The Legend Trilogy Collection

by Lu, Marie

  ELECTOR PRIMO TO MAKE EMERGENCY ANNOUNCEMENT

  They’d predicted that the Colonies would still take three more days before making a move on Los Angeles. It looks like they’re ahead of schedule and preparing for the end of the three-day ceasefire, which means we need to put our plan ahead of schedule. I cover my ears from the siren, rush over to the balcony, and look out at the horizon. The morning light is still weak, and the cloudy sky makes it difficult for me to see properly, but even so, the dots lining up above California’s mountain skyline are unmistakable. My breath catches in my throat.

  Airships. Colonies, African—I can’t quite tell from this distance, but there is no mistaking the fact that they are not Republic ships. Based on their position and speed, they will be hovering right over central Los Angeles before the hour’s over. I click my mike on, then rush into the closet to throw on some clothes. If Anden’s preparing to make an announcement soon, then it will undoubtedly be the surrender. And if that’s the case, I’ll need to join Day and the Patriots as quickly as I can. A fake surrender will only work for so long before it turns into a real one.

  “Where are you guys?” I shout when Day comes onto the line.

  His voice sounds as urgent as mine. The echo of the siren sounds out from his side too. “Eden’s hospital room. You see the ships?”

  I glance again at the horizon before lacing up my boots. “Yes. I’m in. I’ll be there soon.”

  “Watch the sky. Stay safe.” He hesitates for two seconds. “And hurry. We’ve got a problem.” Then our call cuts off, and I’m out the door with Ollie close at my side, galloping like the wind.

  By the time we reach the Central Hospital’s lab floor in the Bank Tower and are ushered in to see Day, Eden, and the Patriots, the sirens have stopped. The sector’s electricity must have been switched off again, and aside from the main government buildings like the Bank Tower, the landscape outside looks eerily black, swallowed nearly whole by damp morning shadows. Down the hall, the screens show an empty podium where Anden will be standing any minute now, poised to give a live national address. Ollie stays glued to my side, panting his distress. I reach down and pat him several times, and he rewards me with a lick of my hand.

  I meet Day and the others in Eden’s room right as Anden appears onscreen. Eden looks exhausted and half conscious. He still has an IV hooked up to his arm, but aside from that, there are no other tubes or wires. Beside the bed, a lab tech is typing notes onto a notepad.

  Day and Pascao are wearing what look like dark Republic suits meant for physically demanding missions—it’s the same sort of suit I’d once worn back when I first needed to break Day out of Batalla Hall, when I spent a late night skimming building roofs in search of Kaede. Both of them are talking to a lab tech, and based on their expressions, they’re not getting good news. I want to ask them for details, but Anden has stepped up to the podium already, and my words fade away as we turn our attention to the screen. All I hear is the sound of our breathing and the ominous, distant hum of approaching airships.

  Anden looks composed; and even though he’s only a year older than the first time I met him, the weight and gravity on his face make him look much more mature than he actually is. Only the slight clench of his jaw reveals a hint of his real emotions. He’s dressed in solid white, with silver epaulettes on his shoulders and a gold Republic seal pinned near the collar of his military coat. Behind him are two flags: One is the Republic’s, while the other is blank, white, devoid of color. I swallow hard. It’s a flag I know well from all my studies, but one that I’ve never seen used. We all knew this was coming, we had planned this and we know it’s not real—but even so, I can’t help feeling a deep, dark sense of grief and failure. As if we are truly handing our country over to someone else.

  “Soldiers of the Republic,” Anden begins addressing the soldiers surrounding him at the base. As always, his voice is at once soft and commanding, quiet but clear. “It is with a heavy heart that I come to you today with this message. I have already relayed these same words to the Chancellor of the Colonies.” He pauses for a moment, as if gathering his strength. I can only imagine that for him, even faking such a gesture must weigh on him far more than it already does on me. “The Republic has officially surrendered to the Colonies.”

  Silence. The base, filled with noise and chaos only a few minutes ago, is now suddenly still—every soldier frozen, listening in disbelief.

