The Revenge of Seven
Page 77
‘What is it?’ snarls Setrákus Ra.
‘Deepest apologies for the interruption, Beloved Leader,’ the officer says, keeping his eyes downcast. ‘You have an urgent message from Phiri Dun-Ra.’
‘It had better be,’ Setrákus Ra grumbles. He waves a hand impatiently at the screen. ‘Very well. Put her through.’
The screen flashes, crackles, and then a Mogadorian woman appears. She has two long braids pinned up around her bald head and a sizable cut above her eyebrow. She’s surrounded on all sides by jungle. Apparently, a message from this trueborn is important enough to delay our flight down to New York. I try to sit up a little bit in my seat, fighting through the fog to pay attention.
‘What is it, Phiri?’ Setrákus Ra says, coldly. ‘Why have you contacted me directly?’
The Mog woman, Phiri, hesitates before she speaks. Maybe she’s taken aback by the human face addressing her with such authority. Or maybe she’s just scared of her Beloved Leader.
‘They’re here,’ Phiri says at last, a note of triumph in her voice. ‘The Garde have activated the Sanctuary.’
Setrákus Ra leans back in his seat, his eyebrows arched in surprise. He laces his hands in front of him in consideration.
‘Very good,’ he replies. ‘Excellent. Your orders are to keep them there, Phiri Dun-Ra. On your life. I will join you shortly.’
‘As you wish, Belo –’
Setrákus Ra severs the connection before Phiri Dun-Ra can finish. The mentions of the Garde and the Sanctuary have me a little more aware. I try to think of Six and Marina, of John and Nine – I know they would want me to fight through this. It’s just so difficult to keep my mind from going blank, to keep my body from slouching.
‘For years I’ve pursued them,’ Setrákus Ra says quietly, almost to himself. ‘To wipe out the last bit of resistance to Mogadorian Progress. To take control of what those Elder fools buried on this planet. Now, the day has come when everything I’ve fought for will be mine, all at once. Tell me, granddaughter, how can there be any doubt of Mogadorian superiority?’
He doesn’t really want a response. Setrákus Ra just likes to hear himself talk. I let a slow, medicated smile form on my face. That seems to please him. My grandfather reaches out and pats me on the knee.
‘You’re feeling better, aren’t you?’ he says. He flips a few levers on the console and our ship’s engines vibrate to life. ‘Come. Let us go take what is ours.’
With that, Setrákus Ra navigates the ship forward. We zip through the docking bay, past the rows of Mogadorian warriors. They thump their fists against their chests as we go, shouting out gravelly Mogadorian encouragement. We exit through the same passage as Five’s body. That part – seeing him brutalized and then tossed aside like so much garbage – I’m glad to lose to the fog.
We descend on Manhattan. I can see all the humans gathered below. There are thousands of them crowded in front of a fancy-looking set of buildings and its surrounding campus. I can make out a stage down there, too. It’s all built on the bank of a gray, choppy river. I remember the Washington from my vision, the smoky smells that choked the air. That will be New York soon. I wonder if these people will throw themselves into the river when their city begins to burn.
The people below point up at our ship. I can hear them shouting and screaming out greetings. These humans – the ones who came closest to the Anubis – they don’t think they’re in any danger.
It occurs to me that we’re traveling into this throng of people without any Mogadorian guards. I loll my head towards my grandfather, wet my lips and manage to find words.
‘We’re facing them alone?’ I ask him.
He smiles. ‘Of course. I mean to elevate these people, not harm them. We have nothing to fear from the humans. My servants on Earth have arranged for a greeting that I find more than suitable.’
He’s up to something, obviously. Probably already has this whole event planned out. I know it’s unlikely even a crowd of humans this size would stand a chance against Setrákus Ra and all his powers, but part of me hopes maybe one of them will see through whatever sideshow he’s got planned and take some shots at the scary alien.
Of course, that would mean my death before they could stop Setrákus Ra. At this point, it seems almost worth it. I feel whatever the Mogadorians injected into me crawling around beneath my skin. I can’t endure any more of that.
The descent is over. We hover about fifteen feet above the stage. A nervous-looking older man in a suit, some kind of politician, waits for us there. There are flashbulbs going off like crazy. I blink my eyes and try to keep from sleepwalking through this.
‘Come, Ella. Let us greet our subjects,’ Setrákus Ra says. He picks up his golden cane, the obsidian Eye of Thaloc catching the light. I’m not sure why he brought that with him. I guess he doesn’t want to face our so-called subjects completely unarmed. Or maybe he thinks it makes him look noble – like a king with a scepter.
I stand up, slightly unsteady. Setrákus Ra offers me his arm. I hook my hand through it.
The door of our transport ship opens and a glowing staircase extends outward, creating a path for us to the stage. The crowd gasps as we emerge. Through my bleary eyes, I can see dozens of TV cameras trained on us. The crowd is hushed in amazement. What do we look like to them? Aliens … aliens that look exactly like humans. A handsome older man and his pale granddaughter.
