CHAPTER 1

I don�t know if I can.

I�m too weak to speak, so I don�t say it out loud. I merely think it. But One can hear me. She can always hear me.

�You have to,� she says. �You have to wake up. You have to fight.�

I�m at the bottom of a ravine, my legs twisted beneath me, a boulder pushed uncomfortably between my shoulder blades. A stream laps against my thigh. I can�t see anything because my eyes are closed, and I can�t open my eyes because I don�t have the strength.

But to be honest, I don�t want to open my eyes. I want to give up, to let go.

Opening my eyes means facing the truth.

It means realizing that I have been washed onto a dry riverbank. That the wet I feel on my legs is no river. It�s blood, from a compound fracture of my right leg, the bone now jutting out of my shin.

It means knowing that I�ve been left for dead by my own father, some seven thousand miles from home. That the closest thing I have to a brother, Ivanick, is the one who nearly killed me, pushing me brutally off the edge of the steep ravine.

It means facing the fact that I am a Mogadorian, a member of an alien race bent on the extermination of the Loric people and the eventual domination of Earth.

I clench my eyes shut, desperately trying to hide from the truth.

With my eyes still closed, I can drift off to a sweeter place: a California beach, my bare feet digging into the sand. One sits beside me, looking at me with a smile. This is One�s memory of California, a place I�ve never been. But we�ve shared the memory for so long during that three-year twilight that it feels as much mine as hers.

�I could stay here all day,� I say, the sun warm on my skin.

She looks at me with a soft smile, like she couldn�t agree more. But when she opens her mouth to speak, her words don�t match her expression: they�re harsh, stern, commanding.

�You can�t stay,� she says. �You have to get up. Now.�

CHAPTER 2

Despite my exhausting middle-of-the-night run to Hannu�s hut, I manage to wake up with the other aid-workers the following morning.

�Look at you, getting up early,� jokes Elswit. �Sure you want to cut into your beauty sleep?�

I almost retaliate by teasing Elswit, calling him the prince like the other workers sometimes do. He earned the nickname when he arrived here with a bunch of expensive nonessentials, none more ridiculous than a luxurious pair of shiny silk pajamas. Nobody makes fun of him to his face, though: he also brought a top-of-the-line laptop with high-tech global wireless, a device he lets us all use and that no one wants to jeopardize their access to.

As I get dressed, I notice that One is nowhere to be seen. She�s usually up before I am, hanging around. I figure she�s sulking from our fight in the jungle.

That, or she�s just disappeared for a while. She does that sometimes. Once I asked her about it. �Where do you go when you�re not here?� She gave me a cryptic look. �Nowhere� was all she said.

We step outside to begin our chores, only to find a light rain is starting. It�s good for the village, but it means the water project will be suspended for the day: the soil is too difficult to work with when it�s raining. So after our chores, me, Marco, and Elswit are free to loaf around, and to read or write letters.

I ask Elswit if I can have an hour with his computer. He�s quick to say yes. Elswit might be a spoiled prince, but he�s a generous one.

I take the laptop to the hut and begin poking around on news sites. When I get time with Elswit�s laptop, I always research possible Loric or Mogadorian activities. I may have removed myself from the battle, but I�m still curious about the fate of the Garde.

It�s a slow news day. I double-check to make sure that I�m alone, then open up a program I�ve created and installed on Elswit�s laptop. I�ve hacked into the wireless signals from Ashwood Estates, my former home, and created a shadow directory that caches Ashwood IM and email chatter.

I wish I could claim I was motivated by some heroic agenda. But the truth is my motive is so pathetic I�d rather die than discuss it with One: I just want to find out if my family misses me.

My family. They think I�m dead. The truth is, they�re probably happy about it.

I spent most of my life on earth in a gated community in Virginia called Ashwood Estates, where trueborn Mogadorians live in normal suburban houses, wearing normal American clothes, living under normal American names, hiding in plain sight. But below the granite countertops and walk-in closets and faux-marble flooring, unseen by the mortals of earth, spreads a massive network of laboratories and training facilities where trueborns and vatborn Mogs work and plot together to bring about the destruction and subjugation of the entire universe.

As the son of the legendary Mogadorian warrior Andrakkus Sutekh, I was expected to be a faithful soldier in this shadowy war. I was enlisted as a subject in an experiment to extract the memories of the first fallen Loric, the girl known as One. The plan was to use the information from those memories against her people, to help us track and exterminate the rest of her kind.

The mind-transfer experiment worked only too well: I spent three years in a coma, locked inside the memories of the dead Loric, living through her happiest and most painful moments as if they were my own.

Eventually I woke from the coma. But I came back to my Mogadorian life different, with an abiding distaste for bloodshed, a queasy but consuming sympathy for the hunted Loric, and with the ghost of One as my constant companion.

In the first of my betrayals, I lied to my people, claiming the experiment had failed and that I had no memory of my encounter with One�s consciousness. I tried to change back, to be a normal, bloodthirsty Mogadorian. But with One always around me, whether as a voice in my head or a vision at my side, it became impossible to assist my people in their attacks on the Loric.

As if led by some inexorable force, I became a traitor, working against my people�s efforts. I attempted to save the third Loric marked for death.

This Loric died anyway, gleefully murdered by my father right before my eyes. Despite my pathetic efforts, I failed to save him. Exposed as a traitor, I was thrown from a ravine by Ivanick, and left for dead.

CHAPTER 3

The rain finally stops in the middle of the night, so the following morning after chores, Marco, Elswit, and I head back into the village on the jeep and resume our work on the well. It�s muddy, which slows us down and complicates our work. As a result, I�m so involved in my job I don�t even notice One�s absence until I�m halfway done with the day.

I don�t have her usual chatter to help pass the rest of the time, but I�m kind of relieved she�s not around. I�m still haunted by the disappointed look on her face yesterday, and I could use a little time off from her judgment.

After work, me and Elswit make a yam mash for dinner, and then join a few of the other workers for a game of cards in the recreation tent. Around ten, I return to the hut. Marco�s already under the covers, asleep. I undress quietly and slip into my bed, conscious of One�s continued absence. It�s unlike her to disappear for so long.

I scan the room, looking to see if she�s tucked into some corner, hiding, but she�s nowhere to be seen.

�One?� I whisper, as quietly as I can. �You there?�

No answer.

�Come on, One.� A little louder this time.

�Dude.� It�s Marco. �I�m trying to sleep.�

Hearing Marco say �dude� with his funny Italian accent is usually a highlight of my time at the camp. But getting caught talking to my invisible friend, I�m mortified.

