The Deadliest Earthling

By Gibson Morales

When he was six, Johnny’s parents gave their lives to defeat the Anunnaki and free Earth. Except they failed. Ten years of training later, a reluctant Johnny is the best cadet in the Watcher resistance network. He’s not the best because he wants to fight aliens, but because it’s the only way to escape his parents’ tainted legacy. At least, according to The Eagle, the leader of the resistance.

But on the day Johnny is set to graduate and finally put his training into action, the Anunnaki attack his home, New Bagram, forcing a full-scale evacuation. When the dust settles, Johnny vows to protect the surviving New Bagramites, who long for a symbol of hope. His mission: find the four Conifers, alien gems that grant superhuman powers. The good news: he already has one. The bad news: The Anunnaki have three. The worse news: The Anunnaki only need his Conifer to activate a doomsday weapon of biblical proportions.

If Johnny wants to stop the Anunnaki and protect New Bagram’s survivors, he must overcome his resentment over a lost childhood and accept his parents’ legacy. He will have to rely on his combat prowess and learn to trust again. He will have to become the deadliest earthling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gibson Morales
• Release date: Nov 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781943575213

Gibson Morales

Gibson Morales is the author of the young adult novels, The Deadliest Earthling and The Boy Who Wields Thunder. He publishes these under his imprint, Mo Bros Books, which he formed with his brother and writer Vicente. Gibson graduated from USC and lives in Los Angeles. When not writing, Gibson enjoys boxing, most things geek-related, traveling, and computer science.

Book preview

If aliens ever visit us, I think the outcome would be much as when Christopher Columbus first landed in America, which didn’t turn out very well for the Native Americans.

—Stephen Hawking

Chapter 1

"One minute until detonation," the bomb-maker hollered, pulling his black hood over his greying curly hair as he pounded out of the chamber. His inside-out back pocket dangled with him. Johnny blinked at the red digits on the bomb’s timer and swallowed dryly. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight. Fifty-seven. He was screwed.

This really wasn’t his week. First, he’d misplaced his dog tag ID. Now this.

Hey, anyone out there? he yelled. No one could hear, aside from Back Pocket Man. Because a few bunker doors and stairwells cut off the sound.

Running was not an option. Sure, Johnny could probably escape to ground level before the timer hit zero. But judging by the dozens of explosive satchels packed inside the array of wires and thick black tape, Back Pocket Man built this to take out a lot more people than just Johnny. He was important, but not enough to justify building a bomb this huge.

Directly above this bunker sat New Bagram’s school auditorium. Because of the rain, a thousand of his fellow classmates and cadets, plus their instructors, were spending their gym class inside it. An explosion of this magnitude would collapse the support beams from right underneath the gym floor, and they’d fall into a pit of rubble. Not to mention the intense impact, shrapnel, and fire from the blast. If he ran, they would perish. Guaranteed.

Johnny’s insides churned.

Navigating out of the bunker, looping around the street to the auditorium entrance, and bursting inside screaming a warning at the top of his lungs, would consume a couple minutes. So he crossed off that option.

The naked light bulb on the ceiling flickered. Johnny bit his lip. Wires dangled from every nook and cranny of the cinder block walls that comprised the room around him. Too many wires to count. All embedded into cavities in the walls and linked to grenades. He could almost feel the cinder block walls and the shelves of plastic containers closing in on him.

As he stepped back, his boot gave a squishing sound. It was a miracle he hadn’t triggered anything chasing Back Pocket Man down here. A web of the red, blue, green, and copper wires were strung along the grimy cement floor. Meaning, there was no way to move the bomb to a safer spot. Let alone enough time. Johnny’s eyes flicked to the timer. Thirty seconds. Twenty-nine seconds.

