United as One (Lorien Legacies #7)(36)

“That, yes. And Earth. Everything. It’s fading, though. Whatever Legacy did to me, I don’t think the effects are going to last.” Ella started walking towards the ship. “Come on. I need to go have a very unpleasant conversation with John.”

I nodded like I understood what Ella was talking about. I decided it was in all our best interests just to let Ella do her thing. She’d been through a lot, seen more than I could imagine. Let her handle the mystical. I’d handle the dirty work.

“Six, you there?”

Adam’s impatient voice comes over the radio. I’d spaced out, thinking about Ella and her effect on the Loralite. From her seat behind the controls, Lexa peers up at me with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m here,” I reply. “What’s the response been from the Mogs? They going to move that warship?”

“They don’t know what the hell they’re doing. With Setrákus Ra out of commission, they’re all just yelling at each other. Some think Setrákus Ra would appreciate the commander’s decision to pursue Garde; others think he’s mad to question Beloved Leader’s orders to stay put. You really messed up their whole operation, Six.”

I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t feel a bit of pride at Adam’s words. Still, a nagging voice in the back of my mind knows that it wasn’t good enough. Eventually, Setrákus Ra will rise, and this temporary advantage will be gone.

“Their entire chain of command is starting to unravel,” Adam continues, energized. “I mean, there’s no page in the Great Book that tells the Mogs what to do if their immortal Leader suddenly vanishes. John and I think we should seriously be exploiting this before Setrákus Ra wakes up and reasserts control.”

“You have ideas?”

“I think so.” Adam pauses. “They might be a little dangerous, though.”

“What isn’t dangerous?” I reply.

When Adam’s off the comm, Lexa catches my eye. I can tell that she’s got something to say, so I linger in the cockpit.

“Those kids we picked up . . . ,” she says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“They seem ready to you?”

“Were the nine of us ready when we boarded this ship?” I reply.

Lexa gives me a look. I stare back, and she eventually turns to the front window, letting the matter drop. I leave her side and open the door to the passenger area, lean against the frame and observe our new arrivals.

There’s Fleur, her blond hair pulled back and damp with sweat and river water. I get why Nine was panting like a cartoon dog when he saw her in the video. She’s beautiful. Except now there are blaster burns up and down her arms, on her shoulders, the side of her neck—charred skin, blisters, bubbles of flesh. She shivers as Daniela carefully presses a cold compress to her wounds.

“You’re gonna be just fine,” Daniela says to her. “John can heal these burns right up. Good as new.”

Fleur nods, though the motion seems pretty uncomfortable. She has to grit her teeth to respond to Daniela in accented English. “You’ve— This has happened to you before, yes?”

Daniela blows one of her braids out of her face. “Actually, I’ve been pretty good about not getting shot so far. Only been doing this whole defend-the-planet shit since the invasion started, though. So I got time.”

“Oh,” Fleur replies, seeming almost disappointed. “I thought you were one of them. Or at least had, ah, been doing this for a while.”

Daniela beams at that but shakes her head. It’s crazy to me that Daniela is being seen as a veteran Garde. She survived New York City; that’s no small accomplishment. Doesn’t mean she isn’t green. Us original Garde had years to train for a battle like this. These new kids don’t have that luxury. They’re getting thrown right into the mix.

Daniela notices me watching her. She leaves Fleur with the cold compress and walks over to join me in the door of the cockpit.

“All good?” I ask her.

“They’ll live,” she replies. “The bug kid, he won’t let me look at him.”

She’s talking about Bertrand. Through the open door, I can see him lying on his side in the medical bay. He looks like a freaking teddy bear. He’s got blaster burns, same as Fleur, but most of them are on his back and butt.

“Why not?” I ask Daniela.

“Either he doesn’t want me to see his ass, or he’s embarrassed that he ran from the Mogs,” she replies.

“He only ran after he used his bugs to clog the engines on one of those Skimmers and crash it,” I say. “He’s got nothing to be ashamed of. Shit, you know how many times I ran away or turned invisible to hide in my younger days? You can’t always fight.”

Daniela laughs. “Younger days,” she repeats. “You’re what . . . two years older than them? Yeah, you’re a real old lady, Six.”

“Feels that way,” I reply, flashing her a smile. Daniela’s right. These four, they’re only a year or two younger than me, at most. Yet they strike me as just kids. Hell, Ella seems older than this bunch. Although maybe I’m confusing hardness with age.

My gaze drifts to Nigel. He was the essence of confidence in that YouTube video, the clear leader of this ragtag group. He’s still trying to exude that now, his arms stretched across the backs of two seats, wanting to look supercasual about his first-ever ride in an alien spacecraft. The whole punk-rocker costume, now splattered with blood and mud, looks like a kid playing dress-up. As I watch, he reaches one of his slender hands inside his vest and pulls out a crushed pack of cigarettes. He manages to find a cigarette that’s mostly whole and sticks it between his lips. When it comes to lighting up, Nigel can’t manage it. His hands are shaking too bad.