The Fall of Five (I Am Number Four) (19 page)

“Cool,” Eight says politely.

Nine yawns. He stands right in front of the television so that Five is finally forced to pause the game. “I used to be really into these when I was a kid,” Nine says. “Now I’m more into the real thing. You want to join us?”

Five raises an eyebrow. “The real thing? We’re going to go kill some soldiers in um—?” He squints at the open case for the video game. “World War Two. I guess my Earth history must be spotty because I thought that was all over.”

“We’re going to train,” Nine replies, unamused. “From what I heard about Arkansas, it sounds like your game could use some work.”

I notice a flash of anger in Five’s eyes and for a moment I think he might leap off the couch. But then he settles back, crossing his arms and making a concerted effort to keep his features neutral.

“I’m not really feeling it right now,” Five says. He makes a show of stretching out further on the couch. “Anyway, this game is good for my hand-eye coordination. Probably the best training I’ll get around here.”

I’m realizing now that this might have been a bad idea. Nine’s about the least diplomatic person I’ve ever met. After spending some time around him, I’ve learned not to take him too seriously. I can tell Five hasn’t quite worked
up that same tolerance yet.

“It’s really surprisingly fun,” I say, trying to smooth things over. If Five doesn’t feel like we’re pushing him, maybe he’d be more likely to train with us. “It gives us a chance to work together as a team. Also, we’d really like the chance to get to know you better.”

For a moment, Five’s look softens. It’s like I figured; if you’re nice to him, he lets his guard down. Nobody likes to be told what to do, especially when they’ve been alone for as long as Five has. I can tell he’s going to cave in and come train with us.

Unfortunately, Nine’s not so good at picking up signals, or maybe he’s just impatient. He casually walks behind Five’s couch and, with one hand, flips it over. Five is unceremoniously dumped onto the floor.

Eight shakes his head, although there’s a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. I know Five didn’t make the best first impression on him, dredging up all those memories of what Eight did in India. Still, this is no way to treat our newest Garde.

“Come on, Nine,” I say, using that disappointed-but-not-angry tone I used to get from the nuns. “You’re being a bully.”

Nine ignores me. Five has already jumped back to his feet, glaring at Nine.

“What’d you do that for?”

“My couch,” says Nine. “I can do whatever I want with it.”

Five makes a disgusted snort. “That is so childish. You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Nine replies, shrugging blithely. “You can show me how ridiculous I am in training.”

So this is all one of Nine’s little motivational tools, trying to get Five mad at him so that he’ll come fight in the Lecture Hall. Such a boy’s plan. We could’ve just asked Five nicely. Five keeps right on staring at Nine, sizing him up. He smirks, a glint of something mischievous in his eyes, and I get the impression that Five has seen right through Nine’s ploy.

“Tell you what,” says Five. “I’ll give you a free shot right here. If you can hurt me, I’ll come train with you. If you can’t hurt me, you take the overcompensating macho stuff out of my face for the rest of the day.”

Nine’s face lights up in a wolfish grin. “You want me to hit you, little guy?”

“Sure,” Five replies, his hands in his pockets, chin jutting out. “Give it a shot.”

“This is dumb, you guys,” I say, trying to defuse what has suddenly become a really absurd situation. Both Five and Nine are so involved in this pissing contest when we should be learning to work together. I glance over at Eight for some support. A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, almost like he’s amused by this whole thing. When he catches my look of disapproval, Eight’s smile turns sheepish and he places a hand on Nine’s shoulder.

“Let’s just go train,” Eight says, keeping his voice light. “Five can come by when he’s ready.”

Nine shrugs off Eight’s hand and cocks his fist back. He raises his eyebrows at Five. “You sure you wanna test me, Frodo?”

“I hope your punches are better than your insults,” Five snaps back. I have to admit, I sort of admire his spirit. Of course, this all could’ve been avoided if he’d just swallowed his pride to begin with. The way both Five and Nine are acting is pathetic. Two of the last remaining Loric in the universe need to be given a time-out.

Like me, Eight has resigned himself to letting this play out. We both take a step back.

Nine really takes his time, drawing it out. He cracks his knuckles, rolls his neck, makes sure his shoulders are square. I think I’m more nervous than Five is; he just stands there passively, waiting for Nine to throw his punch.