He leaned over the bomb, knowing that this was the absolute worst position for him to stand physically—bombs exploded in an upward cone—and studied it. Ribbons of duct tape fused too many of the wires, along with a pack of three batteries. If he could remove the batteries, the timer would conk out. But to extract the batteries, he needed to remove the bundled tape. And that meant clearing the wires from the duct tape. Otherwise, he might snag one wire and set off a grenade in the wall. Triggering one meant triggering them all. Twenty-five seconds was not nearly enough to sever the mess of wires safely.

The New Bagram city council and military instructors used this chamber for storage, making it the perfect location to build a bomb over the course of days without detection.

He shook his head, chiding himself. How did he fail to notice this during any of his patrols?

Because it was only a stupid storage room.

Scrambling to the closest shelf, he ripped off the lids of the containers. Wrenches, screw drivers, nuts, and bolts spilled to the floor. A vein beat hard on his temple. Cracking off the lid of another container revealed a bunch of metal faucet pipes and handles.

He didn’t want to check the timer, but the red digits reflected on the sheen of a plastic container. Sixteen seconds. Fifteen. Almost like it was counting back the years of his life.

Then a sliver of hope revealed itself. Inside a wooden cabinet on the right side of the shelf rested a fire extinguisher. Padlocked. No one would’ve been so stupid to do that. Back Pocket Man must’ve been to blame. Without hesitation, Johnny snatched a wrench with a trembling hand and smashed it against the cabinet glass. Yeah, it’s an emergency, he thought in reference to the sign beneath the cabinet.

The wrench clanged to the floor, and he scooped up the fire extinguisher. A single stride, and he stood over the bomb.

Sucking in a breath, he aimed the extinguisher’s hose and ejected the cold foam inside. Surrounded by the freezing material, the timer dimmed. Simple battery freezing. Johnny sighed. Thank God he hadn’t ditched that day of science class.

He carefully peeled off pieces of the duct tape and sliced the wires with the tactical blade he carried in his back pocket. Soon this bomb would be out of batteries and only the grenades in the wall would remain a threat.

As his muscles stopped quivering and his breathing relaxed, he realized something important. Once he secured the bunker, the next step would be to report this incident and alert everyone about the danger. Then, his superiors would ask how someone managed to construct an entire bomb down here under his nose. Johnny would be in a lot of trouble.

Chapter 2

"Damnit, Aldrin, Johnny’s drill sergeant Ibdan said, standing behind his desk. His angular jaw and beady eyes seemed a size small compared to his bald head and stocky build. How could you screw up this badly? You’re the Keeper."

The Keeper. An honorary title. Still, it was Johnny’s job to protect a powerful alien artifact, known as the Conifer. In turn, many New Bagramites saw him as something of a celebrity.

I apologize, Drill Sergeant, Johnny said quietly in his seat. I thought reducing security would entice the suspect to make his move. And he did. It just…

His drill sergeant had tasked him with discovering the identity of a New Bagram resident who’d been breaking into supposedly secure buildings and stealing explosive materials. As an enclosed city, isolated from outside contact, only New Bagram residents could be suspects. That was the easy part and the hard part. Because any of the ten thousand plus people of New Bagram could be planning something terrible. The puzzler was who had any reason to hurt one of their own.

To step up security, Ibdan and other combat instructors tasked squads of older cadets with guarding different streets in New Bagram. Johnny’s street included a number of high-value targets, but he’d ordered his squad to stand down from patrols, thinking this would lure in Back Pocket Man. The less security the bomb-maker perceived, the more likely he would be to try something.

"It was foolish, Ibdan said, laying his hands flat on the table. Worse, you allowed the suspect to slip through your fingers!"

At least I got a look at him, Johnny said. His drill sergeant usually kept his cool, but this didn’t qualify as a usual situation. The Feast of Endeavors was tomorrow. The feast when all the graduating recruits, including Johnny, would deploy into combat. And there were the ominous whispers about Mars spoken by resistance spies….

Ibdan picked up his incident report and eyed it like it was a piece of spoiled meat. Yes. We’re searching for a grey-haired man in a dark hoodie, jeans, and military boots. And he wears his back pocket hanging out. That narrows it down.

