“The higher-ups are hoping it was an accidental drop, that something fell off the warship that we could potentially study or use against the Mogadorians, get a better understanding of what we’re up against.”

“Setrákus Ra doesn’t do anything by accident.”

“So you’re saying we shouldn’t send anyone down there?” Walker asks, one eyebrow raised. “You aren’t curious, John?”

Before I can reply, there’s a screech of tires from the end of the pier. One of the army jeeps comes in fast and has to slam on the brakes when it reaches the knot of soldiers milling around. Two soldiers, a driver and her passenger, jump out of the car. The driver throws off her helmet, revealing a sweaty shock of dark black hair. She yanks open the back door and the other soldier comes around the car to help her lift a third soldier out of the car. He looks wounded, although I can’t tell how badly from this distance. Other military personnel gather around, trying to help these new arrivals.

“Where are they?” shouts the woman. “Where’s the alien? Where’s that FBI bitch?”

A lump forms in my throat. Setrákus Ra put out a bounty on me and the rest of the Garde. Maybe these soldiers have decided it’s time to collect. All the same, I step forward. I’m not going to hide. The soldiers clustered at the end of the pier are pointing in my direction, anyway. There’s nowhere to go. I glance over my shoulder and see the high-ranking old men, the colonels and generals and whatever the hell else, they’ve all turned to watch this scene play out. They don’t seem all that interested in intervening should this turn dangerous.

Or maybe I’m just being paranoid. Maybe sensing that I’ve tensed up, Walker puts a hand on my arm.

“Let me handle this,” she says.

“We don’t even know what this is,” I tell her, striding forward to meet the soldiers.

“He’s all messed up,” Sam says, eyeing the soldier now being carried by the driver and her spooked-looking partner. The front of the injured soldier’s fatigues are soaked through with blood. He’s barely conscious and has to be held up by the others. The male soldier supporting him doesn’t look injured, but still looks almost dead on his feet. Shell-shocked. Only the driver seems at all with it, and she’s glaring daggers at Agent Walker.

“What happened, soldier?” Walker asks as the trio stops a few feet in front of us. I can see the last name embroidered on the driver’s shirt is Schaffer.