�Sorry, man,� I say, blushing, annoyed with One for making me raise my voice.

I still expect to see her emerge from a doorway or closet any minute, laughing at me for getting busted talking to �myself.�

But she�s nowhere to be seen.

I try to sleep, tossing and turning as the room fills up with the other aid-workers, one by one. But sleep doesn�t come.

For all of One�s comings and goings I�ve never gone a whole day without seeing her�not since those three years I spent plugged into her memories. She�s just always been there.

Eventually I give up trying to sleep. I half dress, put on my sandals, and shuffle out to the compound�s backyard. It�s surprisingly cold and I clutch my arms to my chest for warmth. It�s dark outside, barely illuminated by moonlight and the dim lamp next to the latrine, and it takes me a minute for my eyes to adjust.

That�s when I see her, a faint outline crouched beside the baobab tree at the center of the yard.

I approach slowly. �One?�

She looks up at me. I can�t tell if it�s a trick of the moonlight, but there�s something strange about the way she looks: it�s like she�s both luminescent and too dark to see.

She remains silent. I stop in my tracks.

�Come on. This isn�t funny.�

�Oh,� she says, laughing bitterly. �I agree. This isn�t funny at all.� I can tell from her voice that she�s been crying. �I didn�t want you to see me like this,� she says.

Now I�m spooked. �See you like what?�

But up close I understand what she means. Her skin, her whole being, is strangely milky, almost translucent. I can look right through her.

�I keep disappearing,� she says. �Lately it�s been taking all my strength to keep myself visible.�

I�m quiet, afraid to speak. But I�m also afraid to listen, afraid of what she�ll say next.

She turns to me, staring right into my eyes. �Remember when I told you I went �nowhere� when I was gone from you?�

�Yeah,� I say. �I thought you were just being mysterious....�

She shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. �I was being literal, actually. I really do go nowhere. I disappear completely.� Now she�s crying freely. �Each time, I can feel myself getting weaker. Less real. It keeps happening. I can still fight it, but it�s getting harder. It feels like I�m dying all over again.�

She closes her eyes. As she does, she flickers in and out of visibility. I can intermittently see the bark of the tree behind her.

�Well,� she says, opening her eyes again. �Dr. Anu never promised this would last.�

�One,� I begin. �What are you saying?� I ask the question even though a part of me�the One part of me�already knows the answer.

�My existence � us � this �� She gestures to the empty space between us. �You�re forgetting me, Adam.�

�That�s impossible, One. I�ll never forget you.�

She smiles sadly. �I know you�ll always remember me. That�s not what I�m talking about. It�s one thing to remember I existed, it�s another for me to stay alive inside of you.�

I shake my head and turn away, not following, not willing to listen.

�It�s been a while since we were connected in Anu�s lab. Too long, I guess. I�m fading. The way we are, the way we talk to each other, the way you can see me, the way I feel alive even though I died years ago. Maybe forgetting is the wrong way of putting it. But whatever you want to call it, this wasn�t built to last. It�s breaking down.�

Seeing how upset I�m getting, she shrugs, trying to seem casual. �We�re both going to have to accept it. My time is running out.�

�No,� I say, refusing to believe it.

But when I turn back to her, she�s already gone.

CHAPTER 4

I lean back in my airplane seat, staring at the passport in my hand as the jet hums somewhere over the Atlantic: ADAM SUTTON. In the photo, I�m beaming, the tooth I lost in battle with Ivan a small black gap in my smile. Looking at Adam Sutton�s smiling face no one would ever know how afraid I am, what an insane risk I�m taking right now.

Elswit sits next to me, headphones on, watching some first-run blockbuster on his tablet computer while joggling his knees. The joggling is annoying, but I�m in no position to complain: Elswit came through for me big-time.

I didn�t even have to come up with a grand lie for him. I just told him I had a family crisis and needed to get back to the United States. He said that was all he needed to know: he took me to the American embassy in Nairobi, paid for my new passport, and arranged for me to join him on his father�s private jet, already scheduled to bring him home to Northern California for his birthday.

If I didn�t already have an active American identity, none of this would�ve worked. Fortunately my father, �Andrew Sutton,� never bothered to report me missing. I wonder what alarms my passport replacement might have set off at the Mogadorian headquarters, but I guess it doesn�t make any difference. When I show up at Ashwood Estates, either they�ll kill me or they won�t. Knowing I�m coming shouldn�t make a difference.

We touched down in London to refuel, our second refueling stop. Now we�re back in the air, next stop Virginia, where I�ll part ways with Elswit. At that point nothing besides a cab ride to Ashwood will stand between me and my upcoming confrontation with my family.

I sink even deeper into my seat, dreading my arrival.

�Must be scary.� I turn to see One, sitting in the seat next to mine. She�s been gone for most of the twenty-hour trip, off to her own private purgatory. �I can�t even imagine.�

Yeah, I say. I don�t need to say any more: One knows what I�m thinking.

I�m about to see my family again for the first time in months. I expect to be greeted as a traitor. Maybe I�ll be executed for treason: killed where I stand, or fed to a piken. Mogadorians have no particular history or protocol for handling treason; dissent is not a problem they have much, if any, experience with.

I know my only hope is to convince the General that I�m worth more to him alive than dead.

�You don�t have to do this,� she says, a guilty, worried expression on her face. �It�s dangerous. When I talked about taking up the cause, I didn�t mean this....�

This is what we have to do, I say. I sound way more certain than I feel. But I have no choice: I can�t lose her.

�Once we land, we don�t need to go to Ashwood. We can go anywhere, try to find the other Loric ��

Screw the others, I say. Though my plan is vague, I know that my only hope of saving One, of keeping her by my side, lies somewhere in the laboratory beneath Ashwood Estates. I�m not doing this for them.

�I know,� she says. �You�re doing this to try and save me, to find some way to keep me alive. You think if you go back, you can maybe find some way into the labs. And maybe my body�s still there, maybe you can reengage the mind transfer, restore me, buy me a few more years.� She bites her lip, worried about the risk I�m taking. �Seems like a lot of maybes to risk your life over.�

She�s right. But I don�t have a choice: without One, I�m nothing. Even a 1 percent chance of succeeding is worth pursuing.

CHAPTER 5

I sit on our living-room couch, sipping the lemonade my mother brought me. She�s talking up a storm, and I�m careful not to interrupt: I need to tread carefully, to figure out what happened here before I commit to a particular story.

�I didn�t believe them,� she says, sitting next to me and putting a hand on my knee. �I couldn�t believe them.�

I take another sip, buying myself some time. Didn�t believe them about what?

