The Complete Atlantis Series, Books 1 - 5: Ascendant Saga

by Ellis, Brandon

  “What are you doing?” asked Fox, adjusting his Atlantean armor.

  Rivkah opened the cockpit. The ramp hissed, pistons easing against the suction. “This hill is full of caves. She may be resting in one of them.”

  Fox slipped an energy charge in his IPR-8, Ion Pulse Rifle. “And so could some other odd-looking creatures.”

  Rivkah pulled her phaser out of her holster and pushed the barrel against Fox’s temple. “Put it down. Not a chance in hell I’m going to let you accidentally pull the trigger on Bogle.”

  Fox pushed Rivkah’s gun away and leaned his head to the side, his jaw set. He sniffed and gave her a look, one that said, “I don’t give a crap.” He turned toward the ramp, the energy rifle still in his hand.

  Rivkah bent down on one knee, closed one eye and steadied her gun on her other knee. She pulled the trigger.

  Pooofshta!

  Fox’s rifle cracked in half, the barrel tumbled to the floor. He held the now smoking hand grip in his hand. He looked at the broken piece and tossed it to the side. “Suit yourself, woman.” He exited the craft, mumbling curses at each step, touching a holstered gun at his hip.

  Rivkah rolled her eyes and holstered her own phaser, shut down the engines, and hastened down the ramp, the cold air immediately puckering her skin.

  The terrain outside was bare, more high-desert than anything, with small white shrubs everywhere and only a hint of green. Condensation billowed out of Rivkah’s mouth at every breath.

  Fox took a step around a boulder and climbed up a steep, rocky ascent. “Where we going, Rivkah?”

  “Search, Fox. Keep your eyes peeled for any –” Just as she was about to say it, she saw it. “Footprints, nine-o’clock.”

  Fox stopped and moved over to a half-dirt, half-snowed area and inspected the ground. “Those are boot prints.”

  Rivkah nodded, tracing the familiar insignia in the center of the print. “Atlantean’s boots don’t have ‘SSP’ inscribed on their soles.” Rivkah looked around, hoping for more prints with Secret Space Program emblems. “She was here. That we know.”

  Fox grabbed a shrub and pulled himself over a small ridge, then lifted his leg over the lip and sat on his knees. “Right here.”

  “You see her?”

  “No. I see a cave one click at our eleven-o’clock.” He pulled out a flash light. “I’m heading that way. You can search southwest.”

  “Wait, you dumb-ass. Two are better than one.”

  He scoffed. “Not against me. She’s a girl, remember?”

  “I’m a girl.” Rivkah pulled herself up over the ridge. “Remember me kicking your ass?”

  Fox grunted. “You got lucky several times. I wanted to kill you and was told to keep you alive on too many occasions. That hampered my fighting style.”

  Rivkah halted. Why was he truly helping her? There was something underneath it all. Something wasn’t sitting right in her heart, in her solar plexus. What wasn’t she seeing? Getting?

  Fox stiffened, almost reading her mind. “Don’t you worry your little self.”

  “One minute you want us killed, the next you’re trying to save the Atlanteans here on Callisto from total annihilation, even to the point of helping Jaxx to do some odd disappearing act right in front of our eyes.” She unholstered her gun and pointed it at Fox. “What’s the real reason? Why are you helping us?”

  Fox looked over his shoulder. “Don’t question me. You won’t get answers. I’m SSP trained, special ops. We never break.”

  A cold wind buffeted them. Rivkah shut her eyes. Her inner vision reached out to Fox, two energy spindles twisting together, thrusting into Fox’s brain. She flinched when a hot blast of energy shot back at her.

  She opened her eyes.

  Fox was seething, breathing heavily, fingers curled into a fist. “You’re not the only one who can bend energy like that.” He twisted around, walking toward the cave.

  She followed him, kicking a white rock to the side as she trekked forward. “I know why.”

  Fox’s face reddened. “You know nothing.”

  “Slade.”

  Fox stopped, looking down. “He deserves to die.”

  “I know that better than you.”

  “He’s a traitor.”

  “You and your traitor shit. When are you –”

  He spun around, glaring at Rivkah, heat rising in his chest. “Am I the only loyalist in the entire Secret Space Program?”

