like Dale told us before he fled, the whole place looks like it was abandoned until recently. The
swamp is beginning to creep back in and crack the asphalt, the metal struts of the greenhouse are
rusted over, and the NASA logo has almost completely faded from the side of the hangar. Of course,
these conditions don’t appear to have deterred the Mogs from setting up a small base here.
But now, it looks like they’re packing up.
‘Marina, do you sense anything?’ I ask. At this point, we’ve got nothing else to go on except this
intuition of hers. It’s gotten us this far – right into a swarming nest of Mogadorians. Might as well let it take us a little further.
‘He’s here,’ she says. ‘I don’t know how I know, but he’s here.’
‘Then we’re going in,’ I say. ‘But we’re doing it the smart way.’
I reach out and grab both of their hands, turning the three of us invisible. If a Mogadorian was to
look over here now, we’d be nothing more than three strange indentations in the mud. As a group, we
stand up, confident that the horde of Mogs won’t be able to see us.
‘Marina, you lead the way,’ I whisper.
As we step out of the swamp, Nine trips over a root and nearly topples over, our chain almost
breaking. That would’ve been the shortest covert mission in history. I squeeze his hand hard.
‘Sorry,’ he says quietly. ‘It’s just weird not being able to see my legs.’
‘That can’t happen again,’ I warn him.
‘I’m reconsidering that whole rushing-in-and-killing-them-all thing,’ Nine replies. ‘Being sneaky
isn’t exactly my strong suit.’
Marina makes an annoyed noise, so I squeeze her hand hard, too.
‘We need to move as a unit,’ I say through gritted teeth, hoping we can regain some of that
instinctual teamwork we managed during the earlier fight with Mog scouts. ‘Take it slow, be quiet
and don’t bump into anything.’
With that, we start slowly forward. I’m not too worried about the noise our footfalls make on the
uneven pavement; the Mogadorians are busy loading heavy gear from the greenhouse to the warship,
the wheels on their dollies squeaking and grinding. I’m used to moving around while invisible,
trusting my instincts, but I know that it can be hard for the others. We approach slowly, grasping on to each other, keeping as quiet as possible.
Marina takes us towards the greenhouse first. The Mogs are concentrated around that area,
wheeling out carts loaded up with bizarre, mad scientist – looking devices. I watch as one Mog
pushes a wheeled shelving unit cluttered with potted plants – flowers, patches of grass, saplings – all of them things found on Earth, and yet all of them veined with a strange gray fluid. They look droopy, on the verge of dying, and I wonder what kind of experiments the Mogs were running on them.
There’s a tall Mogadorian at the base of the ramp leading to the warship. His uniform is different
from the usual warrior garb – those Mogs are at least sort of trying to fit in on Earth, even if they’re dressed like gothic weirdos. This guy is definitely some kind of military officer, his attire formal and severe, all black, covered in shining medals and studded epaulets. The tattoos across his scalp are
much more elaborate than any I’ve seen. He holds a computer tablet in his hands, checking items off
with a swipe of his finger as the Mogs load them on to the ship. He barks the occasional order at the
others in harsh Mogadorian.
Marina tries to move us closer to the greenhouse, but I tighten my grip and plant my feet. Nine
bumps into my back, letting out an annoyed grunt that we’re stopped. The path in front of us is like a Mogadorian obstacle course – they’re everywhere. Any closer and we run the risk of a stray Mog
walking right into us. If Eight is in that greenhouse with their experiments and cargo, our only chance to get him would be a full-on assault. I’m not ready to go down that road yet. Sensing my reluctance,
Marina’s hand grows a little colder in mine.
‘Not yet,’ I hiss at her, my words barely louder than a soft breath. ‘We check the hangar first.’
We make it about ten more steps before an animal groan stops us in our tracks. From the
greenhouse, a team of Mogs wheel out a large cage. Inside is a creature that might have been a cow at
one point but has since been transformed into something seriously nasty. The animal’s eyes are wet
and jaundiced, painful-looking horns jut out of its skull, and its udder is immensely swollen and
covered in the same grayish veins I noticed on the plants. The creature looks lethargic and depressed, barely alive. Whatever experiments the Mogs were running down here are truly disgusting and, like
Nine, I’m starting to reconsider Marina’s idea of just wiping out all these bastards, massive warship
or no massive warship.
‘Hold up,’ Nine whispers in my ear. ‘I’ve got an idea.’
Exposed as we are, I’m not sure it’s a great time for one of Nine’s crazy ideas. But, a moment after
he stops us, the cow-beast in the cage groans again and lumbers awkwardly to its feet. It staggers to
the side and pushes all its weight against one side of the cage, causing the Mogs pushing it to yell for assistance as the whole thing threatens to topple. Then, the monster mule-kicks one of its huge cloven hooves at the bars, nearly smashing the face of a Mog.
‘I asked it to give us a distraction,’ Nine whispers, more Mogs closing in on the cage to try
sedating their experiment. ‘Poor thing was happy to help.’
Nine’s animal telepathy works like a charm. As if it’s at last discovered a purpose in life, the cow
thrashes about, bulling towards the sides of its cage, even catching one Mog in the shoulder with its
horn. The chaos creates an opening for us to slip through the mass in front of the greenhouse and make our way towards the hangar.
We all stop at the sound of a Mog blaster being fired. Turning around, I see the officer holstering
his blaster, a smoking hole in the side of the cow’s head. It slumps in the cage, unmoving. He yells
some orders, and the Mogadorians begin loading the corpse on to the warship.
As I tense up, Nine whispers to me, ‘Better this way. It was in a ton of pain.’
With some distance between us and the highest concentration of Mogs, I feel comfortable enough to
whisper back. ‘What were they doing to it?’
Nine pauses before answering. ‘I couldn’t, like, have a heart-to-heart with the thing. But I think they were trying to figure out how they could make it more efficient. They’re, uh, experimenting with the
ecology.’
‘Demented,’ Marina mutters.
We pick up some speed as we move towards the hangar. On our right, at the edge of the runway,
are a trio of the smaller, saucer-shaped Mogadorian ships. A maintenance crew of five Mogadorians
huddles around one of them, pulling circuit boards out of the ship’s underbelly and generally looking
befuddled. I guess Mogadorians can have technical difficulties, too. Other than those guys, the coast is clear.
The huge, sheet-metal doors of the hangar, wide enough for a small plane to pass in and out, are
only open a few feet, just enough to let a person pass through. There are lights on inside the hangar, but all I can see through the gap is empty space.
Marina slows down as we reach the doors and then stops fully to peek inside. While she’s doing
that, I look over my shoulder. Nothing’s changed – the Mogs are still loading materials on to the
warship, completely unaware that we just snuck through their ranks.
‘Anything?’ Nine whispers, and I can sense him craning his neck, trying to see through the crack in