Because I write science fiction, people often ask whether I believe in UFOs—and whether I’ve ever seen one. The answer to both is yes!
A few months ago, I paid $90 to attend a UFO-spotting event in Sedona, Arizona. We gathered in a park at the edge of town—ideal for sky-watching since Sedona is a “dark skies” community and the stars shine amazingly clear in the high desert. The organizer, Melinda Leslie, handed out military-grade night-vision goggles, told us where to focus—behind a mountain deep in Coconino National Park—and briefed us on what to expect.
The goggles intensified any light but didn’t provide clear outlines. With the naked eye, we could see nothing. Through the goggles, we saw shifting blobs of light—it was like looking at a drop of water through a microscope and seeing the swarming of amoeba.
Melinda explained how to identify what we were seeing by the strobe patterns: commercial planes flash differently from military ones. (There were plenty of military aircraft that night, but no commercial ones.) The lights weren’t satellites or drones, and she told us to watch for the steady, unblinking ones that suddenly “powered up,” glowing brighter for 15–30 seconds before dimming again, sometimes shifting to amber, red, green, or blue. Sometimes their movements made it look like whoever was flying them had figured out anti-gravity.
Sedona also has other strange stories. It’s a hiker’s paradise, but some hikers report being stopped by armed men in fatigues on certain trails—only for the same path to be clear the next day. Lockheed Martin recently bought a local cement plant and installed unusually tight security, and Blackhawk helicopters are often seen overhead.
Melinda believes all this points to a DUMB—a Deep Underground Military Base—in the area. She admits it’s hard to know whether these craft are extraterrestrial or advanced military technology, but at least three people have claimed to have worked there and claimed that humans and aliens operate side by side.
Personally, I hope that’s true. It would mean we’re not alone—and that the universe is full of other civilizations waiting to be discovered. But if it’s only the military, that means anti-gravity tech exists and is being kept from the rest of us.
Either way, it gave me great material. I even worked a secret underground base into my third book—so I’m pretty sure the $90 I paid is tax-deductible.
Cloud Hands: The Disclosure Files - Book One
by Nancy Nelson
A grieving diplomat. Three teenagers. A secret worth killing for.
When Vicki Heywood accepts a quiet summer job watching over the teenage children of her former professor, she expects a peaceful reset. Instead, she finds herself in the middle of a deadly conspiracy involving covert alien technology and a powerful corporate conglomerate determined to control it at any cost.
The Partnership is not a rumor. It’s real, ruthless, and above the law.
And the aliens aren’t happy about it.
Suddenly on the run, Vicki must rely on her training, her instincts, and the fragile trust forming between her and the young people depending on her. As they uncover what the Partnership is really hiding, they realize they’re facing something far beyond politics or espionage—something that could reshape global power itself.
And the Partnership will stop at nothing to silence them.
Cloud Hands launches The Disclosure Files™, blending science fiction, geopolitics, and spiritual evolution. The series rips open the veil on power, control, and the weaponization of truth. As governments fracture and old powers cling to secrecy, it’s the youth who turn rebellion into revelation—hacking the system, rewriting the code, and igniting a movement that spans worlds.
The next frontier isn’t space—it’s us.
For fans of the X-Files and author Amie Kaufman.
Ages: 14+
by Nancy Nelson
A grieving diplomat. Three teenagers. A secret worth killing for.
When Vicki Heywood accepts a quiet summer job watching over the teenage children of her former professor, she expects a peaceful reset. Instead, she finds herself in the middle of a deadly conspiracy involving covert alien technology and a powerful corporate conglomerate determined to control it at any cost.
The Partnership is not a rumor. It’s real, ruthless, and above the law.
And the aliens aren’t happy about it.
Suddenly on the run, Vicki must rely on her training, her instincts, and the fragile trust forming between her and the young people depending on her. As they uncover what the Partnership is really hiding, they realize they’re facing something far beyond politics or espionage—something that could reshape global power itself.
And the Partnership will stop at nothing to silence them.
Cloud Hands launches The Disclosure Files™, blending science fiction, geopolitics, and spiritual evolution. The series rips open the veil on power, control, and the weaponization of truth. As governments fracture and old powers cling to secrecy, it’s the youth who turn rebellion into revelation—hacking the system, rewriting the code, and igniting a movement that spans worlds.
The next frontier isn’t space—it’s us.
For fans of the X-Files and author Amie Kaufman.
Ages: 14+
Prologue
I used to think this story was about me. After all, isn’t everyone the
star of their own life? It was only later that I realized we are all just
bit players in some ever-repeating, cosmic pattern—a fractal pattern
made up of love, hardship, desperation, joy, sorrow, and hope.
Let’s never forget about hope.
