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Noto rattles off a series of harsh noises. “It’s not so tough.”
Adam laughs. “Your accent is getting better, but you just said you’d like a stomach filled with leeches.”
Noto makes a face. “I thought I was asking for some coffee.”
“I helped Noto make a list of key words to listen for,” Adam tells me. “‘Beloved Leader,’ warship call signs, ‘Garde’—any time he hears those words, he makes sure to flag the transmission.”
“I’m recording everything in case I need to listen again,” Noto says. “Which I usually do.”
“This is good. It’ll be really helpful to know what the Mogs are saying to each other,” I tell them, putting a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Don’t burn yourself out, though. We’re going to need you.”
Adam nods. “I know. I won’t.”
I say good-bye to Agent Noto, then lead Adam into the hallway where we can talk privately.
“So, from what you’ve listened in on so far, what are the Mogs saying?” I ask him.
“They’re freaking out about Setrákus Ra,” he replies. “Well, freaking out as much as Mog trueborns can freak out. There’s a lot of concern about why he hasn’t ordered the attack or made any announcements to the fleet, but they won’t outright question him because to do so is pretty much treason. Mostly, they’re like . . . ‘This is warship Delta, awaiting orders, requesting guidance from Beloved Leader.’”
“That alone tells you they’re freaking out?”
“Mogs don’t go around asking for orders, John. They do what they’re told. They speak when spoken to. They don’t passive-aggressively prod their Leader.”
“And there’s been no response from the Anubis or the West Virginia base?”
“Nothing,” Adam confirms. “Radio silence.”
“Hmm.”
The plan I’ve been formulating is a little crazy, a lot dangerous, and, you know, that doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it probably should. I mull over everything that Adam has told me about Mogadorian culture, in particular the likelihood of them descending into civil war once Setrákus Ra is dead. If they took out each other, that’d make it a whole lot easier on the rest of us. What if there was something we could do to speed that process up? To get the Mogs at each other’s throats before Setrákus Ra is even turned to ash? A little bit of psychological warfare.
Before I can give that any more thought, Noto pokes his head out of the library and waves Adam over. “There’s a lot of chatter all of a sudden,” he says.
Adam and I jog back into the room. I cock my head to listen to the transmission coming through, but it all sounds like angry barking to me. The Mogadorian who’s broadcasting sure is excited, though.
Watching Adam’s eyes slowly narrow, I can tell this isn’t good news. After a few seconds, he turns to me.
“John, we should get the others,” he says. “Someone’s made a terrible mistake.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
NEVER POST ANYTHING ON THE INTERNET. IT’S like Rule #1.
Granted, all of us have broken Rule #1 at some point and ended up hunted by Mogs as a result. Because sometimes desperation outweighs your desire not to be stupid. It happens. No judgment.
But man, it’s dumb to post things on the internet.
The video, obviously shot on a cell phone, begins with a thunderous rush of water. A massive waterfall that I instantly recognize as Niagara Falls appears on screen. Whoever’s filming this is standing on a grassy outcropping level with the waterfall’s drop-off.
“Oy, it’s bloody loud—!”
The camera gets jostled as whoever’s holding the phone jogs away from the waterfall. In those few seconds of bouncing around, I’m able to pick out a few details: a blond girl who looks like she should be yodeling on a six-pack of imported beer stands near the edge of the cliff right next to a jagged protrusion of otherworldly blue stone.
Loralite. A new growth, just like Ella said there would be.
Before I can examine the stone too closely, the camera steadies and is turned around so we can look straight into the pockmarked face of a grubby teenage boy. He’s gaunt, with a Mohawk that’s bleached nearly white and patches of peach-fuzz stubble. He wears a torn-up denim vest covered in patches, a ratty tank top, and while I can’t see his feet, I can almost guarantee he’s rocking combat boots. Of course, I recognize him from the telepathic summit Ella held for us. He’s one of the kids who seemed most eager to heed John’s call to action.
Even though he moved away from the edge, the kid still has to yell to be heard over the waterfall.
“Hello, John Smith and super-friends! You out there? Nigel Rally here. We met at . . . uh. The thing. Found your bloody stones, and, y’know, it’s been a real laugh popping round the world and all, but at what point are you lot gonna come pick us up?”
