[Lorien Legacies 04.0] The Fall of Five

by Pittacus Lore

  “So we’re just as in the dark as we were before,” Six says curtly, then looks over at me. “Not that it isn’t an interesting story.”

  “Hold on,” says John, still mulling over what my dad said. “There’s definitely information we can use. The Chests, for instance. We need to take an inventory, see if we can figure out which of our items are these Phoenix things.”

  “Probably anything that doesn’t stab, shoot or explode,” offers Nine helpfully.

  “I’ll try to help you there, if I can,” my dad offers. “Seeing the contents of your Chests might jog something in my memory.”

  “What happened to the other Greeters?” Five asks. “Are they still alive?”

  My dad’s expression darkens. Now we’re getting to the part of the story that I know something about. Pretty soon, we’re going to be hitting the whole good-Mogadorian-saved-us-from-certain-death bit. My dad still hasn’t given up hope for Adam; he was checking his phone right before dinner. With him not getting in touch for this long, I’m starting to think he didn’t make it out. Dead or alive, I’m really not sure how Adam’s existence, and our involvement with him, is going to go over with the Garde.

  “I assembled the Greeters myself. They were people I could trust—like-minded scientists working on the fringes. But I can’t remember their names or even their faces. The Mogadorians saw to that.”

  My dad picks up his glass of champagne with a shaky hand and takes a quick drink. He makes a bitter face, like it didn’t help ease the pain of memory. Or lack thereof.

  “We all knew the risks,” my dad continues, eventually. “We took them gladly. It was a chance to be part of something amazing. I still believe that,” he says with a note of pride, looking around at the Garde. “Just as the Mogadorians were searching for you, so were they searching for us. Obviously we were easier to find—we’d been living on Earth all our lives, you see. We had families. One by one they tracked us down. They hooked us up to machines, tried to rip out our memories, looking for anything that would help them in their hunt. It’s why there are so many things I’m still foggy on. I don’t know if the harm they did to me can ever be fixed.”

  Ella shoots a look at Marina, then John. “Could you guys heal him?”

  “We could try,” Marina replies, studying my dad. “I’ve never tried healing someone’s mind before, though.”

  My dad runs a hand across his beard, frowning. “I was the only one that survived. I lost years to those bastards.” He looks over at me. “I intend to pay them back.”

  “How did you escape them?” John asks.

  “I had help. The Mogadorians had me sedated for years in a catatonic state, waking me up only when they had a new experiment to run on my mind. Eventually, though, a boy set me free.”

  “A boy?” Marina asks, her eyebrow raised.

  “I don’t get it,” Eight says. “How did someone manage to get into a Mog base? Was he one of the government agents? And why did he help you?”

  Before my father can answer, Five speaks up. The way he’s eyeballing my dad, it’s like he’s already pieced together the entire story. “He wasn’t human, was he?”

  My dad looks first at Five, then over at John before turning his gaze on me. “He called himself Adam, but his actual name was Adamus. He was a Mogadorian.”

  “A Mogadorian helped you?” Marina asks quietly, as everyone else stares at my dad in stunned silence.

  Nine stands up suddenly, looking over at John. “Dude, this has trap written all over it. We have to lock this place down.”

  John raises a hand, trying to placate Nine. None of the others stand up with Nine, which is a relief. Still, they’re looking at each other anxiously and, even though I trust the Garde, I’m suddenly worried that they might not trust my dad.

  “Calm down,” John tells Nine. “We need the whole story here. Malcolm, what you’re saying is pretty crazy.”

  “I know, believe me,” he replies. “What I learned is that there are two kinds of Mogadorians. Some of them are grown through genetic engineering—they call them vat-born. I believe they’re like the throwaway soldiers you’ve run into so often. The hideous ones that could never pass for human. They’re bred simply for killing. And then there are others, they call themselves Trueborn. They are the ruling class. Adam was one of them, the son of a Mogadorian general.”

  “Interesting,” Eight says. “I’ve never thought of how their society works.”

