Up ahead, I see that a stage has been hastily erected at the front entrance of the UN. There is a more organized police force there—both local cops and the UN’s private security. They keep people away from the stage and from storming the entrance to the main building. There’s a concentration of press up ahead, too, all of them with cameras eagerly swinging between the stage and the hovering spacecraft.

I grab Sanderson around the shoulders and yank him close, pointing to the stage.

“What’s the deal with that? What’s supposed to happen here?”

Sanderson grimaces at me but doesn’t try to wriggle away. “The Beloved Leader has a taste for theatrics. Did you know he wrote a book?”

“Reading is stupid,” grunts Nine, more focused on the crowd.

“I don’t care about his propaganda. Explain the stage, Sanderson.”

“Propaganda, like you said,” Sanderson replies. “Myself and some of the others from MogPro—the ones our dear friend Walker probably had arrested—we were supposed to greet Setrákus Ra. He was going to demonstrate the gifts the Mogadorians could offer humanity.”

I remember the state we found Sanderson in, all black veined and nearly keeled over, all strung out on the Mogadorian’s so-called medical advancements.

“He was going to heal you,” I say, putting it together.

“Hallelujah!” Sanderson says, bitterly. “Our savior! Then, we’d invite him inside the UN for discussions and, come tomorrow, a peaceful resolution would be adopted to allow the Mogs into the airspace of every member nation.”

“And that’s it,” Sam says. “Earth would be surrendered.”

“At least it would be peaceful,” Sanderson says.

“Don’t you think people would freak out?” I ask Sanderson. “I mean, look around. Imagine what will happen when the Mogs actually show themselves? Start walking around? Taking things over? There’d be panic, riots—even with your bullshit diplomacy. How was your plan ever going to work?”

“Of course he thought of that,” Sanderson says. “That’s how Setrákus Ra plans to identify the dissidents. The problem elements.”

“So he’ll know who to kill,” Nine grunts.

“That’s sick,” Sam says.

“A small price to pay for humanity’s survival,” Sanderson argues.

“I’ve seen the future under Mogadorian rule,” I tell Sanderson. “Believe me. It’s a bigger price than you’re willing to pay.”

Sam gives me a worried look and I realize how cold I must sound, like war with the Mogadorians on Earth is inevitable, like there’s nothing we can do at this point to keep people from getting hurt. In truth, I’m not sure that there is a way to resolve this without bloodshed. The war is here and it’s going to be fought. But I need the others to keep up hope.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” I add. “We’re going to stop Setrákus Ra before this goes any further. But you have to help us.”

Sanderson nods, his eyes fixed on the stage. “You want me to go through with it.”

“Draw him out, just like he wants,” I say, pulling up the hood on my sweatshirt. “And we’ll take him down.”