�They told me everything and I knew it had happened, but I didn�t believe it � I knew you couldn�t really be dead.�

Oh. She couldn�t believe that part.

�I�ve always known physical combat wasn�t your gift. I told your father a thousand times you�d be better suited to a tactical role, but he was determined not to break with custom, and insisted we make no distinction between combat and strategy. Everyone must fight in the war. But when he told me you�d been killed, that that disgusting Loric had thrown you off a cliff � it felt like my worst fears had come true.�

My mind reels. It was my adopted brother Ivan who threw me into the ravine, under my father�s approving gaze. I hadn�t been killed by a Loric: I�d joined the Loric cause.

�They said they searched high and low for you ��

A lie. They left me for dead.

�� that they were as heartbroken as I was ��

More lies.

�But they didn�t find your body, and that gave me some hope. I knew in my heart that somehow you had managed to survive.�

She hugs me again. It takes all of my effort to receive her hug without betraying the revolution going on inside me. I expected to return home to a Mogadorian firing squad, but instead I�ve come back as a fallen soldier.

�No.� His voice. My mother and I turn at once to see my father in the doorway, his mouth open in shock.

�He�s come back to us,� my mother exclaims. �Our boy�s alive!�

I have never in my entire life seen the General at a loss for words, but there he is, too stunned to speak.

In a flash I understand everything. My father lied to my mother. My father lied to the rest of the Mogadorians. Whether to protect his ego from disgrace or to maintain his authority as a general, or both, he fabricated an honorable death for me. No one here except my father�and Ivan, wherever he is�knows that I turned against the Mogadorian cause.

I only have a moment to act, to interpret my father�s stunned silence and play it to my advantage.

I leap off the couch and embrace him.

�I�m alive, Father.� I feel all six and a half feet of his body stiffen in disgust, but I forge ahead with my ruse. �I�ve come home.�

CHAPTER 6

I lie in my old bed, in my old bedroom, staring at the wall. I was surprised to find everything just as I left it, half-expecting it to be stripped bare following my supposed �death.� I guess my mother won that battle with the General.

I try to get comfortable. After months on a bare cot at the aid camp, my expensive pillow-top mattress should feel unbelievably fluffy and soft. But it feels like a bed of nails.

After a strained dinner, during which my father and I both pretended to be happy I was home, alone in my room I can finally let my guard down and drop the fake smile. I�m exhausted and scared. Even if I somehow manage to avoid being executed within the trial week the General has granted me, that�s no guarantee I�ll manage to break into the labs. And even if I do, that�s no guarantee I�ll find a successful means of reviving One, of keeping her imminent disappearance at bay. And even if I manage to save her, I have no plan for how to save myself, for how to escape this place once I�m done.

I�ll need to figure that out, because right now death doesn�t even feel like the worst-case scenario. Passing my father�s test and being �allowed� to remain in this place, having to indefinitely maintain the pretense of being a loyal Mogadorian, feels like the grimmest fate of all.

�That was hard to watch.� One appears, standing in the doorway.

I sigh, grateful for her presence.

�Didn�t realize you were there.�

She ambles towards me and sits at the foot of the bed. �I hung back. Tried to stay out of your line of sight. Figured you needed to focus.� She gives me an affectionate look. �Performance of a lifetime, huh?�

�You said it.�

She looks guilty, worried for my safety. �You sure I�m worth it?�

I manage to fake a confident smile. �Definitely.�

My bedroom door opens and my sister Kelly swings in.

Surprised, I hop off the bed.

�So you�re back,� she says bluntly, sizing me up.

�Yeah,� I say. I�m not sure if I should rush up and embrace her.

I decide to wait and follow her lead.

�Well, that�s good, I guess.� She fiddles with the doorknob hesitantly.

�You weren�t at dinner.� Over dinner my father explained that Ivan had been promoted to a new position somewhere in the Southwest�news that filled me with such relief I had to cover my mouth so the General wouldn�t see how happy I was�but I hadn�t been given a reason for Kelly�s absence.

�Ran late. I�m doing an afterschool program at the Nursery now.� The Nursery is what some of us call the piken pens in the underground complex. Pikens are bred in the labs down there and conditioned for combat. �I think I�m going to be a trainer when I graduate. They say I have what it takes.�

�Oh,� I reply. �That�s great.�

I can�t believe how dumb I sound, how tentative. Back in the hornets� nest of Ashwood, and I�m scared of my own kid sister. It�s pathetic.

�Whatever,� she says. �So listen. Congratulations on surviving and stuff, and for coming back here. But, you know, having you dead was embarrassing enough. Now I have to explain to my friends that my loser brother is back. You�re basically ruining my life.�

I�m stunned by her callousness, but I understand. In Mogadorian society, dying in combat is not afforded the prestige it is among most human cultures. And failing in combat and surviving is hardly better than being a traitor. My mother�s relief at my survival won�t be shared by my sister � or anyone else at Ashwood.

�I�m just telling you this so when I ignore you in front of the others, you don�t freak out, okay?�

�Fair enough,� I say.

�Okay,� she says.

She leaves, without a good night, much less that hug.

I shoot One a despairing look.

She quickly covers her expression of pity with one of her best, most sarcastic grins. �Welcome home, Adamus,� she says.

CHAPTER 7

A kid a little older than me named Serkova comes to get me in the morning. According to the General, he�s a promising young surveyor in the Media Surveillance division. My father assigned him to bring me up to speed and put me to work.

We ride the elevator down to the underground complex together. He gives me a sidelong glance. �Heard you bit it in Kenya.�

�Yeah,� I concede, feigning sheepishness.

�And now you�re angling for a position as a surveyor?�

�That�s the idea,� I say.

He snorts. Serkova has a generic trueborn face, but there is something gross and oddly piggish about his nose that�s even grosser when he snorts.

�I didn�t know we were in the business of giving failed soldiers second chances.� He turns his stare on me. �Guess there�s an exception for the General�s son.�

The elevator doors open and we stride into the hub at the center of the underground complex. The domed ceiling and orb-like fluorescent light fixture give it the feel of a massive�and massively ugly�atrium.

Trueborns and vatborns stride in every direction in and out of the various tunnels radiating out from the hub. I feel them react to my presence: the trueborns avoid my gaze, while the vatborns sneer at me with naked contempt. Word sure traveled fast, even down here.

We make our way past the entrances to the Southeast and Northeast tunnels on our way to the Northwest tunnel. With the exception of the General�s briefing room, I�ve never been granted access to any of the tunnels off the hub before. But it�s fairly common knowledge that the tunnels lead in one direction to combat training facilities, and in the other direction to weapons stores and bunkers for the vatborn. We�re heading down a third tunnel, to the R+D laboratories and the media and surveillance compounds.

