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And again when we reach Mount Zao in Japan, the Loralite stone there next to a volcanic crater lake that glows brighter than even the stone. Snow blows across our faces, and we actually laugh. The Japanese soldiers pick up the equipment and look at us like we must be crazy, like we’re wasting time.
We can spare a few minutes.
We stop in Portugal. We stop in the Australian outback. One extra minute spent in each place, one minute that serves no purpose other than to see. A five-minute vacation.
Soon enough it’s over. The deliveries are done. We’re back in Niagara Falls, it’s the middle of the night and we’ve only got one final destination. West Virginia.
Sam and I share one last smile and then we take our positions. We get ready to do what needs to be done.
By dawn, one way or another, all this will be over.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
OUR WARSHIP SOARS TOWARDS WEST VIRGINIA. The night slides by through the vast windows of the Mogadorian bridge. Stars wink overhead while down below, streetlights and houses are lit up, this part of the northeastern United States as yet untouched by the invasion. I wonder if anyone down there happens to look up and see our massive, scarab-shaped vessel. Or are we just another dark cloud passing across the night sky?
I light up my Lumen. It feels good to have my Legacies back in full after what Phiri Dun-Ra did to me. It’s like my eyes are able to see color again. I still feel the dull ache of overuse inside me, like a thread that’s slowly fraying in my chest, not to mention the burning sensation in my hands that won’t go away. I ignore all that just like I ignore the sharper pain of the wound on my neck, still raw from Marina’s mostly unpracticed stitches.
I hold my hand out like a blade and make a small, concentrated fire jet out from my fingers. Push the temperature, get it white-hot, a blowtorch of my own making. Then I set to work.
I’m alone on the observation deck, a small balcony designed to be comfortable by Mogadorian standards, positioned over the bridge. Down below, most of the others are at work preparing for our attack. We’ve got our course set, and, luckily, maintaining altitude and flying in a straight line are things Rex can do on his own. Lexa watches over his shoulder, trying to pick up a few things in case she needs to help pilot later.
There are four weapons stations, one for each quadrant of the warship, and each features an array of buttons that command different guns along with holographic video feeds for aiming. There’s also a fifth station that operates the ship’s main energy cannon, a smaller version of the one on the Anubis that is capable of quickly erasing entire city blocks. According to Adam, there are supposed to be teams of engineers belowdecks to deal with loading power cells and making sure the weapons don’t overheat.
I killed them all, so we’re just going to have to hope nothing explodes or runs out of batteries.
Malcolm sits at one of the weapons stations, getting a crash course in how to operate the guns from Five. Surprisingly, Five is pretty patient with him. I remember back in Chicago when they both first joined us, Sam’s dad was pretty decent to Five. He’s been good to all of us, really. I direct my hearing in their direction as Five’s explanation winds down.
“Do you mind if I ask how you know all this?” Malcolm asks Five.
Five runs a hand over the bristles of hair on his scalp. “I was supposed to command one of these,” he says simply. “At least, that’s what he told me.”
“I see,” Malcolm says. There’s an awkward silence. “Could you show me again how to deploy the chaff?”
“Sure.”
Behind Malcolm and Five, Sam and Adam stand at the commander’s station. Adam is drilling Sam on different functions of the warship. He outlines which consoles control the shields, engines and life support. He gives Sam an idea of which systems are absolutely necessary and which we could lose in a pinch. The hope is that Sam will be able to use his Legacy to communicate with the warship, verbally giving the ship commands to replace the roles of the dozens of crew members we simply don’t have. Six sits nearby, watching them with a bemused smile. I listen in.
“You know,” Six says, “the last time he communicated with a ship, he almost crashed it.”
“Hey,” Sam replies. “That’s not fair.”
Adam frowns at Sam. “Maybe I should be writing some of this down.”
We know the Anubis waits for us in West Virginia. The flagship of the Mogadorian fleet stands between us and Setrákus Ra. We need to take it down with an untrained skeleton crew. Both warships are shielded, but the Anubis has bigger guns. According to Adam, our shields will degrade faster than the Mogs.
Good thing we’re packing more than just their weapons.
I look away from the others at the sound of sizzling in my hands. My white-hot Lumen torch is starting to work.
