[Lorien Legacies 05.4] The Lost Files: The Navigator, Page 2

  The chaos is everywhere, widespread. Most people I pass are preoccupied with their own survival or with trying to find or help out their loved ones. They yell, asking no one in particular what is happening. I hear a short screech somewhere to my right—blocks away? Closer?—followed by an explosion and a rumbling beneath my feet that almost knocks me to the ground. Capital City is still under attack. And even after everything we did to prepare, we weren’t ready. We were caught off guard.

  The museum. It’s not that far away now. Ten blocks or so. I just have to keep my legs moving and concentrate on the sound of my feet hitting the ground and . . .

  Out of the smoke in front of me charge half a dozen figures unlike anything I’ve ever seen. They’re pale, dressed in black and carrying blasters and swords that seem to glow with a light of their own. Dark circles ring their black eyes. Their gaping mouths are full of sharp, jagged teeth. The one in the front is huge, taller than me and three times as wide. He has a long black ponytail, but the sides of his head are shaved. Tattoos wind around his skull.

  These monsters are definitely not Loric.

  I stop too fast, and in doing so trip over a smoking tree branch, hitting the pavement hard. I’m trying to catch the breath that’s been knocked out of me when one of the men—no, creatures—raises a blaster and fires at a woman crying over a lifeless body on the other side of the street. She falls forward.

  My heart goes into overdrive as I fight the urge to vomit.

  I stifle a cry and half-crawl to a nearby bush to try and get out of sight. The creatures continue forward. I look around to find something to protect myself with, but there’s nothing. I’m alone—I don’t even have a utility knife or anything with me, just the clothes on my back. I’ve always imagined there was no situation I couldn’t handle by myself; I’m going to be proven wrong about this by being murdered on the streets of Capital City.

  I clench my fists. I won’t go down without a fight, at least.

  Suddenly a blinding light flashes through the square. I squint and reel back. The burst appears to completely disorient the creatures in black, who take the brunt of its force. And then the strange men are flying through the air, battering against each other and slamming repeatedly into the ground.

  Telekinesis. That means Garde are here somewhere.

  The one who appears to be the leader is thrown far—well out of my range of sight. Another one of the sword-carrying bastards is impaled on a broken Grid pole. He roars, and then his body starts to disintegrate, turning to dust. A girl who looks far too young to be facing such creatures darts past the pile of ash, one hand in front of her as she uses her powers to crush another of the attackers. Her metallic red pants reflect the flames of a nearby club called the Pit, which smolders, threatening to live up to its name. Two other Garde flank her, their arms outstretched as the bodies of their enemies crash against each other, eventually turning to dust as well.

  “This way,” the girl yells to them, flipping back her unnaturally white hair. “I see survivors in the distance.”

  She points forward, and there’s another flash of light. Then they’re gone. Whoever those Garde were, I think they may have just saved my life.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE LORIC MUSEUM OF EXPLORATION IS A WHITE-BRICK building that looks mostly untouched. Whoever is attacking us must not think of it as being a worthy target. As I race up the stone steps, I wonder what I’m going to do if Zophie isn’t here. What if she ran into some of those monsters and didn’t make it past them?

  Thinking about Zophie lying crumpled on the street makes me cringe in a way I wouldn’t have expected. We’re not close, but she was kind to me at a time when I had all but sworn off everyone in Capital City, and for that I guess I have some sentimental attachment to her. I grimace, steeling myself. This is no time to be getting caught up in emotions. I need to stay strong and focused.

  One of the tall glass doors to the museum opens when I approach, and it’s only when I’m inside and Zophie is closing it behind me that I realize it’s because she was there, waiting for me.

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Lexa,” she says, stepping forward. She looks like she’s about to hug me, but I hold out a hand instead. She pauses and then takes it, wrapping her fingers around it. Her curly red hair is pulled back into a tight bun, one strand falling haphazardly over her face.

  “What the hell is happening?” I ask.

  “Invasion,” she says. “On a global scale.”

