The Revenge of Seven

by Pittacus Lore

  ‘Good,’ Setrákus Ra says, and follows me aboard. He sits down in the pilot’s seat and the ship seals up behind us. His human form has been restored after his scuffle with Five, and he’s dressed himself in a sleek black suit with crimson flourishes. The color scheme doesn’t complement the fatherly human face he’s wearing – it makes him look stern and authoritative. I don’t tell him that, both because I don’t want to help him and because it seems like too much effort to talk.

  I wish I could just sleep through this.

  They did something to me after the gash opened up on my shoulder. I was in and out of consciousness from blood loss, so my memory is foggy. I can remember Setrákus Ra carrying me down to the medical bay, a place on the ship I hadn’t had the bad luck to explore until then. I remember them injecting my wound with something black and oozing. I’m pretty sure that I screamed from the pain. But then my wound started to close. It wasn’t like the times I’d been healed by Marina or John. In those cases, it felt like my injuries were knitting back together, like my flesh was regrowing. Under the Mogs’ ‘care,’ it felt like my flesh was being replaced by something else, something cold and foreign. Something alive and hungry.

  I can still feel it, crawling around beneath the perfect, pale skin of my now uninjured shoulder.

  Setrákus Ra flips a few switches on the console, and our little spherical ship powers up. The walls become translucent. It’s the Mogadorian version of tinted glass, though – we can see out, but no one can see in.

  I turn my head to study the docking bay that’s crowded with combat-ready Mogadorians. They all stand perfectly still, hundreds of them arranged in orderly lines, all of them with their fists clenched over their hearts. They’re saluting their Beloved Leader as he sets out to conquer Earth. I look at their pasty, expressionless faces and their dark, empty eyes. Are these my people? Am I becoming one of them?

  It seems easiest to give in.

  Setrákus Ra is about to get us moving when a red light flashes on one of his video screens and a shrill buzzing sounds. The noise wakes me up a little. Some unlucky underling is trying to call Setrákus Ra right in the middle of his big day. Setrákus Ra’s jaw sets in annoyance at the incoming message and, for a moment, I think he might ignore it. Finally, he jabs a button and a frazzled Mogadorian communications officer appears on-screen.

  ‘What is it?’ snarls Setrákus Ra.

  ‘Deepest apologies for the interruption, Beloved Leader,’ the officer says, keeping his eyes downcast. ‘You have an urgent message from Phiri Dun-Ra.’

  ‘It had better be,’ Setrákus Ra grumbles. He waves a hand impatiently at the screen. ‘Very well. Put her through.’

  The screen flashes, crackles, and then a Mogadorian woman appears. She has two long braids pinned up around her bald head and a sizable cut above her eyebrow. She’s surrounded on all sides by jungle. Apparently, a message from this trueborn is important enough to delay our flight down to New York. I try to sit up a little bit in my seat, fighting through the fog to pay attention.

  ‘What is it, Phiri?’ Setrákus Ra says, coldly. ‘Why have you contacted me directly?’

  The Mog woman, Phiri, hesitates before she speaks. Maybe she’s taken aback by the human face addressing her with such authority. Or maybe she’s just scared of her Beloved Leader.

  ‘They’re here,’ Phiri says at last, a note of triumph in her voice. ‘The Garde have activated the Sanctuary.’

  Setrákus Ra leans back in his seat, his eyebrows arched in surprise. He laces his hands in front of him in consideration.

  ‘Very good,’ he replies. ‘Excellent. Your orders are to keep them there, Phiri Dun-Ra. On your life. I will join you shortly.’

  ‘As you wish, Belo –’

  Setrákus Ra severs the connection before Phiri Dun-Ra can finish. The mentions of the Garde and the Sanctuary have me a little more aware. I try to think of Six and Marina, of John and Nine – I know they would want me to fight through this. It’s just so difficult to keep my mind from going blank, to keep my body from slouching.

  ‘For years I’ve pursued them,’ Setrákus Ra says quietly, almost to himself. ‘To wipe out the last bit of resistance to Mogadorian Progress. To take control of what those Elder fools buried on this planet. Now, the day has come when everything I’ve fought for will be mine, all at once. Tell me, granddaughter, how can there be any doubt of Mogadorian superiority?’

