A new day. A new place. Another step closer to Mexico, another step closer to Number Nine, another step closer to their final goal. Another day of training.
Six and Daniel were occupying one another, difficult to say which one was more intensely focused. They'd come up with a complex set of rules for their sparring matches, that no one but themselves understood, different sets, some fought with their bare hands, others with full legacies and knives, and a convoluted point awarding system, the aim to 'kill' one another. That could easily keep them busy all day.
Ella had taken on Teresa's training for the day. She was an adequate fighter, and her shape-shifting worked clearly to her benefit in fights. But, in the group of super-hero super-fighters, she was still clearly the weak link.
But with Teresa preoccupied, that left Tyler free to spar – something John was finally prepared for. He'd fought and clawed his way through endless training sessions, and this was the final test.
Tyler didn't seem nearly as stressed as he did, cracking his knuckles as he leisurely warmed up. "Legacies or no?" He called across to John.
"Your call." John called back.
Tyler shrugged. "Why not go all out, then?"
"Sounds good to me." Okay. Given time, use it to analyze opponent. Patrick had been the one to drum that into his head. Tyler was slightly bigger than he was, which meant slightly more muscle. He would be able to fly, which would also lend to his strength. John wouldn't be able to counter much of that through his telekinesis, considering the lack of surrounding material to launch at him, but at least the lumien could give him the element of surprise.
"Ready?" Tyler called out.
Don't go on impulse. The head was as important as the body in a fight.
"Ready." He answered.
And it began.
Tyler took to the air. He had been prepared for that. Saving his lumien, he instead sent up clods of dirt to block his vision, lunging forward at the same time so as to use it to its full advantage.
Tyler flipped out of the way, but he was back on the ground.
Think on his feet. John leaped towards him, forcing any nearby, unstable object towards him.
Punches, one two. Two and a half. Ignore the blows that made it to his skin, his injuries could wait until afterwards.
They whirled apart, then back together, Tyler jumping higher, but not quite resorting to flight.
John forced the thoughts of how he was doing out to another part of his mind – those would only worry him now, they were of no use to him in winning. He could think of that later.
More punches. Kicks. He was creating a veritable tornado of various objects around Tyler, of which he was quickly losing control, but that was okay, they were serving as brute force at the moment, not any delicate machination.
It was when he was just beginning to tire that he knew it was time. John put his complete concentration into the lumien: and it was blinding.
Tyler fell back to the surface, and John pounced, the opportunity he had been waiting for.
"Match." John said, looming over Tyler.
Tyler looked up at him, gingerly propping himself up on his elbows. "Match." He agreed, smiling.
He extended a hand, and John gladly pulled him up, starting to smile as well as the relief suddenly flooded through him.
He had done it. He had won a sparring match.
"Alright you guys." Six said. "New Mexico. We finally made it."
"That was what that border was?" Sam asked wearily.
"Come on, Sam." John said, clapping him on the shoulder, unusually cheerful. "This is great! We made it!"
"Yes, lovely." Sam muttered. "Made it to the state of the desert! Only to leave it for the real Mexico, with even more desert!"
"There's a lot more than just desert," Teresa said.
"Not that we'll be seeing." Six said briefly, and both Sam and Teresa's faces deflated. "We'll be keeping an especially low profile in this state, considering it's home to the conspiracy theories and alien seekers."
"See Sam." John elbowed him. "They're your people."
"Ha ha." Sam muttered. "Very witty."
"Maybe we should camp our first night." Tyler suggested.
"Camp?" Ella repeated blandly. Patrick didn't even seem particularly enthused.
"All we do is camp." Teresa said morosely.
But naturally, Six took to the idea inducing the most discomfort. "Great idea." She said approvingly. "It'll be good to keep out of the way of towns and cities."
"I was just thinking, we'd probably only run into hikers and other campers then . . ." Tyler said, trying to appease the others. "And they wouldn't think we're so weird."
The others grumbled their assent.
"But if we're camping," Teresa spoke up. "Shouldn't we get a camper?"
"I'd be down with that." Sam agreed.
"Don't be ridiculous." Six sighed. "What would we do with it after tonight? Besides, it's probably hard to buy, you'd need ID and stuff."
"I've got it." Teresa said, waving a hand and coming up with a small plastic card.
Six shook her head.
"Tents, at least?" Teresa asked. "Everybody has tents."
"Tents wouldn't be a bad idea." Tyler said. "I mean, that would probably make us blend in more too. And it'd be more comfortable."
"You guys want to carry them?" Six asked.
"We could sell them back." Ella suggested.
But Six wasn't budging, despite their many persuasive arguments. They did, however, eventually wear her down to accepting sleeping bags, which, as dusk fell, they arranged in a circle around a fire pit.
For all it was a desert, it had a strange, surreal beauty, particularly as the sky turned a soft purple, with stars glittering in between. The land was flat enough to make them feel as though the sky was a blanket covering them.