Finally, Nine takes a swing. It’s a big overhand blow and even though it’s definitely enough to knock someone out, I think I’ve seen Nine throw punches harder and faster. I guess he took a little off the punch, not wanting to hurt Five that bad.

In midswing, Five’s skin transforms into glistening steel. Nine’s fist crunches against Five’s metallic jaw and he cries out immediately. It’s like hitting a metal girder. I put a hand over my mouth to stifle a cry of surprise. Next to me, Eight has to cut off a surprised laugh when
he realizes that Nine’s hand is definitely broken. He spins away from Five, clutching his hand against his chest.

Five’s skin returns to normal. “Is that it?”

Nine growls a series of curses. I rush over to take a look at his hand but he pushes me away and stalks out of the room, heading towards the Lecture Hall. I’m sure he’ll want me to heal that hand as soon as he cools down. Anyway, after acting like a jerk, he deserves a little pain.

“If he really listened to Four talking about our battle in Arkansas, he would’ve seen that coming,” Five says as he watches Nine storm off, his voice wooden, almost bored.

“He’s not exactly the master technician,” Eight replies, coolly. “Well, welcome to the team. Enjoy your video games, I guess.”

Eight follows Nine out of the room. Five watches him go, looking a little baffled that Eight would just brush him off. I help him return the couch that Nine flipped over to its normal position.

“I’m not sure what I did wrong here,” Five says quietly. “How am I the bad guy?”

“You’re not,” I reply. “Things just got out of hand. You were both being pretty stupid.”

“He’s been picking on me since I walked in the door,” Five continues. “I figured if I didn’t stand up to him, it would just keep happening.”

I sit on the couch next to Five. “I understand,” I tell him. “Nine has a way of getting under people’s skin. John
told me a story about how him and Nine almost tore each other apart once. You’ll get used to it.”

“That’s the thing. I don’t want to get used to it.” Five picks up the video-game controller, but he doesn’t start playing again. He clicks a few buttons and the screen goes dark. “And the thing is, I wanted to train with you guys. I don’t want to be left out. I want to see what you guys can do and learn to work together. It was just the way he asked. I couldn’t stop myself from reacting.”

I pat Five gently on the shoulder. “You know, you and Nine aren’t all that different.”

He seems to consider this, gazing down at the carpet. “No. I guess we aren’t. Should I apologize for hurting his hand?”

I shake my head, chuckling a little. “It’s probably his pride that’s hurting more, but you shouldn’t apologize for that either.” I stand up and grab Five’s arm, tugging him to his feet. “Come on. Let’s get to training.”

Five hesitates. “After that, you really think I’d be welcome?”

“You’re one of us, aren’t you?” I say decisively. “What better time to learn teamwork than after punching a teammate in the face?”

Five almost allows himself a laugh. He nods and we walk towards the Lecture Hall together. “Thanks, Marina,” he says. “You know, you’re the first person to really make me feel welcome here.”

Well, at least there’s that. I might not be able to help Ella with her dreams, or identify half the objects in my Inheritance, or fight as well as the others. But at least I’m good at coaxing jerks into being more personable. I wonder if that’s a Legacy.

JOHN HOLDS THE ILLINOIS ID CARD UP TO THE
light. He bends it between his fingers and picks at the picture with his thumbnail. Then, he turns to me, smiling wide.

“This is great work, Sam. As good as the ones Henri used to make.”

“Finally.” I sigh, relieved. A dozen similar ID cards, all with some minor defects, sit in a pile next to Sandor’s main computer. All of them have John’s face along with the name John Kent.

“You should make one for yourself,” John says. “Maybe your alias could be Sam Wayne.”

“Sam Wayne?”

“Yeah, like Bruce Wayne. Superman’s buddy without any powers. That’s why you chose Kent for my last name, right? It’s a Superman reference.”

“I didn’t think you’d catch that,” I reply. “Never knew you were into comics.”

“I’m not, but we aliens like to keep tabs on each other.” John comes around to the other side of the desk, skirting one of the workshop’s many junk piles, to look at the screen over my shoulder. “All this was already on Sandor’s computer?”