Ibdan sighed and sat level with him, interlocking his fingers. I’m going to have to apply disciplinary action.

Johnny tried not to meet his eyes.

Ibdan’s face softened, his face splitting with a grin. Latrine duties. You will report to Building Thirty-Five A in half an hour.

He broke into an outright laugh. Johnny tried not to smile. Latrine duties sucked, but he’d expected far worse.

Yes, Drill Sergeant, he said.

Good. Dismissed.

A hectic knock rapped the door. Ibdan glided over and opened it.

A red-faced cadet stood there, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He was a year or two younger than Johnny. A field of soldiers waited on the muddy road outside.

What is it? Ibdan grunted.

Sir, we found the suspect. The guy with his back pocket hanging out.

Ibdan’s jaw fell. You did?

The cadet swallowed. He’s dead. He…shot himself.

Ibdan blinked. My God.

That’s not all. The cadet fished a handgun out of his hip holster and leveled it directly at Johnny. Johnny Aldrin, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit treason.

Chapter 3

Total darkness surrounded Johnny, his mind spiraling into a haze of boredom, anxiety, and frustration. He could see nothing but pitch-black, smell nothing but his own odor, and hear nothing except his own faint breathing. Cold cement chilled the skin from his feet to his boxers. The Hole had driven many crazy by way of complete sensory isolation. He wondered how long he could stay here without succumbing to the madness.

Johnny had almost considered using his Conifer to flee when the cadet aimed the gun at him. A shiny red gem the size of his fist, the Conifer granted him power of the light spectrum. It was the ultimate tool of deception. And his inheritance. Normally, he wore it from a ball chain around his neck. Because of this, he’d relegated his dog tag to his school locker for years. So he’d never bothered reporting that it had gone missing days ago. Which only made the appearance of it in the house of Durmet, AKA Back Pocket Man, incredibly suspicious.

Now both were gone. Because, first thing, the soldiers confiscated his Conifer. They’d had the same thoughts he did of using it to cloak himself and run. But innocent people didn’t run. At least, he knew that’s what the soldiers would be thinking. So he surrendered himself.

He wondered if they’d notified his guardian, Orun. At least he was supposed to act as Johnny’s guardian ever since he’d lost his parents ten years ago. That was when they deployed on a mission to attack the Anunnaki’s main city across the planet.

As the soldiers dragged him over to the Hole, they were nice enough to fill in the blanks for him. Their search for the bomb-maker had been leading nowhere. Then a bunch of people heard a gunshot from someone’s house. The man’s name was Durmet and he’d shot himself. He fit Johnny’s description of the suspect and possessed a number of fuses and explosive materials.

Johnny couldn’t quite wrap his head around why this Durmet guy would end his life so suddenly. And why had he stolen Johnny’s dog tag in the first place? Did he want to frame him? In a couple hours, the city council would sort this out and release him. Obviously, he had nothing to do with the bomb.

He was fairly certain there was another person, a puppet-master, still out there. So what did imprisoning him achieve? It occurred to him that the standard operation procedure for prison time included confiscating all items on a person and placing them in the New Bagram police station’s evidence room. More than likely, his Conifer was there now. His heart skipped a beat.

Maybe the objective wasn’t to bomb the school, nor land him in prison, but rather for the Conifer to end up in a predictable location. But why?

He thought back to his patrol earlier that day. In the thick of the rain, he’d watched Durmet prying the bunker’s entry door free with a crowbar, glancing back and forth nervously under his hood. He’d dropped the crowbar a few times in the mud, cursing accordingly. Johnny doubted Durmet had the finesse to steal the Conifer off him. The task would’ve been next to impossible.

Really, during the day, Johnny would see any attack coming. At night, he slept inside an old, defunct commercial jetliner, his friends well within earshot. No one was robbing him of his Conifer then.

