I take a closer look at the cell phone. “Why’d you pick such a shitty phone?”

“The older stuff is easier for me to work with because it’s less complex,” he says with a shrug. “They’re better listeners.”

“And you think it worked? That it listened to you?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says. “I can tell that it’s emitting the frequency, but I can’t tell if it copied the data packet, too. Not unless . . .”

“Unless you use it to pass through a force field.”

“Bingo,” Sam says, and tosses me the phone.

I catch it and turn it over in my hands. The plastic is hot to the touch, and it’s only got about 83 percent battery life.

“The battery drains fast when it’s emitting the frequency, and it’s doing that constantly once I give it the command,” Sam says. “And when it shuts down, the phone forgets what I told it. Even with those limitations, I think it could make a difference.”

I nod my head, remembering how Lawson plans to coordinate a worldwide assault on the warships. Assuming all goes smoothly this morning and we manage to steal the cloaking devices from aboard the Niagara Falls warship, that’s what? A few hundred cloaking devices? That means a few hundred missiles for the world’s armies to bombard those huge warships with. How many hits would it take to bring down one of those colossal ships? Seems to me like they’d want as many shots as possible and then some.

I look behind Sam. He’s got all his devices plugged into a few overloaded power strips. He’s also got a fire extinguisher parked nearby, just in case.

Seeing where I’m looking, he says, “If it’s working, I’ve already taught those dozen things to speak cloaking device. I’m getting pretty good at it—I think. It feels like it’s getting easier anyway. Although, I could be doing nothing and having, like, a Legacy placebo effect.” Sam sighs tiredly and waves this thought away. “I’m going to use my Legacy on every mobile thing I can get my hands on until it’s verified one way or the other.” He sighs. “Or maybe I just wasted one of the last days of my life talking to a bunch of cell phones like a crazy person. No big deal.”

I leap off the bed and kiss Sam. “No way. This is going to work.”

Sam returns my smile, holding my hand. “Just be careful today, all right?”

“When am I not careful?”

Down in the hangar, a large space has been cleared, the military Humvees parallel parked impossibly close to the walls. They’re arranged neatly, one right next to the other, so they can speed on out at a moment’s notice, convoy-style. I can tell by the precision of the parking arrangement that it was either done by some really anal-retentive drivers or with telekinesis.

The new Garde—Nigel, Fleur, Bertrand, Ran, and Daniela—are all lined up in this open space. They look sleepy, nervous, excited. Daniela gives me a little wave when she sees me watching. I smile at her.

Caleb and Christian stand apart from the others, closer to the handful of marines spectating than to their fellow Garde. As usual, Christian looks completely stone-faced. Caleb, on the other hand, appears more attentive than his brother.

“So, first lesson. You’ve all got telekinesis, right?”

Nine strolls across the line of new recruits, awaiting their answers. I cringe when I see what he’s got in his hand. A semiautomatic pistol, likely borrowed, or maybe stolen, from one of the soldiers on the sideline. Nine twirls it around his index finger like he’s a cowboy in an old Western movie.

The new recruits all nod in response. Except for Daniela, they look universally intimidated by Nine in drill sergeant mode. They’ve got reason to be since, as soon as they answer, Nine points his gun at them.

“Cool. So who wants to try stopping a bullet?”

“Psh, I will turn your ass to stone, you point that thing at me again,” Daniela says.

Nine smirks and makes sure to aim away from Daniela. If I really thought he was going to shoot at one of the new kids, I’d step in. He’s not that stupid, though. I don’t think.

Nigel glances down the line of his fellow Garde. When it’s clear no one else is going to volunteer, Nigel steels himself and steps forward.

“All right, mate,” he says, tentatively holding out a hand in a “stop” motion as Nine points the gun at him. “I’ll give it a whirl.”

Nine grins. “That’s brave of you, John Lennon—”

“John Lennon was a wanker.”

“Whatever that is,” Nine continues. “I bet he had more common sense than your scrawny ass. Stopping bullets is some advanced-class shit that you’re definitely not up for yet. And anyway, if you’re fighting Mogadorians, which you can expect to be, those bastards use energy weapons. Can’t turn energy away with telekinesis. So what’s the smarter, safer, easier thing to do?”