There had always been a debate as to whether psychic ability was real or not. There were psychics who sold their wares on television. There were mediums in places like New Orleans and Vegas. I had always dismissed these things as coincidence because science was my mistress.

On Thursday, the argument was settled once and for all. Frauds were revealed and real psychics were discovered. It started as a dull ache near my temples that slipped down the back of my skull. It felt like a pent-up pressure like when you have blocked sinuses only worse, and it kept getting even worse. By the end of the first day, we were screaming the world over. Every psychic on the planet was being contacted by them. It had to be them. It was like someone was pressing a dull rounded rod into my skull right between my eyes and with it came an image. It was a strange collection of glyphs arranged in row.

They were just shapes, but the pain was real. I screamed like I had never screamed before. It hurt horribly, but those shapes would not go away. They would not stop. Through the pain I managed to wonder why they were doing this. Why were they attacking me? What did the word mean? That was when the pain ended for me. I was into my third day of the psychic attack when it occurred to me. It was not just a string of shapes. It was a word. The pain was less severe now and knowing that it was a word got me to thinking about what that word was. What was the word they wanted us to know? And like that, the shapes changed and became letters. I knew the word. I knew it and understood it. I had even seen it before. They taught that word in school. It was a word American's feared, because it was the only word left behind when the colonists in Roanoke, Virginia disappeared in 1595.

As it turned out, I was not the only one who had been given the word. It was given to all the psychics. Some suffered only a short time, merely hours. Others suffered longer, days like I had. When the pain was linked to the understanding of the word, the call went out, and the word was whispered to the rest of those like me. In the news reports, the psychics all stopped screaming when they heard the word whispered into their ears. Nobody knew why they wanted us to know this word. What did it mean? What was “croatoan”? I did not know. Understanding of the meaning was not required, only that we know the word.

The EMP blast came the moment the last psychic uttered the word. People with pacemakers dropped dead. People on life support died. There were traffic accidents, and a few key industrial facilities suffered explosions and accidents as equipment went offline in a cataclysmic chain of events. Six planes who'd ignored the flying ban—two of them smugglers—crashed as a result of power loss. The power worldwide was off. The planet was dark for the first time in my life. I saw more stars that night than ever before, but that was not a lot. The saucers blocked our view of the universe, but what I saw was beautiful.

When the power returned, so did the televisions. With it came the news of all the deaths. Tens of thousands died. A call to attack the saucers went up. It seemed this was the first volley fired, but then another newscast aired. In the darkness of the power outage, a solitary saucer had descended and come to land. It was not one of the Iowa-sized saucers. This seemed more a shuttle or a skiff. It was a little over two football fields in diameter, and it was sitting in a field outside a small town in southern Kansas. Aliens had landed in Cherryville. The moment they said the little town's name, I rushed outside to see; I lived in Cherryville. I could not see the ship from where I lived, but I knew the field from the newscast. I knew where it was and so did the military. Their trucks started arriving in town about the same time I decided to go see the saucer firsthand.

The military was quickly establishing a perimeter around the craft. Several helicopters could be heard in the distance, coming to survey the situation. The field that the saucer had descended upon was large. Just last year there had been a local fair in this field very field, and I distinctly remembered a Ferris wheel in the exact spot that the saucer now occupied. I am sure I was not the only observer to note that coincidence.

It was not what I expected. The ship was metal like our own. There were dents in the hull and scorch marks on the side but no door that I could see. Though, I did not walk all the way around it to verify the fact. I kind of felt like I was looking at the Millennium Falcon. I expected Han Solo to pop out with Chewy in tow, but no dice. The ship just sat there silent with birds perched on top and cattle grazing beneath it. This was not the ET event I imagined it to be. CDC trucks arrived an hour after the landing. The entire population of the town was gathered off to the side to watch. Homeland Security and the FBI showed up. Politicians arrived by the end of the day. A consortium of scientists came and conferred with the alphabet groups. The worst of all who came were the theists.

The church goers and dooms day cults converged on Cherryville, filling the streets and preaching their contradictory messages. Their followers came with them. For three days, the ship sat there doing nothing. Vendors of various goods descended on the field. Hot dogs, burgers, funnel cakes, beer, and cheesy alien souvenirs were sold by the thousands. Small tents popped up only to be replaced by bigger tents mere hours later.

