Contents
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter21
Chapter22
Chapter23
Chapter24
Chapter25
TheLorienLegaciesbyPittacusLore
NOVELS
IAmNumberFourThePowerofSixTheRiseofNineTheFallofFive
TheRevengeofSeven
NOVELLAS
IAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles1:Six’sLegacyIAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles2:Nine’sLegacyIAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles3:TheFallenLegaciesIAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles4:The
SearchForSamIAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles5:TheLastDaysofLorienIAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles6:TheForgottenOnesIAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles7:Five’sLegacyIAmNumberFour:
TheLostFiles8:ReturnToParadiseIAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles9:Five’sBetrayal
NOVELLACOLLECTIONS
IAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles:TheLegacies(Containsnovellas1–3)IAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles:SecretHistories(Containsnovellas4–6)IAmNumberFour:TheLostFiles:HiddenEnemy(Containsnovellas7–9)
Theeventsinthisbookarereal.
NamesandplaceshavebeenchangedtoprotecttheLoric,whoremaininhiding.
Othercivilizationsdoexist.
Someofthemseektodestroyyou.
1
Thenightmareisover.WhenIopenmyeyes,there’snothingbutdarkness.I’minabed,thatmuchIcantell,andit’snotmyown.Themattressisenormous,somehowcontoured
perfectlytomybody,andforamomentIwonderifmyfriendsmovedmetooneofthebiggerbedsinNine’spenthouse.Istretchmylegsandarmsoutasfarasthey’llgoandcan’tfindtheedges.Thesheetdrapedovermeismoreslipperythansoft,almostlikeapieceofplastic,anditisradiatingheat.Notjustheat,Irealize,butalsoasteadyvibrationthatsoothesmysoremuscles.HowlonghaveIbeenasleep,andwheretheheckamI?Itrytorememberwhathappenedtome,butallIcanthinkofismylastvision.ItfeltlikeIwasinthat
nightmarefordays.Icanstillsmelltheburned-rubberstenchofWashington,D.C.Smogcloudslingeredoverthecity,areminderofthebattlefoughtthere.Orthebattlethatwillbefoughtthere,ifmyvisionactuallycomestrue.Thevisions.AretheypartofanewLegacy?NoneoftheothershaveLegaciesthatleavethem
traumatizedinthemorning.Aretheyprophecies?ThreatssentbySetrákusRa,likethedreamsJohnandEightusedtohave?Aretheywarnings?Whatevertheyare,Iwishthey’dstophappening.ItakeafewdeepbreathstocleanthesmellofWashingtonoutofmynostrils,eventhoughIknowit’sall
inmyhead.What’sworsethanthesmellisthatIcanremembereverylittledetail,rightdowntothehorrifiedlookonJohn’sfacewhenhesawmeonthatstagewithSetrákusRa,condemningSixtodeath.Hewastrappedinthevision,too,justlikeIwas.Iwaspowerlessupthere,stuckbetweenSetrákusRa,self-appointedrulerofEarth,and…Five.He’sworkingfortheMogadorians!Ihavetowarntheothers.Isitboltuprightandmyhead
swims–toofast,toosoon–rust-coloredblobsfloatingthroughmyvision.Iblinkthemaway,myeyesfeelinggummy,mymouthdryandthroatsore.Thisdefinitelyisn’tthepenthouse.Mymovementmusttriggersomenearbysensor,becausetheroom’slightsslowlygrowbrighter.They
comeongradually,theroomeventuallybathedinapaleredglow.Ilookaroundforthesourceofthelightanddiscoveritpulsingfromveinsinterwoventhroughthechrome-paneledwalls.Achillgoesthroughmeathowprecisetheroomlooks,howsevere,lackinganydecorationatall.Theheatfromtheblanketincreases,almostasifitwantsmetocurlbackupbeneathit.Ishoveitaway.ThisisaMogadorianplace.Icrawlacrossthemammothbed–it’sbiggerthananSUV,bigenoughforaten-foot-tallMogadorian
dictatortocomfortablyrelaxin–untilmybarefeetdangleoverthemetalfloor.I’mwearingalonggraynightgownembroideredwiththornyblackvines.Ishudder,thinkingaboutthemputtingmeintothisgownandleavingmeheretorest.Theycould’vejustkilledme,butinsteadtheyputmeinpyjamas?Inmy
vision,IwassittingalongsideSetrákusRa.Hecalledmehisheir.Whatdoesthatevenmean?IsthatwhyI’mstillalive?Itdoesn’tmatter.Thesimplefactis:I’vebeencaptured.Iknowthis.NowwhatamIgoingtodoabout
it?IfiguretheMogsmusthavemovedmetooneoftheirbases.Exceptthisroomisn’tlikethehorrificand
tinycellsthatNineandSixdescribedfromwhentheywerecaptured.No,thismustbetheMogadorians’twistedideaofhospitality.They’retryingtotakecareofme.SetrákusRawantsmetreatedmorelikeaguestthanaprisoner.Because,oneday,hewantsmeruling
nexttohim.Why,Istilldon’tunderstand,butrightnowit’stheonlythingkeepingmealive.Ohno.IfI’mhere,whathappenedtotheothersinChicago?Myhandsstarttoshakeandtearsstingmyeyes.Ihavetogetoutofhere.AndIhavetodoitalone.Ipushdownthefear.IpushdownthelingeringvisionsofadecimatedWashington.Ipushdownthe
worriesaboutmyfriends.Ipushitalldown.Ineedtobeablankslate,likeIwaswhenwefirstfoughtSetrákusRainNewMexico,likeIwasduringmytrainingsessionswiththeothers.It’seasiestformetobebravewhenIjustdon’tthinkaboutit.IfIactoninstinct,Icandothis.Run,IimagineCraytonsaying.Rununtilthey’retootiredtochaseyou.Ineedsomethingtofightthemwith.IlookaroundtheroomforanythingIcanuseasaweapon.Nextto
thebedisametallicnightstand,theonlyotherfurnitureintheroom.TheMogsleftaglassofwaterthereforme,whichI’mnotdumbenoughtodrinkeventhoughI’minsanelythirsty.Nexttotheglass,there’sadictionary-sizedbookwithanoily,snaky-skincover.Theinkonthecoverlookssinged,thewordsindentedandrougharoundtheedges,asifitwereprintedwithacidforink.ThetitlereadsTheGreatBookofMogadorianProgress,surprisinglyinEnglish.Underitareaseries
ofangularboxesandhashmarksthatIassumeisMogadorian.Ipickupthebookandopenit.Eachpageisdividedinhalf,EnglishononesideandMogadorianonthe
other.IwonderifI’msupposedtoreadthisthing.Islamthebookclosed.Theimportantthingisthatit’sheavyandIcanswingit.Iwon’tbeturningany
Mogadorianguardsintoashclouds,butit’sbetterthannothing.IclimbdownfromthebedandwalkovertowhatIthinkisthedoor.It’sarectangularpanelcutintothe
platedwall,buttherearen’tanyknobsorbuttons.AsItiptoecloser,wonderinghowI’mgoingtoopenthisthing,there’samechanicalwhirringnoise
frominsidethewall.Itmustbeonamotionsensorlikethelights,becausethedoorhissesupwardassoonasI’mclose,disappearingintotheceiling.Idon’tstoptowonderwhyI’mnotlockeddown.ClutchingtheMogadorianbook,Istepintoahallway
that’sjustascoldandmetallicasmyroom.‘Ah,’saysawoman’svoice.‘You’reawake.’Ratherthanguards,aMogadorianwomanperchesonastooloutsidemyroom,obviouslywaitingfor
me.I’mnotsureifI’veeverseenafemaleMogbefore,anddefinitelynotonelikeher.Middle-aged,withwrinklesforminginthepaleskinaroundhereyes,theMoglookssurprisinglyunthreateninginahigh-necked,floor-lengthdress,likesomethingoneoftheSisterswouldwearbackatSantaTeresa.Herheadisshavedexceptfortwolong,blackbraidsatthebackofherskull,therestofherscalpcoveredbyan
elaboratetattoo.Insteadofbeingnastyandvicious,liketheMogsI’vefoughtbefore,thisoneisalmostelegant.Istopshortinfrontofher,notsurewhattodo.TheMogglancesatthebookinmyhandsandsmiles.‘Andreadytobeginyourstudies,Isee,’shesays,gettingup.She’stall,slenderandvaguelyspiderlike.
Standingbeforeme,shedipsintoanelaboratebow.‘MistressElla,Ishallbeyourinstructorwhile–’Assoonasherheadcomeslowenough,IsmackheracrossthefacewiththebookashardasIcan.Shedoesn’tseeitcoming,whichIguessisstrangebecausealltheMogsI’veencounteredhavebeen
readytofight.Thisoneletsoutashortgruntandthenhitsthefloorwithaflutteringoffabricfromherfancydress.Idon’tstoptoseeifI’veknockedheroutorifshe’spullingablasterfromsomehiddencompartmentin
thatdress.Irun,choosingadirectionatrandomandhurtlingdownthehallwayasfastasIcan.Themetalfloorstingsmybarefeetandmymusclesbegintoache,butIignoreallthat.Ihavetogetoutofhere.ToobadthesesecretMogadorianbasesneverhaveanyexitsigns.Iturnonecornerandthenanother,sprintingthroughhallwaysthatareprettymuchidentical.Ikeep
expectingsirenstostartblaringnowthatI’veescaped,buttheyneverdo.Therearen’tanyheavyMogadorianfootfallschasingaftermeeither.JustwhenI’mstartingtogetwindedandthinkingaboutslowingdown,adoorwayopensonmyright
andtwoMogadoriansstepforward.They’remoreliketheonesI’musedto–burly,dressedintheirblackcombatgear,beadyeyesglaringatme.Idartaroundthem,eventhoughneitherofthemmakesanyattempttograbme.Infact,IthinkIhearoneofthemlaughing.Whatisgoingonhere?IcanfeelthetwoMogsoldierswatchingmerun,soIduckdownthefirsthallwaythatIcan.I’mnot
sureifI’vebeengoingincirclesorwhat.Thereisn’tanysunlightoroutsidenoisesatall,nothingtoindicatethatImightbegettingclosertoanexit.Itdoesn’tseemliketheMogsevencarewhatIdo,liketheyknowI’vegotnochancetogetoutofhere.Islowdowntocatchmybreath,cautiouslyinchingdownthislateststerilehallway.I’mstillclutching
thebook–myonlyweapon–andmyhandisstartingtocramp.Iswitchhandsandpresson.Upahead,awidearchwayopenswithahydraulichiss;it’sdifferentfromtheotherdoors,wider,and
therearestrangelyblinkinglightsontheotherside.Notblinkinglights.Stars.AsIwalkunderthearchway,themetal-platedceilinggiveswaytoaglassbubble,theroomwide-
open,almostlikeaplanetarium.Exceptreal.Therearevariousconsolesandcomputersprotrudingfromthefloor–maybethisissomekindofcontrolroom–butIignorethem,drawninsteadtothedizzyingviewthroughtheexpansivewindow.Darkness.Stars.Earth.NowIunderstandwhytheMogadoriansweren’tchasingme.Theyknowthere’snowhereformetogo.I’minspace.Igetrightuptotheglass,pressingmyhandsagainstit.Icanfeeltheemptinessoutside,theendless,ice-
cold,airlessspacebetweenmeandthatfloatingblueorbinthedistance.
‘Glorious,isn’tit?’Hisboomingvoiceislikeabucketofcoldwaterdumpedonme.Ispinaroundandpressmybacktothe
glass,feelinglikethevoidbehindmemightbepreferabletofacinghim.SetrákusRastandsbehindoneofthecontrolpanels,watchingme,ahintofasmileonhisface.The
firstthingInoticeisthathe’snotnearlyashugeashewaswhenwefoughthimatDulceBase.Still,SetrákusRaistallandimposing,hisbroadphysiquecladinasternblackuniform,studdedanddecoratedwithanassortmentofjaggedMogadorianmedals.ThreeLoricpendants,theoneshetookfromthedeadGarde,hangfromaroundhisneck,glowingasubduedcobalt.‘Iseeyou’vealreadytakenupmybook,’hesays,gesturingtomydictionary-sizedclub.Ididn’trealize
Iwasclutchingittomychest.‘AlthoughnotnecessarilyinthewayI’dhoped.Fortunately,yourProctorwasn’tbadlyinjured…’Suddenly,inmyhands,thebookbeginstoglowred,justlikethepieceofdebrisIpickedupbackat
DulceBase.Idon’tknowexactlyhowI’mdoingit,orevenwhatI’mdoing.‘Ah,’SetrákusRasays,watchingwitharaisedeyebrow.‘Verygood.’‘Gotohell!’Iscream,andflingtheglowingbookathim.Beforeit’sevenhalfwaytohim,SetrákusRaraisesonehugehandandthebookstopsinmidair.Iwatch
astheglowI’dinfuseditwithslowlyfades.‘Now,now,’hechidesme.‘Enoughofthat.’‘Whatdoyouwantfromme?’Ishout,frustratedtearsfillingmyeyes.‘Youalreadyknowthat,’hereplies.‘Ishowedyouwhat’stocome.JustasIonceshowedPittacus
Lore.’SetrákusRahitsafewbuttonsonthecontrolpanelinfrontofhimandtheshipbeginstomove.
Gradually,theEarth,seemingbothimpossiblyfarandalsolikeit’ssocloseIcouldreachoutandgrabit,driftsacrossmyview.Wearen’tmovingtowardsit;we’returninginplace.‘YouareaboardtheAnubis,’SetrákusRaintones,anoteofprideinhisgravellyvoice.‘Theflagshipof
theMogadorianfleet.’Whentheshipcompletesitsturn,Igasp.Ireachoutandpressmyhandagainsttheglassforsupport,
kneessuddenlyweak.Outside,inorbitaroundtheEarth,istheMogadorianfleet.Hundredsofships–mostofthemlongand
silver,aboutthesizeofsmallairplanes,justliketheonestheGardehavedescribedfightingbefore.Butamongthemareatleasttwentyenormouswarshipsthatdwarftherest–loomingandmenacing,mountedcannonsjuttingofftheirangularframes,aimedrightattheunsuspectingplanetbelow.‘No,’Iwhisper.‘Thiscan’tbehappening.’SetrákusRawalkstowardsme,andI’mtooshockedbythehopelesssightbeforemetoevenmove.
Gently,hedrapeshishandonmyshoulder.Icanfeelthecoldnessofhispalefingersthroughmygown.‘Thetimehascome,’hesays,gazingatthefleetwithme.‘TheGreatExpansionhascometoEarthat
last.WewillcelebrateMogadorianProgresstogether,granddaughter.’
2
Fromthecrackedsecond-floorwindowofanabandonedtextilefactory,Iwatchanoldmaninaraggedtrenchcoatandfilthyjeanscrouchdowninthedoorwayoftheboarded-upbuildingacrossthestreet.Oncehe’ssettled,themanpullsabrown-baggedbottlefromhiscoatandstartsdrinking.It’sthemiddleoftheafternoon–I’monwatch–andhe’stheonlylivingsoulI’veseeninthisabandonedpartofBaltimoresincewegothereyesterday.It’saquiet,desertedplace,andyetit’sstillpreferabletotheversionofWashington,D.C.IsawinElla’svision.Fornowatleast,itdoesn’tlookliketheMogadorianshavepursuedusfromChicago.Although,technically,theywouldn’thaveto.There’salreadyaMogadorianamongus.Behindme,Sarahstompsherfoot.We’reinwhatusedtobetheforeman’soffice,dusteverywhere,the
floorboardsswollenandmildewed.Iturnaroundjustintimetoseeherfrowningattheremainsofacockroachonthebottomofhersneaker.‘Careful.Youmightgocrashingrightthroughthefloor,’Itellher,onlyhalfjoking.‘Iguessitwastoomuchtoaskforallyoursecretbasestobeinpenthouseapartments,huh?’Sarah
asks,fixingmewithateasingsmile.
Wesleptinthisoldfactorylastnight,oursleepingbagslaidonthesunkenfloorboards.Bothofusarefilthy,it’sbeenacoupleofdayssinceourlastrealshower,andSarah’sblondhairiscakedwithdirt.She’sstillbeautifultome.Withoutheratmyside,Imight’vetotallylostitaftertheattackinChicago,wheretheMogskidnappedEllaanddestroyedthepenthouse.Igrimaceatthethought,andSarah’ssmileimmediatelyfades.Ileavethewindowandwalkovertoher.‘Thisnotknowingiskillingme,’Isay,shakingmyhead.‘Idon’tknowwhattodo.’Sarahtouchesmyface,tryingtoconsoleme.‘Atleastweknowtheywon’thurtElla.Notifwhatyou
sawinthatvisionistrue.’‘Yeah,’Isnort.‘They’lljustturnherintoabrainwashedtraitor,like…’Itrailoff,thinkingoftherestofourmissingfriendsandtheturncoattheytraveledwith.Westillhaven’t
heardanythingfromSixandtheothers,notthatthere’saneasywayforthemtogetintouchwithus.AlltheirChestsarehereand,assumingtheycouldeventryreachingusbymoretraditionalmethods,theywouldn’thavethefirstcluehowtofindus,seeingaswehadtofleeChicago.TheonlythingIknowforsureisthatIhaveafreshscaronmyleg,thefourthofitskind.Itdoesn’thurt
anymore,butitfeelslikeaweight.IftheGardehadstayedapart,ifwe’dkepttheLoriccharmintact,thatfourthscarwould’vesymbolizedmydeath.Instead,oneofmyfriendsisdeadinFlorida,andIdon’tknowhow,orwho,orwhat’shappenedtotherestofthem.IfeelinmygutthatFiveisstillalive.IsawhiminElla’svision,standingalongsideSetrákusRa,a
traitor.Hemusthaveledtheothersintoatrap,andnowoneofthemwon’tbecomingback.Six,Marina,Eight,Nine–oneofthemisgone.
Sarahwrapsherhandaroundmine,massagingit,tryingtoeasesomeofthetension.‘Ican’tstopthinkingaboutwhatIsawinthatvision…’Ibegin,trailingoff.‘We’dlost,Sarah.And
nowitfeelslikeit’shappeningforreal.Likethisisthebeginningoftheend.’‘Thatdoesn’tmeananythingandyouknowit,’Sarahreplied.‘LookatEight.Wasn’ttheresomekindof
deathprophecyabouthim?Andhesurvived.’Ifrown,notstatingtheobvious,thatEightcouldbetheonewhowaskilleddowninFlorida.‘Iknowitseemsbleak,’Sarahcontinues,‘and,Imean,itisprettybad,John.Obviously.’‘Goodpeptalk.’Shesqueezesmyhand,hard,andwidenshereyesatmelikeshutup.‘ButthoseguysdowninFloridaareGarde,’shesays.‘They’regoingtofight,they’regoingtokeep
goingandthey’regoingtowin.Youhavetobelieve,John.WhenyouwerecomatosebackinChicago,wenevergaveuponyou.Wekeptfightinganditpaidoff.Justwhenitseemedlikewe’dlost,yousavedus.’IthinkaboutthestatemyfriendswereinwhenIfinallyawokebackinChicago.Malcolmwasmortally
woundedandSarahbadlyhurt,SamnearlyoutofammoandBernieKosarunaccountedfor.They’dputitallonthelineforme.‘Youguyssavedmefirst,’Ireply.‘Yeah,obviously.Soreturnthefavorandsaveourplanet.’Thewayshesaysit,likeit’snobigdeal,makesmesmile.IpullSarahcloseandkissher.‘Iloveyou,SarahHart.’‘Loveyouback,JohnSmith.’‘Um,Iloveyouguys,too…’SarahandIbothturntofindSamstandinginthedoorway,anawkwardsmileonhisface.Curledupin
hisarmsisahugeorangecat,oneofthesixChimæraethatournewMogadorianfriendbroughtwithhim,drawntousbyBernieKosar’srooftophowling.Apparently,thestickBKtookfromEight’sChestwassomekindofChimæratotemusedtoleadthemtous,likeaLoricdogwhistle.WestucktobackroadsonourwaytoBaltimore,carefultomakesureweweren’ttailed.Thecrowdedvanridegaveusplentyoftimetobrainstormnamesforournewallies.ThisparticularChimæra,preferringachubbycat-shapeasitsregularform,SaminsistedwenameStanley,inhonorofNine’soldalterego.Ifhe’sstillalive,I’msureNinewillbethrilledtohaveafatcatwithanobviousaffectionforSamnamedafterhim.‘Sorry,’Samsays,‘didIspoilthemoment?’‘Notatall,’Sarahreplies,stretchingoutonearmtowardsSam.‘Grouphug?’‘Maybelater,’Samsays,lookingatme.‘Theothersarebackandsettingeverythingupdownstairs.’Inod,reluctantlylettinggoofSarahandwalkingovertotheduffelbagwithoursupplies.‘Theyhave
anyproblems?’Samshakeshishead.‘Theyhadtosettleforjustacoupleoflittlecampinggenerators.Notenoughcash
forsomethingbig.Anyway,itshouldbeenoughjuice.’‘Whataboutsurveillance?’Iask,pullingthewhitelocatortabletanditsadapterfreefromtheduffel
bag.‘Adamsaidhedidn’tseeanyMogscouts,’Samanswers.‘Well,outofanyone,he’dknowhowtospotthem,’Sarahputsin.
‘True,’Ireplyhalfheartedly,stillnottrustingthisso-calledgoodMogadorian,eventhoughhe’sdonenothingbuthelpussinceshowingupinChicago.Evennow,withhimandMalcolmsettingupournewlypurchasedelectronicsonthefactoryfloorbelow,Ifeelavaguesenseofuneaseathavingoneofthemsoclose.Ipushitdown.‘Let’sgo.’WefollowSamdownarustyspiralstaircaseandontothefloorofthefactoryproper.Theplace
must’vebeencloseddowninahurrybecausetherearestillracksofmusty,eighties-stylemen’ssuitspushedupagainstthewallsandhalf-fullboxesofraincoatsabandonedonconveyorbelts.AChimæraingoldenretrieverformthatSarahinsistedwecallBiscuittumblesintoourpath,herteeth
clenchedaroundtherippedsleeveofasuit,lockedinatug-of-warwithDust,thegrayhusky.AnotherChimæra,Gamera,whichMalcolmnamedaftersomeoldmoviemonster,trundlesaftertheothersbuthastroublekeepingupinhissnappingturtleform.ThetwoothernewChimærae–ahawkwedubbedRegalandascrawnyraccoonwenamedBandit–watchthegamefromoneoftheinoperativeconveyorbelts.It’sarelieftoseethemplaying.TheChimæraeweren’tinthebestshapewhenAdamliberatedthem
fromMogadorianexperimentation,andtheystillweren’tdoingsohotwhenhebroughtthemtoChicago.Itwasslowgoing,butIwasabletousemyhealingLegacytofixthemup.Therewassomethinginsideofthem,somethingMogadorian,thatactuallyfeltlikeitwaspushingbackagainstmypowers.ItevenmademyLumenflareupbriefly,somethingthat’sneverhappenedwhenusingmyhealing.Ultimately,though,whatevertheMogsdidwaswashedawaybymyLegacy.I’dneveractuallyusedmyhealingLegacyonaChimærabeforethatnight.Luckily,itworked,because
therewasoneChimærainevenworseconditionthanallournewfriends.‘HaveyouseenBK?’IaskSam,scanningtheroomforhim.IhadfoundhimontheroofoftheJohn
HancockCenter,shreddedbyMogadorianblasterfireandbarelyclingingtolife.Iusedmyhealingonhim,prayingthatitwouldwork.Eventhoughhe’sbetternow,I’vestillbeenkeepinganextra-closeeyeonhim,probablybecausethefatesofsomanyofmyotherfriendsareunknown.‘There,’Samreplies,pointing.Atoneendoftheroom,againstawallcoveredwithcompetinggraffititags,areatrioofindustrial-size
laundrybinsoverflowingwithpilesofkhakipants.It’satthesummitofoneofthesepilesthatBernieKosarrests,theanticsofBiscuitandDustseemingtotirehimout.Despitemyhealing,he’sstillweakfromthefightinChicago–andalsomissingajaggedchunkfromoneofhisears–butwithmyanimaltelepathyIcansenseasortofcontentednesscomingoffhimashewatchestheotherChimærae.WhenBKseesusenter,histailthumpsfreshdustcloudsfromthepileofoldclothes.SamsetsdownStanley,andthecattrundlesovertotheclothespileswithBK,settlingintowhatIguess
isthedesignatedChimæranappingzone.‘NeverthoughtI’dhavemyownChimæra,’Samsays,‘muchlessahalfdozenofthem.’‘AndIneverthoughtI’dbeworkingwithoneofthem,’Ireply,mygazesettlingonAdam.Atthecenterofthefactoryfloor,steelworkbenchesareboltedintothefloor.Sam’sdad,Malcolm,and
AdamaresettingupthecomputerequipmenttheyjustpurchasedbytradinginsomeofmywaningsupplyofLoricgemstones.Becausethere’snoelectricityrunningtothisoldfactory,theyhadtobuysomesmallbattery-poweredgeneratorsforthetriooflaptopsandmobilehotspot.IwatchAdamhookinguponeofthelaptopbatteries–hisdeathlypaleskin,lankblackhairandangularfeaturesmakinghimslightlymorehumanlookingthantheusualMogadorians–andremindmyselfthathe’sonourside.SamandMalcolm
seemtotrusthim;plushe’sgotaLegacy,thepowertocreateshockwaves,whichheinheritedfromOne.IfIhadn’tseenhimusetheLegacywithmyowneyes,I’mnotsureI’deventhinkitwaspossible.Partofmewantstobelieve,maybeevenneedstobelieve,thataMogwouldn’tbeabletojuststealaLegacy,thathehastobeworthy.Thatithappenedforareason.‘Lookatitthisway,’Samsaysquietlyaswewalkovertotheothers.‘Humans,Loric,Mogs…we’ve
gotlikethefirstmeetingoftheIntergalacticUnitedNationsoverhere.It’shistoric.’IsnortandstepuptothelaptopAdamhasjustfinishedconnecting.Hetakesonelookatmeandmust
detectsomething–maybeI’mnotdoingsuchagoodjobconcealingmyconflictedfeelings–becausehelooksdownandstepsaside,makingroomformeandmovingontothenextlaptop.Hekeepshiseyesfixedonthescreen,typingquickly.‘How’ditgo?’Iask.‘Wegotmostofthegearweneed,’Malcolmrepliesashefiddleswithawirelessrouter.Evenwithhis
beardstartingtogetmajorlyunkempt,MalcolmlookshealthierthanhedidwhenIfirstmethim.‘Anythinghappenhere?’‘Nothing,’Isay,shakingmyhead.‘It’dtakeamiraclefortheGardeinFloridatotrackusdown.And
Ella…Ikeephopinghervoicewillpopintomyheadandtellmewheretheytookher,butshehasn’tmadecontact.’‘Atleastwe’llknowwheretheothersareoncethetabletishookedup,’Sarahsays.‘Withthegearwebought,IthinkwecanrunahackontheJohnHancockbuilding’sphonenetwork,’
Malcolmsuggests.‘Thatway,iftheytrycallinginfromtheroad,wecaninterceptthecall.’‘Goodidea,’Ireply,pluggingthewhitelocatortabletintothelaptopandwaitingforittobootup.Malcolmpusheshisglassesuphisnoseandclearshisthroat.‘ItwasAdam’sidea,actually.’‘Oh,’Ireply,keepingmyvoiceneutral.‘Thatisagoodidea,’Sarahchimesin.ShescootsinnexttoMalcolmandstartsworkingonthethird
laptop,givingmealooklikeIshouldtrysayingsomethingnicetoAdam.WhenIdon’t,anawkwardsilencesettlesoverthegroup.TherehavebeenalotofthosesinceweleftChicago.Beforeitcangettooweird,thetabletbootsup.Sampeersovermyshoulder.‘They’restillinFlorida,’hesays.There’sasolitarydotformeonthetablet,pulsingontheEastCoast,andthenmilestothesoutharethe
fourdotsforthesurvivingGarde.Threeofthedotsarebunchedtogether,basicallyoverlappingintooneglowingblob,whileafourthisashortdistanceaway.Immediately,scenariosforthatisolateddotbegincyclingthroughmyhead.Wasoneofourfriendscaptured?Didtheyhavetoseparateaftertheywereattacked?IsthatFiveapartfromtheothers?Doesthatprovehe’satraitor,likeinmyvision?I’mdistractedfromthesethoughtsbythefifthdotonthetablet,literallyanoceanawayfromtheothers.
ThisonehoversoverthePacific,itsglowalittledimmerthantherest.‘ThatmustbeElla,’Isay,mybrowfurrowing.‘Buthow–’BeforeIcanfinishmyquestion,Ella’sdotflickersanddisappears.Asecondlater,beforeIcaneven
processmypanic,Ellablinksbacktolife,nowhoveringoverAustralia.‘Whatthehell?’Samasks,staringovermyshoulder.‘It’smovingsofast,’Isay.‘Maybethey’retransportinghersomewhere.’
Thedotdisappearsagain,thenreappearsatanimpossiblepointoverAntarctica,nearlyofftheedgeofthetablet’sscreen.Forthenextfewseconds,itflickersinandout,bouncingacrossthemap.Ismackthesideofthetabletwithmypalmoutoffrustration.‘They’rescramblingthesignalsomehow,’Isay.‘We’vegotnochanceoffindingherwhileit’slike
this.’SampointstotheothersclusteredaroundFlorida.‘IftheyweregoingtohurtElla,wouldn’ttheyhave
doneitalready?’‘SetrákusRawantsher,’Sarahputsin,lookingatme.Ihadtoldthemallaboutthatnightmarescenein
D.C.andEllarulingalongsideSetrákusRa.It’sstillhardforanyofustobelieve,butatleastitgivesusoneadvantage.WeknowwhatSetrákusRawants.‘Ihatetoleaveheroutthere,’Isaygrimly.‘ButIdon’tthinkhe’llharmher.Notyet,anyway.’‘Atleastweknowwheretheothersare,’Saminsists.‘Weneedtogetdowntherebeforesomeoneelse
…’‘Sam’sright,’Idecide,drivenbythesinkingfeelingthatoneofthosedotscouldblinkoutatany
moment.‘Theymightneedourhelp.’‘Ithinkthatwouldbeamistake,’Adamsays.Hisvoiceistentative,butthere’sstillenoughMog
harshnesstomakemyfistsclenchfromreflex.I’mnotusedtohavingoneofthemaround.Iturntostareathim.‘Whatdidyousay?’‘Amistake,’herepeats.‘It’spredictable,John.It’sareactionarymove.Thisiswhymypeoplealways
catchuptoyou.’Icanfeelmyjawworking,tryingtoformaresponse,butmostlyIjustwanttopunchhisfacein.I’m
abouttotakeastepforwardwhenSamputsahandonmyshoulder.‘Easy,’Samsaysquietly.‘Youwantustojustsitaroundhereanddonothing?’IaskAdam,tryingtokeepmycool.IknowI
shouldhearhimout,butthiswholesituationhasmefeelingcornered.AndnowI’msupposedtotakeadvicefromaguywhosespecieshasbeenhuntingmeformyentirelife?‘Ofcoursenot,’Adamreplies,lookingupatmewiththosecoal-coloredMogadorianeyes.‘Thenwhat?’Isnap.‘Givemeonegoodreasonweshouldn’tgotoFlorida.’‘I’llgiveyoutwo,’Adamreplies.‘First,iftherestoftheGardeareindangerorcapturedasyou
suspect,thentheircontinuedsurvivalhingesonluringyouin.Theyareusefulonlyasbait.’‘You’resayingitcouldbeatrap,’Ireplythroughgrittedteeth.‘Iftheyarecaptured,thenyes,ofcourseitisatrap.Ontheotherhand,iftheyarefree,whatgoodwill
yourheroicinterventiondo?Aren’ttheyhighlytrainedandperfectlycapableofgettingthemselvesoutoftrouble?’WhatcanIsaytothat?No?SixandNine,prettymuchthetwomostbadasspeopleIknow,aren’t
capableofescapingfromFloridaandtrackingusdown?Butwhatifthey’redowntherewaitingforustocomegetthem?Ishakemyhead,stillfeelinglikeIwanttothrottleAdam.‘Sowhat’rewesupposedtodointhemeantime?’Iaskhim.‘Justsitaroundandwaitforthem?’‘Wecan’tdothat,’Samjumpsin.‘Wecan’tjustleavethem.Theyhavenowayoffindingus.’AdamspinshislaptoparoundsoIcanseethescreen.
‘BetweenkidnappingEllaandkillingaGardeinFlorida,mypeoplewillbelievetheyhaveyouontherunonceagain.Theywon’tbeexpectingacounterstrike.’Onthelaptop,Adamhaspulledupsatellitephotographsofanexpanseofsuburbia.Itlookslikea
totallygeneric,wealthycommunity.WhenIlookalittlecloser,Inoticeaparanoidnumberofsecuritycamerasmountedontheimposinglytallstonewallthatencirclestheentireproperty.‘ThisisAshwoodEstates,justoutsideofWashington,D.C.,’Adamcontinues.‘It’shometothetop-
rankingMogadoriansassignedtoNorthAmerica.WiththePlumIslandfacilitywreckedandtheChimæraerecovered,Ithinkweshouldfocusourattackhere.’‘WhataboutthemountainbaseinWestVirginia?’Iask.Adamshakeshishead.‘Thatisamilitaryinstallationonly,keptoutofsightsomypeople’sforcescan
massthere.We’dhaveahardtimetakingitdownnow.Andanyway,therealpower,thetruebornMogadorians,theleaders–theyresideinAshwood.’Malcolmclearshisthroat.‘Itriedtorelayeverythingyoutoldmeabouttrueborns,Adam.Butmaybe
it’dbebetterifyouexplainedit?’Adamlooksaroundatus,abitapprehensive.‘Idon’tknowwheretobegin.’‘YoucanskipthewholeMogadorianbirds-and-the-beesspeech,’Samsays,andIstifleasmile.‘Ithastodowiththebloodlines,right?’Isay,promptinghim.‘Yeah.Truebornarethepurebloodlines.MogadoriansbornofMogadorianparents.Likeme,’Adam
says,slouchingabit.Histruebornstatusisnogreatpointofpride.‘Theothers,thevatborn,arethesoldiersyou’vefoughtmostoften.Theyarenotbornbutgrown,thankstothescienceofSetrákusRa.’‘Isthatwhytheydisintegrate?’Sarahasks.‘Becausethey’renot,like,realMogs?’‘They’rebredforcombat,notforburying,’Adamreplies.‘Doesn’tsoundlikemuchofalife,’Isay.‘YouMogsworshipSetrákusRaforthat?’‘AsthehistoriescontainedintheGreatBooktellit,ourpeopleweredyingoffbeforetheso-called
BelovedLeadercamealong.ThevatbornandSetrákusRa’sgeneticresearchsavedourspecies.’Adampauses,asneerformingashethinksthisover.‘Ofcourse,SetrákusRaalsowrotetheGreatBook,sowhoknows.’‘Fascinating,’Malcolmsays.‘Yeah,definitelymoreaboutMogadorianbreedingthanIeverwantedtoknow,’Isay,turningbackto
thelaptop.‘Ifthisplaceisfilledwithhigh-rankingMogs,won’titbeheavilyguarded?’‘Therewillbeguards,yes,butnotenoughtomakeadifference,’hereplies.‘Youneedtounderstand,
mypeoplefeelsafehere.Theyareusedtobeingthehunters,notthehunted.’‘Sowhat?’Icontinue.‘WekillafewtruebornMogsandthat’sit?Whatdifferencedoesthatmake?’‘Anylossesintruebornleadershipwillhavewide-rangingimpactsonMogadorianoperations.The
vatbornarenotparticularlygoodatdirectingthemselves.’AdamtraceshisfingeracrosstheimmaculatelykeptlawnsofAshwoodEstates.‘Plus,therearetunnelsbeneaththesehouses.’Malcolmwalksaroundtooursideofthetable,crossinghisarmsashelooksattheimages.‘Ithought
youdestroyedthosetunnels,Adam.’‘Idamagedthem,yes,’Adamreplies.‘Buttheystretchfarbeyondtheroomswewerein.EvenIamnot
entirelysurewhatwemightfinddownthere.’SamlooksfromAdamtohisfather.‘Isthatwhere…?’
‘It’swheretheyheldme,’Malcolmanswers.‘Wheretheytookmymemories.AndwhereAdamrescuedme.’‘It’spossiblewecouldfindawaytorestoreyourmemories,’Adamsays,soundingeagertohelp
Malcolm.‘Iftheequipmentwasn’ttoobadlydamaged.’WhatAdam’ssayingmakessense,butIcan’tquitebringmyselftoadmitit.I’vespentmyentirelife
runningandhidingfromMogadorians,fightingthem,killingthem.They’vetakeneverythingfromme.Andnow,hereIam,makingbattleplansalongsideone.Itjustdoesn’tfeelright.Nottomentionwe’retalkingaboutafullfrontalassaultonaMogadoriancompoundwithnoneoftheotherGardebackingmeup.Asifoncue,DustwandersoverandsitsdownnexttoAdam’sfeet.Hereachesdowntoabsently
scratchbehinditsears.Iftheanimalstrusthim,shouldn’tIbeableto?‘Whateverwefindinthosetunnels,’Adamcontinues,probablyknowingI’mnotsold,‘Iamcertainit
willprovidevaluableinsightintotheirplans.Ifyourfriendsarecapturedorbeingtracked,wewillknowforsureonceI’veaccessedtheMogadoriansystems.’‘Whatifoneofthemdieswhilewe’reonthismissionofyours?’Samasks,hisvoicecrackingalittleat
thethought.‘Whatiftheydiebecausewedidn’trescuethemwhenwehadthechance?’Adampauses,thinkingthisover.‘Iknowthismustbehardforyou,’hesays,lookingbetweenmeand
Sam.‘Iadmit,it’sacalculatedrisk.’‘Calculatedrisk,’Irepeat.‘Thoseareourfriendsyou’retalkingabout.’‘Yeah,’Adamreplies.‘AndI’mtryingtohelpkeepthemalive.’Logically,IknowAdamreallyistryingtohelp.ButI’mstressedandI’vebeenbroughtupnottotrust
hiskind.BeforeIknowwhatI’mdoing,Itakeasteptowardshimandjabafingerintohischest.‘Thisbetterbeworthit,’Itellhim.‘AndifsomethinghappensinFlorida…’‘I’lltakeresponsibility,’hereplies.‘It’llbeonme.IfI’mwrong,John,youcandustme.’‘Ifyou’rewrong,Iprobablywon’tneedto,’Isay,staringintohiseyes.Adamdoesn’tlookaway.Sarahloudlywhistlesbetweenherfingers,gettingeveryone’sattention.‘Ifwecanputthewholemachoposturingthingonholdforasecond,Ithinkyouguysshouldtakealook
atthis.’IsteparoundAdam,tellingmyselftocooldown,andlookoverSarah’sshoulderatthewebsiteshe’s
pulledup.‘IwaslookingupnewsstoriesaboutChicagoandthispoppedup,’sheexplains.It’saprettyslick-lookingwebsite,exceptfortheall-capsheadlinesandsheeramountofflyingsaucer
GIFsclutteringthesidebars.ThestorieslistedunderMostPopular,allofthelinksinaneongreenthatIguessissupposedtolookalien,include:MOGADORIANSUNDERMININGGOVERNMENTandEARTH’SLORICPROTECTORSDRIVENINTOHIDING.ThepageSarahcurrentlyhasopenfeaturesapictureoftheburningJohnHancockCenteralongwiththeheadlineMOGATTACKINCHICAGO:ISTHISTHEZEROHOUR?ThewebsiteiscalledTheyWalkAmongUs.‘Ohjeez,’Samgroans,joiningthehuddlearoundSarah’scomputer.‘Notthesecreeps.’‘Whatisthis?’IaskSarah,squintingatthestoryonthescreen.‘Thesedudesusedtobestrictlyintotheold-schoolblack-and-whitezinestyle,’Samsays.‘Now
they’reontheinternet?Ican’tdecideifthatmakesthembetterorworse.’
‘TheMogskilledthem,’Ipointout.‘Howdoesthisevenexistinanyform?’‘Iguessthere’saneweditor,’Sarahsays.‘Checkthisout.’Sarahclicksintothewebsite’sarchives,goingbacktothefirststoryeverposted.Theheadlinereads
PARADISEHIGHSCHOOLATTACKSTARTOFALIENINVASION.Belowthatisagrainycell-phonepictureofthedestructionaroundourhighschool’sfootballfield.Iquicklyskimthearticle.Thelevelofdetailisastounding.It’slikewhoeverwrotethiswastherewithus.‘Who’sJollyRoger182?’Iask,lookingatthescreennamecreditedinthepost.Sarahlooksupatmewithanoddsmile,bewildermentmixingwithsomethinglikepride.‘You’regoingtothinkI’mcrazy,’shesays.‘What’saJollyRoger,anyway?’Samasks,thinkingoutloud.‘Thepirateflag?’‘Yeah,’Sarahreplies,nodding.‘LiketheParadiseHighPirates.Whoseoldquarterbackhappenstobe
oneoftheonlyotherpeopleoutsideourgrouptoknowwhatwentdownatthehighschool.’IwidenmyeyesatSarah.‘Noway.’‘Yesway,’shereplies.‘IthinkJollyRoger182isMarkJames.’
3
‘“TheMogadorians,alongwiththeircroniesfromthecorruptedbranchesofnationalsecurity,arebelievedtohavefoughtaprotractedbattleinNewMexicoagainsttheheroicGarde,”’Samreadsaloud.‘“MysourcesbelievetheMogadorianswereforcedtoretreataftertheirleadersustainedaninjury.ThewhereaboutsoftheGarderemainunknown.”’‘He’srightonthemoney,’Malcolmsays,turningtome.‘Butwhereishegettinghisinformation?’‘Noidea,’Ireply.‘Wedidn’texactlystayintouchafterParadise.’IleanoverSam’sshouldertocheckoutthenextstory.I’mbaffledbytheamountofinformationMark
James–orwhoeverthisis–haspostedtoTheyWalkAmongUs.TherearedetailsofourbattleatDulceBase,earlyspeculationabouttheattackinChicago,frighteningessaysaboutwhatMogslooklikeandwhatthey’recapableof,andpostsrallyinghumanityinsupportoftheLoric.TherearealsoarticlescoveringtopicsthatI’veneverconsidered,evenonesaboutwhichmembersoftheU.S.governmentareinleaguewiththeMogadorians.SamclicksthroughtoastorywhereMarkaccusesthesecretaryofdefense,amannamedBud
Sanderson,ofusinghispoliticalclouttopavethewayforaMogadorianinvasion.AnotherclickyieldsasecondarticleaboutSanderson,onewiththetabloid-friendlyheadlineCORRUPTS.O.D.USINGMOGADORIAN
GENETICTREATMENTS.ThestoryistiedtoanimageofSandersonfromfiveyearsagojuxtaposedwithoneofhimfromafewmonthsago.Inthefirst,Sandersonlookslikeahaggardmaninhislateseventies–hisfaceisage-spottedandhehasadoublechinandasteeppaunch.Inthesecond,he’slostweightandhasahealthyglowandafullheadofsilverhair.It’salmostasifhe’stime-traveled.Infact,Ibetmostpeoplewouldthinkthepicturewasahoax,likeit’saphotoofSandersonfromtwentyyearsagowithafaketimestamp.ButifyoutakeMarkathisword,something’sdefinitelychangedwiththesecretaryofdefense–somethingwaybiggerthandietandexercise,orevenplasticsurgery.Samshakeshishead,notbuyingit.‘HowwouldMarkpossiblyknowallthis?Imean,Sarah,youwent
outwithhim.Didheevenknowhowtoread?’‘Yes,Sam,’Sarahreplies,rollinghereyes.‘Markcouldread.’‘Buthewasnever,uh,journalisticallyinclined,washe?ThisislikeWikiLeaksoverhere.’‘Peopletendtochangewhentheyfindoutaliensarereal,’Sarahresponds.‘Itlookstomelikehe’s
beentryingtohelp.’‘Wedon’tknowforsurethatit’sMark,’Isay,frowning.IlookoveratAdam.He’sbeenquietsincewestartedexploringtheTheyWalkAmongUswebsite,
listeningtouswithahandonhischin,thoughtful.‘Couldthisbesomekindoftrap?’Iaskhim,figuringit’sbesttoconsulttheexpert.‘Ofcourse,’hesayswithouthesitation.‘Althoughifitis,it’sanelaborateone.And,evenforthesake
oftrappingyou,IfindithardtobelieveSetrákusRawouldadmittobeingdrivenofffromDulceBase.’‘Isittrue?’Malcolmasks.‘Whathe’swrittenaboutthesecretaryofdefense?’
‘Idon’tknow,’Adamreplies.‘Itverywellcouldbe.’‘I’mgoingtoemailhim,’Sarahannounces,openingupanewbrowsertab.‘Holdon,’Adamsaysquickly,abitmorepolitethanwhenheslammedmyideatotryrescuingthe
others.‘IfthisMarkpersonreallydoeshaveaccesstoallthishighlysecretintel–’Samchuckles.‘–mypeoplewillalmostcertainlybemonitoringhiscommunications,’Adamconcludes,raisingan
eyebrowatSam.HeturnsbacktoSarah.‘They’llalsodefinitelybemonitoringyouremail.’Sarahslowlyliftsherhandsawayfromthekeyboard.‘Can’tyoudoanythingaboutthat?’‘Iknowhowtheircyber-trackingsystemswork.ItwassomethingI…excelledatduringmytraining.I
couldwriteanencryptioncode,rerouteourIPaddressthroughserversindifferentcities.’Adamturnstome,likehewantspermission.‘They’dunraveliteventually.We’dhavetoleavethisplacewithintwenty-fourhourstobesafe.’‘Doit,’Itellhim.‘Betterthatwekeepmoving,anyway.’Adamimmediatelybeginstypingcommandsintohislaptop.Samrubshishandstogetherandleansover
Adam’sshoulder.‘Youshouldreroutethemtoasmanycrazyplacesaspossible.MakethemthinkSarah’sinRussiaorsomething.’Adamsmirks.‘Consideritdone.’IttakesAdamabouttwentyminutestowritesomecodethatwillrerouteourIPaddressthroughadozen
far-flunglocations.IthinkbacktotheelaboratecomputersystemHenrialwayshadsetupandtheevenmorecomplicatedgridthatSandorbuiltinChicago.Then,IimagineahundredMogadorians,justlikeAdam,hunchedoverkeyboards,stalkingus.IneverdoubtedourCêpanswerejustifiedintheirparanoia,butseeingAdamworkIfinallyrealizejusthownecessaryitwas.‘Whoa,’Sarahsayswhenshe’sfinallyabletoopenheremail.Thelistofboldfacedunreadmail
consistsentirelyofmessagesfromMarkJames.‘Itreallyishim.’‘OrtheMogshackedhisemail,’Samsuggests.‘Doubtful,’Adamreplies.‘Mypeoplearethorough,sure,butthisseemskindof…roundabout.’Iglanceovertheemailheadings–lotsofexclamationpointsandcapitalletters.Afewmonthsagothe
ideaofMarkJamesspammingmygirlfriendwould’vegottenundermyskin,butnowitseemslikeourrivalrywassomethingthathappenedtosomeoneelse,somethingfromanotherlife.‘Whenwasthelasttimeyoucheckedthis?’Iask.‘Weeksago?Idon’treallyremember,’Sarahreplies.‘I’vebeenalittlebusy.’SheopensthemostrecentmessagefromMarkandweallleanintoexaminethecontents.Sarah–Idon’tknowwhyIkeepsendingtheseemails.Partofmehopesthatyou’rereadingthem,usingthemtohelptheLoric,andcan’treplyforyourownsafety.Anotherpartofmeworriesthatyouaren’tevenoutthere,thatyou’regone.Irefusetobelievethatbut…Ineedtohearfromyou.IthoughtIhadaleadonyouinNewMexico.AllIfoundtherewasadesertedmilitarybase.Itlookedlikeamajorbattlewent
down.WaybiggerandnastierthanwhathappenedinParadise.Ihopeyouguysgotoutsafe.IhopelikehellI’mnottheonlyonelefttofighttheseassholes.Thatwouldsuck.Afriendofminesetupasafehouseforme.Wayoffthegrid.Aplacewherewecanworkonexposingthosepalefreakstothe
world.Ifyoucangetintouch,I’llfindawaytosendyouthecoordinates.We’reontosomethingbig.Somethinginternational.Idon’tevenknowwhattodowithit.Ifyou’rereadingthese,ifyou’restillincontactwithJohn,nowwouldbeareallygoodtimetoshowup.Ineedyourhelp.
–Mark
Sarahturnstome,hereyeswidewithsuddenpassion,facesetdeterminedly–I’veseenthatlookbefore,knowitwell.It’sthelookshegivesmerightbeforetellingmeshewantstodosomethingdangerous.Withoutherevensayinganything,IalreadyknowthatSarahwantstofindMarkJames.
Thedashboardclockreads7:45.We’vegotfifteenminutesuntilthebusleavesforAlabama.I’vegotfifteenminutesleftwithSarahHart.FifteenminuteswasabouthowlongittookAdamtoencryptSarah’semailagainstanyMogadorian
hackers.ShegotoffaquicknotetoMark,whorepliedalmostimmediatelywithanaddressforarestaurantinHuntsville.HetoldSarahhe’dwatchtheplaceforthenextfewdaysand,ifshereallywasSarahHart,he’dpickherupthereandspiritherofftohissecrethideout.AtleastMark’sbeingcareful,Itoldmyself.ThatgivesmeconfidencethatSarahwillbesafe.Afterthatbriefcommunication,Adamimmediatelywipedbothemailaccountsfromtheinternet.Now,hereweare.We’reparkedinfrontofthebusstationindowntownBaltimore,theplacebustlingwithactivityevenat
sunset.I’mbehindthewheel,Sarahinthepassengerseatnexttome.Wefitrightin,justtwoteenagerssittinginacrappycar,inthemiddleofsayinggood-bye.‘Ikeepwaitingforthepartwhereyoutrytalkingmeoutofgoing,’Sarahsays,hersmilealittlesad.
‘You’llsayit’stoodangerous,we’llargue,you’llloseandI’llendupgoinganyway.’‘Itisdangerous,’Ireply,turningsoIcanfaceSarah.‘AndIdon’twantyoutogo.’‘That’smorelikeit.’Shetakesmyhand,lacingherfingersthroughmine.Withmyotherhand,Irunmyfingersthroughher
hair,eventuallylettingthemrestgentlyonthebackofherneck.Ipullherinalittlecloser.‘Butit’snomoredangerousthanstayingherewithme,’Ifinish.‘That’stheoverprotectiveJohnIknowandlove,’shereplies.‘I’mnot–’Istarttoprotest,butcutmyselfoffwhenIseeherteasingsmile.‘Thesegood-byesnevergetanyeasier,dothey?’Ishakemyhead.‘No.Theyreallydon’t.’Wefallsilent,holdingtighttoeachother,watchingtheminutesonthedashboardclockslowlyblink
away.Backatthetextilefactory,wedidn’tneedtohaveahugediscussionaboutSarahgoingtofindMark
James.Everyoneseemedtoagreethatitwastherightthingtodo.IfMarkreallyhadmanagedtoacquiresomecrucialinformationontheMogadorians,andifhewasriskinghislifetohelpus,thenweneededtoreturnthefavor.ButtherestoftheGardewasstillmissing.AndAdam’splantostriketheMogadorianstrongholdinD.C.seemedmoreandmorelikethesmartestplay,anecessarystriketogatherintelligenceandshowthosebastardsthatwewerestillinthisfight.There’stoomuchhappeningforustoputallourresourcesintocatchingupwithMark.Sarahmadeiteasybyvolunteering.Ofcourse,sendingheroffaloneonapotentiallydangerousmissioninvolvinganex-boyfriendisn’t
exactlymyfavoriteidea.ButIcan’tshakethefeelingthatthegrimfutureIsawinElla’sdreamisracing
towardsus.Weneedallthehelpwecanget.Ifthere’seventhetiniestpossibilitythatsendingSarahtoAlabamacouldhelpuswinthiswar,it’sachancewehavetotake,myownselfishfeelingsbedamned.Andanyway,shewon’tbetotallyaloneonthetrip.Inthebackseat,BernieKosarstandswithhispawsbracedagainsttheclosedwindow,tailwagging
furiouslyashewatchesallthepeoplezippinginandoutofthebusstation.MyoldfriendseemedprettywipedoutafterthebattleinChicago,butsomeofhisenergycamebackwhenwegotontheroad.Once,inParadise,he’dbeenmyprotector.NowhewilldothesameforSarah.‘Idon’twantyoutothinkofmeasyourgirlfriendrightnow,’Sarahsaysoutoftheblue,totally
composed.Ileanbackabit,squintingather.‘That’sgoingtobehardforme.’‘Iwantyoutothinkofmeasasoldier,’shepersists.‘Asoldierinthiswarwho’sdoingwhatneedsto
bedone.Idon’tknowexactlywhatI’llfinddownsouth,butIhavethisweirdfeelingthatI’llbeabletohelpyoubetterfromthere.Attheveryleast,whenitcomestobattles,Iwon’tbearoundtoslowyoudown.’‘Youdon’tslowmedown,’Iinsist,butSarahwavesthisobjectionaway.‘It’sokay,John.Iwanttobewithyou.Iwanttoseethatyou’reokay,Iwanttoseeyouwin.Butnot
everysoldiercanbeonthefrontlines,youknow?Somedomoregoodwhenthey’reawayfromtheaction.’‘Sarah…’‘I’vegotmyphone,’shecontinues,motioningtothehastilypackedbackpackatherfeet.Insideitshe
hasadisposablecellphonethatMalcolmbought,alongwithafewchangesofclothesandahandgun.‘I’llcheckineveryeighthours.ButifIdon’t,youhavetokeepgoing,keepfighting.’Igetwhatshe’stryingtodo.Sarahdoesn’twantmerushingofftoAlabamaifshemissesoneofher
check-inphonecalls.Shewantsmyheadinthegame.Maybeshecansenseit,too–thatwe’renearingtheendofthisfight,oratleastcrossingapointofnoreturn.Sarahlooksintomyeyes.‘Thisisbiggerthanus,John.’‘Biggerthanus,’Irepeat,knowingit’sthetruthyetwantingtofightagainstit.Idon’twanttoloseher,
andIdon’twanttosaygood-bye.ButIhaveto.Ilookdownatourinterlinkedhandsandrememberhowsimplethingswere,atleastforalittlewhile,
backwhenIfirstmovedtoParadise.‘Youknow,thefirsttimemytelekinesisstartedworkingwasduringthatThanksgivingatyourhouse.’‘Younevertoldmethat,’Sarahreplies,aneyebrowraised,notsurewhyI’msuddenlygetting
sentimental.‘Didmymom’scookinginspireyou?’Ichuckle.‘Idon’tknow.Maybe.ThatwasthesamenightHenrihadhisrun-inwiththeoriginalThey
WalkAmongUscrew,alongwiththeMogadorianswhowereusingthem.Afterward,hewantedtoleaveParadise,andIrefused.Actually,Ididn’tjustrefuse,Iusedmytelekinesistopinhimtotheceiling.’‘Soundslikeyou,’Sarahsays,shakingherheadandsmiling.‘Stubborn.’‘ItoldhimIcouldn’tgobacktolivingontherun.NotafterParadise.Andyou.’‘Oh,John…’Sarahputsherforeheadagainstmychest.‘Iusedtothinkthiswarwasn’tworthfightingifIcouldn’tbebyyourside,’Itellher,gentlyliftingher
chin.‘Butnow,aftereverythingthat’shappened,aftereverythingI’veseen–IrealizethatI’mfightingfor
thefuture.Ourfuture.’Thedashboardclockloomsimpossiblylargeinthecornerofmyeye.Onlyfiveminutesleft.Ifocuson
Sarah,wishingIhadaLegacywhereIcouldfreezetime,orstorethismomentup.TearsslipdownSarah’scheeksandIwipethemawaywithmythumbs.Sheputsherhandovermine,squeezinghard,andIcantellshe’stryingtosteelherself.Shetakesadeep,shudderingbreathandfightsbackmoretears.‘Ihavetogo,John.’‘Itrustyou,’Iwhisperurgently.‘Idon’tjustmeantofindMark.Ifthingsgetbad,Itrustyoutostay
alive.Itrustyoutocomebacktomeinonepiece.’Sarahgrabsthefrontofmyshirt,pullsmein.Ifeelafewofhertearsagainstmycheek.Itrytolet
everythinggo–mymissingfriends,thewar,herleavingme–andjustliveforawhileinherkiss.IwishIcouldgobacktoParadisewithher,notasitisnow,butthewayitwasmonthsago–sneakilymakingoutinmytemporarybedroomwhileHenriwasgroceryshopping,stealinglooksduringclass,theeasy,normallife.Butthat’sover.We’renotkidsanymore.We’refighters–soldiers–andwehavetoactthepart.Sarahpullsawayfrommeand,inonefluidmotion,notwantingtodragthispainfulmomentoutany
longer,sheopensthedoorandhopsoutofthevan.Sheshouldersherbackpackandwhistles.‘Comeon,BernieKosar!’BKclambersintothefrontseat,headcockedatme,asifwonderingwhyI’mnotgettingoutofthevan,
too.Iscratchhimbehindhisgoodearandheletsoutalittlewhine.Keephersafe,Itellhimtelepathically.BernieKosarputsbothhisfrontpawsonmylegandsloppilylicksthesideofmyface.Sarahlaughs.‘Somanygood-byekisses,’shesaysasBKjumpsdownfromthevan.Sarahclipsonhisleash.‘Thisisn’tgood-bye,’Isay.‘Notreally.’‘You’reright,’Sarahreplies,hersmilegettingshaky,anoteofuncertaintycreepingintohervoice.‘I’ll
seeyousoon,JohnSmith.Staysafe.’‘Seeyousoon.Iloveyou,SarahHart.’‘Iloveyou,too.’Sarahturnsaway,hurryingtowardstheslidingdoorsofthebusstation,BernieKosartrottingalongat
herheels.Shelooksbackatmeonlyonce,rightbeforeshedisappearsthroughthedoors,andIwave.Then,she’sgone–intothebusstationandeventuallyofftosomesecretlocationinAlabama,searchingforawaytohelpuswinthiswar.Ihavetostopmyselffromrunningafterher,soIclutchthesteeringwheeluntilmyknucklesarewhite.
Toowhite–myLumenkicksinunexpectedly,myhandsglowing.Ihaven’tlostcontrolofthatsince…well,sincebackinParadise.Itakeadeepbreathandcalmmyselfdown,glancingaround,makingsurenooneoutsidethebusstationnoticed.Iturnthekeyintheignition,feelthevanrumbletolifeandpullawayfromthebusstation.Imissher.Ialreadymissher.IheadbacktowardsoneofBaltimore’srougherneighborhoods,whereSam,MalcolmandAdamare
waitingforme,planninganassault.IknowwhereI’mgoingandwhatI’mdoing,butIstillfeeladrift.IremembermybriefscufflewithAdaminthedestroyedJohnHancockpenthouse,howIalmostfelloutthewindow.Thatfeelingofemptinessbehindme,ofteeteringrightnexttotheedge,that’showIfeelnow.
ButthenIimagineSarah’shandspullingmeawayfromthatemptyspace.Iimaginewhatitwillbelikewhenwemeetagain,whatitwillbelikewithSetrákusRavanquishedandtheMogadoriansbeatenbackintothecoldemptinessofspace.IimaginethefutureandIsmilegrimly.There’sonlyonewaytomakethathappen.It’stimetofight.
4
Wehikethroughthedarkness,downamuddyroadcarvedoutoftheswampland,therhythmicsuckingnoisesfromourwaterloggedsneakersandtheincessantchirpingofbugstheonlysounds.Wepassbyasolitarywoodenpole,slantedandclosetobeingtotallyuprooted,thestreetlightout,powerlinessaggingundertheovergrowntrees,disappearingintothem.It’sawelcomesignofsocietyaftertwodaysspentintheswamps,hardlysleeping,turninginvisibleattheslightestnoise,ploddingourwaythroughmuck.ItwasFivewholedusintotheswampland.Heknewtheway,ofcourse.Itwashisambush.Wedidn’t
haveaneasytimefindingourwayout.It’snotlikewecould’vegonebacktothecarwedrovedownhere,anyway.TheMogswoulddefinitelybewatchingthat.Afewstepsahead,Nineslapsthebackofhisneck,squashingamosquito.Atthenoise,Marina
flinches,andthefieldofcoldshe’sbeengivingoffsincethefightwithFivemomentarilyintensifies.I’mnotsureifMarina’shavingtroublegettingcontrolofhernewLegacyorifshe’sintentionallycoolingtheairaroundus.ConsideringhowhumidtheFloridaswampshavebeen,Iguessithasn’tbeensobadtrekkingaroundwithaportableairconditioner.‘Youallright?’Iaskherquietly,notwantingNinetooverhearandyetknowingthat’simpossiblewith
hisheightenedhearing.Shehasn’tspokentoNinesinceEightwaskilled,hasbarelysaidanythingtome.Marinalooksoveratme,butinthedarkIcan’tgetareadonher.‘Whatdoyouthink,Six?’sheasks.Isqueezeherarmandfindherskincooltothetouch.‘We’llgetthem,’Itellher.I’mnotmuchfortheseleader-stylespeeches–that’swhatJohndoes–soI
keepitblunt.‘We’llkillthemall.Hewon’thavediedinvain.’‘Heshouldn’thavediedatall,’shereplies.‘Weshouldn’thavelefthimoutthere.Nowtheyhavehim,
doingLordknowswhattohisbody.’‘Wedidn’thaveachoice,’Icounter,knowingit’strue.Afterthebeatingweenduredatthehandsof
Five,wewereinnoshapetofightoffabattalionofMogadoriansbackedupbyoneoftheirships.Marinashakesherheadandfallssilent.‘Youknow,IusedtoalwayswantSandortotakemecamping,’Ninebuttsinoutofnowhere,lookingat
usoverhisshoulder.‘Ihatedlivinginthatcushy-asspenthouse.Butman,afterthis?Isortofmissit.’MarinaandIdon’trespond.That’sthewayNine’sbeentalkingsinceourbattlewithFive–these
forcedanecdotesaboutnothing,weirdlyupbeat,likenothingserioushappenedouthere.Whenhewasn’trambling,Ninemadeitahabittohikeaheadofus,usinghisspeedtoputsomedistancebetweenus.Whenwecaughtup,he’dhavealreadycaughtsomeanimal,usuallysnake,andbecookingitoverasmallfirehebuiltonararedrypatchofland.It’slikehewantedtopretendwewerejustonsomefuncampingtrip.I’mnotsqueamish;I’deatwhateverNinecaught.Marinaneverdid,though.Idon’tthinktheroastedswampcreaturesbotheredhersomuchasthefactitwasNinedoingthehunting.Shemustberunningonemptybynow,evenmoresothanmeandNine.