  He doesn’t really want a response. Setrákus Ra just likes to hear himself talk. I let a slow, medicated smile form on my face. That seems to please him. My grandfather reaches out and pats me on the knee.

  ‘You’re feeling better, aren’t you?’ he says. He flips a few levers on the console and our ship’s engines vibrate to life. ‘Come. Let us go take what is ours.’

  With that, Setrákus Ra navigates the ship forward. We zip through the docking bay, past the rows of Mogadorian warriors. They thump their fists against their chests as we go, shouting out gravelly Mogadorian encouragement. We exit through the same passage as Five’s body. That part – seeing him brutalized and then tossed aside like so much garbage – I’m glad to lose to the fog.

  We descend on Manhattan. I can see all the humans gathered below. There are thousands of them crowded in front of a fancy-looking set of buildings and its surrounding campus. I can make out a stage down there, too. It’s all built on the bank of a gray, choppy river. I remember the Washington from my vision, the smoky smells that choked the air. That will be New York soon. I wonder if these people will throw themselves into the river when their city begins to burn.

  The people below point up at our ship. I can hear them shouting and screaming out greetings. These humans – the ones who came closest to the Anubis – they don’t think they’re in any danger.

  It occurs to me that we’re traveling into this throng of people without any Mogadorian guards. I loll my head towards my grandfather, wet my lips and manage to find words.

  ‘We’re facing them alone?’ I ask him.

  He smiles. ‘Of course. I mean to elevate these people, not harm them. We have nothing to fear from the humans. My servants on Earth have arranged for a greeting that I find more than suitable.’

  He’s up to something, obviously. Probably already has this whole event planned out. I know it’s unlikely even a crowd of humans this size would stand a chance against Setrákus Ra and all his powers, but part of me hopes maybe one of them will see through whatever sideshow he’s got planned and take some shots at the scary alien.

  Of course, that would mean my death before they could stop Setrákus Ra. At this point, it seems almost worth it. I feel whatever the Mogadorians injected into me crawling around beneath my skin. I can’t endure any more of that.

  The descent is over. We hover about fifteen feet above the stage. A nervous-looking older man in a suit, some kind of politician, waits for us there. There are flashbulbs going off like crazy. I blink my eyes and try to keep from sleepwalking through this.

  ‘Come, Ella. Let us greet our subjects,’ Setrákus Ra says. He picks up his golden cane, the obsidian Eye of Thaloc catching the light. I’m not sure why he brought that with him. I guess he doesn’t want to face our so-called subjects completely unarmed. Or maybe he thinks it makes him look noble – like a king with a scepter.

  I stand up, slightly unsteady. Setrákus Ra offers me his arm. I hook my hand through it.

  The door of our transport ship opens and a glowing staircase extends outward, creating a path for us to the stage. The crowd gasps as we emerge. Through my bleary eyes, I can see dozens of TV cameras trained on us. The crowd is hushed in amazement. What do we look like to them? Aliens … aliens that look exactly like humans. A handsome older man and his pale granddaughter.

  Setrákus Ra raises his hand and waves to the people. It’s a royal thing, courtly and showy. When he speaks, his voice booms like he’s hooked up to a microphone.

  ‘Greetings, people of Earth!’ he bellows in perfect English, his voice firm
and reassuring. ‘My name is Setrákus Ra and this is my granddaughter, Ella. We have traveled a great distance to come humbly before you with wishes of peace!’

  The crowd actually cheers. They don’t know any better. Setrákus Ra gazes beatifically across all their upturned faces. But when his eyes settle on the old man standing on the stage, I feel a tension go through his arm.

  ‘Hmm,’ Setrákus Ra says under his breath. Something isn’t right. The greeter isn’t what he expected. Or maybe there were supposed to be more humans waiting onstage with outstretched arms. Maybe there were supposed to be bouquets of flowers.

  Undeterred, Setrákus Ra draws himself up a little taller and proceeds down the rest of the steps.

  ‘We have much to offer your people!’ he continues in his booming, charitable voice. ‘Advancements in medicine to heal your sick, farming techniques to feed your hungry and technology that will make your lives easier and more productive. All we ask in return, after our long journey, is shelter from the cold of space.’