  “Slade isn’t a part of the Secret Space Program.”

  “Yes, but he was. You were too. And even Jaxx.” He took several steps in Rivkah’s direction and leaned in, almost nose to nose, his fury almost unbearable. “Stars and stripes comes before family and friends, and other alien races. That’s something no one seems to remember or understand.”

  She pushed her index finger into Fox’s chest. “I practically gave my life to the stars and stripes and this Secret Space Program bullshit. And…what’s more…I was instrumental in keeping that program undercover – inventing cover stories: military stealth missions, flaming meteors, blimps, helicopters, Chinese lanterns, you name it…we came up with every ‘explanation’ in the book for ‘unexplained lights in the sky,’ so the public would leave us alone and we could continue to launch our craft into space, unhindered. We’ve rolled out mission after mission, killing countless green and blue, one-eyed freaks. You, on the other hand –”

  “I, on the other hand, didn’t turn on the SSP and sell out our entire country, and didn’t try to commit genocide on our own human race.”

  Rivkah tilted her head. “What are you talking about?”

  “You were just in my head. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “All I saw was Slade. Nothing else.”

  Fox picked up a clump of earth and threw it to the side. “Slade is aligned with the Kelhoon. He’s set a trap and is steering Starship Atlantis and the entire SSP fleet towards utter annihilation. The people on that ship will be slaves at best, mincemeat at worse.”

  Rivkah shook her head, taking a step back. “No. He wouldn’t do that. I know Slade. He’s an asshole, alright, but he wouldn’t do such a thing.”

  “I saw it. I saw the transmission.”

  “What transmission?”

  Fox crossed his arms over his chest. “Before I came back to help with Jaxx’s disappearing trick, I saw a transmission between the Kelhoon leader and Slade. That’s why I came back. That’s why I’m here, helping you pricks do whatever you pricks do.”

  Rivkah shrugged, giving Fox an exaggerated smile. “He’s setting the Kelhoon up. Lying to them.”

  Fox’s eyes widened. “Did you see the transmission?”

  “No. But I know Slade.”

  “The fuck you do, woman.”

  Rivkah laughed. “You lame-ass grunts just don’t use your brains.”

  “You’re in on it?” Fox started to tremble, and Rivkah could sense a searing ember of energy rise from his spine and out into his hands. “You...fucking traitor!” He thrust out his hands, connecting his palms to Rivkah’s shoulders.

  A blinding light flashed and she toppled backwards, tumbling over several boulders and skidding across the top of a ridge until her feet were somehow touching nothing. Her body continued to move backward until she realized she was about to fall off a cliff – a steep cliff.

  She frantically reached up, grasping a thick shrub that clung to the cliff’s lip, her feet dangling. She looked down. It had to be at least five hundred feet between her and the white and gray rocks below.

  Gravel crunched under heavy feet as Fox came into view, kicking dirt into Rivkah’s eyes. “You’re in on this shit, too. I can’t believe it. You had us all tricked.” He stepped on her fingers. “Bye-bye Rivkah.”

  9

  E-Quadrant, Earth ~ Lookout Mountain, Tennessee

  “It is time.”

  “What?” Drew bolted upright, sweat dripping from his face. He was running, being chased by the G-men who’d killed his mom, d
ucking bullets, saving beautiful women from zombies wearing People’s Liberation Army uniforms straight from the Republic of China.

  He shook his head. Everything was dim, yet very foreign. God, he just needed a toke.

  “Where the hell am I?” His heart beat fast while his brain tried to adjust and bring some memory to the surface. He relaxed. “Thank God.” He was in his room, deep in Anderle’s fake White House or whatever that hacker, president-wannabe ass-hat wanted to call this underground base.

  A small night light lit the corner of Mya’s bed. Her heavy breaths told Drew that she was fast asleep, hopefully not dreaming about being a prisoner here, about longing for her father, about this Chinese prick-soldier sleeping on the stool next to the door, his head back and against the wall, his mouth open, his eyes closed.

  Wait. The guy was asleep.

  “It is time.”

  Drew caught his breath, startled, and looked around. He whispered, “Mom?”

