That really gets the gallery talking. Some people actually cheer like they’re ready to fight, but mostly they murmur uncertainly, talking among themselves.

“John . . . ,” Ella says, her teeth now gritted. “Speed it up, please.”

I glance at Setrákus Ra. His thrashing is getting more and more forceful.

John raises both his hands for quiet. “I’m not going to lie and say what I’m asking you to do isn’t dangerous. It most definitely is. I’m asking you to leave your lives behind, to leave your families behind and join us in a fight that started in an entirely different galaxy.”

Something about the way John says all this makes me think he’s practiced it before. I notice he glances towards the girl sitting next to Sam. She smirks at him.

“I obviously can’t make you join us. In a few minutes, you’ll wake up from this little meeting back wherever you were before. Where it’s safe, hopefully. And maybe those of us who do fight, maybe the armies of the world, all of us . . . maybe that will be enough. Maybe we can fight off the Mogadorians and save Earth. But if we fail, even if you stay on the sidelines for this battle . . . they will come for you. So, I’m asking you all, even though you don’t know me, even though we’ve royally shaken up your lives—stand with us. Help us save the world.”

“Hell yeah,” Nine says, clapping for John. “You heard him, newbs. Quit being wimps and join the goddamn fight!”

The respectful silence that had mostly held during John’s speech breaks when Nine opens his mouth, like we’re in a press conference all of a sudden. There are shouted questions from every direction.

“Is that a Mogadorian at the table?”

“Go back to your galaxy, freaks!”

“How do I quit breaking stuff with my telekinesis?”

“I want to go home!”

“How can we stop them?”

“What’s with your eye patch, bro?”

“Can that scary guy see us?”

“Why do they want to kill us?”

And then, rising above the cacophony, a lanky guy with a bleached-blond Mohawk in the style of some long-retired punk rocker stands up on his seat and stomps down hard. I guess the sturdiness of his combat boots translates to the dreamworld because the sound is loud enough to shut everyone up.

“You lot are in America, right, mate?” the punk asks John, speaking with a thick English accent. “Let’s say I did want to join the fight and take it to these pasty wankers. How the hell am I supposed to get to you? In case you haven’t noticed, there’s no bloody transatlantic flights on account of the giant spacecrafts.”

John rubs the back of his neck, uncertain. “I . . .”

Ella’s hands tense on the table. “I can answer that,” she says, her voice ringing and melodious, definitely not Ella. This is Legacy speaking through her.

Above us, dots of light on the world map steadily brighten. Everyone turns their attention to the ceiling. I remember the brightest ones as the locations of the Loralite stones we used to teleport, but there are more, dimmer lights taking shape all over the globe.

“These are the locations of Loralite stones,” Ella says. “The brightest ones have existed on this planet for a very long time. The others are only now beginning to grow as I bond with the Earth. Soon, they will surface.”

Marina speaks up. “We needed . . .” She falters, gathers herself. “We needed a teleporting Legacy to use those before.”

“Not anymore. Not now that I have awoken,” Legacy intones via Ella. “The Loralite are attuned to your Legacies. When you are close, you will feel their pull. All you need do is touch one of them and picture the location of another stone. The Loralite will do the rest.”

“Is that Stonehenge?” the Brit asks, squinting up at the map. “All right, then. That’s doable.”

“Uh, I think one of those is in Somalia,” says someone else.

“There will be more changes to your environment—,” Ella continues, but cuts off suddenly, shaking violently. Her hands grip the table and actually melt into the wood, sparks hissing out from her. When she next speaks, it’s with her own voice, not Legacy’s.

“He’s breaking through!” Ella screams.

The glowing chains binding Setrákus Ra to his seat shatter. The broken links clatter across the table yet harmlessly pass right through us. Ella must’ve lost her telepathic hold on Setrákus Ra’s mute button. He’s no longer isolated from the rest of us. In one fluid motion, the former Elder and current leader of the Mogadorians stands up, his chair toppling over behind him, and whips off his hood. People in the gallery scream and begin to scramble out of their benches, although there’s nowhere for them to go.

First, Setrákus Ra rests a hand on Ella’s shoulder. The light in her eyes flares, but otherwise she doesn’t move. She maintains her focus. Not getting a reaction from his granddaughter, he turns to look at the closest Garde. That just happens to be Five. Setrákus Ra grins.

“Hello, boy. Would you like to be the first to kneel?”

Five recoils in terror, backing away from the table. The Garde are standing up now. I’m ready to charge but, next to me, Nine doesn’t seem all that concerned.

“He can’t do anything in here,” Nine says to me. “Figured that out when I tried to beat Five’s ass.”

Setrákus Ra swings his gaze towards the human Garde in the audience. I know what he’s doing. He’s memorizing faces.