  I glance over the crowd to see if any of them are buying it. I end up locking eyes with a young guy in the front row, pushed up right next to some TV cameras, his dark eyes seeking mine. He wears a hooded sweatshirt, long black hair spilling out from inside, and he’s tall and athletic, and –

  In my condition, it actually takes me a moment to recognize him. Not so long ago, I balanced on his shoulders and he taught me how to fight.

  Nine.

  Seeing him, knowing that I’m not alone, that all isn’t lost just yet – it makes me snap back to my senses. The pain in my shoulder increases exponentially, like something is trying to crawl its way out of me. Whatever’s inside me doesn’t want me to use my Legacies. I ignore it and reach out with my telepathy.

  Nine! His cane! It’s how he changes forms! Get his cane and smash it!

  A feral grin spreads on Nine’s face and he nods to me. My heartbeat quickens.

  Next to me, Setrákus Ra’s posture has stiffened. My hand is trapped in the crook of his elbow. He knows that something is up, yet he proceeds with the show all the same.

  ‘I expected more of them to be here on this momentous occasion, yet I see one of your leaders has come out to greet me!’ Setrákus Ra extends his hand to the old man. ‘I come to you in peace, sir! Let this cement the friendship between our two great races.’

  Instead of clasping Setrákus Ra’s hand, the old man takes a step away. There’s deep fear in his eyes, but it’s not run-and-scream fear. It’s cornered animal fear. The old man has a microphone of his own and, as the TV cameras swing in his direction, he begins to yell.

  ‘This man – this thing – is a liar!’

  ‘What –’ Setrákus Ra takes an aggressive step towards the old man, and I’m loosed from his elbow. For the first time since I’ve been in his company, the Mogadorian leader actually looks surprised.

  Surprised and furious.

  A murmur of uncertainty passes through the crowd. The old man shouts something else – I hear the words ‘enslavement’ and ‘death,’ but otherwise I can’t really hear him. No one can. Setrákus Ra has used his telekinesis to crush the old man’s microphone.

  ‘You must be confused, my friend,’ Setrákus Ra says through gritted teeth, still trying to salvage this farce. ‘My intentions are pu –’

  Setrákus Ra is suddenly knocked off balance. I know why. A telekinetic attack. I watch as his golden cane is ripped out of his hand. Nine plucks it out of the air as he hops on to the stage, grinning at Setrákus Ra.

  I sense movement to my left. I turn my head to see John also hop on to the stage. They’re flanking him, just like we practised in the Lecture Hall. Peppered throughout the crowd, I see men and women in dark suits, all of them slyly pulling firearms into view. The crowd is beginning to buzz as some civilians – the smarter ones – begin to back away from the stage.

  It’s a trap, I realize gleefully. The Garde are here!

  Now, Setrákus Ra really looks surprised. And, dare I say, a little frightened.

  ‘You have been led astray!’ Setrákus Ra screams, pointing his now empty hands at Nine and John. ‘These boys are fugitives! Terrorists from my home world! I don’t know what they’ve told you –’

  ‘We haven’t told them anything,’ John says, interrupting. His voice doesn’t carry like Setrákus Ra’s, but people in the crowd crane their necks to listen. ‘We’ll let them make up their own minds. A genocidal maniac is easy to spot.’

  ‘Lies!’

  Do it now! I urge Nine telepathically.

  ‘I wonder what will happen if I do this?’ Nine asks, fiddling with Setrákus Ra’s cane. Before Setrákus Ra can lunge in his direction, Nine raises the cane over his head and smashes it down on the stage. The obsidian eye in its center explodes in a cloud of ash.

  Things happen quickly after that.

  Setrákus Ra’s body begins to thrash and spasm. The handsome human form he’s been so attached to begins to slough off him, like a snake shedding its skin. The real Setrákus Ra – pale verging on bloodless, ancient and hideous, tattooed across his bald skull, a thick scar around his neck, clad in spiky Mogadorian armor – stands revealed on the stage.

  Many in the crowd scream. Even more recoil in horror and turn to run. A gunshot goes off – I hear the bullet whistle past my ear before it ricochets harmlessly off the Mogadorian ship behind me. The gunshots only frighten people more and now it’s a full-blown stampede in front of the stage. More shots are fired, this time into the air. One of the agents taking aim on Setrákus Ra goes down, bull-rushed by the terrified spectators.