I struggle to keep pace with Serkova. It�s obvious he doesn�t like me and resents being saddled with the job of babysitting me.

�What�s your problem with me?� I genuinely want to know: the Mogadorian worldview has become foreign to me so quickly. �So I�m being given a second chance. Why should you care?�

Serkova turns to me, a contemptuous sneer on his lips. �You think I don�t get enough shit as it is from the combat Mogs for being a surveyor? They already call us tech wienies. Now we�re being forced to take on a proven loser in combat. So the next time they say we�re only surveyors because we�re not good enough for combat, they�ll be right. All thanks to you.�

Great.

I follow him into the Media Surveillance facility, a large room lit only by the screens of the twenty or so computer monitors throughout the room. No one looks up as Serkova leads me to my monitor. Thanks to his outburst, I don�t have to wonder why.

He explains to me what our job is, then sits down at the console next to mine. �Good luck, Adamus,� he says, with evident sarcasm, then gets to work.

I turn to my monitor.

A steady stream of links scrolls across my screen, in color-coded text. The Mogadorian mainframe scours satellite and cable TV, radio transmissions, and every last corner of the internet, 24/7. A certain amount of automated culling occurs before these links reach our screens: most human interest stories are weeded out in advance, as are most articles or news segments devoted to U.S. or international politics. But a significant majority of what remains�weather reports, natural-disaster coverage, police blotters�makes it to our screens as a veritable geyser of hyperlinks.

Our job is to sift through the links on our respective screens and sort them, moving material that is clearly of no pertinence to the Mogadorian cause to the �Discard� directory, while kicking material that might have some bearing on our interests up to the �Investigate� directory, where it will be assessed personally by the lead surveyor before being dismissed or moved up the chain to Command HQ. We are also supposed to tag and grade the material we move to the �Investigate� directory according to our judgment of its possible relevance: �PV� for Possible Value, �HP� for High Priority, and �EHP� for Extremely High Priority. Items we flag with an �EHP� rating are simultaneously routed to the lead surveyor and to a small cadre of analysts over at command HQ for immediate review.

Ultimately, if Command HQ is persuaded a news item is a legitimate sign of Garde activity, reconnaissance teams are dispatched.

All three eliminated Garde members were located with some degree of surveyor assistance. But despite our importance, we�re really just data monkeys. Exciting stuff like reconnaissance and combat occur outside our purview as surveyors.

Not that it�s easy work. Within minutes of struggling through this endlessly updating data stream, I miss the clarity and simplicity of my physical labor back in Kenya. Jumping all over the place on the internet�from a story about the birth of quintuplets in Winnetka, Illinois, to a grainy web-video from a Syrian insurgent�without getting involved in what I�m reading or seeing is a challenge, and after just twenty minutes of wide-eyed staring at the monitor, my eyes feel like they�re going to bleed.

Then it gets worse.

At the end of the first hour, a little digital bell sounds and a tab pops up on the upper right-hand corner of my screen. My heart sinks.

�Oh yeah,� says Serkova, managing to smirk at me without looking up from his monitor. �I forgot to mention. We get ranked hourly.�

Our individual results are tabulated at the end of every hour and broadcast to all the terminals. Number of Discards, number of Investigates, as well as a provisional computer-graded percentage score for accuracy.

There I am, all the way at the bottom, in last place: twenty-seven Discards, six Investigates, and a provisional accuracy ranking of 71 percent. I scan up the list to see Serkova in second place, with a whopping eighty-two discards, thirteen Investigates, and a provisional accuracy ranking of 91 percent. I�m going to have to go a lot faster.

�What was that you were telling your father?� Serkova cracks.

I�m too distracted to respond. I need to improve my score, and I resent Serkova�s ability to work and needle me at the same time.

�Something �bout what a great tracker you are, how much better you�ll be at surveying than we are?�

Ugh. Not only has the General given me an impossible task, in which failure will result in my death, he�s also poisoned the well with my new coworkers by reporting what I said about my superior tracking skills.

But I don�t bother to respond: I don�t have time.

I get back to work, fighting against my own dismay. One reason I manipulated the General into placing me in the Media and Surveillance facility was because I thought I might have enough downtime to use my console to hack into the servers of the adjacent laboratories, do some digging into Dr. Zakos�s research. I know that One�s only hope lies in those files. But if I don�t pull my ranking up soon, my father could justifiably terminate our agreement: I�d be killed before I even got a chance to help One.

I need to improve my score.

I manage to go faster. The trick, I learn, is not to process any of the information I encounter. Instead I let my consciousness skim just above the text or video, then let my judgment occur without thought or reasoning. Basically the trick is to accept that I am just a cog in a data-combing machine.

Finally, I feel myself getting into a groove. In the next hourly ranking, I�ve climbed two positions. In the one after that, I�m position thirteen out of twenty.

�Luck.� Serkova sniffs.

I glare at him. I know I�m not here to compete with this jerk, but I can�t help it: wanting to knock him down a peg drives me on. By late afternoon, I�ve climbed up to position eleven.

I figure I�ve bought myself enough of a cushion to give myself five minutes of snoop time. I quickly page away from the hyperlinks and try to access the hub�s central servers.

But doing research with a ticking clock hanging over my head proves disastrous. I enter in searches for phrases like �mind transfer,� �Dr. Anu,� and �Dr. Zakos,� but they all lead me to restricted areas on the server, and I don�t have time to hack into them. I try to be more general. Remembering what Arsis said about humans in the lab, I do a search for �human captives.� Instead of directing me to anything about Anu or Zakos�s research subjects, I�m led to some internal, hub-wide memo about a broad new policy regarding human captives. �Whenever possible, humans suspected of aiding and abetting the Garde shall henceforth be held at the government base in Dulce, New Mexico.�

A government base? Why would the U.S. government have anything to do with the Mogadorians?

I put it aside for now. It�s an interesting�and unsettling�tidbit, but it�s not going to help me save One. Before I even have a chance to enter a new search, my five minutes is up.

I turn back to my work. Predictably, that short diversion cost me, and my hourly rank plummets. Regretfully, I accept that I can�t afford any more �independent research� today.

CHAPTER 8

One keeps me up half the night, bombarding me with questions I can�t answer: about Doctor Zakos�s experiments, about what he meant when he said he could successfully download the entirety of One�s memories, about what it meant that her body had been so thoroughly well preserved.

�Well, you�re still dead,� I say.

�Uh? A little tact, please,� she says, laughing.

