Generation One LLR

by Pittacus Lore

  Taylor blinked. Analytically, the threat on a child’s life disgusted her, but the dire situation didn’t quite penetrate her dreamy sense of tranquility. She just wanted to chill out and float away.

  “I guess . . .” Taylor shrugged. “I guess I should heal her or something, right?”

  Einar studied her. “I will let you do that in a moment, but first you need to accept the reality of your situation.”

  Taylor put her feet up on the couch. “Sure. I accept it.”

  Einar rolled his eyes. “I’ve calmed you too much. Hold on.”

  The mellow vibes that had washed over Taylor like a gentle wave receded, like a shark was suddenly in the water. Her adrenaline kicked back in, her heart raced. She shot off the couch, gave Einar a horrified look and raced to Freyja’s side. The fact that she hadn’t done this immediately appalled Taylor—how could she just sit there on the couch?

  It wasn’t her. This Einar guy had done something to her.

  “She’s just a little girl,” Taylor said as she knelt down next to Freyja.

  “Yes. She’s just an ordinary little girl taken from a small fishing village up the coast. Her parents love her. They would like her returned. If you behave, that might be possible,” Einar intoned. The speech sounded practiced.

  “You’re—you’re an animal,” Taylor said over her shoulder.

  She took Freyja’s head in her hands and healed a gash at the base of her skull. The girl, still unconscious, let out a tiny moan. Taylor looked her over quickly; she was bruised from her tumble down the stairs, but none of her other injuries seemed life threatening.

  Taylor stood up and rounded on Einar. He had returned to the kitchen and was pouring himself another cup of coffee.

  She stalked towards him. “I don’t know what sick, psycho cult thing this is—”

  Einar laughed. “You think I’m one of those Harvester idiots? That’s . . . actually, that’s quite insulting.”

  Taylor picked up a broken piece of Einar’s mug. She brandished the shard like a knife.

  “I don’t care who you are,” Taylor said. She made an effort to keep her voice steady, even though her knees were shaking. “I’m leaving and I’m taking the kid with me. If you try to stop us, I swear to God, I’ll cut your throat.”

  “God, you Americans, always like something out of an action movie,” Einar said. He picked a piece of his broken mug off a plate of pancakes and bacon, flicked it aside and slid the plate towards Taylor. “I made this for you. Eat and we can talk.”

  He was so calm; that both frightened and angered Taylor. “You aren’t listening—”

  “No. You aren’t listening.”

  Taylor felt a sharp pressure on her chin and then her head was being whipped around. He had grabbed her with his telekinesis. He was strong—stronger than she was. With Einar controlling her head, Taylor had no choice but to swing her body around to follow. He forced her gaze upwards, to a corner of the room.

  A security camera.

  “I am not the one who hurts the girl,” Einar said. “They are watching us. This place is wired. If they lose connection, if you misbehave, if you refuse their requests—they will kill her. Then, they will bring in someone else. Another powerless innocent. One after the next, until you comply. If the fate of strangers fails to compel you, they’ll move on to people you do know.” Einar’s voice cracked. He paused, clearing his throat. “You don’t want that on your conscience, do you, Taylor?”

  Einar released his hold over her. Taylor let out a breath and slumped against the counter, her neck aching. She glared at him.

  “Who—who are they?”

  “The Foundation for a Better World,” Einar said. “They are a private company that recruits people like us—Garde—whose powers can have a positive impact on society.”

  “You kidnapped me,” Taylor seethed. “That’s not recruitment.”

  “The current political climate forces the Foundation to operate using somewhat unorthodox methods,” Einar said, almost like he was reading from a press release.

  Taylor continued to stare at him. He was unflappable, almost robotic. She wanted to run, but sensed that would be considered misbehavior.

  Einar watched her back. He picked up a piece of bacon from the plate he’d prepared for her. “Do you mind?” he asked, before biting into it.

  “What . . . what do they want from me?” Taylor asked quietly.

