He’s up to something, obviously. Probably already has this whole event planned out. I know it’s unlikely even a crowd of humans this size would stand a chance against Setrákus Ra and all his powers, but part of me hopes maybe one of them will see through whatever sideshow he’s got planned and take some shots at the scary alien.

Of course, that would mean my death before they could stop Setrákus Ra. At this point, it seems almost worth it. I feel whatever the Mogadorians injected into me crawling around beneath my skin. I can’t endure any more of that.

The descent is over. We hover about fifteen feet above the stage. A nervous-looking older man in a suit, some kind of politician, waits for us there. There are flashbulbs going off like crazy. I blink my eyes and try to keep from sleepwalking through this.

“Come, Ella. Let us greet our subjects,” Setrákus Ra says. He picks up his golden cane, the obsidian Eye of Thaloc catching the light. I’m not sure why he brought that with him. I guess he doesn’t want to face our so-called subjects completely unarmed. Or maybe he thinks it makes him look noble—like a king with a scepter.

I stand up, slightly unsteady. Setrákus Ra offers me his arm. I hook my hand through it.

The door of our transport ship opens and a glowing staircase extends outward, creating a path for us to the stage. The crowd gasps as we emerge. Through my bleary eyes, I can see dozens of TV cameras trained on us. The crowd is hushed in amazement. What do we look like to them? Aliens . . . aliens that look exactly like humans. A handsome older man and his pale granddaughter.

Setrákus Ra raises his hand and waves to the people. It’s a royal thing, courtly and showy. When he speaks, his voice booms like he’s hooked up to a microphone.

“Greetings, people of Earth!” he bellows in perfect English, his voice firm and reassuring. “My name is Setrákus Ra and this is my granddaughter, Ella. We have traveled a great distance to come humbly before you with wishes of peace!”

The crowd actually cheers. They don’t know any better. Setrákus Ra gazes beatifically across all their upturned faces. But when his eyes settle on the old man standing on the stage, I feel a tension go through his arm.

“Hmm,” Setrákus Ra says under his breath. Something isn’t right. The greeter isn’t what he expected. Or maybe there were supposed to be more humans waiting onstage with outstretched arms. Maybe there were supposed to be bouquets of flowers.

Undeterred, Setrákus Ra draws himself up a little taller and proceeds down the rest of the steps.

“We have much to offer your people!” he continues in his booming, charitable voice. “Advancements in medicine to heal your sick, farming techniques to feed your hungry and technology that will make your lives easier and more productive. All we ask in return, after our long journey, is shelter from the cold of space.”