  “We are now to cease all military activity against the Colonies,” Anden continues, “and within the next day, we will meet with the Colonies’ leading officials to draft official surrender terms.” He pauses, letting the weight settle over the entire base. “Soldiers, we will continue to update you on information regarding this as we proceed.” Then the transmission stops. He doesn’t end with Long live the Republic. A chill runs through me when the screens are replaced with an image of, not the Republic flag, but the Colonies’.

  They are doing a stellar job of making this surrender look convincing. I hope the Antarcticans are going to keep their word. I hope help is on the way.

  “Day, we don’t have much time to get these bases ready to blow,” Pascao mutters to us as the address stops. The three Republic soldiers with us are geared up in a similar fashion, all ready to guide them to where the air bases will be wired. “You’re gonna have to buy us some time. News is that the Colonies will start landing their airships at our bases in a few hours.”

  Day nods. As Pascao turns away to rattle off some directions to the soldiers, Day’s eyes flicker to me. In them, I see a strained sense of fear that makes my stomach churn. “Something’s gone wrong with the cure, hasn’t it?” I ask. “How’s Eden doing?”

  Day sighs, running a hand through his hair, and then looks down at his brother. “He’s hanging in there.”

  “But . . . ?”

  “But the problem is that he isn’t Patient Zero. They said they’re missing something from his blood.”

  I look at the fragile boy in the hospital bed. Eden isn’t Patient Zero? “But what? What are they missing?”

  “It’d be easier to show you than try to explain it. Come on. This is something we’ll need to alert Anden about. What’s the point of staging this whole surrender if we won’t be able to get help from Antarctica?” Day leads us out and down the hall. We walk in a tense silence for a while, until we finally stop in front of a nondescript door. Day opens it.

  We step inside a room full of comps. A lab tech monitoring the screens rises when he sees us, then ushers us over. “Time to update Ms. Iparis?”

  “Tell me what’s going on,” I reply.

  He sits us down in front of a comp and spends several minutes loading up a screen. When he finally finishes, I see two side-by-side comparisons of some slides of what I assume are cells. I peer more closely at them.

  The lab tech points to the one on the left, which looks like a series of small, polygonal particles grouped around a large central cell. Attached to the particles are dozens of little tubes sticking out of the cell. “This,” the lab tech says, circling the large cell with his finger, “is a simulation of an infected cell that we’re trying to target. The cell has a red hue to it, indicating that viruses have taken hold inside. If no cure’s involved, this cell lyses—bursts open—and dies. Now, see these little particles around it? Those are simulations of the cure particles that we need. They attach to the outside of the infected cell.” He taps the screen twice where the large cell is, and a short animation plays, showing the particles latching on to the cell; eventually, the cell shrinks in size and the color of it changes. “They save the cell from bursting.”

  My eyes shift over to the comparison on the right, which also has a similarly infected cell surrounded by little particles. This time, I don’t see any tubes for the particles to attach to. “This is what’s actually happening,” the lab tech explains. “We’re missing something from our cure particles th
at can attach to the cell’s receptors. If we don’t develop that, the rest of the particles can’t work. The cell can’t come in direct contact with the medicine, and the cell dies.”

  I cross my arms and exchange a frown with Day, who shrugs helplessly. “How can we figure out the missing piece?”

  “That’s the thing. Our guess is that this particular attaching feature wasn’t a part of the original virus. In other words, someone specifically altered this virus. We can see traces of that marker on it when we label the cell.” He points to tiny glowing dots scattered across the cell’s surface. “This might mean, Ms. Iparis, that the Colonies actually physically altered this virus. The Republic certainly has no records of tampering with this one in this specific fashion.”

  “Wait a minute,” Day interrupts. “This is news to me. Are you saying that the Colonies created this plague?”

