerful force field would allow.

  It isn’t until we cross from the vine-strewn overgrowth of the land directly in front of the temple to the scorched brown soil of the Mog camp that I realize the force field is gone. The deadly barrier that protected the Sanctuary for years is no more.

  “The force field must have shut down while we were inside,” I say.

  “Maybe it doesn’t need protection anymore,” Adam suggests.

  “Or maybe the Entity diverted its power elsewhere,” Marina replies. She pauses for a moment, thinking. “When I kissed Eight . . . I felt it. For a split second, I was part of the Entity’s energy flow. It was spreading out everywhere, all through the Earth. Wherever the Loric energy went, now it’s spread thin. Maybe it can’t power its defenses here.”

  Adam gives me a look, like I should be able to explain what Marina just said.

  “What do you mean it spread through the Earth?” I ask.

  “I don’t know how to explain it better than that,” Marina says, gazing back at the temple, now cast half in shadow by the setting sun. “It was a feeling like I was one with Lorien. And we were everywhere.”

  “Interesting,” Adam says, eyeing the temple and then the ground beneath his feet with a mixture of caution and awe. “Where do you think it went? Are your Legacies . . . ?”

  “I don’t feel any different,” I tell him.

  “Me neither,” Marina says. “But something has changed. Lorien is out there now. On Earth.”

  It’s definitely not the tangible result I was hoping for, but Marina seems so upbeat about it. I don’t want to rain on her parade. “I guess we’ll see if anything’s changed back in civilization. Maybe the Entity’s out there kicking ass.”

  Marina glances back at the temple. “Should we leave it this way? Without protection?”

  “What’s left to protect?” Adam asks.

  “There’s still at least some of the, uh, the Entity left in there,” Marina replies. “Even now, I think the Sanctuary is still a way to . . . I don’t know, exactly. Get in touch with Lorien?”

  “We don’t have a choice,” I reply. “The others will need us.”

  “Wait a second,” Adam says, looking around. “Where’s Dust?”

  With everything that happened inside the Sanctuary, I completely forgot about the Chimæra we left outside the temple to stand guard. There’s no sign of the wolf anywhere.

  “Could he have gone into the jungle looking for that Mog woman?” Marina asks.

  “Phiri Dun-Ra,” Adam replies, naming the trueborn that survived our initial assault. “He wouldn’t just go off on his own like that.”

  “Maybe the Sanctuary’s light show scared him off,” I suggest.

  Adam frowns, then cups both his hands around his mouth. “Dust! Come on, Dust!”

  He and Marina fan out, searching for any sign of the Chimæra. I climb onto our Skimmer to get a better look at the surrounding area. From up here, something catches my eye. A gray shape squirming out from beneath a rotten log at the edge of the jungle.

  “What’s that?” I yell, pointing the writhing form out to Adam. He races over, Marina right behind him. A moment later, Adam carries the small shape over to me, his face twisted with concern.

  “It’s Dust,” Adam says. “I mean, I think it is.”

  Adam holds a gray bird in his hands. It’s alive but its body is stiff and twisted, like it suffered from an electric shock and never recovered from the spasms. His wings jut out at odd angles and his beak is frozen half-open. Even though this is nothing like the powerful wolf we left behind just a short time ago, there’s a quality that I immediately recognize. It’s Dust, for sure. Bad as he looks, his black bird eyes dart around frantically. He’s alive, and his mind is working, but his body isn’t responding.

  “What the hell happened to him?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” Adam says, and for a moment I think I see tears in his eyes. He steadies himself. “He looks . . . he looks like the other Chimæra did right after I rescued them from Plum Island. They were experimented on.”

  “It’s okay, Dust, you’re okay,” Marina whispers. She gently smooths down the feathers on his head, trying to calm him. She uses her Legacy to heal most of the scratches that cover him, but it doesn’t release Dust from the paralysis.

  “We can’t do anything more for him here,” I say. I feel bad, but we need to keep moving. “If that Mog did this to him, she’s long gone. Let’s just get back to the others. Maybe they’ll have ideas about what to do.”

  Adam brings Dust on board the Skimmer and wraps him in a blanket. He tries to make the paralyzed Chimæra as comfortable as possible before he sits down behind the ship’s controls.

  I want to get in touch with John, find out how things are going outside the Mexican jungle. I retrieve the satellite phone from my pack and settle into the seat next to Adam. While he begins powering up the ship, I call John.

  The phone rings endlessly. After about a minute, Marina leans forward to look at me.

  “How worried should we be that he’s not answering?” she asks.

  “The normal amount of worried,” I reply. I can’t help but glance down at my ankle. No new scars—as if I wouldn’t have felt the searing pain. “At least we know they’re still alive.”

  “Something’s not right,” Adam says.

