Lorien Legacies: The Lost Files (95 page)

“Hmmm.” He stares at the notebook. “Perhaps this can be of some inspiration in my work.”

I shrug and then leave.

Ethan meets me in the hallway outside. I’m a little surprised to see him and wonder how long he’s been waiting outside.

“What’s up?”

“Just trying to help out the scientists a little,” I say. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

He pushes a carefully folded stack of black clothes into my hands.

“I wanted to be the one to give you this,” he says.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Your ceremonial uniform,” he says. “What you’ll wear tonight when you ascend to your new position.” He nods at my jeans and T-shirt. “From now on you should start wearing a Mogadorian officer’s uniform. It’ll remind everyone who sees you of your position.”

“There won’t be any need for that,” I say. “After tonight everyone will know me as their superior regardless of what I wear.”

Ethan smirks a little and nods, but there’s a sadness in his expression I can’t place. Maybe it’s just because he doesn’t have his usual painted-on grin.

“I wanted to apologize for the whole thing with Emma,” Ethan says slowly. “I know I should have done so earlier, but then everything got crazy. I never should have questioned whether or not you’re ready for this. Obviously you are.”

“Thanks,” I say.

He leans in close.

“They never should have brought her here,” he whispers.

“Well, at least she’s alive.”

“Is that what they told you?” he asks, his eyebrows knit together.

“Deltoch said she was sent to another base somewhere closer to Florida,” I say. My thoughts start to race. Ethan makes it sound like she’s not actually in Florida, so where
would
she be? I shouldn’t be concerned with Emma, but I am. And if the Mogs are lying to me about her, then . . .

But Ethan smiles and reassures me.

“I’m sure that’s where she is then,” he says. “I haven’t heard anything myself.”

We start the long walk back to my side of the compound, and even though I try to forget about Emma, thoughts of her keep nagging at the back of my mind. I wonder if I should ask Deltoch about her. No,
obviously
I can’t. That would show weakness.

But I forget about Emma when we enter the cavernous main hall and I see figures like I’ve never seen on the base before. Mog women, dressed in long gowns in deep purples and reds. Their heads and faces are heavily tattooed. Most of them have gleaming black braids or ponytails jutting out of their shaved heads. Unlike the soldiers I’m used to seeing, they’re thinner and more snakelike in their movements, long arms rippling at their sides as they walk.

There are others who I’ve never seen before too. Only a few of them. Young-looking Mogs about my age if I had to guess. They’re dressed in expensive-looking uniforms that aren’t unlike those that the Mog commanders wear.

“Trueborn Mogadorian children,” Ethan says, noticing where my eyes are. “And several women from high-ranking families. They’ve come to see you take your place among the officers.”

I smile ear to ear. I can’t help it. It feels so incredible to have all of these people here for me. To cheer me on.

I realize that Five is kind of a weird name for the newest Mog leader. It’s just so . . . Loric. I wonder if I should go back to one of the other names I used in the past. Bolt. Maybe Cody? I know Cody doesn’t
sound
very Mogadorian, but I was him for a long time. That’s who I was when Ethan first met me.

As we round the corner to the hallway my study is on, a question comes to my mind that I’ve never thought to ask before.

“How did you know I was Number Five?” I ask.

“What do you mean?” Ethan’s eyebrows scrunch together.

“When I found you in your study talking to Commander Deltoch—before I knew what was going on—you both referred to me as Number Five. But how did you know that’s who I was? There were only two dead, and the Mogs had only captured Six and Nine before.”

Ethan looks at me as if this is the strangest question I could possibly ask.

“When you first got to the beach house, you used to draw in the sand all of the time,” he says in his calm, smooth voice. “Pictures and stories and strange symbols. The tide always washed them away, but I got to see some of them from the house.”

Of course. He was probably always keeping an eye on me.

“The only symbol I could ever make out was the numeral five.”

I feel stupid. How easily I gave myself away. I’d gotten into the habit of drawing in the sand back on the island with Rey, but I’d always watched as the water destroyed anything I created. I thought I’d been so careful, so
clever.

So they didn’t know what number I was when they first recruited me.

I must look unhappy, because he places a hand on my shoulder.

