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 ship when within a certain range. I wasn’t sure it would work until now, but it pings, telling me that yes, Janus’s ship 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 pass 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 harvestonce 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 pass 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 button-down shirt 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 pass a few laboratories and office spaces before finally flinging open a door that leads to it in all its silvery, beaten-up glory. The ship.
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 shines, 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 ship. 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 passwords. 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 crashing 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 ship 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 thewhirring noise I’d thought was the door mechanism, getting louder.
It’s then that I see the edge of the Mogadorian ship 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
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 ship when within a certain range. I wasn’t sure it would work until now, but it pings, telling me that yes, Janus’s ship 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 pass 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 harvestonce 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 pass 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 button-down shirt 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 pass a few laboratories and office spaces before finally flinging open a door that leads to it in all its silvery, beaten-up glory. The ship.
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 shines, 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 ship. 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 passwords. 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 crashing 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 ship 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 thewhirring noise I’d thought was the door mechanism, getting louder.
It’s then that I see the edge of the Mogadorian ship 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
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