I glance to the duffel bag at our feet, presently filled with a ton of plastic explosives, then back to the controller. There’s a little metal tooth that you need to guide the switch around for it to reach its third notch, probably to keep anyone’s finger from slipping. Still, I’m a little nervous about this demonstration. “Uh, okay . . .”

“Safety first.” Adam flicks the switch back into its original position, the red light coming back on. “If you were to press the switch all the way up, the blasting cap would get the signal to fire its charge, and the bomb would detonate.”

I nod once, then hand the remote control over to Marina. “You get all that?”

“Yes, but . . .” Her brow furrows as she accepts the controller.

“You asked where you’re going to be,” I say. “You’re going to be hiding in the jungle, controlling the Sanctuary’s defenses.”

Marina considers this for a moment, a smile slowly spreading across her face. “It will be my pleasure.”

Adam walks down the line of ships, sticking lunch-box-sized parcels of plastic explosives on the underbelly of each Skimmer. A cautious Mogadorian might notice them, yeah, but not before it would already be too late.

Meanwhile, Marina and I maneuver the last two Skimmers past the ones we’ve wired to explode. These we position on opposite sides of the Sanctuary, both at the very edge of the jungle, and both pointing towards the Sanctuary’s entrance.

“We can create a cross fire here,” I say, opening up the cockpit on one of the Skimmers. “If your telekinesis is strong enough to work the controls . . .”

“It will have to be,” Marina replies.

Adam comes over, powers on the Skimmers’ weapon systems and explains to Marina which buttons she would need to press to discharge the cannons. Marina spends a long time studying the controls, memorizing them, committing them to her mind’s eye. Then, she walks slowly away from the Skimmers, and heads to a patch of jungle far away from the wired-up ships but close enough to have a clear view of the entire battlefield. It’s from this hidden spot that she’ll defend the Sanctuary.

Marina concentrates. She reaches one hand out towards the Skimmer.

“Ugh,” she says, after a moment, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know, Six. It’s hard to use my telekinesis on something I can’t see.”

We try a different tactic. Adam and I walk around the edge of the jungle, propping up Mogadorian blasters in the overgrown grass and trees. We camouflage them with loose branches and leaves, well enough that a Mog warrior wouldn’t notice them right off, but not so hidden that Marina can’t see them. From her spot, she tests each one, telekinetically pulling the trigger so that a burst of blaster fire sizzles into the clearing in front of the Sanctuary.