People picnicked on the grass like it was a Saturday in the park. Half of those in attendance were tense and scared. They alternated between anxiously staring at the saucer and whispering to one another in hushed tones as if the saucer may hear them. The other half were thrilled and exhilarated. I was neither. I was in pain. I was having another psychic episode. Luckily, I realized that the symbols I saw in my head were words and avoided the worst of the pain. The word was a simple one this time: “Meet.” No other word accompanied it, but there was a compulsion to act. I resisted this and instead bought a funnel cake from a vendor.

A murmur went up from the crowd as I spooned blueberry sauce onto my cake. I could not see what was happening, and I climbed up on a truck’s bumper to see. The truck’s driver glared at me for a moment, but his eyes were drawn to the same place mine were: the saucer. A group of five men and two women were striding out into the field between the perimeter of armed soldiers and the ship. The ambassadors of humanity had been selected.

There was no huge ramp that descended or door of white light that opened from the saucer. There was a small port on the bottom of the ship, a long ladder, and a middle-aged white man in peculiar dress. The man climbed down. He caught a brown case that was dropped to him from someone unseen within. The murmuring in the crowd grew louder as people laid eyes on the first alien they had ever seen.

I bought another funnel cake.

I watched the man from the ship take a moment to compose himself before beginning his march to those who awaited him. A gasp of disbelief went up when the pilot suddenly stopped and raised a foot. He had discovered a Kansas landmine. He studied the bottom of his boot for a moment then spent the next few moments trying to wipe the cow poop off on the grass. When he was satisfied that his boot was clean enough, he covered the last little bit to the seven ambassadors of man. He set his brown case down on the ground and pulled from it a tray. He spent a few moments unfolding legs so that a small table stood before them. Then, from the bag, he pulled what looked like an iPad. It was a small handheld tablet which he set before the group. I could see him touching it then looking expectantly at the seven. I felt a pain in my head again. The word “meet” came to me once more followed by that compulsion to walk.

I tried strawberry sauce on my funnel cake this time. It was delicious.

As I continued watching the events unfold, it became clear that whatever the pilot was trying to convey to the seven was not coming across. My head suddenly hurt. A new word formed: “Wait.” I found another truck parked nearby and climbed up to sit on the edge of the bed so I could see and still eat. I did not realize anything was up until I noticed that the people around me were backing away quickly. I looked around for the cause and saw the seven ambassadors walking across the field toward the funnel cake vendor. The pilot of the ship walked beside them. I did not want to be here directly in their path. I tried to find a place to set my cake so I could hop down, but the truck bed had rails and there just was not a good place to set it. I decided to jump for it and slowly slid off. My rotund belly bouncing as I landed. With my hands full of cake, I did not have one to spare to catch myself as I tumbled forward to the ground. My funnel cake flipped off my plate, strawberry sauce and all, and landed on the pilot's boots. A groan went up from the ambassadors. The pilot looked at the mess on his shoes then at me and pointed his finger in my face.

"Him? You want him?" a tall blonde in the middle asked, studying me in disbelief.

"What?" I asked, struggling to rise. One of the male ambassadors, a neatly coiffed man with a red tie offered me a hand. My head suddenly hurt.

Croatoan. The pilot looked at me with raised brows and jerked his head toward the seven.

"What's he want with you?" another ambassador asked. This man had gold rimmed glasses and a cheap dress shirt from Target.

"He . . ." I looked at the faces of the seven, suddenly feeling very exposed. "He says ‘Croatoan.’"

"What's that mean?" the blonde asked, as if I would know. The pilot answered for him. He stepped forward and extended his hand. In my head the word formed again.

"Croatoan," I said, as the blonde nervously took the alien's hand. They shook. The pilot moved to the man in the red tie. The word was there again. "Croatoan." The word appeared every time he extended his hand to shake, and I realized what he was saying. "It means hello."

"He said ‘hello?’" Gold-rims asked.

"I think he's been saying it all along. I think that's what ‘Croatoan’ means. It's them saying hello." I glanced over at the pilot as another word formed. "He says ‘yes.’"

The ambassadors were suddenly very excited. They could finally express themselves. They could get the answers they craved.

"Ask him why he's here," the blonde instructed. I shrugged and turned to the man.

"Why are you here?" I asked out loud, repeating the question. He smirked at the absurdity.

"I could have done that," the blonde declared angrily.

