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history I can find of this “secret base” online. Most of it seems to come from conspiracy theorists and quacks—though, considering that Malcolm was viewed as one of those by the rest of his profession, perhaps I shouldn’t be so quick to pass judgment. It seems that most believe this base is some sort of research facility, which I hope means it won’t be guarded too heavily. Maybe I’ll even be able to tap into its communications once I’m close byso I can get a feel for what the security is like inside—something I dare not try to do on the motel’s unsecure network.
    Perhaps. Maybe. The uncertainties are many, and I have to remind myself that this is something I cannot rush. I can’t just cut through a fence or hop over a gate and storm the base, rushing headfirst into this situation. Only a fool would be so brazen—or naive—to do so.
    I get a sense of the area where the base is supposed to be via online maps and photographs, and then try to sleep. The next morning I rise before the sun and drive through the mountains of Colorado, which eventually give way to the arid terrain of New Mexico.
    Once I spot a chain-link fence topped in razor wire and covered in signs warning against photography and trespassing, I figure I’m in the right place. The base’s perimeter is barely visible from the trail-like road I’m on. It’s the middle of the afternoon, and I’m not exactly inconspicuous driving around the desert area in my big, black SUV, so I don’t test my luck by getting any closer to the fence. Instead, I head to the nearby town of Dulce and pay for a week at a cheap motel. I stash most of my things in a shoddy little room in case I manage to get the ship and have to leave my car behind. I keep a few weapons with me, then round up some additional supplies from a sporting-goods store. Night-visiongoggles. Some wire cutters, just in case.
    At night I return. I park a half mile from the fence and scope out the site with my new goggles. I don’t notice any cameras or alarms. It’s not until I get closer that I can finally see the tops of buildings and some of the grounds of the base. I stand a few feet from the fence and observe.
    And I see things I can’t even begin to comprehend.
    The base is owned by United States government agencies—that’s obvious from the information I found online and the signs dotting the fence line warning that I’ve approached a “military encampment.” I can also see plenty of vehicles with government plates and markings. There are a handful of armed personnel around, wearing camouflage, pacing back and forth.
    But that’s not what causes my mouth to drop open and my hands to shake.
    There’s a ship sitting beside a tall watchtower. Not a Loric ship, but one I recognize all the same. Hundreds just like it swarmed the skies during the invasion of Lorien, raining fire and death down upon my planet, dropping off battalions of soldiers who slaughtered my people.
    It’s Mogadorian.
    “Holy shit,” I whisper. “What are the Mogs doing here?”
    My mind reels with the implications. Either theMogs have taken over this base and are somehow forcing humans to work for them or . . .
    I swallow down a mixture of anger and disbelief.
    Or the Mogs and the American government are somehow working together.
    This just got much more complicated.
    I slowly lower the night-vision goggles, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. It’s only then that I hear the footsteps behind me.

CHAPTER FOUR
    “HANDS IN THE AIR!” A MAN SHOUTS. FLASHLIGHTS go on. I hear a few metallic clicks behind me.
    One glance over my shoulder tells me these aren’t Mogs. Four men in brown law enforcement uniforms form a half circle behind me, pinning me up against the fence. Their guns are aimed at my back, but the weapons shake a little. They seem almost scared.
    I take a moment before moving, going over my options. I’ve got a shotgun in the backseat and Raylan’s blaster in my coat pocket. I could try