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‘Good,’ Setrákus Ra says, and follows me aboard. He sits down in the pilot’s seat and the ship seals up behind us. His human form has been restored after his scuffle with Five, and he’s dressed himself in a sleek black suit with crimson flourishes. The color scheme doesn’t complement the fatherly human face he’s wearing – it makes him look stern and authoritative. I don’t tell him that, both because I don’t want to help him and because it seems like too much effort to talk.
I wish I could just sleep through this.
They did something to me after the gash opened up on my shoulder. I was in and out of consciousness from blood loss, so my memory is foggy. I can remember Setrákus Ra carrying me down to the medical bay, a place on the ship I hadn’t had the bad luck to explore until then. I remember them injecting my wound with something black and oozing. I’m pretty sure that I screamed from the pain. But then my wound started to close. It wasn’t like the times I’d been healed by Marina or John. In those cases, it felt like my injuries were knitting back together, like my flesh was regrowing. Under the Mogs’ ‘care,’ it felt like my flesh was being replaced by something else, something cold and foreign. Something alive and hungry.
I can still feel it, crawling around beneath the perfect, pale skin of my now uninjured shoulder.
Setrákus Ra flips a few switches on the console, and our little spherical ship powers up. The walls become translucent. It’s the Mogadorian version of tinted glass, though – we can see out, but no one can see in.
I turn my head to study the docking bay that’s crowded with combat-ready Mogadorians. They all stand perfectly still, hundreds of them arranged in orderly lines, all of them with their fists clenched over their hearts. They’re saluting their Beloved Leader as he sets out to conquer Earth. I look at their pasty, expressionless faces and their dark, empty eyes. Are these my people? Am I becoming one of them?
It seems easiest to give in.
Setrákus Ra is about to get us moving when a red light flashes on one of his video screens and a shrill buzzing sounds. The noise wakes me up a little. Some unlucky underling is trying to call Setrákus Ra right in the middle of his big day. Setrákus Ra’s jaw sets in annoyance at the incoming message and, for a moment, I think he might ignore it. Finally, he jabs a button and a frazzled Mogadorian communications officer appears on-screen.
‘What is it?’ snarls Setrákus Ra.
‘Deepest apologies for the interruption, Beloved Leader,’ the officer says, keeping his eyes downcast. ‘You have an urgent message from Phiri Dun-Ra.’
‘It had better be,’ Setrákus Ra grumbles. He waves a hand impatiently at the screen. ‘Very well. Put her through.’
The screen flashes, crackles, and then a Mogadorian woman appears. She has two long braids pinned up around her bald head and a sizable cut above her eyebrow. She’s surrounded on all sides by jungle. Apparently, a message from this trueborn is important enough to delay our flight down to New York. I try to sit up a little bit in my seat, fighting through the fog to pay attention.
‘What is it, Phiri?’ Setrákus Ra says, coldly. ‘Why have you contacted me directly?’
The Mog woman, Phiri, hesitates before she speaks. Maybe she’s taken aback by the human face addressing her with such authority. Or maybe she’s just scared of her Beloved Leader.
‘They’re here,’ Phiri says at last, a note of triumph in her voice. ‘The Garde have activated the Sanctuary.’
Setrákus Ra leans back in his seat, his eyebrows arched in surprise. He laces his hands in front of him in consideration.
‘Very good,’ he replies. ‘Excellent. Your orders are to keep them there, Phiri Dun-Ra. On your life. I will join you shortly.’
‘As you wish, Belo –’
Setrákus Ra severs the connection before Phiri Dun-Ra can finish. The mentions of the Garde and the Sanctuary have me a little more aware. I try to think of Six and Marina, of John and Nine – I know they would want me to fight through this. It’s just so difficult to keep my mind from going blank, to keep my body from slouching.
‘For years I’ve pursued them,’ Setrákus Ra says quietly, almost to himself. ‘To wipe out the last bit of resistance to Mogadorian Progress. To take control of what those Elder fools buried on this planet. Now, the day has come when everything I’ve fought for will be mine, all at once. Tell me, granddaughter, how can there be any doubt of Mogadorian superiority?’
He doesn’t really want a response. Setrákus Ra just likes to hear himself talk. I let a slow, medicated smile form on my face. That seems to please him. My grandfather reaches out and pats me on the knee.
‘You’re feeling better, aren’t you?’ he says. He flips a few levers on the console and our ship’s engines vibrate to life. ‘Come. Let us go take what is ours.’
With that, Setrákus Ra navigates the ship forward. We zip through the docking bay, past the rows of Mogadorian warriors. They thump their fists against their chests as we go, shouting out gravelly Mogadorian encouragement. We exit through the same passage as Five’s body. That part – seeing him brutalized and then tossed aside like so much garbage – I’m glad to lose to the fog.