I hold in my hands the Voron noose that once scarred Setrákus Ra and now has scarred me. On closer inspection since it’s not tied around my throat, the noose’s material looks like a vine you’d find hanging in a jungle, except it has the texture of hardened plastic. Each edge is razor sharp, and as I melt it down, I’m careful not to cut my fingers. The material, found only on Lorien, glows a deep purple as I heat it up and begins to take on a consistency like candle wax. I don’t let the melting material drip to the floor. Instead, I catch it with my telekinesis and begin to reshape it.
When I’m done, I’ve turned the noose into something more like a dagger. It’s about the length of my forearm, with a makeshift handle where I allowed the Voron to bell outward into a guard. The blade itself is diamond shaped, with four edges and a wicked point at the end. I turn it over in my hand, test the weight and slash it back and forth.
This is what I’ll use if they manage to take my Legacies away again. I’ll put this right through Setrákus Ra’s heart.
“Badass,” Nine says from the entranceway.
I was so focused, I didn’t even hear Nine approach. He grins at me, eyeing the blade. I float it over to him with my telekinesis, and he plucks it out of the air, taking a few overhand swings with it.
“Not bad,” he concludes, floating it back to me. “I miss my staff, man. Can’t believe that shit got broken.”
“Yeah, I miss my shield,” I reply, tilting my head in Nine’s direction. “So, what’s up?”
“Eh . . .” Nine comes farther into the room and leans against the railing at the edge of the deck. He lowers his voice. “I, uh . . . I wanted to say sorry for that time I beat you up in Chicago.”
I actually snort from surprise at that. “Nine, what?”
“And also in New York when I blew our stealth approach by clapping my hands with those stupid thunder gloves. Sorry about that too.”
“Okay,” I say, holding up my hands. “What are you doing?”
“Pretty much any time that I said something that pissed you off or almost got you killed. I’m sorry for all that.”
“Okay, look, if you’re going through all this because you think we might die down there, it’s not necessary.”
“Oh, there’s no might for me,” Nine says, locking eyes with me. “I’m definitely living through this shit. You, on the other hand, you’ve got this whole fly-off-on-your-own-don’t-need-friends thing going, like you’re just gonna rage until you burn out. Like you don’t care what happens to you.” I start to protest, but Nine holds up a hand. “No, it’s cool. The rest of them might not get it, but I do. Leave it all on the field. You do what you need to do, man. But I don’t want you dying while I’ve still got all this shit on my conscience.”
“Okay, Nine,” I reply, shaking my head. “You’re forgiven.”
“And also,” he continues, “you should know that I’d prefer it if you made it out of this alive with me. You’re my brother. And, uh . . . that would be ideal.”
Before I can stop him, Nine has me wrapped up in a bear hug. It doesn’t last long, and it ends with him pounding on my back hard enough that I cough.
“You’ve always been the best sid
ekick a guy could ask for,” he says.
“Eat shit, Nine,” I reply.
He grins at me. “See you out there, Johnny.”
Nine leaves me alone on the observation deck. I hook the Voron dagger through one of my belt loops. We’re closing in on West Virginia now. I should make my way down and get ready. Instead, I linger up here, thinking about what he said. Is he right? Do I not want to make it through this? I try to imagine an after—a world where we’ve defeated Setrákus Ra and I’m still alive. Used to be daydreams like that were what I lived for.
Now, I can’t picture it.
There’s no fear in me. Fear, I guess, is rooted entirely in anticipation. Worrying that things won’t turn out the way you’ve planned, that something will hurt; dreading the sorrow to come—all that goes away when you simply accept finality.
It isn’t so bad, knowing there’s no future. It’s freeing.
On my way down from the observation deck, I bump into Marina. She stands on the stairs, arms crossed, looking out over our friends as they acquaint themselves with the warship. I know exactly where she’s staring.
Five. His shoulders are hunched as he sits at one of the weapons consoles, running a diagnostic while Sam and Malcolm look on. He must feel her glaring at him, but he chooses to endure it rather than acknowledge it. When I get close, I notice that the air around Marina is a little cooler.
Marina looks over at me, and her lips quirk downward in a frown.
“I already know what you’re going to say,” I tell her. “We can’t trust him. He’s dangerous. All of which I agree with.”
“And I already know what you are going to say to me,” she replies, mimicking my tone. “He is a necessary evil. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“Tell me I don’t use that many clichés.” She frowns at me. I rub my hands together to warm them up. “He saved lives at Patience Creek, Marina. He saved my life.”