Afteranothermile,Inoticetheroadgettingalittlemorepackeddownandwelltraveled.Icanseelightupahead.Soon,thenonstopbuzzingofthelocalinsectlifegiveswaytosomethingequallyannoying.Countrymusic.Iwouldn’texactlycallthisplaceatown.I’msureitdoesn’tshowuponeventhemostdetailedmap.It
looksmorelikeacampgroundthatpeopleforgottoleave.Ormaybethisisjustaplacewherethelocalhunterscometobroaroundandescapetheirwives,Ithink,noticinganoverpopulationofpickuptrucksinthenearbygravelparkinglot.Thereareacoupledozencrudehutsscatteredthroughoutthisclearedstretchofswampcoast,allof
themprettymuchindistinguishablefromanold-schoolouthouse.Thehutsbasicallyconsistofsomepiecesofplywoodhastilynailedtogether,andtheylooklikeastrongbreezecouldknockthemover.Iguesswhenyou’rebuildingattheedgeofaFloridaswamp,there’snopointinputtingtoomucheffortin.Hungbetweenthehuts,lightingthisgrimlittlevista,arestringsofblinkingChristmaslightsandafewgas-poweredlanterns.Beyondthehuts,wherethesolidgroundsinksbackintotheswamp,there’saricketydockwithafewtied-uppontoonboats.Thesourceofthemusic–thecenterofthis‘town’–andtheonlysolidstructurebuilthereisTrapper’s,
asleezy-lookingbarhousedinalogcabin,thenameproudlydisplayedalongtheroofinsizzlinggreenneon.Arowofstuffedalligatorslinethebar’swoodenporch,theirjawsopenandsearching.Frominside,abovethemusic,Icanhearmenshoutingandpoolballscracking.‘Allright,’Ninesays,clappinghishands.‘Mykindofplace.’Theplacedoessortofremindmeoftheoff-the-gridspotsIusedtohitupwhenIwasaloneandonthe
run,placeswherethetight-knitandgrittylocalsmadeiteasytospotout-of-placeMogadorians.Evenso,asInoticeascrawnymiddle-agedguywithamulletandatanktopstaringatus,chain-smokingintheshadowsoftheporch,Iwonderifweshouldfindasaferplaceforustopokeourheadsin.ButNineisalreadyhalfwayupthecreakywoodensteps,Marinarightbehindhim,andsoIgoalong.
HopefullythisplacehasaphonesowecanatleastgetintouchwiththeothersbackinChicago.ChecktoseehowJohnandEllaaredoing–hopefullybetter,somehow,especiallynowthatweknowthecure-allFiveclaimedtohaveinhisChestwasabunchofcrap.Wehavetowarntheothersabouthim.Whoknowswhatinformationhemight’vebeenfeedingtotheMogadorians.WhenwepushthroughtheswingingsaloondoorsofTrapper’s,themusicdoesn’tscreechtoastoplike
inthemovies,buteveryoneinthebardoesturntheirheadstostareatus,almostinunison.Theplaceiscramped,notmuchtoitbesidesthebar,apooltableandsomebeat-uplawnfurniture.Itstinksofsweat,keroseneandalcohol.‘Hooboy,’someonesays,thenwhistlesloudly.IquicklyrealizethatMarinaandIaretheonlytwowomenhere.Hell,wemightbethefirstwomento
eversetfootinsideTrapper’s.Thedrunksstaringatusrangefromtremendouslyoverweighttoalarminglyskinny,allofthemdressedinhalfway-openplaidshirtsorsweat-stainedwifebeaters,someofthemflashinggap-toothedleers,otherssmoothingdownunkemptbeardsastheysizeusup.Oneguy,inarippedheavy-metalT-shirtandwithalowerlipstuffedwithchewingtobacco,breaks
awayfromthepooltabletosidleupnexttoMarina.‘Thismustbemyluckynight,’theguydrawls,‘becauseyougi–’
Therestofthepickuplineislosttotheagesbecausethemomentthisguytriestoslidehisarmaroundhershoulders,Marinaroughlysnatcheshiswrist.Icanhearthemoistureonhisarmcrackleasitflashfreezes,andasecondlatertheguyiscryingoutasMarinatwistshisarmbehindhisback.‘Donotcomenearme,’shesaysinameasuredtone,loudenoughsothewholebarknowsthatthe
warningdoesn’tgojustforthedudewhosearmshe’salmostbreaking.Now,theroomtrulydoesgoquiet.Inoticeoneguylethisbeerbottleslipdowninhishandsohe’s
holdingitbytheneck,allthebetterforswinging.Acoupleofburlyguysatabacktableexchangelooksandstandup,eyeballingus.Foramoment,Ithinkthewholebarmighttryrushingus.Thatwouldendbadlyforthem,andItrytocommunicatethatwithmystare.Nine,whowithhistangledblackhairanddirtyfacefitsrightinhere,crackshisknucklesandlollshisheadbackandforth,watchingthecrowd.Finally,oneoftheotherhicksatthepooltablehoots.‘Mike,youdumbass,sayexcusemeandgetover
here!It’syourshot!’‘Sorry,’MikewhimperstoMarina,hisarmturningbluewhereshe’stouchinghim.Sheshoveshim
awayandhegoestorejoinhisfriends,rubbinghisarmandtryingtoavoidlookingatus.Justlikethat,thetensionbreaks.Everyonegoesbacktowhattheyweredoing,whichprettymuch
meansguzzlingbeer.Ifigurescenessimilartothat–littlefights,staredowns,maybeastabbingortwo–musthappeninTrapper’sallthetime.Nobigdeal.LikeIfigured,thisisoneofthoseplaceswherenobodyasksanyquestions.‘Keepitundercontrol,’ItellMarinaaswewalktothebar.‘Iam,’shereplies.‘Didn’tlooklikeit.’Ninereachesthebarastepaheadofus,clearingaspacebetweentwohunchbackeddrunksand
slappingthechippedwoodensurface.Thebartender,wholooksjustatadmorealertandcleanerthanhiscustomers,probablybecausehe’s
wearinganapron,looksusoverwithwearydisapproval.‘YoushouldknowIkeepashotgununderthebar.Idon’twantanymoretrouble,’thebartenderwarns.Ninegrinsathim.‘It’scool,oldman.Yougotanythingtoeatbackthere?We’restarving.’‘Icouldfryyouupsomeburgers,’thebartenderrepliesafteramoment’sthought.‘It’snotpossummeatorsomething,isit?’Nineasks,thenholdsuphishands.‘Nevermind,Idon’t
wanttoknow.Threeofyourfinest,myman.’Ileanacrossthebarbeforethebartendercanretreatintothekitchen.‘Yougotaphone?’Hejerkshisthumbtowardsthebar’sdarkenedbackcorner,whereInoticeapayphonehanging
cockeyedfromthewall.‘Youcouldtrythat.Itworkspartofthetime.’‘Lookslikeeverythinginhereonlyworkspartofthetime,’Ninemutters,glancingattheTVmounted
abovethebar.Thereceptionisbadatthemoment,anewsreportswallowedupbystatic,thecrookedrabbitearsemergingfromthesetnotdoingtheirjob.Asthebartenderdisappearsintothekitchen,Marinasitsdownwithacoupleofstoolsbufferingher
fromNine.Sheavoidseyecontact,engrossedbythepoppingstaticontheTV.Meanwhile,Ninedrumshishandsonthebar,lookingaround,almostdaringoneofthedrunkstosaysomethingtohim.I’veneverfeltsomuchlikeababysitter.‘I’mgoingtotrycallingChicago,’Itellthem.
BeforeIcango,thescrawnychain-smokerfromoutsidesqueezesintothespaceatthebarnexttome.Heflashesasmirkthat’sprobablysupposedtobecharming,excepthe’smissingacoupleofteeth,anditdoesn’tquitereachhiseyes,whichlookwildanddesperate.‘Hey,honey,’hesays,obviouslyhavingmissedMarina’sdemonstrationaboutwhathappenswhen
drunkstryflirtingwithus.‘BuymeadrinkandI’lltellyoumystory.It’sadoozy.’Istareathim.‘Getawayfromme.’Thebartenderreturnsfromthekitchen,thesmellofcookingmeatcomingwithhimandmakingmy
stomachgrowl.Henoticesthescrawnyguynexttomeandimmediatelysnapshisfingersinhisface.‘ThoughtItoldyounottocomeinhereifyoudon’thaveanymoney,Dale,’thebartenderbarks.‘Goon,
now.’Ignoringthebartender,Dalefixesmewithonelastpleadinglook.SeeingthatIwon’tbebudged,he
slinksdownthebartobegoneoftheotherpatronsforadrink.Ishakemyheadandtakeadeepbreath;Ineedtogetoutofthisplace,IneedashowerandIneedtohitsomething.I’mtryingtokeepitcool,toberationalaboutthings,especiallyconsideringmytwocompanionsaren’tactingallthatstable,butI’mangry.Furious,really.Fiveknockedmeout,practicallytookmyheadcleanoff.InthattimeIwasunconscious,thewholeworldchanged.IknowIcouldn’thaveseenitcoming–Ineverexpectedoneofourownwouldturntraitor,evenafreaklikeFive.Still,Ican’thelpbutfeelitwould’vebeendifferentifI’dhadmyguardup.IfI’dbeenfastenoughtododgethatfirstpunch,Eightmightstillbealive.Ididn’tevengetachancetofight,anditmakesmefeelcheatedanduseless.Ibottlethatrageup,savingitforthenexttimeIseeaMogadorian.‘Six,’Marinasays,hervoicesuddenlyfragile,notsodistantandcold.‘Lookatthis.’TheTVoverthebarhasstartedcomingin,arollingbandofstaticdisruptingthepicturenowandthen,
butanewsbroadcastisotherwiseclearlyvisible.Onit,awindblownreporterstandsinfrontofalineofpolicetape,theJohnHancockCenterloominginthebackground.‘Whatthehell?’Isayundermybreath.Theroofshakesfromasuddenpealofthunderoutside.That
wasme,lettingsomeofthatrageslip.ThenewscastswitchesoverfromthereportertotapedfootageofthetopfloorsoftheJohnHancock
Centerinflames.‘Thiscan’tbehappening,’Marinasays,hereyeswide,lookingtomeforconfirmationthatthisisjust
somesickjoke.I’vebeentryingtobethestableone,butIcan’tfindanythingreassuringtosay.Thebartenderclickshistongue,watchingtheTV,too.‘Crazy,right?Freakin’terrorists.’Ilungeacrossthebarandgrabhimbythefrontofhisapronbeforehecaneventhinkofreachingforhis
hiddenshotgun.‘Whendidthishappen?’Isnap.‘Damn,girl,’thebartendersays,sensingsomethinginmyeyesthatmakeshimdecidenottostruggle.‘I
dunno.Like,twodaysago?It’sbeenalloverthenews.Wherethehellyoubeen?’‘Gettingourasseshandedtous,’Imutter,andshovehimaway.Itrytopullmyselftogether,tobeatback
thepanic.Nine’sbeencompletelysilentsincethereportcameon.WhenIlookoverathim,hisexpressioniscompletelyblank.Hestaresatthetelevision,watchingfootageofourpenthouseheadquartersandhisformerhomeburning,hismouthopenjustalittle,hisbodycompletelystill,almostrigid.Helookslikehe’sshuttingdown,asifhisbrainisn’tcapableofprocessingthislatestblow.
‘Nine…,’Istart,andmyvoicebreakshistrance.WithoutawordtomeorMarina,withoutsomuchasalook,hespinsaroundandheadsforthedoor.Oneofthepoolplayersisn’tquickenoughtogetoutofNine’swayandgetsshoulderedtothefloor.TrustingthatMarinawon’tfreezeanyonetodeathinmyabsence,IchaseafterNine.BythetimeI’mout
onTrapper’sporch,Ninehasalreadymadeitintotheparkinglot,stalkingintentlytowardsthegravelroad.‘Whereareyougoing?’Ishoutafterhim,hoppingtheporchrailingandjoggingtocatchup.‘Chicago,’heanswersbluntly.‘You’regoingtowalktoChicago?’Iaskhim.‘That’syourplan?’‘Goodpoint,’hereplies,notslowingdown.‘I’llstealacar.Youguyscomingorwhat?’‘Stopbeinganidiot,’Isnap,andwhenthatdoesn’tslowhimdown,Ireachoutwithmytelekinesisand
grabhim.Iturnhimaroundsohe’sfacingme,hisheelsdiggingdivotsinthegravelashetriestofight.‘Letmego,Six,’Ninegrowls.‘Letmegorightnow.’‘Stopandthinkforasecond,’Iinsist,realizingasIstartthatI’mnotjusttryingtoconvinceNinebut
alsomyself.Myfingernailsdigintomypalms–notsureifthat’sfromtheconcentrationrequiredtoholdNinewithmytelekinesisorfrommestrainingtokeepittogether.BackontheroofoftheJohnHancockCenter,I’dtoldSamthatwewereatwarandthattherewouldbecasualties.I’dthoughtIwaspreparedforthat,butlosingEight–andnowmaybelosingtheothersinChicago–no,Ican’thandlethat.Thatcan’thavebeenmylastconversationwithSam.Itcan’t.‘Theywouldn’tbeinChicagoanymore,’Icontinue.‘They’drun.That’swhatwe’ddo.Andweknow
Johnisstillaliveorwe’dhaveanotherscar.He’sgotthetablet;he’sgothisChest.They’vegotabetterchanceoffindingusthanwehaveoffindingthem.’‘Uh,lasttimeIsawJohnhewascomatose.He’snotupforfindinganyone.’‘Anexplodingbuildingtendstowakeapersonup,’Icounter.‘Hegotout.We’dknowifhedidn’t.’Afteramoment,Ninenodsreluctantly.‘Allright,allright,letmego.’Ilethimloosefrommytelekinetichold.Helooksawayimmediately,peeringdownthedarkenedroad,
hisbroadshouldersslumped.‘Ifeellikewe’rescrewed,Six,’Ninesays,hisvoicehoarse.‘Likewealreadylostandnoone’sgot
aroundtotellingus.’Iwalkupnexttohimandputmyhandonhisshoulder.OurbackstotheneonlightsofTrapper’s,Ican’t
reallyseeNine’sface,butI’mprettysurehiseyesarewetwithtears.‘Bullshit,’Ireply.‘Wedon’tlose.’‘TellthattoEight.’‘Nine,comeon–’Nineshovesbothhishandsthroughhistangledblackhair,almostlikehe’sgoingtopullsomeout.
Then,hebringshishandsdownoverhisface,rubbingit.Whenhedropsthembacktohissides,Icantellhe’stryingtobestoic.‘Itwasmyfault,too,’hecontinues.‘Igothimkilled.’‘That’snottrue.’‘Itis.FivekickedmyassandIcouldn’thelpmyself.Hadtokeeptalking,hadtoshowhim.Itshould’ve
beenme.Youknowit;Iknowit;Marinadamnsureknowsit.’
ItakemyhandoffNine’sshoulderandpunchhiminthejaw.‘Ow!Damnit!’heyelps,staggeringawayfrommeandnearlylosinghisfootinginthegravel.‘Whatthe
hell?’‘Isthatwhatyouwant?’Iask,steppingtowardshim,fistsclenchedandready.‘Wantmetokickyour
assalittlebit?PunishyouforwhathappenedtoEight?’Nineholdsuphishands.‘Cutitout,Six.’‘Itwasn’tyourfault,’Itellhimevenly,unclenchingmyfistsandthenjabbinghimhardinthechestwith
myfingers.‘FivekilledEight,notyou.AndtheMogadoriansaretoblame.Gotit?’‘Yeah,Igotit,’Ninereplies,althoughIcan’tbesureifI’veactuallygottenthroughtohimorifhejust
wantsmetostopassaultinghim.‘Good.Enoughwiththismopeycrap.Weneedtofigureoutwhatwe’redoingnext.’‘I’vealreadyfiguredthatout,’Marinachimesin.IwassointentonbeatingsomesenseintoNinethatIdidn’thearherapproaching.NeitherdidNine,
andIcantellbytheembarrassedlookonhisfacethathe’swonderinghowmuchMarinaoverheard.Atthemoment,Marinadoesn’tseemconcernedwithNine’smeltdown.She’stoobusydraggingalongthescrawnyguyfromthebar,Dale,theonewhowantedtotrademehisawesomestoryforabeer.Marinaleadshimacrosstheparkinglottowardsus,holdinghisearlikeacruelteacherescortingadelinquenttotheprincipal’soffice.InoticetheslightestcoatingoffrostformingonthesideofDale’sface.‘Marina,lethimgo,’Isay.Shecomplies,yankingDaleaheadofhersothathestumblesintothegravel,endinguponhisknees
rightinfrontofme.Igiveheralook–Iunderstandwheretheviolentstreakcomesfrom,butIdon’tlikeit.Marinaignoresme.‘Tellthemwhatyoutoldme,’MarinaordersDale.‘Youramazingstory.’Dalelooksatthethreeofus,eagertopleaseyetobviouslyterrified,probablythinkingwe’regoingto
killhimifhedoesn’tlisten.‘There’sanoldNASAbaseoutintheswamp.Gotdecommissionedintheeightieswhentheswamp
startedrising,’Dalebeginshaltingly,rubbingthesideofhisfacetowarmitup.‘Igoouttheresometimes,lookingforstuffIcansell.Normally,it’sdeserted.Butlastnight,man,IswearIsawUFOsfloatingaroundoutthere.Creepyguyswhodidn’tlookrightwithgunslikeIain’tneverseenguardingtheplace.Youain’twiththem,areyou?’‘No,’Ianswer.‘Wemostdefinitelyarenot.’‘Dale’svolunteeredtoshowustheway,’Marinasays,nudgingDalewiththetoeofhersneaker.He
swallowshardandthennodsenthusiastically.‘It’snotfar,’hesays.‘Couplehoursthroughtheswamp.’‘Wejustspenttwodayshikingoutofthatswamp,’Ninesays.‘Nowyouwanttogobackin?’‘Theyhavehim,’Marinahisses,pointingintothedark.‘YouheardMalcolm’sstoryaboutwhattheydid
toNumberOne.TheystoleherLegacies.’IgiveMarinaasharplook.Evenifmostofitdoesn’tmakeanysensetohim,Dale’sstilllistening
intentlytoourconversation.‘Shouldwereallybetalkingaboutthis?’Marinasnorts.‘You’reworriedaboutDale,Six?They’rekillingusandblowingupourfriends.
Keepingsecretsfromthisdrunkistheleastofourworries.’
Daleraiseshishand.‘IswearIwon’tsaynothingabout…aboutwhateveryou’retalkingabout.’‘WhataboutChicago?’Nineasks.‘Whatabouttheothers?’MarinaaffordsNineonlyaquickglare.Shekeepshereyesonmewhensheanswers.‘YouknowI’m
worriedaboutthem.Butwedon’tknowwhereJohnandtheothersare,Six.WeknowwhereEightis.AndIamnot,underanycircumstances,lettingthosesickbastardskeephim.’Thewayshesaysit,Iknowthere’snowaytoconvinceMarinaotherwise.Ifwedon’tgowithher,
she’llgobyherself.NotthatIevenconsidernotgoing.I’mspoilingforafightalmostasbadassheis.Andifthere’sachanceEight’sbodyisstilloutthere–intheclutchesofMogadoriansstilllingeringinFlorida,maybewithFive–thenwehavetoatleasttryrecoveringit.LeavenoGardebehind.‘Dale,’Isay,‘Ihopeyou’vegotaboatwecanborrow.’
5
Theslabofmeatinfrontofmelookslikeasoggypieceofuncookedfish,exceptit’slackinganytexturewhatsoever.Ipokeitwithmyforkandthepaleslabjiggleslikegelatin.Ormaybeit’sstillaliveandtryingtoescape,thoseunappetizingtremorsitsattempttoslowlywiggleoffmyplate.IfIlookaway,Iwonderifthethingwillpickupthepaceandtrycrawlingintooneoftheairvents.Iwanttovomit.‘Eat,’SetrákusRacommands.Hecalledhimselfmygrandfather.Thatthoughtmakesmemorenauseousthanthefood.Idon’twantto
believehim.Thiscouldbejustlikethevisions,somesickgamemeanttogetundermyskin.Butwhygothroughallthetrouble?Whybringmehere?Whynotjustkillme?SetrákusRasitsacrossfromme,allthewaydownattheoppositeendofaridiculouslylargebanquet
tablethatlooksasifitwascarvedfromlava.Hischairisthronelike,madeofthesamedarkstoneasthetable,butdefinitelynotlargeenoughtoaccommodatethemammothwarlordwefoughtatDulceBase.No,atsomepointwhenIwasn’twatching,SetrákusRashrunkdowntoamorereasonableeightfeettallsothathecouldcomfortablyhunchoverhisownplateofMogadoriancuisine.CouldhissizechangingbeaLegacy?Itworksreallysimilarlytomyabilitytoaltermyage.‘Youhavequestions,’SetrákusRarumbles,observingme.‘Whatareyou?’Iblurtout.Hecockshishead.‘Whatdoyoumean,child?’‘You’reaMogadorian,’Isay,tryingnottosoundtoofrantic.‘I’mLoric.Wecan’tberelated.’‘Ah,suchasimplisticidea.Human,Loric,Mogadorian–thesearejustwords,dearone.Labels.
Centuriesago,myexperimentsprovedthatourgeneticscouldbechanged.Theycouldbeaugmented.Weneedn’twaitforLorientogiftuswithLegacies.Wecouldtakethemasweneededthem,utilizingthemlikeanyotherresource.’‘Whydoyoukeepsayingwe?’Iask,myvoicecracking.‘You’renotoneofus.’SetrákusRasmilesthinly.‘IwasLoriconce.ThetenthElder.UntilthetimecamewhenIwascastout.
Then,Ibecamewhatyouseebeforeyou:thepowersofaGardecombinedwiththestrengthofaMogadorian.Anevolutionaryimprovement.’Mylegsstartshakingunderthetable.IhardlylistenafterhementionsthetenthElder.Irememberthat
fromCrayton’sletter.HesaidmyfatherwasobsessedwiththefactthatourfamilyoncehadanElder.CouldthathavebeenSetrákusRa?‘You’recrazy,’Isay.‘Andyou’realiar.’‘Iamneitherofthosethings,’hereplies,patiently.‘Iamarealist.Afuturist.Ialteredmygeneticsto
becomemorelikethem,sotheywouldacceptme.Inreturnfortheirfealty,Ihelpedtheirpopulationgrow.Ibroughtthembackfromthebrinkofextinction.JoiningtheMogadoriansgavemeachancetocontinuetheexperimentsthatsofrightenedtheLoric.Now,myworkisalmostfinished.Soon,alllifeinthe
universe–Mogadorian,human,evenwhat’sleftoftheLoric–willbeimprovedundermygentlyguidinghand.’‘Youdidn’timprovelifeonLorien,’Isnapback.‘Youkilledthemall.’‘Theyopposedprogress,’SetrákusRastates,likethedeathofawholeplanetisnothing.‘You’resick.’I’mnotafraidtotalkbacktohim.Iknowthathewon’thurtme–notyet,atleast.He’stoovainforthat,
wantstoobadlytoconvertanotherLorictothecause.Hewantsthingstobejustlikeinmynightmare.SinceIwokeuphere,he’shadateamoffemaleMogadoriansattendingtome.Theydressedmeinthislong,blackformalgown,verysimilartotheoneIwaswearinginmyvision.Ititcheslikecrazy,andIhavetokeeptuggingattheneckline.Istareopenlyathishideousface,hatingmyselffortryingtofindsomeresemblance.Hisheadis
bulbousandpale,coveredinintricateMogadoriantattoos;hiseyesareemptyandblack,justliketheMogs;histeetharefileddownandsharp.IfIlookhardenough,IcanalmostseetheLoriccasttohisfeatures,likecrumblingarchitectureburiedbeneaththepalenessandgrossMogartwork.SetrákusRalooksupfromhisfood,meetingmygaze.Facinghimhead-onstillgivesmeachillandI
havetoforcemyselfnottoturnaway.‘Eat,’hesaysagain.‘Youneedyourstrength.’Ihesitateforamoment,notsurehowfarIshouldpushmyinsubordination,butalsoreallynotwanting
tosampletheMogversionofsushi.Imakeapointofdroppingmyforksothatitclattersloudlyagainstthesideofmyplate.Itechoesinthehigh-ceilingedroom–SetrákusRa’sprivatediningarea–whichisonlyslightlymorefurnishedthantheothercoldroomsaboardtheAnubis.ThewallsarecoveredinpaintingsofMogadoriansbravelychargingintocombat.Theceilingisopen,providingabreathtakingviewofEarth,theplanetimperceptiblyrotatingbelowus.‘Donotpushme,girl,’SetrákusRagrowls.‘Doasyou’retold.’Ipushmyplateawayfromme.‘I’mnothungry.’Hestudiesme,acondescendinglookinhiseyes,likeaparenttryingtoshowabrattychildhowpatient
theycanbe.‘Icanputyoubacktosleepandfeedyouthroughatube,ifyou’dprefer.Perhapsyou’dbebetter
manneredwhenInextwokeyou,oncethewarwaswon,’hesays.‘Butthenwewouldn’tbeabletotalk.Youwouldn’tbeabletoenjoyyourgrandfather’svictoryfirsthand.Andyouwouldn’tbeabletoentertainyourfutilenotionsofescape.’Iswallowhard.Iknowwe’llbegoingdowntoEartheventually.SetrákusRaisn’tgoingtohavehis
warshipsorbitEarthforawhileandthenfloatpeacefullyaway.There’sgoingtobeaninvasion.I’vebeentellingmyselfthatoncewelandI’dhaveachancetorunforit.Obviously,SetrákusRaknowsthatI’dratherdiethanbehisprisonerorhisco-rulerorwhateverhe’sgotinmind.But,fromthesmuglookonhisface,hedoesn’tseemtocare.MaybehethinkshecanbrainwashmebeforewereturntoEarth.‘HowamIsupposedtoeatwithyournastyfacerightthere?’Iaskhim,hopingtoseehisself-satisfied
lookfalter.‘It’snotexactlyappetizing.’SetrákusRastaresatmelikehe’stryingtodecidewhethertoleapacrossthetableandthrottleme.
Afteramoment,hereachestothesideofhischairwherehiscaneispropped.Ornatelycarvedfroma
shimmeringgoldenmetalwithanominousblackeyeonthehandle,it’sthesamecaneIsawSetrákusRauseduringthefightatDulceBase.Ibracemyselfforanattack.‘TheEyeofThaloc,’SetrákusRasays,noticingmeeyeingthestaff.‘LikeEarth,itwillonedaybepart
ofyourInheritance.’BeforeIcanaskafollow-upquestion,theobsidianeyeinthecane’shandleflashes.Iflinch,butit
quicklybecomesclearthatI’mnotinanydanger.Instead,it’sSetrákusRawhobeginstoconvulse.BandsofredandpurplelightprojectfromtheEyeofThalocandscanoverhisbody.AlthoughIdon’texactlyknowhow,IcansenseenergymovingfromthecaneintoSetrákusRa.Hewrithesandcontortsashisskinpeelsawayfromhisbody,expandingoutwardandshifting,likeabubbleformingincandlewax.Whenit’sover,SetrákusRalookshuman.Actually,helookslikeamoviestar.He’sassumedtheform
ofahandsomeolderguyinhismid-forties,withimmaculatelyarrangedsalt-and-pepperhair,soulfulblueeyesandjustamodestamountofstubble.He’stall,butnolongerintimidatinglyso,andhe’swearingastylishbluesuitandpresseddressshirt,casuallyopenatthecollar.Ofhispreviousappearance,onlythethreeLoricpendantsremain,theircobaltjewelsmatchinghisshirt.‘Better?’heasks,hisusualscratchyvoicereplacedbythisman’ssmoothbaritone.‘What…?’Ilookathim,dumbfounded.‘Whoareyousupposedtobe?’‘Ichosethisformforthehumans,’heexplains.‘Ourresearchshowsthey’renaturallydrawntomiddle-
agedCaucasianmenofthesespecifications.Apparently,theyfindthemleaderlyandtrustworthy.’‘Why…’Itrytogathermythoughts.‘Whatdoyoumean,it’sforthehumans?’SetrákusRagesturestowardsmyplate.‘EatandIwillansweryourquestions.That’snotunreasonable,
isit?Ibelievethehumanscallitquidproquo.’Ilookdownatmyplateandthepaleblobwaitingformethere.IthinkaboutSixandNineandtherest
oftheGardeandwonderwhattheywoulddoinmysituation.ItseemslikeSetrákusRawantstospillhisguts,soIshouldprobablylethim.Maybewhilehe’stryingtosubtlywinmeover,he’llletslipthesecrettobeatingtheMogadorians.Ifthatevenexists.Eitherway,takingabiteoftheboiledslugonmyplateseemslikeasmallpricetopayifitmeansgatheringsomeimportantinformation.Ishouldn’tthinkofmysituationasbeingheldprisoner;it’smorelikeI’monamissionbehindenemylines.I’mafreakingspy.Ipickupmyknifeandfork,cutasmallsquareofftheedgeofthemeatandplopitintomymouth.
There’shardlyanytasteatall,it’salmostlikechewingawadded-upballofnotebookpaper.It’sthetexturethatreallybothersme–thewaythemeatstartstofizzandmeltassoonasittouchesmytongue,breakingdownsoquicklythatIdon’tevenreallychew.Ican’thelpbutthinkofthewayMogadoriansdisintegratewhenthey’rekilledandhavetostopmyselffromgagging.‘Itisn’twhatyou’reusedto,butit’sthebesttheAnubisisequippedtoproduce,’SetrákusRasays,
almostapologetically.‘Thefoodwillimproveoncewe’vetakenEarth.’Iignorehim,notreallycaringaboutthefinerpointsofMogadoriancuisine.‘Iate,nowanswermy
question.’Heinclineshishead,lookingcharmedbymydirectness.‘Ichosethisformbecausethehumanswill
finditcomforting.It’swhatIwillweartoacceptsurrenderoftheirplanet.’Igapeathim.‘They’renotgoingtosurrendertoyou.’
Hesmiles.‘Ofcoursetheywill.UnliketheLoric,whopointlesslyfightagainstimpossibleodds,thehumanshavearichhistoryofsubjugation.TheyappreciatedemonstrationsofsuperiorforceandwillgladlyacceptthetenetsofMogadorianProgress.Andthosewhodon’twillperish.’‘Mogadorian“Progress.”’Ispitthewords.‘Whatareyoueventalkingabout?You’regoingtomake
everyonelikeyou?Amon–’Idon’tfinishmyquestion.Iwasgoingtocallhimamonster,butthenIthoughtbacktomyvision.I
callouslyorderedSix’sexecutionrightinfrontofJohn,Samandacrowdofpeople.WhatifsomethinglikeSetrákusRaisalreadylurkinginsideme?‘Ibelievetherewasatleastonequestioninallthatvitriol,’SetrákusRasays.Hemaintainshis
infuriatingsmile,madeevenworsenowthathe’swearingahandsomehumanface,andgesturestowardsmyplate.Ishoveldownanotherbiteofthehorriblefood.Heclearshisthroatlikehe’sabouttogiveaspeech.‘Wesharethesameblood,granddaughter,whichiswhyyouwillbesparedthefateofthoseGardewho
foolishlyopposeme.Because,unlikethem,youarecapableofchange,’SetrákusRaexplains.‘ImayhavebeenLoriconce,butoverthecenturiesIhavemademyselfintosomethingbetter.OnceIcontroltheEarth,Iwillhavethepowernecessarytochangethelivesofbillions.AlltheyneeddoisacceptMogadorianProgress.Thenmyworkwillatlastbearfruit.’Isquintathim.‘Power?Fromwhere?’SetrákusRasmilesatme,touchingthependantsthathangaroundhisneck.‘Youwillseewhenthetime
isright,child.Then,youwillunderstand.’‘Ialreadyunderstand,’Ireply.‘Iunderstandthatyou’readisgusting,genocidalfreakwhogavehimself
abadMogadorianmakeover.’SetrákusRa’ssmileflickersandforamomentIwonderifI’vepushedmylucktoofar.Hesighsand
dragshisfingersacrosshisthroat,theskinofhisassumedformpartingtorevealthethickpurplescararoundhisthroat.‘PittacusLoregavemethiswhenhetriedtokillme,’hesays,hisvoicecoldandlevel.‘Iwasoneof
them,butheandtheotherElderscastmeout.BanishedmefromLorienbecauseofmyideas.’‘What?Didtheynotwanttoelectyousupremerulerorsomething?’SetrákusRapasseshishandacrosshisthroatonceagainandthescartissuedisappears.‘Theyalreadyhadaruler,’SetrákusRareplies,hisvoicedroppinglower,asifthememorymakeshim
angry.‘Theyjustrefusedtoadmitit.’‘What’sthatsupposedtomean?’Thistime,hedoesn’tmakemetakeabiteoffood.He’sonarollnow.‘Mydear,theElderswereruled
bytheplanetitself.Lorienmadetheirchoicesforthem.WhowouldbeGardeandwhowouldbeCêpan.Theybelievedweshouldliveascaretakersandletnaturedetermineourfates.Idisagreed.TheLegaciesgrantedbyLorienaresimplyaresource,likeanythingelse.Wouldyouletthefishintheoceandictatewhoisfittoeatthem,orallowtheironinthegroundtodecidewhentobeforged?Ofcoursenot.’ItrytodigestallthisinformationandcompareitwithwhatIlearnedfromCraytonandhisletter.‘Youjustwantedtobeincontrol,’Isayafteramoment.‘Iwantedprogress,’hecounters.‘TheMogadoriansunderstood.UnliketheLoric,theywereapeople
readytobeelevated.’
‘You’reinsane,’Isay,pushingmyplateaway,donewiththiswholequestion-and-answerthing.‘Youareanunenlightenedchild,’hereplies,thatcondescendingpatienceback.‘Whenyourstudies
begin,whenyouseewhatIhaveaccomplishedforyouandwhattheLorichavedeniedyou,thenyouwillunderstand.Youwillcometoloveandrespectme.’Istandup,eventhoughIhavenowheretogo.SetrákusRahasbeengentlewithmesofar,butit’sbeen
madecrystalclearthatIcanonlymovearoundthesterilehallwaysoftheAnubisasheallowsit.Ifhewantstokeepmehereandforcemetofinishmydinner,hewill.ItwouldprobablybesmootherformeifIletallhisdistortionsandhalf-truthsgounchallenged,butIjustcan’tdoit.IthinkofNine,Sixandtheothers–Iknowthey’dneverholdtheirtonguewhenfacedwiththismonster.‘Youdestroyedourplanetandallyou’veeveraccomplishedishurtingpeople,’Isay,tryingtomimic
mygrandfather’smockingpatience.‘You’reamonster.Iwillnevernothateyou.’SetrákusRasighs,hishandsomefeaturescreasingbrieflyinconsternation.‘Angeristhelastrefugeoftheignorant,’hesays,holdinguphishand.‘Letmeshowyousomethingthey
deniedyou,granddaughter.’Acoilofbrightredenergybeginstoswirlaroundhisraisedhand.Nervous,Itakeastepbackwards.‘TheElderschosewhowouldescapefromLorien,andyouwerenotmeanttobeamongthem,’
SetrákusRacontinues.‘YouweredeniedtheadvantagesoftheotherGarde.Iwillrectifythat.’TheenergycoalescesintoacracklingorbinfrontofSetrákusRa’shand,hoversthereforamoment,
andthenzipstowardsme.Idivetothesideandtheorbalterscourse,makingabeelineformelikeithasamindofitsown.Ihitthecoldfloorinarollandtrytoavoidtheenergy,butit’stoofast.Itburnsthroughthehemofmydressandattachestomyankle.Iscream.Thepainisexcruciating;it’sasifalivewireisbeingdraggedacrossmyskin.Ipullmyleg
intowardsmeandtrytoslapatthespotwheretheorbhit,likeI’monfireandneedtopatouttheflames.That’swhenIfirstseeit.Thetwistingredenergyisgone,leavingbehindabandofjagged,pinkscar
tissuearoundmyankle.It’sreminiscentoftheangulartattoosI’veseenetchedondozensofMogadorianskulls,butthere’salsosomethingunsettlinglyfamiliaraboutit.It’sascarverysimilartotheonestheGardehavesignifyingtheLoriccharm.WhenIlookupatSetrákusRa,Ihavetobitemyliptochokeoffascream.Thebottomhalfofhispant
leghasburnedaway,anidenticalcharmfreshlybrandedintohisownankle.‘Now,’hesays,smilingbeatifically,‘justlikethem,wearelinked.’
6
Iguessinawaywe’vekidnappedDale.Hedoesn’tseemtomind.Thescrawnyredneckishavingagrandoldtimeloungingattherearofhisdecades-oldpontoonboat,pullingfromhisflaskofmoonshine,andbrazenlyoglingmeandMarina.Thisboatofhisisliterallyheldtogetherinplacesbyducttapeandshoelaces,andwecan’ttravelthroughthewindingswamplandstreamstooquicklyforfearofoverheatingtheengine.Also,everysooften,Ninehastouseabuckettoscoopdarkbrownswampwateroutoftheboatbeforethefootwellscollecttoomuchandwesink.Notexactlytravelinginstyle,butMarinaremainsconvincedthatDalestumbledonaMogadorianencampment.So,fornow,he’sourguide.Lastnight,Daleinsisteditwastoodarktotrynavigatingtheswampbutpromisedhewouldleadusto
thisdecommissionedNASAbaseinthemorning.ItturnedoutthatthebartenderatTrapper’srentedtheshantiessurroundinghisplacetoanyswamppeoplepassingthrough.Hegaveonetousfornexttonothing,floatedusourmeal,too,probablysensingthatnothelpinguswouldjustcreatemoretrouble.NoonetrustedDalenottorunoffathisfirstopportunity,sowedecidedtotaketurnskeepingwatchon
him.NinedrewfirstshiftandendedupsittingwithDaleoutsideourlittleshack,listeningtostoriesaboutalltheinterestingthingsDalehadscavengedfromtheswamp.MarinaandIlaydownsidebysideontheflea-bittenmattresstossedontheflooroftheshack,theonly
otherfurnishingsahotplate,arusted-outsinkthatIdon’tthinkconnectedtoanypipes,andanoillantern.Consideringwe’dspentthelastcoupleofdayshikingthroughtheswampsandbarelyresting,thiswasaboutthemostcomfortableI’dbeenindays.Aswelaythere,InoticedthatMarinahadstoppedradiatingtheauraofcoldshe’dbeengivingoffsinceEightwaskilled.Ithoughtmaybeshe’dfallenasleep,butthenshestartedwhisperingtomeinthedarkness.‘Ifeelhimoutthere,Six.’‘Whatdoyoumean?’Iwhisperedback,notunderstanding.‘Eightis…’Ihesitated,notabletobring
myselftostatetheobvious.‘Iknowhe’sdead,’shereplied,rollingovertofaceme.‘ButIcanstillfeelhis–Idon’tknow,his
essenceorsomething.He’scallingtome.Idon’tknowwhy,orhow,Ijustknowit’shappeningandthatit’simportant.’Ifellsilent.IrememberedEight’sstoryaboutmeetingamysteriousoldmanwhilehidingoutinIndia.I
thinkhisnamewasDevdan.TheoldguytaughthimaboutHinduismandmartialartsand,eventually,disappearedbacktowhereverhecamefrom.EightreallycherishedwhathelearnedaboutHinduism–IthinkithelpedhimcopewithhisCêpan’sdeath.Hell,maybethere’ssomethingtoallthatreincarnationstuff.Eightwasdefinitelythespiritualoneofus,andifanyonewouldcalloutfrombeyondthegrave,it’dprobablybehim.‘We’llfindhim,’Isaidquietly,althoughIwasn’texactlyconfidentthatwouldbetrue.Ithoughtabout
whatNinesaidduringhisfreak-outearlierthatnight–thatwe’dalreadylostthewarandnoonehadtoldus.‘Ijustdon’tknowwhatwe’regoingtodoafterward.’
‘Itwillrevealitselftouswhenthetimecomes,’Marinarepliedpeacefully,squeezingmyhand,thenurturingMarinaI’dgottentoknowbrieflyresurfacing,replacingtheangryrevengeseekerI’dbeensurvivingwiththelastcoupleofdays.‘Iknowitwill.’So,thismorning,wereturnedtotheswamp.Thetreesarethickonbothsidesofthemurkywaterand
wefrequentlyhavetoslowdowntonavigatearoundgnarledbutambitiousrootsthathavespreadintothewater.Thecanopyofbranchesoverourheadsisdense,lettingsunlightthroughinpatches.Rottenlogsdriftby,theirbarknotalwaysdistinguishablefromthecraggyscalesofthealligatorsroamingthesewaters.Atleastthebugshavestoppedbitingme.OrmaybeI’vejustgottenusedtothem.Marinastandsatthefrontoftheboat,hergazestraightahead,moisturefromtheairdampeningherface
andhair.Istareatherback,wonderingifshe’slostit,orifthissixthsenseaboutEight’sbodyisanothernewLegacymanifesting.It’sattimeslikethesewecouldreallyuseaCêpan;Marina’shavingahellofatimecontrollingherfreezingLegacy.NineandIhaven’tbroughtitupwithher–he’sprobablyscaredshe’llbitehisheadoff,andI’mjustcountingonherlearningtocontrolitatthesametimeshegetsagriponallthatanger.SoeitherthisreturntotheswampishappeningbecauseofapotentiallyhaywirenewLegacy,old-fashionedintuition,grieforlegitimatecontactwiththespiritworld.Maybeacombinationofallfour.Itdoesn’tmatter,really.We’redoingthis.ItwasonlyafewdaysagothatFiveledusthroughwaterssimilartothese.We’dbeenhappierthen–I
rememberMarinaandEightclingingtoeachother,somethingsparkingthere,andNinewhoopingandactingstupideverytimehespottedanalligator.Irunahandthroughmyhair–it’sdampfromthehumidityandknottedfromthedaysspentouthere–andremindmyselfthatthisisnotimeforreminiscing.We’reheadingintodanger,butatleastthistimeweknowit.‘Howmuchfarther?’IaskDale.Heshrugs.He’sgottenalotmorecomfortablearoundussinceMarinahalf-frozehisfacelastnight.
Probablyonaccountofwhatever’sinthatflask.‘’Boutanhour,’hesays.‘Youbetternotbescrewingwithus,’Itellhim.‘Ifthisisbullshit,we’llleaveyououthere.’Thatmakeshimsitupalittlestraighter.‘Iswearit’strue,ma’am.Isawsomeweird-assaliensout
here.Youbet.’Iglareathim.Nine,finisheddumpingwateroverthesideoftheboat,snatchestheflaskfromDale’s
hand.‘What’veyougotinhere,anyway?’Nineasks,sniffingattheflask.‘Smellslikepaintthinner.’‘Imean,itain’tallpaintthinner,’Dalecounters.‘Trysome.’Ninerollshiseyesandhandshimbacktheflask,thenturnstome.‘Seriously?’heasks,loweringhisvoice,moreconcernedthatMarinawilloverhearthanDale,who’s
sittingrightnexttous.‘We’rerelyingonthisguy?’‘Notjusthim,’Ireply,shootingalookatMarina.‘Shesensessomething.’‘Sincewhendoesshe…?’Ninetrailsoff,foroncetakingamomenttoconsiderhiswords.‘Itstill
seemsalittlenutstome,Six.That’sall.’BeforeIcanrespond,Marinawavesherhandatus,gettingourattention.‘Cuttheengine!’shehisses.
Dalessnapstoandturnsofftheengine,stillnotwantingtopissoffMarina.Ourboatdriftsforwardsilently.‘Whatisit?’Iask.‘There’ssomeoneupahead.’Ihearitthen,too.Amotor–onethatdoesalotlesshiccuppingthanDale’s–gettinglouderasitmoves
increasinglycloser.Withthezigzagpatternthistributarytakesthroughthetrees,wecan’tyetseethisotherboat.‘Arethereotherdirtbagswamppeopleoutthisfar?’Nineasks,eyeballingDale.‘Sometimes,’Dalereplies.Helooksaroundatus,asifsomethinghasjustoccurredtohim.‘Now,hold
on.Areweindanger?BecauseIdidn’tsignupforthat.’‘Youdidn’tsignupforanything,’Nineremindshim.‘Hush,’Marinasnaps.‘Heretheycome.’Icouldturnusinvisible.ItoccurstometograbholdofMarinaandNine,usemyLegacyandmakeit
looklikeDale’saloneouthere.ButIdon’t.MarinaandNinedon’tlooklikethey’reinanymoodtoholdhandseither.IfthereareMogadoriansoutthere,wewantthisfight.Iwatchadarkoutlinepassthroughtheclutteroftreesandglideintothewaterinfrontofus.It’sa
pontoonboatjustlikeoursexceptmuchsleekerandprobablywithafewdozenlessleaks.Assoonaswecomeintoview,thesecondboatalsocutsitsengine.Itdriftsaboutthirtyyardsinfrontofus,itswakecausingustobobonagentlewave.TheboatismannedbythreeMogadorians.Becauseoftheheat,they’veremovedtheirstupidblack
leathertrenchcoatsandstrippeddowntotanktops,theirarmsshiningpastywhite,theirblastersanddaggersclearlyvisiblealongtheirbelts.Iwonderwhatthey’redoingouthere,brazenlyoutintheopen,andthenrealizethatthey’reprobablylookingforus.Afterall,theswampsareourlastknownlocation.TheseunluckyMogscoutsmust’vedrawnswampduty.Everyoneisverystill.WestareattheMogs,andIwonderifthey’llevenrecognizeusinthestate
we’rein.TheMogsstareback,notmakinganymovetorestarttheirboatandgetoutofourway.‘Friendsofyours?’Daleslurs.Hisvoicebreaksthestandoff.Inunison,twooftheMogsreachfortheirblasters,thethirdspinning
aroundtorestarttheirengine.Ishoveforwardwithmytelekinesis,hittingthefrontoftheirboatwithasmuchforceasIcanmuster,causingtheship’sbowtoriseupfromthewater.TheMoggoingfortheenginefallsoverboard,andtheothertwogostaggeringbackwards.Asplitsecondaftermytelekineticattack,Marinaleansoverthesideandplungesherhandintothe
swampwater.AsheetoficespreadsoutfromhertowardstheMogs’boat,thewatercrackingandpoppingasitflashfreezes.Theirboatisstuckonatilt,halfoutofthewater,astheicefloecoalescesaroundit.Nineboundsoutofourboat,gracefullyrunsacrossMarina’sicefloeandhurdlesoverthesideofthe
Mogs’boat.HegrabsthenearestMogaroundtheneck,hismomentumandtheboat’sslopeddeckcausingthemtostumbletowardstheboat’srear.ThesecondMoggetshisblasterupandaimsatNine,butbeforehecanfire,NineplantshisfeetandtossesthefirstMogathisbuddy.
ThescoutwhofelloverboardtriestoclimboutofthewaterandontoMarina’spatchofice.That’samistake.Ajaggediciclerisesfromthefloe’sedge,impalingtheMogadorian.BeforethatMoghaseventurnedtoash,IusemytelekinesistoteartheiciclethroughhimandsenditplungingintooneoftheMogsontheboat.ThefinalMog,daggerdrawn,chargesatNine,buthegrabstheMogbythewrist,twistsbackwardsandstabshimthroughtheeyewithhisownblade.Justlikethat,it’sover.Thewholefightlastedlessthanaminute.Evenasdysfunctionalasweseem
rightnow,wecanstillkillthehelloutofsomeMogs.‘Nowthatwasrefreshing!’Nineyells,grinningatmefromtheotherboat.IhearsplashingfromovermyshoulderandturnaroundjustintimetoseeDaleswimmingfrantically
throughtheswampwater.Hemusthavejumpedoverboard,andnowhe’sdog-paddlingawayfromusasfastashisscrawnyarmsanddrunkennesswillallow.‘Whereareyougoing,idiot?’Ishoutafterhim.Dalereachesamuddyoutcroppingofrootsandpullshimselfontoit,gaspingforbreath.Hestaresat
meandtheotherswithwide,wildeyes.‘Youpeoplearefreaks!’hescreams.‘That’snotverynice,’Ninesays,laughing,ashecarefullymakeshiswaybackontoDale’sboat,the
icefloeMarinacreatedalreadybeginningtomeltintheFloridaheat.‘Whataboutyourboat?’IshouttoDale.‘YougonnaswimbacktoTrapper’s?’Hesquintsatme.‘I’llfiguresomethingoutthatdon’tinvolvemutantpowers,thankyouverymuch.’Isighandraisemyhand,intendingtotelekineticallydragDale’sstupidassbackontohisboat,but
Marinatouchesmyshoulderandstopsme.‘Lethimgo,’shesays.‘Butweneedhimtofindthebase,’Ireply.‘We’recloseenough,’Marinasays,shakingherhead.‘Andbesides–’‘Uh,holyshit,’Nineinterrupts,shieldinghiseyesandstaringupatthesky.‘Ithinkwecanjustfollowthatthing,’Marinafinishes.Thedaysuddenlygetsverydark.Ilookupasashadowpassesoverhead,cuttingoffthelimitedlight
thatwassqueezingthroughtheswamp’scanopy.Throughtheleaves,allIcanseeisthearmor-platedhideofaMogadorianshipasitbeginstodescend.It’snothinglikethedinkysaucer-stylecraftsthatIwasabletoknockoutoftheskywithafewwell-placedlightningbolts.Thisshipisenormous,thesizeofanaircraftcarrier,ferociousgunturretsprotrudingfromitsbelly.Thelocalbirdssquawkandtakeflight,dartingawayfromthisterrifyinggiant.Instinctively,IreachoutandgrabNineandMarina,turningthethreeofusinvisible.Aboatof
Mogadoriansisonething.Idon’tthinkwe’rereadyforsomethingthisbig.Thewarshipaboveusdoesn’tcare,though.Itdoesn’tnoticeus.Toashipthatsize,we’reasinsignificantasthemosquitoes.Asitpasses,glidingabovetheswamplandandgraduallyallowinglighttore-enter,IfeellikeI’veshrunk,likeI’msmallagain.LikeI’machild.AndthenIrememberthatlastdayonLorien.ThenineofusandourCêpansrunningfortheshipthat
wouldtakeustoEarth.Thescreamsallaroundus,theheatoffirefromthecity,blasterfirehissingthroughtheair.Irememberlookingupintothenightskyandseeingshipsjustliketheonepassingoverus,
blottingoutthestars,theirturretsblazing,theircargodoorsfallingopentoletloosehordesofblood-hungryPiken.Aboveus,Irealize,isaMogadorianwarship.It’swhattheywillusetotakeEarthonceandforall.‘They’rehere,’Isay,thebreathnearlysuckedoutofme.‘It’sstarting.’
7
Gradually,thesuburbsoutsideWashington,D.C.starttochange.Thehousesbecomebiggerandfartherapart,untileventuallytheyaren’tvisiblefromtheroadatall.Outsidethevanwindowsareimmaculatelymaintainedmeadowsorminiatureparkswherethetreesarespacedatobsessivelyequalintervals,designedtokeepthehousesbehindthemhiddenfrompryingeyes.Thesidestreetsbranchingofffromthemainroadallhaveprestigious-soundingnameslikeOakenCrestWayorGoldtreeBoulevard,allofthemprotectedbyseverePRIVATEPROPERTYsigns.Inthebackseat,Samwhistles.‘Ican’tbelievetheyliveouthere.Likerichpeople.’‘Nokidding,’Ireply,myhandssweatingonthesteeringwheel.IwasthinkingthesamethingasSam
butdon’treallyfeelliketalkingaboutit,worriedthatIwon’tbeabletokeepthejealousyoutofmyvoice.I’vespentmyentirelifeontherun,dreamingaboutlivinginplaceslikethis–stable,quietplaces.AndherearetheMogs,carvingoutanormallifefortheirtruebornupperclass,livingthehighlifeonaplanetthey’reonlylookingtoexploitanddestroy.‘Thegrassisalwaysgreener,’Malcolmsays.‘Theydonotappreciateit,ifthat’sanyconsolation,’Adamsaysquietly,thefirstwordshe’sspoken
sincewestartedontheselastfewmilestoAshwoodEstates,hisformerhome.‘Theyaretaughtnottoenjoysomethingunlesstheycanpossessit.’‘What’sthatmean,exactly?’Samasks.‘Like,ifaMogadorianwenttothepark…?’‘“Onetakesnosatisfactionfromthatwhichonecannothold,”’Adamrecites,suppressingasneer
whenhefinishesthequotation.‘ThatisfromSetrákusRa’sGreatBook.AMogadorianwouldn’tcareaboutyourpark,Sam,notunlessthetreeswerehistochopdown.’‘Soundslikeagreatbook,’Isaydryly.IglanceoveratAdam,nexttomeinthepassengerseat.He’sstaringoutthewindow,adistantlookon
hisface.Iwonderifthisisstrangeforhim–it’sbasicallyahomecoming,eventhoughhe’snotactuallyfromEarth.Adamturnshishead,noticesmelookingathimandseemsalmostembarrassed.HisexpressionquicklychangestooneI’mfamiliarwith–coldMogadoriancomposure.‘Pulloverhere,’heinstructs.‘It’sonlyamilefartheron.’Ipullthevanovertothesideoftheroadandkilltheengine.Withoutthenoisefromthevan,the
constantchirpingfrombehindmeseemsevenlouder.‘Jeez,guys,calmdown,’SamsaystotheboxofexcitedChimæraesittingonthebenchbetweenhimand
Malcolm.IturnaroundtolookdownattheChimærae,alloftheminbirdform.Regal,whoserestingformisa
statelyhawk,perchesnexttoatrioofmorecommonbirds–apigeon,adoveandarobin.Thenthere’sasleekgrayfalconthatmustbeDustandanoverweightowlthathastobeStanley.Allofthemhavelightweightleathercollarsstrappedgentlyaroundtheirnecks.Thisissteponeofourplan.
‘Iseverythingworking?’IaskSam,wholooksupfromthelaptoprestingonhislegsandgrinsatme.‘Checkitout,’Samsaysproudly,turningthelaptoptofaceme.UsingtheChimæraeinthiswaywashis
idea.Tiledonthelaptopscreenarehalfadozengrainyvideofeeds,eachofthemshowingmyfacefroma
slightlydifferentangle.Thecamerasareworking.OnourwayfromBaltimoretoWashingtonwestoppedatadarklittlestorefrontcalledSpyGuysthat
specializesincamerasandhome-securitygear.Theclerkdidn’taskMalcolmwhyheneededtopurchasemorethanadozenoftheirsmallestwirelesscameras;heseemedgratefulforthebusinessandevenshowedushowtoinstallthenecessarysoftwareononeofourlaptops.Afterthat,wepickedupthecollarsatapetstore.TheotherscarefullyattachedthecamerastothemwhileIdrovesouthtowardsWashington.TheMogadorianshavespentsomucheffortrunningsurveillanceonus,stalkingus.Nowwe’regoing
toturnthetables.‘SpreadoutaroundAshwoodEstates,’ItelltheChimærae,punctuatingmycommandwithamental
pictureofthesatellitephotosofAshwoodthatI’vebeenstudyingsinceyesterdayandsendingthatontotheflocktelepathically.‘Trytocovereveryangle.FocusespeciallyonwheretheMogadoriansare.’TheChimæraerespondwithenthusiasticcawingandaflutteringofwings.InodtoSamandhethrowsopenthevan’ssidedoor.Whatfollowsisawildflurryofactivity,ourhalf
dozenshape-shiftingspybirdstakingoffallatonce,afunnelofsquawkingandflappingwingsastheyflyoutofthevan.Asseriousasoursituationis,there’ssomethingawesomeaboutthesight;SamisgrinningandevenAdamallowshimselfasmallsmile.‘Thisisgoingtowork,’Malcolmsays,pattingSamontheback.Sam’ssmileincreasesjustalittlebit
more.Theviewonthelaptopscreenisdisorienting,theChimæraeallswoopingandglidingindifferent
directions.Thefirsttosettleintosometreespositionthemselvesrightabovethewrought-irongatesofAshwoodEstates.Agateisbuiltintoabrickwallthere;thewallstretchesforafewyardsandthen,presumablyonceit’snolongervisiblefromtheroad,turnsintoamoresinister-lookingbarbed-wirefence.‘Guards,’Isay,pointingoutthetrioofMogadorians,twoofthemsittinginthegatehouse,oneofthem
pacinginfrontofthegateitself.‘That’sit?’Samasks.‘Onlythreeofthem?That’snothing.’‘Theydonotexpectafrontalattack.Oranyattack,really,’Adamexplains.‘Theirpurposeismainlyto
scareoffanydriverswhomightmakeawrongturn.’AstheremainingChimæraesettleontorooftopsandtreebranches,thevideofeedssnappingintofocus,
IstarttogetaclearerideaofAshwoodEstates’layout.Beyondthefrontgateisashortbutwindingentranceroadwithverylittlecover.Thatroadleadstowhatisessentiallyaverylargecul-de-sac,abouttwentywell-appointedhousesarrangedaroundacentralrecreationarea.Apparently,theMogadorianshavepicnictables,basketballhoopsandapool.Allinall,it’sanidyllicswathofsuburbia,exceptthere’snoonearound.‘Seemsquiet,’Isay,scanningthefeeds.‘Isitalwayslikethis?’‘No,’Adamadmits.‘Somethingisn’tright.’
OneoftheChimæraetakesflightandrepositionsitself,gettinganangleononeofthehousesthatwecouldn’tseebefore.Atrashtruckisparkedatthecurb,itsengineoff.‘There’ssomeone,’Samsays,enlargingthefeed.AsolitaryMogadorianholdingatabletcomputerstandsnexttothetruck.Helooksboredashethumbs
somethingintothetablet.AdamsquintsatthetattoosontheMogadorian’sscalp.‘Anengineer,’hesays.‘Youcantellthat?’Iask.‘It’sinthetattoos.Fortrueborn,thosearesymbolsofhonorandwhatthey’veaccomplished.The
vatborngetjobtitles,’Adamexplains.‘Makesiteasytoorderthemaround.’‘There’smore,’Sampointsout.WewatchasfourMogadorianwarriorscarryarefrigerator-sizedpieceofcomputerequipmentoutof
thehouse.Theytakeittowardsthecurbandsetitdowninfrontoftheengineer,thenwaitaroundwhilehecirclesthemachineandinspectsit.‘Lookslikeaserver,’Malcolmobserves.HeturnstoAdam.‘Couldtheybereplacingtheequipment
youdestroyed?’‘Possibly,’Adamreplies,buthedoesn’tsoundcertain.Hepointsoutatwo-levelhousewithaporcha
fewdoorsdownfromwheretheMogadoriansareworking.‘That’smyoldhome.Iknowforcertainthere’sanaccesspointtothetunnelsthroughthere,buttheotherhouseslikelyhaveaccess,too.’WhileAdam’stalking,theengineerfinisheshisinspectionoftheserver.Heshakeshishead,andthe
otherMogspicktheequipmentbackup.Theytossitintothetrashtruck,thenreturntothehouse.‘Iguesstheyaren’tbigonrecycling,huh?’Samsays.BeforethefirstgroupofMogscanheadbackintothehouse,asecondgroupemerges.They’recarrying
whatlookslikeabarber’schairfromabadsci-fimovie,thethingequalpartsfuturisticandfrightening,wiresandnodesdanglingfromit.Theengineerhustlesforwardtomeetthissecondgroup,helpingthemtoeasetheequipmentgentlyontothegrassofthefrontyard.‘Irecognizethat,’Malcolmsays,anedgetohisvoice.‘DrAnu’smachine,’Adamsays,turningtome.‘That’swhattheyusedonMalcolm.Andonme.’‘What’retheygoingtodowithitnow?’Iask,watchingtheengineerbeginhisinspection.‘Thislookslikeasalvageteam,’Adamexplains.‘IdidsomedamagetothetunnelsthelasttimeIwas
here.Now,they’resavingwhatequipmenttheycanandgettingridoftherest.’‘Whataboutallthetruebornswhoweresupposedtobehere?’Adamgrimaces.‘Theymighthavebeenevacuateduntilthisplacecanbebroughtuptospec.’IwidenmyeyesatAdam.‘Sowedroveoutherefornothing?Thetruebornarealreadygoneandthe
machineisbusted.’‘No,’hesays,andIcanseethegearsturningbehindhiseyes.‘Ifwecantakeoutthissalvageteam
beforetheygetoffadistresscall,we’dhavecompleteaccesstowhat’sleftofAshwood.Fromthere,wecangetontotheirnetwork–’‘Andthatgetsuswhat?’‘It’slikeifoneofmypeoplecouldopenoneofyourChests,John.We’llknowtheirsecrets.What
they’replanning.’‘We’llbeonestepahead,’Isay.
