[Lorien Legacies 04.0] The Fall of Five

by Pittacus Lore

  “About continuing on with the mission. Five’s Chest isn’t going to recover itself.”

  Nine stops pacing, considering what Six has just said. Marina looks aghast at the notion of going on a mission.

  “You want to leave now?” Marina asks. “Have you gone crazy?”

  “Six is right,” Five jumps in. “We’re not doing any good sitting around here.”

  “Our friends are in there comatose and you just want to leave them?” hisses Marina.

  “You make it sound cold, but I’m just trying to be practical,” Six says. It sounds similar to what she was telling me on the roof, how she’s reluctant to start a relationship because of that moment where things go to shit. It seems like that moment is here.

  “It is practical, but that doesn’t mean it’s right,” I murmur. I don’t mean to say that out loud, but it’s been a long night and there’s a lot on my mind.

  A shadow of hurt passes over Six’s face, but it’s gone as soon as she looks away from me. She turns to Nine. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” Nine says. “I don’t like abandoning John and the squirt.”

  “If even Nine’s backing down from a mission, then you know it’s not the right idea,” snaps Marina, sounding exasperated. “What if they need us, Six?”

  “We wouldn’t be abandoning them,” Five says, his voice level. “At least, we wouldn’t be abandoning them any more than we are by sitting out here having this pointless discussion. The humans will take care of them, just like they are now.”

  “Absolutely,” my dad says. “We’ll do everything we can.”

  “We need to figure out why this is happening,” Marina says. “If not what’s causing the nightmares, then what Ella did to knock out John.”

  “Did you guys notice the way her hand glowed when she touched him?” I ask. “It was like a Legacy or something.”

  “What kind of Legacy does that?” Nine asks, pointing towards the bedroom.

  “John thought she used some new Legacy to scare off Setrákus Ra in New Mexico,” Marina says, thinking this through. “We never had a chance to test it.”

  “Or it could be her telepathy gone crazy. Maybe she got in his head and lost control,” suggests Eight. “She’s only just started getting her Legacies. Who knows what she might be capable of?”

  I think back to our time in Paradise, remembering how much work it took John to control his Lumen over those first few weeks. It seems like Ella’s telepathy would be an even more difficult Legacy to master. I notice Five nodding his head slowly as if he’s remembering something too.

  “Back when I first developed my Externa, I had problems changing my skin back to normal,” Five says. “Albert used this prism thing from my Chest and it helped, I don’t know, relax me somehow. I was able to change my skin back.”

  Six points at Five. “There you go. Another argument for going to the Everglades, to get whatever that was.”

  Nine nods in agreement. “I can’t believe it, but you actually might be on to something, Five.”

  Five holds his hands up. “Well, wait, I don’t even know if it would work on Ella. Or how it works.”

  “I still don’t think we should leave them like this,” says Marina.

  “Actually, I think separating all of you from John and Ella is a good idea,” my dad says. “Who’s to say this couldn’t start spreading somehow, especially if it’s related to her telepathy? We can’t afford to have any more of you in a catatonic state.”

  “How do we fight this?” Nine asks gruffly, his brow furrowed, probably having exhausted all the possible ways to punch out a nightmare. “I mean, if Setrákus Ra can just put us into some dream coma, how are we supposed to fight back against that?”

  “He’s come at us with these dreams before,” says Eight. “We woke up, no problem.”

  “It’s different this time,” Marina insists.

  “Last time Johnny woke up,” Nine says. “That means this shit got stronger.”

  “Or maybe the difference is Ella,” says Six. “Maybe Setrákus Ra has been focusing on her because he knew it would make her psychic powers go haywire.”

  I look over at Five. “And you think this prism thing from your Chest can help?”

  He shrugs in response. “I’m not even sure what it does exactly, only that it helped me. Going after it seems more productive than sitting around here.”

  Nine claps his hands. “I’m with Five. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Marina has been quiet since initially arguing against the Everglades. Now Six reaches over and puts a hand on her arm. “Are you all right with this?” she asks.

