United as One (5 page)

WHEN I WAKE UP, IT TAKES ME A MOMENT TO
realize where the hell I am. Some bad motel art stares down at me from the wood-paneled walls. I'm all tangled up in a scratchy sheet. Must have been tossing and turning like crazy. It feels like I've only slept for a few hours.

The Patience Creek Bed & Breakfast. An old spy hangout from the Cold War era. Sam filled me in on the details while he half carried me through the halls. I was so spent and delirious, I'm a little amazed that I retained any of what he'd told me.

Sam.

He's next to me. On the other side of the bed. Already awake and sitting up, his feet on the floor, back to me. He hasn't noticed that I'm stirring yet. Sam scratches his neck and yawns. He took off his shirt to sleep, and I watch him reach out towards the worn gray T-shirt where it hangs over the back of a chair, concentrate and float the shirt
towards him with telekinesis.

I smile drowsily. It's hard to believe this is the same kid who bumbled around the halls of Paradise High School nearly getting himself killed the night we first met. That wasn't so long ago, but so much has changed. Sam's still skinny and a little on the gangly side, yet there's a scrappy layer of muscle on him now. And then there are the scars, fresh pink and upraised on his wrists and forearms, the results of Sam's time getting tortured by Setrákus Ra.

I put my hand on Sam's back and trace down the bumps of his spine. He jumps, loses his concentration, and his T-shirt flops out of the air.

“Good morning,” I say quietly. “It is morning, right?”

“Almost noon,” Sam replies as he turns around to look at me with a smile. His eyes linger on me for a moment but then he catches himself, flushes and shyly looks away.

It occurs to me then that I'm not wearing any clothes.

Now I remember what happened. After Ella broke the news to me that I didn't kill Setrákus Ra, I about broke down. Once Sam got me to his room, he strongly encouraged that I take a shower, and I did, washing off the gray-green dust of what used to be the Sanctuary along with Sarah's dried blood. I remember very clearly the way that the grime pooled around my toes and circled down the drain. I inhaled steam and pressed my forehead against the cool tiles, let my skin wrinkle and turn bright red from the heat.

And then, at some point, I crawled into bed. Sam had tried to stay awake, I think, but he couldn't pull it off. He hadn't left me anything clean to wear, so . . .

“I put some clothes on the desk,” Sam says cautiously.

“Oh, I guess you did,” I say out loud. A loose-fitting flower-print tunic and some jeans that looked dangerously close to bell-bottoms wait for me across the room. I guess we're picking from whatever leftover garments are floating around the hideout. At least they're clean.

“I, uh, well, you just kinda fell asleep in here . . . ,” Sam proceeds awkwardly. “I didn't want to wake you up. Sorry if it's— Uh, anyway, we can get you your own room. . . .”

“It's okay, Sam. Relax,” I reply as I sit up, not feeling very modest. I sidle over to him, drape one arm over his shoulder and hook the other around his waist, hugging him close. His skin is warm against mine.

“After what happened, I thought you would . . . I don't know. Push me away again,” Sam says quietly, half-distracted, probably on account of me kissing the back of his neck.

“Nope,” I reply.

“Good,” he mumbles.

Okay, so maybe this isn't the most appropriate time. I've still got a lot on my mind and on my conscience, but if I learned anything from John and Sarah, it's that you have to embrace these moments, not run from them. You never know when it might be your last chance.

Of course, we're interrupted about two minutes later by a knock on the door. Sam leaps off the bed like he's going to get in trouble, pulls on his shirt and goes to the door. He looks back at me, and I smirk, pulling the sheet up to my chin.

Sam opens the door a crack. I'm surprised to see the young buzz-cut twins who I noticed when we arrived, the ones who were with that General Lawson dude who Sam told me is in charge.

One of them just stares at Sam, completely deadpan. The other, a little friendlier but still economical with his words, announces, “There's a meeting.”

“All right,” Sam replies. “We'll be out in a minute.”

The twins raise an eyebrow in unison at Sam's use of “we.” He shuts the door in their faces.

“Guess we're on,” he says to me.

“Back to the war,” I reply with a bittersweet smile.