  “We don’t know that,” I reply quickly. “Just because they can’t answer right this second doesn’t mean—”

  “No. I mean with the ship.”

  When I take the phone away from my ear, I can hear the strange stuttering noise the Skimmer’s engine is making. The lights on the console in front of me flicker erratically.

  “I thought you knew how to work this thing,” I say.

  Adam scowls, then angrily flips down switches on the dashboard, powering the ship off. Beneath us, the engine rattles and clangs, like something’s not catching.

  “I do know how to work this thing, Six,” he says. “It’s not me.”

  “Sorry,” I reply, watching as he waits for the engine to settle before powering the ship up again. The engine—Mogadorian technology that should be deathly silent—once a
gain burps and spasms. “Maybe we should try something besides turning it off and on again.”

  “First Dust, and now this. It doesn’t make sense,” Adam grumbles. “The electronics are still working. Well, everything except for the automated diagnostic, which is exactly what would tell us what’s wrong with the engine.”

  I reach over and hit the button that opens up the cockpit. The glass dome parts above our heads.

  “Let’s go have a look,” I say, standing up from my seat.

  We all climb back out of the Skimmer. Adam jumps down to inspect the ship’s underside, but I remain atop the hood, next to the cockpit. I find myself gazing at the Sanctuary, the ancient limestone structure casting a long shadow thanks to the setting sun. Marina stands next to me, silently taking in the view.

  “Do you think we’re going to win?” I ask her, the question just popping out. I’m not even sure I want an answer.

  Marina doesn’t say anything at first. After a moment, she rests her head on my shoulder. “I think we’re closer today than we were yesterday,” she says.

  “I wish I knew for sure that coming down here was worth it,” I say, clutching the satellite phone, willing it to ring.

  “You need to have faith,” Marina replies. “I’m telling you, Six, the Entity did something . . .”

  I try to trust in Marina’s words, but all I can think about are the practicalities. I wonder if the flood of Loric energy from the Sanctuary was what screwed up our ride in the first place.

  Or maybe there’s a simpler explanation.

  “Hey, guys?” Adam calls from beneath the ship. “You better come take a look at this.”

  I hop down from the Skimmer, Marina right behind me. We find Adam wedged between the metal struts of the landing gear, a bent panel of the ship’s armored underbelly in the dirt at his feet.

  “Is that our problem?” I ask.

  “That was already loose,” Adam explains, kicking the dislodged piece. “And look at this . . .”

  Adam motions me closer, so I slide in next to him, getting an intimate look at the inner workings of our ship. The Skimmer’s engine could probably fit under the hood of a pickup truck, but it’s a lot more complicated than anything built here on Earth. Instead of pistons or gears, the engine comprises a series of overlapping spheres. They spin fitfully when Adam pushes against them, ticking uselessly against the exposed ends of some thick cables that run deeper into the ship.

  “See, the electrical systems are still intact,” Adam says, flicking the cables. “That’s why we still have some power. But that’s not enough alone to get the antigravity propulsion going. These centrifugal rotors here?” He runs his hand over the overlapping spheres. “They’re what gets us off the ground. Thing is, they aren’t broken either.”

  “So you’re telling me the Skimmer should work?” I ask, my eyes glazing over as I stare at the engine.

  “It should,” Adam says, but then he waves his hand in some empty space between the rotors and the wires. “Except you see that?”

  “I have no idea what the hell I’m looking at, dude,” I tell him. “Is it broken?”

  “There’s a conduit missing,” he explains. “It’s what transfers the energy generated by the engines to the rest of the ship.”

  “And you’re telling me it didn’t just fall out.”

  “Obviously not.”

  I take a few steps out from underneath the Skimmer and scan the nearby tree line for any movement. We already killed every Mog that was trying to break into the Sanctuary. All except for one.

  “Phiri Dun-Ra,” I say, knowing that the Mog is still out there. We were too focused on getting into the Sanctuary to bother going after her earlier, and now . . .

  “She sabotaged us,” Adam says, reaching the same conclusion I have. Phiri Dun-Ra did a number on Adam when we arrived, beat him up pretty good and was about to try roasting his face on the Sanctuary’s force field before we got the drop on her. He still sounds pretty bitter about it. “She took out Dust and then she stranded us here. We should’ve killed her.”

  “It’s not too late,” I reply, frowning. I don’t see anything in the trees, but that doesn’t mean Phiri Dun-Ra isn’t out there watching us.

  “Couldn’t we replace the part with one from another ship?” Marina asks, motioning to the dozen or so Mog scout ships spaced out along the landing zone.

  Adam grunts and shoves out from underneath our Skimmer. He strides towards the nearest ship, his left hand on the handle of a Mog blaster he took off one of the warriors we killed.