“Is everything okay, Five?”

I shrug.

“I guess I’m just wondering if the Mogs were bummed I was a low-ranking number and not, like, Number Eight.”

Ethan’s face scrunches up.

“Five, we wanted you for
you
, regardless of what number you were. I saw your potential the moment we first met on the beach. I could see the hunger for this in your eyes.”

I smile a little. “Thanks, Ethan.”

“Is this about Nine? Are you worried that you’re not ready to take the next step?”

A couple of Mog soldiers run by us. There must be a fire somewhere that needs to be put out, some prisoner who needs to be taught a lesson or a high-ranking commander who needs an entourage.

“Of course I’m ready,” I say.

“Five, listen to me. You have to do this. You have to do whatever it is the Mogs ask of you as long as it means you’ll ascend to the highest levels of their ranks on Earth. You’re not just doing this for yourself, you know. I’m counting on you to let me live in the beach house again once you’re running the planet.”

“You should follow your own rules,” I say with a smirk. “The way you argued with Deltoch—”

“Was stupid.” He grins that grin, ear to ear.

“Let’s go then.” I say. “I’m ready to do this.”

More Mogs run by, and then suddenly the hallways are teeming with soldiers. Some of them are yelling, but I can’t make out what they’re saying—the noise echoing off the stone walls and floor turns everything into a roar of sound.

“What the hell is going on?” Ethan shouts.

And then there’s an explosion somewhere inside the base, and everything goes insane.

AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL, A WALL OF FIRE
blows past, and I instinctively push against it with my telekinesis to try to keep the flames from engulfing me, Ethan and the Mogs rushing through the hallway. Either I’m successful or the fire was already going to pass us by—whatever the case, we remain unscathed.

The same can’t be said for the people in the adjoining hallway.

Has there been a prisoner uprising? Did our Beloved Leader’s ship crash into the mountain? Or could this just be some sort of horrific accident?

The steady sound of gunfire from somewhere in the compound counts these last two possibilities out.

We’re under attack.

“We should take cover,” Ethan says. “We can retreat deeper into the mountain.”

I pause. My ceremony has been ruined. Everything I’ve been working towards has been crapped on by whatever’s happening in the compound right now.

I won’t let that happen. This is my chance to show the Mogs what I’m made of. That I really am worthy to lead them. Screw killing a single Garde—I’ll take out whatever army is attacking us with a wave of telekinetic power. Setrákus Ra might even see me in action. Hell, I might be able to fight alongside him.

“No,” I shout to Ethan over the noise of weapons and yelling and boots hitting the ground. “I’ll fight.
You
take cover.”

Ethan starts to argue, but I’m already tossing my ceremonial uniform to the ground and running down the corridor, my hand reaching into my right pocket to touch the steel ball bearing. My skin takes on a metallic sheen, and my footfalls get heavier—I could fly, but I don’t want to be a floating target for whoever it is that’s managed to infiltrate the base.

I’m steps into the next corridor when a wave of hot air hits me, heavy with the scent of char. It’s hard to see through all the smoke and ash, but then I realize where that smoke and ash has come from. The Mogs in this hallway must have been completely annihilated. Whoever’s attacked us isn’t pulling any punches and is obviously trying to inflict as much damage as possible.

I follow the shouts and gunfire as I jog through the tunnels, but the combination of my metal form and my being used to flying everywhere keeps my pace pretty slow. By the time I make it to the vast main room, it’s easy to see the route the intruders have taken; there are piles upon piles of ash strewn about the big hall. The space has devolved into utter chaos as the injured cry for help and the monstrous beasts that have escaped from their pens trample Mog soldiers who’ve been caught completely by surprise. I pause to try to figure out which direction the attackers went, then realize that there’s an easier way than trying to follow the ash trails: there are tons of pikens running, crawling, and flying towards one side of the compound, chasing something. So I fall in alongside them, rushing towards the detention cells.

Detention cells.
Is this some kind of rescue attempt?

I take a chance and fly up to the corridor that leads to the cells. I think I hear someone shouting my name behind me, but when I look back, it’s just a mass of feathers as birdlike creatures flap past me. So I continue on, and there, turning a corner at the end of the detention hallway, is Nine, followed by someone I’ve seen before. Someone I recognize from Mog reports about the incidents in Paradise.