As I begin to get dressed, I nod my head in the direction of the door. There's a lot about our situation that I still don't know. Better to get my questions out of the way before we head off to this meeting with the military.

“What's with the twins?”

“Caleb and Christian.” Sam tells me their names and shrugs. “They're a couple of military school kids. They're LANEs.”

“Yeah, they seemed like lames.”

Sam laughs. “No, not ‘lame.' ‘LANE.' L-A-N-E. Not
sure why I'd expect you to know brand-new acronyms that the government just invented. It means Legacy-Afflicted Native Earthling.”

“Afflicted?” I pause while pulling on my shirt. “They make it sound like a bad thing.”

“Yeah, they use ‘augmented' instead of ‘afflicted' when you Garde are around, but my dad saw one of the internal emails.” Sam shrugs apologetically, like he's the ambassador for all humanity. “I guess the people in charge aren't entirely sure yet if Legacies are a good thing for a bunch of human teenagers to develop. They're concerned there could be drawbacks or side effects.”

“Yeah, one of the side effects is that it makes it a lot harder for the Mogs to shoot you in the face.”

“Come on, I know that,” Sam replies. “For your average human, though? This is a lot to take in. I mean, we've got two brand-new types of intelligent life to wrap our heads around, and that's before we even get to how you Loric mutated us.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Mutated in a good way,” Sam adds.

“So what do those twins do?” I ask, circling back.

He shrugs. “Only telekinesis, as far as I know.”

I'm fully clothed, but I've still got more questions. I stand in front of the doorway with my hands on my hips.

“So that Lawson guy. What's his deal?”

“He was the chairman of the Joint Chiefs back in the
nineties, I guess. Retired.”

I give Sam a blank look.

“Chairman of the Joint Chiefs is, like, the highest military posting in America. Reports directly to the president, yadda yadda yadda.” Sam rubs the back of his neck. “I didn't know what it was either, and I was actually born on this planet.”

“Okay, so what happened to the current chairman?”

“He was MogPro. They brought Lawson back because he'd been retired so long, no one bothered corrupting him. He's like the human version of this place.”

“Speaking of MogPro, I saw Agent Walker hanging around last night, too,” I say, a little edge to my voice. “You trust her? You trust this Lawson guy?”

“Walker's all right. She fought alongside us in New York. As for Lawson . . .”

Sam frowns. “I don't know. Hard for me to trust any kind of organization after MogPro, but they'd have to be crazy to turn on us now—”

While Sam speaks, an old TV set perched on a stand against the far wall suddenly comes to life with a burst of static. We both turn in that direction.

“What the hell?” I ask.

Sam rubs his temples. “This old place is wired weird or something. That TV's probably filled with spiders.”

“Or hidden cameras.”

Sam smirks at me. “I hope not. Anyway, I don't think
they're organized enough to be spying on us yet.”

Sam wanders over to the TV and hits the button to turn it off. Nothing happens.

“See? Broken,” he says, before smacking the side of the TV. “Come on!”

When Sam speaks, all the electronics in the room—the TV, the nightstand lamp, the ancient rotary phone—they all flare to life for a second. A burst of static from the TV, a flicker of light from the lamp, a shrill ring from the phone. Sam doesn't notice. He's too busy unplugging the TV from the wall, which finally turns it off.

“See? Crazy. Whole place is nuts.”

I stare at him. “Sam, it's not the wiring. It's
you
.”

“What's me?”

“You did that just now with the electronics,” I tell him. “I think you're developing a new Legacy.”

Sam's eyebrows shoot up, and he looks down at his hands. “What? Already?”

“Yeah, they come on quick once the telekinesis manifests,” I reply. “You saw that kid in Ella's dream-share thing. The German.”

“Bertrand the Beekeeper,” Sam says, reminding me of his name. “Daniela got one, too. I guess I didn't think it would happen so soon for me. I'm still getting used to being telekinetic.”

I don't know who Daniela is, but I nod along anyway. “The Entity knew the world needs protecting in a hurry.”

“Huh,” Sam says, mulling this over. “So, it's something to do with electronics.”