  “Who cares?” growls Nine. He’s standing with his hands on the back of his chair, like he’s ready to fling it. “Get to the part that proves this isn’t some Mogadorian setup.”

  “They experimented on Adam with the same machines they used on my memory,” my father continues, not deterred by the rising tension. “They had the body of a Garde—Number One, I believe—and they tried to download her memories into him, thinking it would help them find the rest of you.”

  “Her body,” Marina says quietly. “That’s sick.”

  My dad nods in agreement. “It didn’t work the way the Mogadorians intended. Exposed to One’s memories, I believe Adam developed doubts about his people. He rebelled. In the process, he helped me escape and find Sam.”

  Nine shakes his head. “This is the kind of double-agent shit they love to pull,” he insists.

  “You met this Mog kid?” Six asks me.

  Now everyone’s looking at me with the same scrutiny they were just using on my dad. I clear my throat, feeling uncomfortable. “Yeah. He was at the Dulce Base. He held off a squadron of Mogs while my dad and I escaped.”

  My dad frowns, looking down at the table. “I fear he didn’t survive the battle.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” grumbles Nine, finally retaking his seat.

  “There’s something else . . . ,” I say, glancing hesitantly at my father, wondering exactly how I should phrase this next revelation.

  “What is it, Sam?” John asks.

  “During the fight, he—he made the ground shake. It was like he had a Legacy.”

  “Bullshit on top of bullshit,” snorts Nine.

  “It’s true,” counters my dad. “I forgot about that. Something happened to him during the experiment.”

  Ella speaks up, a note of fear in her voice. “Is that true? They can steal our powers?”

  “I don’t think he stole the Legacy,” my dad clarifies. “He said it was a gift from the Loric.”

  Eight looks around. “You guys remember giving any Mogadorians gifts?”

  John folds his arms across his chest. “It doesn’t seem like it should be possible.”

  “I’m sorry this news upsets you,” my dad says, looking around. “I wanted to tell you everything, even the unpleasant details.”

  “Is it really that bad?” asks Marina. “I mean, if one of the Mogadorians could understand they’re doing wrong, wouldn’t others . . .”

  “You want to count on them getting sympathetic now?” snaps Nine, and Marina stops talking.

  Something occurs to me then, maybe because we’d spent so much time talking about how the Garde developed their Legacies and listening to my dad’s new details on their home world. “Your Legacies come from Lorien, right?”

  “That’s what Henri told me,” John says.

  “Katarina too,” adds Six.

  “So, if that’s the case, it doesn’t seem like something that could just be ripped away by some Mog technology. I mean, if they could do that, they’d have stolen more powers from Lorien by now, right?”

  “What’re you saying?” John asks, his eyebrows raised.

  “Well, I guess I’m saying . . . what if Adam inherited that Legacy because One wanted him to?”

  On one side of me, Nine snorts derisively. On the other side, my dad makes a thoughtful noise in his throat, stroking his chin. “Interesting theory,” he says.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Nine says, leaning forward to peer at my dad. “You’re sure this wasn’t some elaborate Mog trap? You’re sure they weren’t tailing y
ou?”

  “I’m sure of it,” my dad replies with authority.

  Down the table, Five chuckles. He’s been silent for most of the Adam discussion. Now, he looks around incredulously. “I’m sorry, but half the stories you guys just told me involved humans betraying you to the Mogadorians.” He waves a hand at us. “These two were actually in contact with the Mogs, like, weeks ago. Hanging out. And you’re just going to trust them?”

  John doesn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he says, looking Five right in the eyes. “I trust them with my life. And if this Mogadorian defector is still alive, we’re going to find him.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I CAN’T SLEEP THAT NIGHT. STRETCHED OUT ON the choicest couch in Nine’s showroom of a living room, I should’ve slept like a baby. It was a huge upgrade over the stiff, flea-bitten motel beds my dad and I had been enduring, not to mention the wonderful accommodations of Setrákus Ra.

