Five's Betrayal (5 page)

Ethan looks at me, breathless. “Do you really want your first kill to be this worthless girl when it could be Nine?”

I shift my eyes back to Emma, who has tears running down her face. She’s staring at me, waiting for my decision. I can see the pleading in her eyes, and even though I don’t want to, all I can think of are the good times we had back in Miami. I know that she’s not the only one holding her breath. That Deltoch, and Ethan, and the Mogs all around are watching to see how I act. And I suddenly feel like there’s so much pressure in my brain that it might explode, because I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I can’t disappoint the Mogs. I can’t show weakness. Deltoch
obviously
brought me out here to kill this girl.

Unless there’s some other way . . .

“Is your brother still a wannabe gangster in Miami?” I ask Emma.

She looks confused.

“Answer me!” I shout, more out of frustration with the situation than with her silence.

“Y-yes,” she says. “The rest of us left after what happened, but he stayed.”

Both of us descend to the ground. When her feet touch, I release her from my telekinetic grip. She crumples to the earth. I turn my back on her and walk to Deltoch and Ethan.

“Her brother might be of use to us,” I say to them. “He was small-time when I was in Miami, but he may have gained some kind of influence—connections we can exploit. We should use her to leverage any information out of him that might be valuable in tracking the Garde, the same way we’re using FBI resources. Maybe nothing will come of it, but she’s definitely no good to us if she’s dead.”

“Five . . . ,” Ethan starts.

“I’ve been reading book after book on how wars are fought. Information can be just as powerful as armies. You should take her to the detention wing, Ethan. After all, she knows you. You’re part of the reason she’s here.” Ethan doesn’t say anything, but I can tell he’s clenching his jaw. He’s not used to me talking to him like this, but I can’t help it. My adrenaline is pumping out of control. Taking charge, I feel like a leader.

“If you need to know what happened before you got out here for your reports,” I say, lingering on the last word, “I’ll be happy to fill you in.”

Ethan stares at me for a few seconds as if he’s trying to figure out where all this is coming from. Then he throws a spite-filled glance at Deltoch and grabs Emma’s arm, dragging her into the woods. She doesn’t put up much of a fight.

“A wise decision,” Deltoch says.

“Was this some sort of test?” I ask.

“All of life is a test. You of all people should know that.”

“Did I pass?” I ask.

Deltoch’s lips spread wide.

“With flying colors.”

A FEW WEEKS GO BY, AND THEN EVERYTHING
happens very quickly.

The Mogs track one of the Garde to a place called Paradise, Ohio, but
two
end up being there. At least, that’s what survivors of the battle say. Not that many Mogs are left standing after they try to apprehend the two Loric fighters. From what the commanders can gather, one of them was Number Six, who used to be in Mog captivity but managed to escape before I was brought on board. Practically all of our forces are reassigned to track the two across the country, leaving less pressing matters like my history lessons ignored.

Something impossible also happens: I get hurt.

Four is still alive—I know that because there’s no new scar on my ankle—but when one of the Mog soldiers I’m sparring with hits my arm with a sword, I get cut. Blood actually runs out of my shoulder, and the soldier is left completely unharmed.

The Loric charm has been broken.

I am vulnerable.

It’s a weird thing to suddenly be able to die, or get hurt. To know that there’s not another number standing in the way of me and nothingness. It’s kind of terrifying at first, but it just reminds me that I’ve made the right decision. I can’t imagine facing the Mog armies without a charm protecting me. The Garde don’t stand a chance if they can’t be convinced of their idiocy.

Ethan freaks out about my sudden mortality and demands that Deltoch stop any training that involves actual fighting. He says I’m not ready for fieldwork yet—of
course
he does. But Deltoch agrees enough to put my fight training on hold. Instead, I make myself useful by scouring the internet for anything that might be helpful. That’s how I stumble onto a website called “Aliens Anonymous,” and while it’s full of a bunch of stuff that sounds like total bullshit, it also has articles about what went down in Paradise. The posts sound like they’re written by someone who knows about the Garde and the Mogs—someone who might have an idea as to where Six and the other Garde ran off to after the battle. So, using a little bit of persuasion, I manage to get in tight with some of the editors and contributors on the blog. They know me as FLYBOY.

There’s one idiot who goes by JOLLYROGER182 who claims to have been involved in the battle in Ohio. He’s hesitant to talk about it at first, but when I feed him a made-up story about seeing some guys with black eyes and head tattoos chasing after some sad-looking teenager who ended up flying through the air, he starts to ask me a ton of questions—questions I’ll only answer once he tells me what
he
knows. So he spills. He says his former classmate was one of the Garde, a guy named John Smith. But more important, the backwoods ass hat tells me something else: John is Number Four.

