“Guys? Can you hear me?”

“John?” I exclaim, not believing my ears. The last I saw him, he was in a coma along with Ella. I sprint to the ship and jump onto its front end, standing over the open cockpit to better hear his voice.

“It’s me, Six,” John says. “It’s good to see you.”

“See me?” I ask, then notice the small camera mounted over the cockpit entrance. It wiggles back and forth, almost nodding in greeting.

“Dude, what happened?” Nine asks, eyeing the cockpit skeptically. “Is your brain, like, trapped in a Mogadorian ship now?”

“What? No, don’t be an idiot,” John replies, and I can picture the look of annoyed amusement on his face. “We’ve taken over a Mogadorian base and used their tech to hack into this ship.”

“Nice,” Nine replies, like that’s all he needed to hear. He jumps effortlessly onto the ship’s hood, still holding Eight, and lands right beside me. Our side of the saucer-shaped vessel dips a little at his weight before righting itself, the landing gear whining. Nine kicks the metal hull with his heel, testing it out. “So this is our ride?”

In answer, the ship’s engine begins to vibrate beneath our feet. I look down into the cockpit—there are six hard plastic seats in there, along with a blinking dashboard covered in random Mogadorian symbols and a set of controls that look similar to what you’d find on an airplane. Not that I’ve ever flown one of those before, much less one made by Mogadorians.

“We saw what happened in Chicago,” Marina says, also climbing onto the ship.

“Is everyone all right?”

“Yeah,” John replies quickly, then seems to reconsider. “They took Ella, but I don’t think she’s in danger yet.”

Marina’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm, and I can feel the cold start to roll off her. “What do you mean they took her?”

“I’ll explain everything when you get in the air,” John says. “First, let’s get you out of there.”

“Sounds good,” Nine replies, and hops down into the cockpit, gently placing Eight’s body across a couple of the seats.

“Uh, John, one problem,” I say, following Nine into the antiseptic-smelling Mog ship. “How are we supposed to fly this thing?”

There’s a pause on John’s end and then a different voice responds, this one with a harsh accent that makes my shoulders tense.

“I could fly you remotely, but I’m worried hacking into the ship’s computer might have damaged some of the auto-navigation protocols. It’ll be safer if you do it manually with me walking you through it,” the Mogadorian explains quickly. Then, as if realizing we might be freaked out, the guy adds, “Hey. I’m Adam.”

“The guy Malcolm told us about,” I say, remembering that dinner conversation.

“Don’t worry, Six,” Sam’s voice interjects, and I can’t help but grin at the sound of it. “He’s totally not evil.”

“Oh, well, in that case, let’s fly,” Nine says sarcastically, but settles into one of the hard-backed plastic seats all the same. I hop into the pilot’s chair. Marina hesitates for a moment, giving the console where the Mog’s voice came from a look of distrust.