  There is just too much to think about. Finally reunited with the Garde and my father, ready to really begin the fight against the Mogadorians, I feel uneasy. Uneasy about the future. Uneasy about fitting in with the Loric.

  I wonder how my dad is sleeping. He seemed exhausted after dinner; I know answering the Garde’s questions with his fractured memory put a major strain on him.

  Maybe I was just feeling awkward after meeting so many new Garde. I’d had time to forge friendships with John and Six, time to get used to the whole alien thing. Being around the rest of them sort of threw me off balance. I could handle Nine’s bluster. Marina and Ella seemed normal enough. But then there was Eight, with that story about basically tricking humans into fighting for him. And Five—well, I don’t think anyone really understood what his deal was yet. Sometimes he seemed like the most socially inept person in the world, and other times like he was slyly mocking everyone.

  What was my role going to be here? John’s buddy from high school and plucky sidekick? I want to contribute more than that. I’m just not sure how I can.

  I must’ve slept at least a bit, tossing and turning on the couch. The ornate hands of the ridiculously expensive-looking antique grandfather clock in the corner show that it’s early. I might as well get out of bed and do something. My hands are fidgeting. Maybe I can go down to the Lecture Hall, get a head start on some of the work my dad wanted to finish. I can’t exactly rebuild a mainframe or anything, but I’m pretty sure I could connect some of the severed wires on my own.

  The penthouse is eerily quiet as I pad through it. The floorboards creak in the hallway and almost immediately Five’s door whips open, startling me. He’s still fully dressed, which is odd, like he’s just been crouching by his door and waiting to leap out at the first sign of trouble. One of his hands moves nervously, a pair of marble-sized balls turning over in his palm.

  “Hey,” I whisper. “It’s just me. Sorry if I woke you.”

  “What’re you doing up?” he whispers back suspiciously.

  “I could ask you the same question,” I reply.

  He sighs and seems to back down a bit, like he doesn’t want a confrontation. “Yeah, sorry. I can’t sleep. This place weirds me out. It’s too big.” Five pauses, scrunching up his face like he’s embarrassed. “Ever since Arkansas, I keep thinking one of those monsters is just going to show up and get me.”

  “Yeah, I know that feeling. It’s okay. I think we’re safe here.” I motion down the hallway. “I’m gonna go work in the Lecture Hall. You want to come?”

  Five shakes his head. “No thanks.” He starts to close his door, then stops. “You know, I don’t really think you and your dad are Mogadorian spies or whatever. At dinner I was just playing, uh, devil’s advocate, I guess.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “I mean, if I was a Mogadorian recruiting spies I’d pick humans that seemed a little tougher, you know?”

  “Uh-huh,” I reply, crossing my arms. “You really don’t know when to stop talking during an apology, do you?”

  “Ugh, I’m sorry. That came out wrong,” Five replies, knuckling his forehead. “I’ve got really crappy social awareness. Do you think anyone else has noticed?”

  “Uh . . .”

  Five smiles. “I’m joking, Sam. Of course they’ve noticed. I know I’m a freaking jerk. Like you said, I just can’t shut up sometimes.”

  “If they’ve gotten used to Nine, they can get used to you,” I offer.

  “Yeah. That’s, uh, heartening, I guess.” Five sighs. “Good night, Sam. Don’t hatch any evil plans in the Lecture Hall.”

  Five shuts his door. I stand in the hallway, listening to him rustling around in his room. He’s a little off-putting, sure, but I can definitely understand why he’d be feeling anxious around the other Garde. I feel the same way.

  I’m surprised to find the lights in the Lecture Hall already on. Sarah’s there, standing in the firing-range portion. She’s wearing a tank top and sweatpants. She’s also holding a crossbow, which might be one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen. I watch her get ready to fire off an arrow.

  “Can I take your picture for the yearbook?” I ask. My voice echoes in the vast space.

  Sarah jumps. The arrow she was about to fire goes whizzing wide of the paper Mog hanging at the opposite end of the room. She turns around with a grin, brandishing the crossbow and gritting her teeth menacingly. I snap a picture with an imaginary camera.