Number Four.

The two Garde run out of view, and there’s a distant rumble of rock cracking and falling. I clench my fists at my sides. Of course they’ve screwed everything up. I spent years—
years
—on a deserted island without so much as a hello from any other Loric, but I come to the one place the Loric should be steering clear of—the home base of their sworn enemies—and I meet two of them.

A part of me wonders if they know I’m here. If they know what today meant for me. And if they’ve ruined all of it on purpose, as one final joke on pitiful Number Five, who they all thought would rot on a beach somewhere.

There’s a squad of Mogs reaching the top of the stairs to my right. They run after me as I jet through the hallway, but the path Nine and Four disappeared down is now blocked, collapsed in on itself—no doubt due to Four’s or Nine’s Legacies. My mind races as I try to remember other ways that the tunnels connect and where we might head them off. Behind me, a dozen or so Mogs from all over the compound regroup. I listen to their conversations as I try to figure out my next move. They’ve managed to capture one of the intruders. He’s a human. A teenager. Reports are that Four is the only other assailant, not counting Nine.

The prisoners.

I turn to the Mogs and immediately start barking orders. This is my time to shine.

“You three,” I say, waving to a small huddle of soldiers. “Find any other escaped prisoners. The rest of you, come with me. We’re going to cut the intruders off at the pass.”

There’s hesitancy in their faces.

“Look around you,” I continue. “We are under attack, and I am the only person even close to being a commander in sight. If you don’t move immediately, you’ll be answering to our Beloved Leader for your treason when he arrives.”

They all nod to me at once. Several salute.

Ethan approaches from the corridor. He’s out of breath but looks pleased with what I’m doing. As the Mogs move out, he tosses me an earpiece communicator, pointing to another one in his ear.

“In case we get separated,” he says.

“I thought you were going to take cover.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “I want to see if all that training has paid off.”

I grin and then shoot through the air over the heads of the Mog soldiers.

“This way!” I shout. “We can’t let these Loric bastards escape!”

A few of the tunnels we go through have partially collapsed from whatever it is Nine and Four are doing, but it’s no matter. The adrenaline in my system sends my Legacies into overload. I’m moving boulders left and right and jetting through the tunnels. The Mogs do their best to catch up to me, but I’m moving too quickly for them. I shoot from corridor to corridor, my mind trying desperately to remember, from my downtime spent exploring, how these passageways all fit together, until I come to a fork in the tunnels that I don’t remember. Time is of the essence. If we’re going to stop Four and Nine, I have to take action.

But I don’t know where to go.

My troops start to catch up behind me. I split their ranks down the middle with one hand as I float in front of them.

“Half of you that way, the other half follow me. As fast as you can. They can’t be far ahead of us now.”

They don’t hesitate this time—just charge onward. Ethan follows the other group, again tapping on his earpiece. I know he’ll alert me if they come across anything on their side.

And of course, that’s what happens a few minutes later.

“We’ve spotted them,” Ethan’s voice crackles in my ear. “They’re headed for a bridge. We’re going to try to cut them down.”

“Shit,” I mutter. I halt the Mogs who followed me. We race back around, into the other tunnel. The sound of Mog weapons firing bounces off the corridor walls. We’re almost to the bridge when I hear Ethan screaming in my ear in a way I’ve never heard before: primal and full of pain.

I speed forward until I think I may go supersonic. When I fly out into the cavern where the bridge is, it’s a madhouse. Half the team I sent has been reduced to ash. The other half is missing limbs or is in other ways wounded by the acidic green lava that pools under the bridge. Nine or Four must have used their powers to somehow turn it into a weapon. I feel stupid for never realizing what powerful offensive capabilities the lava could have when paired with my telekinesis.

But I forget about all of that when I see Ethan. He’s staring at his right hand. Or, rather, the place where his right hand should be. Now it’s just a stump, charred and cauterized by the green ooze. He looks up at me, one eye wide and full of desperation. The other is hidden by a smoking patch of green gunk. Then his good eye rolls back in his head and his legs give out, and he’s falling back, plummeting towards the lake of deadly green sludge below.