  “Who? I saw some . . .” I struggle to find the right word. “Monsters. They murdered a woman, but the Garde showed up and took them out.”

  Zophie nods, her eyes looking distant. “Those Garde were lucky, then. I saw some fighting on my way here too. But there were so many of the invaders. Armies of them, with beasts and weapons like I’ve never seen. The Garde were trying to defend some children and . . .”

  She doesn’t finish.

  “Why are we here?” I ask. “Is there a bunker? Some kind of shelter we can hide in?”

  “Bunker?” Zophie asks, her eyebrows forming a line of confusion across her forehead. “There is no bunker. There’s only the ship. You’re flying us out of here.”

  My mouth hangs open as I try to wrap my head around this.

  “What?” I ask.

  The idea is unfathomable to me. The ship Zophie’s talking about is the one she’d hired me to work on, refurbishing the vessel to the state it would have been in when it was in use generations ago. But it was never actually meant to be flown. It runs on fossil fuel, something our society hasn’t used in ages.

  “Impossible,” I say.

  “Not impossible.” She shakes her head. “It’s our only way of getting out of here. The Elders . . . they don’t expect the Loric to survive this. And even if we do, you saw those invaders, Lexa. Do you want to be under their rule?”

  “Where do you expect us to go?”

  “Earth,” she says. “It’s the closest inhabitable planet.”

  I know about this planet. When I was at the academy, I was on a team that specialized in modifying and upgrading technologies for Earth, a place we had been helping to advance and evolve for centuries. They had us to thank for several of “their” breakthroughs over the centuries. I can’t believe Zophie is telling me that this planet that is so far behind ours in every conceivable way is our only hope for survival.

  “There’s no way,” I say. “What would we even use for fuel?”

  “You remember Raylan, the man who commissioned the ship restoration?” Zophie steps towards the glass doors, looking out warily. “Well, in order to receive his funding, the museum had to follow his very specific instructions. Part of that meant storing a tankard of synthetic fossil fuels in the display room. We all thought he was crazy. I mean, for the longest time he was living as a hermit in that huge compound. But maybe he was thinking farther ahead than any of us could. I’ve heard that he’s a descendant of one of the Elders. Who knows—maybe he knew this was going to happen.”

  Zophie starts to wring her hands. I try to process everything that’s happening.

  “But there’s a catch,” she says, turning back to me. “Per Raylan’s instructions, the fuel pump can only be accessed through a pass code—one only he knows. He contacted me right before communications went out asking me to oversee preparations. He was having trouble getting in contact with his pilot at the LDC. I told him I knew someone who could fly the rocket, but I wanted a place on the ship. He agreed. He’s on his way now. Once he gets here we can fuel up and go.”

  I stare back at her, still not believing anything I’m hearing.

  “Please,” she says. “I can’t fly this thing. You’re the only one I trust to get us out of here alive. You know this ship. Even if you hadn’t been on the refurbishing team—I know you used to program flight sims back at the academy. Those included older models like this, right?”

  “That was years ago,” I say. “I’m not a pilot. Call your brother.
”

  Her brother, Janus, is a hot-shot pilot for the Lorien Defense Council. She shakes her head.

  “I did. He’s been called out on a mis—”

  “Then call the LDC or the LDA. Call . . .” I struggle to come up with another viable option.

  “There’s no one else,” she says. Her voice is firm but her hands are trembling. “I talked to my brother.” She swallows hard. “He said these attacks were strategic. They’ve taken out our weapons, our ships—anything that’s left is being used to fight. They’ve hit us hard. The ports, the academy . . . This is likely the only flyable passenger ship left in Capital City. If we don’t leave . . .”

  She trails off, but I get the point. It’s easy to see our situation. She doesn’t believe this world is going to survive. Lorien, perfect Lorien, with its green forests and red-peaked mountains and Elders who always know what’s best for us—this false utopia is going to burn.

  “Besides, I’ve seen you fly before.”

  I wince.

  “That was different,” I say. “An accident. Besides, the only reason I got off the ground was because I was in a ship where almost every function was automated. Not like this ancient piece of crap you’re suggesting we use.”