  “The kids in Paradise won’t believe that one,” I say. “But you’re a shoo-in for the Most Likely to Maim award.”

  Sarah laughs. “God, we’re a long way from yearbook meetings, aren’t we?”

  “Yeah, no kidding.”

  Sarah sets the crossbow down and surprises me with a hug.

  “What was that for?”

  “It looked like you could use one,” she replies, shrugging. “Also, don’t tell the others I said this, but it’s so nice to have another human around.”

  I realize that Sarah is pretty much the only other teenager on Earth who knows what it’s like to be friends with a bunch of aliens fighting an intergalactic war. We’ve never really talked about it, but we’ve shared a ton of the same whacked-out experiences.

  “We should have like a two-person support group,” I suggest.

  “You know, if you’d asked me last year, I’d say the scariest thing I’d ever seen was an AP chemistry final.” Sarah laughs. “And now, just yesterday, I watched my boyfriend fight a giant worm monster.”

  I laugh. “Life sure got crazy in a hurry.”

  “No wonder we’re turning into insomniacs.”

  I wander over to the Lectern and start looking at some wires that my dad was working on before. Sarah sits down cross-legged next to me and watches.

  “So you come down here and shoot a crossbow when you can’t sleep?”

  “It’s as good as a warm glass of milk,” she replies. “Actually, I’ve been working on learning to shoot but I didn’t want to wake everyone up firing off guns.”

  “Yeah, probably not a good idea. Everyone’s a bit on edge, huh?”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  I glance over at Sarah. It’s so hard to believe this is the same girl I went to high school with. What really throws me is that we’re having a conversation about artillery training.

  “Been coming in here a lot, actually,” she continues. “John doesn’t sleep much. When he does, it’s all tossing and turning. And then he slips out of bed in the morning to go brood on the roof. He thinks I don’t notice, but I do.”

  I smirk at Sarah, arching an eyebrow. “Sharing a bed, huh?”

  She kicks at me playfully. “Whatever, Sam. There are only so many bedrooms. It’s not what you think, though. There’s something really not romantic about hiding from murderous alien invaders, you know? Not to mention I don’t like the idea of Eight just teleporting in or something.” She squints at me. “Even so, don’t tell my parents.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” I tell her. “Us humans have to stick together.”
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  I finish reconnecting the wires and something hums to life inside the Lectern. One of the panels along the wall suddenly juts out like a piston, then retracts.

  “What’s that for?” Sarah asks.

  “It’s like combat-simulation stuff, I guess. Nine told me his Cêpan had all kind of obstacles and traps set up in here.”

  Sarah knocks on the floor in front of her. Something metallic rattles beneath her hand and she jerks back. “Maybe I should watch where I’m sitting.”

  I stop messing with the wires, wanting to wait for my dad before I go any further and also not wanting to accidentally trigger some kind of spike trap under Sarah.

  Sarah gently touches my arm. “So why aren’t you sleeping, Sam?”

  Without realizing it, I find that I’m rubbing the scars on my wrists. “I had a lot of time to think when I was a prisoner,” I tell her.

  “I know what you mean.”

  Well, there’s another thing Sarah and I have in common. “I spent a lot of time thinking about John and the others. About how I could help them.”

  “And?”

  I open up my hands, showing Sarah what I came up with: a whole lot of nothing.

  “Oh,” she says. “Well, there’s always the crossbow.”

  “I’m worried I won’t be able to help. Like sooner or later I’ll end up captured again, or worse, and that’ll just screw things up for the others. Then I hear a story like Eight told tonight and I wonder if maybe it wouldn’t have been better if John had left me in Paradise like Eight left those soldiers. Like maybe he’d be better off without having to worry about me.”

  “Or me,” Sarah says, frowning.

  “I didn’t mean that,” I say hurriedly.

  “It’s okay,” Sarah says, touching my arm. “It’s okay because you’re wrong, Sam. John and the others do need us. And there are things we can do.”