The Revenge of Seven

‘First contact was ten years ago,’ she says. ‘The Mogadorians claimed they were hunting fugitives.

They wanted to use our law-enforcement network, have free rein to move around the country, and in

exchange they’d provide us with weapons and technology. I was just out of the academy when all this

happened so I obviously wasn’t invited to any meetings with the aliens. I guess no one wanted to piss

them off or turn down weapons more powerful than any we’d ever seen, because our government

caved real quick. The director of the bureau himself was in on the negotiations. This was before he

got promoted. Might’ve been why he got promoted, in fact.’

‘Let me guess,’ I say, remembering the name from Mark’s website. ‘The old director was Bud

Sanderson. Now secretary of defense.’

Walker looks momentarily impressed. ‘Right. You connect the dots, you’ll find a lot of people who

negotiated with the Mogs ten years ago have done real well for themselves since.’

‘What about the president?’ Six asks.

‘That guy?’ Walker snorts. ‘Small fish. The ones who get elected, who give speeches on TV –

they’re just glorified celebrities. The real power’s with the people who get appointed, who work

behind the scenes. The ones you’ve never heard of. They’re who the Mogs wanted and that’s who

they’ve kept around.’

‘He’s still the president,’ Six counters. ‘Why doesn’t he do something?’

‘Because he’s kept in the dark,’ Walker says. ‘And anyway, the VP is a MogPro guy. When the

time comes, the president will either go along with the Mogs, or he’ll get removed.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, holding up my hands. ‘What the hell is MogPro?’

‘Mogadorian Progress,’ Walker explains. ‘It’s what they’re calling the, quote, intersection of our

two species, unquote.’

‘You know, if you ever want a second career, I know a website you could write for,’ I tell Walker

as I start paging through the documents in her file. There are specifications for Mogadorian blasters, transcripts of conversations between politicians, pictures of important-looking government guys

shaking hands with Mogs in officer uniforms. It’s the kind of document dump a site like They Walk

Among Us would kill for.

Actually, a lot of this stuff was already on Mark’s website. Could Walker have been the one

feeding him information?

‘So your boss sold out humanity for some upgraded weapons?’ Six asks, leaning over the back of

the couch to glare at Walker.

‘That sums it up. We weren’t the only country to sign up either,’ Walker continues, her tone bitter.

‘And they knew how to keep us on the hook, too. After the weapons, they started promising medical

advances. Genetic augmentation, they called it. Claimed they could cure everything from the flu to

cancer. They were basically promising immortality.’

I look up from the file, stopping at a picture of a soldier with a rolled-up sleeve, the veins on his

forearm blackened as if his blood had turned to soot.

‘How’s that working out?’ I ask, tapping the photo.

Walker cranes her neck to look at the picture, then locks eyes with me. ‘What you’re looking at is

one week’s withdrawal from Mogadorian genetic injections. That’s how it’s working out.’

I show the photo to Six and she shakes her head in disgust.

‘So basically they’re killing you slowly,’ Six says. ‘Or turning you into Mogs.’

‘We didn’t know what we were getting into,’ Walker says. ‘Seeing Purdy disintegrate like that,

though … it opened some eyes. The Mogs aren’t saviors. They’re turning us into something inhuman.’

‘And yet you guys are still dealing with them, aren’t you?’ I reply. ‘I heard there’s people trying to go public on some captured Mogadorians, but someone’s squashing the story.’

Walker nods. ‘The Mogs claim their genetic augmentations will only get better with time. A lot of

the good old boys in Washington want to stick it out and stay the course. They’ve never seen a human

being disintegrate, I guess. Guys like Sanderson and some of the other high-ranking MogPro cronies,

they’ve already started receiving more advanced treatments. All the Mogs want in exchange is our

continued cooperation.’

‘Cooperate how?’

Walker raises an eyebrow at me. ‘If you haven’t figured that out yet, then I’ve definitely picked the

wrong side and we are well and truly screwed.’

‘Maybe if you’d picked the right side years ago instead of helping to hunt down children –’ I catch

a look from Six and check my anger. ‘Whatever. We know they’re coming. No more hiding in the

shadows or the suburbs. They’re coming in force, right?’

‘Right,’ Walker confirms. ‘And they expect us to hand over the keys to the planet.’

Malcolm returns from the kitchen with two cups of coffee. He hands one to Six and one to Walker,

the agent looking surprised but grateful.

‘Excuse me, but how will that work?’ Malcolm says. ‘In a first-contact situation, there’s certain to

be widespread panic.’

‘Plus, they look like pasty-faced freaks,’ Six adds. ‘People are gonna lose their shit.’

‘Don’t be so sure about that,’ Walker replies, and gestures with her mug to the folder I’m still

holding. After flipping through a couple more pages, I come to a set of photographs. Two guys in suits are eating lunch in a fancy restaurant. The first is a guy in his late sixties with thinning gray hair and a face like an owl I recognize from Mark’s website; he’s Bud Sanderson, the secretary of defense. The

other, a handsome middle-aged guy who looks vaguely like a movie star, I’ve never seen before.

There’s something hanging around his neck, mostly hidden by his suit and the bad camera angle. It

stirs some recognition in me, so I hold the picture out to Walker.

‘I know Sanderson,’ I say. ‘Who’s this other guy?’

Walker raises an eyebrow at me. ‘What? You don’t recognize him? I’m not surprised. Guy has a

couple of different looks, apparently. Me, I didn’t recognize him when he was destroying you kids at

Dulce Base, big as a goddamn house, with some flaming whip. Actually, I guess that was about the

time I decided MogPro wasn’t for me.’

My eyes widen and I take another look at the picture. The actual pendants are hidden beneath his

suit coat, but the man clearly wears three chains around his neck. ‘You’re kidding me.’

‘Setrákus Ra,’ Walker says, shaking her head. ‘Sealing the deal for Mogadorian-human peace.’

Six comes around the couch to take the picture from me. ‘Damn shape shifter,’ she says. ‘He’s been

doing all this while we’ve been on the run. Setting all this up while we scrambled around.’

‘He might be ahead, but it isn’t over,’ Malcolm says.

‘Well, that’s some heartening optimism,’ Walker says, and sips her coffee. ‘But it will be over in

two days.’

‘What happens then?’ I ask.

‘The UN convenes,’ Walker explains. ‘Conveniently, the president won’t be able to make it, so

Sanderson will appear in his stead. He’ll be there to introduce Setrákus Ra to the world. A nice bit of political theater about how the sweet little aliens mean us no harm. There will be a motion to allow

the Mogadorian fleet safe passage on to Earth, let them dock here, be good neighbors in the

intergalactic community. The world leaders he’s bought off already will support it. Believe me,

they’ve got a majority. And once they’re here, once we let them in …’

‘We saw one of those warships in Florida,’ Six says, giving me a grim look. ‘They’d be hard

enough to take down even with an army that’s ready for battle.’

‘But there won’t be a battle.’ I say, finishing her thought. ‘Earth won’t even put up a fight. And by

the time they do realize they’ve let in a monster, it’ll be too late.’

‘Exactly,’ Walker says. ‘Not everyone in the government is on board with Sanderson. Of the FBI,

CIA, NSA, the military – about fifteen per cent are for MogPro. Lots of powerful friends, they made

sure of that, but most people are still entirely in the dark. I figure the Mogs established the same ratio in other countries. They know how many humans they need to control to get this done.’

‘And you’re what? The one per cent that’s fighting back?’ I ask.

‘Less than one,’ Walker replies. ‘It’s a lot to go up against if you don’t have superpowers and –

what was that out there? An army of wolves? Anyway, my crew have been staking out Ashwood,

waiting for a chance to strike or, I don’t know, do something. When we saw you take the place over

–’

‘All right, Walker, I get it,’ I say, cutting her off and setting aside the file. ‘I believe you, even if I don’t really trust you. But what are we supposed to do? How do we stop this?’

‘Get to the president?’ Six suggests. ‘He has to be able to do something.’

‘That’s one idea,’ Walker says. ‘But he’s one man, and seriously well guarded. And even if you

could get to him, explain to him about aliens and bring him around to your side? There’s still plenty of MogPro pricks waiting to stage a coup.’

I stare at Walker, knowing she already has a plan and is just stringing us along. ‘Spit it out. What

do you want us to do?’

‘We need to win over the people who’re still in the dark. To do that, we need something big,’

Walker says, totally cavalier, like she’s talking about taking out the trash. ‘I’d like you to come with me to New York, assassinate the secretary of defense and expose Setrákus Ra.’

1 6

I watch from the observation deck as the warship approaches, at first just a dark speck against the

blue Earth but steadily growing larger until it blots out the planet below. The warship slows once it’s relatively close to the Anubis – relatively because we could be miles apart up here, the vastness of space making depth and distance hard to figure. I’m far away from Earth. Far from my friends. That’s

the only distance that matters.

A port on the other warship opens and a small transport ship pops into view. It’s white, perfectly

spherical, like a pearl floating through space’s dark ocean. The little ship bobs along in my direction and I can hear a grinding of gears and a whoosh of decompressed air, the Anubis’s own docking bay, right beneath my feet, preparing to accept the visitor.

‘At last,’ Setrákus Ra says, and squeezes my shoulder. He sounds excited about this new arrival, a

wide smile on his stolen, human face. We stand side by side on the observation deck right above the

docking bay, rows of scout ships and a smaller collection of the orb-shaped transports anchored

below us.

We’re awaiting my ‘betrothed.’ Even thinking the word makes me want to vomit. Setrákus Ra’s

hand resting all fatherly on my shoulder makes it all the worse.

I keep my face completely neutral. I’m getting better at hiding my emotions. I’m determined not to

give anything more away to this monster. I pretend like I’m excited, too, maybe just a little nervous.

Let him think that he’s worn me down or that I’ve checked out. Let him think my lessons in

Mogadorian Progress are taking effect, that I’m becoming the ghostly version of myself that I was in

my vision of the future.

Sooner or later, I know, I’ll be able to escape. Or I’ll die trying.

I turn away from the window and gaze down from the observatory’s balcony, watching as the ship

arrives at our docking bay doors. Lights flash below, warning any Mogs that they’ll be sucked into

space if they don’t clear the area. Setrákus Ra already took care of them, sending the Mog technicians away so that we could greet this new arrival in private. The heavy doors open and I can feel the pull

of space even through the observatory’s closed airlock; the pressure changes, like water coming

unclogged from my ear. Then, the transport ship glides aboard, the doors seal behind it and everything is quiet again.

‘Come,’ Setrákus Ra commands, striding out from the observatory, through the now-open airlock

and down the spiral staircase that leads to the docking bay. I follow along obediently at his heels,

footsteps echoing on the metal deck as we pass between the rows of scout ships. Cautiously, not

wanting to look too interested, I peer around Setrákus Ra to catch a glimpse of the ship as it opens up.

I’m expecting one of the younger Mogadorian trueborn, some high-ranking up-and-comer hand

selected by Setrákus Ra, like the ones I’ve seen nervously delivering status reports to their ‘Beloved Leader.’

Try as I might to keep cool, I still can’t help emitting a little gasp when Five steps out of the ship.

Setrákus Ra looks back at me. ‘You two are already acquainted, yes?’

One of Five’s eyes is hidden beneath a gross-looking gauze bandage, a smudge of dark brown

blood in the center, the edges sweat stained. He looks ragged and exhausted, and when his good eye

flicks towards me, his thick shoulders become even more slumped. He stops right in front of Setrákus

Ra, his gaze downcast.

‘What is she doing here?’ Five asks quietly.

‘We are all together now,’ Setrákus Ra answers, and grasps Five by the shoulders. ‘The liberated

and the enlightened, poised on the brink of absolute Mogadorian Progress. In no small part thanks to

you, my boy.’

‘Okay,’ Five grunts.

I remember Five being in my vision – he was there to escort Six and Sam towards their execution.

Six spat right in his face – but I guess I’d glossed over that part, more concerned with my disturbing connection to Setrákus Ra. Now here he is, receiving a pat on the back from the Mogadorian leader,

the future already taking shape. And apparently I’ve been promised to him for whatever creepy ritual

passes for a Mogadorian marriage. Right now, though, that’s not my most pressing concern. Because

if Five is here, looking like he just got out of a fight …

‘What – what did you do?’ I ask, my voice squeakier than I’d like. ‘What happened to the others?’

Five looks at me again and his lips screw up. He doesn’t reply.

‘You gave them a chance, did you not?’ Setrákus Ra asks Five, but I can tell he’s speaking for my

benefit. ‘You tried to show them the light.’

‘They wouldn’t listen,’ Five replies quietly. ‘They gave me no choice.’

‘And look how they repaid you for your attempt at mercy,’ Setrákus Ra says, brushing his fingers

against the bandage on Five’s face. ‘We will have that repaired immediately.’

I take a surprised step backwards when Five slaps away Setrákus Ra’s hand. It’s a stinging blow,

the impact echoing off the ships around us. I can’t see his face, but I can see the muscles in Setrákus Ra’s back tighten, his already rigid posture stiffening that much more. I get the sense of an immense

bulk hiding inside that human form, just waiting to explode outward.

