off MogPro, meaning take out the secretary of defense. I’m not sure how that’s supposed to get us any
support from humanity. Walker says we can carry out the assassination covertly. I haven’t decided if
we’re going along with that part of the plan, but it’s okay to let Walker think we’re down with doing
her dirty work. For now.
More important than Sanderson, we’re supposed to expose Setrákus Ra, using whatever human-
Mog photo op he’s got planned for the United Nations against him. The plan is to make a big enough
scene that humanity will see the Mogs for what they really are and rally against the invasion. A
population that’s been duped for a decade will finally be out of the dark. Once the humans see aliens
firsthand, we’re hoping people will take a niche site like They Walk Among Us seriously. I just hope
we figure out a way to pull all this off. Without dying.
Dark thoughts still gnaw at me. Even if we manage to form a resistance bigger and stronger than the
ragtag bunch we’ve assembled at Ashwood Estates, there’s no guarantee we can turn back the
Mogadorians. For as long as I’ve been on Earth, our war with the Mogadorians has been fought in the
shadows. Now, we’re about to involve millions of innocent people. It seems like all we’re struggling
for is to give humanity and us remaining Loric the opportunity to fight a long and bloody war. I wonder if this is what the Elders had planned for us. Were we supposed to have already defeated the
Mogs with humanity none the wiser? Or was their plan when they sent us to Earth just as desperate as
ours is now?
No wonder I can’t sleep.
Through the window, I watch a couple of FBI agents share a cigarette on the porch across the
street. I guess I’m not the only one suffering from impending invasion insomnia. We let Walker’s
people camp out in the empty houses around Ashwood. They secured the perimeter, guards posted at
the gate Adam and I wrecked earlier in the day, pretty much making this place the home base of the
brand-new Human-Loric Resistance.
I still don’t entirely trust Agent Walker or her people, but the looming war has forced me to take on
a lot of strange allies. So far, they’ve panned out. If my luck with trusting old enemies doesn’t hold, well, we’re pretty much all doomed anyway. Desperate times call for desperate measures and all
that.
The floorboards creak behind me and I turn around to find Malcolm standing in the doorway
leading up from the Mogadorian tunnels. His eyes are droopy with exhaustion and he’s in the process
of stifling a yawn.
‘Morning,’ I say, closing up the folder of Walker’s documents.
‘Already?’ Malcolm replies, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘I lost track of time down there. Sam
and Adam were helping me earlier. I thought I just forced them to take a break a little while ago.’
‘That was hours ago,’ I reply. ‘Did you spend your entire night going through those Mogadorian
recordings?’
Malcolm nods his head mutely, and I realize that he’s more than just overtired. He’s got the punch-
drunk look of a man who’s just witnessed something shocking.
‘What did you find?’ I ask.
‘Me,’ he answers after a moment’s pause. ‘I found myself.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I think you’d better gather the others’ is his only reply before he disappears back into the tunnels.
Marina is asleep in one of the upstairs bedrooms, so I wake her up first. As she heads downstairs,
she pauses in front of the master bedroom; once upon a time it was occupied by the General and
Adam’s mother, but now it’s the temporary resting place for Eight. Marina lays her hand gently on the
doorframe as she passes. I noticed when I woke her that she’s taken to wearing Eight’s pendant. I
wish there was more time for me to grieve with her.
Adam is asleep in the remaining upstairs bedroom, his sword propped against the side of the bed
within arm’s reach. I hesitate for only a moment before waking him, too. He’s one of us now. He
proved that yesterday when he saved my life from the General. Whatever Malcolm’s discovered on
those Mogadorian recordings, Adam’s insight could be invaluable.
Sam and the rest of the Garde slept elsewhere in Ashwood Estates, so I dispatch some Chimærae
to track them down. Nine shows up after a few minutes, his long hair all unkempt and wild, looking
about as fatigued as I feel.
‘I slept on the roof,’ he explains when I shoot him a weird look.
‘Uh, why?’
‘Somebody had to keep an eye on those government dorks you’ve got camping out.’
I shake my head and follow him down the steps into the tunnels. Malcolm and the others I’d gotten
hold of are already assembled in the Mogadorian archives, silent and uneasy, Marina sitting about as
far from Adam as possible.
‘Sam and Six?’ Malcolm asks me when I enter.
I shrug my shoulders. ‘The Chimærae are looking for them.’
‘I saw them go into one of the abandoned houses,’ Nine says, a sly smile on his face. I give him a
questioning look and he wiggles his eyebrows at me. ‘End of the world, you know, Johnny.’
I’m not sure exactly what Nine means until Six and Sam come hustling through the door. Six is all
business, her hair pulled back, looking like she’s cleaned up and gotten some good rest since her
ordeal in the swamp. Sam, on the other hand, is flushed, his hair sticking up at odd angles, and his
shirt is buttoned all wrong. Sam catches me studying him and turns a darker shade of red, giving me a
sheepish smile. I shake my head in disbelief, fighting back a grin in spite of the dour mood. Nine
whistles between his teeth and a smile even flits briefly across Marina’s face. All this only causes
Sam to blush more, and for Six to increase the defiant look she’s skewering us with.
Malcolm, of course, is oblivious to all this. He’s focused instead on the computer, queuing up one
of the Mogadorian videos.
‘Good. We’re all here,’ Malcolm says, glancing up from the keyboard. He looks around the room,
almost nervously. ‘I feel like a failure, having to show you this.’
Sam’s post-hookup blush turns into a look of concern. ‘What do you mean, Dad?’
‘I –’ Malcolm shakes his head. ‘They tore this information out of me and even now, having seen
what I’m about to show you, I don’t actually remember it. I let you all down.’
‘Malcolm, come on,’ I say.
‘We’ve all made mistakes,’ Marina says, and I notice her gaze drift towards Nine. ‘Done things we
regret.’
Malcolm nods. ‘Regardless. Late in the game as it is, I still hope this video will show another way
forward.’
Six tilts her head. ‘Another way instead of what?’
‘Instead of total war,’ Malcolm answers. ‘Watch.’
Malcolm presses a button on the keyboard and the video screen on the wall comes to life. The face
of a gaunt, older Mogadorian appears. His narrow head fills most of the screen, but in the background
a room similar to this one is visible. The Mogadorian begins speaking in his harsh language, his tone
sounding formal and academic, even though I can’t understand him.
‘Am I supposed to be able to understand this creep?’ Nine asks.
‘He’s Dr Lockram Anu,’ Adam says, translating. ‘He created the memory machine that … well, you
know. You chucked a piece of it at a helicopter last night, actually.’
‘Oh, that,’ Nine says, grinning. ‘That was fun.’
Adam continues. ‘This is old, taped during the machine’s first trials. He’s introducing a test
subject, one he says was mentally tougher than the others he’s worked on. He’ll be demonstrating how