  “Lex . . .”

  I stare into her big, pleading green eyes for what feels like a long time, but I say nothing. My mind is too overrun with the images of what I saw between my apartment and the museum. Everything Lorien has already lost. Everything I’ve lost. My home. My work. My brother. And now I stand in front of the only person I might consider a friend, and she’s asking me to leave our world behind. Lorien, which I’ve been fighting to change.

  But it is changed now. It can never be the same. And I realize that if I do go with her, all I’d be leaving behind is a planet. Not a home or family. My options are to try to escape or die fighting for a place that I had already grown to hate.

  “There’s more to it,” Zophie says softly. “There are others going. There’s another ship that’s leaving. It may have already left. We have to join it. Janus is piloting it.”

  The doors burst open before I can respond. A small, floating trolley piled high with boxes and bags sails in. A dozen or so Chimærae follow behind it, and finally, a man. He’s tall, with dark, curly hair and thick eyebrows. His pale-blue shirt is ringed with sweat.

  “Crayton!” Zophie exclaims, rushing to close the doors behind him. “Where are Raylan and Erina. Are they . . . ?”

  “They’re staying,” Crayton says. “They’re Garde. They’re going to fight.”

  Zophie’s mouth hangs open for a few moments. Then she just nods.

  “Who’s this?” the man asks, staring at me.

  “Our pilot,” Zophie says, looking at me in a way that makes it obvious that she wants me to keep my mouth shut and just go along with her. “Lexa, this is Crayton. He’s a caretaker at Raylan’s estate. You may remember seeing him making deliveries to the museum when you were here. He’s been our go-between with Raylan for years.”

  “What is all this?” I ask.

  “Supplies,” he says, waving to the boxes. “Food. Weapons. Water. Medicine. Even some bags of jewelry and valuables to barter with. Raylan had it all loaded up and ready to go at a moment’s notice. I think he’d been anticipating something like this.”

  “I meant the Chimærae.”

  “They’re coming with us.” His voice gets quiet. “There were more of them when we left the estate. They fought bravely to make sure we got here.”

  I’m about to protest the idea of taking an animal horde on board the already-small ship—not to mention the fact that I don’t even know if I can fly it—when Zophie steps forward.

  “We need a pass code to access the fuel,” she says. “Did he give it to you?”

  “Yes.” Crayton nods. “It’s her name.”

  My head buzzes with confusion. Crayton shifts his weight, turning slightly, and that’s when I realize that he’s not just carrying a backpack. There’s something moving inside the bag strapped to him, stretching beneath the dusty layer of fabric covering his pack and starting to fuss, as if just waking up.

  A baby.

  I must look surprised, because Crayton nods his head back over his shoulder.

  “Her name is Ella. That’s the pass code. I watched Raylan change it on his data pad right before I left. Something simple so I’d remember it.”

  Zophie pulls back the cloth covering the baby. She’s tiny, pink and wrinkled. I haven’t had much experience with babies, but she looks too small. Like a doll.

  “She’s so tiny,” Zophie whispers, almost cooing.

  “Everything happened very fast,” Crayton says. “Erina wasn’t feeling well, and then suddenly she was in labor. No time to trek into the city. But everything was fine. Erina and Raylan looked so happy. Then the sky turned red and everything went wrong. They entrusted her to me. I don’t think . . . I don’t think they believe this is something they will survive. I have to make sure she’s safe. It’s bad out there, Zophie. If they don’t make it . . . their sacrifice can’t have been in vain.”

  There’s an explosion outside—close. Too close. Dust and debris fall from the ceiling around us.

  “We have to move,” Crayton says.

  “This way.” Zophie pulls on his sleeve. “Hurry!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WE THROW ON ILL-FITTING SPACE SUITS PULLED out of an exploration exhibit, slipping them on over our own clothes. They’re supposed to help with the changing pressures as we exit the atmosphere, but I’m more concerned that the refurbished ship holds together through liftoff at all. Besides, if we get to a point where a space suit is the only thing keeping us alive, we’re probably dead already.