"Then you do it," I said, turning to walk away. "He understands you just fine, but I don't think you have the ability to understand him."

"Why not?" Gold-rims asked.

"They're psychic," I said. That should have been obvious, and I was beginning to question the wisdom of whoever put these people in charge of representing Earth.

Funny, the pilot observed.

"I know," I told the visitor. "That's what this world is like sometimes. People talking above others or talking below them. No one ever talks to them."

Good? It was a question from the pilot.

"Sometimes. No. I don't know these people personally. They're big wigs," he frowned. "Er . . . they are important," I said, sweeping away the euphemism.

Ah, he responded inside my mind, understanding.

"So, why are you here?" I asked again.

Time for the Harvest, he seemed very none threatening, but I took a step away anyway.

"Hey, Gomer," the blonde snapped, "we're the ambassadors. Not you. Just ask the questions and translate."

"Screw you Cactus Kathy," I snapped back. "I don't work for you. I don't know you. This don't concern me."

"Today, it does," the man in the red tie declared, motioning to a couple of soldiers. I turned to walk away, and they stepped before me with rifles in their hands. They did not point them, but I got the message.

"Fuck you," I said, pointing to the first soldier. "Fuck you," I said to the next. "Fuck you and you and you," I told the others, pointing to each in turn. "Fuck all of you. This don't concern me," I declared. I was too pissed to check my privilege. One of the silent four ambassadors, suddenly stepped forward. It was the second woman in the entourage. She wore red-rimmed glasses, and a dress that came just below her knees.

"Hi. I'm Mercy Mangrove. I'm with the State Department. I'm speaking for the president here." She gestured to red tie. "This is Aaron McDonald with Homeland. The man in the gold-rimmed glasses is Peter Sang." I could not help smirking at this. "He's our everything dealing with space attaché. Your adversary there," Mercy told me, gesturing to the blonde, "is Tessa Barnes—NSA. The other three men back there are Richard Weaver, Michael Sommers, and Eric Whitehall. They're FBI, CIA, and my UN counterpart respectfully. We don't really need you to serve as translator. We could find another. There were thousands of psychics contacted, but we're here now. We could obviously make you, but we'd rather you just . . . cooperate. This is a little too important for petty squabbles. Don't you think? We don't want any misunderstandings between us and them." She paused and stuck out her hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Albus," I lied. "Albus Dumbledore."

"Well, Albus. Would you help us?" I looked at the seven ambassadors and wondered how they missed a reference like that.

"We need to know why they came," Mercy said. "Could you ask them that?"

"I did already," I grumbled, glancing toward the smirking pilot.

"Has it responded?" the blonde prodded.

"Yes. He has. He said it's time for the Harvest." There was a low moan of fear from the civilians close enough to hear. The pilot looked around, even as the seven ambassadors conferred together. It only took a look from each to the others to relay their thoughts. It was not telepathy. It was a military intuition. I was beginning to fear they had a contingency in place if this all went sideways. I decided to cooperate. I was hoping I was wrong, but I was doubtful. Scared men do stupid things and there was not one ambassador among them with an unclenched sphincter.

"They came here to harvest us?" Aaron from Homeland Security asked in disbelief. I swallowed hard.

"I suppose." I replied. Aaron adjusted his red tie. He studied the pilot more closely, trying to determine the creature's strength and weakness. I did not wait for the question to come. I knew what they wanted to know, because I did too. "What do you mean by Harvest?" I asked of the pilot. He motioned us back toward the little table and the tablet they had left behind.

Explain, the pilot smiled disarmingly. I shrugged.

"He says he'll explain if we follow." It was getting easier to covert the words into English. The pain was lessening each time a new word came. I was realizing that with the word came a sense of connotation with it. Another word formed and I was confused by it. It was their symbols that changed to the letter A. No connotation. Then it happened again with for different shapes and the letter that formed was E. I began to suspect what this was. I relaxed and let the shapes come to my mind. It hurt but only at first. Pretty soon, all the vowels and shapes represented in the alien alphabet streamed into my head like cable television. There was a pause followed by a stream of common things like combs and coffee cups and apples and so on. With each picture came a set of symbols. I was getting a crash course in the alien language.

"Are you okay?" Mercy asked.

"What?" The stream in my head was distracting.

"You look like you're in pain," she said, falling in beside me.

"Yeah. He's . . . teaching me his language, I think." The pilot glanced back and nodded once. Mercy caught this and smiled back politely.

