The Revenge of Seven

by Pittacus Lore

  ‘He lied,’ I say.

  Sanderson looks down at the floor. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Pathetic,’ Walker says, but the venom’s gone out of her. Like me, I don’t think Sanderson has turned out to be the villain Walker expected. Maybe he was once the puppet master of an international conspiracy in support of Mogs, but at this point he’s been entirely chewed up and spit out by Mogadorian Progress. This isn’t the game changer Walker was hoping for. I’m worried that we’ve wasted what precious little time we have left.

  Sanderson ignores Nine and Walker. For some reason, maybe because I forced him to keep on living, he appeals directly to me. ‘The wonders they had to offer … can’t you understand? I thought I was ushering in a golden age for humanity. How could I say no to them? To him?’

  ‘And now you have to keep taking this stuff, is that it?’ I ask, glancing to the syringes that I bet contain something like the unnatural genetic brew the Mogs use to grow their disposable soldiers. ‘If you stop, you’ll break down like one of them.’

  ‘Old enough to turn to dust, anyway,’ Nine grumbles.

  ‘It’s been two days, and look at me …’ Sanderson waves a hand at himself, at his body that looks like a slug with salt poured on it. ‘They used me. Kept giving me treatments in exchange for favors. But you freed me. Now I can finally die.’

  Nine throws up his hands and looks at me. ‘Dude, screw this. This guy’s a lost cause. We need to figure something else out.’

  A sense of desperation begins to sink in now that Walker’s lead on the secretary of defense has turned up only a broken old man and gotten us no closer to thwarting the imminent Mogadorian invasion. But I’m not willing to give up just yet. This lump sitting in front of me used to be a powerful man – hell, the Mogs had a protection detail on him, so he still is. There has to be a way to fix him, to make him willing to fight.

  I need him to see the light.

  Some combination of desperation and intuition causes me to turn on my Lumen. I don’t crank it up to fire level; instead, I produce just enough juice so that a beam of pure light shoots from my hand. Sanderson’s eyes widen and he inches back on the bed away from me.

  ‘I already told you, I’m not going to hurt you,’ I say, as I lean in towards him.

  I shine my Lumen on the palsied, saggy part of his face, wanting to get a good look at what I’m dealing with. The skin is grayed and almost dead looking, fine, ash-colored veins running through it. The dark particles under Sanderson’s skin actually seem to float away from my Lumen, almost like they’re trying to burrow deeper.

  ‘I can heal this,’ I say, resolutely. I’m not sure if it’s actually true, but I have to try.

  ‘You – you can fix what they did?’ Sanderson asks, a note of hope in his gravelly voice.

  ‘I can make you like you were,’ I reply. ‘Not better, in the way they promised. Not younger. Just … as you should be.’

  ‘Old people get old,’ Nine puts in. ‘You gotta deal with it.’

  Sanderson looks at me skeptically. I must sound just like the Mogadorians did years ago, when they first convinced him to join their side.

  ‘What do you want in exchange?’ he asks, like a high price is a foregone conclusion.

  ‘Nothing,’ I reply. ‘You can try killing yourself again for all I care. Or maybe you can find what’s left of your conscience and do what’s right. It’ll be up to you.’

  And with that, I press my palm against the side of Sanderson’s face.

  Sanderson shudders as the warm healing energy of my Legacy passes into him. Normally, when using my healing powers, I get a sensation that the injury is knitting itself back together, of cells rearranging themselves beneath my fingertips. With Sanderson, it feels as if a force is pushing back against my Legacy, as if there are dark, cellular pits into which my healing light plunges down and gutters out. I still feel Sanderson healing, but it’s slow going, and I have to concentrate much harder than usual. At one point, something actually sizzles and pops beneath his skin, one of his discolored veins burning up. Sanderson flinches away from me.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ I ask, short of breath, my hand still poised next to his face.

  He hesitates. ‘No – no, it actually feels better. Somehow … cleaner. Keep going.’

  I keep going. I can feel the Mogadorian sludge burrowing deeper into Sanderson, retreating from my Legacy. I intensify my healing, chasing it through his veins. I find that I’m squinting from the exertion and a cold sweat dampens my back. I’m so focused on beating back the darkness I detect inside Sanderson that I must lose track of time or enter some kind of trance state.

