Roc leads the imposter to the reserved area and motions for the guards to stand in a circle around me, blocking me from view of all the rubberneckers who are already standing up and trying to catch a glimpse of the President’s son. That makes me laugh.

It is time to go.

I leave the suite, taking a minute to scan the hallway for any guards who might’ve remained behind, or for any hotel staff who might become a witness to my escape.

The hall is empty.

I go the opposite way down the hall from where we entered, intent on using the private exit, specially designed so that celebrities can leave without being noticed. It will be guarded by one of my men, but that won’t be a problem. He will be looking for someone trying to get in, not for someone on their way out.

I tiptoe down the stairs, cognizant that any scuff of my feet or scrape of my toes might echo to the bottom, thus alerting the guard to my presence. I have to maintain the element of surprise if I want to avoid an ugly confrontation.

I reach the bottom without so much as a tap of my feet on the stone steps. The thick security door is bolted shut; I raise the lever gently, hoping it has been oiled recently. When it doesn’t creak, I breathe a sigh of relief. So far, so good.

I take a deep breath, trying to concentrate. To focus my mind. To prepare myself for swift and decisive violence. To incapacitate, not kill. I have no hatred for my guards, no desire to harm them. They aren’t smart enough to think for themselves. They just follow orders. Maybe that’s not a good excuse, but I let them have it.

Using my shoulder as a battering ram, I burst through the door, bobbing my head left and then right to locate the guard. He is surprised, but alert, already reaching for his sword. I have mine out and am ready for combat. Before he raises his arm in defense, the point of my sword is at his throat. I’m not sure if he recognizes me beneath my sunglasses, but in a few hours it won’t matter.

As soon as he drops his sword, I swing around behind him and clamp his chin between my forearm and bicep, slowly tightening the force on his neck. At first he fights it, but then his feet stop kicking, his arms stop waving, and he goes to sleep. I wait a few more seconds before releasing him, just in case he’s faking it, and then lay his unconscious body to the ground, kindly propping his head up on his hip bag. Before I leave I steal his sword, just in case.

I slip around the edge of the resort, but no one is nearby—everyone is drinking cocktails and splashing around in the pool, their consciences somehow remaining squeaky clean. If asked, they would probably all claim ignorance as to the living conditions of the moon and star dwellers. But they know, even if they aren’t willing to admit it to themselves.

I make my way back to the arriving and departing visitors’ entrance, and stride confidently past the greeters. They are too busy welcoming some big shot sun dweller and don’t even seem to notice me pass by. The dark clothing probably helps in that regard, too.

I wait for Roc at the mandated location, near the south end of the soon to be arriving transporter. I hope we’ve timed it right, that Roc will have enough time to meet me. If I have to I will leave without him, but I really don’t want to. I tap my toe on the stone platform nervously.

I hear the rumble of the approaching transporter. Still no Roc.

The transporter bursts through the end of the tunnel. Still no Roc.

A whoosh of air hits me as the transporter rolls to a stop. No Roc…and then—

Roc appears at the other end of the platform, running hard toward me, fear in the whites of his eyes.

He crosses half the platform and I am still wondering why he looks so scared. Yeah, the train will be leaving soon, but he’s made it with plenty of time to board with me. The platform is empty; no one else in their right mind would be traveling from the hottest resort in the Sun Realm to the Moon Realm.

He is almost to me when his pursuers arrive, charging through the resort entrance and gunning straight for us. Evidently I’ve underestimated my guards, or Roc has done something stupid, or maybe both, but whatever the case, they know they have to stop him. It is likely they haven’t worked out exactly what is happening, just that something is going down that isn’t supposed to.

When Roc reaches me I grab his arm and run with him onto the transporter. To his credit, Roc smartly thinks to hit the door close button repeatedly.

“Doors closing,” the speaker says. “Nonstop to subchapter six of the Moon Realm.”

The doors begin closing and we peer through the tinted windows to catch a glimpse of our pursuers. When the doors are halfway closed I think we will make it. The guards realize they are too late and intelligently veer off toward one of the front sections of the transporter, but they are still at least five long strides away.

These guys are not to be denied.

One of them dives headfirst at the rapidly closing door, thrusting his arms in the tiny crack and using his elbows like a wedge to pry it open.

“Damn,” I mutter, as they board the train. “What happened?”

Roc’s eyes are wild, flitting from side to side, unable to focus on mine. “I don’t know—I just freaked. I tried to sneak away, made some excuse about needing to go to the bathroom. One of your guards said he’d escort me, that he was bored anyway. When I said I’d be fine on my own, he started asking me questions and I got flustered and just started running. That’s when they came after me.”

“Damn,” I say again. I should’ve known Roc wasn’t cut out for this type of work.

“What are we gonna do?” Roc says. His face is as white as a ghost’s. He has probably been under more stress in the last five minutes than in the last five years combined.

I glance through the small window in the door at the end of our car. Two cars ahead I can see the guards making their way toward us, transferring cars swiftly, methodically.

The doors close and the transporter silently leaves the station.

We’re going to find the girl. I hope she is alive.

“Remember all that training we’ve been doing?” Roc’s eyes don’t light up the way they usually do when I mention training. Not this time. He isn’t ready for this. But he will have to be anyway.

I put both my hands on his shoulders, look him in the eyes. “This is gonna be okay, man, I promise. We’ll do this together.”

I hand him the stolen sword and raise my own.

The guards enter our car.

I’m not sure whether they know who I am yet, so I can’t depend on my true identity to protect me from the sharp swords they are brandishing. After all, they’ve just left the pool, where they think I’m wasting away the afternoon, getting drunk and looking to score with one of my desperate admirers. Not that I ever do that. But they might think there is a first time for everything. They probably think Roc has stolen something and I am his accomplice.

Anyway, they come at us with blood in their eyes, swinging to kill, or at least maim. I know these guys are out of Roc’s league, accomplished fighters, but I also know I will need his help if we are going to survive the next five minutes—or even the next five seconds.

I block both their swords with my own, feeling their collective strength as I am thrown back against Roc. Pushing Roc hard against the side of the car, which is moving faster and faster, already nearing its top speed of two hundred miles an hour, I spin hard to the left, ducking under another sword that is intended to lop my head from my shoulders.

Roc cries out as he slams into the wall, which draws the attention of one of the guards. The distraction momentarily gives me a reprieve, as now I am only facing one guard. I deftly slip under his attempt to gut me like a fish, simultaneously launching my own attack, slashing him hard across both legs. I avoid his chest and head—I still don’t want to kill anyone.