We descend on Manhattan. I can see all the humans gathered below. There are thousands of them crowded in front of a fancy-looking set of buildings and its surrounding campus. I can make out a stage down there, too. It’s all built on the bank of a gray, choppy river. I remember the Washington from my vision, the smoky smells that choked the air. That will be New York soon. I wonder if these people will throw themselves into the river when their city begins to burn.
The people below point up at our ship. I can hear them shouting and screaming out greetings. These humans – the ones who came closest to the Anubis – they don’t think they’re in any danger.
It occurs to me that we’re traveling into this throng of people without any Mogadorian guards. I loll my head towards my grandfather, wet my lips and manage to find words.
‘We’re facing them alone?’ I ask him.
He smiles. ‘Of course. I mean to elevate these people, not harm them. We have nothing to fear from the humans. My servants on Earth have arranged for a greeting that I find more than suitable.’
He’s up to something, obviously. Probably already has this whole event planned out. I know it’s unlikely even a crowd of humans this size would stand a chance against Setrákus Ra and all his powers, but part of me hopes maybe one of them will see through whatever sideshow he’s got planned and take some shots at the scary alien.
Of course, that would mean my death before they could stop Setrákus Ra. At this point, it seems almost worth it. I feel whatever the Mogadorians injected into me crawling around beneath my skin. I can’t endure any more of that.
The descent is over. We hover about fifteen feet above the stage. A nervous-looking older man in a suit, some kind of politician, waits for us there. There are flashbulbs going off like crazy. I blink my eyes and try to keep from sleepwalking through this.
‘Come, Ella. Let us greet our subjects,’ Setrákus Ra says. He picks up his golden cane, the obsidian Eye of Thaloc catching the light. I’m not sure why he brought that with him. I guess he doesn’t want to face our so-called subjects completely unarmed. Or maybe he thinks it makes him look noble – like a king with a scepter.
I stand up, slightly unsteady. Setrákus Ra offers me his arm. I hook my hand through it.
The door of our transport ship opens and a glowing staircase extends outward, creating a path for us to the stage. The crowd gasps as we emerge. Through my bleary eyes, I can see dozens of TV cameras trained on us. The crowd is hushed in amazement. What do we look like to them? Aliens … aliens that look exactly like humans. A handsome older man and his pale granddaughter.
Setrákus Ra raises his hand and waves to the people. It’s a royal thing, courtly and showy. When he speaks, his voice booms like he’s hooked up to a microphone.
‘Greetings, people of Earth!’ he bellows in perfect English, his voice firm
and reassuring. ‘My name is Setrákus Ra and this is my granddaughter, Ella. We have traveled a great distance to come humbly before you with wishes of peace!’
The crowd actually cheers. They don’t know any better. Setrákus Ra gazes beatifically across all their upturned faces. But when his eyes settle on the old man standing on the stage, I feel a tension go through his arm.
‘Hmm,’ Setrákus Ra says under his breath. Something isn’t right. The greeter isn’t what he expected. Or maybe there were supposed to be more humans waiting onstage with outstretched arms. Maybe there were supposed to be bouquets of flowers.
Undeterred, Setrákus Ra draws himself up a little taller and proceeds down the rest of the steps.
‘We have much to offer your people!’ he continues in his booming, charitable voice. ‘Advancements in medicine to heal your sick, farming techniques to feed your hungry and technology that will make your lives easier and more productive. All we ask in return, after our long journey, is shelter from the cold of space.’
I glance over the crowd to see if any of them are buying it. I end up locking eyes with a young guy in the front row, pushed up right next to some TV cameras, his dark eyes seeking mine. He wears a hooded sweatshirt, long black hair spilling out from inside, and he’s tall and athletic, and –
In my condition, it actually takes me a moment to recognize him. Not so long ago, I balanced on his shoulders and he taught me how to fight.
Nine.
Seeing him, knowing that I’m not alone, that all isn’t lost just yet – it makes me snap back to my senses. The pain in my shoulder increases exponentially, like something is trying to crawl its way out of me. Whatever’s inside me doesn’t want me to use my Legacies. I ignore it and reach out with my telepathy.
Nine! His cane! It’s how he changes forms! Get his cane and smash it!
A feral grin spreads on Nine’s face and he nods to me. My heartbeat quickens.
Next to me, Setrákus Ra’s posture has stiffened. My hand is trapped in the crook of his elbow. He knows that something is up, yet he proceeds with the show all the same.
‘I expected more of them to be here on this momentous occasion, yet I see one of your leaders has come out to greet me!’ Setrákus Ra extends his hand to the old man. ‘I come to you in peace, sir! Let this cement the friendship between our two great races.’
Instead of clasping Setrákus Ra’s hand, the old man takes a step away. There’s deep fear in his eyes, but it’s not run-and-scream fear. It’s cornered animal fear. The old man has a microphone of his own and, as the TV cameras swing in his direction, he begins to yell.
‘This man – this thing – is a liar!’