  “That is the good news, Taylor,” Einar said with a smile. “They only want you to do what you do best. What comes naturally. They want you to heal people.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  KOPANO OKEKE • CALEB CRANE

  FRESNO, CALIFORNIA

  THEY HELD ON TO THE MINIVAN FOR ONLY A FEW hours.

  “Someone will have reported this stolen,” Isabela explained. “The Academy people are probably already looking for us. We don’t want to add local cops, too. Not to mention, that nerd at the grocery store might have reported your little scene with the clones.”

  “I can get us another car,” Caleb offered. He drove without taking his eyes off the road, always minding the speed limit. “It’s no problem.”

  “Not just any car,” Isabela said. “We need the right car. A car that nobody will miss.”

  Kopano thought the Brazilian sounded a lot like his father. A gifted scammer. Those two would get along. Imagine the grifts Udo could have pulled if Isabela were his daughter. He pictured the two of them working together, the daydream ending with short-tempered Isabela berating his father. On a different day, the thought would have made Kopano smile.

  He stared out the window, still thinking about last night.

  The guy in the shirt and tie had done something to him, of that Kopano had no doubt. Kopano had thought he was a friend—he’d wanted to take a break in the middle of the fight to hug this well-dressed stranger!—but now felt only emptiness towards him.

  And then the anger. Reflecting on what he had done, it was as if he’d had an out-of-body experience. He remembered the violence felt like pressure building up inside him. It felt so good to unleash. Pummeling those Harvesters, smashing their faces with his rock-solid fists. When they weren’t enough to sate him, he had turned on Caleb and his duplicates.

  Whoever got close, he threw all his strength against. They tried to fight back, but in his rage he was unbreakable.

  Kopano bit his lip. He had never thought of himself as a violent person. What he’d done last night . . . that was not heroic. The devil with his briefcase had forced him to act that way.

  But the very fact that his Legacies made him capable of such acts . . . he could now understand why Ran had sworn off her powers for a time. What if someone made him do that again?

  His companions had been looking at him differently. Warily. Kopano had noticed.

  Had he killed any of those men? He wasn’t in control of his actions and they were certainly trying to kill him, but that didn’t make him forget the bodies he’d left broken on the highway. It was self-defense. It was mind control. It was . . .

  Kopano rubbed his knuckles. Tried not to think about it.

  “There!” Isabela shouted, pointing at a highway sign for Fresno Yosemite International Airport. “That will be perfect!”

  Caleb guided their minivan towards the exit. Isabela turned around in her seat and held out her hand to Nigel.

  “I will need some money,” she declared.

  Nigel dug into his pocket and produced the wad of bills he’d stolen from one of the Harvesters. Kopano’s frown deepened; his brutality had made that possible, his roommate looting the gravely injured.

  “Not exactly rolling in it,” Nigel said, counting through the wadded bills. “Need to make sure we got money for petrol if we want to make it to New Mexico.”

  Nigel set some of the cash aside and handed Isabela the rest. She counted through it.

  “It’ll do,” she said.

  “Heartened to hear it,” Nigel replied.

  They drove i
nto the airport, where Caleb and Isabela got out. Kopano took over driving duties. He hadn’t been behind the wheel since his days running illicit errands in Lagos. He navigated back towards the gas station they had just passed—the last one before the airport—where they had agreed to meet back up once Caleb and Isabela had acquired a new vehicle.

  “She’s good to have around, innit she?” Nigel said, referring to Isabela.

  “Yes,” Ran agreed. “We are lucky to have someone so . . . ethically flexible.”

  “Speaking of which, what’d you make of those two last night?” Nigel asked. “Fancy boy in the suit and his sidekick the Loralite grower.”

  Kopano’s hands tightened on the wheel at the mention of the mind controller.

  “Not Earth Garde,” Ran said simply.

  “Yeah, bloody obvious, that,” Nigel replied. He itched the bandage on his calf. “But who, then? Free agents? Reckon that was a Mog blaster he shot me with.”

  “Yes,” Ran agreed. “That was strange.”