‘Yes.’Adamnods,watchingtheengineerasheevaluatesDrAnu’smachine.‘Butweshouldgetinthere.Whatthesalvageteamdecidestodestroycouldstillbeusefultous.’‘Allright,’Isay,watchingtheMogsalvageteamheadbackintothehouse.‘So,isthereasecret
entranceorsomething?’‘Atthispoint,Ithinkadirectassaultisourbestbet.’Helooksatme.‘Thatallrightwithyou?’‘Hellyes,’Ireply.Originally,we’dplannedtouseournetworkofChimæraesurveillancetoobserve
theMogsforawhile,figureoutthemoststrategicapproachtoattacking.But,nowthatwe’rehere,Ifindmyselfitchingtogointobattle.Ineedsomepaybackforeverythingthey’vedone–fortakingElla,destroyingNine’shome,killingoneofmyfriends.IfAdamsaysweneedtorushin,I’mreadytogo.Malcolmgrabsaboxfromundertheseat.Fromwithin,heproducestwoearbuds,oneformeandone
forAdam.Thedevicesareconnectedtothepairofwalkie-talkiesSamandMalcolmwillbeusing.IslipmineintomyearandAdamdoesthesame.‘Areweatallconcernedwiththelocalauthorities?’Malcolmasks.‘Afirefightinbroaddaylightmight
attractsomeattention.’Adamshakeshishead.‘They’reboughtoff,’hesays,thenlooksatme.‘Wewillwanttobequick,
though.Killthembeforetheycancallforreinforcements.IfIcangetpastthemintomyoldhouse,Ishouldbeabletocutofftheircommunications.’‘Icandoquick,’Ireply.IstrapmyLoricdaggertomycalf,hiddenundermytrouserleg.Next,Iclipmyredbraceletaroundmy
wrist.Theamberjewelinitscenterthatexpandstoformashieldshimmersinthemiddaysun.Immediately,thebraceletjoltsmewithicypinpricks,warningmethereareMogsinthearea.Ofcourseitwould–there’sonesittingrightnexttome.Adam’spresenceisgoingtoreallywreakhavoconmydangersense.‘Ready?’Iaskhim.Nexttome,Adampullsonanover-the-shoulderholster,asilencedhandgunnowhangingundereachof
hisarmpits.Henods.‘Whoa,holdon,’Samsays.‘Checkoutthisguy.’AdamandIturnbacktothelaptop,watchingasanotherMogadorianemergesfromthehousethe
salvageteamiscurrentlyunloading.He’stallandbroadshouldered,biggerthantheothers,andwithamoreregalbearing.Unliketheothers,hehasahugeswordstrappedacrosshisback.Whilewewatch,hebarkssomeordersattheengineer,thendisappearsbackintothehouse.WhenIglanceoveratAdam,hisfaceissomehowmorepalethanusual.‘Whatisit?’‘Nothing,’hesays,tooquickly.‘Justwatchoutforthatone.He’satrueborngeneral,oneofSetrákus
Ra’smosttrustedmen.He…’Adamhesitates,watchingthespotonthemonitorthisgeneraljustoccupied.‘HehaskilledGardebefore.’Ifeelheatrushingtomyhands.IfIwasn’treadyforafightalready,Idefinitelyamnow.‘He’sdead,’Isay,andAdammerelynods,openshisdoorandgetsoutofthevan.IlooktoSamand
Malcolm.‘We’llapproachonfoot,takeouttheguardsandthenyoupulluptocoverourback.’‘Iknow,Iknow,’Samsays.‘I’llwatchthemonitorandshoutinyourearwhenIseetrouble.’
Malcolmhasalreadystartedunpackinghissniperriflefromitscase.IsawhimusethatthinginArkansas–hesavedmyass.There’snooneI’dratherhavewatchingmybackthantheGoodes.‘Becareful,’Malcolmsays,raisinghisvoicesoAdamcanhear.‘Bothofyou.’SamandIslaphands.‘Givethemhell,’hesays.AndthenI’moutofthevan,movingatabriskjogtowardstheMogadorianstronghold.Adamkeepsup
alongsideme.‘John,’hesays,ourfeetcrunchinginthegravelonthesideoftheroad.‘Thereissomethingelseyou
shouldknow.’Ofcourse.JustwhenIwasbeginningtoletmyguarddownaroundthisguy,rightwhenwe’regoinginto
battletogether,he’sgoingtospringsomethingonme.‘Whatisit?’‘TheGeneralismyfather.’
8
Ialmostskidtoastop,butAdamdoesn’tseemtobeslowingdownany,soIkeeppacewithhim.‘You’rekiddingme.’‘No.’Adamfrowns,focusingontheroadahead.‘Wedon’texactlygetalong.’‘Areyougoingto…’Idon’tevenknowhowtophrasethis.‘Willyoubeableto…?’‘Fight?Kill?’Adamreplies.‘Yes.Showhimnomercy,becausehewon’tshowanytous.’‘Yourownfather,man?Imean,evenforaMogadorian,that’sprettycold.’‘Atthispoint,defeatinghiminbattleislikelytheonlywayhe’lleverfeelprideforme,’Adamreplies,
addingweakly,‘notthatIcare.’Ishakemyhead.‘Youguysaresoscrewedup.’WefallsilentastheentrancetoAshwoodEstatescomesintoview.TheMogadorianinfrontofthe
gatesspotsusandshieldshiseyesfromthesun,tryingtogetabetterlook.Wekeepupasteadypaceanddon’tmakeanyattempttoconcealourselves.We’reseparatedfromthegatesbyaboutfiftyyardsandclosingfast,buttotheMogwemightlooklikejustacoupleofjoggers.Hewon’tnoticethegunsstrappedtoAdamjustyet.‘Waituntilwe’realittlecloser,’Isaythroughgrittedteeth,andAdamnods.Atthirtyyards,theMogturnshishead,sayingsomethingtohistwobuddiesinthegatehouse.Warning
themthatsomethingmightbeup.Iseethemstandup,silhouettedinthewindow,peeringoutatus.TheMoginfrontedgesbackabit,hisfingersinchingtowardstheblastersurelyhiddenunderhiscoat.Buthehesitates,probablystillthinkshe’sbeingparanoid.Theyreallyneverthoughtwe’dcomeforthem.Theyaren’tprepared.Withtwentyyardstogo,IfireupmyLumen,flamesroaringacrossmyhands.Nexttome,instride,
Adamdrawsbothhisgunsandtakesaim.TheclosestMogtriestopullhisblaster,buthe’swaytooslow.Adamfirestwoshots,onefromeach
gun,bothofthemmuffledbysilencers.Strucktwiceinthechest,theMogteetersforamomentandthenexplodesintoacloudofash.Ilaunchafireballatthegatehouse.TheMogadoriansinsidearescramblingaroundbut,liketheir
friend,arealsotooslow.Thefireballexplodesthroughthewindow,sendingglasseverywhere,andcausingoneoftheMogstogoupinflames.Theotheronemanagestothrowhimselfoutthedoor,flamesdancinguphisback.He’sstandingrightinfrontofAshwood’slockedentrance,soIreachoutwithmytelekinesisandtearthewrought-irongateoffitshinges,crushingtheMog.‘Thinktheothersheardus?’IaskAdam,aswesteparoundthebentmetalgateandintoAshwood
Estates.‘Ourentrancedidlacksubtlety,’Adamobserves.Sam’svoicecracklesinmyear.‘Fourofthemrunninguptheaccessroad,’hewarns.‘Blastersready.’
Theaccessroadisuphillwithaslightbendatthetopafterwhichwe’llbeatthehousingdevelopment.Thereisn’tawholelotofcoverontheway.‘Staybehindme,’ItellAdam.Justthen,theMogscomearoundthebend.Theydon’taskanyquestionsbeforeunleashingavolleyof
blasterfire.Adamleapsbehindmejustasmyshielddeploys–it’slikeaparachuteexplodingoutofmyarm,theripplingcrimsonmaterialspreadingtoabsorbtheblasts.Adamgrabsholdofthebackofmyshirt.‘Goforward,’hesays.Ido,theshieldabsorbingmoreblasterfireasIpresstowardstheMogs.Thebraceletisnowasteady,
numbinglypainfulbuzzagainstmywrist.Carefullyfollowingmystepstokeepfromgettingshot,Adampopsaroundtheedgeoftheshield,gunningdowntwooftheMogsinonego.Realizingthey’renotmakinganyprogress,theothertwotrytoretreat.Ilowermyshieldandlaunchafireballthatexplodesbetweenthem,knockingthembothtotheground.Adamfinishesthemoffwithsomewell-aimedgunfire.Outofdangerfornow,myshieldretractsbackintomybracelet.‘Notbad,’Itellhim.‘We’rejustgettingstarted,’hereplies.Werundowntheaccessroadaroundthebend,andtheopulenthomesofAshwoodEstatesfinallycome
intoview.There’snooneoutandallthewindowsaredark;thewholeplacefeelslikeaghosttown.Toourright,IseeAdam’soldhouse,andafewhousesdownfromthatisthetrashtruckandthehigh-techchairtheengineerwasinspecting.Thesalvageteams,theengineerandtheGeneralarenowheretobeseen.‘They’recomingfromthebackyard!’Samyells.BothAdamandIspinaroundintimetoseeasquadronofMogwarriorssneakingtowardsusbetween
twoofthehouses.Itwould’vebeenaprettygoodambushifwedidn’thavescoutsperchedintheirtrees.Astheyraisetheirblasters,Adamisready.Hestompsthegroundandaconcussivewaveofforcerollsintheirdirection,pavementandchunksofgrassripplingupward.TheclosestMogsarecompletelythrownofftheirfeet,othersstaggerandoneofthemaccidentallydischargeshisblasterintoanother’sback.‘I’llfinishthemoff!’ItellAdam.‘Yougomakesuretheyaren’tcallingreinforcements.’Adamnods,thensprintsacrossthelawntowardshisoldhouse.Meanwhile,nexttothestunned
Mogadorians,Inoticeametaltankthathadcomeunmooredfromwhereitwasattachedtoahouse.Withmyhearingfocused,Icanhearafainthissemanatingfromthetank.Ialmostlaughatmyluck.It’sagasline.IlaunchafireballattheMogsbeforetheycancollectthemselves.ItwhizzesrightbytheleadMog,
whoIthinkactuallysmirksatme,thinkingthatI’vemissedinthosetwosecondsbeforethepropanetankexplodes,incineratingthelotofthem.Thewindowsofthetwoadjacenthousesareallblowninwardfromtheforce,largeblacksingemarksformingontheoutside,grassburning.Ihavetostopmyselffromappreciatingthedestruction–itfeelsalmostcathartictodestroythisplace,toteardownwhattheMogshavebuilt,afterhowmanytimesthey’vetorndownmyattemptsatanormallife.‘Damn,dude,’Samsaysinmyear.‘Wefeltthatoverhere.’Iyankmywalkie-talkieoffthebackofmyjeans.‘What’sitlooklike,Sam?’‘You’reclear,’hesays.‘It’sweird.Ithoughtthere’dbemoreofthem.’
‘Theycouldbedowninthetunnels,’Ireply,startingtowardsthehouseAdamrushedinto.IscantheemptywindowsasIgo,waryofanyMogswhomightbelyinginwait.It’sjusttoodamnquiet.‘Andthathuge-assgeneralguy,’Samsays.‘Hewasn’twiththeonesyoublewup.’I’mcrossingthelawntowardsAdam’shousewhenthefrontwindowshattersandAdam’sbodycomes
flyingout.Hislegssmackhardagainsttheporchrailingandhe’sturnedheadoverheels,flippedlikearagdollintothefrontyard.Iruntohimasheshakilytriestopickhimselfup.‘Whathappened?’Ishout.‘Father…isn’thappy,’hegroans,lookingupatmeasIcrouchdownoverhim.There’sahugepieceof
glassstickingoutofhischeek,atrickleofdarkbloodrunningdownhisneck.Heyanksitoutandtossesitaside.‘Canyougetup?’Iask,grabbinghisshoulder.BeforeAdamcananswer,aboomingvoiceinterrupts.‘NumberFour!’TheGeneralstridesconfidentlythroughthefrontdoor,lookingdownatmefromtheporch.He’shuge
andmuscular.ThetattoossplashedacrosshispaleskullarewaymoreintricatethananyMogI’veseenoutsideofSetrákusRa.Isensemotionbehindhim–otherMogadorians,Ican’tbesurehowmany.Theydon’tcomeoutofthehouse.It’salmostliketheGeneralwantstodothisalone.Istandupandfacehim,myhandsglowingandhot,afireballfloatinginmypalm.‘YouknowwhoIam,huh?’Iaskhim.‘Indeed.Ihavelonghopedwewouldmeet.’‘Uh-huh.Ifyouknowme,thenyouknowyoudon’tstandachanceagainstme.’Icranemynecktolook
pasthim.‘Noneofyoudo.’TheGeneralactuallysmiles.‘Verygood.Bravado.Awelcomechangeofpace.ThelastLoricI
encounteredran.Ihadtostabhimintheback.’IdecideI’vehadenoughtalkandwhipthefireballathim.TheGeneralseesitcoming,hunkerslowand
inonesurprisinglyfluidmotiondrawshisswordfromitssheath.Heslicestheairinfrontofhimjustasthefireballgetsclose,andtheglowingMogadorianbladeabsorbsmyattack.Notgood.TheGeneralleapsofftheporch,swordraisedabovehishead,andbringsitdowninaviciousarc
towardsme.He’sfast–wayfasterthantheotherMogsI’vebeenfighting–andmyshieldbarelyhastimetodeploybeforehisswordwouldcleavemeintwo.Theshieldrebuffsthebladewithaloudclang,buttheforceisstillenoughtoknockmebackwardsandoffmyfeet.‘John!’Adamshouts,andtheGeneral,havinglandedrightnexttohim,takesamomenttokickhisson
hardacrosstheface.Adamscreams,rollingaway.‘Youareaperpetualdisappointment,’theGeneralseethesatAdam,solowIcanbarelyhearhiswords.
‘StaydownandImayyetshowyoumercy.’Ipopontomykneesquickly,channelinganotherfireball.TheGeneralpointshisswordatmeandIfeel
somethinglikearushofair,almostlikethebladeissuckingintheenergyaroundit.Myfireballguttersandshrinks,forcingmetofocushardertobuilditbigger.Meanwhile,thegrassaroundtheGeneralgoesfromgreentobrown,thebladedrainingthelifefromit.Ihaven’tseenoneoftheMogsarmedwithaweaponlikethissincethatfightinthewoodsoutsideParadiseHigh.‘Don’tletithityou!’Adamwarns,spittingblood.
Buthiswarningistoolate.Adagger-shapedboltofenergytearsloosefromtheGeneral’sbladeandscreamstowardsme;theenergyisblack,ormorelikedevoidofanycoloratall,andchangestheverytextureoftheairthatitpassesthrough,suckinguplifeandoxygen,likeaminiblackhole.Idon’thaveachancetododgeit.Myshielddeploys,expandingintheusualumbrella-likeway,but
immediatelyturnsblackandbrittlewhentheGeneral’sblasthits.Frozenlikethat,myshieldslowlybeginstocrumble,blownawaylikesomuchMogadorianash.Dark,rustlikeveinsbegintospreadthroughthebraceletitself,andIhurriedlysnapitoffbeforetheymakecontactwithmyskin.Whenithitstheground,mybraceletbreaksinhalf.TheGeneralsmilesatmeagainandasks,‘Nowwillyourun?’
9
TheMogadorianswhoweretakingcoverinsidethehousestarttolaugh.Onebyone,theyfilterontotheporch,eagertogetacloserlookastheirgreatgeneraldispatchesoneoftheGarde.There’sacoupledozenofthem,thesalvageteamplussomewarriorsandscouts,allofthemvatborn.Notexactlythehigh-prioritytargetswewerehopingfor,butthatdoesn’tmatternow.ThereareonlytwotruebornMogsinAshwoodEstates–oneofthemisAdam,andhe’slaidoutinthegrassjustafewyardsfromme,darkblooddrippingfromhisface.Theotherischargingrightatme.AstheGeneralbearsdownonme,swordleveledatmythroat,there’samomentwhereIthinkwemight
havebittenoffmorethanwecanchew,AdamandmetryingtotakeonanentireMogadoriantown.ButthenIrememberitisn’tjustthetwoofus.Withashriek,Dust,stillinfalconform,dive-bombstheGeneral.Histalonssinkdeepintothe
General’sface,thehugeMogadoriangruntinginpainbeforehemanagestobackhandDustaway.It’sexactlythedistractionIneed.Quickly,IformanotherfireballandpitchitattheGeneral.Thistime,
hedoesn’thaveachancetogethisswordup,andthefirehitshimrightinthechest.Iexpecthimtoatleastbeknockedoffhisfeet,buttheGeneralmerelystumblesbackafewsteps.Thefrontofhisuniformburnsaway,revealingacarapaceofobsidianMogadorianarmorbeneath.Dust,stunnedbytheblow,flopsintothegrassattheGeneral’sfeet.Hebringshissworddownhardat
theChimæra,butDusttransformsintoasnakeatthelastsecondandmanagestoslitherthroughthegrassawayfromtheblade.TheGeneral,freshclawmarksacrosshisface,swingshisgazebacktome.‘Hidingbehindyourpets!’theGeneralbellows.‘Disgraceful.Fightmewithhonor,boy.Nomore
tricks.’IholdupmyhandandsmileattheGeneral,noticingthebirdsflutteringinfromallsides.‘Holdon.Just
onemoretrick.’Andthat’swhentherhinocerosdropsfromthesky.OnemomenttheChimæra–I’mnotevensurewhichone–isarobinflyinginnocentlyabovetheheads
oftheMogadorians;thenextit’sahalf-tonAfricanrhinobelly-floppingontopofthem.AcoupleoftheMogsontheporcharecrushedoutright,thewoodbreakingandsplintering,thefrontofthehouseevensinkingalittleatthebeast’sweight.AnotherMogisgoredbytherhinoasitstartstorampagearound.TheotherMogsspillintotheyard,blastersfiring.Theyaren’tlaughinganymore.ThiswholenobleexecutiontheGeneralhadthemwatchinghasbeenruinedbyoursmallarmyofChimærae.It’schaos.Allaroundus,birdsaremorphingintomorelethalforms–abear,acoupleofjunglecats
andalumberinglizardthingthatIthinkisaKomododragon–andrunningdowntheMogadorians.IseesomeoftheChimæraesustainblasterburnsastheMogsfiremadlyatthem,tryingdesperatelytoregroup.Theywon’tbeabletoholdoutlong.Foronce,we’vegottheelementofsurprise.
‘Lookslikeyoushouldbetheonerunning,’IyellattheGeneralasIsquareupwithhim.Truthbetold,I’mnotsurewhattodowithhim.HeisAdam’sfather,afterall.Adamtoldmetoshownomercy,butitstillfeelswrongtokillafatherinfrontofhisson,eveniftheyareMogadorians.IglanceovertoAdam,hopinghe’llatleastgivemeathumbs-uporthumbs-down,buthe’sstillcrumpledinthegrass,strugglingtopickhimselfup.Dustisnexttohiminwolfform,alsolookingalittlebeatenup,gentlylickingAdam’sface.‘MynameisalreadywritteninthehistoriesasakillerofGarde!’theGeneralroarsbackatme,not
evencaringaboutthedecimationofhismengoingonbehindhim.‘IftodayisthedayIdie,Iwilltakeyouwithme.’Hechargesme,swordstabbingrightformysternum.Iholdupmyarm,expectingmyshieldtodeploy
anddeflecttheblow.Ittakesmeasplitsecondtoremembermywristisbare,myshielddestroyed.TheGeneralalmostskewersmeformyover-relianceonmybracelet.IhavetospintothesideatthelastsecondandcanfeelhowcloseIcame,hisbladetearingthroughthebackofmyshirt.TheGeneral’sswordmightmiss,buthiselbowdoesn’t.Usinghismomentumtoswingaround,he
catchesmerightinthetemple.HemustbewearingthatMogadorianarmoralloverhisbody,becausetheelbowfeelsmorelikeahammer.Istumbletotheside,seeingstars.TheGeneralslashesatmeagain,andIjustbarelymanagetolashoutwithmytelekinesis,shovinghimbackwards.Hisheelsdiguptuftsinthegrassasherefusestoleavehisfeet.Insteadofchargingbackatme,theGenerallevelshissword,anotherminivortexdevelopingatthe
blade’stip.I’mcaughtout–noshield,nocover–andIknowIcan’tletthatlife-drainingenergyhitme.Ibracemyself,readytodiveaside.Beforetheswordcandischarge,theGeneral’srighthandexplodes.Heroarsanddropshisblade,
holdinguphishandtolookatthenickel-sizedholethroughthepalmthatwasn’tthereasecondago.‘Dadsays,“You’rewelcome,”’Sam’svoicechirpsinmyear.Iglanceovermyshouldertoseeourvanparkedontheaccessroad.MalcolmGoodestandsnexttothe
driver-sidedoor,usingitforcoverashepeersthroughthescopeofhisrifle.‘Interlopers,’theGeneralgrowls.BeforeMalcolmcanfireanothershot,theGeneraltakesoffata
sprint,usingthetrashtruckforcover.He’ssurprisinglyfastconsideringhisbulkandthatfullsuitofarmor.Well,I’dwantedhimtorun.Ichaseafterhim,thoughtsofhowhehuntedandkilledGardefuelingme.Outofthecornerofmyeye,I
seeaMogwarriordrawabeadonmewithhisblaster.Ashefires,aChimæraintheshapeofablackpantherleapsontohisback.TheblastsailswideandendsupshearinginhalfthechairDrAnuusedinhisexperiments.IknowourgoalwastokeepthisMogtechnologyintact,butthatdoesn’tmattertomenow.I’mseeingred.TheGeneral–soproudofkillingGarde.Killingchildren.I’mgoingtowritethelastchapterinhisprecioushistory.Rightnow.AsIcomearoundthetrashtruck,IseetheGeneralhasmadeittothebasketballcourtsandstopped.He
beckonsmeonward,waitingformeatcentercourt.Ichargein,ignoringthepartofmethatknowshe’ssettingmeupforsomekindoftrap.Whateveritis,itwon’tstopme.TheGeneralgrowlssomethinginMogadorian.Itsoundslikeacommand.Undermyfeet,beneaththe
asphalt,ageneratorofsomekindvibratestolife.
Ifeelastaticchargeasadome-shapedforcefieldrisesupoverthebasketballcourt,trappingmewiththeGeneral.Everythingissuddenlyveryquiet,thenoiseoftheChimæraemaulingtheMogadoriansblockedoutbytheforcefield.Itakeastepawayfromthenearestwall,sensingthesametypeofelectricjoltthatweencounteredat
thebaseinWestVirginia.IrememberhowsickIwasafterthat–ittookmedaystorecover–andknowthatIcan’tgettooclose.EvenasI’mthinkingthis,anover-eagerChimæraintheshapeofatigerflingsherselfattheGeneral.
TheblueenergyrepulsesthepouncingChimæra,shocksherandleavesherinaconvulsingheapontheground,stillverymuchoutsidetheforcefield.‘WeusedtofightPikenagainsteachotherinthisplace,’theGeneralmuses,wavinghishandatthe
enclosedspace.‘Itwasarewardforthevatborn.Pitymoreofthemaren’theretowitnesstoday’scontest.’‘Youwantsomealonetimewithme,isthatit?’ItaunttheGeneral,makingsuretoputsomedistance
betweenmeandtheforcefield.‘Iwanttokillyouinpeace,’hereplies.‘Withyourmanyfriendswatchinghelplessly.’‘Goodluckwiththat.’Withouthesitation,IchargetowardstheGeneral,pitchingfireballsathimasIgo.Heabsorbseachof
them.Hugechunksofhisuniformburnaway,butIdon’tseemtobedoinganydamagetothearmorunderneath.Notlettinganypainregisteronhisface,theGeneralrushesrightforme,likehe’sgoingtobarrelintome.Heprobablyweighsasolidtwohundredpoundsmorethanmewiththatarmor.Butscrewit.Wecrashtogetherandthewindgoesoutofme,butImanagetostayupright.Ipressmyhand,still
engulfedbytheflamesofmyLumen,againstthesideoftheGeneral’sface.Heletsoutagruntofpain,butthat’shisonlyreactiontomeburninghisface,hispaleskinsearingblackandpopping.Bothofhishandswraparoundmythroat,bigenoughthathisfingersoverlapatthebackofmyneck.Hesqueezesmyneckandimmediatelydarkspotsforminmyvision.Ican’tbreathe.Withthehandnot
burningthesideoftheGeneral’sface,Ipryathisfingers.ItfeelslikemythroatwillcompletelycollapseifIlethisgripgetanytighter.It’shardtoconcentratewithhimchokingme,butImanagetokeepuptheintensityofmyLumenwhile
simultaneouslyusingmytelekinesis.Imaneuvermydaggeroutfrombeneathmytrouserleg.Withoutafreehand,IgatherasmuchtelekineticforceasIcanmusterandsendthebladelancingtowardstheGeneral’sheart.Mydaggerdeflectsoffhisarmor.BeforeIcanstabathimagain,hetightenshisgriponmythroatandI
losecontrolofmytelekinesis.Feelingfaint,it’sallIcandotokeepmyLumenburningagainstthesideofhisface.‘Whodoyouthinkwilldiefirst,boy?’theGeneralsneers,smokefromhisownburnedfacespillingout
ofhismouthwhenhespeaks.Itrytobackpedal,tobreakawayfromhim,butheputsallhisweightdown,forcingmetomyknees.Suddenly,aMogadorianswordisthrusttowardsmyface.Unabletomovemyhead,Icanonlyflinch
backwards.Thetipoftheglowingbladestopsjustshortofmyeye.TheGeneral’sgripslackensandthendropsawayentirely.Ifallontomyside,gaspingforbreath,tryingtofigureoutwhatjusthappened.
‘Throughtheback.Isn’tthathowyoudoit,Father?’AdamholdstheGeneral’sbroadswordintwohands–it’salmosttooheavyforhim–andyanksitout
ofhisfather’sback.HedroveitstraightthroughtheGeneral’schest,theglowingbladepiercingthatMogadorianarmorasifitweremadeoftinfoil.Iwastoobusyfightingformylifetonoticetheforcefieldcomedown.Luckily,theGeneralwas,too.HestaresatAdam,stunned.TheGeneralmustrealizehismistake–alltheMogsknowthevoicecommandtobringdowntheforcefield,butoneofthemwasn’tfightingonhisside.TheGeneralgropesatthewoundonhischestandforamomentIthinkhe’sgoingtokeepcoming.But
thenhestaggers,reachingouttograspatAdam,almostasifhewantstohughim.Ormaybestranglehim.It’shardtotell.Adamstepsaside,adetachedlookonhisface,andallowstheGeneraltofallface-firstontothe
pavement.Beyondthecourt,thefightingisover,theMogadoriansalldead.BackinAdam’sfrontyard,SamkneelsoverawoundedChimæra.Malcolmstandsafewfeetofffromus,onthesideline,watchingthescenewiththeGeneral,alookofconcernonhisface.IpickmyselfupandstandnexttoAdam.‘Adam,areyou…?’Myvoiceishoarse,throatrawandsore.Adamholdsupahand,cuttingmeoff.‘Look,’hesaysflatly.Atourfeet,theGeneralbeginstodisintegrate.Itdoesn’thappenquicklylikeI’veseenwiththemany
vatbornscoutsandwarriorsI’vekilled.TheGeneraldecomposesslowly,partsofhimflatteningoutfasterthanothers.Insomespots,hisfleshmeltsawaybutnotthebonebeneath,leavingaskeletalelbowjuttingupfromthegroundnexttoaribcage,allattachedtoahalf-disintegratedskull.‘YoucanseewhereSetrákusRaaugmentedhim,’Adamsays,hisvoicealmostclinicalasheexplains.
‘Healedwounds,cureddiseases,improvedhisstrengthandspeed.Hepromisedimmortality.Buttheunnaturalpartsdisintegrate,likethevatborn.Therest,what’sleft,thatistrueborn,realflesh.’‘Wedon’thavetogetintothisnow,’Imanagetosay,stilltryingtocatchmybreath.It’snotthatIdon’t
appreciatetheinformation.It’sjustthatAdam’sdadislyingdeadatourfeetandhe’sgivingalessoninMogadoriangeneticslikenothinghappened.‘They’retoofargonetorealizeit,butthisisthefateSetrákusRaoffersmypeople.Ashesandspare
parts,’Adamsays,staringathisfather’sremains.‘IwonderhowmuchmorewouldbeleftiftheGreatLeaderhadneverpoisonedhisbodyandmind.’Adamletsgooftheswordanditthunksheavilytotheground.Iputmyhandonhisshoulder,the
revulsionIfeltforhimoverthelastcoupleofdaysforgotten.Hejustsavedmylifeandkilledhisownfathertodoit.‘Adam,it’sokay,’Istart,notreallysurewhattosayinthiscrazysituation.‘Ihatedhim,’hereplies,notlookingatme.Hestaresattheburneduniform,pilesofashandrandom
bonesthatusedtobetheGeneral.‘Buthewasmyfather.Iwishthingscouldhaveendeddifferently.Forallofus.’IcrouchdownovertheGeneral’sremainsandcarefullyremovethesimpleblackleathersheaththathe
woreacrosshisback.It’salittlesingedbutstillholdingtogether.IpickuptheswordfromwhereAdamdroppedit,sheathitandholditouttohim.‘Idon’twantthat,’Adamsays,staringattheswordwithalookofdisgust.
‘Thingscanenddifferently,’Itellhim.‘Usethisinawaythatyourfatherneverdid.Helpuswinthiswarandchangethefateofbothourpeople.’Adamhesitatesforamomentbeforeacceptingtheswordfromme.Heholdsthebladeinbothhands
andstaresdownatit.Afteralongmomentofcontemplation,Adamslingsthesheathoverhisshoulder.Hegruntsattheweightbutmanagestostandupstraight.‘Thankyou,John,’hesaysquietly.‘Isweartoyou,thisbladewillneveragainbeusedagainstaLoric.’Samwalksovertous.‘Youguysallright?’Adamnods.Itouchtheskinofmythroat,whichalreadyfeelsswollenandpuffyfromwherethe
Generalstrangledme.‘Yeah,I’mgood,’Ireply,thenlooktoAdam.‘Arewedone,though?Oraretheremorecoming?’Heshakeshishead.‘Ishutdowncommunicationsrightbeforemy–rightbeforetheGeneralcaughtup
withme.Therewon’tbeanyreinforcements.’‘Nice,’Samreplies,lookingoutattheemptywindowsofAshwoodEstates.‘Sowejusttookovera
Mogadorianbase.’BeforeIcanbaskinanysenseofaccomplishment,InoticeadarklookonAdam’sface.He’snolonger
staringdownathisfather.Instead,hiseyesareturnedtowardsthehorizon,likehe’sexpectingtoseesomethingbadheadedourwayatanymoment.‘Whatisit?’Iaskhim.‘Therewassomethingelse,’hesaysslowly,choosinghiswordscarefully.‘Iwasonlyonthe
communicationsnetworkforafewmoments,butIpickedupsomechatter.Troopmovements.MassrelocationsoftrueborntotheWestVirginiafortress.Deploymentsofwarriorgroupstopopulationcenters.’‘Whoa,whoa,’Isay,holdingupmyhands.‘Whatdoesallthatmean?’‘Invasion,’Adamreplies.‘Invasionisimminent.’
10
SetrákusRahassomeofhisminionsstickmeinacoldroomwithoutanywindows.Nomorepoliteconversationsovernastydinners,Iguess.It’ssosmallinherethatIcanstandatthecenter,stretchoutmyarmsandalmostbrushtheopposingwallswithmyfingertips.There’salittledome-shapedprotrusioninthemiddleoftheceiling.Ibetit’sacamera.Againstonewallisasmallmetaldeskwithachairthatlookslikeit’sdesignedformaximumdiscomfort.OnthedeskisacopyofTheGreatBookofMogadorianProgress.I’msupposedtosithereandstudymygrandfather’smasterwork.Readthreesectionsandspendatleast
twentyminutesindeepcontemplationofeach.Nothanks.I’mnotsureifit’sthesamecopyIusedtohitthatMogadorianladyonmyfirstdayhere.Therearealot
ofthesebookslyingaroundtheAnubis.It’sliketheonlythingtheMogsread.Anyway,they’vechainedthisonetothedesktomakesureIdon’tturnitintoaweapon.Insteadofstudying,IleanagainstthewallfarthestfromthedeskandwaitfortheMogstorunoutof
patience.ItrytoignoretheitchingsensationcomingfromtheMogadoriancharmfreshlyburnedintomyankle.Ifthey’rewatchingme–andI’malmostcertainthatthey’realwayswatchingme–Idon’twantthemtoseemelookinguncomfortable.Idefinitelydon’twantthemtoknowhowdisgustedIamattheideaofbeingconnectedtoSetrákusRa.
TheMogshatetheLoric,buttheyfalloverthemselvestopleasetheir‘BelovedLeader,’eventhoughheusedtobeoneofus.Basedonwhathetoldmeatdinner,SetrákusRaturnedhimselfintosomefreakishhybridspeciesmadefromthepowerfulLegaciesofanElderandthetechnologicaladvancementsoftheMogs.Orsohesays.It’shardtofigureoutwhat’sfactandfictionwithhim.Whateverheisnow–Loric,Mogorsomethinginbetween–SetrákusRahasspentcenturiesmakingtheMogsviewhimasasavior.Asagod.Wherehecamefromdoesn’tmattertothemanymore.AndeventhoughIgetafewsidewayslooksfromsomeofthesoldiersaboardtheAnubis,tomostofthecrew,I’monSetrákusRa’slevel.I’mthegranddaughterofaself-proclaimedgod.Sofar,that’skeepingmesafe.Asifbeingbloodrelativeswasn’tenough,nowwe’rebondedbyhisversionofaLoriccharm.I
rememberfeelingleftoutwhenIdiscoveredalltheotherGardewereconnectedinthesameway,allofthemonceprotectedbythesameforce.Iwantedtobepartofthat.NowI’vegottwothickandjaggedbandsofscartissuearoundmyankle.Becarefulwhatyouwishfor,Ella.I’mzoningout,tryingtothinkupawaytotestwhatthecharmdoeswithouthurtingmyself,whena
noisestartsplayingintheroom.Itsoundsalmostexactlylikeasmokealarm.Atfirstit’slikearinginginmyears,butsecondslaterit’samplifiedenoughthatitdrownsoutmythoughts.Icovermyears,butthesoundonlygetslouder.It’scomingthroughthewallsfromeverydirectionatonce.
‘Turnitoff!’IyelltotheMogsI’msurearewatchingme.Inresponse,thevolumeincreases.Myheadfeelslikeitmightsplitopen.Istumbleawayfromthewallandthevolumeimmediatelylowersfromadeafeningshriektoapiercing
whistle.WhenItakeanothersteptowardstheGreatBook,thevolumedropsanotherfraction.Igetthehint.WhenIfinallyopenupthebook,thenoisedropstoanannoyingbuzz.Sothat’showSetrákusRaintendsto‘educate’me–bymakingitsotheonlypeaceIcanfindisliterally
inthepagesofhisMogadorianencyclopedia.MaybeIshouldtrytomakethemostofthis.TheremightbesomeinformationIcanuseagainsthimin
SetrákusRa’spainfullyboringbook.Itcan’thurttoskimalittle.There’snowayI’lleverbelieveanyoftheliesonthesepages.TheringingcutsoffentirelywhenIstarttoreadthefirstpage.EventhoughIresentit,Ican’thelpbut
letoutalittlesighofrelief.Thereisnogreaterachievementforaspeciesthantheshoulderingofone’sowngeneticdestiny.ItisforthatreasonthattheMogadorianracemustbeconsideredthemostelevatedofalllifethroughouttheuniverse.
Ugh.Ican’tbelievethisthinggoesonforlikefivehundredpages,orthatit’sbecomerequiredreadingforanentirespecies.I’mnotgoingtofindanythingusefulinhere.Assoonasmyeyesdriftawayfromthepage,theheinousbuzzingresumes,moreintensethanbefore.I
gritmyteethandlookbackatthebook,skimmingoveracouplemoresentencesuntilsomethingoccurstome.Igrabthetopofthefirstthirtypagesorsoandtearthemoutofthebindings.Thepiercingnoiseinmy
earsreachessirenlevel,myeyeswatering,butIforcemyselftogoon.IholdupthepagessothatwhicheverMogadorianiswatchingcansee,andthenItearthemdownthemiddle.ThenItearthemintofourths,smallerandsmaller,untilI’vegottwohandfulsofGreatBookconfettitotossintotheair.‘HowamIsupposedtoreaditnow?’Ishout.Thewailinggoesonforanothercoupleofminutes.Itgetstothepointwheremyneckandbackstartto
achefromthewaymyshouldersarebunchedup,likethey’retryingtocovermyears.Icontinuetearingmorepagesoutofthebook.Ican’tevenhearthepaperripping.Andthen,allofasudden,thenoisestops.Thebonesinmyface,myteeth–everythinghurts.ButI’ve
beatenthem,andthesilenceinthattiny,uncomfortableroomisthebestI’veeverexperienced.Myrewardisacoupleofhoursofalonetime.NotthatIcanevenreallytellhowmuchtimeispassing.
Isitontheedgeoftheuncomfortablechair,restmyheadonthedeskandtrytonap.Mythoughtssoundlouderinmyheadthantheyshould,andtheringinginmyearswon’tletmesleep.That,andthefeelingthatI’mbeingwatched.WhenIopenmyeyes,itfeelsliketheroomhasactuallygottensmaller.Iknowit’sjustmyimagination,butI’mstartingtofreakoutalittle.Myankleisitchinglikecrazy.IpullupthehemofmydarkMogadoriangown–afreshone,nottheone
SetrákusRaburned–andstareattherawfleshonmyleg.I’mfailingatmygoalofgivingnothingaway,butIcan’thelpmyself.Ireachdownandmassagemyankle,lettingoutadeepsighasIdo.IpressmypalmagainstthebrandandwishthatthescarwillbegonewhenIliftmyhand.Ofcourseit’sstillthere,butatleasttheclammysweatonmypalmactuallyfeelssortofgoodagainstthesearedflesh.Somethingoccurstomethen.WhatifIusemyAeternustoreturntoayoungerage?Wouldtheskinon
myankleheal?
Idecidetotryit.IclosemyeyesandpicturemyselfasIwastwoyearsago.Thefeelingofgettingsmallerislikelettingoutaheldbreath.AtleastthistimewhenIopenmyeyestheroomseemstohavegottenbigger.Ilookdownatmyself.I’veshrunkdownafewinches,mademyselfskinnier,themusclesI’dstarted
developingoverthelastfewmonthssmoothedaway.Andyet,thejaggedMogadoriansymbolonmylegremains,pinkandachyasever.‘Aeternus.Wehavethatincommon.’It’sSetrákusRa.Hestandsinthenowopendoorwayofmylittlestudyroom.Stillinthatinfuriatingly
plastichumanform.Heobservesmewithacasualsmile,leaningagainstthedoor,hisarmsfoldedacrosshischest.‘It’suseless,’Ireplybitterly,coveringupmyankle.Iclosemyeyesandeasebackintomytrueage.‘WhatIgetforbeingrelatedtoyou.ThedumbestLegacyofall.’‘Youwon’tfeelthatwaywhenyou’remyage,’Setrákussays,ignoringmyinsult.‘Youwillbeyoung
andbeautifulforever,ifyouwish.Itwillbeaninspirationtoyoursubjectstoseetheirleaderradiantandageless.’‘Idon’thaveanysubjects.’‘Notyet.Butsoon.’IknowexactlywhoSetrákusRameansformetolordover,butIrefusetoacknowledgeit.Iregret
usingmyAeternus.Nowheknowssomethingelseaboutme,anotherwayforhimtotryfindingcommongroundwithme,likewe’rethesame.‘Isthecharmbotheringyou?’heasksgently.‘It’sfine,’Ireplyquickly.‘It’slikeit’snoteventhere.’‘Hmm.Theirritationshouldpassinadayorso.’Hepauses,hishandonhischininreflection.‘Iknow
ithurtsnow,Ella.Butintimeyouwillcometoappreciatethelessonsyouarelearning.Youwillthankmeformybenevolence.’Ifrownathim,surethathe’sgoingtoramblenomatterwhatIsay.SoIdon’tsayanythingatall.Iglareupathim.‘Sowhat?You’re,like,protectingmewiththisthing?Isthatthepoint?’‘Iwouldseenoharmcometoyou,child,’SetrákusRareplies.‘DoesthischarmworkliketheonetheGardehad?’Itakeasteptowardshimandthedoorway.‘IfIrun
outofhereandoneofyourminionstriestostopme,willanythinghedoestohurtmebereflectedbackathim?’‘No.Ourcharmdoesnotworklikethat,’SetrákusRaanswerspatiently.‘AndIwouldstopyou,
granddaughter.Notoneofmyminions.’Itakeanothersteptowardshim,wonderingifhe’llbackaway.Hedoesn’t.‘IfIgettooclose,willthe
charmbreak?’SetrákusRadoesn’tmove.‘Justaseachcharmworksdifferently,sodoeseachonehaveaunique
weakness.IfonlyI’ddiscoveredthatbringingtheGardetogetherwouldhavebrokentheElders’cravencharmsooner,IwouldhavealreadyobliteratedtheGarde.’HetouchesthethreeglowingLoricpendantsdanglingfromaroundhisneck.‘Although,Imustadmit,Ihaveenjoyedthehunt.’Itrymybesttosoundcasualandsincere.‘Shouldn’tIknowwhatthatweaknessis?Idon’twantto
accidentallygobreakingourconnection,Grandfather.’
SetrákusRaactuallygrinsatme.I’mbeginningtorealizethatheappreciatesitwhenI’mduplicitous.Then,hiseyesdrifttowardstheshreddedpagesofhisbookandhisgrinfalters.‘Perhapssoon,whenyouareready,whenyoutrustthepurityofmymotives,’hereplies,thenabruptly
changesthesubject.‘Tellme,granddaughter,besidestheAeternus,whatotherLegacieshaveyoudeveloped?’‘OnlywhateverIusedtohurtyouatDulceBase,’Ilie,figuringit’sagoodideatokeepmytelepathya
secret.I’vetriedusingittoreachouttotheGarde,butthedistancefromtheAnubistoEarthmustbetoogreat.Onceweland,I’lltryagain.Untilthen,thelessSetrákusRaknowsaboutme,thebetter.‘AndIcan’tcontrolthatone.Idon’tevenknowwhatitis.’‘Iwashardlyhurt,’SetrákusRascoffs.‘YourotherLegacieswilldevelopsoon,dear.Inthemeantime,
wouldyoulikemetoshowyoutheextentofyourpower?’‘Yes,’Ireply,almostsurprisedatmyowneagerness.Itellmyselfthatit’ssmarttolearnhowtousemy
Legacies,evenifmyteacheristhebiggestmonsterintheuniverse.Inresponse,SetrákusRasmiles.Almostlikehethinkshe’sgottenthroughtome.Hehasn’t,butlethim
goonthinkingthatI’mbecominganeagerpupil.HewaveshishandatthemessI’vemadeofhisbook.‘First,cleanthisup,’hecommands.‘IwillseeyouhaveachancetopractiseyourLegaciesonceyour
betrothedarrives.’Mywhat?
11
SunsetintheevergladeswouldbeprettyifnotforthemassiveMogadorianwarshipblottingoutthehorizon.Whateveralienmetalthewarshipismadefrom,itreflectsnothing,thepinkandorangelightofthedyingdaysimplyabsorbedintothehull.Thebehemothdoesn’tland–there’snotenoughclearedspaceintheswamplandforittosetdown,unlessitwantstocrushthesmallerMogadorianshipsparkedonthenarrowrunwaybelow.Instead,thewarshiphovers,metalgangwaysunfurlingfromtheship’sundersideandconnectingtotheground.Mogadoriansscurryupanddowntheramps,loadingequipmentintotheship.‘Weshouldwipethemout,’Marinasaysmatter-of-factly.Nineblinksather.‘Areyouserious?IcountatleastahundredMogsandthebiggestgoddamnshipI’ve
everseen.’‘Sowhat?’Marinacounters.‘Don’tyoulovetofight?’‘FightsIcanwin,yeah,’Ninereplies.‘Andifyoucan’twin,youjustrunyourmouth,right?’‘Enough,’IhissbeforeNinecansayanythingmore.Idon’tknowhowlongMarina’sgoingtoholdthis
grudgeagainstNineorwhatit’lltaketoeasethetension,butnowisdefinitelynotthetimetodealwithit.‘Bickeringisn’tgettingusanywhere.’We’reonourstomachsinthemud,shieldedfromthebusyMogadoriansbyovergrowntallgrass,rightat
theedgeofwheretheswampbeginstoencroachonthemanmadeclearing.Therearetwobuildingsinfrontofus;oneisaglass-and-steelone-storeythatlooksalmostlikeagreenhouse,andtheotherisanaircrafthangarwithanarrowlandingstrip,perfectforsmallpropellerplanesorthesaucer-shapedMogadoriancrafts,nowherenearlargeenoughforthewarshipfloatingaboveus.JustlikeDaletoldusbeforehefled,thewholeplacelookslikeitwasabandoneduntilrecently.Theswampisbeginningtocreepbackinandcracktheasphalt,themetalstrutsofthegreenhousearerustedover,andtheNASAlogohasalmostcompletelyfadedfromthesideofthehangar.Ofcourse,theseconditionsdon’tappeartohavedeterredtheMogsfromsettingupasmallbasehere.Butnow,itlookslikethey’repackingup.‘Marina,doyousenseanything?’Iask.Atthispoint,we’vegotnothingelsetogoonexceptthis
intuitionofhers.It’sgottenusthisfar–rightintoaswarmingnestofMogadorians.Mightaswellletittakeusalittlefurther.‘He’shere,’shesays.‘Idon’tknowhowIknow,buthe’shere.’‘Thenwe’regoingin,’Isay.‘Butwe’redoingitthesmartway.’Ireachoutandgrabbothoftheirhands,turningthethreeofusinvisible.IfaMogadorianwastolook
overherenow,we’dbenothingmorethanthreestrangeindentationsinthemud.Asagroup,westandup,confidentthatthehordeofMogswon’tbeabletoseeus.‘Marina,youleadtheway,’Iwhisper.
Aswestepoutoftheswamp,Ninetripsoverarootandnearlytopplesover,ourchainalmostbreaking.Thatwould’vebeentheshortestcovertmissioninhistory.Isqueezehishandhard.‘Sorry,’hesaysquietly.‘It’sjustweirdnotbeingabletoseemylegs.’‘Thatcan’thappenagain,’Iwarnhim.‘I’mreconsideringthatwholerushing-in-and-killing-them-allthing,’Ninereplies.‘Beingsneakyisn’t
exactlymystrongsuit.’Marinamakesanannoyednoise,soIsqueezeherhandhard,too.‘Weneedtomoveasaunit,’Isaythroughgrittedteeth,hopingwecanregainsomeofthatinstinctual
teamworkwemanagedduringtheearlierfightwithMogscouts.‘Takeitslow,bequietanddon’tbumpintoanything.’Withthat,westartslowlyforward.I’mnottooworriedaboutthenoiseourfootfallsmakeonthe
unevenpavement;theMogadoriansarebusyloadingheavygearfromthegreenhousetothewarship,thewheelsontheirdolliessqueakingandgrinding.I’musedtomovingaroundwhileinvisible,trustingmyinstincts,butIknowthatitcanbehardfortheothers.Weapproachslowly,graspingontoeachother,keepingasquietaspossible.Marinatakesustowardsthegreenhousefirst.TheMogsareconcentratedaroundthatarea,wheeling
outcartsloadedupwithbizarre,madscientist–lookingdevices.IwatchasoneMogpushesawheeledshelvingunitclutteredwithpottedplants–flowers,patchesofgrass,saplings–allofthemthingsfoundonEarth,andyetallofthemveinedwithastrangegrayfluid.Theylookdroopy,onthevergeofdying,andIwonderwhatkindofexperimentstheMogswererunningonthem.There’satallMogadorianatthebaseoftherampleadingtothewarship.Hisuniformisdifferentfrom
theusualwarriorgarb–thoseMogsareatleastsortoftryingtofitinonEarth,evenifthey’redressedlikegothicweirdos.Thisguyisdefinitelysomekindofmilitaryofficer,hisattireformalandsevere,allblack,coveredinshiningmedalsandstuddedepaulets.ThetattoosacrosshisscalparemuchmoreelaboratethananyI’veseen.Heholdsacomputertabletinhishands,checkingitemsoffwithaswipeofhisfingerastheMogsloadthemontotheship.HebarkstheoccasionalorderattheothersinharshMogadorian.Marinatriestomoveusclosertothegreenhouse,butItightenmygripandplantmyfeet.Ninebumps
intomyback,lettingoutanannoyedgruntthatwe’restopped.ThepathinfrontofusislikeaMogadorianobstaclecourse–they’reeverywhere.AnycloserandweruntheriskofastrayMogwalkingrightintous.IfEightisinthatgreenhousewiththeirexperimentsandcargo,ouronlychancetogethimwouldbeafull-onassault.I’mnotreadytogodownthatroadyet.Sensingmyreluctance,Marina’shandgrowsalittlecolderinmine.‘Notyet,’Ihissather,mywordsbarelylouderthanasoftbreath.‘Wecheckthehangarfirst.’Wemakeitabouttenmorestepsbeforeananimalgroanstopsusinourtracks.Fromthegreenhouse,a
teamofMogswheeloutalargecage.Insideisacreaturethatmighthavebeenacowatonepointbuthassincebeentransformedintosomethingseriouslynasty.Theanimal’seyesarewetandjaundiced,painful-lookinghornsjutoutofitsskull,anditsudderisimmenselyswollenandcoveredinthesamegrayishveinsInoticedontheplants.Thecreaturelookslethargicanddepressed,barelyalive.WhateverexperimentstheMogswererunningdownherearetrulydisgustingand,likeNine,I’mstartingtoreconsiderMarina’sideaofjustwipingoutallthesebastards,massivewarshipornomassivewarship.
‘Holdup,’Ninewhispersinmyear.‘I’vegotanidea.’Exposedasweare,I’mnotsureit’sagreattimeforoneofNine’scrazyideas.But,amomentafterhe
stopsus,thecow-beastinthecagegroansagainandlumbersawkwardlytoitsfeet.Itstaggerstothesideandpushesallitsweightagainstonesideofthecage,causingtheMogspushingittoyellforassistanceasthewholethingthreatenstotopple.Then,themonstermule-kicksoneofitshugeclovenhoovesatthebars,nearlysmashingthefaceofaMog.‘Iaskedittogiveusadistraction,’Ninewhispers,moreMogsclosinginonthecagetotrysedating
theirexperiment.‘Poorthingwashappytohelp.’Nine’sanimaltelepathyworkslikeacharm.Asifit’satlastdiscoveredapurposeinlife,thecow
thrashesabout,bullingtowardsthesidesofitscage,evencatchingoneMogintheshoulderwithitshorn.Thechaoscreatesanopeningforustoslipthroughthemassinfrontofthegreenhouseandmakeourwaytowardsthehangar.WeallstopatthesoundofaMogblasterbeingfired.Turningaround,Iseetheofficerholsteringhis
blaster,asmokingholeinthesideofthecow’shead.Itslumpsinthecage,unmoving.Heyellssomeorders,andtheMogadoriansbeginloadingthecorpseontothewarship.AsItenseup,Ninewhisperstome,‘Betterthisway.Itwasinatonofpain.’WithsomedistancebetweenusandthehighestconcentrationofMogs,Ifeelcomfortableenoughto
whisperback.‘Whatweretheydoingtoit?’Ninepausesbeforeanswering.‘Icouldn’t,like,haveaheart-to-heartwiththething.ButIthinkthey
weretryingtofigureouthowtheycouldmakeitmoreefficient.They’re,uh,experimentingwiththeecology.’‘Demented,’Marinamutters.Wepickupsomespeedaswemovetowardsthehangar.Onourright,attheedgeoftherunway,area
trioofthesmaller,saucer-shapedMogadorianships.AmaintenancecrewoffiveMogadorianshuddlesaroundoneofthem,pullingcircuitboardsoutoftheship’sunderbellyandgenerallylookingbefuddled.IguessMogadorianscanhavetechnicaldifficulties,too.Otherthanthoseguys,thecoastisclear.Thehuge,sheet-metaldoorsofthehangar,wideenoughforasmallplanetopassinandout,areonly
openafewfeet,justenoughtoletapersonpassthrough.Therearelightsoninsidethehangar,butallIcanseethroughthegapisemptyspace.Marinaslowsdownaswereachthedoorsandthenstopsfullytopeekinside.Whileshe’sdoingthat,I
lookovermyshoulder.Nothing’schanged–theMogsarestillloadingmaterialsontothewarship,completelyunawarethatwejustsnuckthroughtheirranks.‘Anything?’Ninewhispers,andIcansensehimcraninghisneck,tryingtoseethroughthecrackinthe
hangardoors.BeforeIcananswer,IhearMarina’sbreathcatchinherthroat.Myhandstings,shotthroughwithcold,likeI’msuddenlyclutchingablockofice.‘Shit,Marina!’Ihiss,butshe’snotlistening.Instead,she’slungingthroughthedoors.Consideringmy
handisnumb,ittakesallmywillpowertokeepholdofher.ItugNinealongbehindmeandhisshoulderstrikesthesteeldoor,hisgruntcoveredbytheechoingmetallicrattling.Thehangarisalmostcompletelyempty,theMogadorianshavingalreadyclearedalltheirgearout.
Largefloodlightsshinedownfromtherafters,illuminatingthemetaltableandchairinthecenterofthe
room.They’retheonlythingsleftinthehangar,andthelightsfromabovecastlongshadowsacrosstheconcretefloor.Eight’sbodyisonthetable.Heiswrappedinablackbodybag,unzippedtothewaist.He’sshirtless,thequarter-sizedwound
whereFivestabbedhimthroughtheheartplainlyvisibleonhischest.Hisbrownskinisashen,butEightstilllooksverymuchlikehimself,likeatanymomenthe’llteleportoffthetableandplaysomeannoyingjokeonme.Thereareblackelectrodeswithshort,fragile-lookingantennaeattachedtoEight’stemplesandafewmorerunningdownhissternum.Theelectrodesgeneratesomekindoffieldthat’sbarelyvisibletotheeye,likealowandsteadycurrentofelectricityispassingoverEight’sbody.Ithinkit’ssomethingtheMogsattachedtoEighttokeephisbodyintactfortheirexperiments.Inadditiontotheelectrodes,someonehascleanedthebloodoffhimand,surprisingly,they’velefthisLoricpendantaroundhisneck,thejewelshimmeringdullyagainsthischest.Itkillsmetoseehimlikethis,butEightlooksalmostpeaceful.Ofcourse,Eightisn’tthereasonMarinashovedthroughthehangardoors,orthereasonthatshe’s
currentlygivingmyhandawickedcaseoffrostbite.SeatednexttoEight,headinhishands,isFive.Fivesitscrouchedforward,almostlikehewisheshecouldfoldinonhimself.There’sathickpadof
gauzeovertheeyeMarinastabbedbackintheswamp,averyfaintpinkstainbeginningtosoakthrough.Hisgoodeyeisred-rimmed;itlooksasifhe’sbeencryingorhasn’tbeensleeping–orboth.Five’sheadisfreshlyshavensincewelastsawhim,andIwonderhowfaroffheisfromgettingasetofhisownMogadoriantattoos.He’sdressedinMogadorianformalattiresimilartotheofficerdirectingtrafficatthewarship.However,hisuniformisseverelywrinkled,thebuttonsaroundtheneckundone,everythinglookingalittletootight.There’snowaytheone-eyedtraitordidn’thearusenter.ThankstoMarina,wemadeatonofnoise
comingthroughthedoor,andtheemptinessofthehangaramplifieseverythingtothepointwhereI’msuddenlyextremelyconsciousofmybreathing.Evenworse,IcanhearalowgrowlcomingfromMarina,likeshe’sfightingbackanintensescream,readytothrowherselfatFive.Behindme,IcansenseNinebasicallyholdinghisbreath.Five’sgoodeyeflicksbrieflyinourdirection.Hedefinitelyheardus,buthecan’tseeus.Maybe
there’shopehe’lljustwriteitoffasnoisefromtheMogsoutside.IwantanothergoattherenegadeGarde,too–onewherehedoesn’tsuckerpunchmeintounconsciousnessbeforethefightevenstarts–butwehavetopickourbattles.FacingoffagainstFiveinanenclosedspacewithaMogadorianwarshipatourbackisdefinitelynotthebattlewewant.We’llneedtofigureoutanotherwaytorecoverEight’sbody.IpullatMarina’sarm,theicypinpricksinmyhandnowreplacedbyfull-onnumbness,tryingto
communicatetoherjusthowterribleanideacharginginwouldbe.Shetugsagainstmeforamoment,butthenIstarttofeelhercalmdown,whichIcantellbecausemyhandstartstowarmup.ButasMarinaslowlyandquietlyreleasesadeepbreath,Iseeitmistinfrontofher,theairaroundher
toocold.Acloudofbreathfromaninvisiblegirl,floatinginthebrightlightsofthehangar.Fiveseesit,hiseyenarrowing.Hestandsupfromhischairandlooksrightatthespotwherewe’re
standing.‘Ididn’tmeantodoit,’hesays.
12
IclenchMarina’sandNine’shands,hopingthatwillbeenoughtokeepthemfromsayinganythingbacktoFiveandtotallygivingawayourposition.I’mnotreadytoloseouroneadvantage–invisibility–justyet.Thankfully,theybothmanagetocontrolthemselves,Five’swordshangingoutthereunanswered.‘Iknowyouwon’tbelieveme,’Fivecontinues.‘Butnoonewassupposedtogetkilled.’Five’sbeseechinggazeisstillaimedrightatus,soslowly,quietly,Ibeginleadingtheotherstothe
side.Wemovejustinchesatatime,carefulofeachother,notmakinganynoise.Gradually,weslipoutfromunderFive’sgaze,flankinghim.Now,he’sstaringattrulyemptyspace,stupidlywaitingforaresponse.Withagrunt,Fiveturnsaway.It’slikehewasnevertalkingtousatall.Instead,hestartsspeaking
directlytoEight’sbody.‘Youshouldn’thavedonewhatyoudid,divinginfrontofNine,’Fivelectures,hisvoicealmost
wistful.‘Itwasheroic,Iguess.Ikindaadmireyouforit.Butitwasn’tworthit.TheMogadoriansaregoingtowinanyway,youknow?Alevelheadedguylikeyouwould’velearnedhisplace.Youcould’vehelpedwiththerebuildingandunification.Nine,though…he’stoobrain-deadtoknowwhenhe’sbeat.He’snogoodtoanyone.’IfeelmusclestenseinNine’sarm,butfornowheresiststheurgetothrowhimselfatFive.That’sgood
–he’slearning.Ormaybe,likeme,he’sstunnedthisishappeningatall,Fivejustramblingawaylikethis,pretendingwe’renothere.FiveputshishandgentlyonEight’sshoulder.ThesleeveofhisuniformridesupandInoticetheleather
sheathstrappedtohisarm,theonethatholdstheneedle-shapedspring-loadeddaggerthatheusedtokillourfriend.‘Hetoldme–’Five’svoicebreaksalittleashecontinuesaddressingEight.‘HetoldmeI’dhavea
chancetotalkyouguysintojoining.NoonewouldhavetogethurtifyoujustacceptedMogadorianProgress.Hekepthiswordbefore,Imean,I’mlivingproof,right?Whenthecharmbroke,hecould’vekilledme,buthedidn’t.’FivemustbetalkingaboutSetrákusRa,aboutadealhestruckwiththeMogadorianleader.Hewalks
aroundthetable,turninghisbackonus.Marinatakesasteptowardshim,butIdon’tlethergoanyfarther.Idon’tknowwhyFiveistalkingsomuch,buthehastoknowwe’rehere.I’mnotsureifthisisatrap,ifhe’sbaitingus,orwhatisgoingon.ButIwanttolisten.‘Ididn’texpectyoutobesobrainwashed,’Fivesays,standingoverEight,hishunchedbackpresenting
aperfecttarget.‘Thinkingabouteverythinginblackandwhite,heroesandvillains.’FivereachesdownandliftsEight’spendant,squeezingthejewelinhisfist.HisLegacy–Externa,he
calledit,wherehisskintakesonthequalityofwhateverhetouches–kicksin,Five’sskinbrieflyflashingtheshimmeringcobaltofLoralite.Afteramoment,heletsthependantgowithasigh,andhisfleshreturnstonormal.