This all suggested that if someone wanted to steal it, isolating it would be their best option. Still, he couldn’t prove this was all part of a plan to steal his Conifer. Not yet. But a slice of trepidation cut through him as he contemplated the possibility. He needed to warn someone. A scream wouldn’t sound any louder than a mouse’s squeak to anyone outside, though. Breaking through eleven inches of steel wasn’t feasible either. Nor was climbing up twenty feet of corroding metal.

A meal would arrive in a few hours, but by then his Conifer might have already fallen into sinister hands.

He pounded on the wall. Yelled out for freedom as loud as he could. Shouted until his ears rang so hard they might split. Right on cue, the floor shifted beneath him. Maybe the Hole didn’t cut sound off as well as he thought.

Creaking, the platform delivered him up the twenty feet, where a blast of sunlight left him blinking as his eyes adjusted.

He stumbled forward, his legs sinking in the mud, and hoped the figures before him brought a shirt or pants. Instead, a fist cracked against his jaw.

I’m going to kill you, Aldrin.

Chapter 4

Johnny staggered backward so suddenly, he almost fell right back into the Hole. As he gathered his footing and senses, he massaged his jaw. Mitchell slicked back his short, blond hair, and his deep-set eyes regarded Johnny with utter revulsion. Two heavy-bodied classmates framed him. One had been guarding the Hole.

They say you tried to blow us up, Mitchell sneered. I guess it’s always the ones you least expect.

Of course he’d break him out of solitary confinement. It was the one time Johnny wouldn’t have his Conifer. For a moment, he’d almost hoped Mitchell was the real bomb-maker.

They say a lot of things, Johnny replied, barely containing the urge to charge at him. You got your shot in. So I’ll be on my way.

Giving up so easily? Like your parents.

Johnny’s face burned. Mitchell was asking for it this time. He could take him down. Even without his Conifer.

Balling his fists, he marched forward and struck him across the cheek without hesitation. Mitchell’s face spun to the side, and he swayed back for a second before steadying himself. Somehow, he found the bravado to smile at Johnny. Not bad. But—

Johnny dove in and slugged him in the chin. With a thunk, Mitchell plopped in the mud. Then his feet wrapped around Johnny’s right ankle. The next thing he knew, the mud rose up at him from the side.

Boys, you might want to settle down, a girl whispered.

All heads turned to Sarah. She had a milky complexion and light brown hair in a bun. Her finger pointed down the road. Sure enough, a pair of instructors were cruising along the mud, caught up in a heated debate over whether or not to call the Anunnaki by their scientific name, Naga Extraterrestrialis. Johnny exchanged a look with Mitchell. Time to call a truce.

Mitchell’s friends helped him up. So long, Aldrin. That’s a good look for you.

Johnny watched them wander off to a bench as Sarah strolled over, removed her black jacket, and tossed it onto his shoulder.

Thanks, he said, wrapping himself in it.

She smiled wryly. For old time’s sake.

He could still remember how they’d exchange funny stories about Orun or her stepdad. How she would draw caricatures of the teacher and he’d pin it on their doors. They were best friends as children. They probably would’ve remained best friends if not for him. He pushed back a pang of guilt thinking about that.

She turned away, and he waved, wishing he could properly thank her. Because soon he would leave New Bagram. Forever.

Johnny beelined for Ibdan’s office, turning more than a few heads along the way. He probably looked borderline nuts, sporting a jacket and muddy, bare legs as he sprinted through the streets of New Bagram. Maybe people would throw it off as one of his pranks.

He craved his Conifer. The one time he could’ve used it to create a hologram of some clothes, and it was locked inside the police station’s evidence vault.

Ten minutes later, Johnny skidded to a halt in front of Ibdan’s office, an unassuming bungalow, specks of mud dotting the wooden exterior.

The door opened before he could knock. Ibdan frowned. I heard there was a cadet running around in his underwear. I was hoping it wasn’t you.

I have something important to say, Johnny managed, catching his breath. May I enter, Drill Sergeant?

Let me put out newspapers.

Newspapers?

