United as One
Page 49
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“Six,” Marina says softly. “Can I just tell you . . . I never made many friends before, while I was staying in the monastery. It was lonely.”
“Okay?”
“And then you came along. You . . .” I make a face as Marina’s eyes get watery. “You’ve been there for me in the worst times, Six. You always made me laugh or propped me up. Sometimes you literally carried me. I just wanted to tell you that you’re pretty much my best friend.”
I blow a stray curl of hair out of my face. “Oh, goddamn, Marina, don’t start talking like that. It’s bad luck.”
Marina chuckles. “It needed to be said.”
“Yeah, no it didn’t,” I reply, squeezing her hand. “But back at you anyway.”
Someone clears their throat, and both of us turn towards the doorway. John stands there, a heavy, leather-bound atlas with yellowed pages tucked under his arm. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders are slumped. I don’t really know how else to expect him to look after what’s gone down recently.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey yourself,” I reply. “Where you been?”
John looks longingly at a free chair by our table. Something in him won’t let him relax, not even for a few minutes.
“Working some stuff out,” he says. “I’m going to see Lawson. Wouldn’t mind some backup.”
I exchange a look with Marina, and we both stand up. “Sure,” I say. “You just going to socialize or . . . ?”
“We’ve wasted enough time here,” John answers quickly. “We need to start making moves.”
I nod in agreement, and the three of us exit the lounge and start navigating the endless hallways.
“Should we gather up the others?” Marina asks.
“I don’t want to disturb Sam and Malcolm while they’re working,” John replies. “Nine isn’t the most diplomatic, and Adam probably wouldn’t be welcome in this context.”
“What about Ella?”
John’s mouth tightens. “She doesn’t need to be here for this.”
There’s an edge in John’s tone. “You guys have your talk?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“Can we just leave it alone, Six?”
I shoot Marina a look. She subtly shakes her head, as if to tell me that I should drop the matter. I take her advice, and we walk on in silence.
Lawson has set up his office in a part of the complex referred to as the nerve center. We pass by rooms filled with communications officers coordinating with other governments around the world. It’s noisy; there are about a dozen languages being spoken. Around the world, the Mog warships still haven’t attacked. They haven’t even moved, except for the Anubis taking Setrákus Ra to West Virginia and the ship we lured to Niagara Falls. From the urgency down here, it’s clear the humans are utilizing every second of this lull to prepare.
The twins, Caleb and Christian, stand guard before a closed door at the end of the hall. Marina hasn’t had a chance to meet these two weirdos yet. As we arrive, she puts on her gentlest smile and extends her hand to the blank-faced one that I think is Christian.
“Hi, I’m Marina,” she says. “I’ve heard you received Legacies. Quite amazing for it to happen to both of you. If you’d like to talk about it—”
Christian just stares at her and makes no move to take her hand, like he doesn’t even understand what she’s saying. Caleb quickly interjects himself. He shakes Marina’s hand loosely, like it’s covered in germs.
“Uh, we’re good, thanks,” he says brusquely, then looks at John. “General Lawson sent for you hours ago.”
“I haven’t had a lot of free time,” John replies. “Is he in or what?”
Caleb steps aside with a grunt, and a moment later Christian does, too, maintaining his cold stare the entire time. As we follow John into Lawson’s office, Marina gives me a look.
“What’s with them?” she whispers.
“No idea,” I reply. “I guess not everyone who got Legacies is as charming as Sam.”
Marina smirks at me. We fall silent as we look around Lawson’s office. It’s a pretty ordinary setup, a beat-up desk where Lawson sits in a lumbar-support chair, a few folding chairs positioned in front of that, a little table against one wall with a drip machine currently brewing a fresh pot from freeze-dried, army-issued coffee crystals.
What really catches my attention, the reason why I’m sure Lawson moved down here, is the bank of monitors that cover the wall behind his desk. The screens feature all kinds of things; some show grainy footage of warships that must come direct from cameras in the occupied cities, others are tuned to the few news networks still able to broadcast and some are set to security footage of Patience Creek itself.