‘Butthen,maybeI’mthebrainwashedone,right?Isn’tthatwhatyouguyssaidtome?’Fiveletsloosealowlaugh,thenreachesuptocarefullyadjustthegauzeoverhisdestroyedeye.‘Theyfillyourheadwithallthisshit–theElders,theGreatBook.Alltheserulesaboutwhowe’resupposedtobe.ButIdon’tcareaboutanyofit.I’mjusttryingtosurvive.’IfeelNine’shandsweatinginmine;hemustbestrugglingtoholdhimselfbackfromattacking.Marina,
meanwhile,isn’tradiatingthefuriouscoldshewasmomentsago,probablybecausethesceneunfoldingbeforeusissomisguidedandpathetic.IfFive’sspeech–clearlyforourbenefit–hasrevealedanything,it’sthathe’sprettymuchlosthismind.FivebrushesaspeckofsomethinggentlyfromEight’sforehead,thenshakeshishead.‘Anyway,thepointis,I’msorry,Eight,’Fivesays,thatknow-it-alltonestillinhisvoicebutmixed
withanundercurrentofsincerity.‘Iknowitdoesn’tmeananything.I’llbeacoward,atraitor,amurdererfortherestofmylife.Thatwon’tchange.ButIwantyoutoknowthatIwishthingscould’veturnedoutdifferently.’Behindus,someoneclearshisthroat.AllofusweresowrappedupinFive’sunhingedmonologue–
Fiveincluded–thatwedidn’tnoticetheMogadorianofficerenter.HeeyesFivewarily,hisposturestiffandformal.Lookingathim,standingtherelikeasoldierreadytodeliverareport,itoccurstomethatthisMogadorianmightactuallytakeordersfromFive.Ifthat’sthecase,heseemswaydisgustedbyit.‘Wearefinishedloadingtheship,’theofficersays.TheMogwaitsforFivetoacknowledgehim,butFivestayssilentforalong,awkwardmoment.He
stayshunchedoverEight’sbody,breathingslowly.Itenseupandwonderifhisstrangegameisoverandifnowhe’sthinkingaboutsoundingthealarm.TheMogadorianofficerdoesabadjobofhidinghowmuchFive’ssilenceperturbshim.‘Oneofthe
huntingpartieshasn’treportedback,’hecontinues.‘Andthemechanicsarehavingdifficultiesgettingoneofthescoutvesselstowork.’Fivesighs.‘That’sfine,’hesays.‘We’llleavethembehind.’‘Yes,thoseweremyorders,’theofficerreplies,notsosubtlyassertinghispower.‘Areyoureadyto
leave?’Fiveturnstotheofficer,amalicioustwinkleinhisremainingeye.‘Yeah.Let’sgetoutofhere.’Fivewalkstowardsthehangardoors,hismovementsmockinglysluggish.Westandtotheside,
watchingallthistranspire,stayingquiet.Theofficerarchesaneyebrow,notsteppingoutofFive’sway.‘Aren’tyouforgettingsomething?’theofficerasksFivewhenthetwoarenearlyface-to-face.Fivescratcheshishead.‘Huh?’‘Thebody,’theofficersays,annoyed.‘YourinstructionsaretobringtheLoric’sbody.Andthe
pendant.’‘Oh,that,’Fivereplies,andglancesbackatthemetaltablewhereEightrests.‘Thebody’sgone,
Captain.TheGardemusthaveslippedinhereandtakenit.Onlyexplanation.’TheMogadoriancaptaindoesn’tknowwhattosay.Hemakesashowofcraninghisneck,lookingpast
FivetowhereEightisstillverymuchonthetable.Then,hestudiesFive’sface,hiseyesnarrowedimpatiently.‘Isthissomekindofgame,Loric?’thecaptainhisses.‘Orareyoublindinbotheyesnow?TheGarde
isrightthere.’
FiveignorestheinsultandshakeshisheadattheCaptain,clickinghistongue.‘Happenedonyourwatch,too,’Fivesays.‘Youletthemstealawarassetfromrightunderyournose.
That’sbasicallytreason,myman.Youknowwhatthepunishmentforthatis.’TheMogadorianopenshismouthforanotherdisbelievingprotest.He’scutoffbyascrapeofmetal,
Five’sbladepoppingoutfrombeneathhissleeve.Withouthesitation,hedrivesthepointintotheundersideoftheofficer’sjawandstraightupintohisbrain.Beforehestartstodisintegrate,there’salookoftotalsurpriseontheMog’sface.Fivedoesn’tmoveastheMogturnstoash.HedisintegratesslowerthanthemanyotherdyingMogs
I’veseen,andwhenit’sfinishedtherearejaggedbonespokingoutofhiscrumpleduniform.Fivepusheshisbladebackintothemechanismonhisforearmandkickstheofficer’sremainsawayfromthedoors.Then,hecarefullybrusheshimselfoffandstraightenshiscoat.Fromwherewe’restanding,Fiveisinprofile,andtheeyethat’svisibleistheonecoveredbythe
gauzebandage.Becauseofthat,it’snoteasytogetareadonhisexpression.‘Goodluck,’Fivesays,thenstepsthroughthehangardoors,easingthemclosedbehindhim.Noonesaysanythingorevenmovesforaboutaminute,allofusalittleworriedthatasquadronof
Mogswillbestorminginhereatanysecond.Finally,Nineshakesoffmygrip,poppingbackintothevisibleworld.‘Okay.Whattheholyhellwasthatabout?’heexclaims.‘Isthatkidtryingtobuddyupnoworishejust
totallyloonytunes?’‘Itdoesn’tmatter,’Ireply.‘We’vegotEight,that’swhat’simportant.WecandealwithFiveanother
time.’‘He’saloneandlost,’Marinasayssoftly,lettinggoofmyhandaswell.Shenoticesmerubbingsome
warmthbackintoit,thechilledfeelingstilllingering,andfrowns.‘Sorry,Six.Hebroughtitoutofme.’Iwaveitoff,notwantingtogetintoMarina’sLegacycontrolatthemoment.Itiptoetothehangardoors
andedgethemopenjustacrack.I’mjustintimetoseeFivedisappearinguptherampandontothewarship,thelastoneaboard.Oncehe’sinside,therampcurlsbackintothewarship’sunderbellyandthehugeshipbeginstoriseup,itsenginespurringwithasoftnessthatseemsalmostimpossibleforavesselthatsize.Onceitreachesacertainheight,thewarshipstartstoflickerandIbeginhavingtroubledistinguishingitsoutlinefromthepurpleclouds.Hulking,virtuallysilent,andequippedwithsomekindofcloakingdevice–howarewesupposedtofightsomethinglikethat?‘Yousoundlikeyoufeelsorryforhim,’NinesaystoMarina.‘Idon’t,’shesnapsatNine,butIcanhearsomedoubtcreepingintoMarina’svoice,thattoughexterior
she’sbeenputtingonshowingsomefaults.‘I…didyouseehiseye?’‘IsawaholeinhisheadcoveredbyaBand-Aid,’Ninereplies.‘Dudehasthatandmorecomingto
him.’‘DoyouthinkEightwouldwantthat?’Iask,honestlywondering.‘Hediedtryingtokeepusfrom
killingeachother.’Thewarshiprisenoutofsight,Iturnaroundtofacetheothers.Ninechewshislipandstaresatthe
floor,consideringwhatIjustsaid.MarinahastakenaseatinFive’sformerchairatEight’sside.Shetentativelytouchestheelectrodesandwavesherfingersthroughtheenergyfield.Whennothinghappens,
Marinagentlybrushesherfingersthroughhiscurlyhair.Hereyesshinewithfreshtears,butsheholdsthemback.‘IknewI’dfindyou,’shewhispers.‘I’msorryIeverleftyou.’IwalkovertojoinMarinaatthetable,gazingdownatEight.Maybeit’smyimagination,butitseems
likehehasthefaintestsmileonhislips.‘IwishI’dknownyoubetter,’IsaytoEight,reachingouttoplacemyhandlightlyonhisshoulder.‘I
wishourliveshadbeendifferent.’Ninehesitatesbuteventuallyjoinsusatthetable,standingnexttoMarina.Atfirst,heavoidslooking
directlyatEight’sbody,hislipspursed,themusclesinhisnecktwitchinglikehe’stryingtoliftsomethingheavy.He’sashamed,Irealize.Itseemstotakeagreateffortonhispart,butafteramomentNinemanagestolookatEight.Immediately,hereachesouttozipupthebodybagalittlemore,enoughsothatEight’swoundishiddenfromview.‘Ohman,’hesaysquietly.‘I’msorryfor…’Nineshakeshishead,runningahandthroughhishair.‘I
mean,thankyouforsavingmylife.Fivewasright,uh,youprobablyshouldn’thave.IfI’djustshutmymouthyou’dprobablystillbe…shit,I’msorry,Eight.I’msosorry.’Ninetakesashudderingbreath,obviouslyholdingbacktears.Marinaputsherhandsoftlyonhisback
andleansagainsthim.‘Hewouldforgiveyou,’shesayssoftly,adding,‘Iforgiveyou.’NineputshisarmaroundMarinaandpullsherintoahugthat’stightenoughtomakehersqueak.He
burieshisfaceinherhair,hidinghistears.Mymindisandhasalwaysbeenracing–wonderingaboutJohn,Samandtheothers,worryingabouthowwe’regoingtofindourwaybacktothem,ifthey’reevenstillaliveanduncaptured–butseeingMarinaandNinelikethis,comingtogether,startingtoheal,itgivesmehope.We’reastrongpeople.Wecangetthroughanything.‘Weneedtogetmoving,’Isaygently,reluctanttoendthismomentbutknowingthatIhaveto.NinefinallyreleasesMarina,andIcarefullyzipupEight’sbodybag.Ninereachesdownand,withan
equalamountofcare,liftsEight’sbodyintohisarms.Justasweturntowardsthehangardoors,theyrumbleopen.ThegroupofMogadorianswhowereworkingonthescoutship.Iforgotallaboutthem.Theystandin
thedoorway,caughtinthemiddleofpushingtheirbrokenshipintothehangar.Theylookaboutassurprisedtoseeusaswearetoseethem.Beforewecandoanything,amechanicalgrindingemanatesfromtheship.Thefront–oratleastthe
sideofthesauceraimeddirectlyatus–opensup,ablasterturretclankingintoviewandwhirringtolifewithanelectricsizzle.TheremustbeaMoginside.‘Getdown!’Nineshouts.There’snocoverinthisemptyhangarexceptthemetaltable,andit’swaytoolatetogoinvisible.
Marinaflipsoverthetable,NinecroucheswithEight’sbodystillinhisarms,andIdivetotheside,hopingthatwe’refastenoughastheturretopensfire.
13
‘DoesthenameGrahishSharmameananythingtoyou?’Sarahasks.Ithinkforamoment,tryingtopluckthenameoutofmymemory.‘Soundskindoffamiliar.Why?’I’mstandingintheyardoutsideAdam’soldhouse,Sarah’svoicearrivinglong-distanceoverthe
disposablecellphone.Beyondtheemptybasketballcourts,thesunisjustbeginningtodipbelowthehorizon.AlargebirdcutsacrosstheorangeskyandIwonderifit’soneofours–we’vesettheChimæraeupassentriesallaroundthegroundsofAshwoodEstateswithorderstofindusifanyintrudersshouldappear.Sofar,it’sbeenquiet.IfIdidn’tknowbetter,it’dseemlikeIwashangingoutinapeculiarlyquietsuburb,onewhereeveryone’sstillatwork.‘He’sfromIndia,’Sarahexplains.‘He’sthecommanderofsomethingcalledtheVishnuNationalist
Eight.’ThenameclicksatthementionofEightandIsnapmyfingers.‘Oh,right.That’sthearmyguywhowas
protectingEightintheHimalayas.’‘Hmm,’Sarahsays.‘Sohisstorychecksout.’Ipaceacrossthelawn,picturingSarahwithherblondhairpulledupinastudiousbun,pensand
pencilsstuckthroughit,poringoversomedocumentsinthenewofficesofTheyWalkAmongUs.NevermindthatthoseofficesarelocatedinanabandonedranchfiftymilesoutsideofHuntsville,Alabama.NevermindthatSarahwasescortedtherebyherex-boyfriendMark,who’sactuallyturnedouttobesurprisinglycapableatthiscloak-and-daggerstuff.It’stheimageofSarahthatIfocuson.‘Whatstoryisthat?’‘Well,it’salotofrumorandinternetweirdnessthatwe’retryingtocutthrough.ButthisSharmaguyis
claimingtohaveshotdownanalienspacecraftandcaptureditscrew.’‘SomeoftheMogswhowereafterEight,probably,’Ireply.‘Right.Tookthemaliveandeverything.EventhoughithappenedinIndia,itshouldstillbenational
news,butit’snot.Someone’skeepingalidonit.Mark’stryingtomakecontactwithSharma.HewantstorunthestoryonTheyWalkAmongUs,hopefullyexposetheMogstothegeneralpublic.’‘Huh,’Isay,rubbingthebackofmyneckandthinkingoutloud.‘Mighthelprallysomesupportifthings
getbad.’‘Howbadarethingsgoingtoget,John?’Iswallowhard.EventhoughIusedmyhealingLegacyshortlyafterbattle,IcanstillfeeltheGeneral’s
fingersclenchedaroundmythroat.‘Idon’tknow,’Isay,notsurewhyI’mhidingAdam’stheoryonimminentinvasionfromSarah.Iguess
maybeI’mstilltryingtoprotecther.Iquicklychangethesubject.‘How’sMarkdoing,anyway?’‘He’sdoingfine,’Sarahreplies.‘He’schangedalot.’‘Howso?’Sarahhesitates.‘I…it’shardtoexplain.’
Idon’tdwellforverylongonthepresentstateofMarkJames.Itisn’twhatIwanttotalkabout.Really,afternearlydyingthisafternoon,allIwantistohearSarah’svoice.‘Imissyou,’Isay.‘Imissyou,too,’Sarahreplies.‘Afteralongdayoffightingalieninvadersandunravelinginternational
conspiracies,Iwishwecouldjustsnuggleuponthatoldcouchinmybasementandwatchamovie.’Thatmakesmelaugh,thefeelingbittersweetasIpicturethekindofnormallifeSarahandImightbe
leadingifweweren’ttryingtosavetheworld.‘Soon,’Itellher,tryingtosoundconfident.‘Ihopeso,’shereplies.IsensemovementbehindmeandturnaroundtofindSamstandingontheruinedporchofAdam’shouse.
Hemotionsformetocomeinside.‘Sarah,I’vegottago,’Isay,feelingreluctanttohangupthephone.We’vebeencheckinginwitheach
othereveryeighthourslikeweplanned,andIfeelasenseofreliefeverytimeIhearhervoice.EverytimeIdisconnect,Istartthinkingaboutthenexttime…thetimewhenshewon’tcall.‘Becareful,okay?Thingsmightbegettingprettyheavysoon.’‘Thingsaren’talreadyheavy?’sheasks.‘Youbecareful,too.Iloveyou.’Isaygood-byetoSarahandtiltmyheadatSam.Helooksalmostexcited,likehe’sgottensomegood
newsinthelastfiveminutes.‘What’sup?’‘Comedown,’hesays.‘Wefiguredsomethingout.’Iclimbontowhat’sleftoftheporchafterthisafternoon’sskirmishandfollowSamthroughthehalf-
sunkendoorwayintothelivingroom.Theinteriorofthehousematchestheexterior–theperfectideaofhumansuburbia–exceptthefurniturelookslikeitwasarrangedexactlyasseenonthepagesofacatalogue.There’sabsolutelynosenseofitbeinglivedin.ItrytoimaginewhatitwaslikeforAdamgrowinguphere,trytopicturehimbashinglittlePikenactionfigurestogetheronthefloor,andjustcan’tdoit.Atthebackofthelivingroomisamassivemetaldoorsecuredbyaseriesoflocksoperatedbya
keypadcoveredinMogadoriansymbols.Thedooristheonethingthatbreaksthesuburbanillusionandit’sactuallykindofsurprisingtomethattheMogsdidn’ttryhidingitbehindabookcaseorsomething.Iguesstheyneverthoughttheirenemieswouldmakeitthisfar.Thedoorisalreadyopen,unlockedbyAdamearlier,andit’sthroughtherethatSamandIdescendintothetunnelsbeneathAshwoodEstates.Wewalkdownalongmetalstaircase,thephonyhomelinessaboveimmediatelyreplacedbysterile
stainlesssteelandbuzzinghalogenlights.ThelabyrinthinenetworkoftunnelsbeneathAshwoodismuchmoreinkeepingwithmyideaoftheMogadorians–functionalandcold.It’snotquiteassprawlingdownhereasthehollowed-outmountaininWestVirginia,butitdefinitelyputsDulceBasetoshame.Iwonderhowlongittookthemtocarveallthisout,theMogstunnelingintotheEarthduringthoseyearsIwasontherunwithHenri,expandingtheirreachwithoutusevenrealizingit.There’sajaggedandlongcrackinthewallthatstartsabouthalfwaydownthestepsandrunsahead
deeperintothetunnels.Samreachesouttodraghishandalongit,coatinghisfingerswithconcretedust.‘We’resurethisplaceisn’tgoingtocollapse,right?’
‘Adamdoesn’tthinkso,’Samreplies,clappinghishandsclean,thenoiseechoing.‘Itcreepsmeoutdownhere,though.Seriouslyclaustrophobic.’‘Don’tworry.Wewon’tbestayinglong.’Wepassothercracksaswenavigatethetwistinghallways,placeswherethefoundationshifted,broken
sectionsofconcretegrindingagainsteachother.ThedamagewascausedthelasttimeAdamwashere,whenheunleashedhisearthquakeLegacytorescueMalcolm.Therearesomehallwayswheretheceilingshaveoutrightcollapsed.Downthehall,wepassbyalarge,well-litroomthatlookslikeitmighthavebeenalaboratoryatone
point,lotsofnozzlesandleversandworktables,butnoequipment.EverythingmusthavegottendestroyedinAdam’sattack,andtheMogsalvageteamnevergotthechancetoreplaceit.Nexttothelab,wepassarowofoppressiveeight-by-eightroomswiththickdoorsmadefrombulletproofglass.Cells.Allofthemcurrentlyunoccupied.‘Thearchivesareuphere,’Samtellsme.‘Dad’sbeenintherenonstop.TheMogsrecorded
everything.’Westopbyasmallroom–almostlikeanoffice–withahugebankofmonitors.Malcolmsitsbehind
theroom’ssinglecomputerterminal,bleary-eyedfromwatchingwhoknowshowmanyhoursoffootage.On-screen,aMogadorianscoutspeaksdirectlyintothecamera.‘IthasbeenthreedayssinceweleakedrumorsofaLoricpresenceinBuenosAires,’thescoutreports.
‘TherehasyettobeanysignofGarde,butsurveillancecontinues–’Malcolmpausesthevideowhenhenoticesus,rubbinghiseyes.‘Findanythinguseful?’Iask.Malcolmshakeshisheadandpullsupalistoffilesonthecomputer.Hebrushesafingerdownthe
touchscreen,andthefilesbeginanendlessscroll.Therearethousandsofthem,andalltheirtitlesareinMogadorian.‘FromwhatIcangather,thisisalmostfiveyears’worthofMogadorianintelligence,’Malcolm
explains.‘I’dneedanentireteamtogothroughitall.EvenwithAdamtranslatingthesetitles,whicharebasicallyjustdatesandtimes,it’shardtofigureoutwheretobegin.’‘Maybewecanhiresomeinterns,’Samsuggests,thentugsmyarm.‘Comeon,wegottaseeAdam.’‘Dowhatyoucan,’ItellMalcolmbeforeSamdragsmeaway.‘Eventhesmallestbitofinformation
mighthelp.’AfewmorestepsdownthehallandwereachtheroomAdamdescribedasthecontrolcenter.The
roomisprettymuchundamaged,soit’swherewesetupshop.Thewallsarecoveredinmonitors,security-camerafootagefromAshwoodstreamingoversome,butalsovideofeedsfromotherplaces,includingonehackedsecuritycameraoutsidethebarricadedJohnHancockCenter.Beneaththemonitorsarearowofcomputers,notexactlyuser-friendlysinceallthekeysareinMogadorian.Iputmyhandsonmyhipsandsurveythisplace,watchingthecamerafeedsthatnottoolongago
would’vebeentrainedonme.Itfeelsstrangetobeontheotherside.LikeSam,thisplacemakesmeuneasy.‘Arewesafehere?’Iask.‘Allthesecameras…therearen’tanypointedbackatus?’‘I’vedisabledthem,’Adamreplies.He’sinaswivelchairatoneofthecomputers,typingoutastring
ofcommands.Heturnsaroundtofaceme.‘UsingtheGeneral’sauthorization,I’vesentacodebacktothe
MogadoriancommandinWestVirginiareportingthatthesalvageteamuncoveredatoxicchemicalleak.It’lltakesometimetocleanup.They’llassumethefailedcamerashavesomethingtodowiththesalvageteam’swork.’‘Howmuchtimedoesthatbuyus?’‘Acoupleofdays?Aweek?’Adamreplies.‘They’llbecomesuspiciouswhentheGeneraldoesn’t
checkin,butweshouldslipthroughthecracksforawhile.’‘Whatdowelookforinthemeantime?’‘Yourfriends,’Adamreplies.‘Infact,IbelieveI’vealreadyfoundthem.’‘Yeah,Florida,’Isay.‘Wealreadyknewthat.’‘No,hefoundthem.Like,exactly,’Samreplies,grinningatme.‘That’swhyIcametogetyou.Check
thisout.’Sampointsatoneofthescreens,thisonedisplayingamapoftheUnitedStates.Themapiscoveredin
trianglesofvarioussizes.There’sasmalltriangleoverourlocationalongwithafewsimilar-sizedindicatorsscatteredthroughoutthecountry.Therearebiggertrianglesglowingontopofpopulationcenters.NewYork,Chicago,LosAngeles,Houston–allthesecitiesaremarkedonthemap.Thebiggesttriangleofallistothewestofus,rightaroundwheretheMogs’mountainbaseishiddeninWestVirginia.‘Thisisa,uh…’SamlooksoveratAdam.‘What’dyoucallthisthing?’‘Tacticalassetoverview,’Adamreplies.‘Itshowswheremypeoplehaveongoingoperations.’‘They’remassinginthemajorcities,’Isay,studyingthemap.‘Yeah,’Adamreplies,grimly.‘Inpreparationfortheinvasion.’‘Let’snotfocusonthei-wordrightnow,okay?’Samsays.‘Lookatthis.’SamhaspluggedthetabletdisplayingthelocationoftheotherGardeintooneofthecomputers.He
handsittomeandmyeyesimmediatelyshoottoFlorida.Myheartskipsabeat;there’sonlyoneblinkingdotonthemap.IttakesmeamomenttorealizethatthefourdotssymbolizingeachoftheremainingGardehaveactuallygottensoclosetogetherthattheyperfectlyoverlap.‘They’realmostontopofeachother,’Isay.‘Allfourofthem.’‘Yep,’Samreplies,takingbackthetablet.‘Andlookatthis.’HeholdsthetabletupnexttothemapofMogadorianactivity.Thefourdotsperfectlylineupwithone
ofthesmallerorangetrianglesinFlorida.‘TheMogshavethem,’Isay,grittingmyteeth.‘Adam,isthatabaseofsomekind?’‘Aresearchstation,’hereplies.‘Therecordsshowtherewassomegeneticexperimentationbeingdone
there.Itisn’tthekindofplacewe’dnormallykeepprisoners,especiallynotGarde.’‘Whyeventakeprisonersatthispoint?’Samasks.‘Imean,IgetSetrákusRahassomeweirdthingfor
Ella.Buttheothers…’‘Theyaren’tprisoners,’Isay,hittingSamonthearminexcitementasthisdawnsonme.‘Theothersare
uptosomething.They’reontheattack.’‘I’mworkingongettingusavisualofthebase,’Adamsays,hisfingersracingacrossthekeyboard.‘How’reyougoingtodothat?’Iask.IsitdownintheswivelchairnexttoAdamandwatchhishandsflickacrosstheMogadoriankeyboard.
Whateverhe’sdoingseemsalmostlikesecondnature.
‘I’velockeddownascoutshipsotheywon’tbeabletooperateit.Thatwastheeasypart.Accessingandisolatingitsonboardsurveillancewhilestillkeepingthecraftinoperableisprovingtrickier.’‘You’rehackingintoaship?’Samasks,leaningoverthebackofAdam’schair.IwatchthemonitordirectlyinfrontofAdamcracklewithstatic.‘Howdoesthathelpus?’‘Thiscontrolroomisanervecenter,John,’Adamexplains,takingamomentawayfromtypingto
gesturearound.‘Informationfromalltheotherbasesfeedstohere.Itisjustamatterofaccessingit.’‘Accessingithow?’‘HuntingtheLoricforsomanyyearshasmademypeopleparanoidtoevermissapotentiallead.Every
operationisrecorded.There’ssurveillanceeverywhere.’Adamstrikesakeywithatriumphantflair.‘Evenaboardourownships.’Themonitorsaboveflickerbrieflyandthendisplaygrainyfootageofarunwayinthemiddleofa
swamp.‘IftheGardearenearby,wemightbeabletoseethem,’Adamexplains.‘Ifthey’renotinvisible,’Isay,squintingatthemonitor.Beneaththecamera,ahandfulofMogadorianslookfrustratedastheyyankenginepartsfromthescout
ship’shull.Theycleantheseparts,reattachthemand,whennothinghappens,starttakingapartsomethingelse.‘What’retheydoing?’Samasks.‘TryingtofixwhatI’vedone,’Adamrepliesexcitedly,seemingpleasedthathe’soutsmartedhis
people.‘Theyassumeenginefailure,notautomatedsystemsoverride.Itwilltakethemawhiletocatchon.’AnotherMogadorian,thisonewearinganimpressive-lookinguniformsimilartotheGeneral’s,
approachesthem.Heyellsatthemechanics,thenwalksoffscreeninahuff.‘Doesthecameramove?’Iask.‘Ofcourse.’Adamhitsabuttonandthecamerabeginstoscantotheside,followingthedressed-upMogadorian.At
first,thereisn’tmuchtoseeexceptpavementand,inthedistance,someswampland.However,afterashortwalk,thedressed-upMogadoriandisappearsintoanairplanehangar.‘Doyouthinkthey’reinthere?’Iask.‘Thiscamerashouldbeequippedwithheatvision,ifIcanfigureouthowtoaccessit,’Adamreplies,
tentativelytappingafewofthekeysinfrontofhim.BeforeAdamcanfigureitout,Fivewalksthroughthehangardoors.EventhoughI’dguessedhewasa
traitorfromElla’svision,I’dbeenholdingontoafoolishhopethatitwasn’ttrue.Or,darkasitmightseem,thatFivewastheonekilledinbattle.Butthereheis,inarumpledMogadorianuniform,andwithabandagecoveringhisrighteye.IcanhearSamsuckinabreath;he’sstunned.TheonlypartofmyvisionsthatIhadn’ttoldanyone
aboutwasseeingFive,notwantingtosmearhisnameifIwaswrong.‘He’s…’Samshakeshishead.‘Thatsonofabitchtraitor.Itmust’vebeenhimwhotoldtheMogs
aboutChicago.’‘Oneofyourown,’Adamsaysquietly.‘Thatisunexpected.’
IhavetolookawayfromFive’simagebeforemybloodboils.‘Youdidn’tknowaboutthis?’IaskAdamthroughclenchedteeth.‘No,’hesays,shakinghishead.‘Iwould’vetoldyou.SetrákusRahimselfmusthavebeenkeepinghim
asecret.’Iforcemyselftolookbackatthescreen.Ikeepcalm,studyingmynewenemy.Hisslumpedshoulders,
hisfreshlyshavedhead,thedarklookinhisremainingeye.Whatcouldhavebroughtoneofourowntosuchaterribleplace?‘Iknewtherewassomethingoffaboutthatjerk,’Samsays,pacingnow.‘John,man,whatarewegoing
todoabouthim?’Idon’treply,mainlybecausetheonlysolutionIcanthinkofatthatmoment,seeingFiveintheenemy’s
uniform,istokillhim.‘Where’shegoing?Followhim,’ItellAdam.Adamdoes.ThecamerafollowsFiveacrosstherunwayuntilhereachesarampthatleadsontothe
biggestspaceshipI’veeverseen,somassivethatitsentirebulkisn’tevenpickeduponcamera.‘Damn,’Ibreathe,myeyeswidening.‘Whatthehellisthatthing?’‘Warship,’Adamanswers,anoteofawesneakingintohisvoiceashesquintsatthescreen.‘Ican’ttell
whichone.’‘Whichone?’Samexclaims.‘Howmanyofthosethingsdotheyhave?’‘Dozens?Maybemore,maybeless.TheyrunontheoldfuelofMogadoreandwhatevermypeople
managedtominefromLorien.Notthemostefficientthings.Andslow.WhenIgotintroubleasaboy,mymotherwouldthreatentogroundmeuntilthefleet’sarrival…’Herealizeshe’sramblingandtrailsoff,lookingupatus.‘Youdon’tcareaboutthis,doyou?’‘Maybenotthebesttimeforreminiscing,’Ireply,watchingasFiveboardstheship.‘Butwhatelsecan
youtellusaboutthefleet?’‘They’vebeentravelingsincethefallofLorien,’Adamcontinues.‘Mogstrategistsbelievethey’vegot
enoughfirepowerleftforonelastsiege.’‘Earth,’Isay.‘Yeah,’Adamreplies.‘Then,mypeoplewillsettlehere.MayberebuildthefleetifSetrákusRafindsa
reason.’‘Youmeanifthere’sanylifeintheuniverseleftforhimtoconquer,’Isay.Samshakeshishead,stillmarvelingatthehulkingwarship.‘Sotheyhaveasecretweakness,right?
LikehowyoucanshootthatonespotontheDeathStarandthewholethingblowsup?’Adam’sbrowfurrows.‘What’saDeathStar?’Samthrowsuphishands.‘We’rescrewed.’‘Ifthey’vebeentakenprisonerandareaboardthatthing…’Idon’tfinishthethought,mainlybecausea
courseofactionjustisn’tcomingtome.TakingoveramostlyabandonedMogadorianbaseisonething;findingawayaboardamassivewarshipisanotherentirely.Especiallywhenthatmassivewarshipisslowlyrisingintothesky.MaybeSam’srightandweare
screwed.Thethreeofuswatchinsilenceasthewarshipclimbs.Beforeit’sentirelyoffscreen,theship’s
carapaceflickersandthewholethingdisappearsfromview.Well,notentirely–theship’soutlineisstill
vaguelyvisible,asifthelightarounditisbendinginstrangeways.Thedistortionisalmostliketryingtofocusonanobjectthat’sunderwater.‘Cloaking,’Adamsays.‘Allofthewarshipshaveit.’‘Hey,lookatthetablet,’Samsays.‘Maybeeverythingisn’ttotallydepressing.’Asthenowinvisiblewarshipfloatsupward,oneofthedotsonthetabletslowlypullsawayfromthe
others.Five’sdot.Afterafewseconds,itbeginstoflickererraticallyacrossthescreen.We’venowgottwoGardeindicatorsbouncingspasticallyoverthemap.‘JustlikeElla,’Samsays,furrowinghisbrow.‘Thewarshipmustbereturningtoorbit,’Adamsays.‘Whichmeans…’‘Ellaisalreadyaboardoneofthosethings,’Ifinishthethought.‘Theybroughtheruptothefleet.’‘Howarewegoingtogetupthere?’Samasks.‘Wewon’thaveto,’Adamresponds.‘Thefleetwillcometous.’‘Oh,right,’Samsays.‘Worldwideinvasion.Sowe’replanningtojustwaitforthat?’Itapmyfingeronthetablet,pointingoutthethreedotsstillinFlorida.‘Theplanistogettheothers.
They’restillthere.Wejusthaveto–’IstopmyselfwhenIlookbackatthescreen.Therunwayisstartingtomove.‘Ithoughtyoudisabledtheship.Whyaretheymoving?’Withahurriedseriesofkeystrokes,Adamcranesthecameradown.Fromthisangle,wecanseethe
crewofMogadoriansgrimacingastheypushthescoutvesselmanuallytowardsthehangar.‘Iguesstheygaveupongettingitstarted,’Samobserves.OneoftheMogsrunsaheadtoslideopenthemetaldoorsandthere,caughtoutinthemiddleofthe
emptyhangar,areNine,MarinaandSix.Samletslooseanexcitedshoutthathecutsoffquickly,theharshmathsinkingin,thattherearethreeGardewherethereshouldbefour,andthatNineiscarryinginhisarmswhatisobviouslyabodybag.‘Eight,’Samsays,swallowing.‘Shit.’IturntoAdam,notreadytogrieveyet.‘Doesthisshipyou’vehackedhaveanyguns?’
14
Afterabarrageofnear-deafeningblasterfireinthewide-openspaceofthehangar,thescoutshipgoeseerilysilent.MarinaandIcrouchnexttoeachother,bothofushuddledbehindtheflipped-overmetaltable.Weexchangealook–thetabledidn’tsustainevenasingleshotofblasterfire.Infact,itdoesn’tseemliketheship’sturretcameevenclosetohittingus.‘Niceaim,dipshit!’Nineshouts,laughing.He’sofftothesideofthetable,flatontheground,half
shieldingEight’sbodywithhisown.Ipokemyheadoutfrombehindthetable.Betweenusandthescoutvesselareadozenpilesofash,
formerlytheMogadorianmechanics.Theship’sgunturretisstillsmokingbuthangsdormantnow,nottheleastbitinterestedinus.Cautiously,Istandup.Marinajoinsme.‘Whatthehellisgoingon?’Iask.‘Whocares?’Ninesays,heftingEight’sbody.‘Let’sgetoutofhere.’‘Perhapssomekindofmalfunction?’Marinaproposes,inchingclosertotheship,whichstillblocksour
wayout.Thethreeofusspreadout,makingsurenottostanddirectlyinthepathoftheblaster.‘ItonlyshottheMogs,’Isay.‘That’soneconvenientmalfunction.’Allthreeofusjumpwhentheship’scockpitopensupwithahydraulichiss.There’saburstofstatic
fromaspeakerinthecockpit,andthenafamiliarvoiceringsout.‘Guys?Canyouhearme?’‘John?’Iexclaim,notbelievingmyears.ThelastIsawhim,hewasinacomaalongwithElla.Isprint
totheshipandjumpontoitsfrontend,standingovertheopencockpittobetterhearhisvoice.‘It’sme,Six,’Johnsays.‘It’sgoodtoseeyou.’‘Seeme?’Iask,thennoticethesmallcameramountedoverthecockpitentrance.Itwigglesbackand
forth,almostnoddingingreeting.‘Dude,whathappened?’Nineasks,eyeingthecockpitskeptically.‘Isyourbrain,like,trappedina
Mogadorianshipnow?’‘What?No,don’tbeanidiot,’Johnreplies,andIcanpicturethelookofannoyedamusementonhis
face.‘We’vetakenoveraMogadorianbaseandusedtheirtechtohackintothisship.’‘Nice,’Ninereplies,likethat’sallheneededtohear.Hejumpseffortlesslyontotheship’shood,still
holdingEight,andlandsrightbesideme.Oursideofthesaucer-shapedvesseldipsalittleathisweightbeforerightingitself,thelandinggearwhining.Ninekicksthemetalhullwithhisheel,testingitout.‘Sothisisourride?’Inanswer,theship’senginebeginstovibratebeneathourfeet.Ilookdownintothecockpit–thereare
sixhardplasticseatsinthere,alongwithablinkingdashboardcoveredinrandomMogadoriansymbolsandasetofcontrolsthatlooksimilartowhatyou’dfindonanairplane.NotthatI’veeverflownoneofthosebefore,muchlessonemadebyMogadorians.‘WesawwhathappenedinChicago,’Marinasays,alsoclimbingontotheship.
‘Iseveryoneallright?’‘Yeah,’Johnrepliesquickly,thenseemstoreconsider.‘TheytookElla,butIdon’tthinkshe’sindanger
yet.’Marina’seyebrowsshootupinalarm,andIcanfeelthecoldstarttorolloffher.‘Whatdoyoumean
theytookher?’‘I’llexplaineverythingwhenyougetintheair,’Johnsays.‘First,let’sgetyououtofthere.’‘Soundsgood,’Ninereplies,andhopsdownintothecockpit,gentlyplacingEight’sbodyacrossa
coupleoftheseats.‘Uh,John,oneproblem,’Isay,followingNineintotheantiseptic-smellingMogship.‘Howarewe
supposedtoflythisthing?’There’sapauseonJohn’sendandthenadifferentvoiceresponds,thisonewithaharshaccentthat
makesmyshoulderstense.‘Icouldflyyouremotely,butI’mworriedhackingintotheship’scomputermighthavedamagedsome
oftheauto-navigationprotocols.It’llbesaferifyoudoitmanuallywithmewalkingyouthroughit,’theMogadorianexplainsquickly.Then,asifrealizingwemightbefreakedout,theguyadds,‘Hey.I’mAdam.’‘TheguyMalcolmtoldusabout,’Isay,rememberingthatdinnerconversation.‘Don’tworry,Six,’Sam’svoiceinterjects,andIcan’thelpbutgrinatthesoundofit.‘He’stotallynot
evil.’‘Oh,well,inthatcase,let’sfly,’Ninesayssarcastically,butsettlesintooneofthehard-backedplastic
seatsallthesame.Ihopintothepilot’schair.Marinahesitatesforamoment,givingtheconsolewheretheMog’svoicecamefromalookofdistrust.‘Howdoweknowthat’sreallyJohn?’sheasks.‘SetrákusRacanchangeforms.Thismightbesome
kindoftrap.’InmyexcitementtohearJohnandSam,Ihadn’tevenconsideredthepossibilitythatthiscouldbeaploy.Behindme,Nineshoutstowardsthecommunicator.‘Hey,Johnny,rememberbackinChicago?WhenyouwereclaimingtobePittacusLoreandwehada
debateaboutwhethertogotoNewMexico?’‘Yeah,’John’svoicesoundslikeit’scomingthroughclenchedteeth.‘How’dwesettlethat?’Johnsighs.‘Youdangledmeofftheedgeoftheroof.’Ninegrinslikethat’sthebestthingever.‘It’sdefinitelyhim.’‘Marina,’Johnsays,probablythinkingNine’slittletestwasn’tgoodenough.‘Thefirsttimewemet,
youhealedtwobulletwoundsinmyankle.Andthenwealmostgothitbyamissile.’AsmallsmileformsonMarina’sface,thefirstI’veseenindays.‘Ithoughtyouwereaboutthecoolest
guyI’devermet,JohnSmith.’Ninebarksoutalaughatthat,shakinghishead.Marinaclimbsaboard,takingaseatnexttoEight’s
body.Shedrapesahandprotectivelyonthebodybagandsettlesin.‘Watchyourheads,’Adamwarnsasthecockpithissesclosedaboveus.There’samomentwhereIfeel
asenseofpanicatbeingsealedinsideaMogadorianship,butIshovethatfeelingdownandtightlyclutchthesteeringapparatus.It’sdiminthecockpit,theglasshavingatintedsunglasses-likelook.Streamsof
dataincompressedMogadoriansymbolsareprojecteddirectlyontotheglass,thereadoutssomethingonlyaMogpilotcouldmakesenseof.‘Allright,’Isay.‘Whatnow?’‘Holdup,’Nineinterjects,leaningforward.‘Howcomeyougettodrive?’Adam’svoicecomesthroughclear,patientbutauthoritative.‘Turnthewheelinfrontofyou.Thatwill
rotatetheship.’Idoasheinstructs,thewheelturningeasily,thesaucerportionoftheshipdoinga180withoutthe
wheelsmovingatall.Istopturningwhenwe’repointedtowardsthehangar’sexit.‘Good,’Adamsays.‘Now,theleveronyourleftmovesthewheels.’Igriptheleverandpushitjustatad.Theshipjerksforwardalmostimmediately.Thecontrolsare
sensitive,anditdoesn’ttakemuchpressuretogetusslowlyrollingoutontotherunway.‘Giveitsomegas,Six,damn,’Ninecomplains.‘Driveitlikewestoleit.’‘Don’tlistentohim,’Marinasays,huggingherself.‘Ifyou’reoutfromunderthehangar,youcanstop,’Adaminstructs.Ilookupthroughtheglassofthecockpit,seeonlyskyandsoletgoofthelever.Theshipcreakstoa
stop.‘Okay,’Adamsays.‘Now,graspthewheelinfrontofyouatthreeandnine.Doyoufeelthetriggers?’Itakethewheelagainandfeelaroundforthetwobuttonsindentedinitsunderside.‘Got’em,’Ireply,
testingoutthetriggerontheleftbysqueezingit.AssoonasIdo,thevibrationfromtheship’senginereachesabone-rattlingcrescendoandweriseintotheair.‘Ho,shit!’Nineyells.Nexttome,Marinasqueezesherselfalittletighter,closinghereyes.‘Becareful,Six,’shewhispers.Iletgoofthebuttonandtheshipeffortlesslymaintainsitselevation.We’rehoveringabouttwenty
yardsofftheground.‘Youweren’tsupposedtodothatyet,’Adamadmonishes.‘Uh,yeah,sorry.Firsttimeflyingaspaceship,’Ireply.‘Nobigdeal,’Adamreplies.‘Thetriggeronyourleftincreasesyourelevation.Theoneonyourright
decreasesit.’‘Leftup,rightdown.Gotit.’‘Also,’Adamsays.‘you’reinwhatmypeoplecallaSkimmer.Itisn’tbuiltforinterplanetarytravel,so
itisn’tquiteaspaceship.’Ninemakesaloudsnoringnoise.‘IsthisdudeabouttogiveusalessoninMogadorianaviationor
something?Thehell?’‘YouknowIcanhearyou,right?’Adamrepliesoverthemic.‘Andno,Iamnot.’‘SorryaboutNine,’Isay,givinghimadirtylookovermyshoulder.‘Doesthisthingcomewithejector
seats?’‘Yes,actually,’Adamreplies.‘Whoa,now,’Ninesays,edgingforwardsohisbuttisn’tentirelyontheseat.‘Don’tgetanyideas,Six.’IshushNinewhenIhearaseriesofclankingnoisesemanatingfromtheship’sunderbelly.‘Whatisthat?’Iask.‘Don’tworry,’Adamreplies.‘Ijustremotelyputupyourlandinggear.’
Whentheclankingfinishes,twosmallpanelsonthesteeringwheelslideaside,revealingthumb-sizedbuttonspositionedsotheycanbepressedatthesametimeastheelevationtriggers.‘Youshouldseeacoupleofbuttons,’Adamcontinues.‘Depressthemtoaccelerate.Simplyletthemgo
tobrake.’Igripthesteeringwheelmoretentativelythanbeforeandgentlysqueezethebuttons,carefulnottohit
thetriggersonthewheel’sunderside.TheSkimmerzipsforward,thenlurchestoastopwhenIletthebuttongo.‘It’slikeavideogame,’Ninesays,leaningoverthebackofmychair.‘Anyidiotcouldworkthisthing.
Nooffense,Mogguy.’‘Nonetaken.’Ipressdowntheacceleratoralittlemoreforcefullyandtheshipshootsforward.Adiagnosticonthe
screenstartsflashing–awarninginanylanguage–rightbeforeIscrapethebottomoftheSkimmeragainstthetopofatree.Ihearbranchesbreakingand,craningmyneck,seethemhitthegroundbelow.‘Oops,’Isay,andglancesidelongatMarina.‘Six,Iswear,’shesays,flashingmeahalf-panickedlook.‘You’llwanttogetsomemoreelevation,’Adamsays.‘And,um,considersteering.’Ninelaughsandleansback.Ipullthetriggerforverticalandweriseuphigher.Asweclearthedense
treesoftheswampland,thehorizonbecomesvisible.Alaser-finedottedlineappearsonthecockpitglass,superimposedovertheview,likeatrail.‘I’veplottedyourcourse,’Adamsays.‘Justfollowtheline.’Inodandgivetheshipsomejuice,followingthelaser-pathnorth.‘Allright,boys,’Isay.‘Herewecome.’
TheflightfromFloridatoWashingtontakesabouttwohours.OnAdam’sinstructions,Ikeepouraltitudelowenoughthatwewon’tbepickeduponsatellitesoraccidentallycrosspathswithanyairplanes,buthighenoughthattherewon’tbearashofUFOsightingsalongtheEasternSeaboard.Although,consideringhowseriousthethreatofall-outMogadorianinvasionseems,maybeweshouldletourstolenshipbeseen,shootoffsomefireworks,warnthelocals.AftertheinitialrushofelationathearingJohnandSam,atknowingourfriendsarealive,the
conversationturnsgrim.Overtheradio,theydescribewhatwentdownattheJohnHancockCenter.Afterthat,JohntellsusaboutwhathesawinthenightmarevisionhesharedwithEllaandwhyhethinksSetrákusRadoesn’twanttohurther.John’spiecedtogetheratheorythatEllacouldberelatedtoSetrákusRaandthattheMogadorianrulercouldactuallybesomekindoftwistedLoric,thebanishedEldermentionedinCrayton’sletter.I’mnotreadytograpplewiththatyet.OnceJohn’scaughtusup,it’sourturntofillintheothersonwhathappenedinFlorida.Evenoverthe
radio,IcantellJohn’stryingnottopressustoomuch.IthinkaboutthedaysthatJohn’sbeenlivingwithafreshscaronhisankle,wonderingwhichoneofuswouldn’tbemakingitback–asmuchasithurtstotalkabout,hedeservestoknowwhathappenedtoEight.However,neitherMarinanorNineareveryforthcoming,soitfallstometodescribehowFivebetrayedus,howhemurderedEighttechnicallybyaccident,butonlybecausehewasactuallytryingtomurderNine.Iwasunconsciousformostofthefight,soIkeepthedescriptionbarebones,justthefacts,notsugarcoatinganything.Then,IgivethemthedetailsofrescuingEight’sbodyfromtheMogadorianencampmentandtellthemaboutwhatFivedidtohis
Mogadorianpal.WhenI’mfinished,agrimmoodsettlesinsidethecockpitandwerideinsilenceuntilwereachsuburbanD.C.Ilandtheshipinthemiddleofabasketballcourt.We’reinafancy-asssuburbandevelopment,one
madeextraordinarilyeeriebyallitsdarkenedwindowsandgeneralemptiness.ThecockpitopensforusandMarinaflashesmearelievedlookasshestandsup.Carefully,NinepicksupEight’sbodyandclimbsoutoftheship.Marinastaysclosetohim,herhandonNine’selbow,makingsurethatEightdoesn’tgetjostledtoomuch.It’sstillhardtobelievethat’sourfriendinthatbodybag,anditfeelswrongtobecarryinghimaroundsomuch.‘Yourtravelsarealmostover,’IoverhearMarinawhispertoEight’sbody.ShemustfeelthesameasI
do.MarinaandIhopdowntothegroundandturnaroundtohelpNinelowerEight’sbody.Insteadof
passingEightdown,Ninesquintsintothedarknessaroundus.‘Whoa,’hesays.‘Thereare,like,somerandomcreatureswatchingusrightnow.’‘Creatures?’Ireply,lookingupathim.Nine’sexpressionhasgoneblank–well,blankerthanusual–
thewayhegetswhenhe’susinghisanimaltelepathy.‘Oh,Iforgottomentionwefoundsomenewfriends!’It’sJohn,joggingtowardsusfromthecrookeddoorwayofahousethatlookshalfsmashed,likethe
groundtriedtoswallowitupbutcouldn’tquitefinish.Samisafewstepsbehindhim,beamingatme,althoughwhenhenoticesmenoticinghim,hequicklytonesdownthewattageofhissmile,goingforsomethingalittlelesseager.BehindJohnandSam,pushingagurney,areMalcolmandapale,lankyguythatIassumemustbeAdam,thedarkhairhanginginhisfacemakinghimlookhalf-Mogandhalf-emorockstar.‘SomanyChimærae,’Ninesays,noddingexcitedlyashegazesoutintothedarkness.‘That’s
awesome.’‘Wenamedthechubby,lazyoneafteryou,’Samreplies.‘Lessawesome.’Uponreachingus,JohnwrapsMarinainatighthug.It’sdarkout,butIcanseedaysofworryetchedin
thedarkbagsunderhiseyes.Irememberthatwide-eyedkidIfoundfightingMogadoriansathishighschoolandwonderifJohnfeltlikethatagain,likehewasbacktobeingaloneagainsttheworld.Itshouldbeareliefthatwe’rereunited,butwe’reoneless,andIknowJohnwellenoughtoknowthathe’sbeenbeatinghimselfupoverourlossfordays.‘Youmadeit,’JohnsaysasheletsMarinagoandhugsmenext.Hisvoiceisquiet,formeonly.‘I
didn’tknowwhatIwasgoingtodoif–’‘Youdon’thavetosayanything,’Ireply,squeezinghimback.‘We’reherenow.We’regoingtofight.
We’regoingtowin.’Johntakesastepbackfromme,arelievedlookbrieflypassingacrosshisface,likeheneededsomeone
totellhimthat.Henodstomeandthenwalksovertotheship,takingEight’sbodyinhisarmssothatNinecanjumpdown.EveryonefallssilentasMalcolmwheelsthegurneyforwardsothatJohncansetdownthebody.‘TheMogsputsomethingonhim,’Marinasays.Shetakesalurchingsteptowardsthegurney.‘Some
electricalfield.’
Adamtakesatentativestepforwardandclearshisthroat.‘Electrodes?Overtheheart?Onthetemples?’‘Yes,’MarinareplieswithoutlookingatAdam,hereyesfixedonEight’sbodybag.‘TheMogsusethatto,uh…’Adampauses,thenfinishesawkwardly.‘Tokeepspecimensfresh.It
won’tharmtheremains,justpreservethem.’‘Specimens,’Ninerepeatsdryly.‘I’msorryaboutyourfriend,’Adamsaysquietly,pushingahandthroughhishair.‘Ijustthoughtyou
shouldknow…’‘It’sallright.Thanks,Adam,’Johnsays.HeputsahandonMarina’sshoulder.‘Comeon.Let’sgethim
inside.’‘What–’Marinachokesupandhastotakeadeepbreath.‘What’reyougoingtodowithhim?’‘We’vesetasideaquietroominside,’Malcolmrepliesgently.‘I’mnotsurewhatcustomstheLoric
haveforburials…’IlookfirstatJohn,whosefaceisscrunchedupinthought,thenatNine,wholooksabsolutelybaffled.‘Wedon’tknowthemeither,’Isay.‘Imean,whenwasthelasttimewehadachancetoproperlyhonor
oneofourfallen?’‘Wecan’tburyhimhere,though,’Marinasays.‘ThisisaMogplace.’Malcolmnods,understanding,andtouchesMarinasoftlyontheshoulder.‘Doyouwanttohelpme
bringhiminside?’Marinanods.Together,sheandMalcolmwheelEight’sbodybacktowardsthesunkenhouse.Adam
followsthematarespectfuldistance,hishandsclaspedawkwardlybehindhisback.Afteramoment,NineclapsJohnhardontheback,breakingthetension.‘SodidImishearoverthecommunicator,ordidyousendyourgirlfriendoffonasuper-sexysecret
missionwithherex-boyfriend?’‘We’refightingawarhere,Nine,it’snotajoke,’Johnrepliessternly.Afteramoment’sawkward
pause,abegrudgingsmilebreaksonhisface.‘Also,shutup.It’snotsupersexy.Whatdoesthatevenmean?’‘Wow,youreallyneedmyguidance,’Ninesays.HethrowshisarmaroundJohn’sshouldersandleads
himtowardsthehouse.‘Comeon.I’llexplainwhatsexyis.’‘Iknowwhatit–ugh,whyamIevendiscussingthiswithyou?’JohnshovesNineinfrustration,but
Ninejustholdsontighter.‘Getoffme,idiot.’‘Comeon,Johnny,youneedmyaffectionnowmorethanever.’Irollmyeyesastheguyswalktowardsthehouse,havingtheirlittlebromoment.Thatleavesmealone
withSam,standingafewfeetaway,lookingatmeintently.Icanseehimtryingtofigureoutwhattosay,ormorelikelyworkingupthenervetosayit.Theguy’sprobablybeenchewingonthismomentforhours,workingonhisamazingspeechtothegirlhewasn’tsurehe’deverseeagain.‘Hey,’iswhathesettlesonatlast.‘Heyback,’Ireply,andbeforehecangetanotherwordout,Iwrapmyarmsaroundhimandkisshim
hardenoughthatIprobablyknockthewindoutofhim.Samseemsstunnedatfirstbutkissesbackafteramoment,tryingtomatchmyintensity.Igrabhimbythefrontoftheshirtandpullhimsothatwe’repressedupagainstthesideoftheSkimmer–notexactlythemostromanticplaceintheworld,butI’lltakeit.I
grabSam’shandsandputthemonmyhips,thenclutchthesidesofhisfaceandrunmyfingersupthroughhishair,allthisdesperateenergypouringoutofmeandintothiskiss.Afteracoupleofminutes,Sambreaksawayfromme,breathless.‘Six,whoa,whatisgoingon?’ThelookonSam’sfaceisn’twhatIwasexpecting.Yes,there’sflushedbewilderment,butmixedin
withthatsurpriseisanundercurrentofconcern.Itmakesmelookaway.‘Ijustreallywantedtodothat,’Ireply,tellinghimthetruth.‘Ididn’tknowifI’dgetanotherchance.’IpressmyfaceagainstthesideofSam’sneckandfeelhisheartbeatagainstmycheek.I’vespentthe
lastfewdaysputtingonastrongfront,tryingtokeepittogetherwithMarinaandNinebothonthevergeoffallingapart.Finally,atleastwhilewe’reouthereinthedark,Icanletmyselfgoalittlebit.Samhasmearoundthewaist,soIsinkagainsthim,lethimholdmeupandtakeashudderingbreathagainsthisneck.‘Itcanjustendsoquickly…,’Iwhisper,leaningbacktogetalookathim.‘Ididn’twanttonothave
donethat,youknow?Idon’tcareifitcomplicatesthings.’‘Meneither,’Samsays.‘Obviously.’Westarttokissagain,thistimealotgentler,Sam’shandsslowlymovingupmysides.Whenthewolf
howls–loud,echoing,nearby–myfirstinstinctisthatit’sNinespyingonusfromthehouseandmakingstupidnoises.ButthenasecondandthirdwolfmakeahowlingchorusandIleanbacktopeeratSam.‘Whatthehellisthat?’Iask.‘Wolvesinthesuburbs?’‘Idon’tknow–’hestartstoreply,butthenhiseyeswiden.‘TheChimærae.They’rewarningus.’Amomentafterhesaysit,Ihearthewhup-whup-whupofatleastthreehelicoptersbearingdownonus.
IfIsquint,Icanseetheiroutlinesapproachinginthenightsky.Andthentherearetheblueflashinglightscomingfromthehousingdevelopment’sonlyaccessroad;thelightsareattachedtoacaravanofblackSUVs,allofthemspeedinginourdirection.
15
Atthesoundofscreechingtiresandhelicopterrotors,NineandIburstbackoutside,leapingoverthehouse’sbrokenporchandontothelawn.We’rejustintimetoseealightningstrikeslicedownfromthesky,courtesyofSix.It’sawarningshot;thebolteruptsapieceofasphaltrightinfrontofablackSUVthat’scareeninguptheaccessroad,causingittoswerve.‘Thehellisthis?’Ninegrowls.‘Ithoughtweweredonewiththefeds.’‘Adamsaidthey’resupposedtoleavethisplacealone,’Ireply.‘SomedealwiththeMogs.’‘Iguessthatendedwhenyoukilledthemall,huh?’Therearethreechoppersoverhead,circlinglikevultures.Somesignalmustpassbetweenthem,
becausetheyallturnonspotlightsatthesametime.OneofthemtrainsonmeandNine,anotherontheentranceofthehousebehindusandathirdonSixandSam.Inthebrightlight,InoticeSam,unarmed,quicklyclimbingintotheSkimmerforcover.Six,herhandssplayedintheair,intheprocessofsummoningsomenastyweatherforouruninvitedguests,goesinvisiblebeforethespotlightcanreallygetafixonher.Meanwhile,undeterredbythelightningstrike,aparadeofblackSUVsfilesuptheaccessroad,blue
lightsflashingbeneaththeirwindshields.Theyskidtoastopnexttoeachotherinatightformation,eventuallycreatingablockadeofbulletproofglassandshiny,dent-resistantpaneling.Theirdoorsflingopenandabunchofagentsinidenticalnavy-bluewindbreakersleapout.Theoneswhoaren’tyellingintowalkie-talkieshavegunstrainedonus,allofthemhunkeredbehindtheircardoorsforcover.Ittakesthemlessthanaminutetohaveuspinneddowninthecul-de-sac.‘Dotheyreallythinkthiswillstopus?’Nineasksashetakesastepawayfromthehouse,almostdaring
theagentstotryshootinghim.‘Idon’tknowwhatthey’rethinking,’Ireply.‘Buttheydon’tknowabouttheChimærae.’Icansensethemlurkingintheshadowsjustofftheaccessroad.Thesegovernmentguysmightthink
they’vegotussurrounded,buttheglowingeyesinthedarknesswouldargueotherwise.TheChimæraeholdtheirposition,waitingforasignal.IhearacreakbehindmeandhalfturntofindMarinaontheporch,jaggediciclesextendingfromher
handsliketwindaggers.That’snew.Nexttoher,usingthedoorwayforcover,isAdam,holdingaMogadorianblaster.‘Whatdowedo?’Marinaasks.Inoticestormcloudsgatheringoverhead.Sixisreadytothrowdownifweneedto.Butsofar,the
governmentguyshaven’tdoneanythingexceptmakealotofnoise.Theydidn’tcomeinshooting,whichistheonlyreasonIhaven’tfiredupmyLumen.‘Idon’twanttohurtthemifwedon’thaveto,’Isay.‘Butwedon’thavetimeforanybullshit.I’mdamn
surenotbeingtakeninforquestioning.’
Apparently,Nineinterpretsmywordsasencouragementtodosomethingcrazy.HestridesforwardandpicksupthebaseofDrAnu’schair,whichgotshearedinhalfbyblasterfireduringthisafternoon’sbattle.Thethingmustweighclosetotwohundredpounds,butNineheftsiteasilywithonehand,swingingitbackandforthasademonstration.‘Youguysareonprivateproperty!’Nineshouts.‘AndIdon’tseeanywarrants!’BeforeIcanstophim,Nineflingstheentirechunkintotheair,puttingitjustinchesfromthenoseofthe
nearesthelicopter.It’sprettyobviousfrommyvantagepointthatthechopperisn’tinanyrealdanger,butIguessthehumanpilotisn’tusedtohavingsuperstrongGardechuckingscrapmetalathim.Thepilotpullsbackonhiscontrolsandthechoppershakilygainsaltitude,itsspotlightmakingerratictrailsacrossthelawn.Thechairpiececomesdownwithaloudcrashinthemiddleofthestreet.‘Thatwasunnecessary,’Adamobservesfromthedoorway.‘Eh,agreetodisagree,’Ninesays.Ashebendsdowntopickupanotherpieceofthechair,Ihearthetelltalecockingofgunsfromtheline
ofSUVs.Sixmusthearthemtoofromwherevershe’slurking,becauseawaveoffogsuddenlyrollsacrossthelawnsofAshwoodEstates,makingusmuchhardertotarget.IlightmyLumenandstepforward,puttingmyselfbetweenNineandtheSUVs.Iholdupmyhandsso
theagentscanclearlyseethatthey’reenvelopedinfire.‘Idon’tknowwhyyou’rehere,’Iyelltowardsthelineofcars,‘butyou’remakingamistake.Thisisa
fightyouseriouslycannotwin.Smartestthingyoucandoisgobacktoyourbossesandtellthemtherewasnothinghere.’Topunctuatethespeech,IsendatelepathiccommandtoourChimærae.Howlsringsoutfromthe
darknessontheSUVs’flanks.Suddenlypanicked,someoftheagentsstartaimingtheirgunsintotheshadows,andoneofthechoppersusesitsspotlighttobegincombingthefieldsalongsidetheaccessroad.We’vegotthemscared.‘Lastwarning!’Ishout,lettingabasketball-sizedfireballfloatupfrommypalm.‘JesusChrist!’awoman’svoiceshoutsfromthelineofcars.‘Everybodystanddown!’Onebyone,theagentsatthecarslowertheirweapons.Astheydo,oneofthemsqueezesbetweena
pairofSUVsandwalkstowardsus,herhandsraisedinsurrender.Throughthefog,Irecognizeherrigidpostureandsevereponytail.‘AgentWalker?Isthatyou?’Nexttome,Ninelaughs.‘Oh,comeon.Yougoingtotryarrestingusagain?’Walkergrimacesasshegetscloser,hersharpfeaturesmorelinedthanIremember.She’spale,an
alarmingstreakofgrayrunningthroughherredhair.ItrytorememberhowbadlyshewashurtbackatDulceBase.Couldshestillbefeelingtheeffectsofthat?Beforeshecangettooclose,SixmanifestsbehindWalkerandgrabsherbytheponytail.‘Notanother
step,’shesnarls.Walker,eyeswide,obedientlystops.Sixreachesdownandtakesthegunoffherhip,droppingitinto
thegrass.‘I’msorryforthecommotion,’Walkersays,hervoiceslightlystrangledthankstotheangleSixhasher
headat.‘MyagentssawthatMogadorianshiplandandwethoughtyoumightbeunderattack.’
IlettheLumeninmyhandsgoout,tiltingmyheadather.‘Wait.Youcamerushinginherebecauseyouthoughtwewereunderattack?’‘Iknowyouhavenoreasontobelieveme,’Walkersays,hervoicehoarse.‘Butwe’reheretohelp.’Nexttome,Ninescoffs.IstarehardatWalker,waitingforthepunchline,orthesecretsignalforher
mentoopenfire.‘Please,’shesays.‘Justhearmeout.’Isighandmotiontowardsthehouse.‘Bringherin,’ItellSix,thenturntoNine.‘Iftherestofthemtry
anythingevenalittlesuspicious–’Ninecrackshisknuckles.‘Oh,Iknowwhattodo.’SixshovesWalkerupthebrokenstepsofAdam’shouseandthroughthefrontdoor.Ifollowafewsteps
behind,leavingtherestofourfriendstokeepaneyeonthesmallarmyofgovernmentagents.‘IsthataMogadorianIsawoutthere?’WalkerasksasSixpushesherintothelivingroom.‘Youhave
oneofthemprisoner?’‘He’sanally,’Isay.‘Rightnow,you’retheprisoner.’‘Understood,’Walkersays,soundingmoretiredthananything.WithoutSixhavingtopushher,Walker
sitsdownheavilyononeofthesofas.Inthelightofthelivingroom,Icanseethatthere’sdefinitelysomethingoffabouther.Maybeit’sowingtotheoddstreakofgrayinherhair,butWalkerlooksdrained.ShenoticestheentrancetotheMogadoriantunnelsbutdoesn’tlookparticularlyinterestedorsurprised.‘Ah,aguest,’Malcolmsaysasheappearsinthedoorwaybetweenthelivingroomandthekitchen,his
rifleslungoverhisshoulder.‘Andshebroughtlotsoffriends.Iseverythingallright?’‘I’mnotsureyet,’Ireply,anedgetomyvoice,keepingmyguardup.Sixcirclesaroundthecouchso
shecanstandwhereWalkercan’tseeher.‘Hm,’Malcolmsays.‘Iwasabouttoputapotofcoffeeon.Wouldanyoneelselikesome?IthinkIsaw
someteainthekitchen,too.’AshakysmileformsonWalker’sface.‘Isthissomekindofgood-cop,bad-coproutine?’Shelooks
fromMalcolmtome.‘Isheoneofyour…whatdoyoucallthem?Cêpans?’SixraisesherhandtoMalcolm.‘I’lltakeacup,actually.’WhenIflashheranannoyedlook,she
shrugs.‘What?Trustme,Icandrinksomecoffeeandtakedownthisladyatthesametime,ifIneedto.’AgentWalkerglancesoverhershoulderatSix.‘Ibelieveher.’IstrideforwardsoI’mstandingrightinfrontofWalkerandsnapmyfingersinherface.‘Allright,stop
wastingtime.Saywhatyoucameheretosay.’‘AgentPurdyisdead,’Walkerstates,lookingupatme.‘HadaheartattackatDulceBase.’‘Aw,Irememberhim,’Sixsays.‘Whatashame.’IrememberAgentWalker’spartner,too–anolderguy,whitehair,crookednose.Ishrug,notseeing
whatthishastodowithus.‘Condolences,Iguess.Sowhat?’‘Guywasaprick,’Walkerreplies.‘Itisn’tsomuchthathecroaked,it’swhathappenedafter.’Walkershowsmeherhands,thenveryslowlyreachesintothefrontpocketofherFBI-issue
windbreaker.SheremovesastuffedManilafolder,rolled-upandrubber-banded.Sheopensitup,reachesinsideandpullsoutaPolaroidphotograph.WalkerhandsittomeandIfindmyselfexaminingaclose-upofadeadAgentPurdy–orwhat’sleftofhim.Halfhisfaceismeltedaway,disintegratedintoashontheconcreteunderneathhim.
