The Fate of Ten

“Oh, good,” Walker interrupts. “They’ll like that. One less threat in U.S. airspace.”

“They need to scramble jets, fighters, drones, whatever they’ve got,” I continue. “It’s headed to a place of great power, a Loric place. I’m not sure what Setrákus Ra wants there, but I know it’s bad if he gets it. We need to take the fight to him.”

Walker’s expression darkens the more I talk. I can already tell that I’m not going to like whatever she’s got to tell me. She leads me off the pier, across some matted grass and stops in front of a canvas tent slightly isolated from the others.

“A direct attack isn’t going to happen,” she says.

“Why the hell not?”

“My headquarters,” she says, pushing open the entrance flap. “Let’s talk inside.”

Inside Walker’s tent is an unused cot, a cluttered table and a laptop computer. There’s a map of New York City with red lines crisscrossing it—if I had to guess, I’d bet that line represents the path the Anubis took during yesterday’s attack. Walker pulls a second map from beneath the New York one, this one of the entire world. There are ominous black X’s drawn over a bunch of major cities—New York, Washington, Los Angeles and faraway places like London, Moscow and Beijing. There are more than twenty cities marked in this way. Walker taps her fingers on the map.

“This is the situation, John,” she says. “Every marking is one of their warships. You know how to bring one of those things down?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. But I haven’t tried.”

“The air force tried yesterday. It didn’t go well.”

I frown. “I saw them flying in. I know they didn’t make it.”

“They had some success against the smaller ships, but they didn’t even get close to the Anubis. The air force was considering another strike when the Chinese went all in.”

“What does that mean?”

“A couple hours after the attack on New York, they got trigger-happy. Were probably worried they might be attacked next. They threw everything short of a nuke at the warship over Beijing.”

“And?”

“Casualties in the tens of thousands,” Walker answers. “The warship still in the air. They’re shielded somehow. Chinese scientists say it’s some kind of electromagnetic field. They got tired of crashing jets up against it, so they tried parachuting a small force directly onto the warship. Those guys didn’t survive contact with the field.”

I’m reminded of the force field surrounding the Mogadorian base in West Virginia. The shock I received from touching it was enough to knock me out and make me sick for days.

“I’ve run into their force fields before,” I tell Walker. “Literally.”

“How’d you break them down?”

“Never did.”

Walker gives me a deadpan look. “And here I was getting my hopes up.”

I look back at Walker’s map and shake my head. Every black X looks to me like a fight I don’t know how to win.

“Twenty-five cities under attack. You have any good news, Agent Walker?”

“That’s just it,” she says. “This is the good news.”

I raise an eyebrow at her.

“Some places, like London and Moscow, sent troops out to fight the Mogs. But the response is nothing like here or Beijing. No bombardment, no rampaging monsters. It’s like the Mogs are taking it easy on them. And then there are the places like Paris and Tokyo that didn’t put up any fight at all. Those cities aren’t actually under attack. The warships and scout ships are controlling the airspace, but other than that there aren’t any Mogs on the ground. And then, this morning, that warship flies right over us, like we’re nothing. It’s got some people thinking maybe they don’t want to fight. Maybe it’s all just a big misunderstanding with the aliens, that we shouldn’t have attacked them first.”

“We didn’t,” I snap.

“I know that. But around the world, what they saw—”

“Setrákus Ra is sending a message,” I say. “Even though he’s got the advantage, he doesn’t want a protracted fight. He wants to frighten humanity into submission. He wants us to give in.”

Walker nods and walks over to her laptop. She enters a series of passwords, no easy task considering she’s typing one-handed, before finally pulling up an encrypted video.

“You’re more right than you know,” Walker says. “It’s not clear how he got access, but this video appeared via secure channels in the president’s private inbox. Other world leaders we’ve talked to have reported receiving the same thing.”

Walker clicks the play button and an HD-quality image of Setrákus Ra’s face appears on the screen. My blood runs cold at the sight of his pale skin and empty black eyes, at the dark-purple scar that encircles his neck, at the smug way he smiles into the camera. It’s the exact same smile he wore right before chucking me into the East River. Setrákus Ra is seated in the ornate commander’s chair on the Anubis—I remember seeing it when Ella showed me around the ship. Over his shoulder, New York City is visible through a massive floor-to-ceiling window. The sun is rising, the city still in flames. There’s no doubt in my mind he chose this background on purpose.

“Respected leaders of Earth,” Setrákus Ra begins, these polite words issued in a scratchy rumble, “I pray that this message finds you open-minded after the unfortunate events in New York and Beijing. It was with great reluctance, and only after an attempted assassination by alien terrorists, that I used a fraction of the available Mogadorian force against your people.”