‘Leave it,’ Five says, voice shaky and quiet. ‘I want to keep it this way.’

Whatever rebuke Setrákus Ra might have been ready with doesn’t come. He seems almost taken

aback by Five’s fervor to remain half blind.

‘You’re tired,’ Setrákus Ra says, finally. ‘We will discuss it further once you’ve rested.’

Five nods and takes a cautious step around Setrákus Ra, as if he’s uncertain whether the

Mogadorian overlord will actually let him pass. When Setrákus Ra doesn’t try to stop him, Five

grunts and slouches his way towards the exit.

He makes it about halfway there before Setrákus Ra calls after him.

‘Where is the body?’ he asks, stopping Five in his tracks. ‘Where is the pendant?’

Five clears his throat, and I notice his hands start to shake, at least before he makes a conscious

effort to steady himself. He turns back around to face Setrákus Ra, who is looking towards the open

ship, obviously expecting something to be waiting for him.

‘What body?’ I ask, feeling a tightness in my chest. When they ignore me, I raise my voice higher.

‘What body? Whose pendant?’

‘Gone,’ Five says simply, answering Setrákus Ra.

‘I asked you a question, Five!’ I shout. ‘What bo –’

Without looking at me, Setrákus Ra waves a hand in my direction. My teeth click together as he

telekinetically shuts my mouth. It’s like being slapped, and my cheeks grow hot with anger. Someone

is dead, I know it. One of my friends is dead, and these two bastards are ignoring me.

‘Elaborate,’ Setrákus Ra growls at Five, and even in his handsome human form, I can tell his

patience is beginning to wane.

Five sighs like this whole exchange is a waste of his time. ‘Commander Deltoch decided he would

watch over the body personally, and I didn’t want to question his orders. I found Deltoch’s remains

right before we left. The Garde must have snuck in and escaped with their friend.’

‘You were supposed to bring him to me,’ Setrákus Ra hisses, his eyes burning holes into Five. ‘Not

Deltoch. You.’

‘I know,’ Five replies. ‘He wouldn’t listen when I told him those were your orders. At least he

died for his insubordination.’

I watch a dark cloud pass over Setrákus Ra’s face, wheels turning behind his stolen blue eyes, as if

he knows Five is playing him somehow, the rage building up. I feel his telekinetic grip on my jaw

loosen. He’s distracted, now focused entirely on Five. Before he can say or do anything more, I step

between the two of them, raising my voice a little higher. This time, they have to pay attention to me.

‘ What body? Who are you talking about?’

Finally, Five’s good eye lands on me. ‘Eight. He’s dead.’

‘No,’ I say, the word practically a whisper as I try, too late, to stop myself from reacting. My knees feel weak, and Five’s impassive face becomes blurry as my eyes fill with tears.

‘Yes,’ Setrákus Ra chimes in, and all the rage has been drained from his voice, replaced by

something more coiled and sinister – his tone showy and overly congenial. ‘Five here saw to that,

didn’t you, my boy? All in the service of Mogadorian Progress.’

I take a step towards Five, my fists clenched. ‘You? You killed him?’

‘It was –’ For a moment, it looks like Five might deny it. But then he glances quickly at Setrákus Ra

and simply nods. ‘Yes.’

Just like that, all my effort to show no emotion around Setrákus Ra slips away. I feel a scream

building up inside me. I want to attack Five. I want to throw myself at him and tear him apart. I know that I wouldn’t stand a chance – I saw the way he handled himself in the Lecture Hall, the way he can

turn his skin to metal or anything else he touches – but I’ll do as much damage as I can. I’ll break my hands on his metal skin if it means getting just one punch in.

Setrákus Ra puts his hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

‘I believe now would be an excellent time for that lesson we discussed,’ he says to me in that same

phony tone.

‘A lesson in what?’ I spit, glaring at Five.

Five looks almost relieved that Setrákus Ra’s attention now seems focused on me. ‘May I be

excused?’ he asks.

‘You may not,’ Setrákus Ra replies.

From next to one of the ships, Setrákus Ra grabs a cart covered in tools – wrenches, pliers,

screwdrivers all made for servicing the Mogadorian ships, but not so different from the ones on Earth

– and wheels it over next to us. He looks down at me and smiles.

‘Your Legacy, Ella, is called Dreynen. It gives you the ability to temporarily cancel the Legacy of

another Garde,’ Setrákus Ra lectures, his hands clasped behind his back. ‘It was one of the rarest on

Lorien.’

I wipe my forearm across my eyes and try to stand up a little straighter. I’m still glaring at Five, but my words are for Setrákus Ra. ‘Why are you telling me this now? I don’t care.’

‘It’s important to know one’s history,’ he replies, undeterred. ‘If you believe the Elders, Legacies

arose from Lorien to suit the needs of Loric society. I wonder, then, what benefit is derived from a

power only useful against other Garde?’

Five remains perfectly still, refusing to meet my eyes. Distracted by my anger, I forget to moderate

my words, to keep it cool.

‘I don’t know,’ I snap sarcastically. ‘Maybe Lorien saw freaks like you two coming and knew

someone would have to stop you.’

‘Ah,’ Setrákus Ra replies, his voice overloaded with professorial smugness, like I’ve stepped right

into his trap. ‘But if that is the case, why did the Elders not select you to be among the young Garde saved? And, if Lorien does somehow shape Legacies to suit the needs of the Loric, why would it

bestow Legacies to those ill suited to use them? The mere existence of Dreynen suggests a fallibility

in Lorien that the Elders would seek to deny. It is chaos that needs to be tamed, not worshipped.’

I try to take a step towards Five, but Setrákus Ra uses his telekinesis to keep me in place. I choke

back my anger and remind myself I’m a prisoner here. I have to play along with Setrákus Ra’s stupid

game until the time is right. Revenge will have to wait.

‘Ella,’ Setrákus Ra says. ‘Do you understand what I’m telling you?’

I sigh and turn away from Five to stare dully at Setrákus Ra. Obviously, he already has this whole

philosophical lecture mapped out. It’s probably one of the longer sections in his book. There’s no

point in trying to argue with him.

‘So everything’s random and we should exploit it and blah blah blah,’ I say. ‘Maybe you’re right,

maybe you’re wrong. We’ll never know since you went and destroyed the planet.’

‘What did I destroy, exactly? A planet, perhaps. But not Lorien itself.’ Setrákus Ra toys with one of

the pendants dangling from his neck. ‘It is more complicated than you know, my dear. Soon, your

mind will open and you will understand. Until then –’ He reaches over to the cart, plucks up a

Mogadorian wrench and tosses it to me, ‘we practise.’

I snag the wrench out of the air and hold it in front of me. Setrákus Ra turns his attention to Five,

still standing there silently, waiting to be dismissed.

‘Fly,’ Setrákus Ra orders.

Five looks up, confused. ‘What?’

‘Fly,’ Setrákus Ra repeats, waving to the high ceiling of the docking bay. ‘As high as you can.’

Five grunts and slowly levitates until he’s about forty feet in the air, his head nearly brushing the

rafters of the docking bay. ‘Now what?’ he asks.

Instead of replying, Setrákus Ra turns to me. I’ve already got an idea what he wants me to do. My

palm is sweating against the cold metal of the wrench. He kneels down beside me and lowers his

voice.

‘I want you to do what you did at the Dulce Base,’ Setrákus Ra says.

‘I told you, I don’t know how I did that,’ I protest.

‘I know you are afraid. Afraid of me, of your destiny, of this place you find yourself,’ Setrákus Ra

says patiently, and for a terrifying moment his voice sounds almost like Crayton. ‘But for you, that

fear is a weapon. Close your eyes and let it flow through you. Your Dreynen will follow. It is a

hungry thing, this Legacy that lives within you, and it will feed on what you fear.’

I squeeze my eyes shut. Part of me wants to resist this lesson, my skin crawling at the sound of

Setrákus Ra’s voice. But another part of me wants to learn to use my Legacy, no matter the cost. It

doesn’t seem so unnatural – there’s an energy inside me that wants to get out. My Dreynen wants to be used.

When I open my eyes, the wrench glows with red energy. I’ve done it. Just like at Dulce Base.

‘Very good, Ella. You can use the Dreynen by touch or, as you have just accomplished, charge

objects with it for long-range attacks,’ Setrákus Ra explains. He takes a quick step back when I thrust the wrench towards him. ‘Easy now, my dear.’

I stare at Setrákus Ra, unblinking, holding the wrench like I might hold a torch if I was trying to

scare off a wild animal. I wonder if I could hit him with it, drain his Legacies and then bash his head in. Would Five try to stop me? Would I even be able to pull it off? I’m not yet sure of the full extent of Setrákus Ra’s Legacies, or what other tricks he might have up his sleeve, or what might happen with

the charm that now binds us together. But maybe it would be worth it.

A slow smile spreads across Setrákus Ra’s face, as if he can tell I’m making these mental

calculations and he appreciates them.

‘Go on,’ he says, and his eyes flick towards the ceiling. ‘You know what to do next. He failed me.

And he killed your friend, didn’t he?’

I know that I should resist, that I shouldn’t do anything Setrákus Ra wants me to do. But the wrench,

charged with my Dreynen, feels almost eager in my hand, like it’s hungry and needs release. And then

I think of Eight, dead somewhere down on Earth, killed by the chubby boy currently in a midair sulk

right above me, who my grandfather apparently has designs about marrying me off to.

I turn around and hurl the wrench at Five.

I’m not sure my throw has the accuracy or the distance, so I give it a boost with my telekinesis.

Five must see it coming, but he doesn’t try to move out of the way. That’s what makes me start to

regret my decision – his resignation and willingness to receive this punishment.

The wrench hits Five right in the sternum but without much force. Even so, it sticks to his chest like it’s magnetized. He sucks in a sharp breath, his bored look failing him as he claws at the wrench. That only lasts for a second, though, until the glow briefly intensifies and Five plummets out of the air.

Five’s landing is ugly; his legs crumple beneath him, his hands fail to brace the impact and his

shoulder cracks against the floor. He ends up lying on his face, breathing hard. He tries to pick

himself up, but his arm isn’t quite working right, and he only manages to push himself an inch off the floor before sagging back down. The wrench falls from his chest, the damage done, his Legacies

canceled. Setrákus Ra pats me approvingly on the back. That’s when I really start to feel some guilt,

seeing Five like that, even knowing what he did to Eight. It occurs to me that maybe he’s just as much a prisoner as I am.

‘Get yourself to the infirmary,’ Setrákus Ra orders Five. ‘I do not care what you do about your eye,

but I need you able-bodied when we descend to Earth.’

‘Yes, Beloved Leader,’ Five croaks, straining his neck to look up at us.

‘That was well done,’ Setrákus Ra says to me as he shepherds me towards the exit. ‘Come. We

will return to your studies of the Great Book.’

Even though I’m still furious about what he did to Eight, as we pass Five’s prone body, I reach out

to him telepathically. I refuse to lose my sense of right and wrong while I’m stuck here.

I’m sorry, I tell him.

I don’t think he’ll answer, considering how he could barely even look at me before. Just as I’m

about to cut off our telepathic link, his response comes.

I’m fine, he replies. I deserved it.

You deserve worse than that, I reply, although I can’t quite manage the malice I want. It’s hard while I’m mentally picturing Eight, laughing, joking around with me and Marina.

I know, Five responds. I didn’t– I’m sorry, Ella.

I pick up something else from his mind. That’s never happened before – maybe my Legacy is

getting stronger. I don’t think too much about it, because through my mind’s eye I’m seeing Eight’s

body, left behind on purpose in an empty hangar. I try to make sense of the image, but Five’s thoughts are a confused jumble. There are so many conflicting impulses in his brain, and I’m not a skilled

enough telepath to make sense of them all.

I’ve already walked past him, but after our telepathic conversation, I hazard a glance over my

shoulder. Five has managed to prop himself up. He works a metal ball bearing across his knuckles,

over and under, waiting for his Legacies to return. He looks right at me.

We have to get out of here, he thinks.

1 7

Ashwood Estates is quiet just before sunrise, a light fog greeting the gray day. I could hardly sleep, which isn’t exactly a new development. I sit next to the living-room window in Adam’s old house and

take cell-phone photographs of the documents Agent Walker turned over, sending them on to Sarah.

We’re going to leak them online via They Walk Among Us, because at least that way we can ensure

the information gets out there. Walker has a list of journalists and other media people who she

believes to be trustworthy, but she’s got a list the same length of reporters in the pocket of MogPro.

There’s no surefire way to get this intel out there except on our own. It’s going to be an uphill battle.

In the years we’ve spent on the run, the Mogadorians have gotten too far ahead, become too

entrenched in the military, government and even the media. The smartest thing they ever did was

chase us into hiding.

According to Walker, it’s going to take something big to turn the tide. She wants us to cut the head

off MogPro, meaning take out the secretary of defense. I’m not sure how that’s supposed to get us any

support from humanity. Walker says we can carry out the assassination covertly. I haven’t decided if

we’re going along with that part of the plan, but it’s okay to let Walker think we’re down with doing

her dirty work. For now.