  It’s chaos.

  With a monstrous howl, Setrákus Ra grows to fifteen feet in size. The stage beneath us groans. The old man who was onstage with the Garde tries to run into the crowd, but Setrákus Ra grabs him with his telekinesis and hurls him like a missile into Nine. The two of them fall off the stage in a heap.

  Fireballs come to life in John’s hands. They go out immediately as Setrákus Ra triggers his Dreynen field. That doesn’t stop John from charging in, pulling his Loric dagger out of his sheath as he comes.

  ‘Yes!’ Setrákus Ra screams, beckoning John in. ‘Come racing towards your death, boy!’

  Unaffected by Setrákus Ra’s version of Dreynen, I pick up a broken piece of his cane. My fingers are clumsy and I nearly drop it twice before I’m able to grasp it tightly enough. I concentrate, ignore the shredding pain under my skin and charge the shrapnel with my Dreynen.

  When the broken shard glows bright red, I jab it into the back of Setrákus Ra’s leg.

  The Mogadorian overlord cries out and shrinks down to his normal size. I sense the Dreynen field canceling Legacies lift. Too late, Setrákus Ra stumbles forward in a futile attempt to get away from me. The Dreynen-charged cane is buried an inch deep in the back of his calf. When Setrákus Ra yanks it out, a trickle of night-black blood darkens his trouser leg. Now that it’s off him, I’m not sure how long the effects of my Dreynen will last.

  Wait a second. He’s bleeding. The damage wasn’t transferred to me. Every charm has a weakness, that’s what Setrákus Ra said right before he burned the terrible thing into my ankle.

  I can hurt him. I’m the only one who can hurt Setrákus Ra.

  I barely have time to process this information before Setrákus Ra rounds on me, his eyes wide with outrage. He backhands me, hard, and I’m tossed into the air. The wind goes out of me when I hit the stage, my head swimming again. He must’ve known that even if I figured out the loophole with the Mogadorian charm, I wouldn’t be strong enough to fight him.

  Setrákus Ra stands over me, his hideous features creased with fury. He reaches down, fingers grasping for my throat.

  ‘You treasonous little bi –!’

  John barrels into him shoulder-first and knocks Setrákus Ra off his feet. Setrákus Ra lands hard on his side and I feel bruises puff up immediately on my own elbow. I accept the pain. There’s more to come.

  I’m not strong enough t
o fight him, but I’ve done my part. I drained his Legacies.

  Now, the others can do what has to be done.

  John doesn’t let up. He pounces on Setrákus Ra, who tries to scramble away. The Mogadorian ruler doesn’t look so frightening now, trying to crab walk away from John. I’m happy to see him so pathetic and desperate. He should know how that feels before he dies.

  Before we die.

  John manages to straddle him. He raises his dagger above his head. I take a deep breath and brace myself.

  ‘This is for Lorien! And for Earth!’

  I know what happens next. John will stab Setrákus Ra, and I’ll die. It will break the Mogadorian charm, and then the Garde will be able to kill Setrákus Ra for real. It’s worth it. I’ll gladly die if it means ending Setrákus Ra’s miserable life.

  Do it! I scream at John telepathically. No matter what happens! Do it!

  As John brings his dagger down, I hear a whooshing sound. Something is flying in this direction. Fast.

  A bead of blood tickles my throat, a small cut opening up. That’s how close John’s blade comes before a chrome-plated cannonball flies through the air, knocks him off Setrákus Ra and sends him crashing through the stage.

  Five. He’s alive and he just saved my life.

  Saved my life and doomed us all.

  Before I can react, the stage creaks and collapses. I slide down the tilted piece of wood and land hard on the pavement below. All around me, people are running and screaming.

  Setrákus Ra lands next to me.

  He reaches down and grabs me by the hair, yanking me viciously to my feet.

  ‘You’ll die for this embarrassment, child,’ he snarls, and begins dragging me over the wrecked stage towards his ship.

  Nine stands in his way.

  28

  My shoulder is dislocated, that much I know for sure. I’m on my back with jagged pieces of the destroyed stage digging into me. I’m seeing double and it’s hard to breathe. I feel like I just got hit by a car.

  Not a car. Five.