—Victoria Heywood
Excerpt from address to the UN
There was a little cluster of forget-me-nots arranged in a vase on the table in front of Vicki. They had been Beth's favorite flowers. Small and vibrant, so cute they made you smile. Just like Beth herself.
The waitress put a cup of coffee and a pastry before her, and the same in front of the man seated across the table. Kurt Martinsson—she had called him Professor Martinsson when he taught her senior business seminar a decade earlier—added some sugar to his cup before he took a sip. Well-built, dark hair with a touch of gray at his temples. He had aged well. His bespoke sports jacket, manicured nails, and expensive haircut suggested he was also doing well.
“It was kind of you to look me up, Professor Martinsson, especially after all this time. To be honest, I haven’t been getting out much.” She hadn’t been getting out at all. What was the point? Their parents had died in a car accident several years back, and now Beth was gone too. Per her request, there had been a closed casket; the chemo had ravaged her body and taken all her hair. There was no amount of makeup, no wig good enough, that could have fixed that.
“I heard about your sister, Vicki; I’m so sorry. I understand you left your position at the Department of State to look after her.”
Beth had argued against that. “I’m young and strong; I’ll be able to beat this—there’s no reason for you to leave the job you worked so hard to get. Mom and Dad were so proud that you became a diplomat—they wouldn’t have wanted you to give that up.” She had been wrong about being able to beat the cancer, but right that their parents had been proud. They would have been just as proud to see their youngest open up her own flower shop in a prime location in downtown Los Angeles.
“I took a year’s leave of absence when it became clear my sister’s illness was terminal. I have another four months before I either return to work or submit my official resignation.”
“So, you haven’t decided what you'll do?” Professor Martinsson cocked his head to one side and looked at her. He had finished his croissant. She hadn’t even started on hers.
I used to think this story was about me. After all, isn’t everyone the
star of their own life? It was only later that I realized we are all just
bit players in some ever-repeating, cosmic pattern—a fractal pattern
made up of love, hardship, desperation, joy, sorrow, and hope.
Let’s never forget about hope.
—Victoria Heywood
Excerpt from address to the UN
There was a little cluster of forget-me-nots arranged in a vase on the table in front of Vicki. They had been Beth's favorite flowers. Small and vibrant, so cute they made you smile. Just like Beth herself.
The waitress put a cup of coffee and a pastry before her, and the same in front of the man seated across the table. Kurt Martinsson—she had called him Professor Martinsson when he taught her senior business seminar a decade earlier—added some sugar to his cup before he took a sip. Well-built, dark hair with a touch of gray at his temples. He had aged well. His bespoke sports jacket, manicured nails, and expensive haircut suggested he was also doing well.
“It was kind of you to look me up, Professor Martinsson, especially after all this time. To be honest, I haven’t been getting out much.” She hadn’t been getting out at all. What was the point? Their parents had died in a car accident several years back, and now Beth was gone too. Per her request, there had been a closed casket; the chemo had ravaged her body and taken all her hair. There was no amount of makeup, no wig good enough, that could have fixed that.
“I heard about your sister, Vicki; I’m so sorry. I understand you left your position at the Department of State to look after her.”
Beth had argued against that. “I’m young and strong; I’ll be able to beat this—there’s no reason for you to leave the job you worked so hard to get. Mom and Dad were so proud that you became a diplomat—they wouldn’t have wanted you to give that up.” She had been wrong about being able to beat the cancer, but right that their parents had been proud. They would have been just as proud to see their youngest open up her own flower shop in a prime location in downtown Los Angeles.
“I took a year’s leave of absence when it became clear my sister’s illness was terminal. I have another four months before I either return to work or submit my official resignation.”
“So, you haven’t decided what you'll do?” Professor Martinsson cocked his head to one side and looked at her. He had finished his croissant. She hadn’t even started on hers.
“No, I haven’t. Every time I start thinking about it...” She looked down at her coffee cup. It was too hard to think. Too hard to think about the future or anything else. She had officially shut down Beth’s flower shop the week after her sister died, although it hadn’t been in operation for a couple of months before that. At Beth’s urging, her two part-time employees had both found other jobs, and the shop sat dark and shuttered. She supposed she should do something—make arrangements to sell the building or rent it out —but she just didn’t have the bandwidth.
“I have an idea that might interest you. I need to do a lot of traveling over the next few months. My two children are more than old enough to stay home by themselves—Brad is sixteen and Jessica is twenty-two—especially since there’s household staff. But I’d feel better if someone was around to keep tabs on them specifically.”
He paused, then casually asked, “You do still have a Top-Secret Clearance, don’t you?”
Vicki looked up from her coffee and stared.
About the Author:
website
Nancy Nelson retired after 25 years as a U.S. diplomat, during which she served in Venezuela, Nicaragua, Estonia, Canada, and Washington, D.C. She spent a few more years launching her kids and traveling the world. She now lives in California.
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