The Revenge of Seven

by Pittacus Lore

  I don’t reply, mainly because the only solution I can think of at that moment, seeing Five in the enemy’s uniform, is to kill him. ‘Where’s he going? Follow him,’ I tell Adam.

  Adam does. The camera follows Five across the runway until he reaches a ramp that leads on to the biggest spaceship I’ve ever seen, so massive that its entire bulk isn’t even picked up on camera.

  ‘Damn,’ I breathe, my eyes widening. ‘What the hell is that thing?’

  ‘Warship,’ Adam answers, a note of awe sneaking into his voice as he squints at the screen. ‘I can’t tell which one.’

  ‘Which one?’ Sam exclaims. ‘How many of those things do they have?’

  ‘Dozens? Maybe more, maybe less. They run on the old fuel of Mogadore and whatever my people managed to mine from Lorien. Not the most efficient things. And slow. When I got in trouble as a boy, my mother would threaten to ground me until the fleet’s arrival …’ He realizes he’s rambling and trails off, looking up at us. ‘You don’t care about this, do you?’

  ‘Maybe not the best time for reminiscing,’ I reply, watching as Five boards the ship. ‘But what else can you tell us about the fleet?’

  ‘They’ve been traveling since the fall of Lorien,’ Adam continues. ‘Mog strategists believe they’ve got enough firepower left for one last siege.’

  ‘Earth,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah,’ Adam replies. ‘Then, my people will settle here. Maybe rebuild the fleet if Setrákus Ra finds a reason.’

  ‘You mean if there’s any life in the universe left for him to conquer,’ I say.

  Sam shakes his head, still marveling at the hulking warship. ‘So they have a secret weakness, right? Like how you can shoot that one spot on the Death Star and the whole thing blows up?’

  Adam’s brow furrows. ‘What’s a Death Star?’

  Sam throws up his hands. ‘We’re screwed.’

  ‘If they’ve been taken prisoner and are aboard that thing …’ I don’t finish the thought, mainly because a course of action just isn’t coming to me. Taking over a mostly abandoned Mogadorian base is one thing; finding a way aboard a massive warship is another entirely.

  Especially when that massive warship is slowly rising into the sky. Maybe Sam’s right and we are screwed.

  The three of us watch in silence as the warship climbs. Before it’s entirely offscreen, the ship’s carapace flickers and the whole thing disappears from view. Well, not entirely – the ship’s outline is still vaguely visible, as if the light around it is bending in strange ways. The distortion is almost like trying to focus on an object that’s underwater.

  ‘Cloaking,’ Adam says. ‘All of the warships have it.’

  ‘Hey, look at the tablet,’ Sam says. ‘Maybe everything isn’t totally depressing.’

  As the now invisible warship floats upward, one of the dots on the tablet slowly pulls away from the others. Five’s dot. After a few seconds, it begins to flicker erratically across the screen. We’ve now got two Garde indicators bouncing spastically over the map.

  ‘Just like Ella,’ Sam says, furrowing his brow.

  ‘The warship must be returning to orbit,’ Adam says. ‘Which means …’

  ‘Ella is already aboard one of those things,’ I finish the thought. ‘They brought her up to the fleet.’

  ‘How are we going to get up there?’ Sam asks.

  ‘We won’t have to,’ Adam responds. ‘The fleet will come to us.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ Sam says. ‘Worldwide invasion. So we’re planning to just wait for that?’

  I tap my finger on the tablet, pointing out the three dots still in Florida. ‘The plan is to get the others. They’re still there. We just have to –’ I stop myself when I look back at the screen. The runway is starting to move. ‘I thought you disabled the ship. Why are they moving?’

  With a hurried series of keystrokes, Adam cranes the camera down. From this angle, we can see the crew of Mogadorians grimacing as they push the scout vessel manually towards the hangar.

  ‘I guess they gave up on getting it started,’ Sam observes.

  One of the Mogs runs ahead to slide open the metal doors and there, caught out in the middle of the empty hangar, are Nine, Marina and Six. Sam lets loose an excited shout that he cuts off quickly, the harsh math sinking in, that there are three Garde where there should be four, and that Nine is carrying in his arms what is obviously a body bag.

  ‘Eight,’ Sam says, swallowing. ‘Shit.’

  I turn to Adam, not ready to grieve yet.