He turns back to the TV and thrusts his palms at it. He succeeds in emitting a telekinetic burst that knocks the TV off its stand and to the floor with a loud crash.

“Oops.”

“Well, you've got the telekinesis down at least.”

Sam turns to me. “If you're right, how do I get it to work?”

Before I can tell Sam that I have no idea, we're interrupted by another knock on the door. A second later, one of the twins' muffled voice reaches us.

“Uh, whatever you guys are doing in there, could it wait? General Lawson told us if we didn't round everyone up by oh-nine-hundred, it'd be our asses.”

I exchange a look with Sam. “We'll talk about this later,” I say.

He nods, and we open the door to join the two sullen military cadets. As we head down the hallway, Sam stares at every overhead light like an enemy that needs to be conquered.

NOT MUCH FOR CONVERSATION, THE TWINS LEAD
us through the twisting corridors of the subbasement. Soon we're outside the conference room. Malcolm arrives at the same time from a different hallway and waves to us. The twins dart inside, probably worried about being late, while the Goode men and I linger outside.

Malcolm puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “How you holding up, Six?”

I manage a smile. “I'm hanging in there.” I glance at Sam, and the smile doesn't seem so forced anymore. “Your son's helping me keep it together.”

Sam blushes and turns away from his dad a bit. Malcolm pats him on the back.

“Good, good,” he says. “In times like these, we need to lean on each other.”

“How's Marina?” I ask Malcolm. The last I saw of her, he was wheeling her into the cabin on a gurney.

“The medics say her vitals are strong, and she woke up a little while ago to take some food,” Malcolm replies. “John healed her, yes, but when the damage is that severe, you don't want to rush anything. She's resting.”

“Six was asking about Lawson,” Sam says to his dad, lowering his voice. He looks at me. “My dad was with Walker's people at Ashwood until they all had to evacuate. Then you were . . . where was it?”

“Liberty Base. I met the president,” Malcolm says with an amused smile. “He told me he was a big fan of my papers on intergalactic communication. Quite the skilled bullshitter.”

“The president, is he here now?” I ask.

“No, I left Liberty Base in a hurry to reconnect with you guys, but the last I heard they were going to keep Jackson moving. Safer that way.”

“On the run,” I say. “Yeah. Been there.”

“One interesting fact I picked up . . .” Malcolm lowers his voice, even though we're alone out here. “The president's daughter, Melanie, she's one of you.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Get out. When does she report for duty?”

Malcolm's smile tightens. “I don't think that's going to happen. But at least it means we've got the president on our side.”

“And Lawson reports directly to him . . .” Sam brings his dad back to what we were originally talking about.

“Ah, right. Well, he's a difficult man to read,” Malcolm says thoughtfully. “Seems like a straight shooter, although the ruthlessly pragmatic type. A bit old-school, as they say. At the very least, we all want the same thing.”

“Yeah, dead Mogs,” I reply, and nod towards the conference room. “Let's see what he has to say.”

By the time we walk in, most of our group is already seated around a long, oval table. John sits at one end, slouching a little. Lexa sits next to him, the two deep in a hushed conversation. Lexa holds something out for John to inspect, and I recognize it as one of the cloaking devices we recovered in Mexico. That's our key to getting through the shields that surround every Mog warship.

John's gaze flicks in my direction when I enter, and I practically freeze. He nods to me, though, and once I nod back, immediately returns to his conversation with Lexa. I guess we're staying focused on the task at hand and grieving later.

Good.

Nine sits on John's other side, and next to him is Ella. Her eyes haven't stopped glowing, which is drawing a lot of stares from the military personnel clustered in the room. As we take seats by them, Nine leans over to Ella.

“So, Lite-Brite, is this like a permanent thing now or can you turn it off?”

I study Ella for a reaction. I'm happy to see a small and embarrassed smile cross her face. The girl used to
have such a crush on Nine, and his complaining about her perpetual light show seems to get through. So there's still a little bit of the old Ella in there. Before responding to Nine, Ella concentrates, and the cobalt energy sparking around her chills out a little.

“Better?” she asks him.

“Just remind me to keep sunglasses handy when you're around,” Nine replies.

Ella smiles, this time more easily, and leans in Nine's direction.