"What do you think he means by Harvest?" she asked.

"Not sure," I grunted. "There's a connotation that accompanies the words he gives me. I-I don't think it’s bad."

"He doesn't think it’s bad or you don't think it’s bad?" she asked, and I realized there was a difference. If the pilot had come to Earth to harvest humanity for food or slavery, then of course, he would not think it bad whereas mankind would. There was much to consider in this. Not everything may be as it seems.

"Good question," I applauded. "Guess we'll find out."

The moment I saw the pad on the little table he had set up, I recognized what was written on the front. It was a formula. The pilot touched the screen. A border of symbols appeared around the edges. He seemed to touch these at random. It took me a moment longer to recognize these. They were numbers. Suddenly, a new screen appeared. In the center of the screen was a rust-colored planet. A moon circled it. In the distance was a sun. The pain in my head flared as the stream of images and symbols sped up. I could feel my heart beating with my eyes. The steady thrum of my heartbeat blurred my vision momentarily, and I staggered. I probably would have fallen if not for Red Tie. Aaron caught me by the elbow and helped prop me up.

"He's still fiddling with your head?" Aaron asked, shooting a glance toward Gold-rims. Peter was studying me, and I could see the wheels turning in his mind. It was like I could see the itch in his brain. That man wanted to dissect me.

"Come on, Albus. Don't give up now. We still need you," Aaron declared playfully. "What is he showing us?"

"Ask him," I gasped. "You ask, I'll translate his answer," I said. I was really regretting dropping that funnel cake. It might be my last.

"What is—" Aaron began, but Mercy put a hand on his arm to quiet him.

"Before we begin, may we know with whom we speak?" The ambassadors had already introduced themselves when first they met, but due to their inability to understand their visitor, they never received a name in reply or a station. They did not know if it was a janitor to whom they spoke or an emperor.

The alien stepped back from the table and smiled, eyes twinkling with mirth and pleasure.

Of course, he thought.

"Of course," I relayed. An image leapt into my mind. It was a strand of DNA. Several of the spots on the strand stood out brightly. I looked at him and accidentally sent my thought back.

That's your name? I asked telepathically.

That is who I am, he replied conversationally.

Do you have a name? Do you have a symbol identifier that translates to our language? He seemed confused then shrugged. It was a very human reaction.

"Well," Mercy asked.

"His name doesn't translate. It's a strand of DNA. Give me a moment," I pleaded, then went back into the alien's mind.

May we give you a name? It is our custom. He smiled plaintively and shrugged again, gesturing for me to proceed. I thought of a name, smirked, and threw it into his brain. He considered it and shrugged again but followed it with a quick nod.

"His name is Luke," I announced.

"That's a very terrestrial name," Tessa observed disapprovingly.

"Yeah. He allowed me to pick a name for him. They don't name like we do," I explained peevishly. I did not like the NSA chick. She was rude and aggressive.

"Does he have a rank or station or are you going to pick one of those for him too?" Tessa fired back. I did not comment. A look from Mercy gave me pause. It was a warning to stay on point.

Do you have a position or rank among your people? I inquired to Luke’s mind. Luke seemed insulted and irritated by this question. I tried to put his mind at rest. It is a peculiarity of custom. They need to know in order to understand what level of respect to afford you. Leaders of the people receive more respect than tradesmen. I sent an image of a chess board into his mind and quickly identified the pieces and their importance overall. He sent back the image of a bishop. I relayed this to them.

Mercy stepped forward then and bowed respectfully. "On behalf of the United States of America and its territories, I welcome Luke to Earth." It was a formal greeting and Luke bowed in return, taking his cue from Mercy.

This is tedious, I whispered into his brain. I saw the corner of his mouth twitch with mirth.

Indeed, he replied. It's like this every time we stop. Go. Stop. Bow. Kowtow. Dance. Eat. Hug. It's the job though. What about you? What's your story? he asked, bowing to each of the ambassadors in turn.

Just a guy. I eat. I sleep. I hunt and fish and drink too much. I sent images of me working at a quarry and driving a front-end loader into his mind. He shook his head sadly as if he was sorry for my plight.

Sorry, he responded. A connotation of great empathy accompanied it.

What are you sorry for? I enjoy my life. No word came back in reply, but a sudden sense of relief flooded my mind. It came from him.