  The ship is housed inside a cavernous domed exhibit, alone in the center of the stone floor. Zophie and I enter the room first, followed by the herd of Chimærae and finally Crayton, who drags Raylan’s supplies on the floating lift. All three of us start shouting orders at the same time, trying to figure out what to do. Caught up in the madness and fear of what’s happening. I slip into a hyperproductive stupor, opening the ship’s main loading hatch and grabbing the first of many boxes. Interactive panels line the walls of the room detailing the primitive nature of old vessels like ours. How inefficient and poisonous fossil fuel was before we switched to synthetics and then eventually the power crystals we use now. Zophie taps on one of the displays a few times, and it slides away, revealing a fuel pump. She plugs it into the ship and then joins Crayton and me as we load supplies as fast as we can.

  “Can’t these damned Chimærae help at all?” I ask.

  “Feel free to ask them,” Crayton says. “Not that they’ll understand you. Besides, they’re scared.”

  “I’m scared,” Zophie says, her breath heaving as she somehow manages to lift a box that must weigh as much as she does up to me inside the ship. “I’ve never wished I had telekinesis more than I do right now.”

  When the supplies are taken care of, the Chimærae flood in, shrinking into smaller animals. They flank the sides of the cargo hold as I rush down the narrow hallway that leads to the cockpit, past the small private rooms, galley and common area. In the pilot’s seat, I pause for a few moments as I try to recall the countless hours I’d spent inside this ship, helping to repair its systems—but I’ve crammed a lot of information into my brain since then. I think back to all the old guides and books I’d read and simulations I’d programmed; my fingers start pressing buttons and flipping switches. By some miracle I manage to get the ship powered on.

  “We’re ready,” Zophie says as she appears beside me, taking a seat in the copilot’s chair and buckling herself in. Crayton drops into a seat behind her, the swaddling backpack spun around so that the baby is in front of him.

  “Everybody hold on.” I press a few more buttons.

  The loading door closes, and the ship tilts up, pushing us back in our seats. From the cockpit, we stare at the roof of the domed room, which is only a
foot away from the nose of the ship.

  “I’m guessing this thing’s not retractable,” I say.

  Zophie shakes her head. She reaches out a hand and grasps my upper arm. A bead of sweat runs from my forehead down the side of my nose, stinging my eye.

  “I guess we’re about to find out how good a job we did of refurbishing this thing.”

  Zophie squeezes my arm. “Let’s do this.”

  I flip a switch, and it feels like I’ve just detonated a bomb. Fire fills the room. The craft shakes so hard that I’m sure it’s going to fall apart, ending our journey before it ever begins. But it doesn’t, miraculously. Instead, we punch through the ceiling. The thick glass of the dome shatters, exploding out into the red night sky, glittering as it catches the light from the flames around us.

  We’re up in the air.

  The cockpit offers a sweeping view of Capital City, and even though I’m focused on the control panels and onboard monitors, I can see how widespread the damage to Lorien is. Fire and smoke fill the horizon. On our right, a beam of purple light shoots down from the sky beyond the outskirts of the city. I don’t know if it’s a Herald or something far more ominous. From the air, many parts of the city are unrecognizable, smoldering scars where vibrant neighborhoods once stood. There’s something strange about the skyline too, but I don’t figure out what it is until I realize that we should be flying past the Spires of Elkin. But they’re gone. The structures that held a third of our city’s people have been obliterated.

  I go numb. I can’t look at it anymore. My focus shifts solely to the instruments in front of me.

  “It’s gone,” Zophie whispers. “Our planet. Our home.”

  Our trajectory has more of an arc to it than it should, and I pull on the flight yoke, desperately trying to keep the ship’s nose up. The sky is too dark, full of smoke from our burning city. But the ship presses on, and we punch through the haze. It’s only then that we can see the enemy warships. Jagged and gray. Countless in number. Firing on our planet. Smaller ships shuttle down to the surface. In the middle is a pearly sphere, floating like a dim moon that the other vehicles orbit.