‘Ithoughtyousaiditwasaheartattack,’Isay.‘Itwas,’Walkerreplies.‘Thingis,afterward,Purdystartedtodissolveaway.Justlikeoneofthe
Mogadorians.’Ishakemyhead.‘Whatdoesthatmean?Why?’‘He’dbeengettingtreatments,’Walkersays.‘Augmentations,theMogscallthem.Mostofthesenior
MogPropeoplehavebeengettingthemforyears.’Theterm‘MogPro’ringsabellfromTheyWalkAmongUs,butIdon’tknowhowthisalladdsupwith
theaugmentationsAdamtoldusabout.‘Backup,’Itellher.‘Startatthebeginning.’Walkerself-consciouslytouchesherstreakofgrayhairandforamomentIwonderifshe’shaving
secondthoughtsaboutthisconfession.Butthenshehandsmethefoldershe’sbeenclutching,meetingmyeyes.‘Firstcontactwastenyearsago,’shesays.‘TheMogadoriansclaimedtheywerehuntingfugitives.
Theywantedtouseourlaw-enforcementnetwork,havefreereintomovearoundthecountry,andinexchangethey’dprovideuswithweaponsandtechnology.IwasjustoutoftheacademywhenallthishappenedsoIobviouslywasn’tinvitedtoanymeetingswiththealiens.Iguessnoonewantedtopissthemofforturndownweaponsmorepowerfulthananywe’deverseen,becauseourgovernmentcavedrealquick.Thedirectorofthebureauhimselfwasinonthenegotiations.Thiswasbeforehegotpromoted.Might’vebeenwhyhegotpromoted,infact.’‘Letmeguess,’Isay,rememberingthenamefromMark’swebsite.‘TheolddirectorwasBud
Sanderson.Nowsecretaryofdefense.’Walkerlooksmomentarilyimpressed.‘Right.Youconnectthedots,you’llfindalotofpeoplewho
negotiatedwiththeMogstenyearsagohavedonerealwellforthemselvessince.’‘Whataboutthepresident?’Sixasks.‘Thatguy?’Walkersnorts.‘Smallfish.Theoneswhogetelected,whogivespeechesonTV–they’re
justglorifiedcelebrities.Therealpower’swiththepeoplewhogetappointed,whoworkbehindthescenes.Theonesyou’veneverheardof.They’rewhotheMogswantedandthat’swhothey’vekeptaround.’‘He’sstillthepresident,’Sixcounters.‘Whydoesn’thedosomething?’‘Becausehe’skeptinthedark,’Walkersays.‘Andanyway,theVPisaMogProguy.Whenthetime
comes,thepresidentwilleithergoalongwiththeMogs,orhe’llgetremoved.’‘I’msorry,’Isay,holdingupmyhands.‘WhatthehellisMogPro?’‘MogadorianProgress,’Walkerexplains.‘It’swhatthey’recallingthe,quote,intersectionofourtwo
species,unquote.’‘Youknow,ifyoueverwantasecondcareer,Iknowawebsiteyoucouldwritefor,’ItellWalkerasI
startpagingthroughthedocumentsinherfile.TherearespecificationsforMogadorianblasters,transcriptsofconversationsbetweenpoliticians,picturesofimportant-lookinggovernmentguysshakinghandswithMogsinofficeruniforms.It’sthekindofdocumentdumpasitelikeTheyWalkAmongUswouldkillfor.Actually,alotofthisstuffwasalreadyonMark’swebsite.CouldWalkerhavebeentheonefeeding
himinformation?
‘Soyourbosssoldouthumanityforsomeupgradedweapons?’Sixasks,leaningoverthebackofthecouchtoglareatWalker.‘Thatsumsitup.Weweren’ttheonlycountrytosignupeither,’Walkercontinues,hertonebitter.‘And
theyknewhowtokeepusonthehook,too.Aftertheweapons,theystartedpromisingmedicaladvances.Geneticaugmentation,theycalledit.Claimedtheycouldcureeverythingfromtheflutocancer.Theywerebasicallypromisingimmortality.’Ilookupfromthefile,stoppingatapictureofasoldierwitharolled-upsleeve,theveinsonhis
forearmblackenedasifhisbloodhadturnedtosoot.‘How’sthatworkingout?’Iask,tappingthephoto.Walkercraneshernecktolookatthepicture,thenlockseyeswithme.‘Whatyou’relookingatisone
week’swithdrawalfromMogadoriangeneticinjections.That’showit’sworkingout.’IshowthephototoSixandsheshakesherheadindisgust.‘Sobasicallythey’rekillingyouslowly,’Sixsays.‘OrturningyouintoMogs.’‘Wedidn’tknowwhatweweregettinginto,’Walkersays.‘SeeingPurdydisintegratelikethat,though
…itopenedsomeeyes.TheMogsaren’tsaviors.They’returningusintosomethinginhuman.’‘Andyetyouguysarestilldealingwiththem,aren’tyou?’Ireply.‘Iheardthere’speopletryingtogo
publiconsomecapturedMogadorians,butsomeone’ssquashingthestory.’Walkernods.‘TheMogsclaimtheirgeneticaugmentationswillonlygetbetterwithtime.Alotofthe
goodoldboysinWashingtonwanttostickitoutandstaythecourse.They’veneverseenahumanbeingdisintegrate,Iguess.GuyslikeSandersonandsomeoftheotherhigh-rankingMogProcronies,they’vealreadystartedreceivingmoreadvancedtreatments.AlltheMogswantinexchangeisourcontinuedcooperation.’‘Cooperatehow?’Walkerraisesaneyebrowatme.‘Ifyouhaven’tfiguredthatoutyet,thenI’vedefinitelypickedthe
wrongsideandwearewellandtrulyscrewed.’‘Maybeifyou’dpickedtherightsideyearsagoinsteadofhelpingtohuntdownchildren–’Icatcha
lookfromSixandcheckmyanger.‘Whatever.Weknowthey’recoming.Nomorehidingintheshadowsorthesuburbs.They’recominginforce,right?’‘Right,’Walkerconfirms.‘Andtheyexpectustohandoverthekeystotheplanet.’Malcolmreturnsfromthekitchenwithtwocupsofcoffee.HehandsonetoSixandonetoWalker,the
agentlookingsurprisedbutgrateful.‘Excuseme,buthowwillthatwork?’Malcolmsays.‘Inafirst-contactsituation,there’scertaintobe
widespreadpanic.’‘Plus,theylooklikepasty-facedfreaks,’Sixadds.‘Peoplearegonnalosetheirshit.’‘Don’tbesosureaboutthat,’Walkerreplies,andgestureswithhermugtothefolderI’mstillholding.
Afterflippingthroughacouplemorepages,Icometoasetofphotographs.Twoguysinsuitsareeatinglunchinafancyrestaurant.ThefirstisaguyinhislatesixtieswiththinninggrayhairandafacelikeanowlIrecognizefromMark’swebsite;he’sBudSanderson,thesecretaryofdefense.Theother,ahandsomemiddle-agedguywholooksvaguelylikeamoviestar,I’veneverseenbefore.There’ssomethinghangingaroundhisneck,mostlyhiddenbyhissuitandthebadcameraangle.Itstirssomerecognitioninme,soIholdthepictureouttoWalker.
‘IknowSanderson,’Isay.‘Who’sthisotherguy?’Walkerraisesaneyebrowatme.‘What?Youdon’trecognizehim?I’mnotsurprised.Guyhasacouple
ofdifferentlooks,apparently.Me,Ididn’trecognizehimwhenhewasdestroyingyoukidsatDulceBase,bigasagoddamnhouse,withsomeflamingwhip.Actually,IguessthatwasaboutthetimeIdecidedMogProwasn’tforme.’MyeyeswidenandItakeanotherlookatthepicture.Theactualpendantsarehiddenbeneathhissuit
coat,butthemanclearlywearsthreechainsaroundhisneck.‘You’rekiddingme.’‘SetrákusRa,’Walkersays,shakingherhead.‘SealingthedealforMogadorian-humanpeace.’Sixcomesaroundthecouchtotakethepicturefromme.‘Damnshapeshifter,’shesays.‘He’sbeen
doingallthiswhilewe’vebeenontherun.Settingallthisupwhilewescrambledaround.’‘Hemightbeahead,butitisn’tover,’Malcolmsays.‘Well,that’ssomehearteningoptimism,’Walkersays,andsipshercoffee.‘Butitwillbeoverintwo
days.’‘Whathappensthen?’Iask.‘TheUNconvenes,’Walkerexplains.‘Conveniently,thepresidentwon’tbeabletomakeit,so
Sandersonwillappearinhisstead.He’llbetheretointroduceSetrákusRatotheworld.Anicebitofpoliticaltheaterabouthowthesweetlittlealiensmeanusnoharm.TherewillbeamotiontoallowtheMogadorianfleetsafepassageontoEarth,letthemdockhere,begoodneighborsintheintergalacticcommunity.Theworldleadershe’sboughtoffalreadywillsupportit.Believeme,they’vegotamajority.Andoncethey’rehere,onceweletthemin…’‘WesawoneofthosewarshipsinFlorida,’Sixsays,givingmeagrimlook.‘They’dbehardenoughto
takedownevenwithanarmythat’sreadyforbattle.’‘Buttherewon’tbeabattle.’Isay,finishingherthought.‘Earthwon’tevenputupafight.Andbythe
timetheydorealizethey’veletinamonster,it’llbetoolate.’‘Exactly,’Walkersays.‘NoteveryoneinthegovernmentisonboardwithSanderson.OftheFBI,CIA,
NSA,themilitary–aboutfifteenpercentareforMogPro.Lotsofpowerfulfriends,theymadesureofthat,butmostpeoplearestillentirelyinthedark.IfiguretheMogsestablishedthesameratioinothercountries.Theyknowhowmanyhumanstheyneedtocontroltogetthisdone.’‘Andyou’rewhat?Theonepercentthat’sfightingback?’Iask.‘Lessthanone,’Walkerreplies.‘It’salottogoupagainstifyoudon’thavesuperpowersand–what
wasthatoutthere?Anarmyofwolves?Anyway,mycrewhavebeenstakingoutAshwood,waitingforachancetostrikeor,Idon’tknow,dosomething.Whenwesawyoutaketheplaceover–’‘Allright,Walker,Igetit,’Isay,cuttingheroffandsettingasidethefile.‘Ibelieveyou,evenifIdon’t
reallytrustyou.Butwhatarewesupposedtodo?Howdowestopthis?’‘Gettothepresident?’Sixsuggests.‘Hehastobeabletodosomething.’‘That’soneidea,’Walkersays.‘Buthe’soneman,andseriouslywellguarded.Andevenifyoucould
gettohim,explaintohimaboutaliensandbringhimaroundtoyourside?There’sstillplentyofMogProprickswaitingtostageacoup.’IstareatWalker,knowingshealreadyhasaplanandisjuststringingusalong.‘Spititout.Whatdoyou
wantustodo?’
‘Weneedtowinoverthepeoplewho’restillinthedark.Todothat,weneedsomethingbig,’Walkersays,totallycavalier,likeshe’stalkingabouttakingoutthetrash.‘I’dlikeyoutocomewithmetoNewYork,assassinatethesecretaryofdefenseandexposeSetrákusRa.’
16
Iwatchfromtheobservationdeckasthewarshipapproaches,atfirstjustadarkspeckagainsttheblueEarthbutsteadilygrowinglargeruntilitblotsouttheplanetbelow.Thewarshipslowsonceit’srelativelyclosetotheAnubis–relativelybecausewecouldbemilesapartuphere,thevastnessofspacemakingdepthanddistancehardtofigure.I’mfarawayfromEarth.Farfrommyfriends.That’stheonlydistancethatmatters.Aportontheotherwarshipopensandasmalltransportshippopsintoview.It’swhite,perfectly
spherical,likeapearlfloatingthroughspace’sdarkocean.ThelittleshipbobsalonginmydirectionandIcanhearagrindingofgearsandawhooshofdecompressedair,theAnubis’sowndockingbay,rightbeneathmyfeet,preparingtoacceptthevisitor.‘Atlast,’SetrákusRasays,andsqueezesmyshoulder.Hesoundsexcitedaboutthisnewarrival,a
widesmileonhisstolen,humanface.Westandsidebysideontheobservationdeckrightabovethedockingbay,rowsofscoutshipsandasmallercollectionoftheorb-shapedtransportsanchoredbelowus.We’reawaitingmy‘betrothed.’Eventhinkingthewordmakesmewanttovomit.SetrákusRa’shand
restingallfatherlyonmyshouldermakesitalltheworse.Ikeepmyfacecompletelyneutral.I’mgettingbetterathidingmyemotions.I’mdeterminednottogive
anythingmoreawaytothismonster.IpretendlikeI’mexcited,too,maybejustalittlenervous.Lethimthinkthathe’swornmedownorthatI’vecheckedout.LethimthinkmylessonsinMogadorianProgressaretakingeffect,thatI’mbecomingtheghostlyversionofmyselfthatIwasinmyvisionofthefuture.Soonerorlater,Iknow,I’llbeabletoescape.OrI’lldietrying.Iturnawayfromthewindowandgazedownfromtheobservatory’sbalcony,watchingastheship
arrivesatourdockingbaydoors.Lightsflashbelow,warninganyMogsthatthey’llbesuckedintospaceiftheydon’tclearthearea.SetrákusRaalreadytookcareofthem,sendingtheMogtechniciansawaysothatwecouldgreetthisnewarrivalinprivate.TheheavydoorsopenandIcanfeelthepullofspaceeventhroughtheobservatory’sclosedairlock;thepressurechanges,likewatercominguncloggedfrommyear.Then,thetransportshipglidesaboard,thedoorssealbehinditandeverythingisquietagain.‘Come,’SetrákusRacommands,stridingoutfromtheobservatory,throughthenow-openairlockand
downthespiralstaircasethatleadstothedockingbay.Ifollowalongobedientlyathisheels,footstepsechoingonthemetaldeckaswepassbetweentherowsofscoutships.Cautiously,notwantingtolooktoointerested,IpeeraroundSetrákusRatocatchaglimpseoftheshipasitopensup.I’mexpectingoneoftheyoungerMogadoriantrueborn,somehigh-rankingup-and-comerhandselectedbySetrákusRa,liketheonesI’veseennervouslydeliveringstatusreportstotheir‘BelovedLeader.’TryasImighttokeepcool,Istillcan’thelpemittingalittlegaspwhenFivestepsoutoftheship.SetrákusRalooksbackatme.‘Youtwoarealreadyacquainted,yes?’
OneofFive’seyesishiddenbeneathagross-lookinggauzebandage,asmudgeofdarkbrownbloodinthecenter,theedgessweatstained.Helooksraggedandexhausted,andwhenhisgoodeyeflickstowardsme,histhickshouldersbecomeevenmoreslumped.HestopsrightinfrontofSetrákusRa,hisgazedowncast.‘Whatisshedoinghere?’Fiveasksquietly.‘Wearealltogethernow,’SetrákusRaanswers,andgraspsFivebytheshoulders.‘Theliberatedand
theenlightened,poisedonthebrinkofabsoluteMogadorianProgress.Innosmallpartthankstoyou,myboy.’‘Okay,’Fivegrunts.IrememberFivebeinginmyvision–hewastheretoescortSixandSamtowardstheirexecution.Six
spatrightinhisface–butIguessI’dglossedoverthatpart,moreconcernedwithmydisturbingconnectiontoSetrákusRa.Nowhereheis,receivingapatonthebackfromtheMogadorianleader,thefuturealreadytakingshape.AndapparentlyI’vebeenpromisedtohimforwhatevercreepyritualpassesforaMogadorianmarriage.Rightnow,though,that’snotmymostpressingconcern.BecauseifFiveishere,lookinglikehejustgotoutofafight…‘What–whatdidyoudo?’Iask,myvoicesqueakierthanI’dlike.‘Whathappenedtotheothers?’Fivelooksatmeagainandhislipsscrewup.Hedoesn’treply.‘Yougavethemachance,didyounot?’SetrákusRaasksFive,butIcantellhe’sspeakingformy
benefit.‘Youtriedtoshowthemthelight.’‘Theywouldn’tlisten,’Fiverepliesquietly.‘Theygavemenochoice.’‘Andlookhowtheyrepaidyouforyourattemptatmercy,’SetrákusRasays,brushinghisfingers
againstthebandageonFive’sface.‘Wewillhavethatrepairedimmediately.’ItakeasurprisedstepbackwardswhenFiveslapsawaySetrákusRa’shand.It’sastingingblow,the
impactechoingofftheshipsaroundus.Ican’tseehisface,butIcanseethemusclesinSetrákusRa’sbacktighten,hisalreadyrigidposturestiffeningthatmuchmore.Igetthesenseofanimmensebulkhidinginsidethathumanform,justwaitingtoexplodeoutward.‘Leaveit,’Fivesays,voiceshakyandquiet.‘Iwanttokeepitthisway.’WhateverrebukeSetrákusRamighthavebeenreadywithdoesn’tcome.Heseemsalmosttakenaback
byFive’sfervortoremainhalfblind.‘You’retired,’SetrákusRasays,finally.‘Wewilldiscussitfurtheronceyou’verested.’FivenodsandtakesacautioussteparoundSetrákusRa,asifhe’suncertainwhethertheMogadorian
overlordwillactuallylethimpass.WhenSetrákusRadoesn’ttrytostophim,Fivegruntsandsloucheshiswaytowardstheexit.HemakesitabouthalfwaytherebeforeSetrákusRacallsafterhim.‘Whereisthebody?’heasks,stoppingFiveinhistracks.‘Whereisthependant?’Fiveclearshisthroat,andInoticehishandsstarttoshake,atleastbeforehemakesaconsciouseffort
tosteadyhimself.HeturnsbackaroundtofaceSetrákusRa,whoislookingtowardstheopenship,obviouslyexpectingsomethingtobewaitingforhim.‘Whatbody?’Iask,feelingatightnessinmychest.Whentheyignoreme,Iraisemyvoicehigher.‘What
body?Whosependant?’‘Gone,’Fivesayssimply,answeringSetrákusRa.
‘Iaskedyouaquestion,Five!’Ishout.‘Whatbo–’Withoutlookingatme,SetrákusRawavesahandinmydirection.Myteethclicktogetherashe
telekineticallyshutsmymouth.It’slikebeingslapped,andmycheeksgrowhotwithanger.Someoneisdead,Iknowit.Oneofmyfriendsisdead,andthesetwobastardsareignoringme.‘Elaborate,’SetrákusRagrowlsatFive,andeveninhishandsomehumanform,Icantellhispatience
isbeginningtowane.Fivesighslikethiswholeexchangeisawasteofhistime.‘CommanderDeltochdecidedhewould
watchoverthebodypersonally,andIdidn’twanttoquestionhisorders.IfoundDeltoch’sremainsrightbeforeweleft.TheGardemusthavesnuckinandescapedwiththeirfriend.’‘Youweresupposedtobringhimtome,’SetrákusRahisses,hiseyesburningholesintoFive.‘Not
Deltoch.You.’‘Iknow,’Fivereplies.‘Hewouldn’tlistenwhenItoldhimthosewereyourorders.Atleasthediedfor
hisinsubordination.’IwatchadarkcloudpassoverSetrákusRa’sface,wheelsturningbehindhisstolenblueeyes,asifhe
knowsFiveisplayinghimsomehow,theragebuildingup.Ifeelhistelekineticgriponmyjawloosen.He’sdistracted,nowfocusedentirelyonFive.Beforehecansayordoanythingmore,Istepbetweenthetwoofthem,raisingmyvoicealittlehigher.Thistime,theyhavetopayattentiontome.‘Whatbody?Whoareyoutalkingabout?’Finally,Five’sgoodeyelandsonme.‘Eight.He’sdead.’‘No,’Isay,thewordpracticallyawhisperasItry,toolate,tostopmyselffromreacting.Mykneesfeel
weak,andFive’simpassivefacebecomesblurryasmyeyesfillwithtears.‘Yes,’SetrákusRachimesin,andalltheragehasbeendrainedfromhisvoice,replacedbysomething
morecoiledandsinister–histoneshowyandoverlycongenial.‘Fiveheresawtothat,didn’tyou,myboy?AllintheserviceofMogadorianProgress.’ItakeasteptowardsFive,myfistsclenched.‘You?Youkilledhim?’‘Itwas–’Foramoment,itlookslikeFivemightdenyit.ButthenheglancesquicklyatSetrákusRaand
simplynods.‘Yes.’Justlikethat,allmyefforttoshownoemotionaroundSetrákusRaslipsaway.Ifeelascreambuilding
upinsideme.IwanttoattackFive.Iwanttothrowmyselfathimandtearhimapart.IknowthatIwouldn’tstandachance–IsawthewayhehandledhimselfintheLectureHall,thewayhecanturnhisskintometaloranythingelsehetouches–butI’lldoasmuchdamageasIcan.I’llbreakmyhandsonhismetalskinifitmeansgettingjustonepunchin.SetrákusRaputshishandonmyshoulder,stoppingme.‘Ibelievenowwouldbeanexcellenttimeforthatlessonwediscussed,’hesaystomeinthatsame
phonytone.‘Alessoninwhat?’Ispit,glaringatFive.FivelooksalmostrelievedthatSetrákusRa’sattentionnowseemsfocusedonme.‘MayIbeexcused?’
heasks.‘Youmaynot,’SetrákusRareplies.Fromnexttooneoftheships,SetrákusRagrabsacartcoveredintools–wrenches,pliers,
screwdriversallmadeforservicingtheMogadorianships,butnotsodifferentfromtheonesonEarth–
andwheelsitovernexttous.Helooksdownatmeandsmiles.‘YourLegacy,Ella,iscalledDreynen.ItgivesyoutheabilitytotemporarilycanceltheLegacyof
anotherGarde,’SetrákusRalectures,hishandsclaspedbehindhisback.‘ItwasoneoftherarestonLorien.’Iwipemyforearmacrossmyeyesandtrytostandupalittlestraighter.I’mstillglaringatFive,butmy
wordsareforSetrákusRa.‘Whyareyoutellingmethisnow?Idon’tcare.’‘It’simportanttoknowone’shistory,’hereplies,undeterred.‘IfyoubelievetheElders,Legaciesarose
fromLorientosuittheneedsofLoricsociety.Iwonder,then,whatbenefitisderivedfromapoweronlyusefulagainstotherGarde?’Fiveremainsperfectlystill,refusingtomeetmyeyes.Distractedbymyanger,Iforgettomoderatemy
words,tokeepitcool.‘Idon’tknow,’Isnapsarcastically.‘MaybeLoriensawfreakslikeyoutwocomingandknewsomeone
wouldhavetostopyou.’‘Ah,’SetrákusRareplies,hisvoiceoverloadedwithprofessorialsmugness,likeI’vesteppedrightinto
histrap.‘Butifthatisthecase,whydidtheEldersnotselectyoutobeamongtheyoungGardesaved?And,ifLoriendoessomehowshapeLegaciestosuittheneedsoftheLoric,whywoulditbestowLegaciestothoseillsuitedtousethem?ThemereexistenceofDreynensuggestsafallibilityinLorienthattheElderswouldseektodeny.Itischaosthatneedstobetamed,notworshipped.’ItrytotakeasteptowardsFive,butSetrákusRauseshistelekinesistokeepmeinplace.Ichokeback
myangerandremindmyselfI’maprisonerhere.IhavetoplayalongwithSetrákusRa’sstupidgameuntilthetimeisright.Revengewillhavetowait.‘Ella,’SetrákusRasays.‘DoyouunderstandwhatI’mtellingyou?’IsighandturnawayfromFivetostaredullyatSetrákusRa.Obviously,healreadyhasthiswhole
philosophicallecturemappedout.It’sprobablyoneofthelongersectionsinhisbook.There’snopointintryingtoarguewithhim.‘Soeverything’srandomandweshouldexploititandblahblahblah,’Isay.‘Maybeyou’reright,
maybeyou’rewrong.We’llneverknowsinceyouwentanddestroyedtheplanet.’‘WhatdidIdestroy,exactly?Aplanet,perhaps.ButnotLorienitself.’SetrákusRatoyswithoneofthe
pendantsdanglingfromhisneck.‘Itismorecomplicatedthanyouknow,mydear.Soon,yourmindwillopenandyouwillunderstand.Untilthen–’Hereachesovertothecart,plucksupaMogadorianwrenchandtossesittome,‘wepractise.’Isnagthewrenchoutoftheairandholditinfrontofme.SetrákusRaturnshisattentiontoFive,still
standingtheresilently,waitingtobedismissed.‘Fly,’SetrákusRaorders.Fivelooksup,confused.‘What?’‘Fly,’SetrákusRarepeats,wavingtothehighceilingofthedockingbay.‘Ashighasyoucan.’Fivegruntsandslowlylevitatesuntilhe’saboutfortyfeetintheair,hisheadnearlybrushingtherafters
ofthedockingbay.‘Nowwhat?’heasks.Insteadofreplying,SetrákusRaturnstome.I’vealreadygotanideawhathewantsmetodo.Mypalm
issweatingagainstthecoldmetalofthewrench.Hekneelsdownbesidemeandlowershisvoice.‘IwantyoutodowhatyoudidattheDulceBase,’SetrákusRasays.
‘Itoldyou,Idon’tknowhowIdidthat,’Iprotest.‘Iknowyouareafraid.Afraidofme,ofyourdestiny,ofthisplaceyoufindyourself,’SetrákusRasays
patiently,andforaterrifyingmomenthisvoicesoundsalmostlikeCrayton.‘Butforyou,thatfearisaweapon.Closeyoureyesandletitflowthroughyou.YourDreynenwillfollow.Itisahungrything,thisLegacythatliveswithinyou,anditwillfeedonwhatyoufear.’Isqueezemyeyesshut.Partofmewantstoresistthislesson,myskincrawlingatthesoundofSetrákus
Ra’svoice.ButanotherpartofmewantstolearntousemyLegacy,nomatterthecost.Itdoesn’tseemsounnatural–there’sanenergyinsidemethatwantstogetout.MyDreynenwantstobeused.WhenIopenmyeyes,thewrenchglowswithredenergy.I’vedoneit.JustlikeatDulceBase.‘Verygood,Ella.YoucanusetheDreynenbytouchor,asyouhavejustaccomplished,chargeobjects
withitforlong-rangeattacks,’SetrákusRaexplains.HetakesaquickstepbackwhenIthrustthewrenchtowardshim.‘Easynow,mydear.’IstareatSetrákusRa,unblinking,holdingthewrenchlikeImightholdatorchifIwastryingtoscare
offawildanimal.IwonderifIcouldhithimwithit,drainhisLegaciesandthenbashhisheadin.WouldFivetrytostopme?WouldIevenbeabletopullitoff?I’mnotyetsureofthefullextentofSetrákusRa’sLegacies,orwhatothertrickshemighthaveuphissleeve,orwhatmighthappenwiththecharmthatnowbindsustogether.Butmaybeitwouldbeworthit.AslowsmilespreadsacrossSetrákusRa’sface,asifhecantellI’mmakingthesementalcalculations
andheappreciatesthem.‘Goon,’hesays,andhiseyesflicktowardstheceiling.‘Youknowwhattodonext.Hefailedme.And
hekilledyourfriend,didn’the?’IknowthatIshouldresist,thatIshouldn’tdoanythingSetrákusRawantsmetodo.Butthewrench,
chargedwithmyDreynen,feelsalmosteagerinmyhand,likeit’shungryandneedsrelease.AndthenIthinkofEight,deadsomewheredownonEarth,killedbythechubbyboycurrentlyinamidairsulkrightaboveme,whomygrandfatherapparentlyhasdesignsaboutmarryingmeoffto.IturnaroundandhurlthewrenchatFive.I’mnotsuremythrowhastheaccuracyorthedistance,soIgiveitaboostwithmytelekinesis.Five
mustseeitcoming,buthedoesn’ttrytomoveoutoftheway.That’swhatmakesmestarttoregretmydecision–hisresignationandwillingnesstoreceivethispunishment.ThewrenchhitsFiverightinthesternumbutwithoutmuchforce.Evenso,itstickstohischestlikeit’s
magnetized.Hesucksinasharpbreath,hisboredlookfailinghimasheclawsatthewrench.Thatonlylastsforasecond,though,untiltheglowbrieflyintensifiesandFiveplummetsoutoftheair.Five’slandingisugly;hislegscrumplebeneathhim,hishandsfailtobracetheimpactandhisshoulder
cracksagainstthefloor.Heendsuplyingonhisface,breathinghard.Hetriestopickhimselfup,buthisarmisn’tquiteworkingright,andheonlymanagestopushhimselfaninchoffthefloorbeforesaggingbackdown.Thewrenchfallsfromhischest,thedamagedone,hisLegaciescanceled.SetrákusRapatsmeapprovinglyontheback.That’swhenIreallystarttofeelsomeguilt,seeingFivelikethat,evenknowingwhathedidtoEight.Itoccurstomethatmaybehe’sjustasmuchaprisonerasIam.‘Getyourselftotheinfirmary,’SetrákusRaordersFive.‘Idonotcarewhatyoudoaboutyoureye,but
Ineedyouable-bodiedwhenwedescendtoEarth.’‘Yes,BelovedLeader,’Fivecroaks,straininghisnecktolookupatus.
‘Thatwaswelldone,’SetrákusRasaystomeasheshepherdsmetowardstheexit.‘Come.WewillreturntoyourstudiesoftheGreatBook.’EventhoughI’mstillfuriousaboutwhathedidtoEight,aswepassFive’spronebody,Ireachoutto
himtelepathically.IrefusetolosemysenseofrightandwrongwhileI’mstuckhere.I’msorry,Itellhim.Idon’tthinkhe’llanswer,consideringhowhecouldbarelyevenlookatmebefore.JustasI’maboutto
cutoffourtelepathiclink,hisresponsecomes.I’mfine,hereplies.Ideservedit.Youdeserveworsethanthat,Ireply,althoughIcan’tquitemanagethemaliceIwant.It’shardwhile
I’mmentallypicturingEight,laughing,jokingaroundwithmeandMarina.Iknow,Fiveresponds.Ididn’t–I’msorry,Ella.Ipickupsomethingelsefromhismind.That’sneverhappenedbefore–maybemyLegacyisgetting
stronger.Idon’tthinktoomuchaboutit,becausethroughmymind’seyeI’mseeingEight’sbody,leftbehindonpurposeinanemptyhangar.Itrytomakesenseoftheimage,butFive’sthoughtsareaconfusedjumble.Therearesomanyconflictingimpulsesinhisbrain,andI’mnotaskilledenoughtelepathtomakesenseofthemall.I’vealreadywalkedpasthim,butafterourtelepathicconversation,Ihazardaglanceovermyshoulder.
Fivehasmanagedtoprophimselfup.Heworksametalballbearingacrosshisknuckles,overandunder,waitingforhisLegaciestoreturn.Helooksrightatme.Wehavetogetoutofhere,hethinks.
17
AshwoodEstatesisquietjustbeforesunrise,alightfoggreetingthegrayday.Icouldhardlysleep,whichisn’texactlyanewdevelopment.Isitnexttotheliving-roomwindowinAdam’soldhouseandtakecell-phonephotographsofthedocumentsAgentWalkerturnedover,sendingthemontoSarah.We’regoingtoleakthemonlineviaTheyWalkAmongUs,becauseatleastthatwaywecanensuretheinformationgetsoutthere.Walkerhasalistofjournalistsandothermediapeoplewhoshebelievestobetrustworthy,butshe’sgotalistthesamelengthofreportersinthepocketofMogPro.There’snosurefirewaytogetthisinteloutthereexceptonourown.It’sgoingtobeanuphillbattle.Intheyearswe’vespentontherun,theMogadorianshavegottentoofarahead,becometooentrenchedinthemilitary,governmentandeventhemedia.Thesmartestthingtheyeverdidwaschaseusintohiding.AccordingtoWalker,it’sgoingtotakesomethingbigtoturnthetide.Shewantsustocuttheheadoff
MogPro,meaningtakeoutthesecretaryofdefense.I’mnotsurehowthat’ssupposedtogetusanysupportfromhumanity.Walkersayswecancarryouttheassassinationcovertly.Ihaven’tdecidedifwe’regoingalongwiththatpartoftheplan,butit’sokaytoletWalkerthinkwe’redownwithdoingherdirtywork.Fornow.MoreimportantthanSanderson,we’resupposedtoexposeSetrákusRa,usingwhateverhuman-Mog
photoophe’sgotplannedfortheUnitedNationsagainsthim.TheplanistomakeabigenoughscenethathumanitywillseetheMogsforwhattheyreallyareandrallyagainsttheinvasion.Apopulationthat’sbeendupedforadecadewillfinallybeoutofthedark.Oncethehumansseealiensfirsthand,we’rehopingpeoplewilltakeanichesitelikeTheyWalkAmongUsseriously.Ijusthopewefigureoutawaytopullallthisoff.Withoutdying.Darkthoughtsstillgnawatme.Evenifwemanagetoformaresistancebiggerandstrongerthanthe
ragtagbunchwe’veassembledatAshwoodEstates,there’snoguaranteewecanturnbacktheMogadorians.ForaslongasI’vebeenonEarth,ourwarwiththeMogadorianshasbeenfoughtintheshadows.Now,we’reabouttoinvolvemillionsofinnocentpeople.Itseemslikeallwe’restrugglingforistogivehumanityandusremainingLorictheopportunitytofightalongandbloodywar.IwonderifthisiswhattheEldershadplannedforus.WerewesupposedtohavealreadydefeatedtheMogswithhumanitynonethewiser?OrwastheirplanwhentheysentustoEarthjustasdesperateasoursisnow?NowonderIcan’tsleep.Throughthewindow,IwatchacoupleofFBIagentsshareacigaretteontheporchacrossthestreet.I
guessI’mnottheonlyonesufferingfromimpendinginvasioninsomnia.WeletWalker’speoplecampoutintheemptyhousesaroundAshwood.Theysecuredtheperimeter,guardspostedatthegateAdamandIwreckedearlierintheday,prettymuchmakingthisplacethehomebaseofthebrand-newHuman-LoricResistance.Istilldon’tentirelytrustAgentWalkerorherpeople,buttheloomingwarhasforcedmetotakeona
lotofstrangeallies.Sofar,they’vepannedout.Ifmyluckwithtrustingoldenemiesdoesn’thold,well,
we’reprettymuchalldoomedanyway.Desperatetimescallfordesperatemeasuresandallthat.ThefloorboardscreakbehindmeandIturnaroundtofindMalcolmstandinginthedoorwayleadingup
fromtheMogadoriantunnels.Hiseyesaredroopywithexhaustionandhe’sintheprocessofstiflingayawn.‘Morning,’Isay,closingupthefolderofWalker’sdocuments.‘Already?’Malcolmreplies,shakinghisheadindisbelief.‘Ilosttrackoftimedownthere.Samand
Adamwerehelpingmeearlier.IthoughtIjustforcedthemtotakeabreakalittlewhileago.’‘Thatwashoursago,’Ireply.‘DidyouspendyourentirenightgoingthroughthoseMogadorian
recordings?’Malcolmnodshisheadmutely,andIrealizethathe’smorethanjustovertired.He’sgotthepunch-drunk
lookofamanwho’sjustwitnessedsomethingshocking.‘Whatdidyoufind?’Iask.‘Me,’heanswersafteramoment’spause.‘Ifoundmyself.’‘Whatdoyoumean?’‘Ithinkyou’dbettergathertheothers’ishisonlyreplybeforehedisappearsbackintothetunnels.Marinaisasleepinoneoftheupstairsbedrooms,soIwakeherupfirst.Assheheadsdownstairs,she
pausesinfrontofthemasterbedroom;onceuponatimeitwasoccupiedbytheGeneralandAdam’smother,butnowit’sthetemporaryrestingplaceforEight.Marinalaysherhandgentlyonthedoorframeasshepasses.InoticedwhenIwokeherthatshe’stakentowearingEight’spendant.Iwishtherewasmoretimeformetogrievewithher.Adamisasleepintheremainingupstairsbedroom,hisswordproppedagainstthesideofthebed
withinarm’sreach.Ihesitateforonlyamomentbeforewakinghim,too.He’soneofusnow.HeprovedthatyesterdaywhenhesavedmylifefromtheGeneral.WhateverMalcolm’sdiscoveredonthoseMogadorianrecordings,Adam’sinsightcouldbeinvaluable.SamandtherestoftheGardesleptelsewhereinAshwoodEstates,soIdispatchsomeChimæraeto
trackthemdown.Nineshowsupafterafewminutes,hislonghairallunkemptandwild,lookingaboutasfatiguedasIfeel.‘Isleptontheroof,’heexplainswhenIshoothimaweirdlook.‘Uh,why?’‘Somebodyhadtokeepaneyeonthosegovernmentdorksyou’vegotcampingout.’Ishakemyheadandfollowhimdownthestepsintothetunnels.MalcolmandtheothersI’dgottenhold
ofarealreadyassembledintheMogadorianarchives,silentanduneasy,MarinasittingaboutasfarfromAdamaspossible.‘SamandSix?’MalcolmasksmewhenIenter.Ishrugmyshoulders.‘TheChimæraearelookingforthem.’‘Isawthemgointooneoftheabandonedhouses,’Ninesays,aslysmileonhisface.Igivehima
questioninglookandhewiggleshiseyebrowsatme.‘Endoftheworld,youknow,Johnny.’I’mnotsureexactlywhatNinemeansuntilSixandSamcomehustlingthroughthedoor.Sixisall
business,herhairpulledback,lookinglikeshe’scleanedupandgottensomegoodrestsinceherordealintheswamp.Sam,ontheotherhand,isflushed,hishairstickingupatoddangles,andhisshirtisbuttonedallwrong.Samcatchesmestudyinghimandturnsadarkershadeofred,givingmeasheepishsmile.I
shakemyheadindisbelief,fightingbackagrininspiteofthedourmood.NinewhistlesbetweenhisteethandasmileevenflitsbrieflyacrossMarina’sface.AllthisonlycausesSamtoblushmore,andforSixtoincreasethedefiantlookshe’sskeweringuswith.Malcolm,ofcourse,isoblivioustoallthis.He’sfocusedinsteadonthecomputer,queuinguponeof
theMogadorianvideos.‘Good.We’reallhere,’Malcolmsays,glancingupfromthekeyboard.Helooksaroundtheroom,
almostnervously.‘Ifeellikeafailure,havingtoshowyouthis.’Sam’spost-hookupblushturnsintoalookofconcern.‘Whatdoyoumean,Dad?’‘I–’Malcolmshakeshishead.‘Theytorethisinformationoutofmeandevennow,havingseenwhat
I’mabouttoshowyou,Idon’tactuallyrememberit.Iletyoualldown.’‘Malcolm,comeon,’Isay.‘We’veallmademistakes,’Marinasays,andInoticehergazedrifttowardsNine.‘Donethingswe
regret.’Malcolmnods.‘Regardless.Lateinthegameasitis,Istillhopethisvideowillshowanotherway
forward.’Sixtiltsherhead.‘Anotherwayinsteadofwhat?’‘Insteadoftotalwar,’Malcolmanswers.‘Watch.’Malcolmpressesabuttononthekeyboardandthevideoscreenonthewallcomestolife.Thefaceofa
gaunt,olderMogadorianappears.Hisnarrowheadfillsmostofthescreen,butinthebackgroundaroomsimilartothisoneisvisible.TheMogadorianbeginsspeakinginhisharshlanguage,histonesoundingformalandacademic,eventhoughIcan’tunderstandhim.‘AmIsupposedtobeabletounderstandthiscreep?’Nineasks.‘He’sDrLockramAnu,’Adamsays,translating.‘Hecreatedthememorymachinethat…well,you
know.Youchuckedapieceofitatahelicopterlastnight,actually.’‘Oh,that,’Ninesays,grinning.‘Thatwasfun.’Adamcontinues.‘Thisisold,tapedduringthemachine’sfirsttrials.He’sintroducingatestsubject,
onehesayswasmentallytougherthantheothershe’sworkedon.He’llbedemonstratinghowhismachinecanbeutilizedforinterrogation…’AdamtrailsoffasDrAnustepsaside,revealingayoungerMalcolmGoodestrappedintoaninsanely
complicatedmetalchair.Malcolmisthinandpale,themusclesinhisneckstandingout,largelythankstotheawkwardanglehisheadisforcedtoreclineat.Hiswristsarebuckledtothetitaniumarmsofthechair;anIVcordrunsintothebackofhishand,nutrientsarrivingviaanearbybag.Anassortmentofelectrodesarestucktohisfaceandchest,theircordsattachedtothecircuitboardsofDrAnu’smachine.Hiseyesstaredirectlyintothecamera,butthey’reunfocusedandunblinking.‘Dad,ohmyGod,’Samsaysquietly.It’sdifficulttolookattheMalcolmon-screen,anditgetsevenworsewhenAnustartsaskinghim
questions.‘Goodmorning,Malcolm,’Anusays,nowinEnglish,histonethekindusuallyreservedforchildren.
‘Areyoureadytoresumeourconversation?’‘Yes,Doctor,’theMalcolmon-screenanswers,hismouthsaggingthroughthewords,aglimmerof
droolappearingatthecornerofhismouth.
‘Verygood,’Anureplies,andglancesdownataclipboardonhislap.‘IwantyoutothinkaboutyourencounterwithPittacusLore.IwanttoknowwhathewasdoingonEarth.’‘Hewaspreparingforwhatistocome,’Malcolmreplies,hisvoicedistantandrobotic.‘Bespecific,Malcolm,’Anuinsists.‘HewaspreparingfortheMogadorianinvasionandtherebirthofLorien.’Onthescreen,Malcolm
lookssuddenlyalarmed.Hejerkshisarmsagainsthisbonds.‘They’realreadyhere.Huntingus.’‘Indeed,butyou’resafenow,’Anusays,andwaitsforMalcolmtocalmdown.‘Howlonghavethe
LoricbeenvisitingEarth?’‘Centuries.Pittacushopedthathumanitywouldbereadywhenthetimecame.’‘Whenthetimecameforwhat?’‘Tofight.TorestartLorien.’Anudrumstheclipboardwithhispen,growingannoyedbyMalcolm’shypnotizedvagueness.‘How
willtheyrestartLorienfromhere,Malcolm?Theplanetislight-yearsaway.Areyoulyingtome?’‘Notlying,’Malcolmmumbles.‘Lorienisnotsimplyaplanet.Itismorethanthat.Itcanexistinany
placewherethepeopleareworthy.PittacusandtheEldershavealreadymadethepreparations.Loraliterunsbeneathourfeetevennow,circulatingthroughtheEarth.Likebloodcoursingthroughveins,itonlyneedsaheartbeattogiveitpurpose.Allitneedsistobeawoken.’Anuleansforward,suddenlyveryinterested.Ifindmyselfdoingthesamething,bendingtowardsthe
screen,myheadtilted.‘Howwilltheyaccomplishthis?’Anuasks,clearlytryingtokeeptheexcitementoutofhisvoice.‘EachoftheGardepossesseswhatPittacuscalledPhoenixStones,’Malcolmreplies.‘WhentheGarde
comeofage,theStonescanbeusedtore-createthefeaturesofLorien–theplantlife,Loralite,theChimærae.’‘ButwhatoftheLegacies?WhatofLorien’struegifts?’‘Those,too,willcomeonceLorienisawoken,’Malcolmanswers.‘ThePhoenixStones,thependants,
everythinghasapurpose.WhentheyarecommittedtotheEarthintheElders’Sanctuary,Lorienwillliveonceagain.’Anuglancesbackatthecamera,hiseyeswide.Hecomposeshimselfandpresseson.‘WhereisthisSanctuary,Malcolm?’‘Calakmul.OnlytheGardemayenter.’Here,Malcolmpausestherecording.Helooksaroundtheroom;hislipsaresqueezedintoasomber
line,butthere’sahopefulglimmerinhiseyes.Everyone’sstunnedfacespeerbackathim,noneofusquitedonedigestingwhatwe’vejustseen.Nineraiseshishand,frowning.‘Idon’tgetit.WhatthehellisCalakmul?’‘It’sanancientMayancitylocatedinsoutheastMexico,’Malcolmreplies,arippleofexcitement
stirringhisvoice.‘Whydidn’tweknowanyofthis?’Sixasks,stillstaringatthepausedscreen.‘Whydidn’ttheElders
tellus?OrourCêpans?Ifthisisallsoimportant,whykeepusinthedark?’Malcolmpinchesthebridgeofhisnose.‘Idon’thaveagoodanswerforthat,Six.TheMogadorian
invasioncaughttheEldersoffguard.YouwererushedtoEarth,yourCêpanscompletelyunpreparedaswell.Yoursurvivalwastoppriority.Icanonlyassumeallthis–thePhoenixStones,yourpendants,the
Sanctuary–wasmeanttoberevealedwhenyoucameofage,onceyouhadLegaciesandwerereadytofight.Totellyoubeforethatwould’vemadeyoursecretstoovulnerable.Although’–Malcolmlooksforlornlyathisimageonthescreen–‘wecanseehowpoorlysecrecyservedus.’‘Maybethat’swhyHenricametoParadiselookingforyou,Dad,’Samsuggests,glancingbetweenhis
fatherandme.‘Maybeitwastime.’Mymindisracing.Withoutevenrealizingit,I’vestartedtopacebackandforth.Ittakesalookfrom
Sixtogetmetostop.‘Ialwaysthoughtwe’dwinthiswarandreturntoLorien,’Isayslowly,tryingtocatchholdofmy
thoughts.‘Ithoughtthat’swhatHenrimeantaboutrestartingit.’‘Maybehemeanthere,’Sixsuggests.‘Maybewe’resupposedtorestartLorienhere.’‘Whatwouldthatevenmean?’Samasks.‘WhatwouldhappentoEarth?’‘Can’tbeworsethanwhat’llhappenwhentheMogsgethere,’Ninereplies.‘Imean,Iremember
Lorienbeingprettysweet.We’dbedoingEarthafavor.’‘Onthetapeyoumadeitsoundlikeanentityofsomekind,’Marinasays,lookingatMalcolm.‘I–’Malcolmshakeshishead.‘IwishIcouldremembermore,Marina.Idon’thavetheanswers.’‘Itcouldbelikeagod,’Marinasays,ahushedreverenceinhervoice.‘ItcouldbelikeaweaponthatcomesbustingoutoftheEarthtokillalltheMogs,’Ninesuggests.Adamclearshisthroatuncomfortably.‘Whateveritis,MalcolmsaidweneedthePhoenixStonestowakeit,’Isay,tryingnottoletthegroup
getsidetracked.‘Andthependants,’Sixsays,thentiltsherheadassomethingoccurstoher.‘Maybethat’swhySetrákus
Rakeepsthem.Theycouldbemorethantrophiestohim.’‘WewentthroughourChestsbackinChicago,’Ninegroans,probablyrememberinghowboredhewas
catalogingourInheritance.‘I’vegotmorerocksandshitthanIknowwhattodowith.’‘Weshouldbringitall,’Marinasays,certaintyinhervoice.‘OurInheritances.Ourpendants.Bringit
totheSanctuaryandcommitittotheEarth,likeMalcolmsaid.’Malcolmnods.‘Iknowit’svague,butit’ssomething.’‘Itcouldbetheadvantagewe’relookingfor,’Isay,thinkingitover.‘Hell,itcouldbewhatwewere
sentheretodointhefirstplace.’Ninecrosseshisarms,lookingskeptical.‘YesterdayIwasstaringatthebiggestgoddamnMogadorian
shipI’veeverseen.Buryingourstuffinsomedusty-asstemplemight’vebeenacoolidealikemonthsago,butwe’rethisclosetofull-onwarandI’mprettysurewe’vegotsomebadguystokill.’BeforeIcanreply,Malcolmstepsforward.‘TheSanctuarymightbeourbesthope,’hesays.‘Butit’s
bestnottoputalloureggsinonebasket.’‘Nine’ssortofright.AsmuchasIhatetheideaofsplittingupagain,’Sixsays,‘someofusshouldstick
withWalker’splantotakethefighttotheMogsandtheirpeople.’Ninepumpsafist.‘Thisguy.’‘AndsomeofusshouldheadtoMexico,’Isay,finishingSix’sthought.‘Iwanttogo,’Marinasaysimmediately.‘IwanttoseethisSanctuary.Ifit’saplaceforLoric,aplace
wherewelived,maybethat’swhereweshouldburyEight’sbody.’InodandlookoveratSix,waitingforherdecision.‘Well?NewYorkorMexico?’
‘Mexico,’shesays,afteramoment.‘You’rebetteratdealingwiththesegovernmenttypesthanIam.AndifweneedaLoricrepresentativeattheUN,you’retheobviouschoice.’‘Thanks.Ithink.’‘She’ssayingthatbecauseyou’resuchaboyscout,’Nineaddsinaloudwhisper.IglanceoveratSam,whoseemslikehe’sabouttospeak,hismouthhalfopen.He’scutoffbySix,who
subtlyshakesherheadathim.‘I’llstayhere,too,Iguess,’Samsaysafteranawkwardmoment,soundingmorethanalittledeflated.
Heforcesasmileforme.‘SomeonehastokeepyouandNineinline.’ThatleavesonlyAdam.OurMogadorianallyhasmaintainedarespectfulsilencethiswholetime,
probablytryingnottosteponanytoesasthesecretsofourracearerevealed.WhenIturntohim,he’sstillgazingatthescreen.Helookslostinmemory,mayberememberingDrAnuandhismachine.Hefrownswhenhenoticestherestofuswatchinghim.‘They’llbewaitingforyouinMexico,’Adamsays.‘Ifthere’sasourceofLoricpowerthere,youknow
mypeoplewillhavespentthelastfewyearstryingtoaccessit.’‘OnlytheGardecangetin,though,right?’Samasks,lookingfromAdamtohisdad.‘It’swhatIsaid,’Malcolmreplies,lipspursedinuncertainty.‘JustlikeonlywecanhaveLegacies?’Ninereplies,eyeballingAdam.‘You’resayingthiscouldbe
anothertrap,Mog?’‘It’snotatrapwhenyouknowit’sthere,’Adamsays,sparingaquickglanceforNinebeforeturninghis
eyestowardsSix.‘Idon’tknowexactlywhatyou’llfinddownthere,butIcanguaranteeaMogadorianpresence.IcanpilottheSkimmerbetterthanyou,maybeoutmanoeuvrethemifthey’vegotshipsintheair.’‘Well,Isureashellwasn’tgoingtowalktoMexico,’Sixreplies,dryly.Shelooksatme.‘Youtrustthis
guy,right?’‘Ido.’Sheshrugs.‘ThenwelcometoTeamCalakmul,Adam.’IhearMarinasuckherteeth,butshedoesn’tmakeanyotherprotest.‘Great.We’resendingaMogadoriantoinvestigateaLoricholyplace,’Ninecomplains,shakinghis
head.‘Doesn’tanyoneelsethinkthat’ssortadisrespectful?’‘Didn’tyoujustrefertoitasdusty-ass?’Samasks.‘Statementoffact,’Ninesays.‘Justlikethiswholegood-Mogthingisstillhellaweird.Nooffense.’IsilencethebanterwhenIreachundermyshirtandpullmyLoricpendantovermyhead.Ifeelanodd
coldnessagainstmyheartwhenit’sgone.Ican’trememberthelasttimethatIwaswithoutit.Withtheroomsuddenlygonequietagain,IholdoutthependanttoSix.‘Takeit,’Isay.‘MakesureitgetstotheSanctuary.’‘Nopressure,’Sixsays,smirking,assheacceptsthependant.‘Now,’Isay,lookingaround.‘Let’swinthiswarandchangetheworld.’
18
Wesaygood-byelaterthatmorning,allofusgatheredaroundtheSkimmerontheAshwoodEstatesbasketballcourt.ItfeelsstrangetobewearingaLoricpendantaroundmyneckagain.AndIdon’tmeanliteralphysical
weight–thependantsthemselvesaren’theavyatall.TheyjustcontainalltheLegaciesofLorien,apparently.Allthepowerofournearlyextinctpeople,imbuedintoafewglisteningLoralitestones.Yeah.Nobigdeal.‘Isthateverything?’Marinaasks.She’sonherkneesinfrontofheropenChest,gentlyrearrangingits
contents.We’vegotEight’sChestaswell.Itscontentsareforeverlockedup,possiblydestroyed,butwefigureditcouldn’thurttobringittotheSanctuarywiththerest.Idon’thaveaChestofmyown,soMarinahastoputallofourcollectedInheritanceintohers.After
ourmeetingearlier,JohnandNinewentthroughtheirChestsandgatheredtogetheranythingthatwasn’taweapon,ahealingstone,orotherwisecombatrelated.BesidesthehandfulofLoricgemstonesyettobetradedforpenthousesorcomputerequipment,Johnhandedoverabundleofdriedleavestiedwithayellowedpieceoftwinethatmakethesoundofthewindwhenmyfingersbrushagainstthem,andNinegivesupapouchofsoft,coffee-darksoil.MarinacarefullyputtheseitemsintoherChest,alongsideavialofcrystalclearwater,astraypieceofLoraliteandatreebranchwiththebarkparedaway.‘So,becausewedon’tknowwhatexactlythesePhoenixStonesare,we’lljustdumpanythingthat’s
close,right?’Isay,thenhastilycorrectmyself.‘Imean,notdump.CommittotheEarth.WhatbrainwashedMalcolmsaid.’Johnlaughsalittle.‘Ifwecomeupwithabetterplan,I’llletyouknow.’‘Dad’sstilldowntherewatchingmoretapes,’Samoffers.‘Maybehe’llfindsomethingelse.’‘Rightnow,wingingitseemsliketheonlyoption.Onprettymucheveryfront,’Johnsays.‘There’s
somethingelseIwantyoutotaketotheSanctuary,Six.’JohncrouchesdowntoreachintohisChest.Iwaswonderingwhyhe’dbroughtitwithhimtothe
basketballcourtafterwealreadywentthroughitinside.IunderstandwhenheholdsoutasmallcanthatIimmediatelyrecognize.Henri’sashes.‘John…,’Isay,notacceptingthecanrightaway.‘Takehim,’Johnreplies,gently.‘HebelongsattheSanctuary.’‘Butdon’tyouwanttobethere?Tosaygood-bye?’‘OfcourseIdo.Butwitheverythingthat’shappening,Idon’tknowifI’llhaveachance.’WhenIstart
toprotestagain,Johncutsmeoff.‘It’sokay,Six.I’llfeelbetterknowinghe’swithyou,headedtotheSanctuary.’‘Ifit’swhatyouwant,’Isay,acceptingtheashes.‘I’lltakecareofhim.Ipromise.’
IcarefullyplacethecanofHenri’sashesinMarina’sChestwiththerestofourstuff.Weallfallsilent,themoodturningsomber.It’shardtohavethiskindofmomentwhenyou’rebeingwatched,though.Thegovernmentagentskeeptheirdistance,althoughIcanseesomeofthem,includingWalkerherself,watchingusfromanearbyporch.‘Yougoingtobeallrightwiththem?’IaskJohn.Helooksaround,notingallthepryingeyes.‘They’reonoursidenow,remember?’‘Ihavetokeepremindingmyself,’Ireply,mygazeinvoluntarilyturningtowardstheSkimmer.‘Seems
likeI’mdoingthatalot.’AdamisalreadyonboardtheSkimmer,alongwithDust,theChimærathat’sbondedwithhim.I’m
takingJohnathiswordthatwecantrustthewiryMogadoriancurrentlyrunningdiagnosticsinthecockpit.I’mnotsureMarinafeelsthesame;shehasn’tsaidanythingoutright,butIcanfeelcoldradiatingfromherwheneverAdam’snear.Aftereverythingthat’shappened,Ican’tblameherforbeingsuspicious.I’veresignedmyselftoaverychillyflighttoMexico.‘Checkinoften,’Johnremindsme,tappingthephonethathe’sclippedtothehipofhisjeanslikeatotal
dork.BothMarinaandIarenowinpossessionofsatellitephones,toobulkytowearasfashionaccessories,sothey’restoredwiththerestofoursupplies.ThegeararrivedcourtesyoftheU.S.Government,oratleasttherebel-factionthatWalkerhastieswith.BothAdamandMalcolmlookedoverthephonesandassuredustheyaren’tbugged.‘Yeah,yeah,’Ireply.‘You,too,John.Stayintouch.Stayalive.’‘Andtakecareofallourstuff,’Ninegrumbles.He’sstandingafewpacesoff,watchingMarinamess
withherChest,hiseyebrowsfurrowed.‘Iwantsomeofthosegemsback,ifpossible.Youknow,forafter.Needtobuyanewplacetolivethankstomyshittyhouse-sitteroverhere.’IshootNinealook.‘Areyouseriousrightnow?’Heshrugs.‘What?Gottaplanforthefuture!’MarinalooksupfromherChestand,withasigh,tossesNineapairofdarkgloves.‘Here.Inever
figuredoutwhattodowiththese.’‘Sweet,’Ninesays,andpullsthemonimmediately.Heflexeshisfingersinsidetheleatherlikematerial,
thenviolentlythrustshispalmsouttowardsJohn.‘Didyoufeelanything,dude?’JohnignoresNine,lookingatMarina.‘Canwebesurethosearen’timportant?Whatifthey’rea
PhoenixStone?’‘They’regloves,Johnny,’Ninesays,nottakingthemoff.‘Youeverheardofanancientritualthat
involvesburyingapairofstylish-assgloves?Comeon.’Johnshakeshishead,givingup.HiseyeslingeronHenri’sashesuntilMarinaclosesherChest,and
thenhisgazedriftstowardstheSkimmer.‘IwishIcouldcomewithyou.I’dliketobetherefor…forbothofthem.’Eight’sbodyisalreadyonboardtheSkimmer,strappedsecurelytooneoftheseats.‘After,’Marinasays,andshereachesouttosqueezeJohn’shand.She’sstillwalkingaroundwithalot
ofsadness–weallare–butI’mslowlyseeingsignsthattheold,gentleMarinaismeltingallthatice.‘Eightwouldunderstand.Oncewe’vewon,therewillbetimeforustopayourrespectsproperly.Allofus,together.’
Ninestopsscrewingwithhisnewglovesandgetsseriousforamoment,lookingatMarina.‘I’dlikethat,’hesays.‘Ready?’IaskMarina.ShenodsanduseshertelekinesistofloatherChestintotheSkimmer’sentrance.‘Besafe,allofyou.’Onebyone,Marinahugstheboys,andIdothesame.Samislastforme,andwhenhewrapsmeupina
bighug,IgetthesamefeelingthatIdidbeforewhenwewereallassembledintheMogadoriantunnels,thateveryoneiswatchingusandtitteringabouthowpreciousweare.Ibristlealittlebit,butbeforeIknowitthehughaslastedwaylongerthantheothers’,andourfriendshavedriftedafewstepsawayasiftoletushaveadiscreetmoment.‘Six–,’Samsaysquietlyagainstmyear,andIpullbackenoughtolookathim,cuttinghimoff.‘Don’tmakethisweird,Sam,’Iwhisper,andtuckaloosestrandofhairbehindmyear,glancing
surreptitiouslytowardstheothers.So,wespentlastnighttogether.Maybethatwasn’tthewisestmoveonmypart.IloveSam,inmyway,
andIdon’twanttostringhimalongorhurthisfeelings.I’mjuststillnotsoldonhavinganykindofrelationshipuntilthisisallover,especiallywithhowstupidandcomplicatedthingsgotwithJohnafterjustsomeflirting.But,aftereverythingthathappenedinFlorida,Ineededsomethinggoodforachange–somethingwarmandsafeandapproachingnormal–andthatwasSam.IthoughtheunderstoodthatIdidn’twanttogetintosomedopeyJohn/Sarah-style,star-crossed-loversthingwithhim.Buthereweare,havingamoment,andbluntasI’mtryingtobe,I’mnotexactlypullingawayeither.‘I’mnotmakingitanything,’Samsays,screwinguphisfaceatme.‘Ijust–Idon’tgetwhyyoudidn’t
wantmecomingwithyou.’‘You’lldomoregoodhere,withyourdad,’Itellhim.‘Andyou’llneedtokeepJohnandNineinline.’‘ThelasttimeIwentonamissionwithJohn,heleftmeinsideamountain,’Samsays,notbuyingit.