  “I thought the Academy had all of us Legacy types rounded up,” Nigel continued thoughtfully. “I know some countries didn’t join the party but I figured our people at least had tabs on ’em. Spies or what have you. So is there some other group out there? Some shadow Academy we don’t know about? One fulla ne’er-do-wells in dress-up?”

  The picture Nigel painted—a murky one, where Garde did not all work together for the betterment of mankind—greatly disturbed Kopano. He parked alongside the gas station, thrusting the shifter into place with more force than was necessary. He sensed both Nigel and Ran watching him.

  “I’m going inside,” Kopano announced. Without waiting for a response, he got out of the van and slammed the door.

  He thought of the bodies in the road, of Taylor being carried off by a strange Garde with malicious intentions. Anger bubbled up inside him. Not the violent rage the mind controller had burned into him, but a righteous fury that such awful things could happen. This world was not as he’d imagined.

  “What’s it like? Pretending to be someone you aren’t?”

  Isabela and Caleb wandered through Fresno International Airport’s long-term parking lot. Just two travelers who had misplaced their car. Isabela had altered her features again. She appeared as a woman in her midthirties with tied-back black hair and glasses, wearing a professional if colorful pantsuit.

  She shot him a glare when he asked his question, then quickened her pace so she could walk a few steps ahead of him.

  “I already went over this with the others,” she said, a note of exasperation in her voice. “I am not pretending to be anyone. That is me. At least, it is who I should be. Who I used to be.”

  “Oh, I don’t mean that,” Caleb explained hurriedly. “I mean like when you pretended to be Professor Nine or . . . or right now. How you’re looking like, uh, an attractive Spanish teacher, I guess?”

  Isabela smirked and raised an eyebrow at him. “Did you have a crush on your Spanish teacher, Caleb?”

  “I took German.”

  “Of course you did.”

  Caleb didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but he sensed it was an insult. Last night, he and his duplicates had stood over Isabela’s prone body, protected her, while Taylor tried to heal her. But he didn’t expect any special treatment from the Brazilian. What did his older brother used to call him? A magnet for mockery? That’s just how it was.

  “A middle-aged woman and her goofy son will draw less attention than two teenagers,” Isabela said simply.

  “Oh. Okay.” Caleb frowned, but didn’t dispute the goofy part.

  They wandered down another row of cars. Isabela tapped her fingers on her chin, looking for the perfect vehicle. Caleb thought she was done talking, so was surprised when Isabela decided to elaborate.

  “It is liberating, to be someone else,” she said. “And it’s enlightening. Seeing the world through different eyes. Seeing the way the world looks back at you, how it can be so different depending on which face you have on.”

  Caleb nodded, feeling a slight sense of jealousy. “Yeah. I imagine it’d be freeing.”

  She looked over her shoulder at him, an eyebrow raised. “What is it like to be able to physically confront the parts of yourself that you don’t like, hmm?”

  Caleb snorted. “What? I don’t know.”

  “Of course you do. All those duplicates. Some of them mean, some of them geeky, some of them strange, some of them perverted.” She smirked. “There are parts of me that I would like to slap across the face, if they would pop out of my brain for just a minute.”

  “Really?” Caleb smiled.

  “No, I am perfect,” Isabela replied sharply. She got up on her tiptoes and tapped Caleb on the forehead. “What is it like in there? Do they ever shut up?”

  Caleb looked away. “No. Not really.”

  “Hmm. You know, I heard you before the Wargames started, telling Lofton your strategy ideas. He did not listen because he was stupid. But they were not bad ideas. Not as good as mine, of course, but not bad.” She patted Caleb gently on the cheek. “I think you should practice being the loudest voice in the room. Or, at least, being the loudest voice in your own head. Yes?”

  “Yeah,” Caleb agreed. “Okay.”

  “Good,” Isabela said, clapping her hands. She pointed out a shiny black Escalade. “Now, steal me that car.”