I�m in bed. She�s sitting on the floor in the corner of my bedroom.

�Sorry,� I say. I�m a bit rattled. Seeing her in the flesh like that, a corpse on a cold steel slab, has upset me more than I�d like her to know. She�s been my constant companion for years now, but the sight of her body brought home to me how tenuous her current existence is.

�Did you notice?� asks One, jumping right back into her excited speculation. �There were at least ten tiles on that wall. Remember what that Arsis kid said in those chats? About humans being dredged for intel? You think they�re being kept preserved on those slabs too?�

I marvel at One�s mind. She wasn�t even present until I finished reading Arsis�s IM transcripts, and she was definitely gone when I was in Zakos�s lab.

She clocks my amazed look. �What?� she says. �You already know your mind�s an open book to me. Just because I�m gone when stuff happens doesn�t mean I can�t see it once I come back.�

And without skipping a beat, she returns to her obsession. �Anyhow, if I�ve been so well preserved, that means we can probably jack into each other again somehow and kick-start my memories inside you. I mean, I know I�m pretty, but I don�t think Dr. Zakos has been preserving me for my looks. He must�ve been doing it to keep the stuff inside my brain, like, fresh.� She nods, pleased with her reasoning. �We need to get back into that lab.�

I look away from her. �One, what I need is to get some sleep.� It�s the middle of the night, and I have to be at the media facility in four hours.

One is silent.

�If I screw up at work, I�m as good as dead. And if I�m dead, you�re dead, and this whole lab plan will be moot anyway. Okay?�

I turn back to One. But she�s gone.

It occurs to me that I�ll never know when one of her disappearances is her last. One day she�ll blink out, just like this, and I�ll wait for her to reappear � but she won�t.

For all I know I just saw her for the last time.

I force my face deep into my pillow and try to sleep.

CHAPTER 9

�Have a seat, get comfortable.� Dr. Zakos has positioned a large curved chair in the center of the room and gestures for me to get in. Nervously I take a seat.

�I was delighted to hear from your father last night,� he says, flitting around the laboratory, putting monitors in place, booting up scary-looking medical equipment. �But with the short notice, it might take me a while to get this equipment up and running.�

I can tell he�s ecstatic to use the equipment on me. Adamus, the Mogadorian lab rat.

I sink into the chair, trying to get comfortable while Zakos sets up. I should be happy: my ruse worked. I deliberately let my father overhear that I didn�t want to be used in Zakos�s mind-transfer experiments, and he had Zakos on the phone within minutes, giving him the go ahead to plug my brain into One�s corpse.

The General still hates me, and seeing me weak and afraid, as I�d pretended to be at the dinner table, gave his meager conscience whatever license it needed to risk my life again in the lab.

The General is free to hate me. I hate him too. And now that I�ve succeeded in tricking him again, my hatred has a new depth, a new dimension: contempt. I fooled him.

The machines begin to whir.

I�m afraid of what will happen while I�m under, but push that aside. More than anything else, I�m relieved to know that One may have a chance of survival. If the technology has improved, maybe I can get through the procedure unharmed, rescuing One in the process.

�The transfer rig will take about twenty minutes to warm up,� Zakos announces.

I nod as I watch the doctor approach the steel console beside the tile containing One�s body. He presses a few buttons and the slab comes out with the same hydraulic whoosh as before.

From where I�m sitting I can�t see One�s body. Zakos presses a few buttons on the edge of One�s slab, then presses the console again. The slab whooshes shut.

�You don�t need �� I start, then catch myself before I call her One. �You don�t need to connect the body to me?�

�No,� he says, with professional pride. �All of the containment pods are linked to this mainframe terminal,� he says, pointing at the largest monitor. �Everything besides the pods� hydraulics are controlled through here: brain scans, vitals, preservation protocols ��

�Do you have other bodies in there?� I ask.

�Yes,� he says. �Quite a few. Some of them are unaffiliated mortals I�ve used for experimentation. The rest of them are Greeters.�

Zakos, oblivious to the fact that I�m a traitor to the Mogadorian cause, explains to me that when the Loric were first scouting for a planet where they could hide from the Mogadorians, they made contact with a few scattered mortals. The Mogadorians captured these humans almost ten years ago and subjected them to a series of interrogations. However, Mogadorians knew next to nothing about earthling psychology or behavior back then, and at that point our interrogation techniques were quite crude. Some of these �Greeters� caved to Mogadorian interrogation, but it was quickly discovered the intel they gave�about the Loric�s locations, what they told the Greeters upon contact�was often faulty. Because of this, my people began an ongoing research endeavor that used complex brain-mapping technology to find a more accurate means of extracting information. In other words, rather than asking for it, we tried to find a way to take it.

�And, as a matter of fact, Anu�s experiment with you was an offshoot of that research. Unfortunately it failed, but I was intrigued. The procedure you are about to undergo represents a massive refinement of his work.�

I can tell that Zakos thinks this little history lesson is complete, but I want to know more.

�And you�ve kept these Greeters alive this whole time?�

Zakos gives a breezy laugh. �Not exactly. We�ve raked their brains so thoroughly trying to extract information about the Garde that all but one of them have perished. Of course we�re keeping the others preserved, should our technology advance to the point��

�Who lived?� I ask, interrupting him, steering him back to information I know One will want, should both of us survive the procedure.

Dr. Zakos looks at me silently for a moment. For a second, I worry that I�ve raised his suspicions.

Instead, he impishly raises an eyebrow. �Want to see?�

He dashes over to a panel next to another tile and opens the containment pod. After the mist clears, I crane my neck to get a better look.

I see a handsome, solidly built middle-aged man. His skin is shockingly white from being in containment for so long: it�s practically the color of vatborn skin. But otherwise he looks healthy. His eyes are closed.

�Just one moment,� Zakos says, pressing a few buttons inside the pod. Then Zakos leans over the man.

�Malcolm Goode?� he says, addressing him gently, like a normal human doctor addressing a normal human patient. �How�s it going in there?�

Malcolm Goode opens his eyes.

I feel a chill, a wave of nauseating pity for this poor human, trapped in a cold box for years on end.

�Hello,� he says, looking up at Dr. Zakos with an expression of utter guilelessness and trust. It�s like he has no idea how much time has passed, or what he�s been subjected to. �I seem to have forgotten where I am,� he says, smiling innocently. �Could you tell me where I am?�

Dr. Zakos only chuckles in response. �Well,� he says, addressing me. �You get the idea.�

And with that he reaches over to the panel, presses a few more buttons, and Malcolm is prompted�whether by wire or chemical�to return to sleep. But not before he fixes me with a haunted, quizzical look.