‘Comeon,Six.Whatisitreally?’Isigh,simultaneouslywantingtostranglehimandkisshim.Forasecond,I’mnotsurewhichinstinct
willwinout.IwantsomethingmorewithSam,Ithink.Eventually.Ijustdon’twanttothinkaboutitrightnow.Lastnightwasonething,butnowI’mbacktofightingawar.‘Idon’twantthedistraction,Sam.Allright?’‘Oh,’hesays,lookinglikeI’vejustmurderedhispride.‘Youmean,likeyou’dhavetokeepsavingme
fromMogsorstopmefromsteppingonsomeancientMayanspiketraporwhatever.BecauseIthoughtwewerepastthat.Icanhandlemyself,Six.AndIonlyaccidentallyshotyouthatonetimeinpracticeand–’Ikisshim.Mostlyjusttoshuthimupandillustratemypoint,butalsobecauseIjustcan’thelpmyself.I
hearNinemakeanoohingnoiseofftothesideandmakeamentalnotetodestroyhimthenextchanceIget.‘That’sthedistractionI’mtalkingabout,’Isayquietly,myfacestillclosetohis.Samisblushingagain,andhismouthisstillworkinglikehewantstosaysomethingmore.He’s
probablytryingtocomeupwithsomesmoothwaytosaygood-bye,butI’msickofthesedrawn-outmoments,soItakeonelastlookathissweet,dumbstruckfaceandturnaway.Afewsecondslater,I’mstrappedintotheSkimmer’sseatnexttoAdam,ignoringtheraisedeyebrowandsmirkMarina’sfixingmewith.‘Shallwe?’Adamasks.
WenodandAdamthrowssomeswitches,handlingtheSkimmer’scontrolswithmuchmoreconfidencethanIdid.Asweslowlyriseup,IlookoutthewindowtoseeSamandtheothersbelow,wavinggood-byetous.Iwonderifmylifewilleverbewithoutthesemoments–thepainfulgood-byesbeforeweallgoofftoriskourlives.Johnalwaystalksabouthowmuchhecan’twaitforsomeboringnormallife,butwouldIbehappylikethat?Wegainaltitude,treeszippingbybeneathus,andIthinkaboutSam.Ifitwasn’tforthiswar,theconstantchaos,we’dhaveneverevengottentogether.WhatwoulditbelikeforuswithouttheloomingthreatofMogadoriandestruction?I’dliketofindout.
19
NineleansacrossmesothathecangetagoodlookatSam,sayingtohiminastagewhisper,‘Allright,dude.What’sthedealwithyouandSix?’Sampointedlylooksoutthewindowofthevan.‘What?Nothing.’‘Psshh,’Ninesnorts.‘Comeon,man.It’slikeafour-hourdrivetoNewYork.Yougottagiveupsome
details.’Infrontofus,inthepassengerseat,AgentWalkerclearsherthroat.‘FascinatingasIfindthesexlivesofteenageboys,maybewecouldusethistimetogooverour
operationalparameters,’shesaysdryly.‘Agreed,’Isay,shovingNinebackinhisseatsohecan’tleeratSamanymore.‘Weneedtofocusonthe
mission.’Ninefrownsatme.‘Allright,John.I’mgonnafocusmyassofffortherestofthiscarride.’‘Good.’SamflashesmeagratefulsmileandInod.Partofmereallydoesthinkweshouldbethinkingaboutthe
impossibleoddswe’refacing,butanotherpartofmejustdoesn’twanttohearanydetailsaboutSamandSix.I’mhappyforthem,Iguess.Gladtheycouldfindsomecomforttogether.ButIcan’tgetoverthefeelingthatSamisgoingtoendupwithhisheartbroken.Iremembermyvisionofthefuture,thewaySamscreamedrightbeforetheMogadoriansexecutedSix.Maybethat’swhyIgetthesinkingfeelingthisisgoingtoendbadly.OrmaybeI’mjustjealous.NotbecauseSamhookedupwithSix,butmorebecausetheloveofmylife
ismilesaway.Ofcourse,there’snowayI’mexpressinganyofthatinfrontofNine,orWalkerandthesilentFBI-guydrivingthecar.Yeah,let’sfocusonthemission.We’redrivingupI-95,fromWashingtontoNewYork.MalcolmstayedbehindatAshwoodEstatesto
finishgoingthroughtheMogadorianarchives,hopingtoturnupsomethingelsethatmightbeuseful.ThevastmajorityofWalker’srenegadeagentsstayedback,too.They’reholdingdownthefort,usingitasabaseofoperationstocoordinatetheireffortstoundermineMogPro.Istilldon’tentirelytrustWalker’speople,andIprobablywon’teverreachthatlevelaftereverythingthegovernmentputusthrough,soIleftbehindourfiveremainingChimæraewithorderstoprotectMalcolmatallcosts.BesidesWalkerandourdriver,there’sanotherSUVfilledwithagentsfollowingalongbehindus.That
makesagrandtotalofsixagents,plusme,NineandSam.Notmuchofanarmy.Butthen,thewarhasn’tstartedyet.Maybe,ifeverythinggoesaccordingtomyplan,itwon’tstartatall.‘SecretaryofDefenseSandersonisstayingatahotelinmidtownManhattan,closetotheUN,’Walker
says.Sheglancesdownatherphone,whichshe’sbeentypingawayonallmorning.‘Ihadamoleonhissecurityteam,but…’‘Butwhat?’
‘Theywerepulledthismorning,’Walkerreplies.‘Allhisbodyguards,replacedbyanewteam.Paleguysindarktrenchcoats.Soundfamiliar?’‘Mogadorians,’Ninesays,grindinghisfistintohispalm.‘Keepingtheirpetpoliticiansafebeforehis
bigselloutspeech.’‘Ithinkitactuallyworkstoouradvantage,’Walkersays,lookingatme.‘Mypeopleweren’tlooking
forwardtofightingthroughtheirownonthewaytoSanderson.Imean,someoftheseguysarejustdoingtheirjobs.’‘Yeah,wearen’tinthehabitoffightinghumanseither,’Isay,givingWalkerapointedlook.‘Unless
theymakeus.’‘So,that’sthewholeplan?’Samasks,skeptical.‘Wegotohishotel,fightourwaythroughabunchof
MogsandthenkillthisSandersonguy?’‘Yes,’Walkeranswers.‘No,’Isay.Everyonelooksatme.Evenourstoicdriverisstaringatmeintherearviewmirror.‘Whatdoyoumean,no?’Walkerasks,hereyebrowsraised.‘Ithoughtwewereclearonthis.’‘We’renotkillingSanderson,’Isay.‘Wedon’tfighthumans.Wesureashelldon’tkillthem.’‘Kid,I’llpullthetriggerifyougetmeinfrontofhim,’Walkerreplies.‘Youcanarresthim,ifyouwant,’Isay.‘Chargehimwithtreason.’‘Thepenaltyfortreasonisdeath,’Walkerexclaims,soundingexasperated.‘Anyway,hisMogPro
cronieswon’tletanarrestgothrough.AndyouthinkanythinginthecourtsisgoingtomatteronceSetrákusRaishere?’‘Yousaidit,’Ireply.‘SetrákusRaiswho’simportant.’‘Right.InsteadofSanderson,it’llbeyouguystheretogreethimattheUN.We’llshowtheworldthe
differencebetweengoodaliensandbadaliens.Meanwhile,behindthescenes,mypeoplewilldismantleMogPro.’Walkerrubshertemples.‘I’vegototheragentsalreadyinposition.AroundthetimewetakeoutSanderson,adozenotherMogProtraitorswill–’Icutheroff.‘Ifyou’reabouttotellmeaboutmoreassassinations,Idon’twanttoknow.’Nineraiseshishand.‘Iwanttoknow.’‘That’snotwhatwedo,Walker,’Icontinue.‘It’snotwhatwe’reabout.’‘Kid,youwanttogetthewordoutabouttheMogs,soonerorlateryou’regonnahavetogetyourhands
dirty.’‘AndwhatifSandersongetsthewordoutforus?’Walkersquintsatme.‘What’reyoutalkingabout?’‘He’sgivingaspeechattheUN,right?GoingtotalkupSetrákusRa,tellhumanityhowit’ssafeto
welcometheMogadorianfleet.’Ishrug,tryingtoseemnonchalantaboutthis,confidentinmyplan.‘Maybehegivesadifferentspeech.Maybehedeliversawarning.’‘You’retalkingaboutturninghim?’Walkerexclaims.‘Thislateinthegame?You’reoutofyourmind.’‘Idon’tthinkso,’Ireply,glancingleftandrightatNineandSam.‘MyfriendsandIarepretty
persuasive.’‘Yeah,’Ninejumpsin,grinningfiercelyatWalker.‘I’mconvincingasallhell.’
Walkerstaresatmeforalongmoment,thenturnsaroundandgoesbacktotypingcodedmessagesintoherphone.‘Ididn’trealizeIwasteamingupwithsomehippy-dippypeacenikaliens,’shesighs.‘Fine.IfyoucantalkSandersonintoflippingsidesinfrontoftheUN,goforit.ButifI’mnotconvinced,I’mshootinghim.’‘Sure,’IreplytoWalker.‘You’reincharge.’
WestopatagasstationinNewJerseytofilluptheSUVs.SinceI’vegotafewminutesalone,Idecideit’sagoodtimetocheckinwithSarah.Itakeoutmyphoneandwanderacrosstheparkinglot.AsIdo,IcanfeelWalker’seyesboringintomyback.‘Whereareyougoing?’shecallsafterme.‘Tocallmygirlfriend,’Isay,raisingthephone.‘Remember?Youillegallydetainedherthatonetime.’‘Oh,great,’Walkerreplies.Icanhearhermuttertothedriver.‘We’redependingonabunchofhorny
teenagerstosavetheworld.’BetterusthanpeoplelikeWalker,Ithink,butpretendnottohaveheardhersnideremark.Thephoneringsfivetimes,eachonecausingmyhearttobeatalittlefaster,beforeSarahanswers,
narrowlyevadingthedumptovoicemail.‘Beforeyousayanything,’shebegins,notevensayinghello,hervoiceshaky,‘Ijustwantyoutoknow
thatI’mokay.’‘Whathappened?’Iask,tryingtokeepthatfirstrushofpanicoutofmyvoice.Icanhearthesoundof
trafficinthebackground.Sarah’sinamovingcar.‘Wewentintotownforsuppliesandhadarun-inwithsomeMogs,’Sarahsays,stillcatchingher
breath.‘Iguesstheytrackedusdownsomehow,nottoohappyabouttheTheyWalkAmongUsthing.Don’tworry,we’reallfine.BernieKosarhandledthem.’‘Areyousomewheresafe?’‘Wewillbesoon,’shereplies.‘Mark’shackerbuddyGUARDgaveusdirectionstohishomebasein
Atlanta.’MarkhadsomedetailsaboutGUARDinoneofhisemailstoSarah.He’sanotherconspiracyjunkie,
likeoneofthoseguysfromtheoldversionofTheyWalkAmongUs.Buthe’salsoanexcellenthackerand,accordingtoMark,hasaccesstoasurprisingamountofinformation.ItmakesmealittlenervousthatSarahandMarkareheadedtomeethimwithoutusknowinghisidentity.‘WhatdoesMarkknowaboutthisguy?’Iask.SarahrepeatsmyquestiontoMark.Ican’tquitemakeouthisreplyoverallthenoisefromtheroad.‘Marksayshe’sprobablysomenerdhidingoutinhismom’sbasement,’Sarahrepeatsdryly.‘Butthat
he’sa“soliddude”andthatwecantrusthim.’IrollmyeyesatMark’sscoutingreport.‘That’sheartening.Justincase,I’mgoingtotextyouthe
locationofsomewheresafe.It’sabaseinWashingtonthatwetookover,loadedwithgovernmentguyswhoareonourside.Ifyouneedsomewheretorunto,youcouldheadthere.’Iheartwoenginesrumbletolifebehindme.IturnaroundtoseeallofWalker’sagentspiledintothe
cars.NineandSamstillstandoutsideourSUV,waitingforme.Ninemakesanimpatientwrap-it-upmotion.‘What’sgoingonthere?’Sarahasksme.‘Onyourwaytodosomethingstupidbutpossiblyworld
saving?’
‘Prettymuch,’Ireply,allowingmyselfafaintsmile.‘DidyougetthosedocumentsIsentyou?’‘Yeah,’Sarahreplies.‘We’llhaveachancetouploadthemoncewe’reinAtlanta.’‘Perfect.I’vegotafeelingTheyWalkAmongUsisabouttogetalotmorehits.’Ipause,reluctanttoget
offthephone.‘Theothersarewaitingforme.I’vegottago.’‘Marksaystogokicksomeass.AndIloveyou.’Sarahcatchesherself,laughing.‘Markdidn’tsaythat
lastpart.Thatwasfromme.’Wesayourgood-byesandI’mleftwiththatsamefeelingoflongingmixedwithdreadthatIgetafter
everyoneofthesephoneconversations.ItrudgebacktotheSUV.EveryoneelseisalreadyinsideexceptforSam.‘Soyou’reputtingallofWalker’sdocumentsonTheyWalkAmongUs?’Samasks.‘It’sagoodidea.
Likeanti-Mogadorianpropaganda.’‘It’sadesperateidea,iswhatitis,’Isayglumly.‘Noone’sgoingtobediggingthroughsearchresults
whiletheircitiesaregettingbombarded.’‘There’sacomfortingthought,’Samreplies,frowning.‘Butseriously,that’salotofheavyreading.If
you’retryingtogetpeopleonourside,itshouldn’tjustbeabouttheMogadorians.Youshouldn’tjustbetryingtoscarepeople.They’llbescaredenoughasitis.You’vegottagivethemsomehope.’‘Whatdoyousuggest?’Samthinksaboutitforasecond,thenshrugs.‘Idon’tknowyet.I’llcomeupwithsomething.’InodandpatSamontheshoulder,thetwoofusclimbingbackintothecar.Iknowhe’sjusttryingto
help,andthat’swhyIdon’ttellhimthatwhateverhecomesupwith…itmightbetoolate.
WemakeittoNewYorkaboutanhourlater.I’veneverbeenherebeforeandneitherhaveNineorSam.Iwishourvisitcouldbeunderdifferentcircumstances.Asweinchalonginheavytrafficthroughacanyonofskyscrapers,Ifindmyselfcraningmynecktolookoutthewindow.Chicagoisahugecity,butthefreneticjostleofpedestriansonthesidewalkshereissomethingelseentirely.ThereareflashingsignsadvertisingBroadwayshows,yellowcabsdartinginandoutoftraffic,ahumofactivityallaroundus.Andthesepeoplehavenoideawhat’sheadingtheirway.AswedrivefartheruptowntowardsSanderson’shotel,wepassadudewearingacowboyhatand
underwear,strumminganacousticguitarforacrowdoftourists.Ninesnorts.‘Lookatthis,’hesays,shakinghishead.‘Thatshitwouldn’tflyinChicago.’IleanforwardtogetWalker’sattention.‘Areweclose?’‘Afewmoreblocks,’shereplies.IreachdowntomakesuremyLoricdaggerisstillfastenedsecurelytomyleg.Ialsotouchmywrist,
reflextellingmetocheckformyshieldbracelet,exceptthatit’sgone,destroyedbytheGeneral.‘DidyourguyonthescenetellyouhowmanyMogsweshouldbeexpecting?’IaskWalker.‘Adozen.Maybemore.’‘That’snothing,’Ninesays,pullingontheglovesthatMarinagavehim.HeclencheshisfistsandIinch
awayfromhim,warythathe’sgoingtoaccidentallytriggersomekindofweapon.Thankfully,nothinghappens.‘You’rewearingthoseintoafight?’Samasks,eyeingNineincredulously.‘Youdon’tevenknowwhat
theydo.’
‘Whatbetterwaytofindout?’Ninereplies.‘TheseLoricthings,man,theyhaveawayofnothelpingyouuntilyou’vegivenuponthem.’‘Ormaybethey’rejustforkeepingyourhandswarm,’Samsuggests.‘Justdon’tdoanythingstupid,’ItellNine,andhestaresatme,hisexpressiongettingdeathlyserious.‘John,Iwon’t,’hesays.‘Forreal.Youcantrustmeoutthere.’IcantellNineisstillcarryingaroundwhathappeneddowninFloridaandiseagertoprovehimself.I
justnodathim,knowinghewouldn’twantmetomakeabigdealoutofit.I’mgladhe’sgotmyback.WalkerturnsaroundtolookatSam.‘Theseguysshootfireballsandhavemagicgloves,apparently.But
whatdoyoudo?’Samlooksmomentarilytakenaback,andInoticehimreachdowntotouchthescarsburnedintohis
wrists.Afteramoment’sconsideration,helooksWalkerintheeye.‘I’veprobablykilledmoreMogsthanyouhave,lady,’Samreplies.Nineelbowsme,andIcan’thelpbutgrin.Tohercredit,thatactuallylooksliketheanswerWalkerwas
hopingfor.Sheopenstheglovecompartment,pullsoutaholsteredhandgunandholdsitouttoSam.‘Well,I’mofficiallyarmingaminor,’shesays.‘Doyourcountryproud,Samuel.’Aminutelater,ourdriverpullsovertothesideofoneofManhattan’squieterblocks,double-parking.
TheotherSUVrollsupbehindus.Acrossthestreetanddowntheblockabitistheentrancetoaposhhotel.There’sawideawningoutfrontandaredcarpet,aplaceforgueststoturnovertheircarkeystoavaletanddroptheirbagsontooneofthewaitingluggagecarts.Exceptthere’snoactivityoutsidethehotel.Notouristsstrollingthesidewalk,novaletswaitingfor
tips.Nothing.Everything’sbeenclearedawayorscaredoffbythetrioofMogadoriansstandingguardatthedoor,theircoatsbrazenlyopentorevealtheblastershangingfromtheirbelts.It’slikethey’renotevenbotheringtohideanymore.‘Wewanttodothisquickandclean,’Walkersaystous,hunchinglowinherseatsoshecanlookatthe
Mogsinherside-viewmirror.‘TakedowntheMogsandgettoSandersonbeforetheycansendupanalarm,radioforbackup,orwhatevertheydo.’‘Yeah,gotit,’Ireplyquickly.Ipullupthehoodonmysweatshirtsothatithidesmyface.‘We’vedone
thisbefore.’‘Letmypeoplelead,’Walkersays.‘We’llflashsomebadges,maybeconfusethem.Thenyouhitthem
hard.’‘Sure,youdistract’em,’Ninesays.‘Butthengetthehelloutofourway.’Walkerpicksupawalkie-talkieandradiostotheagentsinthesecondcar.‘Youguysready?’‘Affirmative,’amalevoiceanswers.‘Let’sdothis.’‘Herewego,’saysanexcitedNine,andclapshisglovedhandstogether.TheconcussionofsoundthatdetonatesfromNine’shandswhenheclapsisn’tquitesonic-boomloud,
butit’sdefinitelyclose.It’slikeathunderclapintheback-seat;alloftheSUV’swindowsexplodeoutward,andthecarevenbouncesafewinchesintotheair.TheSUVbehindusdoesn’tfaremuchbetter–itswindowsalsoshatter,butinward,sprayingtheagentshuddledinside.Thewindowsofnearbystorefrontsbreak,too,andapedestrianwalkingbyisknockedclearoffherfeet.Nexttome,Samissqueezingthesidesofhishead,lookingdazed.Forthefirstfewseconds,Ican’thearmuchexceptalowchirpingthatIsoonrealizeiscaralarmsgoingoffupanddowntheblock.
IturntoNine,wide-eyed,andcatchhimstaringathisglovedhands,alsowide-eyed.Ican’thearwhathesays,andI’mnotmuchofalipreader.ButI’mprettysureit’s‘Oops.’Attheentranceofthehotel,oneMogadorianisdownonhisknees,clutchinghishead.Theothertwo
arepointingrightatourSUVandraisingtheirblasters.Somuchfortheelementofsurprise.
20
Withthewaymyearsareringing,Idon’treallyhearthefirstvolleyofMogadorianblasterfire.ButIfeelit.TheSUVisrockedtothesideasthejaggedenergyboltsshearacrossthecar’sbulletproofpaneling.Walkerhuddlesforcoverbehindherdoor,keepingherheaddown.Ourdriverisn’tsolucky;ablastcomessizzlingthroughthewindowandhitshiminthesideoftheneck.Hisfleshisburnedbadlyandheimmediatelystartsconvulsing.‘Go!’Ishout,unabletohearmyselfandnotsureifanyoneelsecaneither.‘Go!’NineripsopenthebackdooroftheSUV,literally.Ashegetsoutofthecar,heholdsthedoorinfrontof
him,usingitasashieldtoabsorbtheMogs’fire.IlungeintothefrontseatandpressmyhandsontotheFBIagent’sblasterwound,lettingmywarm
healingenergyflowintohim.Slowly,theinjurybeginstoknititselfclosed,andhisconvulsionsstop.Theagentlooksupatmewithwide,gratefuleyes.Isensemovementtomyleftandturnmyhead.Outsidethedriver-sidewindowisthepedestrianwho
gotknockeddownwhenNine’sthunderclapwentoff.She’sapretty,college-agedgirlwithbigbrowneyes.Shelooksshell-shockedandseemstoberootedinplace–exceptshe’snotsostunnedthatshefailedtogetherphoneoutofherpurse.She’sjustfinishedrecordingmehealingourdriverandisfilmingmyfaceasIshoutathertorun.AnothervolleyofMogblasterfirebouncesoverthehoodofourSUV,nearlyhittingthegirl.Sam
springsoutofthebackseatandgrabsher.Hedragsherfartherdownthesidewalkandputsherincoverbehindsomeparkedcars.Monthsago,myfaceonvideoafterusingmyLegacieswould’vebeenadisaster.Butnow,Idon’teven
care.However,wecan’tletanymoreinnocentpeoplewanderintoourwarzone.‘Turnthecar!’Ishoutinourdriver’sear.I’mnotsurehecanhearme,soImakeasteeringwheel
motionwithmyhands.‘Blockthestreetoff!’Hegetsitandpeelsout–Icansmelltheburnedrubberbutdon’tquitehearit.Hegetsthecarparked
perpendicularacrossthemiddleoftheroad,blockinganytraffic.IhopoutoftheSUVandturntowardsthehoteljustintimetoseeaMogadorianwarriorshearedinhalf
andturnedtodustbyourcardoor,whichNineflungthroughtheairdiscusstyle.Meanwhile,theagentsinthesecondcarhavemanagedtocollectthemselves.Seeingourmaneuver,theirdriverthrowshisSUVintoreverseandtheyquicklyblockaccesstotheroadfromtheotherdirection.Then,theyjumpout,usingtheirSUVascover,andreturnfireontheremainingMogadorians.Theirgunfireisbarelyaudiblepoppinginmydamagedears.OneoftheMogskeelsoverfromawell-placedbullettotheforehead.Outnumbered,theremaining
Mogducksintothehoteldoorwayforcover.Ireachoutwithmytelekinesis,grabaluggagecartparkedbehindtheMogandjerkitforwardsothatittakesoutthebackofhislegs.Ashestumblesoutofthedoorway,Walker’sagentslighthimup.
NineglancesbacktomeandInod.Together,werushtowardstheentrance.IlookovermyshouldertocheckonSamandseehimstilltalkingtothatbystander,gesturingemphaticallyathercellphone.Notimetoworryaboutthatnow.Inside,theposhhotellobbyiscompletelydesertedexceptforafrightenedclerkcoweringbehindthe
frontdesk.Beyondthemarblecolumnsandleathercouchesofthewaitingareaistheelevatorbank.Oddly,twoofthethreeelevatorsareoutofservice,andthethirdisstuckupatthepenthouselevel.TheMogsmightnothaveexpectedanassault,buttheydefinitelytookprecautions.Withamomenttocatchmybreath,Ipressmyhandstothesidesofmyheadandletsomeofthathealing
energyflowintomyears.Theypopandcrackle,butsoundslowlyreturns,likeavolumedialinmyheadbeinggraduallyturnedup.Fromoutside,Icanhearsirens,screechingtires,andWalker’speopleyellingatlocalcopstostayback.Ourplantodothiscovertlyisalreadyshot;nowwejusthavetobequick.IgrabNinebeforehecanmakeittotheelevatorsandclapmyhandstothesideofhishead,healinghim
aswell.WhenI’mdone,heshakeshisheadbackandforth,likehe’stryingtodislodgewaterfromhisinnerear.‘You’reanidiot,’Itellhim.Nineshakesthesonicglovesatmebeforestuffingtheminhisbackpocket.‘Atleastnowweknow
whattheydo.’Seeingthatwearen’tgun-totingMogadorians,theguyatthefrontdeskslowlycomesoutofhiding.
He’sskinnyandmiddle-aged,andfromthebagsunderhiseyes,helooksasifhe’shavingoneterribleday.‘What–whatisgoingon?’theclerkasksus.Beforewecananswer,Walkerstridesthroughthedoor.Sheflashestheclerkherbadgeandthenshouts,
‘WhatfloorisSandersonon?’Thewide-eyedclerkglancesfromWalkertousandthenback.‘Pent-penthouse,’hestammers.‘Those-
thosethingsyoukilledarewithhim.Theyclearedouttheentirehotelthismorningexceptformeandsomeofthestaff.AndI’mnotevenamanager.’Ninestaresattheclerk,tryingtomakesenseofhim.‘Whywouldtheykeepyouaround?’‘They’vebeenorderingroomservice,’herespondsincredulously,hisvoicesqueaky.‘Actinglikethey
owntheplaceandwe’retheirservants.’‘That’ssomeballsyshit,’Ninesays,shakinghishead.‘Likethey’vealreadytakenoverorsomething.’Walkersquintsattheclerklikeshecouldstranglehim,thenturnstome,hervoicestillincrediblyloud.
‘Goddamnit.Ican’thearthisguy.’Iwaveheroverandpressmyhandstoherears.WhileI’mhealingWalker,Ilookoverattheclerk.
‘Youshouldgetoutofhere.Gooutsideveryslowly,withyourhandsup.We’llsendoutanyoneelsewecomeacross.’Theclerknodsmutely,thenbeginstakingbabystepstowardstheexit,hishandsraisedabovehishead.Walkershakesoffmyhandsassoonasherhearingisback.‘Whatdidhesay?’‘Hesaidwe’regoingup,’Ireply,pointingtotheelevator.‘Actually,’Ninesays,‘they’recomingdown.’Thehotel’soneworkingelevatorhasbeguntodescend,thelittlelightsabovetickingoffthefloors.I
lightmyLumen,thewhooshofflamesfeelinggood.Walkeradjustshergriponherpistol.
‘Easy,guys,’Ninesays.‘I’vegotthis.’Ninepicksuponeoftheleathersofasandholdsitlikeabatteringram.WalkerandIbothstepaside,
givinghimroom.Whentheelevatordingsandthedoorsslideapart,thefourMogadorianssentdownstairstoreinforcetheoneswe’vealreadydispatchedaregreetedbyNinescreamingandshovingasofaintothem.Oneofthemmanagestogetaburstofblasterfireoff,butitsizzlesharmlesslyagainstthefloor.Theentireunitispinnedinsidetheelevator,thecentermostMogcrushedoutrightbehindNine’sweight.WalkereasilydartsaroundNineandpickstheMogsoffwithherhandgun.‘Thatstilldoesn’tmakeupforthewholeglovething,’ItellNineasheeffortlesslytossesthesofaback
intothelobby.‘Comeon,’Ninecomplains,grinning.‘Itwasanaccident.’‘ArethereanyotheraliengadgetsIneedtobeawareof?’Walkerasksaswepileintotheelevatorand
hitthebuttonforthetopfloor.‘Well,there’sthis,’Ninereplies,andpullsastringofthreeemerald-greenstonesoutofhispocket.I
rememberthatthingfrombefore–whenNinethrowsit,thestringcreatesaminiaturevacuum,sucksupwhatever’scloseandthenspitsitviolentlybackout.HemusthavetakenitoutofhisChestbeforeturningovertherestofhisInheritancetoMarinaandSix.‘Whatdoesthatdo?’Walkerasks.‘You’llsee,’Ireply,lookingatNine.‘Youknowtherewillbemorewaitingforusoutsidetheelevator,
right?’‘Mythoughtsexactly,’hereplies,grinning.IpullWalkerclosesothatwe’repressedagainstthesideoftheelevator,rightupagainstthebuttons.
Ninetakescoveragainsttheoppositewall,lazilyswinginghisstringofstoneslikeabolo.‘Youmightneedtoholdontome,’ItellWalker.‘You’veseenhowNinedoeswithgadgets.’‘Hey,’Ninesays,wounded.‘ThisoneIactuallyknowhowtowork.’Secondslater,theelevatordoorsopenandabarrageofblasterfirehammerstheelevator’sbackwall,
theMogsuphereadoptingastrategyofshootfirstandaskquestionslater.Withoutpokinghisheadoutofcover,Ninetossesthestrandofstonesoutsidetheelevator.IimagineNine’sweaponworkinglikeitdidbackatthecabin–thebeadshoveringinaperfectcircle,
spinningslowlyforward,suckingupanythingintheirpath.Icanhearthewhooshofair,followedbyMogadorianscreams,andalotoffutileshooting.Glassbreaksasframedpicturesaretornfromthehallwaywalls,thepiecessuckedintotheminiaturevacuum.Ninesnapshisfingersandeverythingthevacuumcollectedexplodesoutward.Violentlyexpelledfrom
thesuction,oneMogadoriancomesflyingintotheelevator.Hisheadsmasheshardagainstthebackwall,hisneckbroken.Outside,everythingisquiet.Whenit’sover,Istickmyheadoutsidethedoors.Theairisfilledwithswirlingdustparticlesthat
mightbeMogadorianremains.Ablasterthatsomehowbecamewedgedagainsttheceilingclatterstothefloor.Asidefromthat,theonlythinginthehallwayisaroom-servicecartthatlookslikeit’sgonethroughagrinder,itslegsbentandtwisted.There’sonlyonedoorattheendoftheshorthallway,theoneforthepenthouse,andit’snowhalfbrokenoffitshinges.‘Whatthehellwasthatthing?’Walkerasks,incredulous.
‘TheMogsaren’ttheonlyoneswithkick-assweaponry,’Ninesays,pickinguptheharmless-lookingstonestrandfromwhereitlandedonthefloor.‘Don’tgetanyideas,’IsaytoWalkerwhenIcatchhercraninghernecktogetalookatthestones.‘Our
technologyisn’tforsale.’Walkerfrownsatme.‘Yeah,well,judgingbythatbullshitwiththegloves,youdon’tknowhowtowork
itanyway.’Fromthebrokendoorwayupahead,Ihearthedroningofatelevision.It’sturnedtocablenews,Ithink,
sometalkingheadramblingonaboutstockprices.Otherthanthat,thehallwayistotallyquiet.Thereisn’tanysignofmoreMogadorians.Evenso,weadvancecautiouslytowardsthepenthousedoor.Waryofanambush,Inudgethedoorwithmytelekinesisbeforewegettooclose.Itcomesoffthe
hingeseasilyandfallsintothepenthousewithathud.Thelivingroominsideisdark,allthecurtainsdrawn,andlitonlybytheblueglowofthetelevision.‘Comeonin,’agravellyvoicecallsfrominside.‘There’snooneinherewhocanhurtyou.’‘That’sSanderson,’Walkerwhispers.IexchangeaquicklookwithNine.Heshrugsandwavestowardsthedoor.Igofirst,Ninerightbehind
meandWalkerbringinguptherear.ThefirstthingInoticeisadamp,moldysmellinthehotelroom.Itsmellslikerotwithanundercurrent
ofminty,old-manjointcream.AmapofNewYorkCityisspreadacrossthetableinthesuite’sdiningarea,notesinMogadorianscribbledatvariouslocations.Nexttothetableisaknocked-overchair,asifsomeonegotupinahurry.TherearealsoMogadoriancannonsproppedupagainstonewallalongwithsomedarkcanvasbackpacksofgear–Inoticealaptop,afewcellphonesandathickleather-boundbook.Noneofthatinterestsmeasmuchastheoldmanseatedattheedgeofthesuite’sslept-inking-sizebed.
HewatchestheTVthroughtheopenbedroomdoorway,maybetooweaktowalkhimselfintothepenthouse’slivingroom.‘Goddamn,dude,’Nineexclaims,uponseeingSanderson.‘Whatiswrongwithyou?’I’veseenalotofpicturesofBudSandersonoverthelastfewdays.ThefirstwasonTheyWalkAmong
Us,Sandersonasanoldmanwiththinningwhitehair,jowlsandapaunch.Onthewebsite,inatabloid-stylestoryIdidn’tthinktoomuchabout,MarkJamesaccusedSandersonofusingsomekindofMogadoriananti-agingtreatment.ThenexttimeIsawSandersonwasinAgentWalker’sfile,havinglunchwithadisguisedSetrákusRa,haleandhearty,silverhairfullandslickedback,lookinglikehemightjogafewmilesafterhisCobbsalad.TheSandersoninfrontofmedoesn’tlooklikeeitherofthosepictures.NineandIwalkintothe
bedroomtogetacloserlook,Walkerlingeringbehind.Thesecretaryofdefenseisafrailoldman,hishunchedbodywrappedupinapuffyhotelrobe.Therightsideofhisfacelookssaggyandcollapsed–hiseyesocketdroops,andhisjawlinedisappearsbeneathfoldsoflooseskin.Hiswhitehairisbadlythinned,acomb-overbarelymanagingtohideasmatteringofagespots.Hesmilesatus–ormaybeit’sagrimace–histeethyellow,gumsreceding.Intheopenneckofhisrobeandalonghisforearms,Inoticesomeprominentveinsthatarediscoloredblack.‘NumberFourandNumberNine,’Sandersonsays,pointingashakyfingeratmeandthenNine.He
doesn’tseemoffendedatallbyNine’sgrossed-outreaction,doesn’tevenseemtohavenoticed.‘Your
pictureshavebeencrossingmydeskforyears.Furtiveshotsfromsecuritycamerasandthelike.Ipracticallywatchedyouboysgrowup.’Sandersonsoundslikeareminiscent,dodderinggrandfather.I’mcompletelytakenaback.I’dbeen
expectingaselloutpoliticiantotryhittingmewithtalkingpointsonMogadorianProgress.Thisguybarelylookscapableofgettingupfromhisbed,muchlessgivingaspeechinfrontoftheUN.‘Andyou…’SandersontiltshisheadtogetalookatWalker.‘You’reoneofmine,aren’tyou?’‘SpecialAgentKarenWalker,’shereplies,steppingintothedoorway.‘Notoneofyours.Iserve
humanitynow,sir.’‘Well,that’snice,’Sandersonsaysdismissively.Hedoesn’tseematallinterestedinher.Thewayhis
beady,blackeyessettleonNineandme,likewe’rehislong-lostrelativesgatheredaroundhisdeathbed,makesmeseriouslyuncomfortable.EvenNinehasslippedintoanawkwardsilence.InoticeasmallkitonthebednexttoSanderson.Itcontainsafewsleeksyringesfilledwithadark
liquidthatremindsmevaguelyofPikenblood.Itakeasteptowardshim,myvoicelow.‘Whatdidtheydotoyou?’‘NothingIdidn’taskfor,’Sandersonreplies,sadly.‘Iwishyouboyswouldhavefoundmesooner.
Nowit’stoolate.’‘Likehell,’Ninesays.‘Evenifyoukillme,itwon’tmakeanydifference,’Sandersonrasps,resignedly.‘We’renotheretokillyou,’Ireply.‘Idon’tknowwhatthey’vetoldyou,whatthey’vefilledyourmind
andbodywith,butwe’renotdonefighting.’‘Oh,butIam,’Sandersonreplies,andpullsasmallhandgunoutofhisrobe’sfrontpocket.BeforeIcan
stophim,heholdsthepistolnexttohistempleandpullsthetrigger.
21
IfI’dhadtimetothinkaboutit,Iprobablywouldn’thavebeenabletodoit.There’saboutamillimeterofspacebetweenBudSanderson’stempleandthebarrelofhisgun.It’sin
thatspacethatImanagetostopthebullet,holdingittherewithmytelekinesis.Theprecisionrequiredmakesmegruntfromexertion.Everymuscleinmybodyistensed,myfistsclenchedandtoescurled.It’slikeIflungmyentirebodyintostoppingthatbullet.Ican’tbelieveIjustdidthat.I’veneverdoneanythingsoprecisebefore.Aring-shapedburnfromthepistol’sbarrelformsonSanderson’stemple,butotherwisehisheadis
totallyintact.Ittakesuntilthepistol’sreportstopsechoingforthesecretaryofdefensetorealizehissuicideattempt
didn’twork.Heblinkshiswateryeyesatme¸notquiteunderstandingwhyhe’sstillalive.‘How–?’BeforeSandersoncanpullthetriggeragain,Ninelungesforwardandslapsthegunoutofhishand.I
exhaleveryslowlyandallowmybodytouncoil.‘That’snotright,’Sandersonsaystomeaccusingly,hislowerlipshakingasherubshiswristwhere
Ninestruckhim.‘Justletmedie.’‘Seriously,’Walkerinterjects,herhandstighteningaroundherowngun.‘Why’dyoustophim?
Could’vesolvedallourproblemsrightthere.’‘Itwouldn’thavesolvedanything,’Isay,shootingheralookasIletthebulletdropharmlesslyonto
Sanderson’sunmadebed.‘He’sright,’SandersonsaystoWalker,hisshouldersslumping.‘Killingmewon’tchangeanything.But
keepingmealiveissimplycruel.’‘Youdon’tgettodecidewhenyoucheckout,oldman,’ItellSanderson.‘Whenwewinthiswar,we’ll
letthepeopleofEarthdecidehowtheydealwithtraitors.’Sandersonchucklesdryly.‘Theoptimismofyouth.’Icrouchdowntolookhimintheface.‘There’sstilltimetoredeemyourself,’Isay.‘Todosomething
ofvalue.’Sandersonraisesaneyebrow,andhiseyesseemtofocusupabit.Butthentherightsideofhismouth
droopsandhehastowipeawayablobofdroolwiththecuffofhisrobe.Lookingutterlydefeated,Sandersonavertshiseyes.‘No,’hesaysquietly.‘Ithinknot.’NinesighsfromboredomandpicksupthekitofsyringeslaidoutnexttoSanderson.Hestudiesthetar-
coloredsludgeinsidetheinjectorforamoment,thenwavesitinSanderson’sface.‘Whatisthisshitthey’regivingyou,huh?’Nineasks.‘Thiswhatyoutradedtheplanetfor?’Sandersonpeerslonginglyatthevialsbutthenweaklyshovesthemaway.‘Theyhealedme,’Sandersonexplains.‘Morethanthat.Theymademeyoungagain.’
‘Andlookatyounow,’Ninegrunts.‘Freshasadaisy,right?’‘Youknowtheirleaderhaslivedforcenturies,’Sandersoncounters,hiseyesswingingwildlybetween
meandNine.‘Ofcourseyoudo.Hepromisedusthat.Hepromisedimmortalityandpower.’‘Helied,’Isay.Sandersonlooksdownatthefloor.‘Yes.’‘Pathetic,’Walkersays,butthevenom’sgoneoutofher.Likeme,Idon’tthinkSandersonhasturnedout
tobethevillainWalkerexpected.MaybehewasoncethepuppetmasterofaninternationalconspiracyinsupportofMogs,butatthispointhe’sbeenentirelychewedupandspitoutbyMogadorianProgress.Thisisn’tthegamechangerWalkerwashopingfor.I’mworriedthatwe’vewastedwhatpreciouslittletimewehaveleft.SandersonignoresNineandWalker.Forsomereason,maybebecauseIforcedhimtokeeponliving,
heappealsdirectlytome.‘Thewonderstheyhadtooffer…can’tyouunderstand?IthoughtIwasusheringinagoldenageforhumanity.HowcouldIsaynotothem?Tohim?’‘Andnowyouhavetokeeptakingthisstuff,isthatit?’Iask,glancingtothesyringesthatIbetcontain
somethingliketheunnaturalgeneticbrewtheMogsusetogrowtheirdisposablesoldiers.‘Ifyoustop,you’llbreakdownlikeoneofthem.’‘Oldenoughtoturntodust,anyway,’Ninegrumbles.‘It’sbeentwodays,andlookatme…’Sandersonwavesahandathimself,athisbodythatlookslikea
slugwithsaltpouredonit.‘Theyusedme.Keptgivingmetreatmentsinexchangeforfavors.Butyoufreedme.NowIcanfinallydie.’Ninethrowsuphishandsandlooksatme.‘Dude,screwthis.Thisguy’salostcause.Weneedtofigure
somethingelseout.’AsenseofdesperationbeginstosinkinnowthatWalker’sleadonthesecretaryofdefensehasturned
uponlyabrokenoldmanandgottenusnoclosertothwartingtheimminentMogadorianinvasion.ButI’mnotwillingtogiveupjustyet.Thislumpsittinginfrontofmeusedtobeapowerfulman–hell,theMogshadaprotectiondetailonhim,sohestillis.Therehastobeawaytofixhim,tomakehimwillingtofight.Ineedhimtoseethelight.SomecombinationofdesperationandintuitioncausesmetoturnonmyLumen.Idon’tcrankitupto
firelevel;instead,Iproducejustenoughjuicesothatabeamofpurelightshootsfrommyhand.Sanderson’seyeswidenandheinchesbackonthebedawayfromme.‘Ialreadytoldyou,I’mnotgoingtohurtyou,’Isay,asIleanintowardshim.IshinemyLumenonthepalsied,saggypartofhisface,wantingtogetagoodlookatwhatI’mdealing
with.Theskinisgrayedandalmostdeadlooking,fine,ash-coloredveinsrunningthroughit.ThedarkparticlesunderSanderson’sskinactuallyseemtofloatawayfrommyLumen,almostlikethey’retryingtoburrowdeeper.‘Icanhealthis,’Isay,resolutely.I’mnotsureifit’sactuallytrue,butIhavetotry.‘You–youcanfixwhattheydid?’Sandersonasks,anoteofhopeinhisgravellyvoice.‘Icanmakeyoulikeyouwere,’Ireply.‘Notbetter,inthewaytheypromised.Notyounger.Just…as
youshouldbe.’‘Oldpeoplegetold,’Nineputsin.‘Yougottadealwithit.’
Sandersonlooksatmeskeptically.ImustsoundjustliketheMogadoriansdidyearsago,whentheyfirstconvincedhimtojointheirside.‘Whatdoyouwantinexchange?’heasks,likeahighpriceisaforegoneconclusion.‘Nothing,’Ireply.‘YoucantrykillingyourselfagainforallIcare.Ormaybeyoucanfindwhat’sleftof
yourconscienceanddowhat’sright.It’llbeuptoyou.’Andwiththat,IpressmypalmagainstthesideofSanderson’sface.SandersonshuddersasthewarmhealingenergyofmyLegacypassesintohim.Normally,whenusing
myhealingpowers,Igetasensationthattheinjuryisknittingitselfbacktogether,ofcellsrearrangingthemselvesbeneathmyfingertips.WithSanderson,itfeelsasifaforceispushingbackagainstmyLegacy,asiftherearedark,cellularpitsintowhichmyhealinglightplungesdownandguttersout.IstillfeelSandersonhealing,butit’sslowgoing,andIhavetoconcentratemuchharderthanusual.Atonepoint,somethingactuallysizzlesandpopsbeneathhisskin,oneofhisdiscoloredveinsburningup.Sandersonflinchesawayfromme.‘Areyouhurt?’Iask,shortofbreath,myhandstillpoisednexttohisface.Hehesitates.‘No–no,itactuallyfeelsbetter.Somehow…cleaner.Keepgoing.’Ikeepgoing.IcanfeeltheMogadoriansludgeburrowingdeeperintoSanderson,retreatingfrommy
Legacy.Iintensifymyhealing,chasingitthroughhisveins.IfindthatI’msquintingfromtheexertionandacoldsweatdampensmyback.I’msofocusedonbeatingbackthedarknessIdetectinsideSandersonthatImustlosetrackoftimeorentersomekindoftrancestate.WhenI’mfinishedatlast,Istumblebackwards,mylegswobbly,andrunrightintoSam.Iwasn’teven
awarehe’dcomeupstairs.He’sholdingoutaphone–didhestealitfromthatbystanderweknockedover?–andrecordingmyhealingofSanderson.HestopswhenIbumpintohimand,foramoment,Samistheonlythingholdingmeup.‘Thatwasawesome,’Samsays.‘Youwere,like,glowing.Areyouokay?’Idrawmyselfupwithsomeeffort,notwantingtoshowanysignofweaknessinfrontofWalkeror
Sanderson,eventhoughIfeeldrained.‘Yeah.I’mgood.’IcatchWalkerstaringatmewiththatsamelookofaweherdriverhadafterIhealedhisneck.
Sanderson,stillsittinginfrontofme,looksclosetotears.Theblackspiderwebsthatcrisscrossedbeneathhisskinhavedisappeared;hisfacenolongerdroops,hismusclesaren’tatrophied.He’sstillanoldman,deep-setwrinkleslininghisface,buthelookslikearealoldman,notonewho’sslowlyhadthelifedrainedoutofhim.Helookshuman.‘Thankyou,’Sandersonsaystome,hiswordsbarelyaboveawhisper.Ninelooksatme,checkingtoseehowI’mholdingup,thenturnstoSandersonandsnortsderisively.
‘It’sallfornothing,Grandpa,ifyouletthosepasty-facedasshatslandonEarth.’‘I’mashamedofwhatI’vedone,whatIbecame…’Sandersonsays,hisgazepleadingandconfused.
‘ButIdon’tunderstandwhatyouexpectmetodo.Letthem?HowcanIstopthem?’‘Wedon’texpectyoutostopthem,’Isay,‘justslowthemdown.Youneedtorallypeopleagainstthem.
WhenyougiveyourspeechtomorrowattheUN,youneedtomakeitclearthattheMogadorianfleetcan’tbeallowedtolandonEarth.’
Sandersonstaresatme,confused,thenslowlyswivelshisgazetowardsWalker.‘Isthatwhatyourmoletoldyou?Isthatwhatyouthinkwillbehappeningtomorrow?’‘Iknowwhat’shappening,’Walkerreplies,nolesscausticnowthatSandersonseemstobecoming
aroundtoourside.‘YouandtheotherleaderswhotheMogshaveboughtoffwillgetuponstageandconvincetheworldweshouldcoexistpeacefully.’‘Whichisreallyjustcodeforsurrender,’Nineadds.‘Yes,that’splannedfortomorrow,’Sandersonsays,withadark,hopelesslaugh.‘Butyou’vegotthe
orderconfused.YouthinkIgivesomespeechandthentheirBelovedLeaderlandshisships?Youthinkhecaresabouttheslow-turningwheelsofhumanpolitics?He’snotwaitingforpermission.TheUNwillconvenetosavelives,tocalmafrightenedpopulation,becauseamilitaryresistanceisdoomedagainstthat–’Sandersongestureswildlythroughthedoor,atthetelevisionstillbuzzingintheotherroom.Slowly,we
eachturn,leavingSanderson’sbedroomforthepenthouselivingroom,drawninbytheashenfaceofacablenewsanchor.Shestumblesoverherwordsasshetriestoexplaintheunidentifiedflyingobjectsmanifestingintheairoverdozensofmajorcities.Thereceptiongoesinandout,theburstsofstaticgettingmoreandmorefrequent,assomethinginterfereswiththesignal.‘…reportscominginthattheshipshavebeensightedoverseasaswell,inplaceslikeLondon,Paris
andShanghai,’thenewscastersays,eyeswideasshereadsfromherteleprompter.‘Ifyou’rejustjoiningus,somethingliterallyoutofthisworldishappening,asshipsofalienoriginhaveappearedoverLosAngeles,Washington…’‘It’shappening,’Samsays,stunned,lookingatmeforsomekindofguidance.‘Thewarshipsarecoming
down.They’remakingtheirmove.’Idon’tknowwhattotellhim.GrainyfootageofamassiveMogadorianwarshipslidingoutofthe
cloudsintheskyoverLosAngelesappearson-screen.It’severythingIdreaded,comingtopass.TheMogadorianfleetisglidingslowlytowardsawoefullyunpreparedEarth.It’sLorien,alloveragain.‘Itriedtotellyou,’Sandersoncallstous.‘It’salreadytoolate.They’vealreadywon.Allthat’sleftis
surrender.’
22
‘I’mdonedoingwhattheytellme.Whatanyofthemtellme.’Myeyessnapopen.I’dbeeninadeepsleep,onethatIdidn’tthinkwouldbepossibleinmygiant
Mogadorianbedwithitsstrange,slipperysheets.I’mbecominguncomfortablyadjustedtolifeaboardtheAnubis.IthoughtIheardavoiceinmysleep,butmaybeitwasjustmyimagination,ortheremnantofsomedream.Nottakinganychances,Istayverystillandkeepmybreathingeven,likeI’mstillasleep.Ifthereisanintruder,Idon’twantthemtoknowI’mawake.Afterafewsecondsofsilencefilledonlybytheever-presenthumofthewarship’sengines,avoice
resumesspeaking.‘Onesidedropsusonthisstrangeplanetandbasicallyforcesustofightforourlives.Theotherside,
theytalkaboutpeacethroughprogress,butthat’salljustfancytalkforkillinganyonewhostandsintheirway.’It’sFive.He’sinmyroomsomewhere.Ican’tlocatehimintheneardarkness.Icanonlyhearhis
mumbledunder-the-breathrambling.I’mnotevensureifhe’stalkingtome.‘Theyalljustwantedtouseus,’Fivehisses.‘ButI’mnotgoingtoletthem.I’mnotgoingtofightin
theirstupidwar.’Heshiftsthen,andIcanfinallymakeoutFive’soutline.He’ssittingontheedgeofmybed,hisskinthe
dark,slicktextureofmysheets.Heblendsrightintomycovers,anditmustbebecausehe’stouchingthem,usinghisExterna.ThatmeanshisLegaciesareback.Italsomeansthathe’sseriouslycreepingmeout,likeamonstercamecrawlingoutfromundermybed.‘Iknowyou’reawake,’Fivesaystomewithoutturninghishead.‘Theshipisdescending,wearen’tin
orbitanymore.Ifyouwanttogo,nowisthetime.’Iscootupinbed,keepingthecoversclose.Forasecond,IconsidermakingFivepowerlessagainby
chargingthesheetswithmyDreynen.Butwhatgoodwouldthatdo?Idecidenottoattackhim.Fornow.‘Ithoughtyouwereontheirside,’Isay.‘Whywouldyouhelpme?’‘I’mnotonanybody’sside.I’mdonewiththiswholething.’‘Whatdoyoumean,done?’‘Forawhile,aftermyCêpandied,Iwasalone.Itwasn’tsobad.I’dliketogobacktothat,’Fivesays.
‘Youknowhowmanylittleislandsthereareintheoceans?I’mgoingtopickoneoutandstaythereuntilthisisover.Idon’tgiveashitwhowins,solongastheystayfarawayfromme.’‘That’scowardly,’Ireply,shakingmyhead.‘I’mnotgoingtosomedesertedislandwithyou.’Fivesnorts.‘Ididn’tinviteyou,Ella.I’mgettingoffthisshipandIthoughtyoumightwanttocome
along.That’sasfaraswego.’IconsiderthepossibilitythatthiscouldbesomekindoftestorchestratedbySetrákusRa.But
rememberingthewayFiveactedearlier,Idecidetotakemychancesthathe’sforreal.Ihopoutofbedandpullonmythin-soledMogadorianslippers.
‘Okay,what’syourplan?’Fivestandsupandhisskinrevertstonormal.Astheautomaticlightscomeoninmyroom,Icanfinally
seehisface.He’schangedthebandageoverhiseyesothatitisn’tcrustywithbloodanymore,buthestillhasn’tgottenithealed.Hisremainingeyetwinkleslikehe’sexcitedtogetintosometrouble.Seeinghimmakesmesecond-guessmydecisiontojoinforces.‘I’mgoingtoopenuponeoftheairlocksandjumpout,’Fivesays,illustratinghisbrilliantplan.‘That’sniceforyou.Youcanfly.WhatamIsupposedtodo?’Fivereachesintohisbackpocketandcasuallytossesmearoundobject.Icatchthestoneinmyhands
andcradleit.IrecognizeitasoneoftheobjectsfromJohn’sChest.‘Xitharisstone,’Fiveexplains.‘I,uh,borroweditfromourfriends.’‘Youstoleit.’Heshrugs.‘IchargeditwithmyflightLegacy.Useittoflyoffandsavetheplanet.’Ihidethestoneinsidemydress,thenlookupatFive.‘Sothat’sit?Youthinkwe’rejustgoingtowalk
offthisship?’Fiveraisesaneyebrowatme.Inoticethathe’snotwearinganyshoesorsocks,probablysohisbare
feetareinconstantcontactwiththemetalpanelingoftheAnubis.Also,attachedtohisforearmissomekindofcontraptionthatlookslikeitmightbeaweapon.‘Theywon’tbeabletostopme,’Fivesays,adarkconfidenceinhisvoice.Itisn’texactlyinspiring,but
it’sthebesthopeI’vegot.‘Okay,leadtheway.’ThedoortomyroomslidesopenforFive.Hepokeshisheadout,checkingtoseethatthecoastis
clear.Whenhe’ssatisfied,Fivehustlesintothehallway,motioningformetofollow.WenavigatethelabyrinthinehallsoftheAnubisatabriskwalk.‘Justactnormal,’Fivetellsme,keepinghisvoicelow.‘He’sgotscoutswatchingus,always.But
they’realsoafraidofus.You,inparticular,aresupposedtobetreatedlikeroyalty.Theywon’tinterfereifwedon’tlooksuspicious.And,eveniftheydothinksomething’swrong,bythetimeoneofthemactuallyworksupthegutstotellBelovedLeader,we’llbegone…’He’stalkingalot.Thattellsmethathe’snervous.Withoutthinkingaboutit–becauseifIactually
thoughtaboutit,Imightgettoorepulsed–IreachoutandtakeFive’shand.‘We’rejustanewlybetrothedcouple,gettingtoknoweachother,’Isay.‘Enjoyinganicewalkthrough
thecozyhallsofamassivewarship.’Five’shandissweatyandcold.Hetriestojerkawayfromme,hisinitialinstinctnottobetouched,but
afteramomenthecalmsdownandletshisdead-fishhandbeheld.‘Betrothed?’hegrunts.‘Hewantsustogetmarried?’‘That’swhatSetrákusRasaid.’‘Hesaysalotofthings.’Five’sfaceisred,theblushtravelingallthewayupintohisscalp.I’mnot
sureifhe’sembarrassedorangryorsomecombinationofthetwo.‘Ididn’tagreetothat.You’reachild.’‘Um,obviouslyIdidn’tagreeeither.You’reagross,murdering,weirdo–’‘Shutup,’Fivehisses,andforasecondIthinkthatI’veactuallyoffendedhim.ButthenIrealizewe’re
passingbytheopenentrancewayoftheobservationdeck.
Ican’thelpbutslowmystepsaswesneakby.TheemptydarknessofspaceI’dgottenusedtohasbeenreplacedbythefamiliar,bright-blueatmosphereofEarth.TheAnubisisstillmakingitsdescent,butalreadytheoutlineofcivilizationisvisible,roadsboxingupgreenfields,tinyhousesarrangedintoperfectsuburbs.DozensofMogadorianshavegatheredtowatchEarthapproach,anexcitedenergyintheairastheywhispertooneanother,probablytalkingaboutwhichswathoflandthey’llpillagefirst.FiveleadsmearoundthenextcornerandcrashesrightintotwoMogwarriorswhowerejogging
towardstheobservationdeck.Thenearestoneliftsacornerofhismouthinadisdainfulsneer,eyeingus.‘Whatareyoutwodoing?’theMogasks.Inresponse,Idrawmyselfup,tryingtolookasregalaspossible.IfixtheovercuriousMogwithacold
stare.TheMog’ssneerquicklyfadesasheremembershimself–or,morelikely,remembersthatI’mnotjustsomeLorienbutthebloodofhisBelovedLeader–andhelooksdownatthefloor.Hebeginstomuttersomethingapologeticwhenametallicshinkcutshimoff.AneedlelikebladeextendsfromtheleathercontraptiononFive’sforearm.Inablur,Fivedrivesthe
bladerightthroughthefirstMog’sforehead,instantlyturninghimtoash.TheotherMog’seyeswideninpanicandhetriestorun.AdelightedgrinspreadsacrossFive’sface.BeforetheMogcangetevenafewstepsdownthehall,Five’snon-bladearmtakesonarubberyconsistencyandstretchesafterhim.Five’sarmsnakesaroundtheMog’sneckandthenyankshimbackwardssoFivecanfinishhimoffwithhisblade.Thewholethingisoverinabouttenseconds.‘Weweresupposedtobeactingnormal,’IsaytoFiveinaloudwhisper,mindfulthatwe’renotallthat
farfromthecrowdedobservationroom.Fiveblinksatme,almostlikehe’snotsurewhatjustcameoverhim.Carefully,hepressestheblade
backintoitsholster.‘Ilostmycool,okay?’Fiveanxiouslyrubshishandacrossthestubbleontopofhishead.‘Itdoesn’t
matternow.We’realmostthere.’Istareatthisunhingedmonsterstandinginfrontofme.Hegulpsdownafewdeepbreaths,his
shouldersshaking,fistsballedfromtheexcitement.Minutesago,hesoundedalmostfragile,ramblinginthedarknessofmyroom.He’sbroken,atotalmess–IhavetoremindmyselfthathemurderedEightinordertosquelchtheswellingofsympathyIfeelforhim.Sympathy,yes,butalsofear.Heflewoffthehandlewithzeroprovocation,andalmostseemedhappykillingthoseMogs.Thisscrewed-up,violent,cowardlytraitorismyonlyrealhopeofgettingofftheAnubis.Ishakemyhead.‘Let’sgo,’Isigh.Fivenodsandwejogon,tossingoutthewholehand-holdingthing,andjustcareeningtowardsour
destination.Aswerun,InoticeFiveclenchingandunclenchinghishands.They’rebothempty.‘How’dyoudothatwithyourarm?’Iaskhim,thinkingaboutthoserubberandsteelballsheusedto
changehisskinintheLectureHall.‘Ithoughtyouneededtobetouchingsomething…’Fiveturnshisheadsohisgoodeyeisonme.Hetouchesthefreshbandageoverhisface.‘Losinganeyegavemesomenew,uh…storagepossibilities,’hesays.‘Ugh,’Ireply,grossedoutasIpicturetherubberballshovedintoFive’seyesocket.‘How’dyoulose
it,anyway?’‘Marina,’heanswers,simply,nomaliceinhisvoice.‘Ihaditcoming.’
‘I’msure.’Weroundthenextcorner,andthehallwayopensup,theceilingrisingasweenterthehugedockingbay.
Icanseecrisp,blueskythroughtheportholes,sunlightpouringacrossthedozensofdockedMogadorianscoutvessels.Otherthantheships,thedockingbayisempty.Themechanicsandcrewmustbeontheobservatorydeck,gazingoutupontheworldtheyplantoconquer.We’resoclose.‘Holdon,’Isay.‘Ifweopentheairlock,arewegoingtobesuckedoutrightaway?’‘We’reintheatmospherenow,notspace,’Fivesaysimpatiently.Heleansoveranearbyconsole,
studyingtheinterface.‘It’llbewindy.You’renotgoingtochickenout,areyou?’‘No,’Isay,lookingaroundthedockingbay.‘Doyouthinkwecouldblowsomeofthisstuffup?Maybe
bringdowntheAnubisbeforeithasachancetodoanything?’Fiveturnstome,lookingslightlyimpressed.‘YouhaveanyexplosiveLegacies?’‘No.’‘Meneither.Knowhowtomakeabomb?’‘Uh,no.’‘Thenwe’regoingtohavetosettleforescaping,’Fivesays.Fivehitsabuttonontheconsoleanda
thickmetaldoorthudsintoplacebehindus.It’stheairlock–sturdyenoughtokeeptheshipsafefromthevacuumofspace.Iteffectivelysealsusofffromtherestoftheship.‘That’llslowthemdown,’Fivesays,referringtopursuerswedon’tyethave.‘Goodthinking,’IadmitasIpeerthroughthesmallwindowontheairlock,expectingtoseeMogs
chasingusdownatanymoment.Fivetapsoutafewmorekeystrokesand,withahydraulicwhineandagustofchilledair,thedocking-
baydoorsatthefarendoftheroomopenup.ThewindpullsatmeandIletoutadeep,relievedsigh.IreachintomydressandremovetheXitharisstone,clutchingit.Slowly,Iwalktowardstheopendock,wonderingwhatit’llbeliketopitchmyselfintothatopenbluesky.WaybetterthanlifeontheAnubis,that’sforsure.‘So,Ijustholdthisstoneandfly?’Iask,lookingovermyshoulderatFive.‘Supposedtobehowitworks,’heanswers.‘Justimagineyourbodylightasafeather,floatingonair.
That’showIlearnedtousemyLegacy,anyway.’Iglancetowardstheopenair,thecloudlessskywaitingforme.‘Whatifitdoesn’twork?’Fivestartstowardsme,sighing.‘Comeon.We’llgotogether.’‘Youwon’tbegoinganywhere.’SetrákusRastepsoutfrombetweentwooftheships.I’mnotsureifhe’sbeentherethewholetime,
waitingforus,orifhejustteleportedintotheroomsomehow.Eitherway–itdoesn’tmatter.We’recaught.Stillinhishumanform,SetrákusRastandsbetweenusandtheopendockingbay,thewindgentlyblowingthroughhisperfectbrownhair,pluckingatthelapelsofhissuit.Heholdshisgoldenstaff–theEyeofThaloc–inonehand.Fiveputsahandonmyshoulderandtriestopushmebehindhim.Ishakehimoff.WefaceSetrákusRa
sidebyside.
