lights. There are more of them. Two identical Skimmers rise up from the jungle right in front of us,
another along our side. The first still sits right on our tail. Hemmed in, Adam has no choice but to
stop. The other Skimmers surround us.
‘They all have guns, too, right?’ Marina asks.
‘Yes,’ Adam replies. ‘We’re at a distinct disadvantage.’
‘Not quite,’ I say, and focus on the sky outside. What was cloudless a moment ago slowly begins to
darken, clouds rolling in at my beckoning.
‘Hold on,’ Adam warns. ‘We don’t want to give away you’re all on board.’
‘You’re sure they won’t shoot us down?’
‘Ninety per cent,’ Adam says.
I let go of the storm I was whipping up, allowing the clouds to drift through the sky along their
natural course. A second later, a shrill beep emanates from our dashboard.
‘They’re hailing us,’ Adam says. ‘They want to talk.’
Another plan has occurred to me, one that doesn’t involve fighting a midair battle against bad odds.
‘You said you’re some general’s kid, right?’ I say to Adam. ‘So can’t you, like, throw your weight
around or something?’
As Adam considers this, the dashboard communicator bleats again.
‘I should tell you, I’m not exactly well liked among my people,’ he says. ‘They might not listen to
me.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s a risk,’ I admit. ‘Worst-case scenario, they take you prisoner, right?’
Adam grimaces. ‘Yeah.’
‘So, we let them take us where we’re going. Don’t worry. We’ll rescue you.’
‘Uh, you need to do something,’ Marina says, waving towards the windshield. The ship directly in front of us, getting impatient or suspicious, has brought its blaster turret around to aim at us.
‘All right, go invisible,’ Adam says. I reach around my seat and grasp Marina’s hand, disappearing
the both of us. Sensing the situation, Dust shrinks down into a tiny gray mouse and skitters under
Adam’s seat.
Adam hits a button on the console, and a video feed crackles to life on our screen. A nasty-looking
Mogadorian scout, his empty eyes too close together, his teeth short and sharp, stares at Adam with a
look of fierce annoyance. He barks something in harsh Mogadorian.
‘Immersion protocol dictates we speak English while on Earth, you vatborn cretin,’ Adam replies
coldly. He draws himself up in his chair, suddenly so regal that I kinda want to slap him. ‘You are
addressing Adamus Sutekh, trueborn son of General Andrakkus Sutekh. I am on urgent business from
my father. Lead me to the Loric site immediately.’
I have to give it to Adam, he’s an excellent bullshitter. The scout’s expression goes from annoyance
to confusion and finally to outright fear.
‘Yes, sir, right away,’ the scout replies, and in response Adam immediately cuts off the
conversation. One by one, the Skimmers break up the ring they had us trapped inside and let us get
back on course.
‘That worked,’ Marina says, sounding a little stunned as she lets go of my hand.
‘For now,’ Adam replies, frowning uncertainly. ‘He was low ranking. Whoever’s in command will
be a different story.’
‘Can’t you just tell them your dad sent you down here to check their progress?’ I ask.
‘Assuming they don’t know I betrayed our people and that my father essentially sentenced me to
die? Yeah, that might work.’
‘You only need to distract them for a little bit,’ I say. ‘Long enough for Marina and me to figure a
way into the Sanctuary.’
‘There it is,’ Marina says, watching through the window as the Skimmers begin to descend towards
Calakmul.
There are a bunch of ancient little buildings below, all of them constructed from limestone that’s
been eroding for centuries, the jungle creeping in to reclaim them. My eyes are drawn to the huge
pyramid-shaped temple that towers over them all; built on a low hill, the temple is blocky, covered in steep and crumbling staircases that are chiseled right into the stone. I can’t quite make it out from this distance, but there appears to be some kind of door at the top of the pyramid.
‘How much you want to bet we need to climb up to that thing?’ I say.
‘It’s the Sanctuary,’ Marina replies. ‘I’m certain of it.’
‘So are my people, obviously,’ Adam says.
The Mogadorians have cleared the jungle around the Sanctuary in a perfect ring, the trees all
chopped down, an entire fleet of Mogadorian scout ships parked on the naked soil. Besides the
dozens of Skimmers, I can make out an array of tents where the Mogs must be camping. There’s also
what looks to be a couple of heavy-duty missile launchers and blaster turrets, all of these weapons
aimed at the temple, and yet the structure looks completely untouched. Oddly, at the base of the temple and creeping up the sides, there are still overgrown trees and vines, untended for years. It’s a stark contrast to the severe neatness of the Mogadorian perimeter, where everything natural has been
cleared away.
‘It’s like something kept them from getting too close,’ Marina says, noticing the same thing as me.
‘Malcolm did say that only the Garde could enter,’ I reply.
Our escort of Mog ships float down to the makeshift airfield and Adam lands a few yards away
from them. The Sanctuary looms in the distance. The only thing standing between us and the Loric
temple is a strip of wide-open land and a small army of Mogadorians, many of whom have begun
gathering in the airfield, all of them armed with blasters.
‘Some welcoming committee,’ I say, glancing at Adam. He watches his people mass on the
monitor, swallows hard and unbuckles himself from the pilot’s seat.
‘All right, I’ll go first. Lead them away somehow. You guys get into the Sanctuary.’
‘I don’t like this,’ Marina says. ‘There’s a lot of them.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ Adam says. ‘Just get inside and do what you have to do.’
With that, Adam opens the cockpit and hops on to the Skimmer’s hull. There are about thirty
Mogadorians down below, waiting on him, with more walking over from the tents. Marina and I
hunker down inside the Skimmer, my hand close to hers in case we need to go invisible.
‘Who’s in charge here?’ Adam yells, standing tall and rigid, again putting on his trueborn airs.
A tall female warrior dressed in a sleeveless black overcoat steps forward. She has two thick
braids that start on the sides of her head and wrap around it, encircling the traditional Mogadorian
tattoos on her scalp. Her hands are wrapped in dusty white bandages, like they’ve recently been
injured or burned.
‘I am Phiri Dun-Ra, trueborn daughter of the honorable Magoth Dun-Ra,’ the warrior shouts to
Adam. Her posture is nearly as imposing and rigid as his. ‘Why have you come here, Sutekh?’
Adam hops down from our ship, tossing his head to flip his hair out of his eyes.
‘Orders from Beloved Leader himself. I am to inspect this site to prepare for his arrival.’
A tremor passes through the crowd when Adam mentions Setrákus Ra. Many of the Mogs exchange
nervous glances. Phiri Dun-Ra, however, appears nonplussed. She strides forward, letting her blaster
dangle idly next to her hip. Something tightens up in my stomach at the sight of her. The predatory way she moves, the glint in her eye like trouble could spark at any moment. She’s way sharper than the
other Mog warriors I’ve encountered.
‘Ah, Beloved Leader. Of course,’ Phiri says. She waves to the temple in the distance. ‘What would
you like to see first, sir?’
Adam takes a step towards the Mog camp and opens his mouth to speak. Smoothly, without