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Earth Garde was there, too. Two of the young Human Garde along with thirty of their UN Peacekeeper handlers.
It was just the opportunity the Foundation had been waiting for.
Einar sat at an outdoor café amid Manila’s bustling downtown. If not for the broken window behind him, one would never know there had been an earthquake there. The buildings in the wealthier parts of the city were reinforced, history teaching the inhabitants to prepare for the worst. Einar sipped his coffee and admired the patchwork architecture—colorful and glassy modern building competing with old Spanish and French architecture.
The air was humid and sticky, not Einar’s preferred climate. He tugged at the neck of his powder-blue Habitat For Humanity T-shirt. Looking down at himself—the dumb shirt, his khaki cargo shorts, his brown flip-flops—Einar had to stifle a groan. He hated the outfit, but at least it kept him anonymous. Just another good-hearted young person here to volunteer.
He glanced over at the girl sitting at the table next to his. Another foreigner. Saudi Arabian. A zebra-print hijab framed her pretty face, her long-sleeved dress a matching black-and-silver. She daintily sipped from a cup of tea.
“This heat doesn’t bother you,” Einar said, pushing his own coffee away from him.
“I’m used to it,” Rabiya replied lightly. She cringed as a man rushing down the sidewalk bumped into her table. “It’s the crowds that get me.”
“Won’t be long now.”
Einar much preferred working with Rabiya to the brutish Blackstone mercenaries. Their first mission on behalf of the Foundation had taken them to Shanghai. China didn’t participate in the Earth Garde program, preferring instead to keep control of their own Garde. However, the invasion followed by the ongoing problems with Mogadorian insurgents on the Mongolian border had kept China from properly organizing and securing their Garde. Thanks to Rabiya’s Legacy, they had easily accessed the Chinese research station and acquired their target—Jiao Lin, a healer. The mission was made even simpler when they discovered Jiao actually wanted to defect, the girl welcoming the lifestyle the Foundation could offer her.
It was always better when the targets saw reason, Einar thought, his mind drifting to Bunji and what had become of the Australian boy since Einar plucked him up from the outback.
He had a feeling today’s target might prove uncooperative.
“Do you think this will be enough?” Rabiya asked him. “Enough . . . healing power?”
Einar glanced around. “Be careful what you say in public,” Einar admonished gently. Her cousin was sick, dying slowly, and Einar knew this weighed heavily on Rabiya’s mind. He smiled at her, using his Legacy to make sure Rabiya found his words and gestures properly reassuring. “This will be enough. I know it.”
It had better be, Einar thought. Attacking Earth Garde directly, even if their tracks were properly covered, would have consequences.
Einar’s earpiece crackled to life. “Target incoming,” said Jarl’s gravelly voice. Einar gazed up at the nearby rooftops where he knew the mercenaries were positioned. He couldn’t see them; they were too well hidden.
“Ready,” Einar replied into the microphone hidden in his shirt collar. Rabiya, overhearing, set down her tea and pulled her bulky purse into her lap. She nodded to Einar.
From within one of his cargo pockets—he’d had to leave his attaché case at home for this mission, unfortunately—Einar produced a padded box. Inside was a small device, the size and shape of a large thumbtack. He pricked his thumb with the sharpened end, then bumped his fingernail across the barbed shaft that made the thing extra painful to remove. He knew what that felt like. He resisted the urge to touch his own temple and suppressed a shudder—Rabiya was watching him.
“You’re going to chip him,” she said.
Einar nodded. “Safest way.”
Rabiya shook her head disapprovingly. “I don’t like those things.”
Einar said nothing. He traced his thumb across the device’s flat head—the microchip and power source—and found himself thinking of Bunji again. They’d had to chip the aboriginal boy when they first brought him back to the Foundation. He was out of control. That was months ago, and there were . . . unfortunate side effects.
“Target at your location,” Jarl said in his ear.
“I see them,” Einar replied through his teeth.
The Earth Garde team was impossible to miss. A cavalcade of black SUVs drove up to the hotel across the street. A crowd was already amassing out there. It was the same thing as yesterday and the day before, for as long as Einar had been here, watching and waiting.
“They love the attention,” he muttered.