More important than Sanderson, we’re supposed to expose Setrákus Ra, using whatever human-

Mog photo op he’s got planned for the United Nations against him. The plan is to make a big enough

scene that humanity will see the Mogs for what they really are and rally against the invasion. A

population that’s been duped for a decade will finally be out of the dark. Once the humans see aliens

firsthand, we’re hoping people will take a niche site like They Walk Among Us seriously. I just hope

we figure out a way to pull all this off. Without dying.

Dark thoughts still gnaw at me. Even if we manage to form a resistance bigger and stronger than the

ragtag bunch we’ve assembled at Ashwood Estates, there’s no guarantee we can turn back the

Mogadorians. For as long as I’ve been on Earth, our war with the Mogadorians has been fought in the

shadows. Now, we’re about to involve millions of innocent people. It seems like all we’re struggling

for is to give humanity and us remaining Loric the opportunity to fight a long and bloody war. I wonder if this is what the Elders had planned for us. Were we supposed to have already defeated the

Mogs with humanity none the wiser? Or was their plan when they sent us to Earth just as desperate as

ours is now?

No wonder I can’t sleep.

Through the window, I watch a couple of FBI agents share a cigarette on the porch across the

street. I guess I’m not the only one suffering from impending invasion insomnia. We let Walker’s

people camp out in the empty houses around Ashwood. They secured the perimeter, guards posted at

the gate Adam and I wrecked earlier in the day, pretty much making this place the home base of the

brand-new Human-Loric Resistance.

I still don’t entirely trust Agent Walker or her people, but the looming war has forced me to take on

a lot of strange allies. So far, they’ve panned out. If my luck with trusting old enemies doesn’t hold, well, we’re pretty much all doomed anyway. Desperate times call for desperate measures and all

that.

The floorboards creak behind me and I turn around to find Malcolm standing in the doorway

leading up from the Mogadorian tunnels. His eyes are droopy with exhaustion and he’s in the process

of stifling a yawn.

‘Morning,’ I say, closing up the folder of Walker’s documents.

‘Already?’ Malcolm replies, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I lost track of time down there. Sam

and Adam were helping me earlier. I thought I just forced them to take a break a little while ago.’

‘That was hours ago,’ I reply. ‘Did you spend your entire night going through those Mogadorian

recordings?’

Malcolm nods his head mutely, and I realize that he’s more than just overtired. He’s got the punch-

drunk look of a man who’s just witnessed something shocking.

‘What did you find?’ I ask.

‘Me,’ he answers after a moment’s pause. ‘I found myself.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I think you’d better gather the others’ is his only reply before he disappears back into the tunnels.

Marina is asleep in one of the upstairs bedrooms, so I wake her up first. As she heads downstairs,

she pauses in front of the master bedroom; once upon a time it was occupied by the General and

Adam’s mother, but now it’s the temporary resting place for Eight. Marina lays her hand gently on the

doorframe as she passes. I noticed when I woke her that she’s taken to wearing Eight’s pendant. I

wish there was more time for me to grieve with her.

Adam is asleep in the remaining upstairs bedroom, his sword propped against the side of the bed

within arm’s reach. I hesitate for only a moment before waking him, too. He’s one of us now. He

proved that yesterday when he saved my life from the General. Whatever Malcolm’s discovered on

those Mogadorian recordings, Adam’s insight could be invaluable.

Sam and the rest of the Garde slept elsewhere in Ashwood Estates, so I dispatch some Chimærae

to track them down. Nine shows up after a few minutes, his long hair all unkempt and wild, looking

about as fatigued as I feel.

‘I slept on the roof,’ he explains when I shoot him a weird look.

‘Uh, why?’

‘Somebody had to keep an eye on those government dorks you’ve got camping out.’

I shake my head and follow him down the steps into the tunnels. Malcolm and the others I’d gotten

hold of are already assembled in the Mogadorian archives, silent and uneasy, Marina sitting about as

far from Adam as possible.

‘Sam and Six?’ Malcolm asks me when I enter.

I shrug my shoulders. ‘The Chimærae are looking for them.’

‘I saw them go into one of the abandoned houses,’ Nine says, a sly smile on his face. I give him a

questioning look and he wiggles his eyebrows at me. ‘End of the world, you know, Johnny.’

I’m not sure exactly what Nine means until Six and Sam come hustling through the door. Six is all

business, her hair pulled back, looking like she’s cleaned up and gotten some good rest since her

ordeal in the swamp. Sam, on the other hand, is flushed, his hair sticking up at odd angles, and his

shirt is buttoned all wrong. Sam catches me studying him and turns a darker shade of red, giving me a

sheepish smile. I shake my head in disbelief, fighting back a grin in spite of the dour mood. Nine

whistles between his teeth and a smile even flits briefly across Marina’s face. All this only causes

Sam to blush more, and for Six to increase the defiant look she’s skewering us with.

Malcolm, of course, is oblivious to all this. He’s focused instead on the computer, queuing up one

of the Mogadorian videos.

‘Good. We’re all here,’ Malcolm says, glancing up from the keyboard. He looks around the room,

almost nervously. ‘I feel like a failure, having to show you this.’

Sam’s post-hookup blush turns into a look of concern. ‘What do you mean, Dad?’

‘I –’ Malcolm shakes his head. ‘They tore this information out of me and even now, having seen

what I’m about to show you, I don’t actually remember it. I let you all down.’

‘Malcolm, come on,’ I say.

‘We’ve all made mistakes,’ Marina says, and I notice her gaze drift towards Nine. ‘Done things we

regret.’

Malcolm nods. ‘Regardless. Late in the game as it is, I still hope this video will show another way

forward.’

Six tilts her head. ‘Another way instead of what?’

‘Instead of total war,’ Malcolm answers. ‘Watch.’

Malcolm presses a button on the keyboard and the video screen on the wall comes to life. The face

of a gaunt, older Mogadorian appears. His narrow head fills most of the screen, but in the background

a room similar to this one is visible. The Mogadorian begins speaking in his harsh language, his tone

sounding formal and academic, even though I can’t understand him.

‘Am I supposed to be able to understand this creep?’ Nine asks.

‘He’s Dr Lockram Anu,’ Adam says, translating. ‘He created the memory machine that … well, you

know. You chucked a piece of it at a helicopter last night, actually.’

‘Oh, that,’ Nine says, grinning. ‘That was fun.’

Adam continues. ‘This is old, taped during the machine’s first trials. He’s introducing a test

subject, one he says was mentally tougher than the others he’s worked on. He’ll be demonstrating how

his machine can be utilized for interrogation …’

Adam trails off as Dr Anu steps aside, revealing a younger Malcolm Goode strapped into an

insanely complicated metal chair. Malcolm is thin and pale, the muscles in his neck standing out,

largely thanks to the awkward angle his head is forced to recline at. His wrists are buckled to the

titanium arms of the chair; an IV cord runs into the back of his hand, nutrients arriving via a nearby bag. An assortment of electrodes are stuck to his face and chest, their cords attached to the circuit

boards of Dr Anu’s machine. His eyes stare directly into the camera, but they’re unfocused and

unblinking.

‘Dad, oh my God,’ Sam says quietly.

It’s difficult to look at the Malcolm on-screen, and it gets even worse when Anu starts asking him

questions.

‘Good morning, Malcolm,’ Anu says, now in English, his tone the kind usually reserved for

children. ‘Are you ready to resume our conversation?’

‘Yes, Doctor,’ the Malcolm on-screen answers, his mouth sagging through the words, a glimmer of

drool appearing at the corner of his mouth.

‘Very good,’ Anu replies, and glances down at a clipboard on his lap. ‘I want you to think about

your encounter with Pittacus Lore. I want to know what he was doing on Earth.’

‘He was preparing for what is to come,’ Malcolm replies, his voice distant and robotic.

‘Be specific, Malcolm,’ Anu insists.

‘He was preparing for the Mogadorian invasion and the rebirth of Lorien.’ On the screen, Malcolm

looks suddenly alarmed. He jerks his arms against his bonds. ‘They’re already here. Hunting us.’

‘Indeed, but you’re safe now,’ Anu says, and waits for Malcolm to calm down. ‘How long have the

Loric been visiting Earth?’

‘Centuries. Pittacus hoped that humanity would be ready when the time came.’

‘When the time came for what?’

‘To fight. To restart Lorien.’

Anu drums the clipboard with his pen, growing annoyed by Malcolm’s hypnotized vagueness.

‘How will they restart Lorien from here, Malcolm? The planet is light-years away. Are you lying to

me?’

‘Not lying,’ Malcolm mumbles. ‘Lorien is not simply a planet. It is more than that. It can exist in

any place where the people are worthy. Pittacus and the Elders have already made the preparations.

Loralite runs beneath our feet even now, circulating through the Earth. Like blood coursing through

veins, it only needs a heartbeat to give it purpose. All it needs is to be awoken.’

Anu leans forward, suddenly very interested. I find myself doing the same thing, bending towards

the screen, my head tilted.

‘How will they accomplish this?’ Anu asks, clearly trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.

‘Each of the Garde possesses what Pittacus called Phoenix Stones,’ Malcolm replies. ‘When the

Garde come of age, the Stones can be used to re-create the features of Lorien – the plant life, Loralite, the Chimærae.’

‘But what of the Legacies? What of Lorien’s true gifts?’

‘Those, too, will come once Lorien is awoken,’ Malcolm answers. ‘The Phoenix Stones, the

pendants, everything has a purpose. When they are committed to the Earth in the Elders’ Sanctuary,

Lorien will live once again.’

Anu glances back at the camera, his eyes wide. He composes himself and presses on.

‘Where is this Sanctuary, Malcolm?’

‘Calakmul. Only the Garde may enter.’

Here, Malcolm pauses the recording. He looks around the room; his lips are squeezed into a

somber line, but there’s a hopeful glimmer in his eyes. Everyone’s stunned faces peer back at him,

none of us quite done digesting what we’ve just seen.

Nine raises his hand, frowning. ‘I don’t get it. What the hell is Calakmul?’

‘It’s an ancient Mayan city located in southeast Mexico,’ Malcolm replies, a ripple of excitement

stirring his voice.

‘Why didn’t we know any of this?’ Six asks, still staring at the paused screen. ‘Why didn’t the

Elders tell us? Or our Cêpans? If this is all so important, why keep us in the dark?’

Malcolm pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘I don’t have a good answer for that, Six. The Mogadorian

invasion caught the Elders off guard. You were rushed to Earth, your Cêpans completely unprepared

as well. Your survival was top priority. I can only assume all this – the Phoenix Stones, your

pendants, the Sanctuary – was meant to be revealed when you came of age, once you had Legacies

and were ready to fight. To tell you before that would’ve made your secrets too vulnerable. Although’

– Malcolm looks forlornly at his image on the screen – ‘we can see how poorly secrecy served us.’

‘Maybe that’s why Henri came to Paradise looking for you, Dad,’ Sam suggests, glancing between

his father and me. ‘Maybe it was time.’

My mind is racing. Without even realizing it, I’ve started to pace back and forth. It takes a look

from Six to get me to stop.

‘I always thought we’d win this war and return to Lorien,’ I say slowly, trying to catch hold of my

thoughts. ‘I thought that’s what Henri meant about restarting it.’

‘Maybe he meant here,’ Six suggests. ‘Maybe we’re supposed to restart Lorien here.’

‘What would that even mean?’ Sam asks. ‘What would happen to Earth?’

‘Can’t be worse than what’ll happen when the Mogs get here,’ Nine replies. ‘I mean, I remember

Lorien being pretty sweet. We’d be doing Earth a favor.’

‘On the tape you made it sound like an entity of some kind,’ Marina says, looking at Malcolm.

‘I –’ Malcolm shakes his head. ‘I wish I could remember more, Marina. I don’t have the answers.’

‘It could be like a god,’ Marina says, a hushed reverence in her voice.

‘It could be like a weapon that comes busting out of the Earth to kill all the Mogs,’ Nine suggests.

Adam clears his throat uncomfortably.

‘Whatever it is, Malcolm said we need the Phoenix Stones to wake it,’ I say, trying not to let the

group get sidetracked.

‘And the pendants,’ Six says, then tilts her head as something occurs to her. ‘Maybe that’s why

Setrákus Ra keeps them. They could be more than trophies to him.’

‘We went through our Chests back in Chicago,’ Nine groans, probably remembering how bored he

was cataloging our Inheritance. ‘I’ve got more rocks and shit than I know what to do with.’

‘We should bring it all,’ Marina says, certainty in her voice. ‘Our Inheritances. Our pendants.

Bring it to the Sanctuary and commit it to the Earth, like Malcolm said.’

Malcolm nods. ‘I know it’s vague, but it’s something.’

‘It could be the advantage we’re looking for,’ I say, thinking it over. ‘Hell, it could be what we

were sent here to do in the first place.’

Nine crosses his arms, looking skeptical. ‘Yesterday I was staring at the biggest goddamn

Mogadorian ship I’ve ever seen. Burying our stuff in some dusty-ass temple might’ve been a cool

idea like months ago, but we’re this close to full-on war and I’m pretty sure we’ve got some bad guys to kill.’