CHAPTER 10

I�m dismissed to finish out my day at the surveillance facility. I have no fight left in me, and my rankings take a nosedive. Sixteen, eighteen, eighteen, twenty. Last place.

I know Dr. Zakos immediately reported the experiment�s failure to my father, but I doubt he took the risk of pitching his idea of mentally vivisecting me to the General. I have two more days left in the lab before my father decides if my results qualify me for survival. Either he will have me executed, or he will deem me an asset to the cause and allow me to continue working as a surveyor. Oh joy.

After the lab it�s another miserable dinner. The General is busy down in his briefing room, so it�s just my mother and Kelly. Kelly refuses to even look at me. When my mother goes to the kitchen, I turn to her, try to start a conversation. We haven�t been close since before the mind transfer, almost five years ago. I wonder if she can even remember back then, when she hated Ivan for teasing her and roughhousing with her, and seemed to adore me, her gentle older brother.

�Haven�t seen you in the tunnels,� I say. �How are things going in the Nursery?�

She is silent, slowly chewing her food and staring straight ahead. It�s hard to believe a fourteen-year-old girl could be so full of such a steely hatred.

�Kelly, I�m sorry if it�s embarrassing that I survived, that you have to explain that your loser brother has come back��

�Ivanick told me,� she says, hissing at me suddenly. �He told me the truth about you. I know what Mom doesn�t. You�re a traitor.�

My stomach does a somersault. I feel like I could throw up my entire dinner.

�So you can pretty much stop trying to make up with me. It�s not going to happen.� She gets up from the table.

�I wish you were dead,� she says, before running up the stairs to her room and slamming the door shut.

�Good night to you too,� I say, laughing miserably to myself.

CHAPTER 11

I�m back in the chair.

Zakos has convinced my father to allow him to perform an accelerated mind transfer between me and One. The process will be so intense it will kill me, literally frying my brain. But Zakos has guaranteed the General that he will be able to download the contents of One�s transferred memories from my brain after my death. �If your son has been such a disappointment in life, at least allow him to be of service in death.�

Zakos assured the General that even if the intelligence he extracts from my brain is of little consequence, the results of the experiment will represent a tremendous leap forward for Mogadorian technology.

�You don�t need to make a hard sell, Zakos,� I said, still trapped in the guards� grip. I turned to my father, an impudent smile on my lips. �Isn�t that right, Pops? He had you on board at �Kill Adamus,� didn�t he?�

The General didn�t even look at me. He nodded at his guards, who released me, then turned to the doctor. �Have the results on my desk by tomorrow morning,� he said.

I�ve been in the lab since.

Guards monitor the door, but I�m not bound or watched by anyone but Zakos. Where am I going to go? How can I possibly escape? As my little demonstration in the hallway proved, I�m no match against Mogadorian soldiers.

Neither my father nor my sister has seen fit to visit me in my final hours. But my mother ventured down to deliver me a last meal. She entered the lab a few hours ago, carrying a couple slices of fresh-baked bread wrapped in a napkin and a plastic container filled with soup. She hesitated for a moment, looking for a suitable place to lay the meal. Then, realizing there was no good place for it, she wordlessly put the bread and soup on a laboratory counter. Then she turned her back to me, her hand on the door.

�Is it true?� she asked.

�Is what true?� I asked, a bit spitefully. I wanted to make her spell it out.

�That you�ve betrayed the Mogadorian cause.�

I guess my father figured we were past sugarcoating things and had told her everything.

�Yes,� I said.

Without another word, she left.

Moments later, as I held the still-warm bread in my hand, I realized that final home-cooked meal would be the last kind and motherly thing she would ever do for me.

I threw it in the trash.

Now Zakos is prepping me for the procedure. He�s filled a syringe with some kind of anesthetic, explaining that this time he will render me unconscious before the procedure begins, which should give him greater precision over the neurological mapping. Soon I will be put under, then I will join One in her memories, and then I will be dead.

Zakos opens One�s pod, to make a couple of adjustments before the procedure begins. I think of One and all the Greeters in their pods.

�Does it hurt?� I ask.

�Excuse me?� He�s absorbed in his preparations.

�What you did to all the Greeters, keeping them alive, raking their brains for intel all those years.�

�Oh, I never really thought about it,� he says. �Yes, I would guess it�s quite excruciating.�

Just then I hear her voice. �You�re not really going to let him get away with that, are you?� I turn to see One, flickering beside my chair. I had wondered if I would get to see her again before going under, if she hadn�t already flickered out of existence.

I don�t really have a choice, I say. I�m trapped here.

She leans against the counter. �You always have a choice. You had a choice to screw up today on the job, to bait your father into sentencing you to death, to do it in Zakos�s earshot so you�d end up here....�

I was afraid you were already gone. I couldn�t think of anything else. I ran out of hope, figured I was going to lose you anyway, and we could at least�

�See each other one last time?� she says, finishing my thought. She gives me a flirty, cockeyed grin.

�That�s sweet,� she says. �But that wasn�t the real reason you went haywire today.�

She�s right. That isn�t how all this started. In the moment, I just couldn�t bring myself to rat out those humans to my people. That was the first time the work I was doing as a surveyor was clearly going to help the Mogs and hurt others, and I couldn�t do it. Over the past week I�ve had to take some crazy, on-the-fly risks, but that was the first time I acted completely without a plan, without any clear sense of what the consequences would be.

One, I say. I don�t even really understand why I did what I did.

She doesn�t answer me immediately, but instead turns back to the tiled wall, crossing her arms. I can see an idea brewing in her head. After a moment, she turns back to me and fixes me with a cryptic stare.

�Don�t worry, Adam,� she says. �You will. Seeing as you�re going out anyway,� she says, leaning close to my ear. �Don�t you want to go out swinging?�

I look at her, confused.

�A giant leap for Mogadorian technology,� she whispers, casting a glance over at the tiles where the Greeters� bodies are kept. �Is that what you really want your legacy to be?�

CHAPTER 12

There�s a shape in the dark, moving around me.

I see the sky. Stars above.

The shape is moving my limbs. Resting my head on a soft mound of earth. Pouring water over my wounds. Forcing me to drink.

The shape�s skin is as white as the moon.

�Malcolm,� I say.

�Yes,� he says. He laughs, crouching beside me. �I�m Malcolm. I remember that now.�

I sit up, half expecting to find myself still trapped in the lab, despite the sky. Despite the stars. But we�re in the wilderness, in a field at the edge of a forest.

�I carried you as far as I could. Then I needed to rest.� He sighs, taking a sip of water. �But we have to keep moving soon.�

I�m baffled, utterly confused. How did we escape?