  “Go.”

  He knew exactly what she meant. He always knew what she meant. She was written in his genes. He couldn’t not understand her if he tried. Drew slowly pushed the sheets off and put on his slippers, courtesy of Anderle. He grabbed his wallet off the bedside table and pulled out a credit card, slipping it in his hands, eyeing the sleeping guard.

  The guard didn’t move.

  He put the wallet back on his bedside table and tiptoed to the door. He held his breath, his hip next to the grunt’s face, and cautiously turned the knob. Anderle had said he, “wasn’t a prisoner, but an honored guest. The door to your room would never be locked.” Drew had no clue how long that promise would last, but he would at least take advantage while he could.

  He glanced at the guard, curling his lips under his teeth, biting his lips together. He turned the knob more and glanced at him again.

  The guard remained fast asleep.

  He opened the door a crack. It creaked. The guard stirred, opening his eyes.

  Drew stood still, eyes wide, making sure not to breath an ounce.

  The soldier smacked his lips together and leaned his head to the side, his eyelids falling, falling, falling, and closed.

  How the guy hadn’t seen him, Drew didn’t know. He looked up at the ceiling, thanking the Goddess – Mary Jane.

  The soldier’s breathing slowed, his mouth opening, sending a slight snore across the room.

  He opened the door another crack. No sound.

  Good. He opened it a bit more and peeked through.

  He quickly ducked back in, keeping the door ajar.

  A guard, leaning up against a wall ten or so yards away, stood next to a portrait of George Washington, his rifle by his side. He was bobbing his head, earbuds in his ears, listening to a torch-song warbler.

  Drew shot a look back at the guard sleeping on the stool. How in weed’s glorious name was he going to get out of the room, let alone stroll down the hallways to the fake oval office?

  Drew looked back through the opening between the door and the frame. A click-clack of boots sounded through the corridor and the guard in the hallway stood more erect, quickly taking his earbuds out, shoving them into his fatigues.

  General Lin Yu walked up to the guard and leaned in, quietly saying something in his ear, the general’s face beet red. The guard quickly nodded, fear visibly washing over him, his arms becoming more rigid. Yu stepped back, his nose crinkled, looking the young man up and down with disdain. He held out his hand and the soldier reached into his pocket, pulling out the earbuds and handed them to Yu.

  Yu spit in his face and grasped the man by his shirt, pulling him forward and shoving him down the hall, releasing his grip a moment later. The soldier hurried away and out of Drew’s line of sight. Yu took his place, resting his hand on his holstered semi-automatic and leaned back against the wall.

  Sneaking out tonight wasn’t going to happen. Being under surveillance twenty-four-seven sucked ass. If he could just take a peek at Anderle’s computer, find out why Mya’s father was such a pest to Anderle and the General, and exactly what Mya’s dad was doing to be such a nuisance, then maybe he’d have the answers he needed. Then again, it could be yet another rabbit hole.

  He touched the door, about to shut it.

  “Don’t give up, Drew.” It was his mom’s voice. He stuck his index finger in his ear and wiggled it, not that that ever helped. It was an odd feeling hearing his mother. Sometimes it was as if she stood right next to him, talking in his ear. It was eerie and comforting and gave him the wiggs. Being a stoner, he was not a stranger to wigging out, but hearing dead people was out there, man.

  “Just, go, Drew. Go.”

  What a dumb idea. What a dumb, fake voice coming from his subconscious that obviously wanted him killed for some reason.

  Well, damn. If it truly was his mother – and how insane that sounded – then she wouldn’t steer him wrong.

  He opened the door a few inches more. If he wanted, he could turn and slide through it. He took another glance at the guard in his room. The guy’s chest rose up and down, his breathing slow and calm. God, how Drew would love to sleep that soundly someday.

  He pushed the door open another few inches, again thanking the ganja goddess in the sky that it didn’t creak.

  Drew sucked in a breath. General Yu was gone. It was as if he had vanished. Drew hadn’t heard the click-clack of his shoes. He hadn’t seen the guy walk away. For all he knew, the bastard got on a magical carpet and flown off.

  It was too good to be true.