‘Getoutofourway,oldman,’Fivegrowls.He’stryingtosoundtough,buthecanbarelymanagetomeetSetrákusRa’seyes.‘Iwillnot,’SetrákusRareplies,hisvoicefullofscornanddisappointment.‘Iexpectedthiskindof
behaviorfromyou,Ella.YouhaveonlyrecentlyjoinedusanditwilltaketimetoundothebrainwashingyouenduredatthehandsoftheGarde.But,Five,myboy,aftereverythingIhavedoneforyou–’‘Shutup,’Fivesaysquietly,almostpleading.‘Youtalkandtalkandtalk,butnoneofit’strue!’‘Mineistheonlytruth,’SetrákusRacounterssternly.‘Youwillbepunishedforyourinsolence.’Fivestillcan’tbringhimselftolookdirectlyatSetrákusRa,buthisshouldersriseupanddown
rapidly,justlikeinthehallwaywiththeMogwarriors.Insidehischest,alowrumblestartstobuild.Itremindsmeofateakettlecomingtoaboil.Itakeasubtlesteptotheside,worriedthatFivemightliterallyexplode.‘Enoughofthisinanity,children,’SetrákusRasays,buthislatestrebukeispartlydrownedoutbythe
rabidscreamthattearsloosefromFive’slungs.Andthenhecharges.Atfirst,Five’sbarefeetmakeslappingsoundsacrossthemetaldeck.ButashenearsSetrákusRa,his
footfallsbecomemetalclangingagainstmetal,hisExternachanginghisskintomatchthefloor.SetrákusRamerelyraisesaneyebrowatFive,notimpressedorintimidatedintheleast.Idon’tjuststandaroundandwatch.WhileFivechargesin,Imakeabreakforoneofthenearbytool
carts.IfIcangrabawrenchoranyotherobjecttochargewithmyDreynen,maybeIcanre-createyesterday’slesson.Onlythistime,mytargetwillbeSetrákusRa.Thatplan,alongwithwhateverFiveintendedtodo,getsscrappedwhenSetrákusRasweepshisarm
fromsidetoside.Awaveoftelekineticforceblastsacrossus,knockingmecompletelyoffmyfeetandscatteringthenearbytoolstothefarwall.Histelekinesisissopowerfulthatsomeoftheshipsevenrocktotheside,theirshocksgrindingandcreaking.Ilandhardonmystomachandimmediatelyrollovertoreorientmyself.Fivewasknockedintotheair,
too,butcaughthimselfwithhisflightLegacy.HefloatsjustafewyardsfromSetrákusRa.Five’sskinisnolongerthedullgrayofthedocking-bayfloor.Ithaschangedtoaglisteningchrome,liketheballbearingIknowhecarriesaround.Sothatmustbejammedintohiseyesocketaswell.‘Stopatonce,’SetrákusRawarns,butFiveiswaypastthepointoflistening.FivesoarsintowardsSetrákusRa,throwingbig,loopingpuncheswiththeintentionofsmashinghis
prettyhumanface.SetrákusRadeflectstheblowseasilywithhiscane,althoughFive’ssheeranimalisticfuryisenoughtodriveSetrákusRabacktowardstheopendocking-baydoors.Theirscuffleopensupapathforme.Letthesetwocraziesdukeitout.AllIhavetodoismakeabreak
forit,diveintotheopenbluesky,andhopetheXitharisstonedoeswhatFivesaid.JustwhenIstarttomakemymove,InoticeSetrákusRa’seyesflash.Ifeelaninvisiblefieldofenergy
passoverme,almostlikethepressureintheroomhaschanged.Ashe’sinthemiddleofthrowingapunch,Five’sskinturnsbacktonormal.HisfistcrunchesagainstSetrákusRa’supraisedcane.Atthesamemoment,Fivefallsoutoftheairwithashout.It’sjustlikeatDulceBase.SetrákusRahascreatedsomekindoffieldthatcancelsLegacies.He’san
Aeturnuslikeme,andnowIknowthatSetrákusRaandIalsoshareDreynen.Histechniqueisdifferent
fromanythingI’vebeenabletolearn.It’slikehe’schargedthemoleculesintheairaroundhim,creatingaradiuswhereLegaciesareuseless.Exceptitdoesn’tworkonme.IcanstillfeelmyDreynenlurkingwithinme,andIknowthatIcoulduse
myAeturnusifIwanted.Somehow,I’mimmunetoSetrákusRa’sversionofDreynen.Isitbecausewe’rerelated?OrisoneofmyLegaciesanimmunitytoSetrákusRa?HesaidallthatcrapaboutourLegaciescomingrandomlyandLorienbeingnothingbutchaos.Butwhatifhe’swrongandmyLegacieshavebeenspecificallychosentodestroyhim?Moreimportant–doesSetrákusRaknowthathispowerdoesn’taffectme?Inthatmoment,SetrákusRaisn’tpayingmeanyattentionatall.He’scompletelyfocusedonFive.I
knowIshouldmakeabreakforit,butIfindmyselfrootedinplace.Evenaftereverythinghe’sdone,canIreallyleaveFivebehind?FiveisonhiskneesinfrontofSetrákusRa,clutchinghisinjuredhandtohisbelly.SetrákusRa’s
unimposinghumanformhasgrownbyafewfeet–he’stallerandbroadernow,inflatedinawaythatisvaguelygrotesque.HereachesdownandpalmsFive’sheadinoneunnaturallylargehand.‘Allyouneededtodowasfolloworders,’SetrákusRaseethesatFive.HejerksFive’sheadbackso
hecanlookhimintheface.‘WecouldhavewalkedintotheSanctuarytogether,ifyou’donlybroughtmethatdamnedpendant.Andnow,this–youdareraiseahandagainstyourBelovedLeader.Youdisgustme,boy.’Idon’tknowwhatSetrákusRameansbySanctuary,butImakeamentalnoteofit.Ialsotakeastep
towardshimandFive,stilltornbetweenfleeingandhelping,anduncertainofwhatIcouldevendoinafightagainsttheMogadorianruler.Five’sheadiscockedatanawkwardangle,sohecanonlygurgleinresponsetoSetrákusRa’sranting.‘IshouldhaveknownthatnomemberoftheGardecouldtrulybesalvaged,’SetrákusRacontinues.
‘Youaremygreatestfailure,Five.Butyouwillbemylast.’FivecriesoutasRa’shandtightensonhisskull.MystomachturnsoverasIrealizehe’sliterallygoing
tocrushFive’shead.Ican’tletthathappen.WithallthetelekineticforceIcanmuster,IshoveSetrákusRatowardstheopendocking-baydoors.Hiseyeswideninsurpriseashestumblesbackwards,theopenairtuggingathisfancysuit,whichis
nowbulgingattheseamsfromhisinhumangrowthspurt.SetrákusRaloseshisgriponFive’shead,hisnailsscratchingdivotsintohisscalp.HemanagestostophimselfbeforeIpushhimofftheAnubis,andIcanfeelhistelekinesisbattlebackagainstmine.‘Ella,how–’hestartstoask,surprisemixingwithfrustration.ButthenFiveischargingathim,hisforearmbladeextended.‘Die!’Fivebellows.SetrákusRatriestostepasidebutcan’tentirelyavoidFive.Thebladeplunges
intohisshoulder.Iscreamasapiercingjoltofpaincoursesthroughme.Aholeinmyshoulderopensup,warmbloodpouringdownmyfront.Istaggeragainstoneofthenearby
ships,clutchingthewound,tryingtostopthebleedingwithmyfingers.FiverecoilsfromSetrákusRa,hiseyeswide.TheMogadorianlooksunharmed.SetrákusRasmilesas
Fiveturnstogapeatme.I’mrunthroughrightwhereheshould’vestabbedSetrákusRa.‘Nowlookwhatyoudid,’SetrákusRachides.
TheMogadoriancharm,Irealize,evenasIstarttofeelfaint.AnydamagedonetoSetrákusRaisinsteaddonetome.Fivelookshorrifiedbywhathe’sdone.Beforehecanreact,SetrákusRapickshimupbythethroatand
slamsthebackofhisheadviolentlyagainstthehullofthenearestship.Hedoesthisagainandagain,untilFive’sbodyislimp.Then,callously,SetrákusRatosseshisunconsciousbodyouttheopendoorsoftheAnubis.Itryto
reachFivewithmytelekinesis,butI’mtooweak.Hisbodyplummetsoutofsight,towardstheEarthbelow.Icollapsetothefloor,bloodseepingthroughmyfingers.Allthestrengthhasgoneoutofme.Iwon’tbe
escapingfromtheAnubistoday.Mygrandfatherhaswon.SetrákusRastandsoverme,hishumanformreturnedtonormal,althoughhissuitisruined.Heshakes
hishead,hissmilelikeadisappointedteacher.‘Comenow,Ella,’hesays.‘Wemustputthisepisodebehindus.’Iholdupmyblood-coveredhandforhimtosee.‘Why?Whydidyoudothistome?’‘ItwastheonlywayforyoutolearnthatMogadorianProgressismoreimportantthanevenyourown
life,’hereplies.SetrákusRagathersmeupinhisarms.AsIstarttoloseconsciousness,hewhispersgently,‘Youwon’tdisobeyBelovedLeaderagain,willyou?’
23
Adam’sflightplanistotakeusdowntheAtlanticcoastuntilwehitFlorida,thendipbackwestoverthegulfandfinallyarriveatthesoutheasterntipofMexico.WiththeSkimmerflyingatmaximumspeedandstayinglowenoughtoavoidanyotheraircraft,thetripshouldtakeaboutfourhours.It’saquietride.Ileanbackinmyseatandwatchthecoastebbandflowbeneathus.Adamdoesn’tsay
muchofanything;hekeepshiseyesstraightahead,occasionallyadjustingourcoursewhenhissystemspickupanotheraircraft.Dustnapsonthefloorathisfeet.AsforMarina,sheremainstypicallyrigid,herwholefear-of-flyingthingnotgettinganybetterwithaMogadorianatthecontrols.‘Youknow,youcanrestforafewhours,’Adamsuggestseventually,histonecautious.I’dalreadybeen
closetodozingoff,sohemustbetalkingtoMarina.She’ssittingstraightbacked,aslightchillcomingoffher.ShemustbeloomingrightinthecornerofAdam’seye.Marinaseemstoconsiderthisforamoment,thenleansforwardsothatherheadisnearlyonAdam’s
shoulder.Heraisesaneyebrow,butotherwisekeepshishandsonthecontrols.‘ThelasttripSixandImadesouthwaslessthanaweekago,’Marinasays,hervoicemeasured.‘We
foundouttoolatethatwehadatraitortravelingwithus.Iendedupstabbinghimintheeye.Thatwasmebeingmerciful.’‘IknowwhathappenedinFlorida,’Adamsays.‘Whyareyoutellingmethis?’‘BecauseIwantyoutoknowwhatwillhappenifyoubetrayus,’Marinareplies,leaningback.‘And
don’ttellmetorest.’Adamlooksoveratmeforhelp,butIshrugmyshouldersandturnaway.Marina’sstillfiguringoutjust
howangryshewantstobe,andI’mnotgoingtogetinherway.Besides,Idon’tthinkputtingalittlefearinourMogadoriancompanionissuchabadthing.Iassumehe’sjustgoingtolettheconversationdie,butafterafewminutesAdamspeaksup.
‘Yesterday,forthefirsttimeIpickedupaswordthat’sbeeninmyfamilyforgenerations.I’dneverbeenallowedtotouchitbefore,onlyadmireitfromafar.Itbelongedtomyfather,GeneralAndrakkusSutekh.HewasfightingNumberFour–John.Idrovethatswordthroughmyfather’sbackandkilledhim.’Adamdeliversthisspeechmatter-of-factly,likehe’sreadingthenews.Iblinkathim,thenglanceover
myshoulderatMarina.She’slookingdownatthefloor,deepinthought.Asthechillrisingoffherbeginstodiedown,Dustpickshimselfupandgoesovertoher.ThewolfrestshisheadinMarina’slap.‘Coolstory,’IsaytoAdamwhenitbecomespainfullyclearthatsomeoneneedstobreakthesilence.
‘I’veneverknownanyonewhocarriedaroundaswordbefore.’‘Cool,’Adamrepeats,frowning.‘Mypointis,youdon’tneedtodoubtmyloyalty.’‘I’msorryyouhadtodothattoyourfather,’Marinasaysafteramoment.‘Ididn’tknow.’‘I’mnot,’Adamrepliesbrusquely.‘Butthanksforthesympathy.’Tobreakthetension,IstartmessingwithsomeofthedialsontheSkimmer’sconsole.‘Doesthisthing
haveafreakingradio,orwhat?Arewejustgoingtotelldeathstoriesthewholeway?’
Adamisquicktoreadjustthedialsrightafterme.IthinkIcatchhimsmilingalittle,probablyrelievedthatthedeath-threatportionofthetripisover.‘There’snoradio,’hesays.‘IcanhumsomeMogadorianstandards,ifyou’dlike.’‘Oh,barf,’Ireply,andMarinasnickersinthebackseat.IrealizeAdamisgivingmeafunnylook,hisangularfacemoreopenthanI’veseen,thatdefensive
stoicismhewearsstrippedaway.Foramoment,healmostlookscomfortablebeingupherewithtwoofhismortalenemies.‘What?’Iask,andhehurriedlylooksaway.Irealizehismindwaselsewhere.‘Nothing,’hesays,almostwistful.‘Forasecondthere,youjustremindedmeofsomeoneIusedto
know.’Therestoftheflightsouthisuneventful.Imanagetodozeoffonceortwice,althoughneverforlong.
WithDustsnuggledupagainsther,itseemslikeMarinaisfinallyabletorelax.AdamrefrainsfromhumminganyMogadoriananthems.We’reflyingoverthetropicalforestofCampeche,Mexico,justanotherhourawayfromtheLoric
SanctuarysupposedlyhiddenamidtheruinsofanancientMayancity,whenaredwarninglightbeginstoflashontheSkimmer’stranslucentwindshield.IonlynoticeitwhenAdamtensesup.‘Damnit,’hesays,andimmediatelystartsflickingswitchesontheSkimmer’scontrolpanel.‘Whatisit?’‘Someone’slockedontous.’ThecamerasmountedontheSkimmersendimagestoourscreen,viewsfromtheundersideoftheship
andbehindusbecomingvisible.Idon’tseeanythingbutcloudlessblueskyandthedensecanopyoftheforestbeneathus.‘Wherearetheycomingfrom?’Marinaasks,squintingasshepeersthroughthewindow.‘There,’Adamsays,jabbinghisfingeratthescreen.Onit,aMogadorianscoutshipjustlikeoursdrifts
slowlytowardsusfrombelow.Itsroofispaintedinoverlappingshadesofgreens,camouflagedtomatchtheforestitdetachedfrom.‘Canweoutrunit?’Marinaasks.‘Icantry,’Adamreplies,pullingdownthelevertogiveourSkimmersomemorejuice.‘Orwecanjustshootitdown,’Isuggest.Aswepickupalittlespeed,theblinkingredlightontheconsolemultipliesintofourblinkingred
lights.Therearemoreofthem.TwoidenticalSkimmersriseupfromthejunglerightinfrontofus,anotheralongourside.Thefirststillsitsrightonourtail.Hemmedin,Adamhasnochoicebuttostop.TheotherSkimmerssurroundus.‘Theyallhaveguns,too,right?’Marinaasks.‘Yes,’Adamreplies.‘We’reatadistinctdisadvantage.’‘Notquite,’Isay,andfocusontheskyoutside.Whatwascloudlessamomentagoslowlybeginsto
darken,cloudsrollinginatmybeckoning.‘Holdon,’Adamwarns.‘Wedon’twanttogiveawayyou’reallonboard.’‘You’resuretheywon’tshootusdown?’‘Ninetypercent,’Adamsays.
IletgoofthestormIwaswhippingup,allowingthecloudstodriftthroughtheskyalongtheirnaturalcourse.Asecondlater,ashrillbeepemanatesfromourdashboard.‘They’rehailingus,’Adamsays.‘Theywanttotalk.’Anotherplanhasoccurredtome,onethatdoesn’tinvolvefightingamidairbattleagainstbadodds.‘Yousaidyou’resomegeneral’skid,right?’IsaytoAdam.‘Socan’tyou,like,throwyourweight
aroundorsomething?’AsAdamconsidersthis,thedashboardcommunicatorbleatsagain.‘Ishouldtellyou,I’mnotexactlywelllikedamongmypeople,’hesays.‘Theymightnotlistentome.’‘Yeah,well,that’sarisk,’Iadmit.‘Worst-casescenario,theytakeyouprisoner,right?’Adamgrimaces.‘Yeah.’‘So,weletthemtakeuswherewe’regoing.Don’tworry.We’llrescueyou.’‘Uh,youneedtodosomething,’Marinasays,wavingtowardsthewindshield.Theshipdirectlyin
frontofus,gettingimpatientorsuspicious,hasbroughtitsblasterturretaroundtoaimatus.‘Allright,goinvisible,’Adamsays.IreacharoundmyseatandgraspMarina’shand,disappearingthe
bothofus.Sensingthesituation,DustshrinksdownintoatinygraymouseandskittersunderAdam’sseat.Adamhitsabuttonontheconsole,andavideofeedcracklestolifeonourscreen.Anasty-looking
Mogadorianscout,hisemptyeyestooclosetogether,histeethshortandsharp,staresatAdamwithalookoffierceannoyance.HebarkssomethinginharshMogadorian.‘ImmersionprotocoldictateswespeakEnglishwhileonEarth,youvatborncretin,’Adamreplies
coldly.Hedrawshimselfupinhischair,suddenlysoregalthatIkindawanttoslaphim.‘YouareaddressingAdamusSutekh,truebornsonofGeneralAndrakkusSutekh.Iamonurgentbusinessfrommyfather.LeadmetotheLoricsiteimmediately.’IhavetogiveittoAdam,he’sanexcellentbullshitter.Thescout’sexpressiongoesfromannoyanceto
confusionandfinallytooutrightfear.‘Yes,sir,rightaway,’thescoutreplies,andinresponseAdamimmediatelycutsofftheconversation.
Onebyone,theSkimmersbreakuptheringtheyhadustrappedinsideandletusgetbackoncourse.‘Thatworked,’Marinasays,soundingalittlestunnedassheletsgoofmyhand.‘Fornow,’Adamreplies,frowninguncertainly.‘Hewaslowranking.Whoever’sincommandwillbe
adifferentstory.’‘Can’tyoujusttellthemyourdadsentyoudownheretochecktheirprogress?’Iask.‘Assumingtheydon’tknowIbetrayedourpeopleandthatmyfatheressentiallysentencedmetodie?
Yeah,thatmightwork.’‘Youonlyneedtodistractthemforalittlebit,’Isay.‘LongenoughforMarinaandmetofigureaway
intotheSanctuary.’‘Thereitis,’Marinasays,watchingthroughthewindowastheSkimmersbegintodescendtowards
Calakmul.Thereareabunchofancientlittlebuildingsbelow,allofthemconstructedfromlimestonethat’sbeen
erodingforcenturies,thejunglecreepingintoreclaimthem.Myeyesaredrawntothehugepyramid-shapedtemplethattowersoverthemall;builtonalowhill,thetempleisblocky,coveredinsteepandcrumblingstaircasesthatarechiseledrightintothestone.Ican’tquitemakeitoutfromthisdistance,butthereappearstobesomekindofdooratthetopofthepyramid.
‘Howmuchyouwanttobetweneedtoclimbuptothatthing?’Isay.‘It’stheSanctuary,’Marinareplies.‘I’mcertainofit.’‘Soaremypeople,obviously,’Adamsays.TheMogadorianshaveclearedthejunglearoundtheSanctuaryinaperfectring,thetreesallchopped
down,anentirefleetofMogadorianscoutshipsparkedonthenakedsoil.BesidesthedozensofSkimmers,IcanmakeoutanarrayoftentswheretheMogsmustbecamping.There’salsowhatlookstobeacoupleofheavy-dutymissilelaunchersandblasterturrets,alloftheseweaponsaimedatthetemple,andyetthestructurelookscompletelyuntouched.Oddly,atthebaseofthetempleandcreepingupthesides,therearestillovergrowntreesandvines,untendedforyears.It’sastarkcontrasttothesevereneatnessoftheMogadorianperimeter,whereeverythingnaturalhasbeenclearedaway.‘It’slikesomethingkeptthemfromgettingtooclose,’Marinasays,noticingthesamethingasme.‘MalcolmdidsaythatonlytheGardecouldenter,’Ireply.OurescortofMogshipsfloatdowntothemakeshiftairfieldandAdamlandsafewyardsawayfrom
them.TheSanctuaryloomsinthedistance.TheonlythingstandingbetweenusandtheLorictempleisastripofwide-openlandandasmallarmyofMogadorians,manyofwhomhavebegungatheringintheairfield,allofthemarmedwithblasters.‘Somewelcomingcommittee,’Isay,glancingatAdam.Hewatcheshispeoplemassonthemonitor,
swallowshardandunbuckleshimselffromthepilot’sseat.‘Allright,I’llgofirst.Leadthemawaysomehow.YouguysgetintotheSanctuary.’‘Idon’tlikethis,’Marinasays.‘There’salotofthem.’‘It’llbefine,’Adamsays.‘Justgetinsideanddowhatyouhavetodo.’Withthat,AdamopensthecockpitandhopsontotheSkimmer’shull.Thereareaboutthirty
Mogadoriansdownbelow,waitingonhim,withmorewalkingoverfromthetents.MarinaandIhunkerdowninsidetheSkimmer,myhandclosetohersincaseweneedtogoinvisible.‘Who’sinchargehere?’Adamyells,standingtallandrigid,againputtingonhistruebornairs.Atallfemalewarriordressedinasleevelessblackovercoatstepsforward.Shehastwothickbraids
thatstartonthesidesofherheadandwraparoundit,encirclingthetraditionalMogadoriantattoosonherscalp.Herhandsarewrappedindustywhitebandages,likethey’verecentlybeeninjuredorburned.‘IamPhiriDun-Ra,trueborndaughterofthehonorableMagothDun-Ra,’thewarriorshoutstoAdam.
Herpostureisnearlyasimposingandrigidashis.‘Whyhaveyoucomehere,Sutekh?’Adamhopsdownfromourship,tossinghisheadtofliphishairoutofhiseyes.‘OrdersfromBelovedLeaderhimself.Iamtoinspectthissitetoprepareforhisarrival.’AtremorpassesthroughthecrowdwhenAdammentionsSetrákusRa.ManyoftheMogsexchange
nervousglances.PhiriDun-Ra,however,appearsnonplussed.Shestridesforward,lettingherblasterdangleidlynexttoherhip.Somethingtightensupinmystomachatthesightofher.Thepredatorywayshemoves,theglintinhereyeliketroublecouldsparkatanymoment.She’swaysharperthantheotherMogwarriorsI’veencountered.‘Ah,BelovedLeader.Ofcourse,’Phirisays.Shewavestothetempleinthedistance.‘Whatwouldyou
liketoseefirst,sir?’AdamtakesasteptowardstheMogcampandopenshismouthtospeak.Smoothly,withoutwarning,
PhiriliftsherblasterandcracksAdamacrossthemouthwiththehandle.Ashefallstotheground,therest
oftheMogadoriansleveltheirblastersathiminunison.‘Howabouttheinsideofacell,traitor?’Phirisnarls,standingoverAdam,herblasterpointedathis
face.
24
IextendmyhandtoMarinaandshegraspsitimmediately.Invisible,wecarefullyclimboutoftheship,synchronizingourmovements.Behindus,Ihearasuddenflappingofwings.Dusttakesflightintheshapeofatropicalbird,hiswingsfleckedwithgray.NoneoftheMogsnoticehimsoaroutofthecockpit,andtheydon’thearMarinaandmeleapdowntotheground.They’retoodistractedbytheshowPhiriDun-RaisputtingonwithAdam.‘Iknowyourfather,Sutekh,’Phiriissaying,projectinghervoicesothattheMogsgatheredina
semicirclearoundherandAdamcanallhear.‘He’sabastard,butatleasthe’snoble.HebelievesinMogadorianProgress.’IfAdammanagesareply,Ican’thearitoverthemurmurofagreementthatcomesfromtheotherMogs.
Icatchaglimpseofhimthroughthecrowd–he’scrumpledatPhiri’sfeet,scrabblinginthedirt,tryingtoregainhisfeetbutprobablystillseeingstars.‘Infact,yourfathergavemethisassignment,’Phiricontinues.‘Iwasresponsibleforateamthat
allowedaGardetoescapefromtheWestVirginiastronghold.Thepunishmentwaseitherdeathorajourneyhere.Notmuchofachoice,really.Yousee,ifwefail,we’llallbeexecutedanyway.TheonlywaytoliveisforustodelivertheSanctuary.’Attheword‘Sanctuary,’Phirimakesasarcasticallydramaticgesturewithhertwobandagedhandsthat
encompassesthewholeofthetemple.Ihesitateforamomenttolistentowhatelseshehastosay.‘There’snotadaygoesbythatIdon’twonderifImadethewrongdecision.Maybeaquickdeath
wouldhavebeenbetter.Yousee,Sutekh,allofusweresenthereaspunishment,’Phiriexplains.Itoccurstomethatshe’snotjusttalkingtoAdam–she’salsotryingtofireuphertroops.Maybemoralegetslowinthejungle.‘WeweresenttothisforsakenplacetobringdowntheimpenetrableshieldthatsurroundswhateverspoilstheLorichavehiddenwithin.Forallofus,itisourlastchancetoimpressBelovedLeader.It’stheperfectplaceforatraitorlikeyou.’PhiricrouchesdowninfrontofAdam.‘SodoyouknowthesecrettotheSanctuary?Haveyoucomeheretoredeemyourselfatlast?’‘Yeah,’comesAdam’sgroggyreply.‘Ifit’saforcefield,trythrowingyourselfatit.’PhiriactuallylaughsatAdam’squip.It’sthatlaughthatgetsmemovingagain–ithasanairofmenace
toit,likeherlittlesideshowisabouttowrapup.Thatmeanswehavetohurry.ItugMarinaandweslipbehindthegatheredMogadorians.Adam’screatedonehellofadiversion–if
wewerestickingtotheplan,wecouldmakeitinsidetheperimeteroftheSanctuaryeasily.ButI’mnotwillingtoleaveAdamtohisfate,andIdon’tthinkMarinaiseither.Insteadofheadingforthetemple,wemoveswiftlytowardsoneofthemountedblasterturretsthattheMogshavebeenusingtofruitlesslyfireatwhateverforceprotectstheSanctuary.‘Throwmyselfatit,’Phiriisrepeating,herlaughterdyingdown.‘Thatisn’tsuchabadidea,Sutekh.
Whydon’tyougofirst?’
Outofthecornerofmyeye,InoticePhirisignaltoacoupleofthewarriorsinhercommand.TheyhustleforwardandwrestleAdamtohisfeet.WithPhirileadingtheway,theMogsdragAdamtowardstheinvisiblelinethatdividestheclearedMogadoriansectionofjunglewiththeuntouchedportionsurroundingthetemple.‘We’vetriedeverythingshortofatomicbombardmenttocrossintotheSanctuary,’Phirisays,
conversationally.‘It’ssaidBelovedLeaderknowsawayin.ItinvolvestheGardeandtheirlittlependants.Asyouknow,they’veproventobe…elusive.ButifyoubelievetheGreatBook–andIdo–thenyouknownothingcanstandinthewayofMogadorianProgress.Whichmeansthisdamnedforcefieldwillcomedown.IintendtotramplewhateverLoricmagiciskeepingusout,inthenameofBelovedLeader.’‘Thenwhyhaven’tyoudoneitalready?’Adamreplies.‘IfnothingcanstandinthewayofMogadorian
Progress,whyaren’tyoumakingany?’‘MaybebecauseIneverhadaprettytruebornboy’sfacetouseasabatteringram.’MarinaandIreachthenearestturret.Together,weclimbupthestepsonthebackoftheblaster.The
thinglookslikeamountedjackhammer.Thereisawindshieldwithacrosshairsplacedoverthebarrel.Therearetwohandlesforturningthegun,withtriggersthatlooklikethebrakesofabicyclesetnexttothem.‘Willyoubeabletofirethisthing?’IwhispertoMarina.‘Aim,squeeze,shoot,’Marinawhispersback.‘It’sprettyintuitive,Six.’‘Allright,’Ireply.‘Holdon.’Thegunturretrequirestwohandstooperate.EventhoughalltheMogsarefacingawayfromus,Idon’t
wanttogovisibleandchanceoneofthemglancingbackandruiningourambush.IcarefullyplacemyhandonthebackofMarina’sneckbeforelettinggoofherhand.Thisway,she’sabletooperatetheturretwhilethetwoofusstillremaininvisible.Slowly,Marinastartsmovingtheturretsothatit’spointedattheMogs.Thegunneedsoiling–itmakesametallicwhinewhenshemovesit.Iwavemyfreehandintheairandquicklysummonastronggustofwindtocoverthesound.‘Letmegiveyouapreviewofwhatyou’reinfor,’Phiriissaying.She’sgotAdamrightinfrontofthe
invisiblebarriernow,hergoonsforcinghimontohisknees.Sheunwrapsthebandagesaroundoneofherhands,revealinghorriblycharredflesh.‘ThisiswhattheLoricshielddoeswhenwemistakenlyrunupagainstit.’‘Youshouldbemorecareful,’Adamreplies.AtanodfromPhiri,thetwowarriorsgrappleAdamintoahalf-bentposition,securinghisarmsothat
theycanpressitagainsttheforcefield.PhirileersdownatAdam.‘Therearerumorsaboutyou,Sutekh.Theysayyou’repartGardenow.
Maybeyou’rejustwhatweneedtogetintotheSanctuary.Maybeafreaklikeyouwillshort-circuittheforcefieldandtodaywillbethedayweentertheSanctuaryinthenameofBelovedLeader.’‘Onewayoranother,today’syourlastdayattheSanctuary,’Adamrepliesthroughgrittedteeth.‘I
promiseyouthat.’Adam’swordsmakePhirihesitate.Sheglancesbacktowardsourship,suddenlyrealizingthatmaybe
Adamdidn’tcomealone.She’stoolate.MarinahastheturretlineduponthecrowdofMogs.
‘Ready?’shewhisperstome.‘Light’emup.’Marina’sinvisiblehandssqueezedowntheturret’striggers.Thegunroarstolifewithsuchforcethat
I’mnearlyknockedofftheback.ImanagetoclingtoMarinasothatshedoesn’tturnvisible.TheclosestgroupofMogsdon’tevenhaveachancetoturnaroundasglowingcolumnsofsizzlingblasterfirepummeltheirbacks,turningthemimmediatelytoash.AssoonasMarinaopensfire,Dustcomesscreechingdownfromthesky.Nowintheshapeofagray-
wingedfalcon,theChimærarakesitstalonsacrossthefaceofoneofthewarriorsholdingAdam.TheMogsshoutandscatter.They’retotallyconfused–itmustlookliketheirturrethasbeenpossessed
byaghost.PhiriDun-Rahasthepresenceofmindtosqueezeoffsomeblasterfirethatdeflectsofftheturret’swindshield,butthensheducksforcover.Marinacontinuestostrafethem,althoughshe’scarefultoavoidtheareaaroundAdam.WithDusttakingdownoneofthewarriors,Adamelbowshissecondcaptorinthestomach.Whenhe
doublesover,Adamshoveshimbackwards,rightintotheinvisibleborderaroundtheSanctuary.Withaflareofcold,blueenergy,theshieldsurroundingthetemplerevealsitself–it’slikeagiantelectricalwebstretchedintotheshapeofadome.TheMogflaresuplikethetipofamatchstickwhenhehitstheforcefield.Hisbodyleavesacoatingofashthatseemstofloatintheaironcetheshielddisappearsagain,untilagentlegustofwindblowsitaway.Freedfromhiscaptors,Adamthrowshimselfontohisstomach.Rightaway,Marinaswingstheturret
aroundtotakeouttheMogsclutteredaroundhim.Afewofthem,includingPhiriDun-Ra,havemadeittothecoverofoneoftheparkedships.Eventhoughtheycan’tseeus,theyreturnfireontheturret.Ourgunsoonbeginstobelchsmokeandrattledangerously.‘It’soverheating!’Iyell.‘Jump!’MarinaandIdiveinoppositedirectionsastheturretexplodesinacloudofacridblacksmoke.We’re
visibleandwithoutanycovertospeakof.BeforethesurvivingMogscantakeaim,Adampoundshisfistagainsttheground.Atremorripplesin
theirdirectionandknockstheMogsofftheirfeet.Iusethedistractiontorollbeneathoneoftheotherships,alreadychannelingmyLegacytocalldownastorm.Theskydarkensanditbeginstorain.Outhereinthejungle,it’sacinchtocallupthiskindofweather,
butI’mstillafewsecondsawayfromchannelinglightningandI’mnotsureI’llbequickenough.Phiriandhertroopsarealreadydrawingabeadonme,theirblasterfirescoringthewetdirtinfrontofmyposition.That’swhenafist-sizedhailstonestrikesPhirirightinherbaldhead.Shefallsback,shieldingherself.InoticeMarinahidingbehindastackofcrates.She’sfocusingintentlyontheraindrops,turningthemto
icearoundtheMogsandknockingthemsenselesswithhail.Ifeelthestormabovereachaboilingpointandletloosewithajaggedstripeoflightning.Phirimanagestodiveasideatthelastsecond,butherlasttwowarriorsareelectrocutedintodust.Andthen,tomysurprise,PhiriDun-Raruns.Withoutevenalookoverhershoulder,theMogtrueborn
boltsintothenearbyjungle.Adamleapstohisfeet.BothhislipsaresplitopenwherePhiriclubbedhim,bloodtricklingdownhis
chin.Otherwise,helooksunharmedandalert.HestartstorunafterPhiri,hisfeetslidingthroughthe
reddish-brownmudmystormhascreated.PhiriisoutofsightbeforeAdamcangetveryfar.Hepullsupshortafewyardsawayfromme.‘Lethergo,’Itellhim,willingthestormIwhippeduptotaperoff.‘Shouldn’twegoafterher?’Adamasks,spittingbloodintothedirt.Hiseyesscanthenearbyruinsand
treeline,andIcantellhe’dlikeafairfightagainsttheothertrueborn.Dust,backinwolfform,lopesoverandsitsdownnexttoAdam,lappinggentlyathishand.Heglancesbacktome.‘Thanksforthesave,bytheway.’‘Yeah,Ifiguredsincethewholedistractionthingwasmycall,Ikindaowedittoyoutonotletyouget
slaughtered.’‘Gladyousawitthatway,’Adamreplies,thenlooksbacktowardstheruinsaroundtheSanctuary.‘We
shouldcatchher.She’sdangerous.’‘ForgetaboutPhiriwhat’s-her-face,’Isay,turningawayfromthejungleandgazingupatthewaiting
temple.‘We’vegotmoreimportantthingstodothanchasedownoneMog,’Marinaputsinasshewalksoverto
joinus.‘Nomatterhownastyshemightbe.’Inodinagreement.‘She’saloneoutthere.Maybesomethingwilleather.We’llleaveDustbackhereto
keepwatchovertheships,incaseshetriestodoubleback.’Adamcontinuestostareintothejungle.Afteramoment,hefinallynodshishead.‘Fine.I’llkeepaneye
onthingswhileyouguysgoinside.’IexchangeaninquiringlookwithMarinatomakesureshedoesn’thaveanymisgivingswithwhatI’m
abouttosay.Sheshrugshershouldersinresponse,thenstartstowardsourshiptobegintheunloading.IcockmyheadatAdam.‘Youdon’tevenwanttotrycominginwithus?’Iask.Adamstaresatme.‘Areyoujoking?DidyouseewhatcontactwiththatfielddidtoPhiriDun-Ra?’‘I’llhealyouifthathappens,’Marinaoffersoverhershoulder.‘Idon’tunderstand,’Adamsays.Heturnstolookupatthetemple,hishandsonhiships.Helooks
nervous.‘Whywouldyouevenwantmetogointhere?It’saLoricplace.’‘LikethatPhiribitchsaid,you’repartGardenow,’Iexplain.‘You’renotLoric,butyou’vegot
Legacies.’‘I’vegotoneLegacy,’Adamclarifies.‘Anditwasn’tevenminetostartwith.I–I’mnotevensureif
I’msupposedtohaveit.’‘Doesn’tmatter.IfIunderstoodwhatMalcolmtoldus–andIguessthat’smaybeabigif–there’sa
livingpieceofLorieninthattemple.That’swhereourLegaciescomefrom.Whichmeansyou’reconnectedtoit,justlikeus.’‘Everythinghashappenedforareason,’Marinasaysassheclimbsupontoourship’shull.Shelooks
backatus,athoughtfulfrownstraininghersoftfeatures.‘JustlookatEight’sprophecies.’Adamlooksunconvinced.Heswallowshard.‘Wedon’tknowwhat’swaitingforusinthereorwhattoexpect.Wemightneedyouinthere.Soman
up.’I’mnotsurehowAdamwillrespondtobeingcalledout.Asmileflickersacrosshisface,likethatone
inthecockpitwhenhewasspacingout.
‘I’min,’hesays.‘Assumingthatinvisiblewalldoesn’tburnmyfaceoff.’WewalkovertotheshiptohelpMarina.ShepullstheChestwithourgatheredInheritanceoutofthe
cockpitandfloatsitdowntomewithtelekinesis.Then,shecarefullyfloatsEight’sbodyoutoftheship.Shehashimhoverrightinfrontofher,almostlikeshewascarryinghiminherarms.Tomysurprise,sheunzipsthetophalfofthebodybag.There’sEight,lookingjustashedidwhenhewasalive,thoseMogadorianelectrodespreservinghim.‘Marina?Whatareyoudoing?’‘IwanthimtoseetheSanctuary,’shesays,thengentlysmoothssomeofEight’scurlyhairbackfromhis
forehead.‘You’regoinghome,’shewhisperstohim.Marinaclimbsdownfromtheship,focusinghertelekinesissothatEight’sbodystayswithherthe
entireway.There’salookofdeeppurposeonherface,andshedoesn’tevenlookatmeorAdambeforewalkingtowardsthetemple.Irealizethatshe’sbeenwaitingdaysforthismoment,thetimewhenshecanproperlylayEighttorest.Wordlessly,AdamandIjoinhersomberprocession.AsweapproachtheedgeofthelandtheMogscleared,thewildandovergrowntempleloomingbefore
us,Ifeelastrangetickleagainstmychest.IlookdowntofindJohn’spendantglowingbrightlyandrisingupagainstthefrontofmytanktop.Iadjustmyshirtandthependantfloatsoutinfrontofme,strainingagainstitschain.It’slikeit’smagneticallydrawntotheSanctuary.ThetwopendantsMarinawearsaredoingthesamething.Adamgivesmealookandarchesaneyebrowatmygravity-defyingjewelry.Ishruginresponse.This
isallnewtome,too.Marinaisthefirsttopassoverthethreshold.Theforcefieldappearsagain,cobaltandelectric,and
there’sastaticpoppingasshepassesthroughit.Loosetanglesofherhairchargedbytheenergyfloatuparoundherhead,butotherwisenothinghappens.I’monlyafewstepsbehindher.Theforcefieldgivesmyskinafizzyfeeling.Itonlylastsasecondand
thenI’mstandingontheotherside,thecrackedandvine-riddledstepsoftheSanctuaryrisingupbeforeme.IturnbacktocheckonAdam.He’sstoppedrightinfrontoftheforcefield.Cautiously,heextendshis
indexfingerandmakescontactwiththeenergy.Itpopsloudlyandhejumpsback,butheisn’tscorchedliketheotherMogadorianwas.‘You’resurethisisagoodidea?’‘Don’tbeawimp,’Ireply.Adamsighs,steelshimself,andreachesforwardagain,thistimewithhiswholehand.Theenergy
cracklesandsparksagainsthispaleskinwaymorethanitdidwithMarinaandme,butitletshimthroughwithoutincineratinghim.Igrinathimandhegivesmearelievedlook,wipingsomesweatoffhisforehead.‘Nowwhat?’heasks.Marinahaspausedafewyardsinfrontofus,stillfloatingEight’sbody.Shereachesbehindherhead
andtakesoffoneofherpendants.Loosedfromherneck,thependantbobsslowlytowardsthestonestepsofthetemple,andthenbeginstoriseupthem.‘Weclimb,’Marinasays.
HerpendantglintsblueinthesunlightanditoccurstomethattheLoraliteisglowingalittlebrighter.Likeit’schargeduporsomething.Ifeelit,too.TheSanctuaryisgivingoffsomekindofenergybeyondjusttheforcefield.There’sasensethateverycellinmybodyhasbeensuddenlyinvigorated.IglanceuptotheskyandknowthatIcouldcallupalargerstormthaneverbefore.IfeelmoreintouchwithmyLegacies.Andsomehow,itallseemssonatural–likeI’veknownthisfeelingbefore.Marinawasright,Irealize.We’rehome.
25
IttakesusaboutthirtyminutestoclimbtothetopoftheMayanpyramid.Itrypassingthetimebycountingthesteps,butIlosetracksomewherearoundtwohundred.Therearesectionswherethestonestepshavecrumbledintoankle-twistingcrevices,andotherspotswhererainhaserodedtheancientstoneworkdowntosmoothslopes.Weusetheovergrownvinesthatspillforthfromthejungletoassistusoverthedifficultparts,ascendinghandoverhand.Wedon’ttalkmuch,excepttotelleachotherwhenaparticularlytrickysectionofstepsiscoming.Somehow,itseemsrudetodisturbthesilenceoftheSanctuary.Wetakeabreakoncewereachthetopofthetemple.Marinaissweatingfromtheheat,theclimband
theexertionofusinghertelekinesistocarryEight’sbodyforsolong.IsetdowntheChestI’vebeencarryingandflexmyfingers.Adamstandswithhishandsonhishipsandgazesoutoverthetemple’sedge.‘Someview,’hesays.‘It’sbeautiful,’Iagree.Atthetemple’spinnacle,weareabovethetreetops.It’spossibletoseebeyondtheovergrowntrees
thatcrowdthepyramid,beyondthestrippedringoflandtheMogsclearedandouttotherestoftheMayanruinsandthethrivingjunglebeyond.IimaginesomeoldMayanrulerstandinguphereandgazingoutathisdomain.Andthen,IimaginethatsamerulerturninghiseyestotheheavensasaLoricshipdescendsfromtheclouds.Theimageseemssorealandvivid;Igetthestrangefeelingthatmyimaginationdidn’tjustconjureitup.Centuriesago,somethinglikethatreallyhappenedhere–theLoricvisited,andtheSanctuaryremembers.‘Youguys,lookatthis,’Marinacallstous.AdamandIturnawayfromtheviewandwalkacrosstheflatroofofthetemple.Atthecentermost
pointisastonedoor.Atfirst,Ithinkthedooriscarvedfromthesamepalestoneastherestofthepyramid,butasIdrawcloseritbecomesobviousthatthedoorissmoothandunblemished,theivory-coloredmaterialnotshowingthesameeffectsofageastherestofthetemple.Thedoormayhavebeenhereforsometime,yetit’sapparentthatitwasplunkeddownontopofthealreadybuiltpyramid.Thedoordoesn’tleadanywhere,afactMarinademonstratesbywalkinginacirclearoundit.Her
floatingpendanthoversinfrontofthedoor,waitingforustocatchup.Istopinfrontofthedoorandexamineitssurface.Itiscompletelysmooth–nohandles,knobs,or
anythinglikethat–withtheexceptionofninerounddivotsarrangedinacircleatthedoor’scenter.‘Thependants,’Isay,brushingmyfingersovercoolstone.Marinaplucksherpendantoutoftheairandguidesthestoneintooneofthenotches.Itfitsperfectly
andemitsacrispclickingsound.Thedoordoesn’tmove,though.‘Weonlyhavethree,’Isay,grimacing.‘Itisn’tenough.’‘Wehavetotry,’Marinasays,alreadypullingoffherremainingpendant.
She’sright.We’vecometoofartoturnbacknow.IpulloffJohn’spendantandfititintothenotchesonthestonedoor.‘Heregoesnothing,’Isay,asIpushthefinalpendanthome.Immediately,theLoralitestonesbegintoglowwiththesameenergyastheforcefield.Theglow
spreadsbetweenthestones,connectingthem,theenergyfillingthegapswherewe’remissingpendants.ThecircularsymbolthattakesshapeonthedoorremindsmeofthescarswegetonourlegswhenoneoftheGardedies.Andthen,withanancientgrindingnoise,thestonedoorslidesdownintothetemple,leavingbehind
onlyathinframe.Insteadofjunglethroughthedoorframe,IseeadustyroomlitbythedimblueglowofLoralite.‘Ithoughtwe’dneedmore,’Isay.‘Wedon’tevenhaveamajority.’‘OrmaybetheSanctuaryknowshowbadlyweneedtoenter,’Marinasuggests.‘It’ssomekindofportal,’Adamsays,squintingintotheroombeyondthedoorframe.‘Isthatinsidethe
temple?’‘Let’sfindout,’Isay.IpickupMarina’sChestandstepoverthethreshold.Immediately,Igetthatdisorienting,end-over-end,roller-coasterfeelingthatIusedtohavewhenever
EightwouldusehisteleportationLegacy.Itonlylastsasecond,andthenI’mblinkingmyeyestoadjusttothedimmerlightingofthisinnersanctum.Myearspopfromthepressurechange,andIgetthesensethatIjuststeppedthroughaportalintothemiddleoftheMayantemple.Ormaybe,consideringthewaythejunglesoundshavebeencompletelysealedout,we’reevendeeperthanthat.MaybethisSanctuaryiscompletelybeneaththepyramid.Marina–withEight’sbodyintow–andAdamfollowmethrough,thebothofthemsquintingtoadjust
tothelowerlight.Whenthey’reontheotherside,thedoorwayblinksoutofexistence.There’snoexitinitsplace,onlyasolidlimestonewall,althoughacircleofnotchesjustliketheonefromthedoorarecarvedintoit.OurpendantsclattertothefloorandIhurriedlypickthemup.‘TheSanctuary,’Marinabreathes.‘Howlongagodidyourpeopleputthishere?’Adamasks.‘HellifIknow.Weheardthey’dbeencomingtoEarthforcenturies,’Ireplyabsently,peeringaround.
‘Iguessthisiswhattheyweredoing.’‘Theywerepreparingforthisday,’Marinaadds,thateeriecertaintybackinhervoice.‘What’dtheyleaveus,though?’Iask,alittledisappointedasIlookaround.‘Anemptyroom?’TheSanctuaryisonelong,rectangularroomwithhighceilingsandabsolutelynodoorsorwindows.
It’sasifourancestorsteleportedintoasolidchunkofrock,somehowmanagedtocarveoutaroom,andthenforgottofurnishit.There’snothinghere.VeinsofglowingLoralitearethreadedthroughthestonewallsandceilinginchaoticpatternsthatcasttheentireroominacobalthue.MyeyesglideovertheswoopsandswirlsofLoralite–there’ssomethingvaguelyfamiliarthere,somethingthatI’mjustnotseeing.‘It’stheuniverse,’Adamsays.‘It’s…morethanweevenknowabout.TheMogadorianstarmaps
don’tcoverthismuch.’Ittakesmeamomenttorealizewhathe’ssaying.ButthenInoticethewaytheLoraliteveinspoolinto
circlesatsomespotsandIrecognizetheotherveinsastheswirlingstarsofthecosmosandbeyond.It’s
justliketheMacrocosms,onlywaybiggerandcoveringwaymoreuniverse.IfindLorienononewall,theglowingpuddleofLoraliteatitsheartshiningmuchdimmerthansomeotherspots.‘Ourhome,’Isay,andtouchLoriengentlywithmyfinger.AchillgoesthroughmeastheLoraliteseems
topulseinanswer,almostasifitrecognizesme.‘Myhome,’Adamsaysdryly.Hepointstoanareathat’snotableonlyforitscompleteabsenceof
Loralite,likeavoidexistingintheglowinguniverse.Hefrowns.‘Atleastyourancestorsgotthewholeforbidding-darknessthingright.’‘Thosearen’tourhomes,notanymore,’Marinasays,tracingherfingersacrossthewall,followingthe
exacttrajectoryourshiptookfromLorientoEarth.‘Thisisourhomenow.’TheLoraliteoutlineofEarthglowsmuchstrongerthananyothersectionofthewall.Marinapresses
herfingersagainstitandtheLoralitecracklesandvibrates.Somethingbelowusismoving.Dustanddirtshakeloosefromtheceiling,themotessparklinginthesuddenlyhyperchargedlightofthe
Loralite.IknowIshouldn’tbescared–thisisaLoricplace,itwon’thurtus–butIcan’thelpbackinguptothenearestwall,theSanctuarysuddenlyfeelingveryclaustrophobicnowthatit’sshakingaroundme.Adamstumblesinnexttome,hiseyeswide.Withanancientgroanandagrindingofstone,acircularsectionofthefloorattheroom’scenterrises
up.It’slikeanaltarorapedestalextendingupfromthefloor.Theroomstopsshakingwhenthethinghasrisentoaboutwaisthigh.ThisnewextensionismadefrompureLoralite.TheslabofplainlimestonefloorsitsatoptheLoralitecylinder,almostlikeasealholdinginwhatevermightbedownbelow.Cautiously,thethreeofusapproach.‘Itlookslikethispiececomesoff,’Isay,touchingthelimestoneseal,butnotyetremovingit.‘Italmostlookslikeawell,’Adamsays,musing.‘Whatdoyouthinkisdownthere?’‘Noclue,’Ireply.‘Look,’Marinasays.‘Thedrawings.’Iseethem.They’resimilartothecavepaintingsthatEightshowedusbackinIndia,excepttheseare
carveddirectlyintothewell’sLoralitesides.Ihavetowalkacirclearoundthewelltotakealltheimagesin.NinesilhouettesloomingoveraplanetthatlookslikeEarth,withninesmallersilhouettesstandingon
theplanetbelowthem.Aperson–Ican’ttellifit’samaleorfemale–standinginfrontofaholeinthegroundanddumping
thecontentsofaboxintotheopening.Ninesilhouettesagain,thistimearrangedinfrontofacastle,fendingoffsomethingthatlookslikea
tidalwaveormaybeathree-headeddragon.‘Moreprophecies?’Iask.‘Maybe,’Marinareplies.Sheispausedinfrontofthecarvingofthepersonwiththebox.‘Ormaybe
they’reinstructions.’Istandnexttoher.‘Doyouthinkthisistheplace?Wherewe,uh,commitourInheritancestotheEarth?’Marinanods.ShesetsEight’sbodygentlydowntotheground,thenuseshertelekinesistopushtheslab
oflimestonethatsealsthewellaside.Itcrumblesontothegroundwithahugethud,theoldstoneinstantlybreakingapart.
Acolumnofpurebluelightflowsupfromthewell,sobrightthatIhavetoshieldmyeyes.It’slikeaspotlight.Icanfeelthewarmthfromthelightdeepinmybones.‘Thisis…’Adamtrailsoff,unabletocompletehisthought.There’sprofoundamazementinhisdark
Mogadorianeyes.MarinakneelsdowninfrontofherChestandopensitup.Shecupsherhandsandremovesahandfulof
Loricgemstones,thendropsthemintotheSanctuary’swell.Theyglitterandflashastheyslipthroughherfingers,fallingintothelight.Inresponse,thewholeroomseemstogetalittlebrighter.TheLoraliteveinsinthewallspulsestronger.‘Helpme,Six,’Marinasaysexcitedly.IgrabthepouchofsoilfromtheChest,openitupanddumpthecontentsdownthewell.Afragrant,
greenhouse-likearomafillsthedustychamber,andthelightgrowsstrongerstill.Marinafollowsthesoilwiththebundleofdriedbranchesandleaves.Inthatmomentbeforetheyleaveherhand,whilethey’rebathedinthelight,Icouldswearthebrancheslookgreenandaliveagain.Astheydropoutofsight,aswirlingbreezefillsthechamber,coolingusdown.‘It’sworking,’Isay,eventhoughI’mnotsurewhatexactlywe’redoing.I’monlysurethatitfeelsright.Whenwe’veemptiedouttheChestofeverythingelse,IpickupthecanofHenri’sashes.Carefully,I
removethelidandemptyitintothelight.Eachoftheashesbrieflysparksastheyswirldownwardintothewell.IwishJohncould’vebeenheretoseethis.IturnbacktoMarina,incliningmyheadgentlytowardswhereEight’sbodyrestsontheground.
‘Shouldwe…?’Marinashakesherhead,lookingdownatEight.‘I’mnotreadyyet,Six.’Itakeamomenttosweepmygazeovertheroom,checkingtoseeifanything’schanged.Thelightfrom
thewellisnearlyasbrightasthesun,butitdoesn’treallyhurtmyeyesanymore.TheLoraliteveinsinthewallspulsewithenergy.OurChestisemptyandHenri’sasheshavebeenspread.‘There’snothingelsetodo,’IsaytoMarina.‘It’stime.’‘Thependants,Six,’Marinasays.‘Wehavetogiveitthependants.’‘Holdon,’Adamsays,steppingforwardforthefirsttime.He’sbeenwatchingallthistakeplacewith
awe,butMarina’swordssnaphimback.‘Ifyoudropthosependantsdownthere,we’llhavenowayoutofhere.’I’mstillholdingallofourpendants.IclutchthemtightlyasIthinkitover.‘Wehavetohavefaith,right?’Isay,shruggingmyshoulders.‘Wehavetotrustthatwhatever’sdown
there,whatevertheEldersleftforus,thatit’llshowusawayout.’Marinanods.‘Yes.’Adamlooksatmeforamoment,thentothelight.Everythinghe’sseentodaymustgoagainsthis
Mogadorianinstincts.ButhehasGardeinhim,too.‘Allright,’Adamsays.‘Itrustyou.’Iholdontothependantsforamomentlonger.I’vewornanamuletaroundmyneckformostofmylife.
ThereweremanytimesthatitremindedmewhoIwas,whereIwasfrom,andwhatIwasfightingfor.ItwasheartbreakingtolosetwopendantsandI’veneverfeltrightwithoutone.It’sasmuchapartofwhoIam–whoweallare–asthescarsonourankles.Butit’stimetoletthatgo.Idropthethreependantsintothewell.
Theresponseisimmediateandblinding.Thelightfromwithinthewellgoessupernova.Ishoutandshieldmyeyes,andI’mprettysureMarinaandAdamdothesame.Thereisawhooshingsoundfromdownbelow,likethousandsofwingstakingflight,oraminiaturetornadotouchingdownbeneaththeEarth.Thereisaloud,baritonethumpthatsendsvibrationsthroughmyteeth.Afewsecondslater,thesoundrepeats.Thump,thump.Thump,thump.Therhythmgetsfasterandstronger.Steadier.It’saheartbeat.I’mnotsurehowlongI’mbathedinthatpurebluelight,howlongIlistentothesonorousheartbeatof
Lorien.Itcouldbetwominutesoritcouldbetwohours.Theexperienceishypnoticandcomforting.Whenthelightbeginstodiedownandthevolumeoftheheartbeatlowerstoasteadythruminthebackground,Ialmostmissit.It’slikewakingupfromawarmdreamthatyoudon’twanttoleave.Iopenmyeyesandimmediatelygasp.Eight’sbodyhoversuprightovertheSanctuary’swell,thecolumnofbluelightsurroundinghim.I
snatchatMarina’shand.‘Areyoudoingthis?’Iask,unintentionallyshouting.Marinashakesherheadandsqueezesmyhand.Therearetearsinhereyes.Afewstepsbehindus,Adamisonhisknees.Hemust’vecollapsedduringthelightshow.Helooksup
atEight,completelymystified.‘What’shappening?Whatisthis?’‘Lookathim,’Marinasays.‘Look.’I’mabouttotellAdamIhavenoideawhat’sgoingonwhenIseeEight’sfingersmove.Wasitjusta
trickofthelight?No–Marinamusthaveseenittoobecauseshemakesalittlesqueakingsoundandcovershermouthwithherfreehand,herothersqueezingdownhardonmine.Eightwiggleshisfingers.Floating,heshakesouthisarmsandlegs.Herollshisheadasifworkingout
acrickinhisneck.Then,heopenshiseyes.TheyarepureLoralite.Eight’seyesglowthesamecobaltshadeasthedeepest
veinsinthewall.Whenheopenshismouth,bluelightcomesfloodingout.‘Hello,’Eightsays,inanechoingvoicethatdoesn’tbelongtoourfriend.It’samelodic,beautiful
voice,likenothingI’veeverheardbefore.ItisthevoiceofLorien.
26
Mostpeoplehavethesensetorun.TheseNewYorkershaveseenenoughmoviestoknowwhathappenswhenanalienspaceshipparksitselfoveryourcity.Theystreamdownthesidewalkindroves.Someevenabandontheircarsinthemiddleoftheavenues,whichmakesitslowgoingforourconvoyofblackSUVs.Luckily,outsideSanderson’shotel,AgentWalkerwasabletoconvincethelocalcopswhoshowedupinresponsetotheshootingtohelpus.Whenitcomestoalieninvasions,Iguessthere’ssomethingaboutafederalagentinablacksuitandsunglasses.EvenwiththeaddedsirensandflashersoftheNYPD,it’shardcuttingthroughthecity.Throughthe
chaos.Andyet,somepeoplearen’trunningawayfromtheEastRiver,wheretheMogadorianwarshiphovers
ominouslyovertheUnitedNations.They’rerunningtowardsit.Peoplewiththeirphonesout,recording,eagertocatchaglimpseofalienlife.Ican’tmakeupmymindifthey’rebrave,crazyorjuststupid.Probablyacombinationofthethree.Iwanttoshoutoutthewindowforthemtoturnandrun,butthere’snotime.Iwon’tbeabletosaveallofthem.‘MichaelWorthington,asenatorrepresentingFlorida.’AgentWalkerbarksthenameintohercell
phone,readingitoffayellowlegalpad.She’sinthepassengerseat,lookingharriedandwild.Sheknowsthere’snotenoughtimeforherorderstomakeadifference,butshe’sgivingthemanyway.‘MelissaCroft,she’sonthejointchiefsofstaff.LucPhillipe,theFrenchambassador.’Walkerpauses,
reachingtheendofherlist.Sheglancesintothebackseat,whereBudSandersonissandwichedinbetweenmeandSam.‘Isthateveryone?’Sandersonnods.‘EveryonethatIknowof.’Walkernodsandspeaksintothephone.‘Arrestthem.Yes,allofthem.Iftheyresist,killthem.’Shehangsupthephone.ThelistofpoliticiansassociatedwithMogPro–dozensofnamesrelayedone
byonebyWalkertohercontacts–camecourtesyofSanderson.EveniftherogueagentsWalkerhasinhercommandcanpullitoff,thearrestsmightnotdomuchgoodnow,atthezerohour.Attheveryleast,wehavetohopeWalkerandherpeoplewillknocktheMog-friendlytraitorsoutofpower,leavingbehindagovernmentthat’sreadytoresist.Althoughhowmuchresistancethey’llbeabletomountremainstobeseen.HowlongdidHenritellmeittooktheMogstoconquerLorien?Lessthanaday?Throughthewindshield,theMogadorianwarshipisvisible.Itmakesthecity’sskyscraperslooklike
toysandcastsblocks-longshadowsineverydirection.ThethinglookslikeagiantroachpoisedoverNewYork.Therearehundredsofblasterturretsalongitssidesandonitsbelly,andIthinkIcanmakeoutopeningswheresmallerMogshipsareprobablydocked.EvenwiththefullGarde,Legaciesblazing,I’mnotsurewecouldtakedownthathulk.
AgentWalkerisstaringattheship,too.Iguessit’sprobablyimpossibletoignorethemassive,alienobjectthatcrowdsthehorizon.Sheturnstolookatme.‘Youcandestroythatthing,right?’‘Sure,’Ireply,tryingtomimicNine’scasualbluster.He’sintheSUVbehindours,probablyexplaining
tohisescortofagentshowhe’llripapartthatwarshipwithhisbarehands.‘Wegotthis.Noproblem.’Nexttome,Sandersonchucklesdarkly,butshutsupwhenWalkerfixeshimwithamenacinglook.On
theothersideofthedisgracedsecretaryofdefense,Samfinallylooksupfromthecellphonehe‘borrowed’fromthatinnocentbystanderoutsidethehotel.‘Theuploadisdone,’hesaystome.‘Sarah’sgotthefootage.’‘Thanks,Sam,’Ireply,andpullmyownphoneoutfrommypocket,immediatelydialingSarah’s
number.IwonderwhatHenriwouldthinkofmeandSamuploadingfootageofmeusingmyLegaciestothe
websiteofTheyWalkAmongUs.Inmywildestdreams,Idon’tthinkIcould’veconcoctedascenariowhereI’dwillinglytakemypowerspublic.Buthereweare.Sarahanswersonthefirstring.Icanhearactivityinthebackground–peopletalking,atelevision
blaring.‘John,thankGod!TheMogsarealloverthenews!Areyouokay?’‘I’mfine,’Itellher.‘JustmakingmywaytowardsthebiggestMogadorianshipI’veeverseen.’‘John,Ihopeyouknowwhatyou’redoing,’Sarahreplies,worryinhervoice.‘It’snothingwecan’thandle–’Istarttoreassureher,untilablastofstaticcutsmeoff.‘Sarah?Areyou
stillthere?’‘I’mhere,’shereplies,soundingalittlemoredistantthanbefore.‘Ithinksomething’sinterferingwith
theconnection,though.’Itmustbethewarships.I’msurethosehugethingscomingdownfromorbitaren’tdoinganyfavorsfor
thecellularnetworks.Nottomentionallthepanickedphonecallslikethisonethatmustbegoingonaroundthecountry.IhavetotalkquickerincaseIloseservice.‘SamjustsentsomevideofilestoMark’swebsite.Didyouguysgetthem?Ithinktheycouldbeuseful.’
