“Be careful.” Jules lets go of my hand, flexing his now-empty fingers in the space between us.
“You too.” I ease the door open again, just enough to lean out and check on the progress of our targets. Then I pause, in spite of myself and my urgency. “If I’m not—stall them, but don’t blow your cover if … One of us has to make it to Earth.”
This time, Jules doesn’t try to fight me. His mouth tightens, and he says nothing, but he gives a tiny nod.
If I had time, I’d tell him I’m not being noble and brave aboutanything—if I had time, I’d tell him I’m terrified at the thought of being left behind. Instead, I sacrifice one more second to look at him, and then slip out into the corridor.
I take a few quick, sharp breaths to get my blood pumping, and then break into a run. Hearing my footsteps, the Undying pair ahead of me pause, their flight suits draped over their arms and flopping as they go. When one of them looks back, I stop short as if surprised to see them there in my path.
For a long moment, we stare at each other along the length of the corridor.
They’re male and female, each as tall as Atlanta and Dex, though aside from their height they couldn’t be more different. The young woman’s hair is shaved close to her head, exactly the same light brown as her skin, while the boy’s reddish-brown curls are gathered into a knot at the crown of his skull, thick and coarse.
The boy’s mouth falls open. “Is that—is that a proto?”
The girl’s eyes widen. “She’s the one they’re after!”
In a split second, they both drop their suits and break into a sprint. They’re faster than I expected, freakishly fast, and a curse tumbles out of my mouth as I nearly slip in my haste to turn back and run the other way. I can’t spare a glance for the utility closet where Jules stands concealed, and race past it, blood singing in my ears.
When I reach the opposite end of the hall, I ricochet off the wall as I make a ninety-degree turn. I catch a flash out of my peripheral vision, beyond my pursuers, and get the briefest glimpse of a figure stooping to carefully retrieve the fallen suits, then vanishing again into the shadows.
Heart surging with triumph, I pour all my focus into running.
I planned my path the best I could ahead of time, with information from Jules’s nearly photographic memory of the maps the headset revealed, and with what we’ve cobbled together on our expeditions through the walls and ventilation systems. Another right will bring me back toward the shuttle bay, and then a left willtake me back toward the living quarters. Where there’s a knee-high vent standing open and ready for me to slide in, grab the hatch cover, and pull it shut before my pursuers have rounded the corner.
I skid around, eyes already dropped for the hatch—and then all the air goes out of my chest as I slam face-first into a dead-end wall. Reeling back, gasping for air, I stare at the blank wall for half a second too long before I realize: I’m not where I thought I was. The path was wrong, or I miscalculated—either way, the result is the same.
I’m lost.
Blindly—the sound of quick, efficient breath and pounding boots just around the corner—I choose a direction and take off.
I’m sorry, Jules. Please,please,be strong enough to leave without me.
THE SHUTTLE BAY IS BUZZING WITH ACTIVITY,UNDYING WORKERS ANDsoldiers striding across the open spaces, readying shuttles, calling orders, and hauling gear. The room is massive, on a scale that makes my head spin. It’s a feeling almost like vertigo after spending the last week crammed inside a long series of too-small spaces. The bay’s large size requires support, and ribs of that metallic stone curve upward to meet in the ceiling like buttresses supporting the weight of a cathedral. If cathedrals shimmered with iridescent power, and looked down over an alien invasion force.
From above, this place would look like a sprawling ants’ nest, with suited soldiers scurrying in every direction. Everyone’s moving with purpose, and my steps falter for a moment on the threshold.
I’m in one of those suits too—like Earth’s astronauts, the Undying wear them in transit down to the surface, in case of hull breach, I guess. They’re jet-black, the helmets strangely bulbous, the faceplates opaque unless you’re up close. The last time I sawsomeone dressed like this, Mia and I were hiding, watching the first of the Undying step through the portals, minutes after launch. Last time, we were braced to see the helmets come off and reveal some nightmarish alien creature, with tentacles for a face or teeth like knives.
Somehow, seeing them reveal human faces was even worse.
There’s comfortable padding inside my helmet, cradling my head like Neal’s motorcycle helmets do, and I’m glad it conceals my features, because I know I’m gawking. There are just somanyof them. At least half aren’t in their helmets yet, and with a slow blink, I realize that every single one of them looks to be around my age.
The Undying invasion forces, whatever they’ve done to camouflage themselves as human, are all masquerading as teenagers. Why?
Is this their first mistake, a misunderstanding about humans, or are they hoping to be underestimated, to go unnoticed?
I’m forced to sidestep a group hurrying in through the door, and try to quell the rising panic constricting my chest.
I’m about the right height, I tell myself.There’s no reason I won’t blend in. I’m glad I told Mia to wear her helmet, though—of all the sea of faces I can see surrounding me, I’m realizing abruptly that not one of them is as pale as hers. They range from the darkest of browns to a light tan, but she’s unquestionably the whitest girl on the ship, as well as the shortest.
The second suit and helmet are waiting back in the utility room where Mia will—I hope against hope—collect them, but in the meantime her absence means I’m the only one in this huge, highceilinged hangar without a partner by my side. I’m desperately hoping the crowd of bodies around me will conceal the fact that I’m alone.
As if I wasn’t feeling her absence keenly enough already.
And that’s when I see them. Atlanta and Dex, our unwitting neighbors, walking together across the middle of the hangar, helmets under their arms, steps in unison. I’ve never gotten to seethem like this, only in glimpses and flashes from behind the ventilation cover in their room. They’ve both got their hair pinned up to fit underneath their helmets, and they’re deep in conversation about something. Debating about theirdestin? Perhaps. I lift my chin a little to keep track of them, and a few moments later, they come to a halt beside a shuttle that’s about ten back in the queue for launch. Dex climbs up the step to the entryway, hanging on to the door frame as he scans the surrounding area.
I realize what he’s doing in the same instant my feet start moving. He’s looking for the rest of their crew. Some of the shuttles hold two, but most hold four, and the one he’s hanging off is definitely one of the latter. Without working earpieces, he and Atlanta have no way to check in to find out where the other half of their crew is. Or perhaps even who they are.
