A Hero in the Dark: 2nd Edition

Chapter 68: MogPro's Crisis

There's a pilot waiting for me—a Mog, of course. He seems neither upset or glad to be flying me out to North Carolina when I tell him of the mission.

We've been flying for hours. I wonder how much further. I wish Pixie was here; I haven't seen her since New York. I miss her. I wonder what Setrákus Ra would say if I suggested we find her. Is that even a good idea? I don't want to risk him experimenting on her again...

"So..." I start, unable to bear the silence any longer, and the Mog bristles when he hears me. "How long have you been flying for Beloved Leader?"

"Quite a while," he answers, his English choppier than other Mogs I've run into. "Years."

"Really?"

"Since 1998," he says, and my jaw gapes. I keep forgetting that the Mogs have been on Earth way before any of this war started—the Loric too. It's hard to believe they've been lurking around that long without being noticed. "Why are you asking this?"

I shrug, though he isn't facing me. "I'm bored, I guess."

That makes him swivel around in his chair. He must've put the ship on autopilot or something because he's hands-free. "Bored? Is that possible?" I look at him confused, strapped to my seat. "I thought you... human and all... with Legacies... it wouldn't be an issue."

I suppose he does have a point. I could play with my telekinesis. I still have Five's ball bearings. But Setrákus said this is a mission. I'm supposed to help someone secure some facility; I should probably save my breath. "Everyone gets bored," I tell him nonchalantly. "Legacies or no Legacies." He looks at me as if he still doesn't understand. "Don't you guys get bored too? What do you do if you have nothing to do?"

The Mog picks up a nearby sword laying at his feet. He feels the blade casually, as if reminiscing in a past memory. "There are always things to do," he says, almost to himself. "But when all missions are complete, we usually go and train; sometimes even... how do you call it in English?" He mutters something in his natural dialect. It's harsh sounding; maybe a swear word?

"I don't speak any Mogadorian," I tell him. "I have no idea what you said."

"Eh. Perhaps for the best," he utters, running a pale hand over his head. "So, what exactly is it that you do?" I look at him funny. I thought all of them knew. "I'm not usually stationed in this part of the world," he explains. "But Beloved Leader asked me to deliver some supplies a few days ago. I was meant to be heading back to Alaska tomorrow. I've heard little about what you do."

"Oh. Energy," I mumble. "I control energy, and I'm telepathic."

"Cool." Cool? I don't think I've heard a Mog say that before. It's so casual coming from him; he almost sounds like Nine. "You can read my thoughts then, yes?"

"That's right," I say, nodding.

"What do I think?"

I zone into his head, unblinking, suddenly having fun playing his game. "You'd like a watermelon," I tell him, trying to resist my laughter, yet I can't help but smile.

He laughs. "Guess you're not so bad after all."

I smile, and as much as I don't want this conversation to end, the thought gnaws at me. "Don't you have to focus on flying?" I ask. "I mean, not to interrupt. I like talking to you; you're one of the least intimidating Mogs out of all the others I met. But I don't want to distract you."

He waves this off and spins to face forward. "No worry, no worry," he says. "I'm an expert. I've done this for years, remember? Besides, it doesn't hurt to put us on autopilot for a while." He adjusts our elevation so we're flying above the clouds, having now left the ocean's air zone and entered America's. "Say," he adds then, turning back around to face me. "Are you still bored?"