Before I can reply, Malcolm steps forward. ‘The Sanctuary might be our best hope,’ he says. ‘But

it’s best not to put all our eggs in one basket.’

‘Nine’s sort of right. As much as I hate the idea of splitting up again,’ Six says, ‘some of us should stick with Walker’s plan to take the fight to the Mogs and their people.’

Nine pumps a fist. ‘This guy.’

‘And some of us should head to Mexico,’ I say, finishing Six’s thought.

‘I want to go,’ Marina says immediately. ‘I want to see this Sanctuary. If it’s a place for Loric, a

place where we lived, maybe that’s where we should bury Eight’s body.’

I nod and look over at Six, waiting for her decision. ‘Well? New York or Mexico?’

‘Mexico,’ she says, after a moment. ‘You’re better at dealing with these government types than I

am. And if we need a Loric representative at the UN, you’re the obvious choice.’

‘Thanks. I think.’

‘She’s saying that because you’re such a boy scout,’ Nine adds in a loud whisper.

I glance over at Sam, who seems like he’s about to speak, his mouth half open. He’s cut off by Six,

who subtly shakes her head at him.

‘I’ll stay here, too, I guess,’ Sam says after an awkward moment, sounding more than a little

deflated. He forces a smile for me. ‘Someone has to keep you and Nine in line.’

That leaves only Adam. Our Mogadorian ally has maintained a respectful silence this whole time,

probably trying not to step on any toes as the secrets of our race are revealed. When I turn to him, he’s still gazing at the screen. He looks lost in memory, maybe remembering Dr Anu and his machine. He

frowns when he notices the rest of us watching him.

‘They’ll be waiting for you in Mexico,’ Adam says. ‘If there’s a source of Loric power there, you

know my people will have spent the last few years trying to access it.’

‘Only the Garde can get in, though, right?’ Sam asks, looking from Adam to his dad.

‘It’s what I said,’ Malcolm replies, lips pursed in uncertainty.

‘Just like only we can have Legacies?’ Nine replies, eyeballing Adam. ‘You’re saying this could

be another trap, Mog?’

‘It’s not a trap when you know it’s there,’ Adam says, sparing a quick glance for Nine before

turning his eyes towards Six. ‘I don’t know exactly what you’ll find down there, but I can guarantee a Mogadorian presence. I can pilot the Skimmer better than you, maybe outmanoeuvre them if they’ve

got ships in the air.’

‘Well, I sure as hell wasn’t going to walk to Mexico,’ Six replies, dryly. She looks at me. ‘You

trust this guy, right?’

‘I do.’

She shrugs. ‘Then welcome to Team Calakmul, Adam.’

I hear Marina suck her teeth, but she doesn’t make any other protest.

‘Great. We’re sending a Mogadorian to investigate a Loric holy place,’ Nine complains, shaking

his head. ‘Doesn’t anyone else think that’s sorta disrespectful?’

‘Didn’t you just refer to it as dusty-ass?’ Sam asks.

‘Statement of fact,’ Nine says. ‘Just like this whole good-Mog thing is still hella weird. No

offense.’

I silence the banter when I reach under my shirt and pull my Loric pendant over my head. I feel an

odd coldness against my heart when it’s gone. I can’t remember the last time that I was without it.

With the room suddenly gone quiet again, I hold out the pendant to Six.

‘Take it,’ I say. ‘Make sure it gets to the Sanctuary.’

‘No pressure,’ Six says, smirking, as she accepts the pendant.

‘Now,’ I say, looking around. ‘Let’s win this war and change the world.’

1 8

We say good-bye later that morning, all of us gathered around the Skimmer on the Ashwood Estates

basketball court.

It feels strange to be wearing a Loric pendant around my neck again. And I don’t mean literal

physical weight – the pendants themselves aren’t heavy at all. They just contain all the Legacies of

Lorien, apparently. All the power of our nearly extinct people, imbued into a few glistening Loralite

stones.

Yeah. No big deal.

‘Is that everything?’ Marina asks. She’s on her knees in front of her open Chest, gently rearranging

its contents. We’ve got Eight’s Chest as well. Its contents are forever locked up, possibly destroyed, but we figured it couldn’t hurt to bring it to the Sanctuary with the rest.

I don’t have a Chest of my own, so Marina has to put all of our collected Inheritance into hers.

After our meeting earlier, John and Nine went through their Chests and gathered together anything that wasn’t a weapon, a healing stone, or otherwise combat related. Besides the handful of Loric

gemstones yet to be traded for penthouses or computer equipment, John handed over a bundle of dried

leaves tied with a yellowed piece of twine that make the sound of the wind when my fingers brush

against them, and Nine gives up a pouch of soft, coffee-dark soil. Marina carefully put these items

into her Chest, alongside a vial of crystal clear water, a stray piece of Loralite and a tree branch with the bark pared away.

‘So, because we don’t know what exactly these Phoenix Stones are, we’ll just dump anything that’s

close, right?’ I say, then hastily correct myself. ‘I mean, not dump. Commit to the Earth. What brainwashed Malcolm said.’

John laughs a little. ‘If we come up with a better plan, I’ll let you know.’

‘Dad’s still down there watching more tapes,’ Sam offers. ‘Maybe he’ll find something else.’

‘Right now, winging it seems like the only option. On pretty much every front,’ John says. ‘There’s

something else I want you to take to the Sanctuary, Six.’

John crouches down to reach into his Chest. I was wondering why he’d brought it with him to the

basketball court after we already went through it inside. I understand when he holds out a small can

that I immediately recognize.

Henri’s ashes.

‘John …,’ I say, not accepting the can right away.

‘Take him,’ John replies, gently. ‘He belongs at the Sanctuary.’

‘But don’t you want to be there? To say good-bye?’

‘Of course I do. But with everything that’s happening, I don’t know if I’ll have a chance.’ When I

start to protest again, John cuts me off. ‘It’s okay, Six. I’ll feel better knowing he’s with you, headed to the Sanctuary.’

‘If it’s what you want,’ I say, accepting the ashes. ‘I’ll take care of him. I promise.’

I carefully place the can of Henri’s ashes in Marina’s Chest with the rest of our stuff. We all fall

silent, the mood turning somber. It’s hard to have this kind of moment when you’re being watched,

though. The government agents keep their distance, although I can see some of them, including Walker

herself, watching us from a nearby porch.

‘You going to be all right with them?’ I ask John.

He looks around, noting all the prying eyes. ‘They’re on our side now, remember?’

‘I have to keep reminding myself,’ I reply, my gaze involuntarily turning towards the Skimmer.

‘Seems like I’m doing that a lot.’

Adam is already on board the Skimmer, along with Dust, the Chimæra that’s bonded with him. I’m

taking John at his word that we can trust the wiry Mogadorian currently running diagnostics in the

cockpit. I’m not sure Marina feels the same; she hasn’t said anything outright, but I can feel cold

radiating from her whenever Adam’s near. After everything that’s happened, I can’t blame her for

being suspicious. I’ve resigned myself to a very chilly flight to Mexico.

‘Check in often,’ John reminds me, tapping the phone that he’s clipped to the hip of his jeans like a

total dork. Both Marina and I are now in possession of satellite phones, too bulky to wear as fashion

accessories, so they’re stored with the rest of our supplies. The gear arrived courtesy of the U. S.

Government, or at least the rebel-faction that Walker has ties with. Both Adam and Malcolm looked

over the phones and assured us they aren’t bugged.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I reply. ‘You, too, John. Stay in touch. Stay alive.’

‘And take care of all our stuff,’ Nine grumbles. He’s standing a few paces off, watching Marina

mess with her Chest, his eyebrows furrowed. ‘I want some of those gems back, if possible. You

know, for after. Need to buy a new place to live thanks to my shitty house-sitter over here.’

I shoot Nine a look. ‘Are you serious right now?’

He shrugs. ‘What? Gotta plan for the future!’

Marina looks up from her Chest and, with a sigh, tosses Nine a pair of dark gloves. ‘Here. I never

figured out what to do with these.’

‘Sweet,’ Nine says, and pulls them on immediately. He flexes his fingers inside the leatherlike

material, then violently thrusts his palms out towards John. ‘Did you feel anything, dude?’

John ignores Nine, looking at Marina. ‘Can we be sure those aren’t important? What if they’re a

Phoenix Stone?’

‘They’re gloves, Johnny,’ Nine says, not taking them off. ‘You ever heard of an ancient ritual that

involves burying a pair of stylish-ass gloves? Come on.’

John shakes his head, giving up. His eyes linger on Henri’s ashes until Marina closes her Chest,

and then his gaze drifts towards the Skimmer. ‘I wish I could come with you. I’d like to be there for

… for both of them.’

Eight’s body is already on board the Skimmer, strapped securely to one of the seats.

‘After,’ Marina says, and she reaches out to squeeze John’s hand. She’s still walking around with a

lot of sadness – we all are – but I’m slowly seeing signs that the old, gentle Marina is melting all that ice. ‘Eight would understand. Once we’ve won, there will be time for us to pay our respects

properly. All of us, together.’

Nine stops screwing with his new gloves and gets serious for a moment, looking at Marina. ‘I’d

like that,’ he says.

‘Ready?’ I ask Marina.

She nods and uses her telekinesis to float her Chest into the Skimmer’s entrance. ‘Be safe, all of

you.’

One by one, Marina hugs the boys, and I do the same. Sam is last for me, and when he wraps me up

in a big hug, I get the same feeling that I did before when we were all assembled in the Mogadorian

tunnels, that everyone is watching us and tittering about how precious we are. I bristle a little bit, but before I know it the hug has lasted way longer than the others’, and our friends have drifted a few

steps away as if to let us have a discreet moment.

‘Six –,’ Sam says quietly against my ear, and I pull back enough to look at him, cutting him off.

‘Don’t make this weird, Sam,’ I whisper, and tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, glancing

surreptitiously towards the others.

So, we spent last night together. Maybe that wasn’t the wisest move on my part. I love Sam, in my

way, and I don’t want to string him along or hurt his feelings. I’m just still not sold on having any kind of relationship until this is all over, especially with how stupid and complicated things got with John after just some flirting. But, after everything that happened in Florida, I needed something good for a change – something warm and safe and approaching normal – and that was Sam. I thought he

understood that I didn’t want to get into some dopey John/Sarah-style, star-crossed-lovers thing with

him. But here we are, having a moment, and blunt as I’m trying to be, I’m not exactly pulling away

either.

‘I’m not making it anything,’ Sam says, screwing up his face at me. ‘I just – I don’t get why you

didn’t want me coming with you.’

‘You’ll do more good here, with your dad,’ I tell him. ‘And you’ll need to keep John and Nine in

line.’

‘The last time I went on a mission with John, he left me inside a mountain,’ Sam says, not buying it.

‘Come on, Six. What is it really?’

I sigh, simultaneously wanting to strangle him and kiss him. For a second, I’m not sure which

instinct will win out. I want something more with Sam, I think. Eventually. I just don’t want to think about it right now. Last night was one thing, but now I’m back to fighting a war.

‘I don’t want the distraction, Sam. All right?’

‘Oh,’ he says, looking like I’ve just murdered his pride. ‘You mean, like you’d have to keep saving

me from Mogs or stop me from stepping on some ancient Mayan spike trap or whatever. Because I

thought we were past that. I can handle myself, Six. And I only accidentally shot you that one time in practice and –’

I kiss him. Mostly just to shut him up and illustrate my point, but also because I just can’t help

myself. I hear Nine make an oohing noise off to the side and make a mental note to destroy him the next chance I get.

‘ That’s the distraction I’m talking about,’ I say quietly, my face still close to his.

Sam is blushing again, and his mouth is still working like he wants to say something more. He’s

probably trying to come up with some smooth way to say good-bye, but I’m sick of these drawn-out

moments, so I take one last look at his sweet, dumbstruck face and turn away. A few seconds later,

I’m strapped into the Skimmer’s seat next to Adam, ignoring the raised eyebrow and smirk Marina’s

fixing me with.

‘Shall we?’ Adam asks.

We nod and Adam throws some switches, handling the Skimmer’s controls with much more

confidence than I did. As we slowly rise up, I look out the window to see Sam and the others below,

waving good-bye to us. I wonder if my life will ever be without these moments – the painful good-

byes before we all go off to risk our lives. John always talks about how much he can’t wait for some

boring normal life, but would I be happy like that? We gain altitude, trees zipping by beneath us, and I think about Sam. If it wasn’t for this war, the constant chaos, we’d have never even gotten together.

What would it be like for us without the looming threat of Mogadorian destruction?

I’d like to find out.

1 9

Nine leans across me so that he can get a good look at Sam, saying to him in a stage whisper, ‘All

right, dude. What’s the deal with you and Six?’

Sam pointedly looks out the window of the van. ‘What? Nothing.’

‘Psshh,’ Nine snorts. ‘Come on, man. It’s like a four-hour drive to New York. You gotta give up

some details.’

In front of us, in the passenger seat, Agent Walker clears her throat.