Melanie Jackson hopped out of one of the trucks, smiling brightly for the camera-waving onlookers. There were smudges of dirt on her cheeks from work at the rebuilding sites, but her curly blond hair looked perfect. The quintessential poster girl for Earth Garde, never one to miss a photo op. She took selfies with the crowd, even lifting some of them up with her superstrength. The Foundation’s research indicated that enhanced strength was one of the more common Legacies—common, but not desirable. Not like healing.
Melanie’s partner, Vincent Iabruzzi, was slower exiting the truck and less enthusiastic about interacting with the crowd. The Italian looked exhausted, drained after a long day of healing the injured in the slums. The boy was barely eighteen, round-faced and a little pudgy, with a mane of kinky black hair and a shadow of beard. The Foundation’s reports indicated that he’d been given the unfortunate nickname of “Vinnie Meatballs” by the so-called professor who ran the Academy. Einar supposed he could see the reason.
With his telekinesis, Einar floated the pronged microchip into the air. It was like a silver bug weaving through the air. No one noticed it. Not until the little device bit into Vincent’s temple.
He yelped and made to swat at his face, but that yelp quickly turned into a scream. His limbs jerked as the chip sent an electromagnetic shock into his brain, the signal specifically designed to disrupt the part of a Garde’s brain that fired when they used their telekinesis. The chip induced seizures, loss of muscle control and sometimes temporary blindness.
“Vincent?” Melanie shouted, pushing away from her now-frightened fans. She reached out to her fellow Earth Garde but stopped short when three tranquilizer darts zipped into her neck and shoulders. That would be Jarl and his Blackstone snipers.
“Rooftops! Rooftops!” shouted one of the Peacekeepers. They drew firearms and tried to cover the dazed Garde, pushing them back to the safety of the cars.
A gas canister rocketed down from a rooftop, shattering a windshield. A second one soon followed, exploding in the middle of the street. The crowd was screaming now—panicked and choking from the tear gas, trampling each other, creating confusion for the Peacekeepers.
Everyone at the café was running for cover except Einar and Rabiya. She opened her purse, retrieved a gas mask and pulled it on. Then, she handed one to Einar and he did the same.
“Shall we?” Einar asked.
The two of them strode into the choking orange gas towards where they’d seen Vincent drop. Any fleeing civilians who got in their way got roughly shoved aside by bursts of telekinesis. They found Vincent prone in the road, drooling, his body twitching. Two Peacekeepers stood over him protectively, tears streaming from eyes swollen by the gas. The two soldiers still managed to get their weapons raised in Einar
’s direction.
With his telekinesis, Einar twisted their arms around. The soldiers pointed their guns at each other’s heads and fired before they even knew what was happening.
Einar knelt down and touched the back of Vincent’s neck. The boy was sobbing. “Hush now,” Einar said. “You’re with friends.”
Rabiya extended her hand, an eerie blue glow emanating from her palm, visible even through the thick blanket of gas.
Seconds later, they were gone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ISABELA SILVA • TAYLOR COOK
THE HUMAN GARDE ACADEMY—POINT REYES, CALIFORNIA
ISABELA KEPT A TIGHT HOLD ON TAYLOR’S ARM, vaguely worried the fragile-looking girl would pass out. She didn’t need that. On one hand, she wanted to be done with this tour so she could find Lofton and make plans for the night. On the other hand, Isabela rather enjoyed talking and was eager to get a read on her new roommate. Would she be cool? A tattletale? A nighttime crier? Isabela needed to know.
“So,” Isabela started as they walked back towards campus. “What do you do?”
Taylor’s tired mind worked slowly. “Do? I don’t know what you mean . . .”
Isabela scoffed. “Get used to that question, my dear! Everyone will want to know. What is your Legacy?”
“Oh. I’m a healer, I guess. What about you?”
Before Isabela could answer, a golf cart zoomed across their path. The driver was a young UN Peacekeeper. The passenger was a middle-aged man with thinning hair gone gray at the temples. He wore a severely starched and medal-bedecked uniform and he looked, to Taylor, like a solid block of ice. He briefly glanced at the two girls as his cart sped by. Even though they were simply walking around, the man’s look made both of them feel like they were about to get into trouble.
“Who was that?” Taylor asked.
“The warden,” sniffed Isabela, snapping off a mocking salute. “Colonel Ray Archibald. UN Peacekeepers. Head of security. He makes sure no one gets in and none of us get out.”