“Okay?”
“And then you came along. You . . .” I make a face as Marina’s eyes get watery. “You’ve been there for me in the worst times, Six. You always made me laugh or propped me up. Sometimes you literally carried me. I just wanted to tell you that you’re pretty much my best friend.”
I blow a stray curl of hair out of my face. “Oh, goddamn, Marina, don’t start talking like that. It’s bad luck.”
Marina chuckles. “It needed to be said.”
“Yeah, no it didn’t,” I reply, squeezing her hand. “But back at you anyway.”
Someone clears their throat, and both of us turn towards the doorway. John stands there, a heavy, leather-bound atlas with yellowed pages tucked under his arm. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders are slumped. I don’t really know how else to expect him to look after what’s gone down recently.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey yourself,” I reply. “Where you been?”
John looks longingly at a free chair by our table. Something in him won’t let him relax, not even for a few minutes.
“Working some stuff out,” he says. “I’m going to see Lawson. Wouldn’t mind some backup.”
I exchange a look with Marina, and we both stand up. “Sure,” I say. “You just going to socialize or . . . ?”
“We’ve wasted enough time here,” John answers quickly. “We need to start making moves.”
I nod in agreement, and the three of us exit the lounge and start navigating the endless hallways.
“Should we gather up the others?” Marina asks.
“I don’t want to disturb Sam and Malcolm while they’re working,” John replies. “Nine isn’t the most diplomatic, and Adam probably wouldn’t be welcome in this context.”
“What about Ella?”
John’s mouth tightens. “She doesn’t need to be here for this.”
There’s an edge in John’s tone. “You guys have your talk?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“Can we just leave it alone, Six?”
I shoot Marina a look. She subtly shakes her head, as if to tell me that I should drop the matter. I take her advice, and we walk on in silence.
Lawson has set up his office in a part of the complex referred to as the nerve center. We pass by rooms filled with communications officers coordinating with other governments around the world. It’s noisy; there are about a dozen languages being spoken. Around the world, the Mog warships still haven’t attacked. They haven’t even moved, except for the Anubis taking Setrákus Ra to West Virginia and the ship we lured to Niagara Falls. From the urgency down here, it’s clear the humans are utilizing every second of this lull to prepare.
The twins, Caleb and Christian, stand guard before a closed door at the end of the hall. Marina hasn’t had a chance to meet these two weirdos yet. As we arrive, she puts on her gentlest smile and extends her hand to the blank-faced one that I think is Christian.
“Hi, I’m Marina,” she says. “I’ve heard you received Legacies. Quite amazing for it to happen to both of you. If you’d like to talk about it—”
Christian just stares at her and makes no move to take her hand, like he doesn’t even understand what she’s saying. Caleb quickly interjects himself. He shakes Marina’s hand loosely, like it’s covered in germs.
“Uh, we’re good, thanks,” he says brusquely, then looks at John. “General Lawson sent for you hours ago.”
“I haven’t had a lot of free time,” John replies. “Is he in or what?”
Caleb steps aside with a grunt, and a moment later Christian does, too, maintaining his cold stare the entire time. As we follow John into Lawson’s office, Marina gives me a look.
“What’s with them?” she whispers.
“No idea,” I reply. “I guess not everyone who got Legacies is as charming as Sam.”
Marina smirks at me. We fall silent as we look around Lawson’s office. It’s a pretty ordinary setup, a beat-up desk where Lawson sits in a lumbar-support chair, a few folding chairs positioned in front of that, a little table against one wall with a drip machine currently brewing a fresh pot from freeze-dried, army-issued coffee crystals.
What really catches my attention, the reason why I’m sure Lawson moved down here, is the bank of monitors that cover the wall behind his desk. The screens feature all kinds of things; some show grainy footage of warships that must come direct from cameras in the occupied cities, others are tuned to the few news networks still able to broadcast and some are set to security footage of Patience Creek itself.