  When I’m finished at last, I stumble backwards, my legs wobbly, and run right into Sam. I wasn’t even aware he’d come upstairs. He’s holding out a phone – did he steal it from that bystander we knocked over? – and recording my healing of Sanderson. He stops when I bump into him and, for a moment, Sam is the only thing holding me up.

  ‘That was awesome,’ Sam says. ‘You were, like, glowing. Are you okay?’

  I draw myself up with some effort, not wanting to show any sign of weakness in front of Walker or Sanderson, even though I feel drained. ‘Yeah. I’m good.’

  I catch Walker staring at me with that same look of awe her driver had after I healed his neck. Sanderson, still sitting in front of me, looks close to tears. The black spiderwebs that crisscrossed beneath his skin have disappeared; his face no longer droops, his muscles aren’t atrophied. He’s still an old man, deep-set wrinkles lining his face, but he looks like a real old man, not one who’s slowly had the life drained out of him.

  He looks human.

  ‘Thank you,’ Sanderson says to me, his words barely above a whisper.

  Nine looks at me, checking to see how I’m holding up, then turns to Sanderson and snorts derisively. ‘It’s all for nothing, Grandpa, if you let those pasty-faced asshats land on Earth.’

  ‘I’m ashamed of what I’ve done, what I became …’ Sanderson says, his gaze pleading and confused. ‘But I don’t understand what you expect me to do. Let them? How can I stop them?’

  ‘We don’t expect you to stop them,’ I say, ‘just slow them down. You need to rally people against them. When you give your speech tomorrow at the UN, you need to make it clear that the Mogadorian fleet can’t be allowed to land on Earth.’

  Sanderson stares at me, confused, then slowly swivels his gaze towards Walker. ‘Is that what your mole told you? Is that what you think will be happening tomorrow?’

  ‘I know what’s happening,’ Walker replies, no less caustic now that Sanderson seems to be coming around to our side. ‘You and the other leaders who the Mogs have bought off will get up onstage and convince the world we should coexist peacefully.’

  ‘Which is really just code for surrender,’ Nine adds.

  ‘Yes, that’s planned for tomorrow,’ Sanderson says, with a dark, hopeless laugh. ‘But you’ve got the order confused. You think I give some speech and then their Beloved Leader lands his ships? You think he cares about the slow-turning wheels of human politics? He’s not waiting for permission. The UN will convene to save lives, to calm a frightened population, because a military resistance is doomed against that –’

  Sanderson gestures wildly through the door, at the television still buzzing in the other room. Slowly, we each turn, leaving Sanderson’s bedroom for the penthouse living room, drawn in by the ashen face of a cable news anchor. She stumbles over her words as she tries to explain the unidentified flying objects manifesting in the air over dozens of major cities. The reception goes in and out, the bursts of static getting more and more frequent, as something interferes with the signal.

  ‘… reports coming in that the ships have been sighted overseas as well, in places like London, Paris and Shanghai,’ the newscaster says, eyes wide as she reads from her teleprompter. ‘If you’re just joining us, something literally out of this world is happening, as ships of alien origin have appeared over Los Angeles, Washington
…’

  ‘It’s happening,’ Sam says, stunned, looking at me for some kind of guidance. ‘The warships are coming down. They’re making their move.’

  I don’t know what to tell him. Grainy footage of a massive Mogadorian warship sliding out of the clouds in the sky over Los Angeles appears on-screen. It’s everything I dreaded, coming to pass. The Mogadorian fleet is gliding slowly towards a woefully unprepared Earth. It’s Lorien, all over again.

  ‘I tried to tell you,’ Sanderson calls to us. ‘It’s already too late. They’ve already won. All that’s left is surrender.’

  22

  ‘I’m done doing what they tell me. What any of them tell me.’

  My eyes snap open. I’d been in a deep sleep, one that I didn’t think would be possible in my giant Mogadorian bed with its strange, slippery sheets. I’m becoming uncomfortably adjusted to life aboard the Anubis. I thought I heard a voice in my sleep, but maybe it was just my imagination, or the remnant of some dream. Not taking any chances, I stay very still and keep my breathing even, like I’m still asleep. If there is an intruder, I don’t want them to know I’m awake.