‘Fascinating as I find the sex lives of teenage boys, maybe we could use this time to go over our

operational parameters,’ she says dryly.

‘Agreed,’ I say, shoving Nine back in his seat so he can’t leer at Sam anymore. ‘We need to focus

on the mission.’

Nine frowns at me. ‘All right, John. I’m gonna focus my ass off for the rest of this car ride.’

‘Good.’

Sam flashes me a grateful smile and I nod. Part of me really does think we should be thinking about

the impossible odds we’re facing, but another part of me just doesn’t want to hear any details about

Sam and Six. I’m happy for them, I guess. Glad they could find some comfort together. But I can’t get

over the feeling that Sam is going to end up with his heart broken. I remember my vision of the future, the way Sam screamed right before the Mogadorians executed Six. Maybe that’s why I get the sinking

feeling this is going to end badly.

Or maybe I’m just jealous. Not because Sam hooked up with Six, but more because the love of my

life is miles away. Of course, there’s no way I’m expressing any of that in front of Nine, or Walker

and the silent FBI-guy driving the car. Yeah, let’s focus on the mission.

We’re driving up I-95, from Washington to New York. Malcolm stayed behind at Ashwood Estates

to finish going through the Mogadorian archives, hoping to turn up something else that might be useful.

The vast majority of Walker’s renegade agents stayed back, too. They’re holding down the fort, using

it as a base of operations to coordinate their efforts to undermine MogPro. I still don’t entirely trust Walker’s people, and I probably won’t ever reach that level after everything the government put us

through, so I left behind our five remaining Chimærae with orders to protect Malcolm at all costs.

Besides Walker and our driver, there’s another SUV filled with agents following along behind us.

That makes a grand total of six agents, plus me, Nine and Sam. Not much of an army. But then, the war

hasn’t started yet. Maybe, if everything goes according to my plan, it won’t start at all.

‘Secretary of Defense Sanderson is staying at a hotel in midtown Manhattan, close to the UN,’

Walker says. She glances down at her phone, which she’s been typing away on all morning. ‘I had a

mole on his security team, but …’

‘But what?’

‘They were pulled this morning,’ Walker replies. ‘All his bodyguards, replaced by a new team.

Pale guys in dark trench coats. Sound familiar?’

‘Mogadorians,’ Nine says, grinding his fist into his palm. ‘Keeping their pet politician safe before

his big sellout speech.’

‘I think it actually works to our advantage,’ Walker says, looking at me. ‘My people weren’t

looking forward to fighting through their own on the way to Sanderson. I mean, some of these guys are

just doing their jobs.’

‘Yeah, we aren’t in the habit of fighting humans either,’ I say, giving Walker a pointed look.

‘Unless they make us.’

‘So, that’s the whole plan?’ Sam asks, skeptical. ‘We go to his hotel, fight our way through a bunch

of Mogs and then kill this Sanderson guy?’

‘Yes,’ Walker answers.

‘No,’ I say.

Everyone looks at me. Even our stoic driver is staring at me in the rearview mirror.

‘What do you mean, no?’ Walker asks, her eyebrows raised. ‘I thought we were clear on this.’

‘We’re not killing Sanderson,’ I say. ‘We don’t fight humans. We sure as hell don’t kill them.’

‘Kid, I’ll pull the trigger if you get me in front of him,’ Walker replies.

‘You can arrest him, if you want,’ I say. ‘Charge him with treason.’

‘The penalty for treason is death,’ Walker exclaims, sounding exasperated. ‘Anyway, his MogPro cronies won’t let an arrest go through. And you think anything in the courts is going to matter once

Setrákus Ra is here?’

‘You said it,’ I reply. ‘Setrákus Ra is who’s important.’

‘Right. Instead of Sanderson, it’ll be you guys there to greet him at the UN. We’ll show the world

the difference between good aliens and bad aliens. Meanwhile, behind the scenes, my people will

dismantle MogPro.’ Walker rubs her temples. ‘I’ve got other agents already in position. Around the

time we take out Sanderson, a dozen other MogPro traitors will –’

I cut her off. ‘If you’re about to tell me about more assassinations, I don’t want to know.’

Nine raises his hand. ‘I want to know.’

‘That’s not what we do, Walker,’ I continue. ‘It’s not what we’re about.’

‘Kid, you want to get the word out about the Mogs, sooner or later you’re gonna have to get your

hands dirty.’

‘And what if Sanderson gets the word out for us?’

Walker squints at me. ‘What’re you talking about?’

‘He’s giving a speech at the UN, right? Going to talk up Setrákus Ra, tell humanity how it’s safe to

welcome the Mogadorian fleet.’ I shrug, trying to seem nonchalant about this, confident in my plan.

‘Maybe he gives a different speech. Maybe he delivers a warning.’

‘You’re talking about turning him?’ Walker exclaims. ‘This late in the game? You’re out of your mind.’

‘I don’t think so,’ I reply, glancing left and right at Nine and Sam. ‘My friends and I are pretty

persuasive.’

‘Yeah,’ Nine jumps in, grinning fiercely at Walker. ‘I’m convincing as all hell.’

Walker stares at me for a long moment, then turns around and goes back to typing coded messages

into her phone. ‘I didn’t realize I was teaming up with some hippy-dippy peacenik aliens,’ she sighs.

‘Fine. If you can talk Sanderson into flipping sides in front of the UN, go for it. But if I’m not

convinced, I’m shooting him.’

‘Sure,’ I reply to Walker. ‘You’re in charge.’

We stop at a gas station in New Jersey to fill up the SUVs. Since I’ve got a few minutes alone, I

decide it’s a good time to check in with Sarah. I take out my phone and wander across the parking lot.

As I do, I can feel Walker’s eyes boring into my back.

‘Where are you going?’ she calls after me.

‘To call my girlfriend,’ I say, raising the phone. ‘Remember? You illegally detained her that one

time.’

‘Oh, great,’ Walker replies. I can hear her mutter to the driver. ‘We’re depending on a bunch of

horny teenagers to save the world.’

Better us than people like Walker, I think, but pretend not to have heard her snide remark.

The phone rings five times, each one causing my heart to beat a little faster, before Sarah answers,

narrowly evading the dump to voice mail.

‘Before you say anything,’ she begins, not even saying hello, her voice shaky, ‘I just want you to

know that I’m okay.’

‘What happened?’ I ask, trying to keep that first rush of panic out of my voice. I can hear the sound

of traffic in the background. Sarah’s in a moving car.

‘We went into town for supplies and had a run-in with some Mogs,’ Sarah says, still catching her

breath. ‘I guess they tracked us down somehow, not too happy about the They Walk Among Us thing.

Don’t worry, we’re all fine. Bernie Kosar handled them.’

‘Are you somewhere safe?’

‘We will be soon,’ she replies. ‘Mark’s hacker buddy GUARD gave us directions to his home base

in Atlanta.’

Mark had some details about GUARD in one of his emails to Sarah. He’s another conspiracy

junkie, like one of those guys from the old version of They Walk Among Us. But he’s also an

excellent hacker and, according to Mark, has access to a surprising amount of information. It makes

me a little nervous that Sarah and Mark are headed to meet him without us knowing his identity.

‘What does Mark know about this guy?’ I ask.

Sarah repeats my question to Mark. I can’t quite make out his reply over all the noise from the

road.

‘Mark says he’s probably some nerd hiding out in his mom’s basement,’ Sarah repeats dryly. ‘But

that he’s a “solid dude” and that we can trust him.’

I roll my eyes at Mark’s scouting report. ‘That’s heartening. Just in case, I’m going to text you the

location of somewhere safe. It’s a base in Washington that we took over, loaded with government

guys who are on our side. If you need somewhere to run to, you could head there.’

I hear two engines rumble to life behind me. I turn around to see all of Walker’s agents piled into

the cars. Nine and Sam still stand outside our SUV, waiting for me. Nine makes an impatient wrap-it-

up motion.

‘What’s going on there?’ Sarah asks me. ‘On your way to do something stupid but possibly world

saving?’

‘Pretty much,’ I reply, allowing myself a faint smile. ‘Did you get those documents I sent you?’

‘Yeah,’ Sarah replies. ‘We’ll have a chance to upload them once we’re in Atlanta.’

‘Perfect. I’ve got a feeling They Walk Among Us is about to get a lot more hits.’ I pause, reluctant

to get off the phone. ‘The others are waiting for me. I’ve gotta go.’

‘Mark says to go kick some ass. And I love you.’ Sarah catches herself, laughing. ‘Mark didn’t say

that last part. That was from me.’

We say our good-byes and I’m left with that same feeling of longing mixed with dread that I get

after every one of these phone conversations. I trudge back to the SUV. Everyone else is already

inside except for Sam.

‘So you’re putting all of Walker’s documents on They Walk Among Us?’ Sam asks. ‘It’s a good

idea. Like anti-Mogadorian propaganda.’

‘It’s a desperate idea, is what it is,’ I say glumly. ‘No one’s going to be digging through search

results while their cities are getting bombarded.’

‘There’s a comforting thought,’ Sam replies, frowning. ‘But seriously, that’s a lot of heavy reading.

If you’re trying to get people on our side, it shouldn’t just be about the Mogadorians. You shouldn’t

just be trying to scare people. They’ll be scared enough as it is. You’ve gotta give them some hope.’

‘What do you suggest?’

Sam thinks about it for a second, then shrugs. ‘I don’t know yet. I’ll come up with something.’

I nod and pat Sam on the shoulder, the two of us climbing back into the car. I know he’s just trying

to help, and that’s why I don’t tell him that whatever he comes up with … it might be too late.

We make it to New York about an hour later. I’ve never been here before and neither have Nine or

Sam. I wish our visit could be under different circumstances. As we inch along in heavy traffic

through a canyon of skyscrapers, I find myself craning my neck to look out the window. Chicago is a

huge city, but the frenetic jostle of pedestrians on the sidewalks here is something else entirely. There are flashing signs advertising Broadway shows, yellow cabs darting in and out of traffic, a hum of

activity all around us.

And these people have no idea what’s heading their way.

As we drive farther uptown towards Sanderson’s hotel, we pass a dude wearing a cowboy hat and

underwear, strumming an acoustic guitar for a crowd of tourists. Nine snorts.

‘Look at this,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘That shit wouldn’t fly in Chicago.’

I lean forward to get Walker’s attention. ‘Are we close?’

‘A few more blocks,’ she replies.

I reach down to make sure my Loric dagger is still fastened securely to my leg. I also touch my

wrist, reflex telling me to check for my shield bracelet, except that it’s gone, destroyed by the

General.

‘Did your guy on the scene tell you how many Mogs we should be expecting?’ I ask Walker.

‘A dozen. Maybe more.’

‘That’s nothing,’ Nine says, pulling on the gloves that Marina gave him. He clenches his fists and I

inch away from him, wary that he’s going to accidentally trigger some kind of weapon. Thankfully,

nothing happens.

‘You’re wearing those into a fight?’ Sam asks, eyeing Nine incredulously. ‘You don’t even know

what they do.’

‘What better way to find out?’ Nine replies. ‘These Loric things, man, they have a way of not

helping you until you’ve given up on them.’

‘Or maybe they’re just for keeping your hands warm,’ Sam suggests.

‘Just don’t do anything stupid,’ I tell Nine, and he stares at me, his expression getting deathly

serious.

‘John, I won’t,’ he says. ‘For real. You can trust me out there.’

I can tell Nine is still carrying around what happened down in Florida and is eager to prove

himself. I just nod at him, knowing he wouldn’t want me to make a big deal out of it. I’m glad he’s got my back.

Walker turns around to look at Sam. ‘These guys shoot fireballs and have magic gloves, apparently.

But what do you do?’

Sam looks momentarily taken aback, and I notice him reach down to touch the scars burned into his

wrists. After a moment’s consideration, he looks Walker in the eye.

‘I’ve probably killed more Mogs than you have, lady,’ Sam replies.

Nine elbows me, and I can’t help but grin. To her credit, that actually looks like the answer Walker

was hoping for. She opens the glove compartment, pulls out a holstered handgun and holds it out to

Sam.

‘Well, I’m officially arming a minor,’ she says. ‘Do your country proud, Samuel.’

A minute later, our driver pulls over to the side of one of Manhattan’s quieter blocks, double-

parking. The other SUV rolls up behind us. Across the street and down the block a bit is the entrance

to a posh hotel. There’s a wide awning out front and a red carpet, a place for guests to turn over their car keys to a valet and drop their bags on to one of the waiting luggage carts.

Except there’s no activity outside the hotel. No tourists strolling the sidewalk, no valets waiting for tips. Nothing. Everything’s been cleared away or scared off by the trio of Mogadorians standing

guard at the door, their coats brazenly open to reveal the blasters hanging from their belts.

It’s like they’re not even bothering to hide anymore.

‘We want to do this quick and clean,’ Walker says to us, hunching low in her seat so she can look

at the Mogs in her side-view mirror. ‘Take down the Mogs and get to Sanderson before they can send

up an alarm, radio for backup, or whatever they do.’

‘Yeah, got it,’ I reply quickly. I pull up the hood on my sweatshirt so that it hides my face. ‘We’ve

done this before.’