  Marina nods slowly. “If you believe this is the best way to help them, then I’m with you.”

  I head down to the parking garage to see the Garde off. Sarah won’t be budged from John’s side and my dad has gone back to check on the Mogadorian translator. I’m holding a folder full of documents that John had me prepare using Sandor’s computer—fake driver’s licenses for each of the Garde, some paperwork documenting a phony school trip, the itinerary of their direct flight from Chicago to Orlando. They should be able to travel undetected.

  I fish John’s documents out of the file and stick them in my pocket. “Guess you won’t need these,” I say, handing the rest over to Six. I hold on to the file a second too long and Six ends up having to tug it loose from my hand. “Sorry. Just nervous about this.”

  “It’s the right move, Sam. It’ll be okay.”

  Nine pats me on the shoulder and goes off to pick out a car to drive to the airport. Five follows him, not bothering with a good-bye. To my surprise, Marina wraps me in a hug.

  “Take care of them, okay?” she says.

  “Of course,” I reply, trying to sound reassuring. “They’ll be fine. You guys just hurry back.”

  Eight nods to me and then he and Marina follow after Nine. That leaves just Six and me. She’s making a show of thumbing through the documents I handed her, but I can tell she’s lingering because she wants to say something.

  “Everything’s there,” I tell her.

  “I know. Just double-checking,” she replies, looking up at me. “We should be back by tomorrow night at the latest.”

  “Be careful,” I say.

  “Thanks,” she says, touching me on the arm.

  There’s an awkward pause, neither of us really sure what to do. I wish we could’ve had just fifteen minutes more alone on the rooftop. I feel like that would’ve been enough to figure out whatever is going on between us. Now, we’re standing here like a couple just back from a really bizarre first date, neither sure what the other is thinking nor whether it’s an appropriate time to make a move. Well, maybe Six knows exactly what I’m thinking and just doesn’t know what to do with that information. I certainly don’t have a clue what’s going through her mind. I feel like I should say or do something, but then the moment passes, her hand drops away from my arm, and she turns to join the others. Whatever is between us, it’ll have to wait.

  Nine’s penthouse seems even bigger now that it’s emptied out. I wander through the deserted halls and lavish rooms, not really sure what to do with myself. I end up going back to Ella’s room to check in, just as Sarah is leaving. It’s the first time that she’s been away from John since he went down.

  “Your dad is making me eat something,” she explains sullenly, looking exhausted from staying awake for the entire night.

  “Yeah, he’s got this thing about people not starving to death,” I reply. Sarah gives me a weak smile and I put my hand on her back, guiding her towards the kitchen. She rests her head on my shoulder as we walk.

  “We’ve had so many arguments about one of us getting hurt. It’s like the most frequent fight of our relationship.” She laughs bitterly. “Funny thing is, I always thought it’d be me, not John. He’s supposed to be untouchable.”

  “Geez, Sarah, you’re acting like he’s been chopped in half or something. He’ll probably pop
awake in an hour and be mad they went on the mission without him.” I try to sound optimistic. Sarah is probably too tired to notice the uncertainty in my voice.

  “If he was chopped in half, they could probably heal him,” she says. “This is something else. I can see the pain on his face. It’s like he’s being tortured in front of me and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  I pour Sarah a glass of water and take some leftover Chinese food out of the fridge. I don’t bother heating it up. We eat in silence, picking at cold fried rice and boneless spareribs straight from the cartons. I repeat the phrase he’ll be fine over and over in my head, like a mantra, until I’m confident that I can say it with conviction, even if I’m not entirely convinced it’s true.

  “He’ll be fine,” I tell Sarah firmly.

  While Sarah goes back to watch over John and Ella, I try to get some rest in the living room. I guess when you’ve just recently seen your best friend sucked into a state of perpetual sleep, naptime can be a little nerve-racking. Still, my body is more exhausted than my anxiety is strong, and I must fall asleep for at least a few hours.