  After a few seconds of silence filled only by the ever-present hum of the warship’s engines, a voice resumes speaking.

  ‘One side drops us on this strange planet and basically forces us to fight for our lives. The other side, they talk about peace through progress, but that’s all just fancy talk for killing anyone who stands in their way.’

  It’s Five. He’s in my room somewhere. I can’t locate him in the near darkness. I can only hear his mumbled under-the-breath rambling. I’m not even sure if he’s talking to me.

  ‘They all just wanted to use us,’ Five hisses. ‘But I’m not going to let them. I’m not going to fight in their stupid war.’

  He shifts then, and I can finally make out Five’s outline. He’s sitting on the edge of my bed, his skin the dark, slick texture of my sheets. He blends right in to my covers, and it must be because he’s touching them, using his Externa. That means his Legacies are back. It also means that he’s seriously creeping me out, like a monster came crawling out from under my bed.

  ‘I know you’re awake,’ Five says to me without turning his head. ‘The ship is descending, we aren’t in orbit anymore. If you want to go, now is the time.’

  I scoot up in bed, keeping the covers close. For a second, I consider making Five powerless again by charging the sheets with my Dreynen. But what good would that do? I decide not to attack him. For now.

  ‘I thought you were on their side,’ I say. ‘Why would you help me?’

  ‘I’m not on anybody’s side. I’m done with this whole thing.’

  ‘What do you mean, done?’

  ‘For a while, after my Cêpan died, I was alone. It wasn’t so bad. I’d like to go back to that,’ Five says. ‘You know how many little islands there are in the oceans? I’m going to pick one out and stay there until this is over. I don’t give a shit who wins, so long as they stay far away from me.’

  ‘That’s cowardly,’ I reply, shaking my head. ‘I’m not going to some deserted island with you.’

  Five snorts. ‘I didn’t invite you, Ella. I’m getting off this ship and I thought you might want to come along. That’s as far as we go.’

  I consider the possibility that this could be some kind of test orchestrated by Setrákus Ra. But remembering the way Five acted earlier, I decide to take my chances that he’s for real. I hop out of bed and pull on my thin-soled Mogadorian slippers.

  ‘Okay, what’s your plan?’

  Five stands up and his skin reverts to normal. As the automatic lights come on in my room, I can finally see his face. He’s changed the bandage over his eye so that it isn’t crusty with blood anymore, but he still hasn’t gotten it healed. His remaining eye twinkles like he’s excited to get into some trouble. Seeing him makes me second-guess my decision to join forces.

  ‘I’m going to open up one of the airlocks and jump out,’ Five says, illustrating his brilliant plan.

  ‘That’s nice for you. You can fly. What am I supposed to do?’

  Five reaches into his back pocket and casually tosses me a round object. I catch the stone in my hands and cradle it. I recognize it as one of the objects from John’s Chest.

  ‘Xitharis stone,’ Five explains. ‘I, uh, borrowed it from our friends.’

  ‘You stole it.’

  He shrugs. ‘I charged it with my flight Legacy. Use it to fly off and save the planet.’

  I hide the stone inside my dress, then look up at Five. ‘So that’s it? You think we’re just going to walk off this ship?’

  Five raises an eyebrow at me. I notice that he’s not wearing any shoes or socks, probably so his bare feet are in constant contact with the metal paneling of the Anubis. Also, attached to his forearm is some kind of contraption that looks like it might be a weapon.

  ‘They won’t be able to stop me,’ Five says, a dark confidence in his voice. It isn’t exactly inspiring, but it’s the best hope I’ve got.

  ‘Okay, lead the way.’

  The door to my room slides open for Five. He pokes his head out, checking to see that the coast is clear. When he’s satisfied, Five hustles into the hallway, motioning for me to follow. We navigate the labyrinthine halls of the Anubis at a brisk walk.

  ‘Just act normal,’ Five tells me, keeping his voice low. ‘He’s got scouts watching us, always. But they’re also afraid of us. You, in particular, are supposed to be treated like royalty. They won’t interfere if we don’t look suspicious. And, even if they do think something’s wrong, by the time one of them actually works up the guts to tell Beloved Leader, we’ll be gone …’

  He’s talking a lot. That tells me that he’s nervous. Without thinking about it – because if I actually thought about it, I might get too repulsed – I reach out and take Five’s hand.