I don’t want you bringing in mud.

When newspapers covered a patch of his drill sergeant’s office, Johnny entered with express orders to remain standing only in that one spot. Ibdan sat on the edge of his desk. Go ahead, Aldrin. It better be good or you’re going right back into the Hole.

Johnny delivered his theory, piece by piece, his drill sergeant’s face devoid of expression even when he finished.

You busted out of the Hole to tell me this? he asked, peaking an eyebrow.

Actually, Mitchell broke me out.

Mitchell?

A classmate who hates me. He—never mind. Look, if you don’t believe me, call the police station. And tell Orun to move my Conifer somewhere safer.

Ibdan cleared his throat and grabbed his walkie-talkie off his desk. I suppose that can’t hurt. Now go wait outside. The less mud you drip, the less I have to clean up.

Johnny groaned, but complied.

A minute later, Ibdan emerged, looking perplexed.

What? Johnny asked.

Someone broke into the evidence room, but stole nothing.

Chapter 5

The four teenage recruits sat on the airplane seats, two on one side of the first-class cabin, two on the other. Styrofoam cups rested in their hands. Leaky Sam, the barkeep, had seen fit to give them free beer. So long as Johnny promised to take a photo with him and autograph it. Which he still had yet to do.

A pyramid of playing cards stood on a pull-down table, and rain peppered the window. Beyond defunct cargo planes, fighter jets, helicopters, and stealth bombers were strewn across the tarmac. Once they’d worked as weapons against the Anunnaki. Now they served as Watcher recruit quarters.

Hamiad placed two playing cards atop the formation of cards that was looking closer and closer to one of the Anunnaki’s conoid bases.

If someone broke into the evidence room, there had to be a purpose. But what? Hamiad asked. Johnny had wondered the exact same thing since Ibdan told him. Worse, the police didn’t even know who’d broken in. Just that the locks were loose and a couple documents had fallen off the shelves.

You think Ibdan wasn’t telling you something? Skunk asked.

Ibdan’s a military guy. No reason for him to lie, Johnny said, the Conifer dangling securely over his dark green tank top. The police station had done a full inspection of the Conifer and reported no tampering. He was just glad the voice of reason spoke to the city council and convinced them to let him go.

Who could be trying to steal it? Krem said. He shared the same light brown hair as his sister, Sarah.

Well, gee, if we knew that we wouldn’t be having this conversation, Skunk said, rolling his cup back and forth against his chin.

Seems like whoever is planning this out is a real nut job, Hamiad said. Even sitting, he was taller than Johnny, his skin several shades darker.

Johnny scratched the back of his neck. First, Durmet set up explosives beneath the school. Then he shot himself. Police investigated, discovered his dog tag, and locked him up. Which meant putting his Conifer into their secure locker. And someone broke in, but they didn’t steal it. This didn’t add up.

Think Durmet was working for the Anunnaki? Skunk suggested. He added a card to the stack they’d built on the pull-down table.

The cabin door pressed open. A lanky guy named Turner walked in. He was a school friend of theirs, not a Watcher recruit. The disturbance of air from the door swinging shut made the pyramid of playing cards quiver.

Everyone gave a collective groan of suspense, but the pyramid survived. Turner joined Krem and Skunk on one side and looked them over. You guys don’t have to stop just ’cause I’m in here. You know I won’t tell anyone what I hear.

Everyone says that until an Anunnaki probes them, Skunk said.

We were talking about Snake-eater status, Johnny said, not caring to fill Turner in on this whole incident of his brief time in the Hole and Durmet’s suicide.

And how Johnny’s going to earn it, Krem said. He believed in him so much, he’d coined the phrase What would Johnny do?

Johnny lowered his gaze. He probably would earn it. Every year, the Eagle recognized the single most promising Watcher cadet to become a Snake-eater. That cadet commanded graduating recruits in battle. Got his or her name in the New Bagram history books. Received important missions from Watcher higher-ups. All stuff that would have made people forget how his parents screwed up.

