“This is a waste of time,” seethes Ivan, and he stomps into the hut’s backroom, where we’ve stored our equipment. I assume he’s going to report to my father: no Loric found yet; Kenyan children hurt my feelings.
I step outside the hut, watching as the villagers go about a normal day. I can’t help but indulge in a fantasy like I used to when observing Washington DC, about what kind of improvements could be made to this place. This time it’s not a fantasy of conquest; it’s one of assistance. With the technological advancements the Mogadorians are capable of, we could vastly improve these people’s lives.
“Their lives would be most improved,” says One, “if you just left their planet the hell alone.”
“You’re right,” I whisper back, feeling stupid.
On the basketball court, teams are beginning to form up. A boy about fourteen years old sees me watching and waves. When I wave back, he jogs over and says something in what I think is Italian.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “I don’t understand.”
“Ah,” says the boy, and I see the wheels turning as he tries to place my language. “English? American?”
I nod. The boy is fit, tall for his age. He is dark skinned, yet a few shades lighter than many of the other villagers, a smattering of sun-born freckles across his cheeks and nose. He looks somehow exotic. He is wearing a tank top and mesh shorts, a pair of worn basketball high-tops and striped high socks. High socks. My stomach drops as I realize who he is.
The Garde.
“Sorry,” he says in slow but perfect English. “The other aid-workers speak Italian. My English is a little rusty.”
“No,” I say, swallowing hard. “It’s very good.”
He steps forward to shake my hand. “I’m Hannu.”
“Adam.”
“Like the first man. That’s good, but right now we need a tenth man for even teams.” He gestures over his shoulder at the other kids waiting on the basketball court. “You want to play?”
What I want is to scream at Hannu to run. I glance over my shoulder, wondering where Ivan is. I can’t make this too obvious, can’t make a scene. If Ivan detects anything unusual, he’ll radio in to my father right away. Hannu’s only advantage right now is that my people don’t know who he is. There’s still a chance for him and whoever his Cepan is to slip away undetected.
I need to get him away from the aid-worker’s hut.
“Sure,” I say, although I’ve never so much as touched a basketball. “I’ll play.”
We haven’t gone three steps before Ivan is jogging to catch up to us. The only way to describe his grin is shit eating.
“Adam,” he says, talking to me while sizing up Hannu. “Who’s your new friend?”
“Hannu,” replies the Garde, shaking Ivan’s hand. I can tell by the way Hannu grimaces that Ivan’s grip is vice- like. “Another American. Cool.”
Everything about Hannu is easygoing, even the leisurely way he walks us over to the basketball court. He looks at home here, comfortable. Too comfortable. I wonder how long he’s lived here-how often he’s come to this court to shoot hoops. I think about the paranoid behavior of the other Cepans, the nomadic life that One was forced to endure, the shut-in existence of Two. It seems like Hannu has had such a peaceful time on Earth that he’s forgotten there’s a war on.
Some of the younger children beam at Hannu as he passes by. He pats them on their heads, smiling back, joking with them in Swahili. I wonder how many languages he knows.
“Did you get vaccinated?” Ivan asks, blunt as ever. “I don’t remember you coming by.”
Hannu waves this away with a serene smile. “Me? I’m strong like an ox. Save that for the kids that really need it.”
One of the other kids passes Hannu the ball, and he floats up a shot on a lazy arc. It drops through the basket without even brushing the rim.
“Have you lived here long?” I venture.
“All my life,” he replies. The kids pass the ball back to Hannu, and he flips it over to Ivan. “Take a shot, big man.”
Ivan squeezes the ball so tightly that for a moment I’m afraid it will pop. Then he hurls it towards the basket in an ugly imitation of Hannu’s stroke, the ball clanging wildly off the side of the backboard. Some of the kids, including the one who called Ivan a hippo, laugh.
“Good try,” says Hannu cheerily, winking at the laughing kids.
Ivan’s expression darkens. I jump in, trying to direct the conversation in a way that will raise Hannu’s dormant danger alarms without tipping off Ivan.
“Is it weird to have strangers just showing up at your village?” I ask.
Hannu shrugs. “We get tourists on the bus sometimes.” He glances over at Ivan. “I hope you guys packed sunscreen. Your friend is turning red.”
Ivan grabs my arm before I can form another awkward question. “Come on, Adam. We have
Hannu looks disappointed as Ivan drags me away. “Maybe we’ll play later, yeah?”
“I hope so,” I tell him.
As soon as we’re out of earshot, Ivan hisses to me, “That was him!” He looks thrilled. “You might be worthless in a fight, but you can sniff out a Garde better than any of our scouts.”
I glance over my shoulder. Hannu has already put us out of his mind, helping some of the younger kids practice their form.
“We can’t confirm that’s him,” I say.
“Oh, come on, Adamus,” groans Ivan. “I should’ve choked him right out there.”
“You don’t want to waste the General’s time until we can be sure,” I say, trying to buy time. “Plus, even if that is our Garde, you don’t know he’s Number Three.”
Ivan sneers at me, and I can tell his mind is made up. When we get back into the hut, he grabs the nearest aid-worker by the shirt and pulls him over to the window.
“That kid,” he says, pointing at Hannu. “Where does he live?”
The aid-worker hesitates, but I can see the fear in his eyes.
“Not sure,” he mumbles. “Outside the village, I think. Near the ravine.”
“Good enough,” says Ivan, shoving the aid-worker away. He glances at me before disappearing into the backroom. “I’ll tell Father you say hi.”
So that’s it. Soon the strike team will be here. I return to the doorway, watching Hannu dribble past a defender and flip a layup into the basket.
“He’s dense,” observes One, suddenly standing next to me, looking at Hannu. “You have to tell him.”
I nod. No more waiting around, no more planning, no more subtlety. There will never be a more perfect opportunity to defect. I’ve already watched one Loric die because of my uncertainty, because I failed to act in time. I won’t let this one be captured, or worse.
“You’re right,” I whisper back. “Tonight, we escape.”
CHAPTER 24
Night has fallen. The jungle around me is alive with strange noises. I should be worried about what kinds of animals are out there, snapping branches as they stalk me, hissing around my ankles. But there are other, more dangerous predators in the jungle tonight. Ones that I need to stop.
I run through the jungle with only a vague idea of where I’m going. Maybe running isn’t exactly accurate-more like stumbling; it seems like every vine on the jungle floor has a mind to trip me. It’s so dark out here, I’m practically blind. My knees and elbows are scraped from falls, my face cut from the branches slapping against it. Still, I press on toward the ravine.
The communicator on my hip buzzes with static. I swiped it before sneaking out of the aid-worker hut. My plan is simple, the best I can do under such circumstances. Get to Hannu and his Cepan, tell them what’s happening and