  ‘Does this ship you’ve hacked have any guns?’

  14

  After a barrage of near-deafening blaster fire in the wide-open space of the hangar, the scout ship goes eerily silent. Marina and I crouch next to each other, both of us huddled behind the flipped-over metal table. We exchange a look – the table didn’t sustain even a single shot of blaster fire. In fact, it doesn’t seem like the ship’s turret came even close to hitting us.

  ‘Nice aim, dipshit!’ Nine shouts, laughing. He’s off to the side of the table, flat on the ground, half shielding Eight’s body with his own.

  I poke my head out from behind the table. Between us and the scout vessel are a dozen piles of ash, formerly the Mogadorian mechanics. The ship’s gun turret is still smoking but hangs dormant now, not the least bit interested in us. Cautiously, I stand up. Marina joins me.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ I ask.

  ‘Who cares?’ Nine says, hefting Eight’s body. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  ‘Perhaps some kind of malfunction?’ Marina proposes, inching closer to the ship, which still blocks our way out. The three of us spread out, making sure not to stand directly in the path of the blaster.

  ‘It only shot the Mogs,’ I say. ‘That’s one convenient malfunction.’

  All three of us jump when the ship’s cockpit opens up with a hydraulic hiss. There’s a burst of static from a speaker in the cockpit, and then a familiar voice rings out.

  ‘Guys? Can you hear me?’

  ‘John?’ I exclaim, not believing my ears. The last I saw him, he was in a coma along with Ella. I sprint to the ship and jump on to its front end, standing over the open cockpit to better hear his voice.

  ‘It’s me, Six,’ John says. ‘It’s good to see you.’

  ‘See me?’ I ask, then notice the small camera mounted over the cockpit entrance. It wiggles back and forth, almost nodding in greeting.

  ‘Dude, what happened?’ Nine asks, eyeing the cockpit skeptically. ‘Is your brain, like, trapped in a Mogadorian ship now?’

  ‘What? No, don’t be an idiot,’ John replies, and I can picture the look of annoyed amusement on his face. ‘We’ve taken over a Mogadorian base and used their tech to hack into this ship.’

  ‘Nice,’ Nine replies, like that’s all he needed to hear. He jumps effortlessly on to the ship’s hood, still holding Eight, and lands right beside me. Our side of the saucer-shaped vessel dips a little at his weight before righting itself, the landing gear whining. Nine kicks the metal hull with his heel, testing it out. ‘So this is our ride?’

  In answer, the ship’s engine begins to vibrate beneath our feet. I look down into the cockpit – there are six hard plastic seats in there, along with a blinking dashboard covered in random Mogadorian symbols and a set of controls that look similar to what you’d find on an airplane. Not that I’ve ever flown one of those before, much less one made by Mogadorians.

  ‘We saw what happened in Chicago,’ Marina says, also climbing on to the ship.

  ‘Is everyone all right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ John replies quickly, then seems to reconsider. ‘They took Ella, but I don’t think she’s in danger yet.’

  Marina’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm, and I can feel the cold start to roll off her. ‘What do you mean they took her?’

  ‘I’ll explain everything when you get in the air,’ John says. ‘First, let’s get you out of there.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Nine replies,
and hops down into the cockpit, gently placing Eight’s body across a couple of the seats.

  ‘Uh, John, one problem,’ I say, following Nine into the antiseptic-smelling Mog ship. ‘How are we supposed to fly this thing?’

  There’s a pause on John’s end and then a different voice responds, this one with a harsh accent that makes my shoulders tense.

  ‘I could fly you remotely, but I’m worried hacking into the ship’s computer might have damaged some of the auto-navigation protocols. It’ll be safer if you do it manually with me walking you through it,’ the Mogadorian explains quickly. Then, as if realizing we might be freaked out, the guy adds, ‘Hey. I’m Adam.’

  ‘The guy Malcolm told us about,’ I say, remembering that dinner conversation.

  ‘Don’t worry, Six,’ Sam’s voice interjects, and I can’t help but grin at the sound of it. ‘He’s totally not evil.’

  ‘Oh, well, in that case, let’s fly,’ Nine says sarcastically, but settles into one of the hard-backed plastic seats all the same. I hop into the pilot’s chair. Marina hesitates for a moment, giving the console where the Mog’s voice came from a look of distrust.

