In this conclusion to The Star Shards Chronicles, powerful and terrifying invaders have arrived from a parallel dimension, and only the Star Shards can prevent the destruction of the human race. Six children were conceived at the exact moment that the star Mentaras-H went supernova, and the explosion transformed their souls into living star fragments. Now the Star Shards face the ultimate battle—and the true purpose of their gifts be revealed, for it is no accident they have these powers. Once despised for their “deformities,” the Star Shards are now worshiped and feared as gods. Their power is unlimited, as is the temptation to abuse it. But a new and terrifying force has torn a wound in the universe, infecting it like a deadly, intelligent virus. Only one power exists that could conceivably prevent the extermination of the human race: the Star Shards. But only if they can put aside their titanic egos and join forces one final time. Acclaimed author Neal Shusterman’s “talent for depicting superhuman characters with human strengths and weaknesses lends depth and immediacy to a tale of cosmic proportions” ( School Library Journal ) in this stunning conclusion to a visionary trilogy. Originally published by Tor Fantasy in 2002. Neal Shusterman is the New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty award-winning books for children, teens, and adults, including the Unwind dystology, the Skinjacker trilogy, Downsiders , and Challenger Deep , which won the National Book Award. Scythe , the first book in his series Arc of a Scythe is a Michael L. Printz Honor Book. He also writes screenplays for motion pictures and television shows. Neal is the father of four, all of whom are talented writers and artists themselves. Visit Neal at StoryMan.com and Facebook.com/NealShusterman. Shattered Sky 1. TESSIC THE NUCLEAR REACTOR NEVER WENT ONLINE. The entire plant was beset by such incredible bad luck and untimely mishaps, it precipitated a storm of rolling heads from Michigan Power and Light, leaving a trail of blood all the way up to the Nuclear Regulatory Commission. Inferior bolts from questionable vendors, leaks in the coolant system, pipes that seemed to do nothing but terminate in solid concrete. No one with an ounce of sense was bringing uranium within a mile of the place. For years, the stillborn power plant stood dormant and cold in the rural community of Hesperia. Then, one day, the plant came to life. The towers remained silent, but a flurry of clandestine activity gave that silence added sonority. Locals knew no power was being generated at the plant. The swarms of guards, and dark sedans that flowed in and out of the electrified gates, coupled with dismissive denial from all official sources, made the truth very clear; the Hesperia plant was now some sort of top-secret facility retrofitted by the government for a greater but undisclosed purpose. Bobby’s Eat-N-Greet Diner, which stood at the crossroads a half mile from the plant’s outer gate, was the closest civilian establishment, and was where residents gathered over coffee to trade and distort unsubstantiated rumors. Though not a local, Elon Tessic was becoming something of a regular at the Eat-N-Greet, having popped in once a month since that spring. It was always his first stop whenever he visited the plant. He could have arrived at the plant directly by helicopter, but Tessic much preferred the feel of the road and had instructed that his Jaguar be waiting for him at the airport. Eccentric? Maybe. Besides, it afforded him the opportunity for unauthorized side trips. On an overcast afternoon in late September, Tessic breezed into the diner, setting off the jingle-bells above the door, alerting the owner that he had a customer. The owner, an elderly man named Bobby, was leaning over, wiping down the counter with a damp rag. When he saw Tessic, he straightened and smiled. “I’ll be damned! Good to see you, Mr. Tessic.” Tessic opened his overcoat, revealing a white suit hopelessly out of season for fall. But then, when you were Elon Tessic, you could wear anything you pleased. “Hello, Bobby. My travels bring me your way again.” Tessic looked around. It was three in the afternoon—an off hour. Only a couple of truckers sat in a corner, talking about wives and misery. Either they didn’t know who he was, or they didn’t care. Just as well. In these out-of-the-way places, Tessic often found himself the center of suspicious attention. It wasn’t only his clothes, but the prominent way he held himself, and his Israeli accent, so rich and exotic to the ears of the American heartland. As he had no talent for being inconspicuous, he rarely tried. Still it was nice to go unnoticed from time to time. Bobby, however, gave Tessic his full attention, fumbling with spotted hands to get together a place setting. “My waitress took sick this morning, so it’s just me and the cook today. I’ll have a booth ready for ya’ lickety-split.” Tessic