Part 4 (1/2)

CHAPTER NINE.

I HEAD FOR DULCE. FOR MY s.h.i.+P.

I pa.s.s half a dozen black SUVs all speeding through the desert about five miles away from the perimeter of Dulce Base. I consider this fortuitous timing-if these are the FBI agents Mark mentioned, then they have indeed abandoned the place.

Still, I have my reservations about this operation. It's a bright morning, for one thing, meaning I can't rely on the cover of night, and the memory of what happened the last time I tried to infiltrate this base is fresh in my mind. But I won't get another opportunity like this. Who knows how long it will be before the Mogs or the rest of the FBI realize that no one at this base is responding?

Besides, this time I've come prepared.

I pause at a section of the fence surrounding the base that's been destroyed and take out some of the gear from my backpack-thermal-imagine binoculars that can sense heat signatures through six inches of steel. Nothing pops up on them. At least nothing that reads as a human or Mog. There are a few fires and lights I can make out, but nothing that suggests anyone is patrolling the base.

Regardless, I proceed with caution and park my bike near a pit that's been created by the roof of the first underground floor of the base collapsing in on itself. I take a look around and note some burned-out Humvees and a knocked-down watchtower. Mark thinks the Garde broke Sarah out, and if that's the truth, they certainly have grown strong.

I hop down into the base and pull out a small electronic tablet of my own design, part computer and part tracker-a device that can hone in on the frequencies of a Loric s.h.i.+p when within a certain range. I wasn't sure it would work until now, but it pings, telling me that yes, Ja.n.u.s's s.h.i.+p is still down here somewhere. Waiting for me.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

The agents must have left the place in a hurry, because every office I pa.s.s is disheveled, files strewn about. Several big computer terminals looks damaged, as if in leaving, the FBI didn't want anyone else getting its information. That's a concern I can understand. I'll have to come back up and see what data I can harvest once I've found what I've actually come for.

I make my way down several floors. Eventually I get to a hallway that's dark, lights all knocked out. It's the only place I've been in the base where every door is shut. I make my way through the corridor slowly, on the tips of my toes, trying hard not to make a sound. I pa.s.s a door with a slit of a window in it, which I peer through carefully.

A man stares back at me.

He shouts, slamming his fists against the door. He's got on a white b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt spotted with blood. Suddenly, there's banging from all the doors in the hallway, and I realize that I must have wandered into some sort of brig or detention area. The sound is deafening, echoing off the hard surfaces of the corridor and destroying all hopes of a stealthy exploration through the remainder of the base.

And so I start to run.

I pa.s.s a few laboratories and office s.p.a.ces before finally flinging open a door that leads to it in all its silvery, beaten-up glory. The s.h.i.+p.

The vessel is big, the size of a house, but with the ability to glide and turn effortlessly through the air. The gleaming metal of its hull s.h.i.+nes, even after all these years, made of a material native to Lorien. Its curves are all perfectly rounded, sleek and aerodynamic.

It takes my breath away.

There are all kinds of wires connected to the portion of the hull housing the crystals that supply power to the s.h.i.+p. I find a computer terminal on the opposite side of the room and tap on it, bringing the station to life-now that I'm here, it's easy to break through their pa.s.swords. I try to find some sort of journal or report system, downloading everything I can to my own tablet along the way. From what I can tell, the researchers here have been trying to figure out how to duplicate the crystals' energy to incorporate it into their own war machines. Their records show that they've managed to charge the spent crystals at least a little bit, but that's all, and the charge only lasts for a short period of time. I doubt I could get out of Earth's atmosphere on it.

That's fine for now. At the moment I just want to get out of here.

With a little more searching, I find controls that appear to operate some sort of dock. I flip them on, and sixty feet above me the ceiling begins to part. Sand, dirt and debris fall in. I narrowly avoid a pile of bricks and what looks like a Humvee tire that come cras.h.i.+ng down.

For a second I pause, shaking my head, thinking of how terrible it would be for me to die just as I've finally found this s.h.i.+p that I've been after for so long.

The hangar doors above me open fully. I take a few steps toward my prize and pause. I can still hear the whirring noise I'd thought was the door mechanism, getting louder.

It's then that I see the edge of the Mogadorian s.h.i.+p just over the lip of the hangar. In seconds half a dozen pale, sneering faces are looking down at me, all pointing weapons in my direction.

I duck behind the computer station just as blaster fire starts to fill the air. Sparks rain down around me, burning my skin as the terminal is destroyed. I curse under my breath-hopefully these controls shorting out don't overload the wires attached to the s.h.i.+p.

I'm too much of a target where I am. The quickest way to stay alive would be to try and cross the room and head back inside the base. At least there I'd have plenty of options for cover. But I have to a.s.sume that the Mogs are already starting to filter down through the hallways and stairwells of the facility, and without any idea of how many alien b.a.s.t.a.r.ds have just landed on the ground level, the base could quickly turn into a death trap. Somewhere I could get boxed in too easily.

Besides, now that I've found this s.h.i.+p, I don't intend to let it out of my sight.

So I reach into my backpack and pull out one of the many toys I've acquired and learned to use since the last time I came face-to-face with a Mogadorian: a powerful, compact submachine gun. Earth weapons might be crude and inefficient, but practicing out in the barns and woods around my many safe houses, I've witnessed exactly how devastating they can be.

If I can make it inside the s.h.i.+p and power it up, I may be able to get out of here alive. If not . . . Well, that's not really an option. I think of Ja.n.u.s and Zophie, and how when I first arrived on this planet I thought for sure that the three of us would one day be riding in this s.h.i.+p together. Now the best I can do is reclaim it for them. For Lorien.