We didn't mean for this. We didn't mean to take this long. The Harvest is harder on the colonists if the population grows too big. We like to come when the colony is smaller and collect you. We were delayed.

"What is this?" Aaron asked unaware of the conversation between me and the alien. He crowded the table so he could see the tablet.

Here, Luke replied, before we arrived. A feeling of countless centuries sifting by flooded my mind, shrinking it.

"It's Earth before they made things grow on it," I explained in awe.

"You mean before they terraformed it?" Gold-rims inquired. Peter adjusted his glasses and shouldered one of the silent ambassadors out of his way. "Are you saying they created Earth?"

Yes. We terraformed it. We populated it. We are you, Luke revealed silently. I felt weak. This was heavy reality. I did not relay what was said immediately. I was too dazed and needed time to process it.

"Albus," Peter called irritably. "Is—"

"Yea-Yes," I blurted. "It's all them. They terra-whatevered the planet. They made everything grow. They populated it. They put it all here. They put us here. He says we're them. Earth was one of their colonies."

"This is astounding," Mercy murmured in disbelief. "How do we know he's telling the tru—"

"How do we know he isn't lying?" Tessa demanded, giving the alien a scathing look. There was sudden wrenching in my mind, like I was being pushed aside.

"You don't," I fired back hotly, "and what does it matter? There's more of us than you. Do you think we care if you don't trust us? You don't get to feel safe. Not now. As far as you're concerned, we're a deity with a fist full of lighting posed and ready to jam it up your ass anytime we feel like it." The pressure eased and I found myself suddenly sliding back into the driver's seat. I looked at Luke for an explanation, and he simply shrugged in apology.

Meet my sister. Another image of DNA popped into my head. I knew it was different than Luke's, but I could not tell how I knew it. Luke turned back to the ship. Oh, sorry in advance.

"Explain yourself, Gomer," Tessa barked, storming over to stand before me. "I can snap my fingers and have your ass on a C130 to black site in Mogadishu getting fuc—"

"Shut up," I snapped at her. "It wasn't me. Evidently, they can use me as a megaphone when it suits them." I followed Luke's gaze—we all did—back to the ladder beneath the ship. "It was her."

All eyes turned to the ship just in time to watch a lithe figure drop the thirty-five feet from the ship to the ground. She did not touch the ladder on the way down but managed to land softly as a cat upon the grass. That was fifty feet away, and I heard no sound as she landed. She was different than her brother. She sported a long ponytail that flowed through loops fastened to her top. The loops followed her spine down the center of her back. She was not dressed like her brother with his bizarre jacket and tunic. She wore a weird form of armor made of small polished grey plates and small twinkling links. She wore some form of holstered weapon on her right hip, and a sheathed blade on her back with a stubby three-inch hilt. I didn't need to ask for her rank among the alien horde, but Luke supplied an image any way of a knight. He planted the chess piece in my head.

This was a warrior. I had seen lots of soldiers growing up. Looking around the perimeter of the clearing, it was easy to see that she belonged among them. I was in love with her and terrified of her at the same time.

All around the perimeter, the sound of soldiers clicking their rifle safeties could be heard. If Luke's sister heard it, she did not show it. She never spared a look for the men in green. Her focus was Tessa. If the sound of her breath catching in her throat was any indication, Tessa realized this.

"Meet Leia everyone," I announced flippantly, using humor to manage my fear, "Luke's sister." It was a reference they all got. Seven sour-faced government officials fixed me with a look of undiluted animosity. They did not find it as funny as I did.

Leia was not her brother. She was no diplomat. She was oil thrown on a spark. She would either cause things to flare or snuff them out. I could see that Tessa was intimidated, but the soft mechanical whine of an Abram's tank turret swiveling in the background bolstered her diminished courage. An Abrams backing you will do that.

I would like to think that as a people, we were above this. Sure, we had a history of conquering less advanced peoples, but this was different. We were on the losing end this time. There were one hundred six Iowa-sized flying saucers flitting around in space like an iron knuckled juggernaut posed to attack. It was my deepest desire that this would temper diplomatic relations. It was not a matter of whose junk was the biggest. We were standing under an alien armada the likes of which no Earthling could conceive. They had clearly won the contest. I just hopped Tessa was not going to be a sore loser about it.

Enough, Luke patiently declared, drawing a malice-filled look from his sister. We're diplomats, sister mine. Act like it.

