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Grinning, Nine had taken up the challenge beside her. They were both sweating, panting, and sore. As they ran across adjacent balance beams, a log attached to two steel chains swung down from the ceiling at them. Ran slid down on her knees, ducking beneath the battering ram. She just managed to keep steady on the beam by hooking her foot around the narrow railing. Nine, on the other hand, opted to leap over the log. Ran saw him come down, foot off-kilter, practically on the side of the balance beam—but he didn’t slip, he stuck right there, and quickly readjusted.
“Cheating!” Ran scolded. “You’re using your antigravity!”
Nine gritted his teeth. “It’s reflex. I can’t help it. I’m too good.”
Ran rolled her eyes and continued on, leaping from the beam to a set of monkey bars with rungs that let loose an electric shock if she hung on too long. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a small commotion at the entrance. Dr. Goode and Greger Karlsson had just entered, the two of them hunched over a tablet as they speed-walked, looking like they were in the middle of an argument.
“Nine!” Dr. Goode called out. “You need to see this!”
The tone of Malcolm’s voice caused Ran to hesitate just a moment too long. The bars sent a jolt into her palms and she dropped off them, gnashing her teeth. Nine was already down, walking over to Malcolm and Greger with his hands on his hips.
“What’s up?” he asked. “I’m trying to get my sweat on.”
Ran normally wasn’t nosy, but something told her she should probably pay attention to this meeting. Maybe it was the way Greger looked at her—with a weird half smile like he knew something that she didn’t. Curious, Ran followed Nine, peeking over his shoulder to get a look at the tablet.
They watched the same broadcast that Kopano and Taylor had seen in the student union, the one that millions of homes across the world were tuned into at that very moment. Other stations were starting to pick up the story too, not to mention the websites and blogs. Ran and Kopano were officially famous for attacking some allegedly saintly bikers.
Nine looked up from the video. “So what? This is bullshit. Call a press conference and tell them the truth.”
“The truth?” Greger replied with a raised eyebrow. “That you allowed a half dozen students to escape and that they caused chaos? That is already out there.”
“Yeah, yeah. I look like a dummy, Earth Garde reviews my performance, knows that they need me more than I need them, blah, blah blah—this blows over.” Nine stared down his nose at Greger. “The truth I’m talking about is that my students were attacked by some psychos and a mind controller. That video paints them as criminals, but they were acting in self-defense.”
“Ah, that truth,” Greger replied, stroking his chin. “That is a bit more problematic. It would involve Earth Garde admitting that there are rogue Garde out there, ones we can’t actually control. This incident getting out is already quite the PR nightmare. We don’t need to add to it.”
“PR nightmare,” Malcolm repeated, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Makes me pine for the days of Mogadorian warships.”
“What is going to happen to us?” Ran spoke up at last, all three of the administrators turning in her direction. “Kopano and me. What will happen?”
“That, Ms. Takeda, is a very good question,” Greger replied.
“You’re sure that we’re ready for this?” Nigel asked.
Caleb looked up as he eased a bass guitar into its case. He didn’t hear Nigel talk like that often, his voice devoid of its customary brashness. He couldn’t help but smile.
“You’re nervous,” Caleb observed.
“Nah, mate,” Nigel replied quickly. He sipped daintily at the cup of tea he’d microwaved for himself—good for the vocal cords, he claimed. “I just thought we agreed we weren’t going out for this dumb monkey-show thing.”
A pack of Caleb’s clones made a racket at the back of the room, dismantling a drum set and transferring it onto a dolly. They were on one of the dormitory’s uninhabited floors, in the room they’d converted into a makeshift rehearsal space. Caleb wouldn’t necessarily have described their band as good. They’d only been practicing together for a month and Caleb didn’t have any prior experience with the drums, the keyboard, or the bass guitar—all instruments he was expected to play.
He had been practicing, though. Well, his clones had been practicing. Caleb multitasked. He often found himself sending one of his duplicates up here to work with an instrument while Caleb himself remained stuck in a classroom or doing chores. It was a strain, but totally worth it.
They knew three songs, all of them pretty simple. Nigel had picked them out based on some metric he came up with—ease of learning versus badassness. None of them were longer than three minutes and all of them contained ample opportunities for Nigel to scream.
“It has to be tonight,” Caleb said. “We aren’t going to get another chance.”
“What? How do you figure?”
Caleb sighed and snapped the clasps closed on the guitar case. He straightened up and looked at Nigel.
“I’m leaving,” he said. “Getting sent to Earth Garde.”
Nigel practically spit out a mouthful of tea. “Come again?”
“Uncle Clarence told me over Christmas,” Caleb said. “Apparently, I’ll be leaving in the next few days.”
“You’ve been back for like a week,” Nigel replied. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Caleb shrugged and bent down, pretending to dust off the guitar case.
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it.”
“You planned to just disappear into the night, then? Without telling any of us?” Nigel set down his tea and came closer, putting a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “I know we weren’t always tight, but you’re one of us. We care about you, brother.”
“I know,” Caleb replied. “I—”
The duplicates stopped what they were doing and swooped in, wrapping up both Nigel and Caleb in a group hug.
“Ugh, get a hold of yourselves,” Nigel complained, laughing. When he could breathe again, his mouth screwed up in thought. “You know, you don’t have to let them enlist you. We’re on
to something here. The work we’re doing with Nine and the others seems like it’s just as important as any Earth Garde mission. That twat Greger is always trying to promote Ran. She keeps refusing to use her powers so he doesn’t.”
Caleb shot a look at his duplicates, who had gone back to breaking down the drum kit.
“I don’t know. Not using my Legacy . . .” Caleb scratched the back of his neck. “Probably wouldn’t be healthy for me.”
“Yeah, good point,” Nigel admitted.
“Besides, my uncle, he was being pretty weird about stuff. I almost got the sense that he was feeling me out about the Foundation.”
Nigel’s eyebrows shot up. “Feeling you out like he wants to take them down too or like he’s one of them?”
“Honestly, I don’t know, but I don’t think my uncle is the type to work with them. He’s too . . . he’s . . .”
“He’s got too big a stick up his ass,” Nigel said.
“Exactly. He danced around actually telling me anything. Probably worried about compromising top secret intel.” Caleb shrugged. “So I didn’t tell him anything either.”
“Good lad.”
“He mentioned Wade Sydal, though. Like I might get assigned to do something for him. And, since his name has popped up in our investigation, I figure maybe I should go along with it. See what I can find out and report back to you guys.”
Nigel rubbed his pockmarked cheek in thought. “Better than sitting around here waiting for the Foundation to make a move,” he said at last.
“Yeah,” Caleb replied.
“But you’ve gotta tell the others,” Nigel said.
“I will, I will,” Caleb replied. He looked around at the duplicates, who were done with the packing and now stared blankly into space, awaiting further orders. “So . . . guess we’ve got a talent show to get to.”
“Let’s melt some faces, mates.”