I brace myself as much as I can against the floor, peek over the top of the sparking computer terminal and fire away. A few of the Mogadorians who are descending a zigzag metal staircase from the surface are ripped apart, turning into wafts of dust that filter down into the hangar. The others take quick cover, and I use this moment of surprise to make a break for it, tossing my bag ahead of me and basically throwing myself under the s.h.i.+p in the center of the room, using it for cover. Blaster fire blackens the cement floor, barely missing me. But I make it, somehow.

I'm able to access a manual override switch to the boarding hatch. A metal ramp rolls out from the back of the craft. One of the Mogs from above jumps down, sliding over the s.h.i.+p and onto the ground. There's a snap when he lands, and when he stands, one of his arms hangs limply at his side. That doesn't stop him from staggering forward, firing at me. Several of his fellow troops follow his lead, and I barely manage to climb onto the ramp, firing blindly behind me the entire time. I run, trying to avoid their blasters, but a few shots. .h.i.t my backpack. I've reinforced the thing with Kevlar, mostly to protect my laptop and gadgets inside, but it stops the shots from burning through my body. Still, the force sends me sprawling onto the ramp. I roll over and return fire, scooting as fast as I can towards a touch-screen panel on the wall just inside the s.h.i.+p. I dust one of the Mogs following me as I manage to tap on the screen and get the ramp to start closing in just a couple of seconds-the few years of training I had at the Lorien Defense Academy all coming back to me in a rush.

The other Mog on the ramp stumbles forward as it folds up. He gets thrown past me, deeper into the s.h.i.+p. The interior of the vessel can be programmed with all sorts of holographic part.i.tions and ”walls,” but right now it's just one big, empty room. There's no place for him to hide, and he's a pile of ash before he ever manages to pick himself up off the ground.

I run to the front cabin. My hands fly over b.u.t.tons and screens. In front of me, a Mog has climbed onto the nose of the s.h.i.+p and is hammering away at the tinted c.o.c.kpit window with the b.u.t.t of his blaster. He'll have a h.e.l.l of a time trying to break through the reinforced gla.s.s-I try not to pay any attention to him.

”Come on, come on, come on,” I chant to myself as the instruments start to flicker, going online. And then they come to life, as if goaded on by my will. The crystals still have some life in them.

I can feel the engines powering up, the rea.s.suring hum and slight vibration that permeate the entire s.h.i.+p. I engage auto-launch protocols, which should at least get me up into the sky, where I can chart a course or take over the controls myself. The Mog on the winds.h.i.+eld struggles to find his balance as the s.h.i.+p starts to shake and lift off the ground. He howls as he falls backwards, tumbling to the cement below.

It's working, I think. I'm getting out of here.

My eyes widen as I get to the ground level. Sitting in front of me is the small Mogadorian s.h.i.+p I'd spotted from below, but also a large one that must be used to move troops around the planet-lots of troops. Mogs mill about around it, all their eyes on my silver craft. They freeze for only an instant before they start to fire. What looks like a cannon on the bigger s.h.i.+p turns towards me. Who knows what kind of firepower a vessel like that might have?

I flit through the on-screen menus in front of me until I find what appears to be a log of the s.h.i.+p's weaponry. Most vessels on Lorien were unarmed, but I guess the Elders equipped this one with every possible armament it could carry. Weapons I've never even heard of before. I wonder, again, how far their planning went and how long they knew that the Mogs were coming for us. I don't have long to reflect, though, because I've still got guns trained on me. And so I touch an icon that appears to be some sort of grenade projectile and target the enemy s.h.i.+p.

A small sphere of energy shoots from just below the c.o.c.kpit. It sticks to the side of the rising Mogadorian vessel. Nothing happens.

s.h.i.+t.

I can see the Mog cannon powering up, energy gathering around it. I tap on the weapons screen again.

”Don't tell me you're a dud, you son of a-”

The sphere explodes in a wave of energy that knocks back my own s.h.i.+p. The autopilot levels me off, and then I take over the controls and hit the accelerator, flying high into the sky, far, far above New Mexico, shouting at the top of my lungs as I dart through the air. I check my radar, but there's no one following me. I swing the vessel around, surveying the damage from hundreds of feet above in the clear sky. The Mog s.h.i.+ps don't exist anymore. There's nothing left to follow me-only blazing hunks of twisted metal.

Energy courses through me, filling my head with fuzzy warmth.

”We did it,” I say before I realize the words are even coming out of my mouth. ”We have the s.h.i.+p.”

I'm not sure who I'm talking to, who the ”we” is-if I'm addressing Zophie, or the other Garde spread across the planet, or even Mark, my unwitting partner in this Dulce operation.

On the way back I stop over at Yellowhammer Ranch, setting the s.h.i.+p down in the backyard by the dilapidated barn. The place looks untouched since the last time I saw it-if not a bit overgrown. I find one of the keys hidden in a sliding panel on the side of the house and go inside, pulling off some of the drop cloths that are still on the furniture. I reprogram the door to the secret office to open to Mark's fingerprint, which I have on file thanks to the fingerprint ID system in the laptop I sent him charging into Dulce with.

Inside the office I take stock of the weapons organized on shelves against one wall, and then boot up the security system, checking to make sure all my cameras are still in operation. A few electronic trip wires and traps are still live around the ranch, but I disable them so that Mark isn't met with an automated weapon upon his arrival. I can always teach him to reset them later, when he's settled in.