When I give this news to Ethan, he says he’s sure the Mogs already have someone watching the blog and that I probably shouldn’t get in too deep with the editors there in case I accidentally let something slip. I tell him that’s ridiculous and that he doesn’t know what a good liar I am, and we get into an argument that ends with me going to Deltoch myself and telling him about what I’ve discovered. I swear it’s the first time I’ve ever seen the Mog look like he’s happy with me. He tells me to keep doing what I’m doing—that Setrákus Ra is pleased with me.

After that, I start to see more and more of the Mogs and less of Ethan. I think maybe he’s jealous of me, even though I’m really just behaving the way he always said I should act—like I’m a big shot here. Mostly I see him only when he briefs me on how things are going in the Mogs’ search for the Garde or at meals. Deltoch takes over my training.

We track Four and Six across the country—from Ohio to Tennessee and then to Florida. Somehow they always stay a step ahead of our forces or end up taking out our scouts. But our big break comes when Four makes a stupid move. He returns to Paradise, where the Mogs are obviously still sniffing around.

And now he’s in our custody.

I was kind of hoping Four would be someone I could talk sense into easily, but based on what the Mogs and JOLLYROGER182 tell me, it sounds like he’s a total idiot. I mean, you kind of have to be if you go back to the place the Mogs found you to begin with. I’m surprised his mark wasn’t burned into my ankle months ago. He might still listen to reason. If so, maybe Setrákus Ra can give him Europe to rule, or Africa or something.

But there’s one person who definitely won’t be getting his own continent. Things are moving fast here in the compound, including my promotion to commander over the Mog forces. The Loric charm is broken. I don’t have to worry about some strange magic hurting me if I try to harm another Garde. Nine’s time is up, and our Beloved Leader, Setrákus Ra, is coming to personally oversee me execute him. The thought of finally taking my rightful place as a leader within the Mog forces blacks out practically all hesitation I have about Nine. When the time comes, I’ll just have to remind myself of the files the Mogs had on him and power through it.

I can bleed now. That means Nine can bleed too.

My time has come.

The morning of my ascension, I’m called into one of the Mog science labs. There’s apparently been some sort of big discovery they want my help with, and while I’m flattered, I already have a lot on my mind thanks to what’s going to happen that night when Nine is dragged into the Great Hall in chains and I take my spot as a commander of the Mog forces.

It doesn’t help that they keep me waiting in the lab. As time ticks by, I grow bored, and find a notepad and pen.

I start to draw.

I haven’t had a chance to draw stories or anything like I used to in the sand on the beaches since I’ve been at the Mog base. But now, in the labs, I remember how much I used to like to do this.

I draw Nine. He’s held to the ground by heavy chains attached to a collar around his neck. He’s frail and weak. I, on the other hand, look like a superhero. I float above him. Nine is so insignificant that I don’t even dirty my hands with him. Instead, I have a monster—an attack dog of sorts—that’s going to dispatch him. The beast is like nothing that’s ever walked on any planet (probably). It’s got three lizard-like heads and a furry body, with razor-sharp talons. And wings. It’s the most badass hell-beast I can imagine. All of its mouths are wide, and poisoned saliva drips from pointy teeth. Its gnarled arms . . .

“Five,” someone says from behind me.

I turn around. I’ve gotten so caught up in my drawing that I didn’t even notice one of the Mog scientists come in. He wears a long black lab coat and white rubber gloves. In his hands is something I recognize. I almost leap off my stool, because I think for a second that someone’s been in my room and taken my Loric Chest, but then I realize it’s not mine. The gleaming symbol on it doesn’t belong to me.

“We recovered this Chest from one of the Loric in Ohio,” the scientist says, gently placing it on a workbench. “We thought maybe you might want to try to open it.”

“What makes you think I can?” I ask.

The scientist shrugs. “We believe this Chest belongs to Number Four. We’re hoping that higher-ranking numbers might have unbridled access to the Chests of those beneath them.”

I think of Nine’s file and the mentality that he is the most powerful among us because of his number and clench my fists. I know I haven’t been great about figuring out how to use things in my own Chest, but the thought of him being able to rifle through
my
stuff makes my pulse pound.

“All right,” I say. “Let me try.”

I do everything I can think of. The Chest doesn’t react to my touch. I pry at it with my telekinesis until I have a splitting headache. Finally, I use my Externa to turn to metal and start banging on the side of the damned thing.

The scientist is not thrilled about this last bit.

“If you
would,
sir,” he says, trying very politely to step between my super-strong metal body and the Chest, “maybe we should call it a day. We’ll keep the Chest under close watch until after the ceremony tonight, and then you can give it another try later.”

I allow my body to revert back to normal.

“Sure,” I say. “Is that all?”

The scientist nods. I’m almost out of the lab when he speaks again.

“Sir? You forgot your drawing.”

I turn back. He’s holding up my doodle—my one-page story. I suddenly feel stupid for having drawn it.

“Keep it,” I say. “After today I will have no more need for childish things.”

“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.”