‘Let my people lead,’ Walker says. ‘We’ll flash some badges, maybe confuse them. Then you hit

them hard.’

‘Sure, you distract ’em,’ Nine says. ‘But then get the hell out of our way.’

Walker picks up a walkie-talkie and radios to the agents in the second car. ‘You guys ready?’

‘Affirmative,’ a male voice answers. ‘Let’s do this.’

‘Here we go,’ says an excited Nine, and claps his gloved hands together.

The concussion of sound that detonates from Nine’s hands when he claps isn’t quite sonic-boom

loud, but it’s definitely close. It’s like a thunderclap in the back-seat; all of the SUV’s windows

explode outward, and the car even bounces a few inches into the air. The SUV behind us doesn’t fare

much better – its windows also shatter, but inward, spraying the agents huddled inside. The windows

of nearby storefronts break, too, and a pedestrian walking by is knocked clear off her feet. Next to me, Sam is squeezing the sides of his head, looking dazed. For the first few seconds, I can’t hear much

except a low chirping that I soon realize is car alarms going off up and down the block.

I turn to Nine, wide-eyed, and catch him staring at his gloved hands, also wide-eyed. I can’t hear

what he says, and I’m not much of a lip reader.

But I’m pretty sure it’s ‘Oops.’

At the entrance of the hotel, one Mogadorian is down on his knees, clutching his head. The other

two are pointing right at our SUV and raising their blasters.

So much for the element of surprise.

2 0

With the way my ears are ringing, I don’t really hear the first volley of Mogadorian blaster fire. But I feel it. The SUV is rocked to the side as the jagged energy bolts shear across the car’s bulletproof

paneling. Walker huddles for cover behind her door, keeping her head down. Our driver isn’t so

lucky; a blast comes sizzling through the window and hits him in the side of the neck. His flesh is

burned badly and he immediately starts convulsing.

‘Go!’ I shout, unable to hear myself and not sure if anyone else can either. ‘Go!’

Nine rips open the back door of the SUV, literally. As he gets out of the car, he holds the door in

front of him, using it as a shield to absorb the Mogs’ fire.

I lunge into the front seat and press my hands on to the FBI agent’s blaster wound, letting my warm

healing energy flow into him. Slowly, the injury begins to knit itself closed, and his convulsions stop.

The agent looks up at me with wide, grateful eyes.

I sense movement to my left and turn my head. Outside the driver-side window is the pedestrian

who got knocked down when Nine’s thunderclap went off. She’s a pretty, college-aged girl with big

brown eyes. She looks shell-shocked and seems to be rooted in place – except she’s not so stunned

that she failed to get her phone out of her purse. She’s just finished recording me healing our driver and is filming my face as I shout at her to run.

Another volley of Mog blaster fire bounces over the hood of our SUV, nearly hitting the girl. Sam

springs out of the backseat and grabs her. He drags her farther down the sidewalk and puts her in

cover behind some parked cars.

Months ago, my face on video after using my Legacies would’ve been a disaster. But now, I don’t

even care. However, we can’t let any more innocent people wander into our war zone.

‘Turn the car!’ I shout in our driver’s ear. I’m not sure he can hear me, so I make a steering wheel

motion with my hands. ‘Block the street off!’

He gets it and peels out – I can smell the burned rubber but don’t quite hear it. He gets the car

parked perpendicular across the middle of the road, blocking any traffic.

I hop out of the SUV and turn towards the hotel just in time to see a Mogadorian warrior sheared in

half and turned to dust by our car door, which Nine flung through the air discus style. Meanwhile, the agents in the second car have managed to collect themselves. Seeing our maneuver, their driver

throws his SUV into reverse and they quickly block access to the road from the other direction. Then,

they jump out, using their SUV as cover, and return fire on the remaining Mogadorians. Their gunfire

is barely audible popping in my damaged ears.

One of the Mogs keels over from a well-placed bullet to the forehead. Outnumbered, the remaining

Mog ducks into the hotel doorway for cover. I reach out with my telekinesis, grab a luggage cart

parked behind the Mog and jerk it forward so that it takes out the back of his legs. As he stumbles out of the doorway, Walker’s agents light him up.

Nine glances back to me and I nod. Together, we rush towards the entrance. I look over my

shoulder to check on Sam and see him still talking to that bystander, gesturing emphatically at her cell phone. No time to worry about that now.

Inside, the posh hotel lobby is completely deserted except for a frightened clerk cowering behind

the front desk. Beyond the marble columns and leather couches of the waiting area is the elevator

bank. Oddly, two of the three elevators are out of service, and the third is stuck up at the penthouse level. The Mogs might not have expected an assault, but they definitely took precautions.

With a moment to catch my breath, I press my hands to the sides of my head and let some of that

healing energy flow into my ears. They pop and crackle, but sound slowly returns, like a volume dial

in my head being gradually turned up. From outside, I can hear sirens, screeching tires, and Walker’s

people yelling at local cops to stay back. Our plan to do this covertly is already shot; now we just

have to be quick.

I grab Nine before he can make it to the elevators and clap my hands to the side of his head, healing

him as well. When I’m done, he shakes his head back and forth, like he’s trying to dislodge water

from his inner ear.

‘You’re an idiot,’ I tell him.

Nine shakes the sonic gloves at me before stuffing them in his back pocket. ‘At least now we know

what they do.’

Seeing that we aren’t gun-toting Mogadorians, the guy at the front desk slowly comes out of hiding.

He’s skinny and middle-aged, and from the bags under his eyes, he looks as if he’s having one terrible day.

‘What – what is going on?’ the clerk asks us.

Before we can answer, Walker strides through the door. She flashes the clerk her badge and then

shouts, ‘What floor is Sanderson on?’

The wide-eyed clerk glances from Walker to us and then back. ‘Pent-penthouse,’ he stammers.

‘Those-those things you killed are with him. They cleared out the entire hotel this morning except for me and some of the staff. And I’m not even a manager.’

Nine stares at the clerk, trying to make sense of him. ‘Why would they keep you around?’

‘They’ve been ordering room service,’ he responds incredulously, his voice squeaky. ‘Acting like

they own the place and we’re their servants.’

‘That’s some ballsy shit,’ Nine says, shaking his head. ‘Like they’ve already taken over or

something.’

Walker squints at the clerk like she could strangle him, then turns to me, her voice still incredibly

loud. ‘Goddamn it. I can’t hear this guy.’

I wave her over and press my hands to her ears. While I’m healing Walker, I look over at the clerk.

‘You should get out of here. Go outside very slowly, with your hands up. We’ll send out anyone else

we come across.’

The clerk nods mutely, then begins taking baby steps towards the exit, his hands raised above his

head.

Walker shakes off my hands as soon as her hearing is back. ‘What did he say?’

‘He said we’re going up,’ I reply, pointing to the elevator.

‘Actually,’ Nine says, ‘they’re coming down.’

The hotel’s one working elevator has begun to descend, the little lights above ticking off the floors.

I light my Lumen, the whoosh of flames feeling good. Walker adjusts her grip on her pistol.

‘Easy, guys,’ Nine says. ‘I’ve got this.’

Nine picks up one of the leather sofas and holds it like a battering ram. Walker and I both step

aside, giving him room. When the elevator dings and the doors slide apart, the four Mogadorians sent

downstairs to reinforce the ones we’ve already dispatched are greeted by Nine screaming and

shoving a sofa into them. One of them manages to get a burst of blaster fire off, but it sizzles

harmlessly against the floor. The entire unit is pinned inside the elevator, the centermost Mog crushed outright behind Nine’s weight. Walker easily darts around Nine and picks the Mogs off with her

handgun.

‘That still doesn’t make up for the whole glove thing,’ I tell Nine as he effortlessly tosses the sofa back into the lobby.

‘Come on,’ Nine complains, grinning. ‘It was an accident.’

‘Are there any other alien gadgets I need to be aware of?’ Walker asks as we pile into the elevator

and hit the button for the top floor.

‘Well, there’s this,’ Nine replies, and pulls a string of three emerald-green stones out of his pocket.

I remember that thing from before – when Nine throws it, the string creates a miniature vacuum, sucks

up whatever’s close and then spits it violently back out. He must have taken it out of his Chest before turning over the rest of his Inheritance to Marina and Six.

‘What does that do?’ Walker asks.

‘You’ll see,’ I reply, looking at Nine. ‘You know there will be more waiting for us outside the

elevator, right?’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ he replies, grinning.

I pull Walker close so that we’re pressed against the side of the elevator, right up against the

buttons. Nine takes cover against the opposite wall, lazily swinging his string of stones like a bolo.

‘You might need to hold on to me,’ I tell Walker. ‘You’ve seen how Nine does with gadgets.’

‘Hey,’ Nine says, wounded. ‘This one I actually know how to work.’

Seconds later, the elevator doors open and a barrage of blaster fire hammers the elevator’s back

wall, the Mogs up here adopting a strategy of shoot first and ask questions later. Without poking his

head out of cover, Nine tosses the strand of stones outside the elevator.

I imagine Nine’s weapon working like it did back at the cabin – the beads hovering in a perfect

circle, spinning slowly forward, sucking up anything in their path. I can hear the whoosh of air,

followed by Mogadorian screams, and a lot of futile shooting. Glass breaks as framed pictures are

torn from the hallway walls, the pieces sucked into the miniature vacuum.

Nine snaps his fingers and everything the vacuum collected explodes outward. Violently expelled

from the suction, one Mogadorian comes flying into the elevator. His head smashes hard against the

back wall, his neck broken. Outside, everything is quiet.

When it’s over, I stick my head outside the doors. The air is filled with swirling dust particles that might be Mogadorian remains. A blaster that somehow became wedged against the ceiling clatters to

the floor. Aside from that, the only thing in the hallway is a room-service cart that looks like it’s gone through a grinder, its legs bent and twisted. There’s only one door at the end of the short hallway, the one for the penthouse, and it’s now half broken off its hinges.

‘What the hell was that thing?’ Walker asks, incredulous.

‘The Mogs aren’t the only ones with kick-ass weaponry,’ Nine says, picking up the harmless-

looking stone strand from where it landed on the floor.

‘Don’t get any ideas,’ I say to Walker when I catch her craning her neck to get a look at the stones.

‘Our technology isn’t for sale.’

Walker frowns at me. ‘Yeah, well, judging by that bullshit with the gloves, you don’t know how to

work it anyway.’

From the broken doorway up ahead, I hear the droning of a television. It’s turned to cable news, I

think, some talking head rambling on about stock prices. Other than that, the hallway is totally quiet.

There isn’t any sign of more Mogadorians. Even so, we advance cautiously towards the penthouse

door.

Wary of an ambush, I nudge the door with my telekinesis before we get too close. It comes off the

hinges easily and falls into the penthouse with a thud. The living room inside is dark, all the curtains drawn, and lit only by the blue glow of the television.

‘Come on in,’ a gravelly voice calls from inside. ‘There’s no one in here who can hurt you.’

‘That’s Sanderson,’ Walker whispers.

I exchange a quick look with Nine. He shrugs and waves towards the door. I go first, Nine right

behind me and Walker bringing up the rear.

The first thing I notice is a damp, moldy smell in the hotel room. It smells like rot with an

undercurrent of minty, old-man joint cream. A map of New York City is spread across the table in the

suite’s dining area, notes in Mogadorian scribbled at various locations. Next to the table is a

knocked-over chair, as if someone got up in a hurry. There are also Mogadorian cannons propped up

against one wall along with some dark canvas backpacks of gear – I notice a laptop, a few cell

phones and a thick leather-bound book.

None of that interests me as much as the old man seated at the edge of the suite’s slept-in king-size

bed. He watches the TV through the open bedroom doorway, maybe too weak to walk himself into the

penthouse’s living room.

‘Goddamn, dude,’ Nine exclaims, upon seeing Sanderson. ‘What is wrong with you?’

I’ve seen a lot of pictures of Bud Sanderson over the last few days. The first was on They Walk

Among Us, Sanderson as an old man with thinning white hair, jowls and a paunch. On the website, in

a tabloid-style story I didn’t think too much about, Mark James accused Sanderson of using some kind

of Mogadorian anti-aging treatment. The next time I saw Sanderson was in Agent Walker’s file,

having lunch with a disguised Setrákus Ra, hale and hearty, silver hair full and slicked back, looking like he might jog a few miles after his Cobb salad.

The Sanderson in front of me doesn’t look like either of those pictures. Nine and I walk into the

bedroom to get a closer look, Walker lingering behind. The secretary of defense is a frail old man, his hunched body wrapped up in a puffy hotel robe. The right side of his face looks saggy and collapsed

– his eye socket droops, and his jawline disappears beneath folds of loose skin. His white hair is

badly thinned, a comb-over barely managing to hide a smattering of age spots. He smiles at us – or

maybe it’s a grimace – his teeth yellow, gums receding. In the open neck of his robe and along his

forearms, I notice some prominent veins that are discolored black.

‘Number Four and Number Nine,’ Sanderson says, pointing a shaky finger at me and then Nine. He

doesn’t seem offended at all by Nine’s grossed-out reaction, doesn’t even seem to have noticed.

