Though it seemed like the initial danger had passed, Leo kept shooting his eyes toward the sliding metal panels, knowing the magic Zirkus Crayt was capable of. Now you see them. Now you don’t. To go along with his other trick of disguising his identity. That is, until the odds were in his favor and he felt he could safely reveal himself.

This is the person my father wanted me to find? Leo wondered.

It didn’t seem right. Hadn’t his dad specifically told him he couldn’t trust the Aykari anymore? Leo tried to remind himself that looks could be deceiving—it’s what’s on the inside that counts—but he couldn’t get a good read on Crayt. The alien had deceived them and had been seconds away from killing them all, so Leo continued to keep one eye on the ceiling and the other eye on the crab-walking droid who still stood vigilant by its master, waiting for orders.

Leo wasn’t the only one with an eye on Number Nine.

“He’s something, isn’t he?” Skits whispered to Leo, her sensors fixated on the hulking mass of metal. “Look at those pistons. And that armor. Reinforced seradnium. Or maybe Duralian steel. And did you see all that weaponry?”

“Oh, I saw it,” Leo said.

“Impressive, don’t you think?”

Leo had a feeling he and Skits were forming completely different opinions about the multilegged mechanical security guard with the built-in rocket launcher. He supposed they had things in common, Skits and Nine. They were both homemade creations, pieced together by their owners. It seemed they were both a little too eager to obliterate things. Leo wondered if Nine was equipped with a flamethrower too. Or if he ever belted angry music through his voice emitter. Or refused to do what he was told. The other robot—the sleek and shiny Number One—stood by her master silently, her head bowed, looking much less dangerous than her counterpart.

“I apologize for the show of force,” Crayt began once all the guns were put away. “I have learned to take certain precautions. There are particular parties who would no doubt be pleased to hear of my demise.”

“Relatable,” Kat said.

“So you’re not really Lark?” Boo asked, combing the yellow dust out of his fur with his claws, fur that was still riffled with apprehension.

“Oh no, I am Lark . . . to the Orin, at least. Truthfully that is the name I answer to now. However in my old life, my other life, I went by Zirkus Crayt. That is my Aykari designation.”

My other life. Seemed to Leo like everybody had one of those but him. An orphaned pickpocket. The once proud member of a Queleti tribe. A former soldier of the Coalition. Everybody carried their past with them in some way—an artificial arm, a dirty robe. Leo thought about the medal he’d found buried under a Time magazine in Baz’s chest of treasures, for exceptional courage in the line of duty. Bastian Black wasn’t that man anymore, either. No longer a pilot for the Coalition. He was a pirate now, but that other man, Sebastian D. Blackwell, was still in there somewhere. Changing your name didn’t change your past.