The fire soon became their main source of light. Daniel knelt down, adding more pitch to it, as Tyler rummaged in one of the bags for some hot dogs to toast over it.
"Grehtovin!" Daniel shouted, leaping back from the fire and cradling his hand.
"Daniel!" Patrick revoked, his head jerking towards him.
Daniel bit his lip. "Sorry." He muttered.
John just stared from one to the other, wondering what, exactly, he was missing out on.
The others seemed to be wondering the same thing too. "What was that?" Tyler asked.
Daniel didn't offer an answer, and Patrick simply said "Nothing.", still giving Daniel a dark look.
"What does 'grehtovin' mean?" Teresa asked.
"Don't say that!" Patrick said sharply.
"Sorry," Teresa said, her eyebrows drawing together. "Why is it so bad to say it?"
"Is it a curse word?" Six asked, her eyes shrewdly flickering between the two.
"That is definitely not a curse word." Teresa said flatly. "I've never heard of it before."
"Six is correct." Patrick said stiffly, reluctantly. "It is a curse word – in Lorien."
"You can curse in Lorien?" Sam asked, eyes glittering, turning to Daniel with a new found respect. Tyler had awe in his eyes as well, but quickly disguised it as he noticed Patrick watching him.
"I am fluent." Daniel pointed out.
"Everyone curses in their native language." Teresa said sagely. "Unless they're trying to sound classy, or not show that they're cursing. It's a reflex."
"Will you teach us?" Six asked.
"He will not." Patrick answered. "Such language should not be used, least of all by a cepan.
"Or the garde." He quickly added.
Daniel nodded sullenly in agreement.
Six didn't look too perturbed, to the contrary, her expression suggested that Christmas had come early.
Eventually they settled down, Patrick appearing to have either forgotten or forgiven Daniel's transgression.
"So," Sam said as the arranged themselves in a lopsided circle, propped up on the poofiness of the sleeping bags. "Anyone know any ghost stories?"
"Dude, we're pretty much a ghost story." John pointed out.
"Urban legend." Teresa suggested.
"Yeah," Sam agreed. "What she said. Urban legend. Ghost stories have dead people in them."
"You know," Tyler added helpfully. "Haunted houses. Abandoned. Full moon. Group of kids goes in after dark, by themselves, lost."
Sam grinned, quickly adding on. "The wind howls outside. The electricity goes out. One of them goes to open the basement door . . ."
Ella sat bolt upright.
"Whoah," Sam laughed. "Didn't mean to scar –"
"Daniel!" She said, in a high voice. "They're back."
Daniel jumped to his feet in one movement. The others fell silent.
"They're coming closer." Ella continued, her eyes wide. "I don't think they're leaving."
"Which direction?" Daniel demanded. She pointed off to her right.
"Who's coming?" Six asked, pulling her knife out.
"I – don't know." Ella said. "But they're not human."
"Mogadorians?" Patrick asked, steadily scanning the horizon.
"I can't tell for sure." Ella admitted.
They were all standing now, tense and alert, in a wary semi-circle.
"They know we're here." Ella said quietly, her voice floating, whisper-like, to each of them, lightly carrying a gigantic burden. "They're headed straight for us."
"How far?" John asked.
Ella shook her head, eyebrows drawn. "I don't know. Not far."
Bernie snuffled , running around in a circle several times, but remained a dog.
"Should we put out the fire?" Daniel asked quietly to Patrick.
"No." He replied, his tone equally hushed. "If it is the Mogadorians, the light will be more of an advantage to us than it will to them."
"You don't think we could hide?"
"Not if they already know where we are, and are as close as Ella says."
"What about John?"
John's back straightened.
"Teresa," Patrick said swiftly. "Can you disguise John?"
Teresa's eyes were wide, as they flickered between the members of the group. "I – I,"
"Make him look different Teresa." Six snapped. "You can do that."
Teresa nodded several times, the color appearing to leak out of her hair as it changed from dark black to a straw brown. She walked up to John, placing her hands on either side of his face, and closed her eyes. His skin rippled, flashing different colors and patterns, features disappearing and strange images taking their place.
"They track by scent." Daniel said quietly. "Changing his appearance won't fool them."
"I know." Patrick said. "But it may confuse them, buy us a little time. That's the most we can ask for now."
A few seconds passed, then John simply wasn't there. All that was where he had been standing was a purplish haze, like the smoke of their campfire. They stared, and suddenly a hand appeared, then a whole arm flickered back into visibility. Teresa instantly reached out a hand, and it disappeared again.
"Don't move." She instructed him. "It makes it harder to keep up the illusion."
"Perhaps Ella should shield them as well." Patrick said, turning to her. She nodded, and there was soon another bluish haze blocking the two of them from sight.
"Put yourself under that too." Daniel said, nodding at it, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon.
Ella stared at him, her eyebrows drawing together. "No." she stated incredulously.
Daniel's head turned to look at her, and she stared back.
"Sam." Six said tersely, turning her knife over and over in her hands. "Try to keep out of the way. Don't appear aggressive – they might mistake you for a threat and target you."