Malcolm senses my confusion. �I woke up in the lab. Mogadorians were at the doors, trying to break in. That doctor was on the floor. And you � you were convulsing. And then, just as the Mogadorians came through the door, there was ��

He trails off, laughing with amazement. �There was an earthquake.�

CHAPTER 13

I stand back as Malcolm opens the garage door. Inside, covered in dust, is an old Chevy Rambler. �I can���t believe it�s still here,� he says, diving towards the passenger door.

We are at a storage facility on the outskirts of Paradise. Malcolm explains that he paid for this garage space many years in advance, keeping the car fueled up and ready should he ever need to skip town on short notice. In fact, he was headed for this garage when he was abducted by the Mogadorians years ago.

I�m impressed with his recall. �Your memory�s improving.�

�Yeah,� he says, smiling slyly. �It seems to be. Must be all of your annoying quizzes.� I laugh as he turns to the car�s glove compartment, pulling something out. He holds it out of the car door for me to see.

A spare pair of prescription glasses.

�Jackpot,� he says, triumphantly. He wipes the lenses with the tail of his shirt and slips them onto his head.

He sits back in the passenger seat, looking at me through the windshield.

�I can�t tell you how amazing it feels to be able to see clearly. It�s been so long,� he says.

He lets out a contented sigh. �Amazing.�

�I didn�t even know you needed glasses.�

�Big-time,� he says. �This is actually the first time I�ve seen your face as anything but a big smudge.� He squints up at me. �I can definitely see the Mogadorian thing, now. Yeah, definitely something evil about your face.�

I laugh, giving him the finger. Teasing me for being a Mogadorian has become a running joke between us. Joking about it is really just a testament to how accepting of me Malcolm has been.

�Full tank?� I ask.

He leans over, starts the engine, peering owlishly as the gas gauge whirs up.

�Very nearly.�

He slides behind the wheel as I get into the passenger seat. We�re traveling light. Heading to New Mexico.

�You ready for this?� he asks.

�Not at all,� I reply.

�Yeah,� he says. �Me neither.�

And we�re off.

CHAPTER 14

We creep over the fence, no longer electrified. We know that the generator�s explosion and the collapse of the watchtower must�ve attracted the attention of the base�s perimeter guards, and in fact we�re banking on that to be able to run aboveground without interference. If they�re too distracted by the explosion to maintain sufficient ground cover along our path, we�ve got a shot.

Our optimism pays off. We make it close to the compound without anyone seeing us. Most of the guards have been drawn to the watchtower; if they�re even aware of a breach in their perimeter, they probably think it�s all the way over there.

Then I stop. On the other side of the sprawling compound, over the horizon, there is chaos. Noise. Explosions. Smoke. Weaponry firing.

I turn to Malcolm. �Weapons testing?� I ask.

Malcolm shakes his head.

Something is going down at the base. Something big.

I have a strange hunch. Something inside of me says the Garde is here.

�What do you think it is?� I ask Malcolm, wondering if he has the same feeling I do.

�I don�t know. But I�m not looking a gift horse in the mouth. The base is massive. If some kind of battle is going down on the other side of it, that means they might be spreading their resources a bit thin on this end to compensate. We might be able to catch �em off their game, even once we�re inside.�

He resumes his march to the rear of the compound. I follow.

THE LEGACIES CONTINUE IN

CHAPTER 1

6A. Seriously? I look at the boarding pass in my hand, its large type announcing my seat assignment, and wonder if Crayton chose this seat on purpose. It could be a coincidence. The way things have gone recently, I am not a big believer in coincidences. I wouldn�t be surprised if Marina sat down behind me in row seven, and Ella made her way back to row ten. But, no, the two girls drop down beside me without saying a word, and join me in studying each person boarding the plane. Being hunted, you are constantly on guard. Who knows when the Mogadorians might appear?

Crayton will board last, after he�s watched to see who else gets on the plane, and only once he feels the flight is absolutely secure.

I raise the shade and watch the ground crew hustle back and forth under the plane; the city of Barcelona is a faint outline in the distance.

Marina�s knee bounces furiously up and down next to mine. The battle against an army of Mogadorians yesterday at the lake, the death of her C�pan and finding her Chest�and now, it�s the first time in almost ten years that she�s left the town where she spent her childhood. She�s nervous.

�Everything okay?� I ask. My newly blond hair falls into my face and startles me. I forgot I dyed it this morning. It�s just one of many changes in the last forty-eight hours.

�Everyone looks okay,� Marina whispers, keeping her eyes on the crowded aisle. �We�re safe, as far as I can tell.�

�Good, but that�s not what I meant.� I gently set my foot on hers and she stops bouncing her knee. She offers me a quick apologetic smile before returning to her close watch of each boarding passenger. A few seconds later, her knee starts bouncing again.

I feel sorry for Marina. She was locked up in an isolated orphanage with a C�pan who refused to train her; she was stuck with a C�pan who had lost sight of why we are here on Earth in the first place. I�m doing my best to help her, to fill in the gaps. I can train her to control her strength and when to use her developing Legacies. But first I�m trying to show her that it�s okay to trust me. Not only did she just lose her best friend, H�ctor, back at the lake, but, like me, she lost her C�pan right in front of her. Both of us will carry that with us forever.

The Mogadorians will pay for what they�ve done. For taking so many who we�ve loved, here on Earth and on Lorien. It�s my personal mission to destroy every last one of them, and I�ll be sure Marina gets her revenge, too.

�How is it down there, Six?� Ella asks, leaning over Marina.

I turn back toward the window. The men below the plane begin to clear away their equipment, conducting a few last-minute checks. �So far, so good.�

My seat is directly over the wing, which is comforting to me. On more than one occasion I�ve had to use my Legacies to help a pilot out of a jam. Once, over southern Mexico, I used my telekinesis to push the plane a dozen degrees to the right, only seconds before crashing into the side of a mountain. Last year I got 124 passengers safely through a vicious thunderstorm in Kansas by surrounding the plane with an impervious cloud of cool air. We shot, unharmed, through the storm like a bullet through a balloon.

When the ground crew moves on to the next plane, I follow Ella�s gaze toward the front of the aisle. We�re both impatient for Crayton to board. That will mean everything is okay, at least for now. Every seat is full but the one behind Ella. Where is he? I glance out at the wing again, scanning the area for anything out of the ordinary.

�Six?� Marina asks. I hear her buckle and unbuckle her seat belt nervously.