“Six.” Sam nudges me. “This is Daniela. We met her in New York.”

Across the table from me sits the lean girl with braided hair who I noticed first in Ella's dream meeting and then again last night. She waves awkwardly, looking more than a little uncomfortable to be sitting in this room.

“Good to meet you,” I say. “Sam said you've already developed a Legacy besides telekinesis.”

“I shoot rays out of my eyes that turn things to stone, apparently,” Daniela says warily. She tosses her head, her braids bouncing. “Would've changed my hair up at least if I'd known you people were gonna stick me with such a stupid superpower.”

“I get it,” Nine says, pointing at her. “Because Medusa.”

“Yeah, dummy,” Daniela says, rolling her eyes. “You got it.”

“I like her,” I say to Sam.

Although no one forced us to choose seats at opposite ends of the table, there's a very clear line between us and the military personnel that outnumber us almost three to one. They're all arranged at the far end where Lawson sits at the head. The closest one to our part of the table is Walker, a human buffer zone, seats empty on either side of her. She stares down at the notes in front of her, none of the other government types making any effort to chat with her.

The twins take seats a little behind and on either side of Lawson. They look like bodyguards. Hell, it occurs to me that most of the people in this room are armed and would protect a guy like Lawson before us. Besides the official types sitting at the table, there's a bunch of straight-up soldiers hanging around against the walls, their rifles pointed down but still very much loaded and ready. I'm pretty sure we could take this whole bunch, guns and all, but that doesn't mean I'm not a little concerned at being in close quarters with all this firepower.

On the wall behind Lawson there's a huge touch-screen display with a map of the entire world. There are zones highlighted with ominous red heat signatures: New York City, Los Angeles, London and about twenty more. Those must be where Setrákus Ra's warships are posted. Then, in the United States only, there are a bunch of green dots, much smaller than the warships but numerous. As I look closer, I realize that those dots all form loose circles around
the Mogadorian hot spots. These must be the cells that Caleb was talking about, small but organized and ready to strike back.

When I look down from the display, I catch Lawson studying me. He's been watching me take stock of his map. He gives me a little nod before turning his attention to the rest of the room.

“I think we're about ready to get started,” Lawson announces, his voice casual but carrying, with a soft Southern accent. All the side conversations immediately cut off.

I glance around. Mark and Adam still haven't showed up. I open my mouth to say something, but Lawson's speech is already under way.

“For those of you who don't already know me, my name is General Clarence Lawson.” The general clearly intends this for our group, since there's no doubt in my mind all the military and government flunkies know him well. “Full authority has been granted to me by the president to coordinate the country's response to the Mogadorian invasion.”

Lawson pauses and waits for a response. None of us say anything. Personally, I'm not sure what he expects from us. Our own introduction? I glance down the table and see John staring straight at the general, waiting for him to continue.

Lawson crosses his arms and clears his throat. “You
let me know if I move too fast for you,” he says with a dry smile. “I'm not a man who wastes his words, and I don't often find myself addressing matters of strategy to civilian teenagers, be they extraterrestrials or otherwise.”

“You won't go too fast for us,” John says, his gaze unwavering.

Lawson nods once, then looks at the nonpowered humans in the room. “As for the rest of you, keep in mind that these young people have likely killed more hostile aliens than all the branches of our armed service combined. Respect that and respect their presence.”

I don't know what to make of this guy. One minute he's ragging on us for being young and the next he's singing our praises at the expense of his people. Maybe he's just one of those dudes who tries to keep everyone on their toes through constant negativity.

Lawson picks up a tablet device and hits a button. A countdown clock appears on the screen behind him, highlighted in red and in the negative.

“We are approximately ten hours beyond Setrákus Ra's deadline for unconditional surrender, which included a demand to turn over all so-called ‘renegade' Garde as well as LANEs. To our knowledge, only Moscow has complied with this ultimatum. The Russian government began arresting dozens of youths last night. Our agents report that many of them haven't even manifested Legacies and are likely antigovernment agitators who the
administration saw as an opportunity to get rid of while simultaneously placating the hostiles.”

“Something will need to be done about that,” John interjects. His voice is cool and authoritative.

