United as One (Lorien Legacies #7)(21)

Adam laughs. “Your accent is getting better, but you just said you’d like a stomach filled with leeches.”

Noto makes a face. “I thought I was asking for some coffee.”

“I helped Noto make a list of key words to listen for,” Adam tells me. “‘Beloved Leader,’ warship call signs, ‘Garde’—any time he hears those words, he makes sure to flag the transmission.”

“I’m recording everything in case I need to listen again,” Noto says. “Which I usually do.”

“This is good. It’ll be really helpful to know what the Mogs are saying to each other,” I tell them, putting a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Don’t burn yourself out, though. We’re going to need you.”

Adam nods. “I know. I won’t.”

I say good-bye to Agent Noto, then lead Adam into the hallway where we can talk privately.

“So, from what you’ve listened in on so far, what are the Mogs saying?” I ask him.

“They’re freaking out about Setrákus Ra,” he replies. “Well, freaking out as much as Mog trueborns can freak out. There’s a lot of concern about why he hasn’t ordered the attack or made any announcements to the fleet, but they won’t outright question him because to do so is pretty much treason. Mostly, they’re like . . . ‘This is warship Delta, awaiting orders, requesting guidance from Beloved Leader.’”

“That alone tells you they’re freaking out?”

“Mogs don’t go around asking for orders, John. They do what they’re told. They speak when spoken to. They don’t passive-aggressively prod their Leader.”

“And there’s been no response from the Anubis or the West Virginia base?”

“Nothing,” Adam confirms. “Radio silence.”

“Hmm.”

The plan I’ve been formulating is a little crazy, a lot dangerous, and, you know, that doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it probably should. I mull over everything that Adam has told me about Mogadorian culture, in particular the likelihood of them descending into civil war once Setrákus Ra is dead. If they took out each other, that’d make it a whole lot easier on the rest of us. What if there was something we could do to speed that process up? To get the Mogs at each other’s throats before Setrákus Ra is even turned to ash? A little bit of psychological warfare.

Before I can give that any more thought, Noto pokes his head out of the library and waves Adam over. “There’s a lot of chatter all of a sudden,” he says.

Adam and I jog back into the room. I cock my head to listen to the transmission coming through, but it all sounds like angry barking to me. The Mogadorian who’s broadcasting sure is excited, though.

Watching Adam’s eyes slowly narrow, I can tell this isn’t good news. After a few seconds, he turns to me.

“John, we should get the others,” he says. “Someone’s made a terrible mistake.”





CHAPTER EIGHT


NEVER POST ANYTHING ON THE INTERNET. IT’S like Rule #1.

Granted, all of us have broken Rule #1 at some point and ended up hunted by Mogs as a result. Because sometimes desperation outweighs your desire not to be stupid. It happens. No judgment.

But man, it’s dumb to post things on the internet.

The video, obviously shot on a cell phone, begins with a thunderous rush of water. A massive waterfall that I instantly recognize as Niagara Falls appears on screen. Whoever’s filming this is standing on a grassy outcropping level with the waterfall’s drop-off.

“Oy, it’s bloody loud—!”

The camera gets jostled as whoever’s holding the phone jogs away from the waterfall. In those few seconds of bouncing around, I’m able to pick out a few details: a blond girl who looks like she should be yodeling on a six-pack of imported beer stands near the edge of the cliff right next to a jagged protrusion of otherworldly blue stone.

Loralite. A new growth, just like Ella said there would be.

Before I can examine the stone too closely, the camera steadies and is turned around so we can look straight into the pockmarked face of a grubby teenage boy. He’s gaunt, with a Mohawk that’s bleached nearly white and patches of peach-fuzz stubble. He wears a torn-up denim vest covered in patches, a ratty tank top, and while I can’t see his feet, I can almost guarantee he’s rocking combat boots. Of course, I recognize him from the telepathic summit Ella held for us. He’s one of the kids who seemed most eager to heed John’s call to action.

Even though he moved away from the edge, the kid still has to yell to be heard over the waterfall.

“Hello, John Smith and super-friends! You out there? Nigel Rally here. We met at . . . uh. The thing. Found your bloody stones, and, y’know, it’s been a real laugh popping round the world and all, but at what point are you lot gonna come pick us up?”

It doesn’t surprise me at all that these international Garde are lost and confused. John told them to come help us, and Ella explained that they could use the Loralite stones to teleport around the globe simply by picturing a location. But Setrákus Ra crashed our meeting before we could give them any concrete idea how to find us, which isn’t exactly an easy task considering we’re in hiding.

“I ran into a couple of others while taking the tour, eh?” Nigel continues, and turns the camera to pan around his surroundings. “Wave to John Smith, protector of the world and absent Big Brother who has apparently forgotten to fetch us.”