  The first thing I do upon waking up is check on John and Ella. There’s still no change.

  I wander down to the Lecture Hall thinking that some kind of workout will do me good. Maybe if I pick out the noisiest guns in Nine’s arsenal to use in target practice, I’ll disrupt John and Ella’s slumber.

  I stop through the workshop on my way. It’s empty. My dad must be in his room getting some rest.

  The tablet is still plugged in and I can see that five blue dots have made it to Florida, currently moving slowly across the southern tip. That’s good. It means Six and the others didn’t have any problems using their new fake IDs at the airport and that there weren’t any Mogadorian scouts waiting to pick them off. Everything appears to be going just the way John planned. If only he was awake to see it.

  I notice something blinking in the corner of one of the computer screens. It’s the translator program my dad set up. It must have been on autopilot this entire time. I restore the window, a dialogue box popping up.

  TRANSLATION COMPLETE. PRINT NOW?

  I swallow hard, not sure if it’s my place to be the first one viewing these Mogadorian translations, but clicking YES anyway. A printer beneath the desk hisses to life, spitting out the document. I grab the first page before the rest have even finished printing.

  Some of the words are jumbled or mixed up, making it clear that the translation program is not 100 percent accurate. But even with the occasional misplaced word, I recognize the document immediately. I’ve seen it before.

  I realize that I’m holding my breath, that my fingers have clenched the papers tight enough to wrinkle and bend them. I’m rooted in place, disbelief and fear shutting down my much-needed motor functions.

  I’m holding in my hands a copy of the notes my father took on the Garde’s Inheritance. Tacked onto the end is the address of the John Hancock Center.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I BURST OUT OF THE WORKSHOP, THE DOOR sharply clanging behind me. My palms are sweating, almost like the documents I’m holding are radiating heat. My mind races.

  What would the Mogadorians be doing with copies of my father’s notes? How would they even have gotten them?

  I think back to dinner that first night when my dad laid out the details of his long Mogadorian imprisonment. I remember some of the Garde seeming suspicious, especially when my dad talked about the tinkering the Mogadorians did with his mind. Nine even came right out and said that it could be a trap.

  But that wasn’t possible. He’s my father. We could trust him.

  I race down the hallway to my dad’s room. I’m not even sure what I’m going to do when I find him. Confront him? Tell him we need to get the hell out of here?

  His room is empty. I find myself taking a quick glance around, not even sure what I’m looking for. Some kind of Mogadorian communicator? A Mog-English dictionary? Nothing looks out of the ordinary.

  There has to be a rational explanation for this, right?

  Hadn’t I seen with my own eyes the kind of literal mind games the Mogadorians are capable of? I’d seen Adam use a Legacy that was apparently the side effect of the Mogs ripping out the memories from a dead Garde. Even now, John and Ella were comatose thanks to some telepathic assault perpetuated by Setrákus Ra. The Mogadorians held on to my dad for years and ran unspeakable experiments on his mind.

  Was it really outside the realm of possibility that the Mogs could’ve brainwashed him?

  My dad might not even be aware they’re controlling him. They might have done something to his brain and then let him escape on purpose, knowing that he’d be more valuable out in the world, gathering intelligence. The Mogs could’ve programmed him in a way that he’s secretly reporting to them while he sleeps—I remember reading something about how double agents could be hypnotized into forgetting their own subterfuge. Was that a real article or a comic book? I couldn’t remember.

  Back in the hallway, I yell, “Dad? Where are you?” I try to keep my voice normal and steady. Because what if he is a Mogadorian spy? I don’t want to tip him off.

  “In here,” my dad yells back from Ella and John’s room.

  My dad the alien spy? Come on. Get a grip, Sam. That’s the kind of conspiracy theory I might’ve found in They Walk Among Us. It’s ridiculous. More importantly, I know in my heart that it isn’t true.

  So why do I feel so nervous?