I lean down and shove my backpack under my seat. It�s practically empty so it folds down easily. Crayton bought it for me at the airport. The three of us need to look like normal teenagers, he says, like high school students on a field trip. That�s why there�s an open biology textbook on my lap.

�Yeah?� I respond.

�You�ve flown before, right?�

Marina is only a year older than I am. But with her solemn, thoughtful eyes and her new, sophisticated haircut that falls just below her shoulders, she can easily pass for an adult. Right now, however, she bites her nails and pulls her knees up to her chest like a scared child.

�Yes,� I say. �It�s not so bad. In fact, once you relax, it�s kind of awesome.�

I�ve flown dozens of times, and everything has gone fine. However, this is the first time I�ve done it without using my invisibility Legacy to sneak on board. I know I�m much stronger now. And I�m getting stronger by the day. If a couple of Mog soldiers charged at me from the front of the plane, they wouldn�t be dealing with a meek young girl. I know what I�m capable of; I am a soldier now, a warrior. I am someone to fear, not hunt.

Marina lets go of her knees and sits up straight, releasing a long breath. In a barely audible voice, she says, �I�m scared. I just want to get in the air.�

�You�ll be fine,� I say in a low voice.

Finally, Crayton squeezes down the aisle, carrying a black briefcase. He�s wearing eyeglasses and a brown suit that looks too big for him. Under his strong chin is a blue bow tie. He�s supposed to be our teacher.

�Hello, girls,� he says, stopping next to us.

�Hi, Mr. Collins,� Ella responds.

�It�s a full flight,� Marina says. That�s code for everyone on board looks okay. To tell him everything on the ground appears normal, I say, �I�m going to try to sleep.�

He nods and takes his seat directly behind Ella. Leaning forward between Marina and Ella he says, �Use your time on the plane wisely, please. Study hard.�

That means, don�t let your guard down.

CHAPTER 2

I�ve been in and out of consciousness for the past two days, rolling back and forth in a hallucinating sickness. The effects from the blue force field outside the Mogadorians� mountain have lingered far longer than Nine told me they would, both mentally and physically. Every few minutes, my muscles seize and sear with pain.

I try to distract myself from the agony by looking around the tiny bedroom of this decaying, abandoned house. Nine couldn�t have picked a more disgusting place for us to hide. I can�t trust my eyes. I watch the pattern on the yellow wallpaper come to life, the design marching over patches of mold like ants. The cracked ceiling appears to breathe, rising and falling at frightening speeds. There�s a large jagged hole in the wall that separates the bedroom and living room, as if someone tossed a sledgehammer through it. Smashed beer cans are strewn around the room, and the baseboards have been torn to shreds by animals. I�ve been hearing things rustling in the trees outside the house, but I�m too weak to be alarmed. Last night I woke to find a cockroach on my cheek. I barely had the energy to swat it off.

�Hey, Four?� I hear through the hole in the wall. �You awake or what? It�s time for lunch and your food�s getting cold.�

I heave myself to my feet. My head spins as I stumble through the doorway into the living room, and I collapse on the dingy gray carpet. I know Nine�s in here, but I can�t keep my eyes open long enough to find him. All I want is to lay my head in Sarah�s lap. Or in Six�s. Either one. I can�t think straight.

Something warm hits my shoulder. I roll over to see Nine sitting on the ceiling above me, his long black hair hanging down into the room. He�s gnawing on something and his hands are greasy.

�Where are we again?� I ask. The sunlight coming through the windows is too much and I close my eyes. I need more sleep. I need something, anything, to clear my head and regain my strength. My fingers fumble over my blue pendant, hoping to somehow gather energy through it, but it remains cold against my chest.

�The northern part of West Virginia,� Nine says between bites. �Ran out of gas, remember?�

�Barely,� I whisper. �Where�s Bernie Kosar?�

�Outside. That one is always on patrol. He is one cool animal. Tell me, Four, how did you of all the Garde end up with him?�

I crawl into the corner of the room and push my back up against a wall. �BK was with me on Lorien. His name was Hadley back then. I guess Henri thought it would be good to bring him along for the trip.�

Nine throws a tiny bone across the ceiling. �I had a couple of Chim�ras as a kid, too. Don�t remember their names, but I can still see them running around our house tearing stuff up. They died in the war, protecting my family.� Nine is silent for a moment, clenching his jaw. This is the first time I�ve seen him act anything other than tough. It�s nice to see, even if it�s short lived. �At least, that�s what my C�pan told me, anyway.�

I stare at my bare feet. I just noticed they�re black with grime. �What was your C�pan�s name?�

�Sandor,� he says, standing up on the ceiling. He�s wearing my shoes. �It�s weird. I literally can�t remember the last time I said his name out loud. Some days, I can barely picture his face.� Nine�s voice hardens, and he closes his eyes. �But that�s how it goes, I guess. Whatever. They�re the expendable ones.�

His last sentence sends shock waves through me. �Henri was not expendable, and neither was Sandor! No Loric was ever expendable. And give me back my shoes!�

Nine kicks my shoes into the middle of the floor, then takes his time walking first along the ceiling and then down the back wall. �All right, all right. I know he wasn�t expendable, man. Sometimes, it�s just easier to think of him that way, you know? Truth is, Sandor was an amazing C�pan.� Nine reaches the floor and towers over me. I forgot how tall he is. Intimidating. He shoves a handful of what he�s been eating in my face. �You want some of this or not? Because I�m about to finish it off.�

The sight of it makes my stomach churn. �What is it?�

�Barbecued rabbit. Nature�s finest.�

I don�t dare open my mouth to respond, afraid that I might get sick. Instead, I stumble back toward the bedroom, ignoring the laughter that follows me. The bedroom door is so warped it�s nearly impossible to close, but I wedge it into the door frame as tightly as I can. I lie down, using my sweatshirt as a pillow, and think about how I ended up here, ended up like this. Without Henri. Without Sam. Sam is my best friend, who I had been traveling and fighting alongside for the last several months. I miss him. I can�t believe we left him behind. As thoughtful and loyal and supportive as Sam is, Nine is so very not. He�s reckless, arrogant, selfish and just flat-out rude. I picture Sam, back in the Mog cave, a gun rocking against his shoulder as a dozen Mogadorian soldiers swarm him. I couldn�t get to him. I couldn�t save him. I should have fought harder, run faster. I should have ignored Nine and gone back to Sam. He would have done that for me. The immense amount of guilt I feel paralyzes me, until I finally fall asleep.

PITTACUS LORE is Lorien�s ruling Elder. He has been on Earth preparing for the war that will decide Earth�s fate. His whereabouts are unknown.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

Cover art � 2010 by Scott Meadows