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“No, I was against this part,” Walker replied. Kopano was surprised at the tenderness in her voice. “Now that you understand your situation, I hope to never use the Inhibitors again. Really.”
“So long as we do what you say,” Ran said darkly.
Walker met Ran’s gaze briefly, then looked away. “No. You have an option. If you decide you’d rather not work with me, you can return to your cell. You’ll be taken care of until such a time that Earth Garde decides you’re no longer dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” Kopano exclaimed. “How are we dangerous?”
“To humans. To your classmates. To the public image of Earth Garde. Take your pick.” Walker pointed out the door. “That’s the choice. A detainment of indeterminate length or you work for me and Operation Watchtower.”
Ran simply glowered, but Kopano took the bait. “What’s—what’s that?”
“Watchtower is a joint venture among a number of the world’s covert intelligence agencies—the CIA, Mossad, MI6, others—that operates on a need-to-know basis within Earth Garde. You would be among our first recruits.”
“This is not a recruitment,” Ran said. “This is coercion.”
Kopano shot her a look. Obviously their situation beyond sucked—he didn’t even want to think about how someone had drilled a microchip into his head—but there was no way he would go back in that cell. Not when this spy lady was offering them a way out.
“Why us?” he asked, his voice hitching higher than he would’ve liked. “What did we do wrong? Is this because of the Harvesters?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Walker replied, softening her voice. “Your reports from the Academy are all glowing. I know it might not seem like it, but being selected for Watchtower shows the confidence that Earth Garde has in you. As for the Harvesters, everyone that matters knows that what happened was a matter of self-defense.”
“Then why don’t they say something?” Kopano asked, his eyes widening. “Defend us. The news, they call us monsters . . .”
“Unfortunately, taking a public stand would require Earth Garde to admit certain uncomfortable truths. I hate to say it, but image matters with you people. The Academy’s reputation is already tarnished by your actions—justified or not. The whole Earth Garde program would take a hit if the public knew you were out there fighting a rogue Garde mind controller. It would be chaos.”
Ran and Kopano exchanged a look.
“You know about him,” Ran stated.
“Then . . . do you know about his bosses?” Kopano asked.
“We don’t think he has a boss anymore,” Walker replied. “You’ve seen the way the public has reacted to the footage of you two. Imagine the terror if they knew there were threats out there beyond Earth Garde’s control. We can’t afford for the world to lose faith in Earth Garde.”
Kopano nodded slowly in reluctant agreement, but Ran spoke up again, her voice sharp.
“What about our faith in Earth Garde? Does what we think not matter?”
“I know this hasn’t been the best introduction, Ran, but what we’re doing here is for your own good. This way, Earth Garde can tell the world that you’ve been disciplined and transferred somewhere secure. And, in the meantime, you can do good work for Watchtower, an organization that prefers its operatives stay out of the public eye. Once you complete your first mission, show my bosses that you’re not a risk to world security, I’ll get those Inhibitors out of you.”
“What’s the missi—?” Kopano asked.
“No,” Ran interrupted. “I have been very clear with Greger. I will not let my Legacy be militarized. I choose the cell.”
Kopano stared at her. “Ran, you don’t mean it!”
“I thought you might be a hard sell,” Walker said. She hit a button on her phone and Kopano cringed, expecting a shock. Instead, the security monitors all switched over to a grainy photograph of a young man that made Kopano wince yet again. “But this mission is truly for the greater good, Ran. We are going to bring him to justice. Make sure he never hurts anyone again.”
Einar. On every screen.
“Does that change your mind?” Walker asked.
Chapter Twenty-Three
ISABELA SILVA
SOMEWHERE OVER BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA
NUMBER FIVE. THE ONE ALL THE OTHER LORIC hated. Isabela had heard the stories about him. He betrayed his own people to the Mogadorians, then changed his mind and tried to fight with the good guys once the invasion started. She’d watched YouTube videos of his fight with Professor Nine, the two of them brawling through the heart of New York City like a pair of superpowered moron jocks.