Really the only two possible candidates for Snake-eater this year were Hamiad and him.

Turner sipped from his cup and looked to Johnny. Well, if I’m being honest, I don’t see them giving it to you.

Johnny tilted his head to the side, genuinely curious. Oh really?

Turner seemed to be choosing his words carefully. Aren’t Hamiad’s tactical scores better than yours?

Well yeah, Johnny admitted.

Still, something in the back of his mind said the Eagle would never give Hamiad Snake-eater status over him. But it was a fleeting reassurance. A vague reason he took for granted so long ago that he didn’t even remember what it was.

Guess we’ll have to find out, Hamiad smirked, extracting a single card from the pyramid. Somehow the whole card formation remained standing.

Oh, almost forgot, Turner said. There’s a letter for you. It’s on your bed.

Johnny nodded, got to his feet, and strolled to his hanging net hammock bed.

Sure enough, a yellow envelope sat there with his name on it. He opened it and discovered a simple index card with the words, Do you remember your parents’ last words?

Chapter 6

Every Anunnaki is your enemy.

Johnny never figured out why his parents failed their mission, but eventually he learned what they meant with their final words to him. He’d stumbled upon the phrase in an old textbook one day while cleaning out a storage closet as punishment for a prank involving a camel spider and a classmate’s desk. It was a really old Watcher code speak term. Apparently not a very good one, because it meant almost the same thing. Show no mercy. Take no prisoners. That summed up his parents’ final wishes for him. Sure, there was the chance their explosives cut off the radio, but deep down he sensed they wanted these to be their last words.

Every Anunnaki is your enemy.

An awful lot lived on Earth now. One billion plus. They were spread over just about every continent and governed most of the Earth in some fashion or another. If not with an iron fist, then through trade agreements or proxy-governments. In some cities, they directly ruled over humans, and the humans accepted it of their own free will. Small pockets of resistance still existed around the planet, but the hotbed of it centered here in the Middle East. And tonight, he would officially join that resistance.

Obviously someone intended to get under his skin by sending that message. He couldn’t deny their success. He didn’t even want to think about how this would affect his concentration on the obstacle course. His final task before graduation.

The bugle of the reveille echoed across the city. Johnny sat up in his hanging cargo net, already dressed in a white shirt and black pants with his Conifer dangling over his neck. With the merest thought, he activated the Conifer’s cloaking. Anyone could use the Conifer, and it didn’t require much practice to create a basic hologram. He’d racked his mind all night why someone wouldn’t just steal it and use its cloaking to escape.

Five minutes later, the thirty graduating cadets fanned out. Every year on the day of the Feast of Endeavors, the Watcher recruits did an honorary good deed for New Bagram. A way of saying thanks for all the support. Johnny’s squad was assigned to help a veteran. Sarah’s stepfather.

A wide, muddy road delivered Johnny, Hamiad, Skunk, and Krem to a row of large wooden houses. A dark green Humvee rested in front of one. Despite the vehicle’s age, the layer of dirt covering it appeared to be its only real wear and tear. Johnny wrinkled his nose in disgust. Not dirt. Sewage. Too much water pressure during the storm must’ve burst a pipe.

Dig in, Sarah said, holding out fresh towels.

Johnny started on the Humvee’s windshield.

You don’t have to clean if you don’t want to, he offered.

Yes, I do, Sarah said, cocking her head to her house. Johnny knew immediately that she was referring to her stepfather, Tobias.

He’s not in a good mood, huh?

She shook her head. You know that guy who shot himself?

Durmet.

A few weeks ago, Tobias lent him a lot of his research files. About Mars and the Anunnaki. Well, the man burned those.

They were a good ten minutes into the car wash. Johnny could feel his wrist tightening from the constant scrubbing of the tires. And the scent of sewage kept him snorting every minute.

How neat does Tobias expect this thing?

Wants the stink to come off, Sarah said, rolling her eyes at her stepfather’s ridiculous standards.