  ‘How do we know that’s really John?’ she asks. ‘Setrákus Ra can change forms. This might be some kind of trap.’ In my excitement to hear John and Sam, I hadn’t even considered the possibility that this could be a ploy. Behind me, Nine shouts towards the communicator.

  ‘Hey, Johnny, remember back in Chicago? When you were claiming to be Pittacus Lore and we had a debate about whether to go to New Mexico?’

  ‘Yeah,’ John’s voice sounds like it’s coming through clenched teeth.

  ‘How’d we settle that?’

  John sighs. ‘You dangled me off the edge of the roof.’

  Nine grins like that’s the best thing ever. ‘It’s definitely him.’

  ‘Marina,’ John says, probably thinking Nine’s little test wasn’t good enough. ‘The first time we met, you healed two bullet wounds in my ankle. And then we almost got hit by a missile.’

  A small smile forms on Marina’s face, the first I’ve seen in days. ‘I thought you were about the coolest guy I’d ever met, John Smith.’

  Nine barks out a laugh at that, shaking his head. Marina climbs aboard, taking a seat next to Eight’s body. She drapes a hand protectively on the body bag and settles in.

  ‘Watch your heads,’ Adam warns as the cockpit hisses closed above us. There’s a moment where I feel a sense of panic at being sealed inside a Mogadorian ship, but I shove that feeling down and tightly clutch the steering apparatus. It’s dim in the cockpit, the glass having a tinted sunglasses-like look. Streams of data in compressed Mogadorian symbols are projected directly on to the glass, the readouts something only a Mog pilot could make sense of.

  ‘All right,’ I say. ‘What now?’

  ‘Hold up,’ Nine interjects, leaning forward. ‘How come you get to drive?’

  Adam’s voice comes through clear, patient but authoritative. ‘Turn the wheel in front of you. That will rotate the ship.’

  I do as he instructs, the wheel turning easily, the saucer portion of the ship doing a 180 without the wheels moving at all. I stop turning when we’re pointed towards the hangar’s exit.

  ‘Good,’ Adam says. ‘Now, the lever on your left moves the wheels.’

  I grip the lever and push it just a tad. The ship jerks forward almost immediately. The controls are sensitive, and it doesn’t take much pressure to get us slowly rolling out on to the runway.

  ‘Give it some gas, Six, damn,’ Nine complains. ‘Drive it like we stole it.’

  ‘Don’t listen to him,’ Marina says, hugging herself.

  ‘If you’re out from under the hangar, you can stop,’ Adam instructs.

  I look up through the glass of the cockpit, see only sky and so let go of the lever. The ship creaks to a stop.

  ‘Okay,’ Adam says. ‘Now, grasp the wheel in front of you at three and nine. Do you feel the triggers?’

  I take the wheel again and feel around for the two buttons indented in its underside. ‘Got ’em,’ I reply, testing out the trigger on the left by squeezing it. As soon as I do, the vibration from the ship’s engine reaches a bone-rattling crescendo and we rise into the air.

  ‘Ho, shit!’ Nine yells. Next to me, Marina squeezes herself a little tighter, closing her eyes.

  ‘Be careful, Six,’ she whispers.

  I let go of the button and the ship effortlessly maintains its elevation. We’re hovering about twenty yards off the ground.

  ‘You weren’t supposed to do that yet,’ Adam admonishes.

  ‘Uh, yeah, sorry. First time flying a spaceship,’ I reply.

  ‘No big deal,’ Adam replies. ‘The trigger on your left increases your elevation. The one on your right decreases it.’

  ‘Left up, right down. Got it.’

  ‘Also,’ Adam says. ‘you’re in what my people call a Skimmer. It isn’t built for interplanetary travel, so it isn’t quite a spaceship.’

  Nine makes a loud snoring noise. ‘Is this dude about to give us a lesson in Mogadorian aviation or something? The hell?’

  ‘You know I can hear you, right?’ Adam replies over the mic. ‘And no, I am not.’

  ‘Sorry about Nine,’ I say, giving him a dirty look over my shoulder. ‘Does this thing come with ejector seats?’

  ‘Yes, actually,’ Adam replies.

  ‘Whoa, now,’ Nine says, edging forward so his butt isn’t entirely on the seat. ‘Don’t get any ideas, Six.’