IrememberwhatSamsaidtomeoutsidethegasstation.‘Wedon’twanttojustscarepeople.Wealsowanttogivethemhope.’Nexttome,BudSandersonsnorts.Iguesstheoldmandoesn’thavetoomuchfaithinanythingwe’re
doingonTheyWalkAmongUs.Idon’tknowifit’sgoingtoworkeither–likeWalker’sarrests,likeanythingwedotoday,itmightbetoolateforittomatter.Butwe’vegottocovereverypossibleangleoffightingbackagainsttheMogs.‘I’mlookingatitnow,’Sarahsays,andherbreathcatches.‘John,it’s–you’reamazing.ButI’ma
suckerforhandsomealiensperformingmiracles.’I’vebeentryingtolookstone-facedinfrontofmyuneasyallies,soIhavetoturnawayfromSanderson
tohidemysmile.‘Uh,thanks.’‘Wecandefinitelyusethis,’Sarahsays,andIcanhearheralreadytappingoutkeystrokes.‘Whatare
yougoingtodonow,though?Thatshiplookshuge.’Iglanceatthechaosoutsidethewindow.‘We’regoingtotrytoendthiswarbeforeitgetsstarted.’
Sarah’svoicesoundsconcerned.SheknowsI’mabouttotellhersomethingcrazy.‘Whatdoyoumean,John?What’stheplan?’‘We’regoingtotheMogadorianwarship,’Itellher,tryingtosoundconfidentaboutaplanthatseems
moredesperatethecloserwegettothatloomingwarship.‘We’regoingtolureSetrákusRaout.Andwe’regoingtokillhim.’
OurconvoyhastostoptenblocksshortoftheUnitedNationswhenthetrafficbecomesimpassable.Thestreetsarecloggedwithpeopletryingtogetacloserlookatthewarship.Someofthemareevenstandingontopofcarsor,inonecase,astalledcitybus.Therearecopseverywheretryingtheirbesttorestoresomeorder,butIdoubtthey’retrainedforfirst-contactscenarios;mostofthemarebusystaringupattheship,too.Thecrowdisbuzzingandthere’salotofexcitedshouting.JustabunchofeasytargetsfortheMogadorians.Idreadthemomentthosecannonsalongthesidesof
thewarshipopenfireonthiscrowd.Iwanttotelleveryonetorun,butthatmightjuststartapanic.Ifanyonewouldevenlistentome.‘Move!Getoutoftheway!’WalkerscreamsasshegetsoutoftheSUV.She’sgotherbadgeintheair,
althoughnoone’sreallypayingattentiontoher.TheagentsfromthetwoSUVsalongwiththecopsWalkerrecruitedbackatthehotelformatight
perimeteraroundme,SandersonandSam.Nineshoveshiswayinnexttous,glaringatagroupofteenagerscheeringencouragementatthespaceship.‘Idiots,’hegrumbles,thenlooksatme.‘Thisisnuts,Johnny.’‘Weneedtoprotectasmanyaswecan,’Ireply.‘Theyneedtoprotectthemselves,’Ninesays,thenshoutsovertheshoulderofoneofouragents.‘Go
home,youmorons!Orgetsomegunsandcomeback!’Walkerglaresathim.‘Pleasedon’tencouragethecivilianstogetarmed.’Ninegivesherawildlookandkeepsshouting.‘It’swar,lady!Thesepeopleneedtogetprepared!’Someofthepeoplearoundushaveoverheard,ormaybethey’rejustunnervedbythegrowingpolice
presence.Inoticeafewexchangenervouslooksandpeoplebegintricklingbackthewaywecame.WalkergrimacesatNine,thenslapsoneoftheagentsontheshoulder.‘Forward!’sheshouts.‘Weneedtomoveforward!’There’sstillamobseparatingusfromtheUN,anditshowsnosignsofreallythinningout.Walker’s
agentsandthecopsstartmusclingthroughandwe’recarriedalongwiththem.‘Watchit,dude!Nocuttinginthelinetogetbeamedup!’shoutsonebystander.‘Holyshit!It’stheMeninBlack!’screamsanother.‘Aretheygoingtohurtus?’awomanwepassyellsatSanderson,mayberecognizinghimassomeone
importantlooking.‘Areweindanger?’Sandersonavertshiseyesandsoonthewomanislostinthecrowd.It’sslowgoing,evenwithadozen
copsandagentsbull-rushingaheadofus.Thesepeopleneedtogetoutofourway.Awild-eyedguywithascragglybeardwholookslikethetypetobewavinghandmadesignsaboutthe
endoftheworldbarrelsrightintoAgentWalker.She’sthrownoffbalance,andIreachouttosteadyher.Walkerdoesn’tthankme–there’sfuryandfrustrationinhereyes.Fedupwiththecrowd,shereachesforthegunholsteredonherhip,maybethinkingshe’llfireafewshotsintheairtoclearthearea.Istopherarmandshakemyheadwhensheglaresatme.
‘Don’t.You’llstartapanic.’‘Thisisalreadyapanic,’shereplies.‘Personally,I’dbepanickingmoreifsomeonewasshooting,’Samchimesin.Walkermakesanannoyednoiseandgoesbacktopushingherwaythroughthecrowd.IelbowNinein
theribs.‘Let’shelpthem,’Itellhim,adding,‘Butdon’thurtanyone.’Ninenodsandwebeginusingtelekinesistomovepeopleoutofourway.Nine’sgentlerthanIwould
haveexpected.Wecreateasortoftelekineticbubblearoundus,thenearbybystandersslidingoffit.Noonegetstrampled,andslowlythepathstartstoclearforWalkerandtherestofourescort.AswemoveclosertotheUN,wecomedirectlyundertheshadowoftheMogadorianwarship.Achill
goesthroughme,butItrynotletitshow.Thereareflagsofeverynationplantedinthegroundonbothsidesoftheroadwe’repressingdown,allthesesymbolsflappinginagentlespringbreeze,caughtbeneaththeloomingMogadorianvessel.Upahead,IseethatastagehasbeenhastilyerectedatthefrontentranceoftheUN.Thereisamore
organizedpoliceforcethere–bothlocalcopsandtheUN’sprivatesecurity.Theykeeppeopleawayfromthestageandfromstormingtheentrancetothemainbuilding.There’saconcentrationofpressupahead,too,allofthemwithcameraseagerlyswingingbetweenthestageandthehoveringspacecraft.IgrabSandersonaroundtheshouldersandyankhimclose,pointingtothestage.‘What’sthedealwiththat?What’ssupposedtohappenhere?’Sandersongrimacesatmebutdoesn’ttrytowriggleaway.‘TheBelovedLeaderhasatastefor
theatrics.Didyouknowhewroteabook?’‘Readingisstupid,’gruntsNine,morefocusedonthecrowd.‘Idon’tcareabouthispropaganda.Explainthestage,Sanderson.’‘Propaganda,likeyousaid,’Sandersonreplies.‘MyselfandsomeoftheothersfromMogPro–the
onesourdearfriendWalkerprobablyhadarrested–weweresupposedtogreetSetrákusRa.HewasgoingtodemonstratethegiftstheMogadorianscouldofferhumanity.’IrememberthestatewefoundSandersonin,allblackveinedandnearlykeeledover,allstrungouton
theMogadorian’sso-calledmedicaladvancements.‘Hewasgoingtohealyou,’Isay,puttingittogether.‘Hallelujah!’Sandersonsays,bitterly.‘Oursavior!Then,we’dinvitehiminsidetheUNfor
discussionsand,cometomorrow,apeacefulresolutionwouldbeadoptedtoallowtheMogsintotheairspaceofeverymembernation.’‘Andthat’sit,’Samsays.‘Earthwouldbesurrendered.’‘Atleastitwouldbepeaceful,’Sandersonsays.‘Don’tyouthinkpeoplewouldfreakout?’IaskSanderson.‘Imean,lookaround.Imaginewhatwill
happenwhentheMogsactuallyshowthemselves?Startwalkingaround?Takingthingsover?There’dbepanic,riots–evenwithyourbullshitdiplomacy.Howwasyourplanevergoingtowork?’‘Ofcoursehethoughtofthat,’Sandersonsays.‘That’showSetrákusRaplanstoidentifythedissidents.
Theproblemelements.’‘Sohe’llknowwhotokill,’Ninegrunts.‘That’ssick,’Samsays.‘Asmallpricetopayforhumanity’ssurvival,’Sandersonargues.
‘I’veseenthefutureunderMogadorianrule,’ItellSanderson.‘Believeme.It’sabiggerpricethanyou’rewillingtopay.’SamgivesmeaworriedlookandIrealizehowcoldImustsound,likewarwiththeMogadorianson
Earthisinevitable,likethere’snothingwecandoatthispointtokeeppeoplefromgettinghurt.Intruth,I’mnotsurethatthereisawaytoresolvethiswithoutbloodshed.Thewarishereandit’sgoingtobefought.ButIneedtheotherstokeepuphope.‘Itdoesn’thavetobethatway,’Iadd.‘We’regoingtostopSetrákusRabeforethisgoesanyfurther.
Butyouhavetohelpus.’Sandersonnods,hiseyesfixedonthestage.‘Youwantmetogothroughwithit.’‘Drawhimout,justlikehewants,’Isay,pullingupthehoodonmysweatshirt.‘Andwe’lltakehim
down.’‘You’repowerfulenoughforthat?’AsIlookoveratSandersontorespond,IcanseethesamequestioninSam’seyes.Hewasn’tatour
lastfightwithSetrákusRa,butheknowsitdidn’tgowell.ThatwaswiththewholeGarde–nowit’sjustmeandNine.Well,andallthegunsAgentWalkercanbringtobear.‘Ihavetobe,’ItellSanderson.AswegetclosertothefrontoftheUNandthestage,wepassbyaguydressedlikeabikemessenger
surroundedbyafewnewscameras.It’snoticeablebecausehe’stheonlythingcommandinganypressattentionaroundherebesidesthegiantMogadorianwarship.Ifocusmysensestohearwhathe’ssaying.‘Iswear,theguyfelloutofthesky!’thebikemessengerexclaimstoaskepticalpresscorps.‘Ormaybe
hefloateddown,Idon’tknow.Hehitthegroundhard,buthisskinwas,like,coveredinarmororsomething.Helookedallsortsofmessedup.’Nine’shandclampsdownonmyshoulder.Heheardit,too,andhe’ssodistractedthathestops
telekineticallypushingpeopleaside.Theagentsescortingusshuffleandgroanasthecrowdsurgesin,buttheymanagetokeepthemback.‘Youheardthat,right?’Nineasks,hiseyespracticallyglowingwithbloodlust.‘Hecouldjustbesomenutjob,’Isay,referringtothebikemessenger,althoughIdon’treallybelieveit.
‘Thiskindofthingdefinitelybringsthemout.’‘Noway,’Ninesays,excitementinhisvoice.Hiseyesdartaroundthecrowdwitharenewedinterest.
‘Fiveishere,man.Fiveishere,andI’mgoingtosmashhisfatfacein.’
27
Ifeelnumb.Inthedockingbay,Icatchaglimpseofmyselfinthepearl-coloredarmorpanelingofthesmallship
we’llbetakingtoManhattan.Ilookghostly.Therearehugebagsundermyeyes.Theydressedmeupinanewformalgown,blackwithredsashesthroughout,andpulledmyhairbackinaponytailsoseverethatmyscalpfeelslikeit’speelingawayfrommyskull.PrincessoftheMogadorians.Idon’treallycare.I’vegotacloudyfeeling,likeI’mjustfloatingalong.ApartofmeknowsthatI
shouldbefocusingup,gettingmyheadstraight.Ijustcan’t.Theentrancetothetransportshipopensandasmallstaircaseunfoldsformetoclimbup.SetrákusRa
gentlyplaceshishandonmyshoulderandurgesmeforward.‘Herewego,dear,’hesays.Hisvoicesoundsfaraway.‘Bigday.’Idon’tmoveatfirst.ButthenapainstartsupinmyshoulderwhereIwasstabbed.Itfeelslikelittle
wormswigglingaroundundermyskin.TheacheonlysubsideswhenIputonefootinfrontoftheother,climbupthestepsandflopintooneofthevessel’sbucketseats.‘Good,’SetrákusRasays,andfollowsmeaboard.Hesitsdowninthepilot’sseatandtheshipsealsup
behindus.HishumanformhasbeenrestoredafterhisscufflewithFive,andhe’sdressedhimselfinasleekblacksuitwithcrimsonflourishes.Thecolorschemedoesn’tcomplementthefatherlyhumanfacehe’swearing–itmakeshimlooksternandauthoritative.Idon’ttellhimthat,bothbecauseIdon’twanttohelphimandbecauseitseemsliketoomuchefforttotalk.IwishIcouldjustsleepthroughthis.Theydidsomethingtomeafterthegashopeneduponmyshoulder.Iwasinandoutofconsciousness
frombloodloss,somymemoryisfoggy.IcanrememberSetrákusRacarryingmedowntothemedicalbay,aplaceontheshipIhadn’thadthebadlucktoexploreuntilthen.Iremembertheminjectingmywoundwithsomethingblackandoozing.I’mprettysurethatIscreamedfromthepain.Butthenmywoundstartedtoclose.Itwasn’tlikethetimesI’dbeenhealedbyMarinaorJohn.Inthosecases,itfeltlikemyinjurieswereknittingbacktogether,likemyfleshwasregrowing.UndertheMogs’‘care,’itfeltlikemyfleshwasbeingreplacedbysomethingelse,somethingcoldandforeign.Somethingaliveandhungry.Icanstillfeelit,crawlingaroundbeneaththeperfect,paleskinofmynowuninjuredshoulder.SetrákusRaflipsafewswitchesontheconsole,andourlittlesphericalshippowersup.Thewalls
becometranslucent.It’stheMogadorianversionoftintedglass,though–wecanseeout,butnoonecanseein.Iturnmyheadtostudythedockingbaythat’scrowdedwithcombat-readyMogadorians.Theyallstand
perfectlystill,hundredsofthemarrangedinorderlylines,allofthemwiththeirfistsclenchedovertheirhearts.They’resalutingtheirBelovedLeaderashesetsouttoconquerEarth.Ilookattheirpasty,expressionlessfacesandtheirdark,emptyeyes.Arethesemypeople?AmIbecomingoneofthem?
Itseemseasiesttogivein.SetrákusRaisabouttogetusmovingwhenaredlightflashesononeofhisvideoscreensandashrill
buzzingsounds.Thenoisewakesmeupalittle.SomeunluckyunderlingistryingtocallSetrákusRarightinthemiddleofhisbigday.SetrákusRa’sjawsetsinannoyanceattheincomingmessageand,foramoment,Ithinkhemightignoreit.Finally,hejabsabuttonandafrazzledMogadoriancommunicationsofficerappearson-screen.‘Whatisit?’snarlsSetrákusRa.‘Deepestapologiesfortheinterruption,BelovedLeader,’theofficersays,keepinghiseyesdowncast.
‘YouhaveanurgentmessagefromPhiriDun-Ra.’‘Ithadbetterbe,’SetrákusRagrumbles.Hewavesahandimpatientlyatthescreen.‘Verywell.Puther
through.’Thescreenflashes,crackles,andthenaMogadorianwomanappears.Shehastwolongbraidspinned
uparoundherbaldheadandasizablecutabovehereyebrow.She’ssurroundedonallsidesbyjungle.Apparently,amessagefromthistruebornisimportantenoughtodelayourflightdowntoNewYork.Itrytositupalittlebitinmyseat,fightingthroughthefogtopayattention.‘Whatisit,Phiri?’SetrákusRasays,coldly.‘Whyhaveyoucontactedmedirectly?’TheMogwoman,Phiri,hesitatesbeforeshespeaks.Maybeshe’stakenabackbythehumanface
addressingherwithsuchauthority.Ormaybeshe’sjustscaredofherBelovedLeader.‘They’rehere,’Phirisaysatlast,anoteoftriumphinhervoice.‘TheGardehaveactivatedthe
Sanctuary.’SetrákusRaleansbackinhisseat,hiseyebrowsarchedinsurprise.Helaceshishandsinfrontofhim
inconsideration.‘Verygood,’hereplies.‘Excellent.Yourordersaretokeepthemthere,PhiriDun-Ra.Onyourlife.I
willjoinyoushortly.’‘Asyouwish,Belo–’SetrákusRaseverstheconnectionbeforePhiriDun-Racanfinish.ThementionsoftheGardeandthe
Sanctuaryhavemealittlemoreaware.ItrytothinkofSixandMarina,ofJohnandNine–Iknowtheywouldwantmetofightthroughthis.It’sjustsodifficulttokeepmymindfromgoingblank,tokeepmybodyfromslouching.‘ForyearsI’vepursuedthem,’SetrákusRasaysquietly,almosttohimself.‘Towipeoutthelastbitof
resistancetoMogadorianProgress.TotakecontrolofwhatthoseElderfoolsburiedonthisplanet.Now,thedayhascomewheneverythingI’vefoughtforwillbemine,allatonce.Tellme,granddaughter,howcantherebeanydoubtofMogadoriansuperiority?’Hedoesn’treallywantaresponse.SetrákusRajustlikestohearhimselftalk.Iletaslow,medicated
smileformonmyface.Thatseemstopleasehim.Mygrandfatherreachesoutandpatsmeontheknee.‘You’refeelingbetter,aren’tyou?’hesays.Heflipsafewleversontheconsoleandourship’sengines
vibratetolife.‘Come.Letusgotakewhatisours.’Withthat,SetrákusRanavigatestheshipforward.Wezipthroughthedockingbay,pasttherowsof
Mogadorianwarriors.Theythumptheirfistsagainsttheirchestsaswego,shoutingoutgravellyMogadorianencouragement.WeexitthroughthesamepassageasFive’sbody.Thatpart–seeinghimbrutalizedandthentossedasidelikesomuchgarbage–I’mgladtolosetothefog.
WedescendonManhattan.Icanseeallthehumansgatheredbelow.Therearethousandsofthemcrowdedinfrontofafancy-lookingsetofbuildingsanditssurroundingcampus.Icanmakeoutastagedownthere,too.It’sallbuiltonthebankofagray,choppyriver.IremembertheWashingtonfrommyvision,thesmokysmellsthatchokedtheair.ThatwillbeNewYorksoon.Iwonderifthesepeoplewillthrowthemselvesintotheriverwhentheircitybeginstoburn.Thepeoplebelowpointupatourship.Icanhearthemshoutingandscreamingoutgreetings.These
humans–theoneswhocameclosesttotheAnubis–theydon’tthinkthey’reinanydanger.Itoccurstomethatwe’retravelingintothisthrongofpeoplewithoutanyMogadorianguards.Ilollmy
headtowardsmygrandfather,wetmylipsandmanagetofindwords.‘We’refacingthemalone?’Iaskhim.Hesmiles.‘Ofcourse.Imeantoelevatethesepeople,notharmthem.Wehavenothingtofearfromthe
humans.MyservantsonEarthhavearrangedforagreetingthatIfindmorethansuitable.’He’suptosomething,obviously.Probablyalreadyhasthiswholeeventplannedout.Iknowit’s
unlikelyevenacrowdofhumansthissizewouldstandachanceagainstSetrákusRaandallhispowers,butpartofmehopesmaybeoneofthemwillseethroughwhateversideshowhe’sgotplannedandtakesomeshotsatthescaryalien.Ofcourse,thatwouldmeanmydeathbeforetheycouldstopSetrákusRa.Atthispoint,itseemsalmost
worthit.IfeelwhatevertheMogadoriansinjectedintomecrawlingaroundbeneathmyskin.Ican’tendureanymoreofthat.Thedescentisover.Wehoveraboutfifteenfeetabovethestage.Anervous-lookingoldermaninasuit,
somekindofpolitician,waitsforusthere.Thereareflashbulbsgoingofflikecrazy.Iblinkmyeyesandtrytokeepfromsleepwalkingthroughthis.‘Come,Ella.Letusgreetoursubjects,’SetrákusRasays.Hepicksuphisgoldencane,theobsidian
EyeofThaloccatchingthelight.I’mnotsurewhyhebroughtthatwithhim.Iguesshedoesn’twanttofaceourso-calledsubjectscompletelyunarmed.Ormaybehethinksitmakeshimlooknoble–likeakingwithascepter.Istandup,slightlyunsteady.SetrákusRaoffersmehisarm.Ihookmyhandthroughit.Thedoorofourtransportshipopensandaglowingstaircaseextendsoutward,creatingapathforusto
thestage.Thecrowdgaspsasweemerge.Throughmyblearyeyes,IcanseedozensofTVcamerastrainedonus.Thecrowdishushedinamazement.Whatdowelookliketothem?Aliens…aliensthatlookexactlylikehumans.Ahandsomeoldermanandhispalegranddaughter.SetrákusRaraiseshishandandwavestothepeople.It’saroyalthing,courtlyandshowy.Whenhe
speaks,hisvoiceboomslikehe’shookeduptoamicrophone.‘Greetings,peopleofEarth!’hebellowsinperfectEnglish,hisvoicefirmandreassuring.‘Mynameis
SetrákusRaandthisismygranddaughter,Ella.Wehavetraveledagreatdistancetocomehumblybeforeyouwithwishesofpeace!’Thecrowdactuallycheers.Theydon’tknowanybetter.SetrákusRagazesbeatificallyacrossalltheir
upturnedfaces.Butwhenhiseyessettleontheoldmanstandingonthestage,Ifeelatensiongothroughhisarm.‘Hmm,’SetrákusRasaysunderhisbreath.Somethingisn’tright.Thegreeterisn’twhatheexpected.Or
maybethereweresupposedtobemorehumanswaitingonstagewithoutstretchedarms.Maybetherewere
supposedtobebouquetsofflowers.Undeterred,SetrákusRadrawshimselfupalittletallerandproceedsdowntherestofthesteps.‘Wehavemuchtoofferyourpeople!’hecontinuesinhisbooming,charitablevoice.‘Advancementsin
medicinetohealyoursick,farmingtechniquestofeedyourhungryandtechnologythatwillmakeyourliveseasierandmoreproductive.Allweaskinreturn,afterourlongjourney,isshelterfromthecoldofspace.’Iglanceoverthecrowdtoseeifanyofthemarebuyingit.Ienduplockingeyeswithayoungguyinthe
frontrow,pusheduprightnexttosomeTVcameras,hisdarkeyesseekingmine.Hewearsahoodedsweatshirt,longblackhairspillingoutfrominside,andhe’stallandathletic,and–Inmycondition,itactuallytakesmeamomenttorecognizehim.Notsolongago,Ibalancedonhis
shouldersandhetaughtmehowtofight.Nine.Seeinghim,knowingthatI’mnotalone,thatallisn’tlostjustyet–itmakesmesnapbacktomysenses.
Thepaininmyshoulderincreasesexponentially,likesomethingistryingtocrawlitswayoutofme.Whatever’sinsidemedoesn’twantmetousemyLegacies.Iignoreitandreachoutwithmytelepathy.Nine!Hiscane!It’showhechangesforms!Gethiscaneandsmashit!AferalgrinspreadsonNine’sfaceandhenodstome.Myheartbeatquickens.Nexttome,SetrákusRa’sposturehasstiffened.Myhandistrappedinthecrookofhiselbow.He
knowsthatsomethingisup,yetheproceedswiththeshowallthesame.‘Iexpectedmoreofthemtobehereonthismomentousoccasion,yetIseeoneofyourleadershascome
outtogreetme!’SetrákusRaextendshishandtotheoldman.‘Icometoyouinpeace,sir!Letthiscementthefriendshipbetweenourtwogreatraces.’InsteadofclaspingSetrákusRa’shand,theoldmantakesastepaway.There’sdeepfearinhiseyes,
butit’snotrun-and-screamfear.It’scorneredanimalfear.Theoldmanhasamicrophoneofhisownand,astheTVcamerasswinginhisdirection,hebeginstoyell.‘Thisman–thisthing–isaliar!’‘What–’SetrákusRatakesanaggressivesteptowardstheoldman,andI’mloosedfromhiselbow.
ForthefirsttimesinceI’vebeeninhiscompany,theMogadorianleaderactuallylookssurprised.Surprisedandfurious.Amurmurofuncertaintypassesthroughthecrowd.Theoldmanshoutssomethingelse–Ihearthe
words‘enslavement’and‘death,’butotherwiseIcan’treallyhearhim.Noonecan.SetrákusRahasusedhistelekinesistocrushtheoldman’smicrophone.‘Youmustbeconfused,myfriend,’SetrákusRasaysthroughgrittedteeth,stilltryingtosalvagethis
farce.‘Myintentionsarepu–’SetrákusRaissuddenlyknockedoffbalance.Iknowwhy.Atelekineticattack.Iwatchashisgolden
caneisrippedoutofhishand.Nineplucksitoutoftheairashehopsontothestage,grinningatSetrákusRa.Isensemovementtomyleft.IturnmyheadtoseeJohnalsohopontothestage.They’reflankinghim,
justlikewepractisedintheLectureHall.Pepperedthroughoutthecrowd,Iseemenandwomenindarksuits,allofthemslylypullingfirearmsintoview.Thecrowdisbeginningtobuzzassomecivilians–thesmarterones–begintobackawayfromthestage.
It’satrap,Irealizegleefully.TheGardearehere!Now,SetrákusRareallylookssurprised.And,dareIsay,alittlefrightened.‘Youhavebeenledastray!’SetrákusRascreams,pointinghisnowemptyhandsatNineandJohn.
‘Theseboysarefugitives!Terroristsfrommyhomeworld!Idon’tknowwhatthey’vetoldyou–’‘Wehaven’ttoldthemanything,’Johnsays,interrupting.Hisvoicedoesn’tcarrylikeSetrákusRa’s,but
peopleinthecrowdcranetheirneckstolisten.‘We’llletthemmakeuptheirownminds.Agenocidalmaniaciseasytospot.’‘Lies!’Doitnow!IurgeNinetelepathically.‘IwonderwhatwillhappenifIdothis?’Nineasks,fiddlingwithSetrákusRa’scane.BeforeSetrákus
Racanlungeinhisdirection,Nineraisesthecaneoverhisheadandsmashesitdownonthestage.Theobsidianeyeinitscenterexplodesinacloudofash.Thingshappenquicklyafterthat.SetrákusRa’sbodybeginstothrashandspasm.Thehandsomehumanformhe’sbeensoattachedto
beginstosloughoffhim,likeasnakesheddingitsskin.TherealSetrákusRa–palevergingonbloodless,ancientandhideous,tattooedacrosshisbaldskull,athickscararoundhisneck,cladinspikyMogadorianarmor–standsrevealedonthestage.Manyinthecrowdscream.Evenmorerecoilinhorrorandturntorun.Agunshotgoesoff–Ihearthe
bulletwhistlepastmyearbeforeitricochetsharmlesslyofftheMogadorianshipbehindme.Thegunshotsonlyfrightenpeoplemoreandnowit’safull-blownstampedeinfrontofthestage.Moreshotsarefired,thistimeintotheair.OneoftheagentstakingaimonSetrákusRagoesdown,bull-rushedbytheterrifiedspectators.It’schaos.Withamonstroushowl,SetrákusRagrowstofifteenfeetinsize.Thestagebeneathusgroans.Theold
manwhowasonstagewiththeGardetriestorunintothecrowd,butSetrákusRagrabshimwithhistelekinesisandhurlshimlikeamissileintoNine.Thetwoofthemfalloffthestageinaheap.FireballscometolifeinJohn’shands.TheygooutimmediatelyasSetrákusRatriggershisDreynen
field.Thatdoesn’tstopJohnfromchargingin,pullinghisLoricdaggeroutofhissheathashecomes.‘Yes!’SetrákusRascreams,beckoningJohnin.‘Comeracingtowardsyourdeath,boy!’UnaffectedbySetrákusRa’sversionofDreynen,Ipickupabrokenpieceofhiscane.Myfingersare
clumsyandInearlydropittwicebeforeI’mabletograspittightlyenough.Iconcentrate,ignoretheshreddingpainundermyskinandchargetheshrapnelwithmyDreynen.Whenthebrokenshardglowsbrightred,IjabitintothebackofSetrákusRa’sleg.TheMogadorianoverlordcriesoutandshrinksdowntohisnormalsize.IsensetheDreynenfield
cancelingLegacieslift.Toolate,SetrákusRastumblesforwardinafutileattempttogetawayfromme.TheDreynen-chargedcaneisburiedaninchdeepinthebackofhiscalf.WhenSetrákusRayanksitout,atrickleofnight-blackblooddarkenshistrouserleg.Nowthatit’soffhim,I’mnotsurehowlongtheeffectsofmyDreynenwilllast.Waitasecond.He’sbleeding.Thedamagewasn’ttransferredtome.Everycharmhasaweakness,
that’swhatSetrákusRasaidrightbeforeheburnedtheterriblethingintomyankle.Icanhurthim.I’mtheonlyonewhocanhurtSetrákusRa.
IbarelyhavetimetoprocessthisinformationbeforeSetrákusRaroundsonme,hiseyeswidewithoutrage.Hebackhandsme,hard,andI’mtossedintotheair.ThewindgoesoutofmewhenIhitthestage,myheadswimmingagain.Hemust’veknownthatevenifIfiguredouttheloopholewiththeMogadoriancharm,Iwouldn’tbestrongenoughtofighthim.SetrákusRastandsoverme,hishideousfeaturescreasedwithfury.Hereachesdown,fingersgrasping
formythroat.‘Youtreasonouslittlebi–!’Johnbarrelsintohimshoulder-firstandknocksSetrákusRaoffhisfeet.SetrákusRalandshardonhis
sideandIfeelbruisespuffupimmediatelyonmyownelbow.Iacceptthepain.There’smoretocome.I’mnotstrongenoughtofighthim,butI’vedonemypart.IdrainedhisLegacies.Now,theotherscandowhathastobedone.Johndoesn’tletup.HepouncesonSetrákusRa,whotriestoscrambleaway.TheMogadorianruler
doesn’tlooksofrighteningnow,tryingtocrabwalkawayfromJohn.I’mhappytoseehimsopatheticanddesperate.Heshouldknowhowthatfeelsbeforehedies.Beforewedie.Johnmanagestostraddlehim.Heraiseshisdaggerabovehishead.Itakeadeepbreathandbrace
myself.‘ThisisforLorien!AndforEarth!’Iknowwhathappensnext.JohnwillstabSetrákusRa,andI’lldie.ItwillbreaktheMogadoriancharm,
andthentheGardewillbeabletokillSetrákusRaforreal.It’sworthit.I’llgladlydieifitmeansendingSetrákusRa’smiserablelife.Doit!IscreamatJohntelepathically.Nomatterwhathappens!Doit!AsJohnbringshisdaggerdown,Ihearawhooshingsound.Somethingisflyinginthisdirection.Fast.Abeadofbloodticklesmythroat,asmallcutopeningup.That’showcloseJohn’sbladecomesbefore
achrome-platedcannonballfliesthroughtheair,knockshimoffSetrákusRaandsendshimcrashingthroughthestage.Five.He’saliveandhejustsavedmylife.Savedmylifeanddoomedusall.BeforeIcanreact,thestagecreaksandcollapses.Islidedownthetiltedpieceofwoodandlandhard
onthepavementbelow.Allaroundme,peoplearerunningandscreaming.SetrákusRalandsnexttome.Hereachesdownandgrabsmebythehair,yankingmeviciouslytomyfeet.‘You’lldieforthisembarrassment,child,’hesnarls,andbeginsdraggingmeoverthewreckedstage
towardshisship.Ninestandsinhisway.
28
Myshoulderisdislocated,thatmuchIknowforsure.I’monmybackwithjaggedpiecesofthedestroyedstagediggingintome.I’mseeingdoubleandit’shardtobreathe.IfeellikeIjustgothitbyacar.Notacar.Five.Thetraitorstandsoverme,gulpingdowndeepbreaths.Hisskinismetallic,buthestilllooksbadly
injured.He’swearinganeyepatch,forstarters.Onesideofhisfacelooksswollen,andIthinkIactuallyseedentsinthemetalcarapacethatcovershisskull.He’smissingacoupleofteeth.I’mnotsurewherehepickedupthoseinjuries,andIdon’tcare.Thebastardblindsidedme.Iwassoclose.SetrákusRawasasgoodasdead.Mydaggerisstillattachedtomywrist,butit’sthearmthat’sdislocated.Igropeforit,tryingtoswitch
hands.BeforeIcanmanageit,Fiveliftsmebythefrontofmytatteredsweatshirt.‘Listentome!’heshoutsinmyface.‘Gotohell,’Ireply.Withmyworkingarm,IgrabFive’smetalforearmandheatupmyLumenashotasitcango.Whatever
metalhe’sturnedinto,itdefinitelyhasaboilingpoint.IwonderifIcangethismetalshelltomeltoffbeforehecandowhateverhe’sgotplanned.‘Stopit,John!’Fiveyelps,shakingme.‘YoumurderedEight,yousonofabitch!’Noxious-smellingsteamcurlsupfrombetweenmyfingers.Five’seyewidensafraction,buthedoesn’t
letmelooseandhedoesn’tpullaway.I’mhurtinghimandhe’sjusttakingit.‘Youarrogantasshole,’Fivesnaps,andhecocksbackhisfistlikehe’sgoingtostrikeme.I’mnotsureI
havethestrengthtostophim.Hisclenchedfisttrembles,andheseemstoreconsider.‘Listentome,John!IfyouhurtSetrákusRa,thedamagewillbedonetoElla!’IlettheheatofmyLumendiedownafraction.Myhandfeelsstickywithmoltenmetal.‘What?Whatareyoutalkingabout?’‘It’sacharm,liketheonetheEldersusedonus,’Fivesays.‘He’stwisteditsomehow.’IturnoffmyLumenentirely.IsFivetryingtohelpusnow?DidheknockmeoffSetrákusRanotto
protecthisBelovedLeaderbuttosaveElla?Idon’tknowwhattothink.‘Howdowebreakit?’Ishoutathim.‘Howdowekillhim?’‘Idon’tknow,’Fivereplies,glancingoverhisshoulder.Hisexpressionsuddenlygoesdarkagain,that
furyI’dseenwhenhewasabouttopunchmereignited.‘Damnhim!’Fiveripsawayfrommeandtakesflight.IclimbbacktomyfeetjustintimetoseeNinechargingat
SetrákusRa.Heholdsabrokenpieceofthestageoutinfrontofhimlikeaspear.‘Nine!Don’t!’Ninedoesn’thearme,probablybecausehe’stoobusygettingsideswipedbyFive.Thetwoofthemgo
crashingintothewreckageofthestage,brokenpiecesofwoodflyingeverywhere.Oncetheyhit,itlooks
likeFivetriestotakeflightagain,butNinegetsholdofhisankle.‘Whereyougoing,fatboy?’IhearNineyell.Ninegetsbacktohisfeet,stillholdingFive’sankle,andthenswingshimwithallhismight.Fiveflaps
hisarmsinafutileattempttogetsomemomentum,buthe’soverpowered.NineslamsFiveface-firstontothepavement.Chunksofconcreteflyupfromtheimpact,andFive’sheadmakesthesoundofabellringingwhenithits.Inoticehismetallicshellmomentarilyswitchbacktonormalskin–thatmust’vehurtFiveenoughtomakeithardtofocusonhisExterna.‘Nine!Enough!’Ishout,pushinglooseofmyownpileofbrokenwood.Nineglancesinmydirection,andthat’swhenFiveuppercutshim.Witharoar,Ninedivesbackathim,
andtheyslamtogether.Theyhurlpunchesateachother,atangledmessoflimbsthatIlosesightofwhentheygocrashingthroughthefrontwindowoftheUnitedNationsbuilding.Ican’tworryaboutthemnow.IhavetogettoSetrákusRa.IhavetosaveElla.Iwon’tletherbetakenforasecondtime.Myleftarmhangslimpatmyside.I’dneedtopopmyshoulderbackinbeforeIcouldhealmyself,butI
don’thavetimeforthat.Ishakecrustyflakesofmetaloffmyhandandstrapmydaggertothewristofmyworkingarm.I’llhavetodothisonehanded.Surprisingly,SetrákusRadoesn’tseemtheleastbitinterestedinstayingtofight.HedragsEllathrough
therubble,headingforthepearl-shapedshiphearrivedin.EllalooksalotlikeshedidinthatvisionwesharedofWashington,D.C.–likeshe’sbeendrainedofsomethingessential.Iwonderwhattheydidtoheronthatwarship.Nomatterwhathappens!Doit!Ellahadshoutedinmymind.Nomatterwhathappens.Fivemustnot
belying.EllaknewwhattheconsequencesofmestabbingSetrákusRawouldbe,andsheacceptedthem.Whatevertheydidtoher,theMogsdidn’tbreakher.Shehadenoughfightleftinhertohelpus.Itwas
likeDulceBasealloveragain.ShestuckSetrákusRawithaglowingpieceofdebris,andmyLegaciesinstantlycameback.ShedrainedSetrákusRa’spowers,Irealize.And,judgingbyhiscowardlyretreat,theystillhaven’t
returnedtohim.ImightnotbeabletokillSetrákusRa,butthatdoesn’tmeanIcan’tsubduehim.Let’sseethe
MogadoriansinvadewhileI’mholdingtheirBelovedLeaderhostage.Iraceacrossthelopsidedandbrokenstage,tryingtocutoffSetrákusRabeforehecanreachhisship.
Ellaseesmecominganddigsherheelsin.ShestrugglesagainstRa’sgripandthisslowshimupjustenough.I’mgoingtocatchhim.‘SetrákusRa!’Damnit.Notnow.TheMogadorianleaderdoesn’tevenacknowledgeAgentWalkerasshecomesathimfromhisother
side.Doessheexpecthimtofreeze?It’sherandtwootheragentswhohavemanagedtoextricatethemselvesfromtheriotous,panickingcrowd.Samiswiththem.Theystopafewyardsoff,theirgunsleveled.EvenSamlooksreadytofire–hiseyesnarrowed,hismouthpressedintoafirmline.IrememberthoseacidburnsonSam’swrists.TheycamecourtesyofSetrákusRa.I’msurehe’sreadytosettlethatscore.‘Wait!’IyellatSamandWalker,butI’mtoolate.
SetrákusRajerkshisheadinthedirectionoftheagentsandSam,likethey’reanannoyingbugthatneedstobeswatted.WiththehandnotholdingElla,SetrákusRaproducesthatthree-headedwhipofhisfromwhereit’shiddenunderhistornuniform.Beforehecanlashoutatthem,theagentsandSamopenfire.Ican’tbelievewhatI’mabouttodo.Istopthebulletsinmidairwithmytelekinesis.I’mnotsureiftheywouldhaveevenpenetrated
SetrákusRa’sarmor,butIcan’triskit.Idon’tletSamandtheothershaveachancetorealizealltheirshotshavemissed.Instead,Ishovetheentiregroupbackwardswithmytelekinesis.Nothardenoughtohurtthem,buthardenoughtoknockthemoversomeofthebrokenstagedebris.It’salsoenoughtoputthemoutofrangeofSetrákusRa’swhip.I’llapologizelater.SetrákusRadoesn’tgivetheagentsasecondlook.Thebriefdistractionwasallheneededtoreachthe
stepsofhisshipaheadofme.Heboundsupthem,draggingEllaalongbehindhim,anddisappearsintothevessel.Isprintforward,determinednottolethimescape.Theshipbeginstoriseupbeforethestaircasehas
fullyfoldedbackintoitssmoothbody.Icanstillcatchthem.Icanstillstophim.I’msoclose.Idiveforwardandmanagetograbthebottomstepwithmygoodhand.Theshipcontinuestorisewhilethestepsrecedebacktowardstheopendoorway.Theypullmecloser
towardsSetrákusRaandElla,evenastheshiprisesfartherawayfromtheEarth.IswingoneofmylegsupsothatI’mhookedaroundthebottomstep.Soon,we’realmostahundredfeetintheair,gettingcloserandclosertothewarshipabove.Thestepsfolduplikeanaccordionintoapanelatthebaseoftheship’sentrance.IpushoffthestepI’d
beengraspingbeforeI’mcrushedinthemechanismandlungefortheopendoorway.Itisn’teasytodowithonlyonegoodarm.Ienduphangingfromthedoorway’sedge,mygoodarmstartingtofeelhyperextended.Mylegsdangleabovewhatisnowatwo-hundred-footdrop.SetrákusRastandsoverme.Histhree-headedwhipdanglesinmyface,thetipsalivewithcrackling
fire.Idon’tthinkheplanstopullmetherestofthewayin.IcatchaglimpseofEllathroughhislegs.She’sslouchedinoneofthecockpit’schairs,lookingtotally
sedated.Iwon’tbegettinganyhelpfromher.‘JohnSmith,isn’tit?’SetrákusRaasksconversationally.‘Thankyouforthehelpdownthere.’‘Iwasn’ttryingtohelpyou.’‘Butyoudid,regardless.ThatisonereasonwhyIwillletyoulive.’Igrimace.Mygripslipsalittle.Ineedtocomeupwithaplaysoon.It’shardtochuckafireballwith
onearmdislocatedandtheotherholdingonfordearlife.It’llhavetobemytelekinesis.MaybeifIcanpushhimback…It’sgone.Mytelekinesisisgone.Drained,justlikebefore.SetrákusRasmilesatme.HisLegaciesarereturning.I’vefailed.Hecrouchesdownsohecangetrightinmyface.‘Theotherreason,’hehisses,‘issoyoucanseehowImakethisplanetburn.’SetrákusRastraightensupagainandnonchalantlyflickshiswhipatme.Thethreeheadsstrikemeright
acrosstheface.I’mimmunetothefire,butthelashesstilldigthreegroovesacrossmycheek.
It’senoughtomakemelosemygrip.I’mfalling.AsIplummettowardstheriverbelow,IfeelmyLegaciessnapbackon.Imustbefarenoughaway
fromSetrákusRa.Quickly,Ipushdownwithmytelekinesis,doingeverythingIcantoslowmyfall.IstillhittheEastRiverhard.It’slikegettingslappedacrossmywholebody.Dirtywaterfloodsmy
lungsandforaterrifyingsecondI’mnotsurewhichwayisup,whichwaytoswim.Imanagetoresurface,chokingandspitting,andtryingtoswimagainstthecurrentwithonlyonearm.Iendupdoinganawkwardbackstroke,gaspingforbreaththeentireway.I’mexhaustedbythetimeIreachthebank,slightlydownriverfromthechaosattheUN,surroundedonallsidesbytrashanddeadfish.‘John!John!Areyouallright?’It’sSam.Herunsacrossthemudtowardsme.Hemusthaveseenmefallandfollowedmehere.He
skidsintothemucknexttome.Icanonlymanageagroanbywayofgreeting.Ithinksomeofmyribsarebroken.‘Canyoumove?’Samasks,gingerlytouchingmyscrewed-upshoulder.Inod.WithSam’shelp,Imakeitbacktomyfeet.I’msoaked,bruised,brokeninplaces,withthreelong
cutsacrossmyface.I’mnotsurewhattohealfirst.‘Where’sNine?’Imanagetoask.‘Ilosthiminthechaos,’Samreplies,hisvoicebreaking.‘HeandFivewerekillingeachother.Walker
andherpeoplearetryingtoevacuatecivilians.It’scrazyupthere.John,whatdowedo?’Istarttoopenmymouth,hopingaplanwillcometomeifIjuststarttalking,butanearbyexplosion
cutsmeoff.Theimpactispowerfulenoughthatmyteethclicktogether.IlookupattheskyjustintimetoseetheMogadorianwarshipopenfireonNewYork.
29
Eight’seyes,brightlyglowingembersofpureLoralite,assesseachoneofusinturn.TheylingerforaparticularlylongtimeonAdam–longenoughtomakeourMogadorianallytakeanervousstepbackwards.LikeMarina,I’mrootedinplace,staringatourfriendbroughtbacktosomekindoflife.EightfloatsovertheSanctuary’swellinacolumnofunleashedenergy.No,hedoesn’tjustfloatintheenergy.Theenergyisapartofhim.Orit.I’mprettysurethat’snotoursarcastic,goofyfriendfloatingupthere.Whateveritis,Ifeela
strangekinshipwiththeentity,almostlikethesameenergynowreanimatingEightisflowingthroughme,too.It’sthesameelectricrushIgetwhenIusemyLegacies.MaybeI’mlookingattheessenceofwhatmakesmeLoric,whatmakesmeGarde.MaybeI’mlookingatLorienitself.‘TwoLoricandaMogadorian,’theentitysaysatlast,itsappraisalofuscomplete.Itsvoiceisnothing
likeEight’susedtobe–it’slikeahundredvoicesspeakingatonce,allofthemperfectlyintune.TheflashingpoolsofenergywhereEight’seyesusedtobelingeronAdamagainandtheentity’slipspurseincuriosity.‘Exceptnotquite.Youaresomethingdifferent.Somethingnew.’‘Uh,thankyou?’Adamreplies,andtakesanotherstepbackwards.Marinaclearsherthroatandstepsclosertothewell.Therearetearsinhereyes.Herhandsextendout
infrontofher,likeshewantstograbattheentity’shandandmakesurehe’sreal.‘Eight?Isthatyou?’Hervoiceishardtohearovertherhythmicpulsingbeneaththewell.TheentityturnshisgazeonMarinaandfrowns.‘No.Iamsorry,daughter.Yourfriendisgone.’Marina’sshouldersheavewithdisappointment.ThethinginEight’sbodyreachesouttocomforther,
butenergycracklesbetweenthemanditendsuppullingback.‘Heiswithmenow,’theentitysays,soothingly.‘Hedoesmeagreatservice,lettingmespeakthrough
him.IthasbeenalongtimesinceIhadavoice.’‘AreyouLorien?’Iask,atlastfindingmyownvoice.‘Areyou,like,theplanet?’Theentityseemstoconsidermyquestion.ThroughthethinfabricofEight’sshirt,Icanseehiswound
lightup.Itglowscobaltblueliketherestofhim,hisentirebodyfilledupwiththeenergy.It’sseepingoutofhim.‘Iwascalledthatonce,yes,’theentitysays,andwavesitshandattheglowingcarvingsonthewalls.
‘Inotherplaces,Iwascalledotherthings.Andnow,onthisplanet,Iwillbecalledsomethingnew.’‘You’reagod,’Marinabreathes.‘No.Isimplyam.’Ishakemyhead.Godornot,weneedthisthing’shelp.Wedon’thavetimeforriddles.I’msuddenly
really,reallytiredofcavedrawingsandpropheciesandglowingpeople.‘Doyouknowwhat’shappening?’IaskEight–Lorien–whateveritis.‘TheMogadoriansare
invading.’
Theentity’seyesturnonceagaintoAdam.‘Notallofthem,Isee.’Adamlooksuncomfortable.Theentityquicklyturnsaway.Itstaresupattheceilingandit’sasifthose
cracklingeyescanseeoutsideofthetemple.Likeitcanseeeverything.‘Yes.Theyarecoming,’theentitysays,hisechoingvoiceapparentlybemusedbytheimpending
Mogadorianinvasion.‘Theirleaderhaschasedmeforaverylongtime.YourEldersforesawthefallofLorienandchosetoprotectme.Theyhidmehereinhopesthatitwoulddelayhim.’‘Itdidn’tgosohot,’Ireply.Marinaelbowsme.Theentity’seyesslowlyturntotheceilingagain.Foramoment,adeepsadnesspassesacrossitsface.‘Somanyofmychildrengoneforever,’theentitymuses.‘IsupposeyouwouldbetheLoricElders
now,ifsuchathingstillexists.’‘We’reGarde,’Isay,correctingthisbillion-year-oldgodlikeenergyforce,becausewhatthehell,
we’vecomethisfar.‘We’rehereforyourhelp.’Theentityactuallychuckles.‘Itdoesnotmattertome,daughter.Elders,Garde,Cêpan–thesewords
arehowtheLoricchosetounderstandmygifts.Itdoesnothavetobethatwayhere.Itdoesnothavetobeanyway.’Theentitypausesthoughtfully.‘Asforhelp,IdonotknowwhatIcanoffer,child.’Moreconfusion,moreriddles.Ididn’tthinkcomingtotheSanctuarywouldgolikeNinehadjoked–
thatwe’dunleashsomemassivepowerthatwouldwipeoutalltheMogadorians.ButIexpectedtofindsomethingthatcouldhelp.OurfriendscouldbedyingrightnowinthefirstwaveofaMogadorianinvasion,andI’mdownheremakingsmalltalkwithanannoyinglymysteriousimmortal.‘That’snotgoodenough,’Isay.Frustrated,Itakeasteptowardstheentity.EnergycracklesaroundmeandIfeelmyhairstandupfrom
static.‘Six,’Adamwhispers,‘becareful.’Iignorehim,raisingmyvoicetoyellattheall-powerfulLorien.‘We’vecomefartoawakenyou!
We’velostfriends!Youhavetobeabletodosomething.OrareyoucoolifSetrákusRajustmarchesdownhereanddestroysthisplanet?Killseveryoneonit?You’regoingtoletthathappentwiceonyourwatch?’Theentity’sbrowfurrows.AcrackopensintheskinonEight’sforehead,andenergybeginstospill
forth.Marinacovershermouthbutmanagesnottocryout.It’slikeEight’sbodyishollowinsideandtheenergyisgraduallybreakingitdown.‘Iamsorry,daughter,’EightsaystoMarina.‘Thisformcannotholdmeforlong.’Then,theentityturnsbacktome.There’snosignthatmywordshaveoffendedit,orhadanyeffectat
all.Itsvoiceisasmelodicandpatientasever.‘Idonotcondonethesenselessdestructionoflife,’theentityexplains.‘ButIdonotchoosefates.Ido
notjudge.IfitisthewilloftheuniversethatIceasetobe,thenIwillcease.Iexistmerelytobestowmygiftsuponthosewhoareopentothem.’Ispreadmyarms.‘I’mopentothem.Loadmeup.GivemeenoughLegaciestodestroySetrákusRaand
hisfleetandI’llleaveyourglowingassalone.’Theentitysmilesatme.MorecracksformalongthebacksofEight’shands.Theenergyisescaping.‘Itdoesnotworkthatway,’itintones.‘Thenhowthehelldoesitwork?’Ishout.‘Telluswhattodo!’
‘Thereisnothinglefttodo,daughter.Youhavewokenmeandrestoredmystrength.IamoftheEarthnow,andsoaremygifts.’‘Buthowwillthathelpuswin?’Iyell.‘Whatwasallthisshitfor?’Theentityignoresme.Iguessthat’sallthewisdomit’swillingtoimpart.Instead,itgazesuponMarina.‘Hewon’thavelong,daughter.’‘Whowon’t?’shereplies,puzzled.Withoutanotherword,theentity’seyescloseandEight’sbodybeginstotremble.Tomysurprise,the
energyactuallyrecedesfromhisbody.Thecracksalongthebacksofhishandsstopglowingandcloseup,asdoestheonethatopenedacrosshisforehead.Afterafewseconds,theonlythingleftglowingonEightisthewoundoverhisheart.HefloatsoutofthecolumnofenergyandendsuprightinfrontofMarina.WhenEightopenshiseyes,theydon’tglow.They’regreen,justlikeIrememberthem,serene,butwith
asparkofthatoldmischief.Eight’slipscurlintoaslowsmileasheseesMarina.‘Wow,hi,’Eightsays,andwhenhespeaksit’swithhisownvoice.It’shim.It’sreallyhim.Marinanearlydoublesoverwithadelightedsob.Shecollectsherselfquickly,though,andgrabsEight
firstbytheshoulders,thenonthesidesofhisface.Shepullshiminclose.‘You’rewarm,’shesaysinwonder.‘You’resowarm.’Eightlaughseasily.HeputshishandoverMarina’sandgentlykissesthesideofit.‘You’rewarm,too,’hesays.‘I’msosorry,Eight.I’msorryIcouldn’thealyou.’Eightshakeshishead.‘Stop,Marina.It’sokay.Youbroughtmehere.It’s–Ican’tevendescribeit.It’s
amazinginthere.’Already,IseetheenergyspreadingoutwardfromEight’sheart.Itracesthroughhisbody,fissures
openingonhisarmsandlegs.Hedoesn’tseemtobeinanypain.HejustsmilesatMarinaandlooksatherlikehe’stryingtomemorizeherface.‘CanIkissyou?’Marinaaskshim.‘Ireallywishyouwould.’Marinakisseshim,pressinginclose,squeezinghim.Asshedoes,theenergyswellsupfromwithin
Eightand,slowly,hisbodybeginstobreakapart.It’sdifferentfromwhenaMogadoriandisintegrates.It’sasif,foramoment,IcanseeeverycellinEight’sbodyandseehowtheenergyfromthewellglowsinbetweeneachofthem.Onebyone,thosepiecesofEightdissolve,andhebecomesonewiththelight.Marinatriestoclingtohim,butherfingerspassrightthroughtheenergy.Andthen,he’sgone.Thelightflowsbacktothewellandrecedesdeepundertheground.Theheartbeat
wetriggeredgrowsfainter.Icanstillhearit,butonlyifIreallylisten.Thechamberispeacefulagain,litonlybytheglowingLoralitecarvingsonthewall.Ifeelfreshaironmybackandturnaroundtoseethatadoorhasopenedupinthewall.Itleadstoastaircase,sunlightcominginfromtheoutside.Marinacollapsesagainstme,asobbingwreck.Ihughercloseandtrynottobreakdownmyself.Adam
watchesuswithoutstaringtoohardandwipesatsomethinginthecornerofhiseye.‘Weshouldgo,’Adamsaysquietly.‘Theotherswillneedourhelp.’Inodathim.Iwonderifweevenaccomplishedanythingdownhere.ItwasbeautifulseeingEight
again,evenforafewfleetingmoments.Yetmyconversationwiththeintergalacticentitythatgrantsusour
Legaciessuredidn’tyieldalotofanswers.Meanwhile,thetimeuntilaMogadorianinvasionisprobablyrunningout,ifithasn’talready.Marinasqueezesmyarm.Ilookdownather.‘Isawit,Six,’Marinawhisperstome.‘WhenIkissedhim,Isawinsidethething–Lorien,theenergy,
whateveryouwanttocallit.’‘Okay,’Isay,wantingtobegentlewithher,butnotsurewehavetimeforthis.‘And?’Marinagrinsatme.‘It’sspreading,Six.ThroughtheEarth.It’sspreadingeverywhere.’‘Whatdoesthatmean?’Adamasks.‘Itmeans,’Marinasays,wipingherfaceandstandingupstraight,‘thatwearen’taloneanymore.’
30
Skyscrapersburn.Werun.TheMogadorianwarshipcrawlsacrossNewYork’sskyline,itsmassiveenergycannonsbombarding
theblocksindiscriminately.Thewarshipalreadydisgorgeddozensofarmedscoutships,thesmallervesselszippingupanddowntheavenues,ferryingwarriorstotheground,wheretheyblastwhatevercivilianstheycomeacross.Otherthingsleapeddownfromtheship,too.Hungry,angrythings.Ihaven’tseenanyyet;I’veonly
heardtheirterriblehowlsrisingabovetheexplosions.Piken.NewYorkCityislost,thatmuchIknowforsure.There’snoturningbacktheMogadoriansatthispoint.
IhavenoideahowtheothercitieswhereMogadorianwarshipswerespottedaredoing.ThenetworkisdowninNewYork,andmysatellitephonesunktothebottomoftheEastRiver.Allwecandoisrun.JustlikeI’vebeendoingmyentirelife.Exceptnow,unfortunately,therearea
millionpeoplerunningwithme.‘Run!’Ishoutatanyonewecomeacross.‘Rununtilyoucan’tseetheirships!Survive,regroupandwe
willfightthem!’Samiswithme.Hisfaceisashenandhelookslikehe’sgoingtobesick.Heneversawwhatthe
MogadoriansdidtoLorien.He’sbeenthroughsomehardtimeswithus,butneveranythinglikethis.Ithinkhealwaysbelievedthatwewouldwin.Heneverthoughtthisdaywouldcome.I’velethimdown.Idon’tknowwhereNineandFiveare.Therearen’tanynewscarsburningtheirwayacrossmyankle,
sotheyhaven’tkilledeachotheryet.IlostAgentWalker,too.Sheandheragentsareontheirown.Ihopetheymakeitoutalive.Iftheydo,
maybethey’llbesmartenoughtomeetusbackatAshwoodEstates.IfSamandIcanevenmakeitthatfar.Werundownstreetsfilledwithsmoke,dartingaroundoverturnedcars,climbingoverfallenchunksof
buildings.Whenoneofthescoutshipscruisesby,weduckintoalleysorhideindoorways.Icouldfightthem.WithalltheangerI’mholdingonto,I’msureIcouldripthroughtheminnotime.I
couldeasilytakedownoneofthescoutshipsonmyown.ButI’mnotonmyown.ThereareabouttwentysurvivorsfollowingmeandSam.AfamilyIpulledoffaburningbalconywith
mytelekinesis,apairofblood-splatteredNYPDofficerswhosawmetakedownapairofMogwarriors,agroupthatcameoutfromhidinginarestaurantwhenIflashedmyLumeninside,andothersstill.Ican’tsaveeveryoneinthiscity,butI’lldowhatIcan.Thatmeansnotpickingfightswiththe
Mogadorians.AtleastnotuntilIcangetthesepeopletosafety.
IavoidtroublewhereverIcan.Itisn’talwayspossible.Wecrossanintersectionwhereslashedpowerlinesaredrapedacrosstheburnedhuskofacitybus,
andwerunrightintoadozenMogadorianwarriors.Theybringtheirblastersaroundonus,butIblowthembackwithafireballbeforetheycansqueezeoffanyshots.Theoneswhoaren’timmediatelyincineratedgetpoppedbythecopsstandingbehindme.Ilookovermyshoulder,noddingtotheofficers.‘Niceshooting.’‘We’vegotyourback,JohnSmith,’oneofthemsays.Idon’teventhinktoaskhowheknowsmyname.OurgrouprunsafewmoreblocksbeforeI’mdrawntothesoundofnearbyscreaming.Aroundthe
corner,wefindayoungcoupletryingtoescapefromtheirburningapartmentbuildingviathefireescape.Theboltslooklikethey’vecomeunmooredfromthewallneartheroof,andnowthewholefireescapehangslikeacrookedfingeroverthestreet.Stillfivestoriesup,theguyhasfallenovertherailing.Hisgirlfrienddesperatelytriestopullhimbackovertheside.Sarah’sfaceflashesintomymind.Juststayalive,Ithink.Survivethis,andwe’llbetogether.I’m
goingtomakeitbacktoher.Iruntowardsthefireescape,bracingitfromadistancewithmytelekinesis.‘Letgo!’Ishoutupatthecouple.‘I’llcatchyou!’‘Areyoufreakingnuts?’theguyyellsback.Noneofushavetimetoargue,soIreachoutwithmytelekinesisandjustyankthecoupleoffthefire
escape.AsI’mloweringthemtotheground,Ihearthebeatsofheavyfootfallsbearingdownonme.‘John!’Samscreams.‘Lookout!’Iturnmyhead.It’saPiken.Thebeastgallopstowardsmeatfullspeed,itsjawscoveredwithslobber,
itsrazor-sharpteethbared.Ihearscreamsfrommygroup.Thecopstakesomeshotsatthemonster,buttheydon’tevenslowitdown.TheothershavethegoodsensetorunfromtherabidMogadorianbeast.Exceptthedirectiontheyruninputsthemrightbeneaththefireescape.Which,ofcourse,choosesthat
exactmomenttotearfullyawayfromitsbuildingandcomeclatteringdownintothestreet.I’vestillgotthecouplesuspendedintheair,andnowI’mholdingupthefireescapewithmy
telekinesis,too.ItrytodividemyfocusenoughtoturnonmyLumen,butit’sjusttoomuch.I’mtooexhausted,thestrainismorethanIcanmanage.ThePikenisalmostontopofme.Sarah’sfaceflashesagaintotheforefrontofmymind.Ihavetotry.Igritmyteethanddigdowndeeper.Withamassivewoomf,awaveoftelekineticforcehitsthePikenandknocksitintotheair.Thebeast’s
muscularlegsflailwildly.Itlandsback-firstontopofastopsign,thepoleimpalingthebeastrightthroughtheheart.Thatdidn’tcomefromme.Ilowerthecouplesafelytotheground,tossthefireescapeasideandturninthedirectionthe
telekineticblastcamefrom.Samstaresatme.He’sfrozen.HishandsareextendedoutinfrontofhimlikehejustshovedthePiken
andstillhasn’tfinishedwiththefollow-through.Slowly,heblinkshiseyes.Samlooksdownathishands,thenoveratme.‘Holyshit,’hesays.‘DidIjustdothat?’
THEBEGINNING
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MICHAELJOSEPHPublishedbythePenguinGroupPenguinBooksLtd,80Strand,LondonWC2R0RL,EnglandPenguinGroup(USA)Inc.,375HudsonStreet,NewYork,NewYork10014,USAPenguinGroup(Canada),90EglintonAvenueEast,Suite700,Toronto,Ontario,CanadaM4P2Y3(adivisionofPearsonPenguinCanadaInc.)PenguinIreland,25StStephen’sGreen,Dublin2,Ireland(adivisionofPenguinBooksLtd)PenguinGroup(Australia),707CollinsStreet,Melbourne,Victoria3008,Australia(adivisionofPearsonAustraliaGroupPtyLtd)PenguinBooksIndiaPvtLtd,11CommunityCentre,PanchsheelPark,NewDelhi–110017,IndiaPenguinGroup(NZ),67ApolloDrive,Rosedale,Auckland0632,NewZealand(adivisionofPearsonNewZealandLtd)PenguinBooks(SouthAfrica)(Pty)Ltd,BlockD,RosebankOfficePark,181JanSmutsAvenue,ParktownNorth,Gauteng2193,SouthAfrica
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FirstpublishedintheUnitedStatesofAmericabyHarperCollinsPublishers2014FirstPublishedinGreatBritainbyMichaelJoseph2014
Copyright©PittacusLore,2014
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TypesetbyJouve(UK),MiltonKeynes
Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businesses,companies,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
ISBN:978-1-405-91363-8