The Fallen Legacies

CHAPTER 14

The briefing room has emptied out except for the General and Ivan. I’m seated at one of the desks previously occupied by a Mogadorian warrior. My head is swimming, just like it was when I first woke up.

My father looms over me, studying me. He sets a glass of water down on the desk and I drink greedily.

“What happened?” I ask.

“You fainted,” snickers Ivan.

My father spins on Ivan. “Boy,” he snarls. “Leave us.”

As Ivan sulks from the room, I think back to the briefing, to One appearing. Was I hallucinating? It felt so real, just like all those times when we spoke inside her memories. But all that was like a dream, a construction of my mind. She shouldn’t be able to appear to me now. It doesn’t make sense.

Yet somehow I know it wasn’t a hallucination. Somehow One is still inside my mind.

I realize that I’m shaking. I put my head in my hands, try to focus, to steady myself. The General won’t tolerate this kind of weakness.

My father’s large hand comes to rest on my shoulder. I look up, surprised to find him staring at me with something approaching concern.

“Are you well?” he asks.

I nod and try to steel myself for the lies that come next.

“I haven’t eaten,” I say.

My father shakes his head. “Ivanick,” he growls. “He was supposed to make sure you were ready before bringing you to me.”

The General lifts his hand from my shoulder, the brief moment of affection forgotten. I can tell by the return of rigidity to his spine that, just like that, he’s back to business. Mogadorian progress. First and foremost. No matter the cost.

“What did you learn from One’s memories?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I reply, meeting his hard eyes. “It didn’t work. I remember being strapped down, then darkness, and now this. Sir,” I quickly add.

My father mulls this over, appraising me. Then he nods.

“As I feared,” he says.

I realize that he never thought Dr. Anu’s machine would work. My father will believe my lie because he expected failure. Clearly he didn’t care what happened to me in the process.

I remember Dr. Anu’s gamble with my father, wagering his life that his untested technology would succeed. It did work, and Anu was still killed.

The Mogadorian way.

“Three years wasted,” broods my father. “Three years of you getting weaker, falling behind your peers. For what?”

My cheeks burn with humiliation. With frustration. With anger. But what would my father do if I told him Anu’s machine worked, that it gave me One’s memories and, with them, doubts.

Obviously, I hold my tongue.

“This folly reflects poorly on our bloodline. On me,” continues my father. “But it is not too late to remedy that.”

“How, sir?” I ask, knowing he expects me to respond eagerly to any opportunity to increase my honor.

“You will come with us to London,” he says. “And hunt this Garde.”