I swallow hard. I know we’ll be going down to Earth eventually. Setrákus Ra isn’t going to have his warships orbit Earth for a while and then float peacefully away. There’s going to be an invasion. I’ve been telling myself that once we land I’d have a chance to run for it. Obviously, Setrákus Ra knows that I’d rather die than be his prisoner or his coruler or whatever he’s got in mind. But, from the smug look on his face, he doesn’t seem to care. Maybe he thinks he can brainwash me before we return to Earth.

“How am I supposed to eat with your nasty face right there?” I ask him, hoping to see his self-satisfied look falter. “It’s not exactly appetizing.”

Setrákus Ra stares at me like he’s trying to decide whether to leap across the table and throttle me. After a moment, he reaches to the side of his chair where his cane is propped. Ornately carved from a shimmering golden metal with an ominous black eye on the handle, it’s the same cane I saw Setrákus Ra use during the fight at Dulce Base. I brace myself for an attack.

“The Eye of Thaloc,” Setrákus Ra says, noticing me eyeing the staff. “Like Earth, it will one day be part of your Inheritance.”

Before I can ask a follow-up question, the obsidian eye in the cane’s handle flashes. I flinch, but it quickly becomes clear that I’m not in any danger. Instead, it’s Setrákus Ra who begins to convulse. Bands of red and purple light project from the Eye of Thaloc and scan over his body. Although I don’t exactly know how, I can sense energy moving from the cane into Setrákus Ra. He writhes and contorts as his skin peels away from his body, expanding outward and shifting, like a bubble forming in candlewax.

When it’s over, Setrákus Ra looks human. Actually, he looks like a movie star. He’s assumed the form of a handsome older guy in his mid-forties, with immaculately arranged salt-and-pepper hair, soulful blue eyes and just a modest amount of stubble. He’s tall, but no longer intimidatingly so, and he’s wearing a stylish blue suit and pressed dress shirt, casually open at the collar. Of his previous appearance, only the three Loric pendants remain, their cobalt jewels matching his shirt.

“Better?” he asks, his usual scratchy voice replaced by this man’s smooth baritone.

“What . . . ?” I look at him, dumbfounded. “Who are you supposed to be?”

“I chose this form for the humans,” he explains. “Our research shows they’re naturally drawn to middle-aged Caucasian men of these specifications. Apparently, they find them leaderly and trustworthy.”

“Why . . .” I try to gather my thoughts. “What do you mean, it’s for the humans?”

Setrákus Ra gestures towards my plate. “Eat and I will answer your questions. That’s not unreasonable, is it? I believe the humans call it quid pro quo.”

I look down at my plate and the pale blob waiting for me there. I think about Six and Nine and the rest of the Garde and wonder what they would do in my situation. It seems like Setrákus Ra wants to spill his guts, so I should probably let him. Maybe while he’s trying to subtly win me over, he’ll let slip the secret to beating the Mogadorians. If that even exists. Either way, taking a bite of the boiled slug on my plate seems like a small price to pay if it means gathering some important information. I shouldn’t think of my situation as being held prisoner; it’s more like I’m on a mission behind enemy lines.