Five was supposed to be dead. That’s what Nine had told everyone, anyway. But he clearly wasn’t dead. He was just severely messed up.
Isabela tried not to let any fear or awe show as Five flung her back onboard their little aircraft. Isabela recognized the vessel, too. It was a Skimmer. One of the smaller ships piloted by the Mogadorians. Where had Einar gotten ahold of that? How had he hooked up with Number Five?
Thanks to Isabela’s escape attempt, the wind still rushed around them. She clutched a nearby railing so she wouldn’t get sucked out again. Meanwhile, Five wedged the Skimmer’s door back into place using a combination of telekinesis and brute strength. When he was finished, the door rattled like crazy but at least it kept the wind out.
“That was stupid,” Five said, rounding on Isabela. She had a hard time looking him in the face but managed to stand her ground.
“You were groping me,” Isabela replied.
“I was not groping you,” Five snarled. “I saved your life.”
Isabela tossed her hair theatrically. “My friend Taylor got rescued by John Smith,” she said. “She gets John Smith and I get the ugly one.”
Five’s mouth tightened. “You aren’t so pretty yourself.”
To that, Isabela had no comeback.
An impressively tall girl poked her shaved head out of an adjoining room, eyeing both Five and Isabela with skepticism. That was the one who’d shocked her back in California.
“What happened?” she asked.
“She tried to escape,” Five grunted.
“Does this pervert touch you when you sleep?” Isabela asked.
The girl raised an eyebrow, then looked at Five for clarification. “You were supposed to be watching her.”
“I was watching her!” Five shouted. A short temper on that one, Isabela realized. He grabbed Isabela by the arm roughly enough that she’d have bruises. “Go back to sleep, Duanphen, before I break your other goddamn leg.”
Duanphen gazed evenly at Five, holding her ground for long enough that she wouldn’t look like a total pushover. But Isabela could see it—she was afraid. Five was not someone to take lightly.
“You are okay?” Duanphen asked Isabela, pointedly ignoring Five.
“No, I’m not okay, you silly bitch,” Isabela answered. “You nearly killed me and now I’ve been kidnapped.”
“Mm,” Duanphen replied, simply. “Sorry about that. We thought you were someone
else.”
With that, Duanphen turned and limped back into her room.
Breathing heavily through his nose in a way that made the air whistle, Five dragged Isabela down the hallway. She soon realized how small the ship was. No more than three rooms with bare cots and tables, all of them cluttered with junk—food wrappers, dirty plates, clothes, and weapons. A lot of weapons, everything from traditional guns to Mogadorian blasters to some of the high-tech Sydal Corp stuff Isabela had seen the Peacekeepers use during their training exercises.
And then there was the massive pile of money spread out in banded stacks on a vacant cot. Some of that had been blown over, presumably when Isabela broke the door.
So they were living on this ship, they were heavily armed, and they were rich as hell.
They reached the cockpit—a glittering panel of instruments, a windshield with a complicated display, and two bucket seats. Einar sat in one of them, one leg propped up on the console, steering laconically.
“She’s awake,” Five announced.
“I figured,” Einar replied. He hit a couple of buttons on the console, turning on some kind of autopilot, and stood up. Einar looked more put together than his companions, his preppy clothes clean and his hair meticulously gelled to one side. “Hello, Isabela. My name is—”
“I know who you are, pinto,” Isabela interrupted. “You’re the mind controller.”
“That’s not technically accurate.”
Isabela tried to jerk away from Five, to get closer to Einar. “Are you controlling this sack of shit right now?”
Five’s grip tightened. “No one controls me.”
“I don’t want to manipulate you,” Einar said, his hands open. He drew nearer. “I won’t use my Legacies against you, Isabela. Not unless you force me—”
He was close enough. Isabela lunged forward and kicked Einar between the legs.
“Coma merda! That is for Nige—!”
