The Revenge of Seven: HIDDEN POV's

8

Six's POV

(From Book)

The day suddenly gets very dark. I look up as a shadow passes overhead, cutting off the limited light that was squeezing through the swamp's canopy. Through the leaves, all I can see is the armor plated hide of a Mogadorian ship as it begins to descend. It's nothing like the dinky saucer-style crafts that I was able to knock out of the sky with a few well-placed lightning bolts. This ship is enormous, the size of an aircraft carrier, ferocious gun turrets protruding from its belly. The local birds squawk and take flight, darting away from this terrifying giant.

Instinctively, I reach out and grab Nine and Marina, turning the three of us invisible. A boat of Mogadorians is one thing. I don't think we're ready for something this big. The warship above us doesn't care, though. It doesn't notice us. To a ship that size, we're as insignificant as the mosquitoes. As it passes, gliding above the swampland and gradually allowing light to re-enter, I feel like I've shrunk, like I'm small again.

Like I'm a child. And then I remember that last day on Lorien. The nine of us and our Cêpans running for the ship that would take us to Earth. The screams all around us, the heat of fire from the city, blaster fire hissingthrough the air. I remember looking up into the night sky and seeing ships just like the one passing over us, blotting out the stars, their turrets blazing, their cargo doors falling open to let loose hordes of blood-hungry Piken. Above us, I realize, is a Mogadorian warship. It's what they will use to take Earth once and for all.

"They're here," I say, the breath nearly sucked out of me. "It's starting."

Marina's POV

Sunset in the everglades would be pretty if not for the massive Mogadorian warship blotting out the horizon. Whatever alien metal the warship is made from, it reflects nothing, the pink and orange light of the dying day simply absorbed into the hull. The behemoth doesn't land – there's not enough cleared space in the swampland for it to set down, unless it wants to crush the smaller Mogadorian ships parked on the narrow runway below. Instead, the warship hovers, metal gangways unfurling from the ship's underside and connecting to the ground. Mogadorians scurry up and down the ramps, loading equipment into the ship.

This ship is breathtakingly HUGE. I can hardly breathe, the air around me racing at amazing speeds. I'm not afraid of the Mogadorians. Nor am I afraid of this ship or what is lurking inside. My hair is whipping in my face and I wish more than anything that I had a ponytail.

"We should wipe them out," I say bluntly. I realize I said it like it was a piece of cake. But right now, I feel so fearless, that I almost believe it WILL be a piece of cake.

I ignore the shocked expression Nine throws at me. "Are you serious?" He exclaims. "I count at least a hundred Mogs and the biggest goddamn ship I've ever seen. "

I bite my lip, the nervousness finally kicking in. I know he's right but I just don't want to show him that. I blame him for Eight's death. It was his fault. Partly his fault. Why shouldn't I blame him? If he hadn't been such a loud mouth . . . Eight might still be . . .

So I say, "So what? Don't you love to fight?"

"Fight's I can win, yeah," Nine replies.

The anger swells up inside me. "And if you can't win, you just run your mouth, right?"

"Enough," Six hisses, before Nine can say another freaking word. "Bickering isn't getting us anywhere."

I must admit, Six is right. I'm fuming. Err, I mean, I'm frosting. I need to calm down and control this new legacy.

We're on our stomachs in the mud, shielded from the busy Mogadorians by overgrown tallgrass, right at the edge of where the swamp begins to encroach on the manmade clearing. There are two buildings in front of us; one is a glass-and-steel one-storey that looks almost like a greenhouse, and the other is an aircraft hangar with a narrow landing strip, perfect for small propeller planes or the saucer-shaped Mogadorian crafts, nowhere near large enough for the warship floating above us. Just like Dale told us before he fled, the whole place looks like it was abandoned until recently. The swamp is beginning to creep back in and crack the asphalt, the metal struts of the greenhouse are rusted over, and the NASA logo has almost completely faded from the side of the hangar. Of course, these conditions don't appear to have deterred the Mogs from setting up a small base here. But now, it looks like they're packing up.
It's strange. I know that Eight is here.