“Yep,” I reply, guiding the cursor across the various forgery programs and government database hacks installed on Sandor’s machine. “It was just a matter of accessing them. And, uh, figuring out how to use them right . . .” I point to the pile of screwed-up IDs.

“Awesome,” John says. “Let’s get new identities ready for everyone. It’ll make traveling to pick up Five’s Chest easier.”

“Can’t Eight just teleport you down there?”

John shakes his head. “He can only do long ranges between those massive Loralite stones he mentioned last night. And with short range there’s too much risk of being spotted appearing from thin air. Or of him teleporting us into a wall.”

“Yeah, that would hurt.” I adjust the webcam that’s hooked onto the monitor so that it’s pointing at me. When my image appears on screen, I take a second to fix my hair and then flash my corniest smile.

“Nice,” John says, still watching.

“What can I say? I’m photogenic.”

“I always wondered why picture day at Paradise High was called Sam Goode Appreciation Day.”

“And now you know.”

I drag and drop the picture into one of the programs Sandor installed and it immediately gets to work resizing my pic for a new driver’s license. “So,” I begin lamely, not having a better segue prepared. “There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you.”

“Yeah?”

“What’s going on with you and Six now that Sarah’s, uh, not a traitor?”

John laughs. “We actually talked about it on the way to Arkansas. I think we’re cool now. It was kinda awkward for a while. I’m with Sarah, though. One hundred percent.”

“Okay, cool,” I reply, keeping things nonchalant. Although that doesn’t stop John from elbowing me.

“She’s all yours,” he says, and my face gets hot right away.

“That’s not why I was asking.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” John says, picking up a loose bolt from the desk and tossing it at me. “You’re gonna act like you forgot about what happened before she went to Spain? Her saying she like-likes you? Her kissing you?”

I shrug, flicking the bolt back in John’s direction. “Hmm, that sounds familiar, but it wasn’t on my mind at all.” Even as I say this, I think back to that hug Six gave
me when we were reunited in Arkansas. My face gets even hotter.

Luckily, before John can mess with me further, my dad enters. He smiles at us as he wipes his greasy hands off on an old rag. He looks worn down from working on the machinery in the Lecture Hall, but there’s a pleased smile on his face. Digging into some Loric-built technology sure beats wasting away in a Mogadorian prison.

“How’d it go?” I ask him.

“The human mind is an amazing thing, Sam,” my dad muses. “When you have gaps in your memory like I do, you come to better appreciate the things you do remember. The way your hands just repeat a task you’ve done enough times, without even needing to think. Who needs Legacies when we have the infinite power of the human mind at our disposal, eh?”

“I wouldn’t mind some Legacies, actually,” I say, glancing over at John. “Sorry, he can get philosophical about science-y stuff.”

“I don’t mind at all,” John says, his smile wistful as he looks between me and my dad.

“The repairs aren’t easy,” my dad continues. “Sandor’s work is impressive and I’ve—ah—been out of the game for awhile. Everything works like I remember, it’s all just much smaller. The Lectern might be too intricate for me to get fully operational. I’ve been able to make some repairs to the controls. Some of the booby traps should be
operational as well. It’s not perfect, by any means, but it’s something.”

“I’m sure it’s great,” John says. “Anything that could improve our training will help. I’d like to get a team session together before we go to Flo—”

Nine flings open the workshop door with enough force to almost tear it loose from its hinges. He takes one big stride forward and then violently kicks a stack of junk, sending circuit boards and scrap metal flying in our direction. I start to shield my face, but John catches the temper-tantrum shrapnel with his telekinesis.

“What the hell?” John yells. “Calm down!”

Nine looks up, startled, like he didn’t even realize we were in here. “Sorry,” he mutters, then stomps over to John. He holds out a hideously swollen right hand. “Heal this.”

“Damn,” I say. “What happened to you?”

“I punched Five in the head,” Nine says matter-of-factly. “It didn’t go well.”

Well, that didn’t take long
, I think. Nine’s been trying to get under Five’s skin since we walked in the door. I’m actually more than a little surprised it’s Nine in here needing the healing. That’s not how I would’ve imagined that fight going. I keep my mouth shut, letting John deal with his wounded attack dog. He takes Nine’s forearm, maybe with a little more force than necessary, and holds his hand out over Nine’s messed-up fist. But he doesn’t heal him.