Guess the Conifer won’t help any, Johnny said.

She shook her head.

He’d probably think this is good practice anyway, she said wryly.

Right. You can already speak their language, Johnny said, straining to reach beneath the front tire. Now you just gotta hone those housekeeping skills, and you’ll be the perfect Naga servant.

Sarah shared a laugh with the four of them. Johnny hadn’t heard her laugh that way in ages. He forced away a pang of regret that they could never make up their years of lost friendship. The consolation was that he could at least apologize to her before he deployed.

Between Krem’s boasting over how he wasn’t afraid of dying out in the battlefield and Skunk’s complaining to Hamiad that the drill sergeants were giving away his cherished cockpit bed, Johnny didn’t get a chance to talk to Sarah for another half hour.

Thank your mom for us, Hamiad was the first to say as they gathered up the towels and brushes to leave. It was because of Sarah’s mother that New Bagram received funding to train recruits like him into great soldiers. That’s where she was now. On a trip to speak with New Bagram’s financial backers.

Skunk nodded, tossing a damp towel into a yellow bucket.

You know I’ll be at the Feast tonight, Sarah said.

Yeah, but we’ll probably be so drunk, we’ll forget to say bye, Skunk said.

Johnny quietly stuffed all the stray towels into the yellow bucket from the sidelines. When the other three began walking away, he gave a long sigh and faced Sarah.

I know, but… He pulled a few shiny tin medals from his pocket. The Feast of Endeavors was so chaotic that many times people didn’t get a chance to say good-bye to everyone they wanted. He didn’t want to risk that. Once cadets shipped out, they almost never returned. Not because they died, necessarily, but because they could never find their way back. They weren’t meant to.

The whole idea of the Feast was to get graduating recruits super drunk. Then instructors would take them out of New Bagram through a secret passage, blindfolded and blacked out. They’d wake up in a city somewhere, ready to battle Anunnaki, no idea how to get back to New Bagram.

I figured I should give these to you now.

He deposited the four medals in her palm. One for each of his years as a recruit. Each denoted him as the overall best cadet that year.

Sarah rattled them in her hand. Medals, huh?

Due to public outcry in New Bagram, girls couldn’t enlist as Watcher recruits unless they filled out a petition with support from an enlisted recruit. Four years ago, Sarah had asked him, and initially he’d agreed to vouch for her. But when the time came, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Deep down, he couldn’t accept that she could so easily escape her stepdad and make her life perfect. Afterward, he tried to play it off as him not wanting her to endanger herself. But they both knew that was a lie.

Johnny realized she had no clue why he’d given these to her.

I’m sorry you didn’t get to be a Watcher, but I think you deserved these, he explained.

Sarah squinted at them with a lukewarm smile. Oh. Thanks.

What’s wrong?

Nothing. She shrugged. The back of her white shirt was stained brown from all the cleaning. She gestured to the medals. Thanks again for these. I’ll see you later.

Johnny swallowed, his throat suddenly raw. You’ll see me later? I might not even see you tonight.

He stared hard at her, willing her to turn around. After a few seconds, she did with an impatient sigh.

Yeah, I’ve got some chores.

The medals are already clean, Johnny said.

What?

If you were planning to clean them off, I already did it.

She didn’t want them, though, did she?

Her hand and the medals fell to her waist. Johnny, she groaned. What am I supposed to do with these?

Johnny spread his arms. Hang them up. Tell people I gave them to you.

She’d never gotten to enlist, but he figured these tokens were the next best thing.

Oh yeah, they’ll sit really nice next to my dad’s collection.

Johnny shut his eyes hard for a couple of seconds and opened them. This was spiraling out of control fast.

Sell them if you want, he said, keeping his voice as calm as possible. You know everybody here eats this junk up.

She narrowed her eyes skeptically. This isn’t another of your pranks, is it? she said dryly. He had, on occasion, given useless trinkets—bullet casings, grenade pins—to teachers and indulged in a laugh with his fellow recruits when they fawned over it.

