United as One (Lorien Legacies #7)(80)

“And also in New York when I blew our stealth approach by clapping my hands with those stupid thunder gloves. Sorry about that too.”

“Okay,” I say, holding up my hands. “What are you doing?”

“Pretty much any time that I said something that pissed you off or almost got you killed. I’m sorry for all that.”

“Okay, look, if you’re going through all this because you think we might die down there, it’s not necessary.”

“Oh, there’s no might for me,” Nine says, locking eyes with me. “I’m definitely living through this shit. You, on the other hand, you’ve got this whole fly-off-on-your-own-don’t-need-friends thing going, like you’re just gonna rage until you burn out. Like you don’t care what happens to you.” I start to protest, but Nine holds up a hand. “No, it’s cool. The rest of them might not get it, but I do. Leave it all on the field. You do what you need to do, man. But I don’t want you dying while I’ve still got all this shit on my conscience.”

“Okay, Nine,” I reply, shaking my head. “You’re forgiven.”

“And also,” he continues, “you should know that I’d prefer it if you made it out of this alive with me. You’re my brother. And, uh . . . that would be ideal.”

Before I can stop him, Nine has me wrapped up in a bear hug. It doesn’t last long, and it ends with him pounding on my back hard enough that I cough.

“You’ve always been the best sidekick a guy could ask for,” he says.

“Eat shit, Nine,” I reply.

He grins at me. “See you out there, Johnny.”

Nine leaves me alone on the observation deck. I hook the Voron dagger through one of my belt loops. We’re closing in on West Virginia now. I should make my way down and get ready. Instead, I linger up here, thinking about what he said. Is he right? Do I not want to make it through this? I try to imagine an after—a world where we’ve defeated Setrákus Ra and I’m still alive. Used to be daydreams like that were what I lived for.

Now, I can’t picture it.

There’s no fear in me. Fear, I guess, is rooted entirely in anticipation. Worrying that things won’t turn out the way you’ve planned, that something will hurt; dreading the sorrow to come—all that goes away when you simply accept finality.

It isn’t so bad, knowing there’s no future. It’s freeing.

On my way down from the observation deck, I bump into Marina. She stands on the stairs, arms crossed, looking out over our friends as they acquaint themselves with the warship. I know exactly where she’s staring.

Five. His shoulders are hunched as he sits at one of the weapons consoles, running a diagnostic while Sam and Malcolm look on. He must feel her glaring at him, but he chooses to endure it rather than acknowledge it. When I get close, I notice that the air around Marina is a little cooler.

Marina looks over at me, and her lips quirk downward in a frown.

“I already know what you’re going to say,” I tell her. “We can’t trust him. He’s dangerous. All of which I agree with.”

“And I already know what you are going to say to me,” she replies, mimicking my tone. “He is a necessary evil. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Tell me I don’t use that many clichés.” She frowns at me. I rub my hands together to warm them up. “He saved lives at Patience Creek, Marina. He saved my life.”

“Yes, I heard about his . . . performance,” she replies, a note of distaste in her voice. “Sam told me how he relished what he was doing, how he could’ve simply killed Phiri Dun-Ra but instead repeatedly chopped at her arm. If we let ourselves become that ruthless and that brutal, do we really win?”

I think about how many Mogs I killed during my attack on this warship. And then I remember how Five looked at me when I first spoke to him at Patience Creek. How he told me I was like him now.

A shadow must pass over my face, because Marina squeezes my arm.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to lecture,” she says. “I just want us to remember, where Five is concerned, killing a common enemy does not make him an ally. Using him as a weapon does not mean he’s willingly saving lives.”

“Usually, I’d agree with you. But not tonight.”

Marina nods slowly, resigned to the fact she’ll be fighting alongside Five. “And what about after, John? Will he pay for what he did?”

There’s that word again. “After.” I look away from Marina.

“After will be up to you,” I tell her.

She starts to ask me another question, but I’m already hustling the rest of the way down the steps. Adam catches my eye as I stride onto the bridge.

“We’re almost there,” he says. “I don’t want to get us too close, in case they’ve got scouts deployed.”

“All right,” I reply, and glance over at Ella. She sits at one of the abandoned stations massaging her temples. “Were you able to create that map?”

She nods. “I scanned it in. Malcolm helped with estimating the scale.” At that, Sam’s dad tips an imaginary hat.

“Pulling it up now,” Adam says.

A wide section of the bridge’s floor-to-ceiling window goes opaque, and, a second later, a three-dimensional map of the Mogadorian mountain base appears on screen. It isn’t exactly blueprint quality considering Ella and Malcolm produced it by hand and from memory. But it’s accurate. Those memories were drawn from me, from Nine, from Six and Sam and from Adam. We’d all been inside the mountain base before; we’ve all carried around visions of its interior, even though they’re colored with panic or chaos or torture. Ella sat with each of us for a few minutes, plucked out those memories and turned them into something tangible.