  “I bet all these ships have engine panels that look just like ours,” Adam grumbles. “I hope it at least hurt her messed-up hands.”

  I remember Phiri Dun-Ra’s bandaged hands, scarred from coming into contact with the Sanctuary’s force field. We should’ve known better than to leave one of them alive. Even before Adam reaches the nearest ship, I’ve got a sinking feeling.

  Adam ducks underneath the other ship, examining it. He sighs and makes eye contact with me before gently elbowing the armored hull above his head. The engine panel falls away like there was nothing holding it in place.

  “She’s toying with us,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “She could’ve taken a shot at us when we left the Sanctuary. Instead, she wants to keep us here.”

  “She knows she can’t take us by herself,” I say, raising my voice a little, thinking maybe I can bait Phiri Dun-Ra out of hiding.

  “She removed these parts, right?” Marina asks. “She didn’t just destroy them?”

  “No, it looks like she took them,” Adam replies. “Probably doesn’t want to be responsible for destroying a bunch of ships in addition to getting her squadron killed. Although, keeping us here long enough for reinforcements to capture and kill us would probably get her a pass from her Beloved Leader.”

  “No one’s getting captured or killed,” I say. “Except Phiri Dun-Ra.”

  “Is there any other way to get our ship moving?” Marina asks Adam. “Could you . . . I don’t know? Rig something up?”

  Adam scratches the back of his neck, looking around at the other ships. “I suppose it’s possible,” he says. “Depends what we can scrounge together. I can try, but I’m not a mechanic.”

  “That’s one idea,” I say, looking up at the sky to see how much daylight we have left. Not much. “Or, we could go out into that jungle, track down Phiri Dun-Ra and get our part back.”

  Adam nods. “I prefer that plan.”

  I look at Marina. “What about you?”

  I don’t even have to ask. The sweat on my arms tingles—she’s radiating an aura of cold.

  “Let’s go hunting,” Marina says.

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  UNDER IDEAL CONDITIONS, THE WALK TO UNION Square should take about forty minutes. It’s only a mile and a half. But these are far from ideal conditions. Sam and I are backtracking along the same blocks we spent the afternoon fighting through. Back to where the Mogadorian presence is heavier.

  Hopefully, Nine and Five don’t kill each other before we get there. We need them if we’re going to have any shot at winning this war.

  Both of them.

  Sam and I stick to the shadows. Some blocks still have electricity, so the streetlights are on, shining like it’s a normal evening in the big city, as if the roads aren’t littered with overturned cars and broken chunks of pavement. We avoid those blocks, knowing it will be too easy for the Mogs to spot us.

  We pass through what used to be Chinatown. It looks like a tornado touched down here. The sidewalks are impassable on one side, an entire block’s worth of buildings collapsed to rubble. There are hundreds of dead fish in the middle of the street. We have to pick our way carefully through the obstacles.

  On our way down from the UN, there were still people on nearly every block. The NYPD were trying to manage an orderly evacuation, but most were fleeing haphazardly, just trying to stay ahead of the Mog squadrons that seemed equally likely to sla
ughter civilians as take them prisoners. Everyone was panicked and shell-shocked at their new horrific reality. Sam and I picked up the stragglers, the ones who didn’t manage to leave quick enough, or whose groups got blown apart by Mog patrols. There were a lot of them. Now, after ten blocks, we haven’t seen another living soul. Maybe most of the people in lower Manhattan made it to the evacuation point on the Brooklyn Bridge—if the Mogs haven’t attacked it by now. Anyway, I figure that anyone who managed to survive the day is smart enough to spend the night in hiding.

  As we sneak down the next desolated block, Sam and I skirting cautiously around an abandoned ambulance, I hear whispering from a nearby alley. I put my hand on Sam’s arm and, when we stop walking, the noise cuts off. I can tell we’re being watched.

  “What is it?” Sam asks, his own voice low.

  “There’s someone out there.”

  Sam squints into the darkness. “Let’s keep going,” he says after a few seconds. “They don’t want our help.”

  It’s hard for me to leave anyone behind. But Sam’s right—whoever’s out there is doing perfectly fine in their hiding spot, and we’d only be putting them in more danger taking them with us.

  Five minutes later, we turn a corner and see our first Mogadorian patrol of the night.

  The Mogs are at the opposite end of the block, so we have the space to safely observe them. There are a dozen warriors, all carrying blasters. Above them, a Skimmer hums along, sweeping the street with a spotlight mounted on the ship’s underbelly. The patrol moves methodically down the block, a group of four warriors periodically breaking off from the rest to enter darkened apartment buildings. I watch them go through this routine twice, and both times I breathe a sigh of relief when the warriors return without any human prisoners.

  What would happen if these Mogs found a human in one of these buildings and pulled them screaming into the street? I couldn’t just let that happen, right? I’d have to fight.