  I stand in the doorway to Ella’s room clutching the translated documents. Sarah has gone to her own room to get some sleep, so it’s just him and Bernie Kosar standing watch over John and Ella. BK is curled up, asleep, my dad idly scratching behind his ears.

  “What is it, Sam?” he asks.

  My dad must know by my wide-eyed look that something’s wrong. He leaves BK and walks towards me, but I find myself stepping instinctively backwards into the hallway. I’m keeping a safe distance from the loving father who rescued me from a prison cell. Great.

  I thrust the documents at him. “Why would the Mogadorians have these?”

  He flips through the papers, turning the pages more rapidly as he realizes what they are. “These—these are my notes.”

  “I know. How did the Mogadorians get their hands on them?”

  He must realize the implication of my question because a hurt expression briefly clouds his face.

  “Sam, I did not do this,” he says, trying to sound convincing, but there’s a note of uncertainty in his voice.

  “Can you be sure? What if—what if they did something to you, Dad? Something that you don’t remember?”

  “No. Impossible,” he says, shaking his head, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. I can tell by his tone that he doesn’t truly believe it’s impossible. In fact, I think he’s frightened by the thought. “Are the originals still in my room?”

  Together, we run back to his room. The notebook is on his bureau, right where it’s supposed to be. My dad flips through it, like he’s looking for some sign it’s been tampered with. His features tighten like they do when he’s trying to remember something. I think he’s realizing that he can’t trust himself, that the Mogadorians could’ve done something to him.

  He turns to me with a grim look on his face. “If my notes have gotten into Mogadorian hands, we have to assume this place is compromised. You should arm yourself, Sam. Sarah too.”

  “What about you?” I ask, my stomach turning over.

  “I—I can’t be trusted,” he stammers. “You should lock me in here, until the Garde return.”

  “There has to be another explanation,” I say, my voice cracking. I’m not sure if I really believe that or if I just want it to be true.

  “I don’t remember leaving,” he says. “But I suppose my memory isn’t worth much, at this point.”

  He drops heavily onto the bed in his room. He folds his hands in his lap and stares down at them. He looks defeated somehow, undermi
ned by both his mind and his son.

  I start towards the door. “Look, I’m going to go get Sarah and some guns. But I’m not going to lock you in here. Just stay here, okay?”

  “Wait.” He stops me, holding up a hand. “What is that?”

  I hear it too. A low rumbling sound, coming from the drawer of his nightstand. I get there first, flinging open the drawer.

  It’s the phone he was using to communicate with Adam. The screen is lit up, a phone call coming in from a blocked number. In the corner of the screen, I see that the phone has nineteen missed calls. I hold it up to my father. His face lights up, but I feel increasingly nervous. Too much is happening all at once. It feels like the walls are closing in on me.

  I hit the button and press the phone to my ear, my voice shaky. “Hello?”

  “Malcolm!” the breathless voice on the phone shouts. “Where have you been?!”

  “This is Sam,” I correct, a feeling of dread rising in my stomach as I recognize the voice. “Adam, is that you?”

  My dad jumps up and squeezes my shoulders, excited that Adam is still alive. I wish I could feel relieved, but the way he sounds on the phone, it’s like more bad news is on the way.

  “Sam? Sam! Where’s your father?”

  “He’s—”

  “Never mind! It doesn’t matter!” he shouts. “Listen to me, Sam. You’re in Chicago, right? The John Hancock Center?”

  “How—how did you know that?”

  “They know, Sam!” Adam yells. “They know and they’re coming for you!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “HOLD ON!”

  We all lurch to one side as Nine haphazardly steers our fan boat—exactly what it sounds like, a small boat propelled by a giant fan on the back—around an overturned log floating in the murky brown swamp water. Eight nearly loses his balance and has to grab on to my arm to steady himself. He flashes me a sheepish smile as he lets me go to swat a mosquito. The air is thick and humid, buzzing with insects that can be heard even above the roar of our boat’s propeller. This place smells of rich soil, of nature overgrown.