Diplomats? she sneered. We're here to do our jobs. This isn't a negotiation. We've been here for 371 rotations. We have waited seventy-one rotations longer than that the council demands of us. We need to harvest and move on. You know what's coming. We wait, and they'll catch up and this colony is lost. We'll all be lost. We've lost too many already.

Leia stopped berating her brother and fixed Tessa with a look of challenge. She hinders the process. His sister's hand slid up to the sword on her back, the hilt suddenly elongated in anticipation of being drawn. Luke's calmness broke as he saw the first couple inches of bared steel slip from her scabbard.

Enough! Luke bellowed. It wasn't like the back-and-forth Luke and I had been enjoying. His command was like a fist. His sister was blasted backwards and sprawled on her back.

"Enough!" I roared in concert with him. I was dizzy from my sudden ejection from the driver seat. Everyone was looking at me. I must have been a sight. My eyes were wild with fear. I had not merely been pushed to the side. I had been hurled like a stone into the furthest corners of my mind. I had just shouted down some alien Amazon. Well, I did, but I did not. I looked to Luke, my hands quivering in fear.

I'm sorry, he said simply.

"What's going on?" someone asked. I was not sure who had asked so I ignored them.

Who did that? I asked, feeling naked. I felt like some serial killer had skinned me and walked around in my flesh.

I did, Luke answered. I don't like dominating colonists, but you were too close. If I hadn't taken over, I would have broken you. I looked to Leia, still dazed by what had happened.

I don't wear a weapon because I don't need one, he explained. Again, I'm sorry. Give me a moment to tend to this, and then I will return to talk. Please extend my apologies to the rest. This will only take a moment. He turned to his sister and marched over to tend her.

“A challenge, brother?” she gasped, struggling to rise.

You know better than to— There was suddenly a curtain of white noise blocking out the conversation. Truth be told, it was a relief. I did not want to be privy to an alien sibling rivalry.

"Albus," Tessa barked. "What's going on? Answer me or—"

"Or nothing," I snapped back. "Stop threatening me. You're always threatening me and bullying me. Stop it. I'm here because I'm the only person you have handy who can converse with them. Show me some respect." I rubbed my temples. The white noise was straining on my senses. I would have a migraine later. Tessa was indignant, but a restraining hand from Mercy was a . . . well, it was a mercy. "They're arguing," I explained. "Leia is angry at you. She says you are a hindrance. They don't have time for negotiations. It's a harvest and they should get on with it so they can leave. I think they're being pursued, and they're wanting to finish business and be gone so as not to draw attention to us. They're trying to protect us from someone or something. It's been following them. They were only supposed to give us three hundred rotations—I'm guessing that's a day—to do this meet and greet. They're seventy-one days behind schedule."

"What just happened to her?" Aaron asked, gesturing to Leia.

"Never mind that. What's the Harvest?" Mercy pressed. I shrugged. I honestly did not know.

"I don't know. Luke claims they were delayed and that they should have been here years ago. They say the Harvest is supposed to happen when the colony is smaller because harvesting large colonies terrifies the colonists. We're the colonists. I can see where he's coming from because I'm about to drop a deuce in my pants right about now."

What's a deuce? Luke asked. I sent him a mental image and his eyebrow shot up in surprise.

You asked, I told him dryly, what about your Leia?

Leia? he laughed. He evidently got the reference. Funny. He stepped aside and made room for his sister at the table. She's been managed. Leia gave him a bitingly bitter look but kept silent. Let them ask their questions. She's impulsive, but my sister isn't wrong. We haven't' much time.

What follows you? I asked, deeply interested in the answer. I felt a finger of dread trace my spine and dread had cold fingers.

Luke shrugged and shook his head. There was an apology there, as if he feared to say too much. What follows is what follows us all. His answer was cryptic and unhelpful to say the least. I waited but he would say no more on it. My eyes strayed to the sky and to the pale grey disk beyond the blue. I was afraid. What hovered above was more power than man had ever dreamed of, and with a stray thought, these beings could obliterate us and destroy us all, yet they were running. I couldn't help but wonder what terrible terror was out there that could so completely humble this armada. Then it occurred to me. We have always had our gods, but even our gods had their devils. The free world had the Nazis. The Olympians had the Titans. I looked to Luke. He had whatever followed him. I guess making enemies was a hereditary trait.