It doesn’t surprise me at all that these international Garde are lost and confused. John told them to come help us, and Ella explained that they could use the Loralite stones to teleport around the globe simply by picturing a location. But Setrákus Ra crashed our meeting before we could give them any concrete idea how to find us, which isn’t exactly an easy task considering we’re in hiding.
“I ran into a couple of others while taking the tour, eh?” Nigel continues, and turns the camera to pan around his surroundings. “Wave to John Smith, protector of the world and absent Big Brother who has apparently forgotten to fetch us.”
Behind Nigel, the blond girl I caught a glimpse of before waves. Next to her, there’s a stocky boy with a shock of brown hair who waves awkwardly. I recognize him immediately as the German from the meeting, Bertrand, the beekeeper who can control bugs. Also, standing a little off from the others is a frail-looking Asian girl who stares blankly into the camera before tossing up a halfhearted peace sign.
“That’s Fleur and Bertrand,” Nigel narrates, “and over there . . . well, I think she calls herself Ran. Doesn’t speak any English that one, not since your mega-psychic bird with the glowing eyes stopped with the translating anyway.”
Nigel flips the camera back around to himself.
“So look, we’re at Niagara Falls, if you haven’t figured that out yet. I memorized as many spots on that map you showed us for five bloody seconds as I could, but I’ve never been to the States, so I had to bop around Europe for a bit until I met ol’ Bertrand. Picked up some other tagalongs on the way. . . .” Nigel blows out a sigh. “Lotta weird places on your map, John Smith. New Mexico? What the hell does that look like, eh? Stupid, I bet. Bertrand was here once for a family vacation, so . . .” Nigel lowers his voice. “If you read me, Major John, we’re waiting for a pickup. If not, well, I guess we’ll just start walking towards the nearest alien battleship and hope for the bloody best, eh? Cheers.”
And with that, the YouTube clip ends. It’s attached to the comment thread on the video Sarah made introducing John to the world, and it’s already got a ton of likes and views. Nigel posted his video about three hours ago. Me, John, Adam, Nine, Ella, Sam, and Daniela are all huddled around a cell phone that Daniela swiped from one of the soldiers.
We’re all crowded into John’s room. Before we started the video, I couldn’t help but make note of some of the grim details of John’s room. The bed hasn’t been slept in, and there are scorch marks on the kitschy wallpaper, like he punched the wall with his Lumen on. Nobody remarks on this, although Sam does raise an eyebrow when he catches me looking.
“Dibs on Fleur,” Nine says as soon as the video is over.
I elbow him in the ribs, and Daniela makes a face. “You’re nasty.”
“I’m lonely,” Nine replies.
“This video was posted three hours ago,” Adam explains, ignoring Nine. “I’ve been monitoring Mogadorian transmissions, and it seems like they’ve just picked up on it. The closest warships to Niagara Falls are in Toronto and Chicago. They’ll be sending in Skimmers.”
“Posting on the web,” Nine says, clicking his tongue. “Rookie mist
ake.”
“We’ve all been there,” I say. “So, the Mogs have a head start on us. Let’s get some jets and get out there.”
“We want to keep this quiet, which is why we’re hiding out in here,” John replies. “Better if we do this ourselves without Lawson’s people knowing.”
I give John a questioning look.
“I’m not sure what his intentions are with the human Garde,” John elaborates. “Until we decide he’s on the level, I want our people to be the ones bringing them in. I don’t want to leave it up to Lawson to decide who’s ready to fight and who need his ‘protection.’”
“Whoa, hey, what kind of intentions you worried about?” Daniela asks.
“I don’t know,” John says with a sigh. “Compelled enlistment into a secret military organization? Who knows?”
“You learn not to be so trusting of people in power when you’ve been through what we have,” I tell Daniela.
She nods. “Sounds totally sketch.”
“I’ve already reached out to Lexa telepathically,” Ella says, her eyes still sparking with Loric energy. “She’s getting our ship ready.”
“Nice,” Nine says, and claps his hands. “Let’s go save some newbies.”
“I need you to stay here with me,” John says to Nine, and immediately Nine’s face falls.