  The lab tech gives us a grim look, then returns to the screen. “Possibly. Here’s the curious thing, though. We think this additional piece—the attaching feature—originally came out of the Republic. There’s a similar virus that came out of a small Colorado town. But the tracers tell us that the altered virus came out of Tribune City, which is a warfront city on the Colonies side. So somewhere along that line, Eden’s virus somehow came in contact with something else in Tribune City.”

  This is when the pieces of the puzzle finally fall into place for me. The color drains from my face. Tribune City: the city that Day and I had originally stumbled into when we first fled into the Colonies. I think back to when I’d gotten ill during my arrest in the Republic, how sick and feverish I’d been when Day carried us through that underground tunnel from Lamar all the way into the Colonies’ territory. I’d been in a Colonies hospital for a night. They’d injected medicine into me, but I never considered the fact that they might have been using me for a different purpose. Had I been a part of an experiment without even realizing it? Am I the one holding the missing piece of the puzzle in my bloodstream?

  “It’s me,” I whisper, cutting the lab tech short. Both he and Day give me a startled look.

  “What do you mean?” the lab tech asks, but Day stays silent. A look of realization washes over his face.

  “It’s me,” I repeat. The answer is so clear that I can hardly breathe. “I was in Tribune City eight months ago. I’d gotten ill while under arrest in Colorado. If this other virus you’re talking about originated first in the Republic and then came back from Tribune City in the Colonies, then it’s possible that the answer to your puzzle is me.”

  JUNE’S THEORY CHANGES EVERYTHING.

  Immediately she joins the lab team in a separate hospital room, where they strap several tubes and wires to her and take a sample of her bone marrow. They run a series of scans that leave her looking nauseous, scans I’ve already seen being run on Eden. I wish I could stay. Eden’s tests are over, thankfully, but the risk has now shifted to June, and in this moment all I want to do is stay here and make sure everything goes smoothly.

  For chrissakes, I tell myself angrily, it’s not like you being here is going to help anything. But when Pascao finally ushers us out the door and out of the hospital to join the others, I can’t help but glance back.

  If June’s blood holds the missing piece, then we have a chance. We can contain the plague. We can save everyone. We can save Tess.

  As we take a train from the hospital toward Batalla’s airship bases with several Republic soldiers in tow, these thoughts build in my chest until I can barely stand to wait around. Pascao notices my restlessness and grins. “You ever been to the bases before? I seem to recall you doing a few stunts there.”

  His words trigger some memories. When I turned fourteen, I broke into two Los Angeles airships that were set to head out for the warfront. I got in—not unlike my stunt with the Patriots back in Vegas—by sneaking in through the ventilation system, and then navigating the entire ship undetected by weaving my way through their endless air vents. I was still halfway through my growth spurt back then; my body was thinner and smaller, and I had no trouble squeezing my way through their myriad of tunnels. Once inside, I stole as much canned food from their kitchens as I could, then set fires in their engine rooms that destroyed the ships enough to ultimately cripple them from serving the Republic for years, maybe forever. It was this particular stunt that first landed me on top of the Republic’s most wanted list. Not too bad a job, if I do say so myself.

  Now I think back on the bases’ layouts. Aside from some airship bases in Batalla sector, the four main naval bases in LA occupy a thin strip of land along the city’s west coastline that sits between our enormous lake and the Pacific Ocean. Our battleships stay there, unused for the most part. But the reason that the Patriots and I head there now is that all of LA’s airship docks are there too, and it’s where the Colonies will dock their airships if—when—they try to occupy the city after our surrender.

  It’s the third and final day of the Colonies’ promised ceasefire. As the train speeds through the sectors, I can see groups of civilians crowding around JumboTrons that are now running Anden’s surrender notice on repeat. Most look stricken with shock, clinging to one another. Others are furious—they throw shoes, crowbars, and rocks up at the screens and rage against their Elector’s betrayal. Good. Stay angry, use that anger against the Colonies. I need to play out my part soon.