‘Deepest apologies for the interruption, Beloved Leader,’ the officer says, keeping his eyes downcast. ‘You have an urgent message from Phiri Dun-Ra.’
‘It had better be,’ Setrákus Ra grumbles. He waves a hand impatiently at the screen. ‘Very well. Put her through.’
The screen flashes, crackles, and then a Mogadorian woman appears. She has two long braids pinned up around her bald head and a sizable cut above her eyebrow. She’s surrounded on all sides by jungle. Apparently, a message from this trueborn is important enough to delay our flight down to New York. I try to sit up a little bit in my seat, fighting through the fog to pay attention.
‘What is it, Phiri?’ Setrákus Ra says, coldly. ‘Why have you contacted me directly?’
The Mog woman, Phiri, hesitates before she speaks. Maybe she’s taken aback by the human face addressing her with such authority. Or maybe she’s just scared of her Beloved Leader.
‘They’re here,’ Phiri says at last, a note of triumph in her voice. ‘The Garde have activated the Sanctuary.’
Setrákus Ra leans back in his seat, his eyebrows arched in surprise. He laces his hands in front of him in consideration.
‘Very good,’ he replies. ‘Excellent. Your orders are to keep them there, Phiri Dun-Ra. On your life. I will join you shortly.’
‘As you wish, Belo –’
Setrákus Ra severs the connection before Phiri Dun-Ra can finish. The mentions of the Garde and the Sanctuary have me a little more aware. I try to think of Six and Marina, of John and Nine – I know they would want me to fight through this. It’s just so difficult to keep my mind from going blank, to keep my body from slouching.
‘For years I’ve pursued them,’ Setrákus Ra says quietly, almost to himself. ‘To wipe out the last bit of resistance to Mogadorian Progress. To take control of what those Elder fools buried on this planet. Now, the day has come when everything I’ve fought for will be mine, all at once. Tell me, granddaughter, how can there be any doubt of Mogadorian superiority?’
He doesn’t really want a response. Setrákus Ra just likes to hear himself talk. I let a slow, medicated smile form on my face. That seems to please him. My grandfather reaches out and pats me on the knee.
‘You’re feeling better, aren’t you?’ he says. He flips a few levers on the console and our ship’s engines vibrate to life. ‘Come. Let us go take what is ours.’
With that, Setrákus Ra navigates the ship forward. We zip through the docking bay, past the rows of Mogadorian warriors. They thump their fists against their chests as we go, shouting out gravelly Mogadorian encouragement. We exit through the same passage as Five’s body. That part – seeing him brutalized and then tossed aside like so much garbage – I’m glad to lose to the fog.
We descend on Manhattan. I can see all the humans gathered below. There are thousands of them crowded in front of a fancy-looking set of buildings and its surrounding campus. I can make out a stage down there, too. It’s all built on the bank of a gray, choppy river. I remember the Washington from my vision, the smoky smells that choked the air. That will be New York soon. I wonder if these people will throw themselves into the river when their city begins to burn.
The people below point up at our ship. I can hear them shouting and screaming out greetings. These humans – the ones who came closest to the Anubis – they don’t think they’re in any danger.
It occurs to me that we’re traveling into this throng of people without any Mogadorian guards. I loll my head towards my grandfather, wet my lips and manage to find words.
‘We’re facing them alone?’ I ask him.
He smiles. ‘Of course. I mean to elevate these people, not harm them. We have nothing to fear from the humans. My servants on Earth have arranged for a greeting that I find more than suitable.’
He’s up to something, obviously. Probably already has this whole event planned out. I know it’s unlikely even a crowd of humans this size would stand a chance against Setrákus Ra and all his powers, but part of me hopes maybe one of them will see through whatever sideshow he’s got planned and take some shots at the scary alien.
Of course, that would mean my death before they could stop Setrákus Ra. At this point, it seems almost worth it. I feel whatever the Mogadorians injected into me crawling around beneath my skin. I can’t endure any more of that.
The descent is over. We hover about fifteen feet above the stage. A nervous-looking older man in a suit, some kind of politician, waits for us there. There are flashbulbs going off like crazy. I blink my eyes and try to keep from sleepwalking through this.
‘Come, Ella. Let us greet our subjects,’ Setrákus Ra says. He picks up his golden cane, the obsidian Eye of Thaloc catching the light. I’m not sure why he brought that with him. I guess he doesn’t want to face our so-called subjects completely unarmed. Or maybe he thinks it makes him look noble – like a king with a scepter.
I stand up, slightly unsteady. Setrákus Ra offers me his arm. I hook my hand through it.
The door of our transport ship opens and a glowing staircase extends outward, creating a path for us to the stage. The crowd gasps as we emerge. Through my bleary eyes, I can see dozens of TV cameras trained on us. The crowd is hushed in amazement. What do we look like to them? Aliens … aliens that look exactly like humans. A handsome older man and his pale granddaughter.