  Inside the gas station, Kopano sullenly spun a rack of postcards. Fresno, Death Valley, Salt Lake City, Las Vegas, Reno—all these colorful places flipped past. He wanted to pick a couple out to send to his little brothers. He’d written to them every week, telling them about his days at the Academy. With every postcard, the details about Kopano’s training started to seem, to him, to be mundane and routine. But his brothers always wrote back with enthusiasm, eager for more details.

  His mother and father were less forthcoming in their letters. A few sentences here and there. A detail about some distant cousin who had struck it rich or fallen ill. A prayer. Earth Garde had provided them with a new apartment on Victoria Island, a secure place where they would be protected. His mother only wrote that it was “too big.”

  Finally, Kopano had something exciting to tell his relatives. A story of adventure scrawled on a colorful postcard. An ambush on the road, a great battle.

  But adventure in the real world—the ugly real world—it no longer seemed so glamorous.

  He remembered how it was after he and his father were attacked in Lagos. How he’d wanted to just go home and sleep. He wished he could do that now.

  Kopano jumped as Nigel clapped him on the back. He hadn’t heard his roommate approach, so lost was he in his gloomy thoughts.

  “You all right, mate?”

  “No. I don’t think I am.”

  “You want to cuddle up in my lap, have a chat about it?”

  Kopano looked down at the much smaller Nigel, his frown unwavering.

  “This is serious,” he said.

  “I’m just taking the piss,” Nigel replied. He glanced over his shoulder. The gas station attendant—a very tan man in his fifties wearing a sweat-stained tank top—watched them with narrowed eyes. The two of them certainly made an odd pair. Nigel elbowed Kopano. “Come on. Let’s retire to the privacy of the snack aisle.”

  Kopano gave the postcard rack one last spin, then followed Nigel. They were surrounded on all sides by colorful packages, greasy chips and candies. Kopano’s stomach growled. He ignored it.

  “My mom never wanted me to eat stuff like this. She said it was how my father got his fat belly,” Kopano said, wistfully dragging his fingers across a package featuring a cartoon cheetah bathing in cheese dust.

  “My mum was a health nut, too. Also an actual nutter, come to think of it.” Nigel put his hands on his hips and looked up at Kopano. “You want some crisps? That what this is about?”

  Kopano went on as if he hadn’t heard Nigel. “When I first got my powers, my family was proud. All except for my mother. The way sh
e looked at me changed. She saw me as . . . as an abomination. Something against God. Taylor told me about those Harvester men, about the things they preached. I think, if she had been born an American, my mom might have been one of them.”

  Nigel leaned against the shelves, the better to look at Kopano. “Brother, I doubt that. Those Harvester wankers don’t raise upstanding young lads like yourself.”

  “I am starting to think . . .” Kopano hesitated. “I am starting to think maybe my mom was right to look at me like that. I thought the Academy would be like one of those superhero movies, you know? But now I see what I am capable of. Now I see how the world works. For the rest of our lives, we’ll have to fight like we did last night.”

  Nigel bit the inside of his cheek, gathering his thoughts. “I know the look you’re talking about, brother. The hairy eyeball. My parentals used to hit me with that before I even got Legacies. They couldn’t understand me or didn’t want to. Shipped me off to a private school with a bunch of hateful rich assholes.”

  Kopano slowly turned to look at Nigel. “That sucks.”

  Nigel nodded. “It did indeed. Couldn’t wait to get outta that place. John Smith gives me a telepathic ring and I bust out of Pepperpont faster than an eye blink. I felt like you did—like it was the start of some grand bloody adventure and I was the main character. All those years of suffering were leading up to this.” Nigel looked down at the floor. “Got my rude awakening during the invasion. Mogs came to our hideout, killed some of my new friends and a whole lot of soldiers. Brutal stuff. Grown men screaming and crying, dragging themselves about with missing limbs. Not like in the comic books, you know?”

  “No,” Kopano said quietly. “It’s not like that at all.”

  Nigel gripped Kopano’s shoulder with enough force that Kopano felt his Legacy almost trigger. “But listen, I stuck it out after that, nightmares and all. So did Ran.”