"I plan on being a threat." Sam said grimly.
"Don't be stupid." Six said. "We don't have guns or bazookas or anything this time around. You're human, Sam."
"I'm aware." He snapped.
"Wait." Ella said.
"There they are." Tyler said, nodding slightly towards the shadowy figure that was gradually becoming more defined.
"What?" Six asked, her eyes fixed on the – thing – slowly coming closer.
"It," Ella said hesitantly. "I'm not sure if it's a Mog."
"We know." Six said. "Why? Is it Nine?"
"No." Ella said, staring at it. "And it's not human either,"
"It looks human." Tyler said.
"I don't know what it is." She finished.
"We'll ask questions after we eliminate the threat." Patrick said firmly.
"Agreed." Six said.
Daniel's eyes narrowed. ". . . They're . . . putting their hands up."
"But they aren't empty." Patrick shrewdly noted.
"Should we attack?" Tyler asked, shifting from foot to foot. "Or do we wait for them to get to us?"
But Patrick's attention had been diverted by something else. "Ella." He said. "Can you see what it is they're holding?"
Ella stared. "It looks like a knife." She answered. "Like yours."
"They could have stolen it." Daniel said immediately.
"A knife?" Tyler asked. "A cepan knife? Then what if they didn't steal it? It could be Teresa's cepan."
"Or it could be a trap." Six said, her eyes narrowing.
Patrick took a step forward, ignoring them, and let out a cry in a strange language, full of gargled r's and s's. The silence settled densely back over them.
"What was that?" Sam asked in a hushed voice.
Before anyone could answer, a responding cry came echoing back, in an equally strange language.
Patrick nodded to himself. "It's Netoya." He told them. "She's Lorien. A cepan. Nine's cepan."
"What?" Six asked, staring at the person, approaching even faster. "How do you know?"
"She told me."
"How do you know it's not a Mog in disguise?"
"I've never heard a Mog speak Lorien at all. Let alone fluently without an accent."
Six just continued to glare grimly ahead at the supposed cepan, now maybe a hundred yards away, now eighty. She was short, for a warrior. Fifty yards. They could all see her easily now. She certainly looked nothing like a Mog. Twenty. Then she was right in front of them.
She nodded curtly, feet firmly planted on the ground. "Greetings." She said. "I am Netoya Willis. The cepan of Number Nine."
Patrick inclined his head in response. "Greetings,"
"Wait." Six cut in, crossing her arms. "Prove it."
Netoya's head whipped to face her. "Prove it?" She repeated stonily.
"Yes." Six said. "Prove you're not a Mog."
"I'm not trying to kill you." She said frostily. "That should be proof enough."
"It's true, Mogs aren't big on the subterfuge." Tyler pointed out. Six made no response.
"It's true." Ella this time said, dropping the shield around Teresa and John. "She's telling the truth, about who she is. I think."
"Yes." Netoya clearly enunciated. "I would not lie."
At this, Six finally uncrossed her arms, looking away as she shoved her knife away. John realized that Teresa had also stopped the illusion – once again, he was himself.
"Greetings," Patrick picked up again. "I am Patrick Agefar. The cepan of Number Five." He gestured at Tyler. "This is Number Five." Tyler nodded. Patrick continued with the introductions.
"This is Number Four." John too nodded. Netoya's face betrayed no reaction.
"This is Number Six." Neither Six nor Netoya moved a muscle.
"This is Number Seven." Ella nodded slightly.
"This is Daniel," Patrick hesitated for the briefest of seconds, "A cepan." Daniel's hands were folded behind his back, he stared straight ahead.
"This is Number Eight." Teresa stared warily, and jerked her head in acknowledgment.
"It is a privilege to meet you." Netoya said, bowing her head. "I had heard that the Lorien were gathering, and it is my aim to join with you, and help you in your struggle against the Mogadorian race, to return to Lorien."
"We would be honored to have your assistance." Patrick said. The group's expressions did not exactly mirror those sentiments. "We are on our way to find Number Nine."
"Yes." Six interrupted, finally speaking. "You've met all of us. Now let us see them."
"I would, but that is impossible." Netoya said. Six opened her mouth to argue. "Number Nine is dead."
"What? How could he be dead?" Teresa asked, her voice becoming shriller. "I thought they couldn't kill us out of order!"
"They can't." Six said.
"Then why didn't we get another scar?" John questioned quietly.
"Because," Netoya answered. "He was not killed by the Mogadorians. He simply died."
"We are all sorry for his death." Patrick said gravely. "Could you tell us what happened?"
Netoya obligingly inclined her head. "He became sick." She said shortly. "It appeared to be a hybrid of a Lorien and Earth disease. I tried everything within my power. As did the best doctors on the planet. But he left us. This was about a bit less than a year ago."
They all slowly looked at one another, the news registering, processing, its impact gradually becoming clear.
Six broke the silence. "Then this is all of us."