‘Your pictures have been crossing my desk for years. Furtive shots from security cameras and the

like. I practically watched you boys grow up.’

Sanderson sounds like a reminiscent, doddering grandfather. I’m completely taken aback. I’d been

expecting a sellout politician to try hitting me with talking points on Mogadorian Progress. This guy

barely looks capable of getting up from his bed, much less giving a speech in front of the UN.

‘And you …’ Sanderson tilts his head to get a look at Walker. ‘You’re one of mine, aren’t you?’

‘Special Agent Karen Walker,’ she replies, stepping into the doorway. ‘Not one of yours. I serve

humanity now, sir.’

‘Well, that’s nice,’ Sanderson says dismissively. He doesn’t seem at all interested in her. The way

his beady, black eyes settle on Nine and me, like we’re his long-lost relatives gathered around his

deathbed, makes me seriously uncomfortable. Even Nine has slipped into an awkward silence.

I notice a small kit on the bed next to Sanderson. It contains a few sleek syringes filled with a dark liquid that reminds me vaguely of Piken blood.

I take a step towards him, my voice low. ‘What did they do to you?’

‘Nothing I didn’t ask for,’ Sanderson replies, sadly. ‘I wish you boys would have found me sooner.

Now it’s too late.’

‘Like hell,’ Nine says.

‘Even if you kill me, it won’t make any difference,’ Sanderson rasps, resignedly.

‘We’re not here to kill you,’ I reply. ‘I don’t know what they’ve told you, what they’ve filled your

mind and body with, but we’re not done fighting.’

‘Oh, but I am,’ Sanderson replies, and pulls a small handgun out of his robe’s front pocket. Before I

can stop him, he holds the pistol next to his temple and pulls the trigger.

2 1

If I’d had time to think about it, I probably wouldn’t have been able to do it.

There’s about a millimeter of space between Bud Sanderson’s temple and the barrel of his gun. It’s

in that space that I manage to stop the bullet, holding it there with my telekinesis. The precision

required makes me grunt from exertion. Every muscle in my body is tensed, my fists clenched and toes

curled. It’s like I flung my entire body into stopping that bullet.

I can’t believe I just did that. I’ve never done anything so precise before.

A ring-shaped burn from the pistol’s barrel forms on Sanderson’s temple, but otherwise his head is

totally intact.

It takes until the pistol’s report stops echoing for the secretary of defense to realize his suicide

attempt didn’t work. He blinks his watery eyes at me¸ not quite understanding why he’s still alive.

‘How –?’

Before Sanderson can pull the trigger again, Nine lunges forward and slaps the gun out of his hand.

I exhale very slowly and allow my body to uncoil.

‘That’s not right,’ Sanderson says to me accusingly, his lower lip shaking as he rubs his wrist

where Nine struck him. ‘Just let me die.’

‘Seriously,’ Walker interjects, her hands tightening around her own gun. ‘Why’d you stop him?

Could’ve solved all our problems right there.’

‘It wouldn’t have solved anything,’ I say, shooting her a look as I let the bullet drop harmlessly on

to Sanderson’s unmade bed.

‘He’s right,’ Sanderson says to Walker, his shoulders slumping. ‘Killing me won’t change anything.

But keeping me alive is simply cruel.’

‘You don’t get to decide when you check out, old man,’ I tell Sanderson. ‘When we win this war,

we’ll let the people of Earth decide how they deal with traitors.’

Sanderson chuckles dryly. ‘The optimism of youth.’

I crouch down to look him in the face. ‘There’s still time to redeem yourself,’ I say. ‘To do

something of value.’

Sanderson raises an eyebrow, and his eyes seem to focus up a bit. But then the right side of his

mouth droops and he has to wipe away a blob of drool with the cuff of his robe. Looking utterly

defeated, Sanderson averts his eyes.

‘No,’ he says quietly. ‘I think not.’

Nine sighs from boredom and picks up the kit of syringes laid out next to Sanderson. He studies the

tar-colored sludge inside the injector for a moment, then waves it in Sanderson’s face.

‘What is this shit they’re giving you, huh?’ Nine asks. ‘This what you traded the planet for?’

Sanderson peers longingly at the vials but then weakly shoves them away.

‘They healed me,’ Sanderson explains. ‘More than that. They made me young again.’

‘And look at you now,’ Nine grunts. ‘Fresh as a daisy, right?’

‘You know their leader has lived for centuries,’ Sanderson counters, his eyes swinging wildly

between me and Nine. ‘Of course you do. He promised us that. He promised immortality and power.’

‘He lied,’ I say.

Sanderson looks down at the floor. ‘Yes.’

‘Pathetic,’ Walker says, but the venom’s gone out of her. Like me, I don’t think Sanderson has

turned out to be the villain Walker expected. Maybe he was once the puppet master of an international

conspiracy in support of Mogs, but at this point he’s been entirely chewed up and spit out by

Mogadorian Progress. This isn’t the game changer Walker was hoping for. I’m worried that we’ve

wasted what precious little time we have left.

Sanderson ignores Nine and Walker. For some reason, maybe because I forced him to keep on

living, he appeals directly to me. ‘The wonders they had to offer … can’t you understand? I thought I

was ushering in a golden age for humanity. How could I say no to them? To him?’

‘And now you have to keep taking this stuff, is that it?’ I ask, glancing to the syringes that I bet

contain something like the unnatural genetic brew the Mogs use to grow their disposable soldiers. ‘If

you stop, you’ll break down like one of them.’

‘Old enough to turn to dust, anyway,’ Nine grumbles.

‘It’s been two days, and look at me …’ Sanderson waves a hand at himself, at his body that looks

like a slug with salt poured on it. ‘They used me. Kept giving me treatments in exchange for favors.

But you freed me. Now I can finally die.’

Nine throws up his hands and looks at me. ‘Dude, screw this. This guy’s a lost cause. We need to

figure something else out.’

A sense of desperation begins to sink in now that Walker’s lead on the secretary of defense has

turned up only a broken old man and gotten us no closer to thwarting the imminent Mogadorian

invasion. But I’m not willing to give up just yet. This lump sitting in front of me used to be a powerful man – hell, the Mogs had a protection detail on him, so he still is. There has to be a way to fix him, to make him willing to fight.

I need him to see the light.

Some combination of desperation and intuition causes me to turn on my Lumen. I don’t crank it up

to fire level; instead, I produce just enough juice so that a beam of pure light shoots from my hand.

Sanderson’s eyes widen and he inches back on the bed away from me.

‘I already told you, I’m not going to hurt you,’ I say, as I lean in towards him.

I shine my Lumen on the palsied, saggy part of his face, wanting to get a good look at what I’m

dealing with. The skin is grayed and almost dead looking, fine, ash-colored veins running through it.

The dark particles under Sanderson’s skin actually seem to float away from my Lumen, almost like

they’re trying to burrow deeper.

‘I can heal this,’ I say, resolutely. I’m not sure if it’s actually true, but I have to try.

‘You – you can fix what they did?’ Sanderson asks, a note of hope in his gravelly voice.

‘I can make you like you were,’ I reply. ‘Not better, in the way they promised. Not younger. Just …

as you should be.’

‘Old people get old,’ Nine puts in. ‘You gotta deal with it.’

Sanderson looks at me skeptically. I must sound just like the Mogadorians did years ago, when they

first convinced him to join their side.

‘What do you want in exchange?’ he asks, like a high price is a foregone conclusion.

‘Nothing,’ I reply. ‘You can try killing yourself again for all I care. Or maybe you can find what’s

left of your conscience and do what’s right. It’ll be up to you.’

And with that, I press my palm against the side of Sanderson’s face.

Sanderson shudders as the warm healing energy of my Legacy passes into him. Normally, when

using my healing powers, I get a sensation that the injury is knitting itself back together, of cells

rearranging themselves beneath my fingertips. With Sanderson, it feels as if a force is pushing back

against my Legacy, as if there are dark, cellular pits into which my healing light plunges down and

gutters out. I still feel Sanderson healing, but it’s slow going, and I have to concentrate much harder than usual. At one point, something actually sizzles and pops beneath his skin, one of his discolored

veins burning up. Sanderson flinches away from me.

‘Are you hurt?’ I ask, short of breath, my hand still poised next to his face.

He hesitates. ‘No – no, it actually feels better. Somehow … cleaner. Keep going.’

I keep going. I can feel the Mogadorian sludge burrowing deeper into Sanderson, retreating from

my Legacy. I intensify my healing, chasing it through his veins. I find that I’m squinting from the

exertion and a cold sweat dampens my back. I’m so focused on beating back the darkness I detect

inside Sanderson that I must lose track of time or enter some kind of trance state.

When I’m finished at last, I stumble backwards, my legs wobbly, and run right into Sam. I wasn’t

even aware he’d come upstairs. He’s holding out a phone – did he steal it from that bystander we

knocked over? – and recording my healing of Sanderson. He stops when I bump into him and, for a

moment, Sam is the only thing holding me up.

‘That was awesome,’ Sam says. ‘You were, like, glowing. Are you okay?’

I draw myself up with some effort, not wanting to show any sign of weakness in front of Walker or

Sanderson, even though I feel drained. ‘Yeah. I’m good.’

I catch Walker staring at me with that same look of awe her driver had after I healed his neck.

Sanderson, still sitting in front of me, looks close to tears. The black spiderwebs that crisscrossed

beneath his skin have disappeared; his face no longer droops, his muscles aren’t atrophied. He’s still an old man, deep-set wrinkles lining his face, but he looks like a real old man, not one who’s slowly had the life drained out of him.

He looks human.

‘Thank you,’ Sanderson says to me, his words barely above a whisper.

Nine looks at me, checking to see how I’m holding up, then turns to Sanderson and snorts

derisively. ‘It’s all for nothing, Grandpa, if you let those pasty-faced asshats land on Earth.’

‘I’m ashamed of what I’ve done, what I became …’ Sanderson says, his gaze pleading and

confused. ‘But I don’t understand what you expect me to do. Let them? How can I stop them?’

‘We don’t expect you to stop them,’ I say, ‘just slow them down. You need to rally people against

them. When you give your speech tomorrow at the UN, you need to make it clear that the Mogadorian

fleet can’t be allowed to land on Earth.’

Sanderson stares at me, confused, then slowly swivels his gaze towards Walker. ‘Is that what your

mole told you? Is that what you think will be happening tomorrow?’

‘I know what’s happening,’ Walker replies, no less caustic now that Sanderson seems to be coming around to our side. ‘You and the other leaders who the Mogs have bought off will get up onstage and

convince the world we should coexist peacefully.’

‘Which is really just code for surrender,’ Nine adds.

‘Yes, that’s planned for tomorrow,’ Sanderson says, with a dark, hopeless laugh. ‘But you’ve got

the order confused. You think I give some speech and then their Beloved Leader lands his ships? You think he cares about the slow-turning wheels of human politics? He’s not waiting for permission. The UN will convene to save lives, to calm a frightened population, because a military resistance is

doomed against that –’

Sanderson gestures wildly through the door, at the television still buzzing in the other room.

Slowly, we each turn, leaving Sanderson’s bedroom for the penthouse living room, drawn in by the

ashen face of a cable news anchor. She stumbles over her words as she tries to explain the

unidentified flying objects manifesting in the air over dozens of major cities. The reception goes in

and out, the bursts of static getting more and more frequent, as something interferes with the signal.

‘… reports coming in that the ships have been sighted overseas as well, in places like London,

Paris and Shanghai,’ the newscaster says, eyes wide as she reads from her teleprompter. ‘If you’re

just joining us, something literally out of this world is happening, as ships of alien origin have

appeared over Los Angeles, Washington …’

‘It’s happening,’ Sam says, stunned, looking at me for some kind of guidance. ‘The warships are

coming down. They’re making their move.’

I don’t know what to tell him. Grainy footage of a massive Mogadorian warship sliding out of the

clouds in the sky over Los Angeles appears on-screen. It’s everything I dreaded, coming to pass. The

Mogadorian fleet is gliding slowly towards a woefully unprepared Earth. It’s Lorien, all over again.

‘I tried to tell you,’ Sanderson calls to us. ‘It’s already too late. They’ve already won. All that’s

left is surrender.’

2 2

‘I’m done doing what they tell me. What any of them tell me.’

My eyes snap open. I’d been in a deep sleep, one that I didn’t think would be possible in my giant

Mogadorian bed with its strange, slippery sheets. I’m becoming uncomfortably adjusted to life aboard

the Anubis. I thought I heard a voice in my sleep, but maybe it was just my imagination, or the remnant of some dream. Not taking any chances, I stay very still and keep my breathing even, like I’m still

asleep. If there is an intruder, I don’t want them to know I’m awake.

After a few seconds of silence filled only by the ever-present hum of the warship’s engines, a

voice resumes speaking.

‘One side drops us on this strange planet and basically forces us to fight for our lives. The other

side, they talk about peace through progress, but that’s all just fancy talk for killing anyone who stands in their way.’

It’s Five. He’s in my room somewhere. I can’t locate him in the near darkness. I can only hear his

mumbled under-the-breath rambling. I’m not even sure if he’s talking to me.