  “All right, kids, listen up,” Pascao says as our train nears the bridges leading to the naval bases. He holds out his palms to show us a series of small, metal devices. “Remember, six per dock.” He points to a small red trigger in the center of each device. “We want clean, contained explosions, and the soldiers’ll point out the best spots for us to plant these things. If done right, we’ll be able to cripple any Colonies airship using our landing docks, and an airship with a messed-up landing bay is useless. Yeah?” He grins. “At the same time, let’s not screw up the landing docks too much. Six per dock.”

  I look away and back out the window, where the first naval base draws near on the horizon. Enormous pyramid landing bases loom in a row, dark and imposing, and I instantly think of the first time I’d seen them in Vegas. My stomach twists uneasily. If this plan fails, if we’re unable to hold the Colonies back and the Antarcticans never come to our rescue, if June isn’t what we need for the cure—what will happen to us? What will happen when the Colonies finally get their hands on Anden, or June, or myself? I shake my head, forcing the images out of my mind. There’s no time to worry about that. It’ll either happen or it won’t. We’ve already chosen our course.

  When we arrive at the first landing dock of Naval Base One, I can see enough of the inner city to notice the tiny, dark specks in the sky. Colonies troops—airships, jets, something—are hovering not far from the outskirts of Los Angeles, preparing to strike. A low, monotonous hum fills the air—guess we can already hear their ships’ steady approach. My eyes turn up toward the JumboTrons lining the streets. Anden’s announcement continues on, accompanied with a bright red Seek Cover warning running along the bottom of each screen.

  Four Republic soldiers join up with us as we hurry out of the jeep and inside the pyramid base. I keep close to them as they usher us up the elevators toward the looming inner roof of the base, where airships take off and dock on. All around us is the deafening sound of soldiers’ boots on echoing floors, rushing to their stations and preparing to take off against the Colonies. I wonder how many troops Anden had been forced to send off to Denver or Vegas for reinforcement, and I can only hope that we have enough left behind to protect us.

  This isn’t Vegas, I remind myself, trying not to think about the time when I’d let myself get arrested. But it doesn’t help. By the time we’ve ridden our way up to the top of the base and climbed a flight of stairs up to the open top of the pyramid, my heart’s pounding up a storm that’s not all because of the exercise. Well, if this doesn’t bring back memories of when I’d first started
working for the Patriots. I can’t stop studying the metal beams crisscrossing the interior underbelly of the base, all the little interlocking parts that will bind with an airship once it lands. The dark suit I’m wearing feels as light as air. Time to plant some bombs.

  “Do you see those beams?” one Republic captain says to Pascao and me, pointing up to the shadows of the ceiling at one, two, three crevices that look particularly difficult to reach. “Max damage to the ship, minimal damage to the base. We’ll have you two hit those three spots at each of the bases. We’d be able to get to them ourselves if we set up our cranes, but we don’t have time for that.” He pauses to give us a forced smile. Most of these goddy soldiers still don’t seem entirely comfortable working alongside us. “Well,” he says after an awkward pause, “does that look doable? Are you guys fast enough?”

  I want to snap at the captain that he’s forgotten my reputation, but Pascao stops me by letting out one of his loud, sparkling laughs. “You don’t have enough faith in us, do you?” he says, nudging the captain playfully in the ribs and smirking at the indignant blush that he gets back.

  “Good,” the captain replies stiffly before moving on with the other Patriots and his own patrol. “Hurry. We don’t have long.” He leaves us to our work, then starts dictating bomb-planting spots to the others.

  Once he’s gone, Pascao drops his giant grin and concentrates on the crevices that the captain had pointed out. “Not easy to reach,” he mutters. “You sure you’re up for this? You strong enough, seeing as how you’re dying and all?”

  I cast him a withering glare, then study each of the crevices in turn. I test my knees and elbows, trying to gauge how much strength I have. Pascao’s a bit taller than me—he’ll be able to handle the first two crevices best, but the third crevice is wedged in such a tight position that I know only I can get to it. I can also see right away why the captain pointed that spot out. Even if we didn’t plant six bombs along this side of the base, we’d probably disable any airship with a single bomb on that location. I point to it.