  ‘We’re just a newly betrothed couple, getting to know each other,’ I say. ‘Enjoying a nice walk through the cozy halls of a massive warship.’

  Five’s hand is sweaty and cold. He tries to jerk away from me, his initial instinct not to be touched, but after a moment he calms down and lets his dead-fish hand be held.

  ‘Betrothed?’ he grunts. ‘He wants us to get married?’

  ‘That’s what Setrákus Ra said.’

  ‘He says a lot of things.’ Five’s face is red, the blush traveling all the way up into his scalp. I’m not sure if he’s embarrassed or angry or some combination of the two. ‘I didn’t agree to that. You’re a child.’

  ‘Um, obviously I didn’t agree either. You’re a gross, murdering, weirdo –’

  ‘Shut up,’ Five hisses, and for a second I think that I’ve actually offended him. But then I realize we’re passing by the open entranceway of the observation deck.

  I can’t help but slow my steps as we sneak by. The empty darkness of space I’d gotten used to has been replaced by the familiar, bright-blue atmosphere of Earth. The Anubis is still making its descent, but already the outline of civilization is visible, roads boxing up green fields, tiny houses arranged into perfect suburbs. Dozens of Mogadorians have gathered to watch Earth approach, an excited energy in the air as they whisper to one another, probably talking about which swath of land they’ll pillage first.

  Five leads me around the next corner and crashes right into two Mog warriors who were jogging towards the observation deck. The nearest one lifts a corner of his mouth in a disdainful sneer, eyeing us.

  ‘What are you two doing?’ the Mog asks.

  In response, I draw myself up, trying to look as regal as possible. I fix the overcurious Mog with a cold stare. The Mog’s sneer quickly fades as he remembers himself – or, more likely, remembers that I’m not just some Lorien but the blood of his Beloved Leader – and he looks down at the floor. He begins to mutter something apologetic when a metallic shink cuts him off.

  A needlelike blade extends from the leather contraption on Five’s forearm. In a blur, Five drives
the blade right through the first Mog’s forehead, instantly turning him to ash. The other Mog’s eyes widen in panic and he tries to run. A delighted grin spreads across Five’s face. Before the Mog can get even a few steps down the hall, Five’s non-blade arm takes on a rubbery consistency and stretches after him. Five’s arm snakes around the Mog’s neck and then yanks him backwards so Five can finish him off with his blade.

  The whole thing is over in about ten seconds.

  ‘We were supposed to be acting normal,’ I say to Five in a loud whisper, mindful that we’re not all that far from the crowded observation room.

  Five blinks at me, almost like he’s not sure what just came over him. Carefully, he presses the blade back into its holster.

  ‘I lost my cool, okay?’ Five anxiously rubs his hand across the stubble on top of his head. ‘It doesn’t matter now. We’re almost there.’

  I stare at this unhinged monster standing in front of me. He gulps down a few deep breaths, his shoulders shaking, fists balled from the excitement. Minutes ago, he sounded almost fragile, rambling in the darkness of my room. He’s broken, a total mess – I have to remind myself that he murdered Eight in order to squelch the swelling of sympathy I feel for him. Sympathy, yes, but also fear. He flew off the handle with zero provocation, and almost seemed happy killing those Mogs.

  This screwed-up, violent, cowardly traitor is my only real hope of getting off the Anubis.

  I shake my head. ‘Let’s go,’ I sigh.

  Five nods and we jog on, tossing out the whole hand-holding thing, and just careening towards our destination. As we run, I notice Five clenching and unclenching his hands. They’re both empty.

  ‘How’d you do that with your arm?’ I ask him, thinking about those rubber and steel balls he used to change his skin in the Lecture Hall. ‘I thought you needed to be touching something …’

  Five turns his head so his good eye is on me. He touches the fresh bandage over his face.

  ‘Losing an eye gave me some new, uh … storage possibilities,’ he says.

  ‘Ugh,’ I reply, grossed out as I picture the rubber ball shoved into Five’s eye socket. ‘How’d you lose it, anyway?’