“Agreed. Although humanitarian abuses by other governments will have to be back-burnered,” Lawson replies. “Frankly, we should consider ourselves lucky that only the Russians have kowtowed to the hostiles. We've been able to communicate with most of our international allies and are encouraging them to evacuate the cities threatened by warships while covertly organizing counterstrike forces in the event we can crack the Mogadorian shields. However, if Setrákus Ra executes his promised attacks—and they're on the level of New York or Beijing—I'm not sure if these other countries will have the ability to stay the course. I think we can all agree that we're up against a ticking clock. It's not
if
Setrákus Ra makes good on his threats, but
when
.”

At the mention of New York, Daniela loudly clears her throat. John glances at her, then looks back at Lawson.

“What's the situation in New York?” he asks.

“Same,” Lawson replies. “Mogadorian ground troops hold Manhattan, with our forces working triage and evacuation in the outer boroughs. Also not a priority at the moment, unless the warship returns.”

Daniela doesn't react much to the news. At Lawson's assessment, her lips bend in a tight frown, and she drums
her fingers on the table in front of her, like she needs to get some aggression out. I wonder if she lost family back in the city. I wonder if they're still trapped there.

“Are you tracking the
Anubis
?” John asks.

“We are. After attacking your people in Mexico, the Mogadorian flagship did not return to New York. Our recon shows it holding in West Virginia over a mountain in Hawks Nest State Park. Some MogPro agents who we've interrogated indicate this place is—”

“Yeah, yeah,” interrupts Nine, clearly bored. “Most of us have had the shit luck to be stuck in the place once or twice. It's their big base.”

When Nine is done speaking, Lawson lets the ensuing silence linger. Behind him, the twins bristle at this breach of decorum. Lawson stares at Nine like he might an out-of-line cadet, but Nine doesn't even notice. He's right back to doodling explosions on a piece of US Army stationery.

“We're aware of the base,” John says diplomatically. Or maybe just without any emotion. “We infiltrated it once before, but we've never had the resources to properly attack it until now.”

Lawson nods at that and seems about to respond. Before he can, I lean forward to look at Ella. Maybe she knows why he's parked himself in West Virginia and hasn't made good on any of his threats.

“Ella, why has Setrákus Ra stopped the
Anubis
there?
What is . . . what is he waiting for?”

All eyes turn to Ella, although a lot of the military people look uncomfortable to be gathering intelligence from a preteen girl sparking with otherworldly energy. Ella looks equally uncomfortable with all the attention, and she emits a harmless flare of Loric energy when she opens her mouth to respond.

“Do you want . . . ?” She hesitates. “Do you want me to make contact with him?”

“Whoa, hold on—,” I say.

“Can you do it without him knowing?” John asks Ella. “Without putting yourself in danger?”

“I think so. If I'm quick,” Ella says, and then before anyone can protest, she closes her eyes. The glow emanating from her skin intensifies once again.

Everyone in the room goes silent, watching Ella warily. It's a little bit like being at a séance.

“She's a telepath,” Sam explains lamely, looking around at the baffled faces.

With a gasp, Ella opens her eyes. A whole lot of people jump, myself included. I can't help it. Ella's a little creepy.

“You okay?” John asks her.

She nods, taking a deep breath. “He almost sensed me,” she says, a note of pride in her voice. “His mind is busy. He was hurt badly.” Here Ella glances at me, and my stomach tightens. “His trueborn aides placed him in the vats to accelerate the healing process.”

“They use the vats to grow their soldiers—,” John begins to explain to Lawson.

“We already know about the vats,” he says, waving this off. “Do you have any idea when he'll be done with . . . whatever he's doing? When the attacks will resume?”

Ella shakes her head. “His wounds were almost fatal,” she says. “They would've killed someone without his augmentations.”

I feel a brief swelling of pride at that. Pride and a massive ache of missed opportunity. If I'd only hit him a little harder.

“We talking hours? Days? A week?” Lawson persists.

“I can't be sure. More than hours, I'd guess, but probably not days . . .” Ella cocks her head, remembering another detail that clearly troubles her. “There are also
others
down there with him.”