‘They all just wanted to use us,’ Five hisses. ‘But I’m not going to let them. I’m not going to fight in their stupid war.’

He shifts then, and I can finally make out Five’s outline. He’s sitting on the edge of my bed, his skin the dark, slick texture of my sheets. He blends right in to my covers, and it must be because he’s

touching them, using his Externa. That means his Legacies are back. It also means that he’s seriously

creeping me out, like a monster came crawling out from under my bed.

‘I know you’re awake,’ Five says to me without turning his head. ‘The ship is descending, we

aren’t in orbit anymore. If you want to go, now is the time.’

I scoot up in bed, keeping the covers close. For a second, I consider making Five powerless again

by charging the sheets with my Dreynen. But what good would that do? I decide not to attack him. For

now.

‘I thought you were on their side,’ I say. ‘Why would you help me?’

‘I’m not on anybody’s side. I’m done with this whole thing.’

‘What do you mean, done?’

‘For a while, after my Cêpan died, I was alone. It wasn’t so bad. I’d like to go back to that,’ Five

says. ‘You know how many little islands there are in the oceans? I’m going to pick one out and stay

there until this is over. I don’t give a shit who wins, so long as they stay far away from me.’

‘That’s cowardly,’ I reply, shaking my head. ‘I’m not going to some deserted island with you.’

Five snorts. ‘I didn’t invite you, Ella. I’m getting off this ship and I thought you might want to come along. That’s as far as we go.’

I consider the possibility that this could be some kind of test orchestrated by Setrákus Ra. But

remembering the way Five acted earlier, I decide to take my chances that he’s for real. I hop out of

bed and pull on my thin-soled Mogadorian slippers.

‘Okay, what’s your plan?’

Five stands up and his skin reverts to normal. As the automatic lights come on in my room, I can

finally see his face. He’s changed the bandage over his eye so that it isn’t crusty with blood anymore, but he still hasn’t gotten it healed. His remaining eye twinkles like he’s excited to get into some

trouble. Seeing him makes me second-guess my decision to join forces.

‘I’m going to open up one of the airlocks and jump out,’ Five says, illustrating his brilliant plan.

‘That’s nice for you. You can fly. What am I supposed to do?’

Five reaches into his back pocket and casually tosses me a round object. I catch the stone in my

hands and cradle it. I recognize it as one of the objects from John’s Chest.

‘Xitharis stone,’ Five explains. ‘I, uh, borrowed it from our friends.’

‘You stole it.’

He shrugs. ‘I charged it with my flight Legacy. Use it to fly off and save the planet.’

I hide the stone inside my dress, then look up at Five. ‘So that’s it? You think we’re just going to

walk off this ship?’

Five raises an eyebrow at me. I notice that he’s not wearing any shoes or socks, probably so his

bare feet are in constant contact with the metal paneling of the Anubis. Also, attached to his forearm is some kind of contraption that looks like it might be a weapon.

‘They won’t be able to stop me,’ Five says, a dark confidence in his voice. It isn’t exactly

inspiring, but it’s the best hope I’ve got.

‘Okay, lead the way.’

The door to my room slides open for Five. He pokes his head out, checking to see that the coast is

clear. When he’s satisfied, Five hustles into the hallway, motioning for me to follow. We navigate the labyrinthine halls of the Anubis at a brisk walk.

‘Just act normal,’ Five tells me, keeping his voice low. ‘He’s got scouts watching us, always. But

they’re also afraid of us. You, in particular, are supposed to be treated like royalty. They won’t

interfere if we don’t look suspicious. And, even if they do think something’s wrong, by the time one of them actually works up the guts to tell Beloved Leader, we’ll be gone …’

He’s talking a lot. That tells me that he’s nervous. Without thinking about it – because if I actually thought about it, I might get too repulsed – I reach out and take Five’s hand.

‘We’re just a newly betrothed couple, getting to know each other,’ I say. ‘Enjoying a nice walk

through the cozy halls of a massive warship.’

Five’s hand is sweaty and cold. He tries to jerk away from me, his initial instinct not to be touched, but after a moment he calms down and lets his dead-fish hand be held.

‘Betrothed?’ he grunts. ‘He wants us to get married?’

‘That’s what Setrákus Ra said.’

‘He says a lot of things.’ Five’s face is red, the blush traveling all the way up into his scalp. I’m

not sure if he’s embarrassed or angry or some combination of the two. ‘I didn’t agree to that. You’re a child.’

‘Um, obviously I didn’t agree either. You’re a gross, murdering, weirdo –’

‘Shut up,’ Five hisses, and for a second I think that I’ve actually offended him. But then I realize

we’re passing by the open entranceway of the observation deck.

I can’t help but slow my steps as we sneak by. The empty darkness of space I’d gotten used to has

been replaced by the familiar, bright-blue atmosphere of Earth. The Anubis is still making its descent, but already the outline of civilization is visible, roads boxing up green fields, tiny houses arranged into perfect suburbs. Dozens of Mogadorians have gathered to watch Earth approach, an excited

energy in the air as they whisper to one another, probably talking about which swath of land they’ll

pillage first.

Five leads me around the next corner and crashes right into two Mog warriors who were jogging

towards the observation deck. The nearest one lifts a corner of his mouth in a disdainful sneer, eyeing us.

‘What are you two doing?’ the Mog asks.

In response, I draw myself up, trying to look as regal as possible. I fix the overcurious Mog with a

cold stare. The Mog’s sneer quickly fades as he remembers himself – or, more likely, remembers that

I’m not just some Lorien but the blood of his Beloved Leader – and he looks down at the floor. He

begins to mutter something apologetic when a metallic shink cuts him off.

A needlelike blade extends from the leather contraption on Five’s forearm. In a blur, Five drives

the blade right through the first Mog’s forehead, instantly turning him to ash. The other Mog’s eyes

widen in panic and he tries to run. A delighted grin spreads across Five’s face. Before the Mog can

get even a few steps down the hall, Five’s non-blade arm takes on a rubbery consistency and stretches

after him. Five’s arm snakes around the Mog’s neck and then yanks him backwards so Five can finish

him off with his blade.

The whole thing is over in about ten seconds.

‘We were supposed to be acting normal,’ I say to Five in a loud whisper, mindful that we’re not all

that far from the crowded observation room.

Five blinks at me, almost like he’s not sure what just came over him. Carefully, he presses the

blade back into its holster.

‘I lost my cool, okay?’ Five anxiously rubs his hand across the stubble on top of his head. ‘It

doesn’t matter now. We’re almost there.’

I stare at this unhinged monster standing in front of me. He gulps down a few deep breaths, his

shoulders shaking, fists balled from the excitement. Minutes ago, he sounded almost fragile, rambling

in the darkness of my room. He’s broken, a total mess – I have to remind myself that he murdered

Eight in order to squelch the swelling of sympathy I feel for him. Sympathy, yes, but also fear. He

flew off the handle with zero provocation, and almost seemed happy killing those Mogs.

This screwed-up, violent, cowardly traitor is my only real hope of getting off the Anubis.

I shake my head. ‘Let’s go,’ I sigh.

Five nods and we jog on, tossing out the whole hand-holding thing, and just careening towards our

destination. As we run, I notice Five clenching and unclenching his hands. They’re both empty.

‘How’d you do that with your arm?’ I ask him, thinking about those rubber and steel balls he used

to change his skin in the Lecture Hall. ‘I thought you needed to be touching something …’

Five turns his head so his good eye is on me. He touches the fresh bandage over his face.

‘Losing an eye gave me some new, uh … storage possibilities,’ he says.

‘Ugh,’ I reply, grossed out as I picture the rubber ball shoved into Five’s eye socket. ‘How’d you

lose it, anyway?’

‘Marina,’ he answers, simply, no malice in his voice. ‘I had it coming.’

‘I’m sure.’

We round the next corner, and the hallway opens up, the ceiling rising as we enter the huge docking

bay. I can see crisp, blue sky through the portholes, sunlight pouring across the dozens of docked

Mogadorian scout vessels. Other than the ships, the docking bay is empty. The mechanics and crew

must be on the observatory deck, gazing out upon the world they plan to conquer.

We’re so close.

‘Hold on,’ I say. ‘If we open the airlock, are we going to be sucked out right away?’

‘We’re in the atmosphere now, not space,’ Five says impatiently. He leans over a nearby console,

studying the interface. ‘It’ll be windy. You’re not going to chicken out, are you?’

‘No,’ I say, looking around the docking bay. ‘Do you think we could blow some of this stuff up?

Maybe bring down the Anubis before it has a chance to do anything?’

Five turns to me, looking slightly impressed. ‘You have any explosive Legacies?’

‘No.’

‘Me neither. Know how to make a bomb?’

‘Uh, no.’

‘Then we’re going to have to settle for escaping,’ Five says. Five hits a button on the console and a

thick metal door thuds into place behind us. It’s the airlock – sturdy enough to keep the ship safe from the vacuum of space. It effectively seals us off from the rest of the ship.

‘That’ll slow them down,’ Five says, referring to pursuers we don’t yet have.

‘Good thinking,’ I admit as I peer through the small window on the airlock, expecting to see Mogs

chasing us down at any moment.

Five taps out a few more keystrokes and, with a hydraulic whine and a gust of chilled air, the

docking-bay doors at the far end of the room open up. The wind pulls at me and I let out a deep,

relieved sigh. I reach into my dress and remove the Xitharis stone, clutching it. Slowly, I walk

towards the open dock, wondering what it’ll be like to pitch myself into that open blue sky. Way

better than life on the Anubis, that’s for sure.

‘So, I just hold this stone and fly?’ I ask, looking over my shoulder at Five.

‘Supposed to be how it works,’ he answers. ‘Just imagine your body light as a feather, floating on

air. That’s how I learned to use my Legacy, anyway.’

I glance towards the open air, the cloudless sky waiting for me.

‘What if it doesn’t work?’

Five starts towards me, sighing. ‘Come on. We’ll go together.’

‘You won’t be going anywhere.’

Setrákus Ra steps out from between two of the ships. I’m not sure if he’s been there the whole time,

waiting for us, or if he just teleported into the room somehow. Either way – it doesn’t matter. We’re

caught. Still in his human form, Setrákus Ra stands between us and the open docking bay, the wind

gently blowing through his perfect brown hair, plucking at the lapels of his suit. He holds his golden staff – the Eye of Thaloc – in one hand.

Five puts a hand on my shoulder and tries to push me behind him. I shake him off. We face Setrákus

Ra side by side.

‘Get out of our way, old man,’ Five growls. He’s trying to sound tough, but he can barely manage

to meet Setrákus Ra’s eyes.

‘I will not,’ Setrákus Ra replies, his voice full of scorn and disappointment. ‘I expected this kind of behavior from you, Ella. You have only recently joined us and it will take time to undo the

brainwashing you endured at the hands of the Garde. But, Five, my boy, after everything I have done

for you –’

‘Shut up,’ Five says quietly, almost pleading. ‘You talk and talk and talk, but none of it’s true!’

‘Mine is the only truth,’ Setrákus Ra counters sternly. ‘You will be punished for your insolence.’

Five still can’t bring himself to look directly at Setrákus Ra, but his shoulders rise up and down

rapidly, just like in the hallway with the Mog warriors. Inside his chest, a low rumble starts to build.

It reminds me of a teakettle coming to a boil. I take a subtle step to the side, worried that Five might literally explode.

‘Enough of this inanity, children,’ Setrákus Ra says, but his latest rebuke is partly drowned out by

the rabid scream that tears loose from Five’s lungs.

And then he charges.

At first, Five’s bare feet make slapping sounds across the metal deck. But as he nears Setrákus Ra,

his footfalls become metal clanging against metal, his Externa changing his skin to match the floor.

Setrákus Ra merely raises an eyebrow at Five, not impressed or intimidated in the least.

I don’t just stand around and watch. While Five charges in, I make a break for one of the nearby

tool carts. If I can grab a wrench or any other object to charge with my Dreynen, maybe I can re-

create yesterday’s lesson. Only this time, my target will be Setrákus Ra.

That plan, along with whatever Five intended to do, gets scrapped when Setrákus Ra sweeps his

arm from side to side. A wave of telekinetic force blasts across us, knocking me completely off my

feet and scattering the nearby tools to the far wall. His telekinesis is so powerful that some of the

ships even rock to the side, their shocks grinding and creaking.

I land hard on my stomach and immediately roll over to reorient myself. Five was knocked into the

air, too, but caught himself with his flight Legacy. He floats just a few yards from Setrákus Ra. Five’s skin is no longer the dull gray of the docking-bay floor. It has changed to a glistening chrome, like the ball bearing I know he carries around. So that must be jammed into his eye socket as well.

‘Stop at once,’ Setrákus Ra warns, but Five is way past the point of listening.

Five soars in towards Setrákus Ra, throwing big, looping punches with the intention of smashing

his pretty human face. Setrákus Ra deflects the blows easily with his cane, although Five’s sheer

animalistic fury is enough to drive Setrákus Ra back towards the open docking-bay doors.