  I shush Nine when I hear a series of clanking noises emanating from the ship’s underbelly.

  ‘What is that?’ I ask.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Adam replies. ‘I just remotely put up your landing gear.’

  When the clanking finishes, two small panels on the steering wheel slide aside, revealing thumb-sized buttons positioned so they can be pressed at the same time as the elevation triggers.

  ‘You should see a couple of buttons,’ Adam continues. ‘Depress them to accelerate. Simply let them go to brake.’

  I grip the steering wheel more tentatively than before and gently squeeze the buttons, careful not to hit the triggers on the wheel’s underside. The Skimmer zips forward, then lurches to a stop when I let the button go.

  ‘It’s like a video game,’ Nine says, leaning over the back of my chair. ‘Any idiot could work this thing. No offense, Mog guy.’

  ‘None taken.’

  I press down the accelerator a little more forcefully and the ship shoots forward. A diagnostic on the screen starts flashing – a warning in any language – right before I scrape the bottom of the Skimmer against the top of a tree. I hear branches breaking and, craning my neck, see them hit the ground below.

  ‘Oops,’ I say, and glance sidelong at Marina.

  ‘Six, I swear,’ she says, flashing me a half-panicked look.

  ‘You’ll want to get some more elevation,’ Adam says. ‘And, um, consider steering.’

  Nine laughs and leans back. I pull the trigger for vertical and we rise up higher. As we clear the dense trees of the swampland, the horizon becomes visible. A laser-fine dotted line appears on the cockpit glass, superimposed over the view, like a trail.

  ‘I’ve plotted your course,’ Adam says. ‘Just follow the line.’

  I nod and give the ship some juice, following the laser-path north.

  ‘All right, boys,’ I say. ‘Here we come.’

  The flight from Florida to Washington takes about two hours. On Adam’s instructions, I keep our altitude low enough that we won’t be picked up on satellites or accidentally cross paths with any airplanes, but high enough that there won’t be a rash of UFO sightings along the Eastern Seaboard. Although, considering how serious the threat of all-out Mogadorian invasion seems, maybe we should let our stolen ship be seen, shoot off some fireworks, warn the locals.

  After the initial rush of elation at hearing John and Sam, at knowing our friends are alive, the conversation turns
grim. Over the radio, they describe what went down at the John Hancock Center. After that, John tells us about what he saw in the nightmare vision he shared with Ella and why he thinks Setrákus Ra doesn’t want to hurt her. John’s pieced together a theory that Ella could be related to Setrákus Ra and that the Mogadorian ruler could actually be some kind of twisted Loric, the banished Elder mentioned in Crayton’s letter. I’m not ready to grapple with that yet.

  Once John’s caught us up, it’s our turn to fill in the others on what happened in Florida. Even over the radio, I can tell John’s trying not to press us too much. I think about the days that John’s been living with a fresh scar on his ankle, wondering which one of us wouldn’t be making it back – as much as it hurts to talk about, he deserves to know what happened to Eight. However, neither Marina nor Nine are very forthcoming, so it falls to me to describe how Five betrayed us, how he murdered Eight technically by accident, but only because he was actually trying to murder Nine. I was unconscious for most of the fight, so I keep the description bare bones, just the facts, not sugarcoating anything. Then, I give them the details of rescuing Eight’s body from the Mogadorian encampment and tell them about what Five did to his Mogadorian pal. When I’m finished, a grim mood settles inside the cockpit and we ride in silence until we reach suburban D.C.

  I land the ship in the middle of a basketball court. We’re in a fancy-ass suburban development, one made extraordinarily eerie by all its darkened windows and general emptiness. The cockpit opens for us and Marina flashes me a relieved look as she stands up. Carefully, Nine picks up Eight’s body and climbs out of the ship. Marina stays close to him, her hand on Nine’s elbow, making sure that Eight doesn’t get jostled too much. It’s still hard to believe that’s our friend in that body bag, and it feels wrong to be carrying him around so much.

  ‘Your travels are almost over,’ I overhear Marina whisper to Eight’s body. She must feel the same as I do.

  Marina and I hop down to the ground and turn around to help Nine lower Eight’s body. Instead of passing Eight down, Nine squints into the darkness around us.

  ‘Whoa,’ he says. ‘There are, like, some random creatures watching us right now.’