The question caught him off guard. Whoa, you’ve got me all wrong. As soon as he said it, he realized how guilty he sounded.

She shook her head with disapproval. He started to talk, but Hamiad called out at the same time. Wrap it up over there.

His grin and loose tone didn’t help dispel the notion that Johnny’s apology attempt was only a prank.

Johnny extended his hand. I’m sorry, okay?

Sarah stared, her mouth clenched tightly. I’ll see you at the Feast.

His stomach knotted at that, but he knew not to press the issue any further. He’d give her some space and try to resolve things tonight.

Shoulders drooping, he gave a timid wave and walked away to join Hamiad, Skunk, and Krem.

But as he drew near, someone materialized at the edge of his vision. He glanced at a long-faced man with pepper-colored hair, dressed in a blue jacket, dull black pants, and boots. Johnny registered the gleaming starred badge that hung on his chest. Officer Harrison.

Good to see you, Aldrin, the police officer said, raising a hand cordially.

Instinctively, Johnny lifted his, and their hands met.

Something pinched his palm. He barely stopped himself from cursing.

Did you get my message last night? Officer Harrison said, cracking a wrinkled grin.

Chapter 7

Johnny yanked his hand away and noticed the tiny red mark in the center of his palm.

They always said I was prickly, the aging Officer Harrison said, dropping his hands to his side.

What do you want? Johnny barked, glancing to see that his friends had continued up the road.

Eh, you don’t need their help, Officer Harrison said.

Eyebrows knitting together, Johnny asked again, What do you want?

This guy had to be involved with the incidents of the last couple days, but how?

You don’t remember me?

Should I? Johnny felt like his feet were stuck in blocks of cement. He couldn’t leave despite the internal warning going off in his head.

The night your parents failed their mission, I was right there in the command room with you. But you were barely six, I guess you wouldn’t.

But you’re a police officer now?

Very perceptive. Yes, after your parents’ demise, I fell into a minor slump. I had worked out most of the logistics of their mission. And I thought I had done a good job.

The notion that this man could share the sadness he felt for his parents’ end left a bad taste in Johnny’s mouth.

But I could never figure out what went wrong. In any case, I knew then that I was done with operational support. So I transferred to security. As an officer, I paid many visits to your friend’s father, Tobias.

Johnny felt a pang of pity. He was referring to Sarah’s stepfather, who suffered from PTSD. He must’ve intervened to stop him from hurting Sarah or her mother.

I befriended Tobias, and, in time, he introduced me to his theories of how Mars’s appearance in our sky would lead to the end of the world. And you know what, they weren’t so crazy.

Officer Harrison pointed skyward. Johnny followed his finger, knowing instantly to look for the red planet. It was just large enough to notice.

So then why aren’t we all dead? Johnny asked defiantly.

In due time, Officer Harrison said. Until then, I have to raise my flags.

Johnny’s face crinkled in confusion. The man was making less and less sense. He seemed the right sort of crazy to be responsible for the bomb underneath the high school. Somehow, he must’ve forced Durmet into doing it for him. Which made Johnny wonder…

If you work at the police station, why did you break into the evidence room?

Officer Harrison grinned sinisterly. Oh, I didn’t. I only reported a break-in to distract everyone. Meanwhile, I inserted a micro-radio on your Conifer that broadcasts a signal to the Anunnaki. We used to have such great technology before they came.

Johnny gritted his teeth, pulled up his Conifer and examined it closely. The officer pointed. Sure enough, he noticed a small metal square latched on among the many tiny scaffolds jutting all across the gem, like the seeds of a pinecone. He scrapped if off with his finger, and crushed it. All the years of keeping New Bagram’s existence a secret. Of setting safeguard upon safeguard to avoid detection by the Anunnaki. And now a single deluded police officer had accomplished the unthinkable. Because if the Anunnaki knew the Conifer’s location, then New Bagram was doomed.

Johnny