I Am Number Four - Pittacus Lore Page 0,20

be made of stone. She betrays no hint of emotion. “Everything is going exactly as Beloved Leader expected it would. His word is prophecy and truth.”

This is one of the problems with Mogadorians. Or at least with those who have no doubts about Setrákus Ra’s plans.

So, like, 99.99 percent of my people.

“Well, it’s just that I’ve never seen a captain ask for orders before. We wait until we’re told what to do. That’s our job. And I’ve been on the bridge for most of the last twelve hours. We haven’t received any transmissions from the Anubis or West Virginia.”

“High command is no doubt busy with more important things at this time.”

“When was the last time we got orders?” I ask.

She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. Instead, she just looks at me for a few seconds, searching my face.

“You’d have to ask Denbar,” she says flatly.

I try to reframe my question.

“What would you do if you were captain?”

“I wouldn’t bother Beloved Leader like some pestering—,” she says, and then stops. Her eyes narrow.

I grin. I’ve caught her.

“Officer Saturnus,” she says, loud enough for everyone else on the bridge to hear. “Your shift must be over soon if you’ve been on the bridge for twelve hours. I’m sure you’re exhausted. Before you leave, though, I want you to run possible flight patterns to every second-tier city target in North America. Double-check your numbers. Triple-check them. We need to be prepared for when our next orders come in.”

She smirks and then turns away and heads back to the main controls.

Great.

I glance around, but no one makes eye contact with me. Most of the people on the bridge were born on Mogadore, or on ships. There’s a noticeable brutality to them, an economy in their speech. They say only what they have to, when spoken to. They don’t pretend to care about camaraderie. And above all else, they obey, without question.

But I grew up on Earth. So did Mirra. Even if we were in Mogadorian homes, they were designed to look like human communities. We sneaked human entertainment and learned how the species functioned so that we could better understand them—could conquer them more easily. Some of that must have rubbed off on us. I wouldn’t say that it’s been difficult adjusting to life on a ship, surrounded by a bunch of uptight Mogs. But it’s different. Especially after spending so much time on Earth. Sometimes I miss just talking. Or having someone to talk to.

Underneath that hard exterior, maybe Mirra feels the same way.

One thing’s for certain: it’s obvious something’s got our captain spooked. Still, I have to be careful. Questions are a dangerous thing up here. Ask the wrong one and you’re dead.

Or you’re labeled a traitor.

I start looking at the routes Mirra mentioned. There are so many cities left. A whole world out there to conquer. And yet, I can’t shake the idea that despite what the Great Book says—that progress can only be made through war, death and bloodshed—there might be another way. After living so much of my life among the humans, I can’t help but hope that it doesn’t become another Lorien. Or another Mogadore, a place I’ve never even been.

I wish my people were maybe a little more like the humans. A culture that has war, yes, but also respects peace and tranquillity. Bloodshed is ever present but not the entire focus of their lives for the most part. There’s room for the innocent and pacifistic to survive. Hell, in that sense, I wouldn’t mind us being more like the Loric.

I steal one last glance at the quiet, still water outside.

I wonder what Adamus is doing now.

Is he even alive?

CHAPTER TWELVE

AFTER COMPILING ALL THE DATA MIRRA ASKED for, I completely crash in my room. It’s late morning when an alarm sounds. I wake up in a fog, disoriented, trying to figure out why the speakers in the ceiling are blaring an alarm, when someone comes on the intercom telling me to report to the council room. I move as quickly as I can, wondering what’s happened—if we’re finally going to stop pretending that we’re here for anything but total domination. My blood pumps faster, and I can’t help but bare my teeth.

Mogadorian programming: One whiff of battle and I’m firing on all cylinders.

But there’s another side to the feeling. A worry I can’t place. Or, rather, that I can place but don’t want to think about.

If we’re moving into full-blown war, how