  “If you don’t get your arse in gear, I am going to kick you from here to kingdom come.” Mom wasn’t messing around. She meant business.

  Shit. He had to do it. He had to go. Maybe this was his opportunity. His only opportunity.

  He turned, sliding his body through the opening and slowly closed the door. It groaned on its hinges, just as it shut. He paused, not moving a muscle.

  No alarm sounded. No guard in a foreign language he wished he’d learn told him to stop. Most importantly, no general was in his ear, telling him he’d cut his throat.

  He walked in the opposite direction to where Yu had stood, sweat dripping like a faucet down from his arm pits, drenching his shirt.

  He rubbed his thumb and index finger on the credit card, and remembered all the times mom had shown him how to jimmy a lock, so there was no trace of you having been there…and all doors opened on command. When he questioned her about her lock-picking expertise, she would shrug. “It’s fun, Drew dear. That’s all.”

  It was more than just fun. It was a lesson, something she had passed down, something –

  He needed to stop thinking. Needed to concentrate.

  He rounded a corner, his hand on a large trash can and froze. Footsteps clomped down the hall. He ducked down, making himself a ball, hiding beside the trash.

  The footsteps dissipated and he peeked around the can. A guard turned down another hall, disappearing from view.

  He stayed quiet for several minutes, waiting for an overly-aggressive Chinese corporal to run up on him and point the barrel of his rifle against the bottom of Drew’s chin.

  The click-clack of boots penetrated the hall he had just came from. They stopped. Drew stood, leaned forward, and took a look around the corner. It was General Yu. Drew leaned back against the wall, mouthing, “Holy mother of Mary.” It was like the world’s slowest high-speed chase. He was going to melt from panic and exhaustion.

  His heartbeat started racing, threatening to explode out of his chest. He couldn’t divert. His plan – idiotic plan – was still underway. He needed info, data, the skinny on why Mya’s dad was so important to these assholes. Moving forward was his best and only option.

  “Mya’s dad isn’t the only reason Anderle’s keeping you in the dark, Drew. You should know this. Get your head into the game.” Again, mom. Always sixteen steps ahead of his conscious mind.

  He looked around, making sure the coast was clear, and headed down the hall and around another corner
until he was at the oval office doors. He looked left and right. No one was watching...waiting for him. He hoped.

  He slipped the card between the strike plate and the latch bolt, easily opening the doors. He pulled the candy wrapper out of the hole in the strike plate and put the wrapper in his pants pocket. He walked into the oval office, closed the door, and eyed the computer.

  He pulled out the desk chair and sat, turned on the computer and typed in the username and password. Anderle’s Achilles’ heel was his unending hubris. He simply thought he was smarter than anyone else. He’d told Drew his password, because he thought it was a riot and it would never circle back to bite him in the butt. “Joke’s on you, nitwit,” said Drew, fingers flying over the keyboards.

  User Name: Melchizedek

  Password: 1212yordlebuttmunch1212

  The screen loaded and a standard open source operating system appeared, the perfect, hack-proof Linux system – a system designed to make hackers realize they’d just entered a mindfucking hell. The damage that could be done on other operating systems was much harder to accomplish on this system.

  He double clicked on the home folder and clicked the file system. He opened the root folder and PASSWORD blinked on the screen. And as he suspected, another password was needed. He knew Anderle wouldn’t be a total idiot. He would have created an entirely new password for these executable files.

  WRONG PASSWORD.

  He flipped over the keyboard. No sticky note stuck to the bottom of it with a password written on it.

  He opened a drawer.

  Folders upon folders.

  He searched through them.

  Nothing.

  He shut the drawer and went to the next. Again, nothing, and no more drawers to check. Where would Anderle keep his passwords? In a safe? He wouldn’t just consign them to memory, would he? If he did, there would be no way he could find them.

  The screen saver came on – a man wearing a Guy Fawkes mask, gripping a gun – the infamous hacker group’s, Anonymous, icon – stared at him from the screen.

  Was that Anderle? If it was, he didn’t deserve to wear the Anonymous mask, nor associate himself with that group. Anonymous were helpers of society and Anderle had turned out to be a scoundrel, a self-serving piece of garbage whose agenda he still had to figure out.