Leesa clenched her near perfect jawline and stared at Florence through ocean blue eyes.
“You know I don’t make emotional decisions. I have detailed findings to support her potential. We need to go over them before close of business,” the woman in front of her said.
Leesa took the glass file from Florence’s hand and placed it on her desk linking the two tablets together. The selected information transferred, and Leesa handed back the useless device.
“I'm seeing Dorian Xander this afternoon and should have his paperwork complete by tomorrow,” Florence finished and tucked the device under her arm.
“He looks slightly more promising,” Leesa mumbled. “I hope you've made a considerable case for Bridget Sparks. I hate wasting time.” She pursed her lips, accentuating her high cheekbones.
Florence nodded stiffly. “Of course, Lieutenant. She's manageable, even with the strong connection between her power use and unstable emotional wavelengths. With proper training she can be invaluable to the program.”
“Thank you for your unprompted insight,” Leesa said. She eyed Florence’s outfit, which consisted of a fitted tan top and green pants, both engineered with lightweight bulletproof fabric. “I am certain you were issued a standard uniform to wear during operating hours.”
“You try wearing heels and suits for ten years to fit in with the boys on the hill, then we can chat.” Florence glanced at the locked sliding door that led to Leesa's spotless living quarters. The barely-used bed rested against the farthest wall in the middle. Fatigue wasn’t the explanation for Leesa’s demeanor.
“You're dismissed.” Leesa resumed her research on Patrick Adams.
“Any updates from the field on the status of the gems?” Florence asked.
“You will know when I know,” Leesa replied without making eye contact.
CAPTAIN JAY BRANDT
Washington, DC, April 2026
“You're a special young man,” Brandt announced as he entered the moderately sized office. “And we got a special mission for you within the Andromeda Project.”
Brandt stood six foot two inches and looked as though he’d spent enough time in the gym as a youth that he could coast for the remainder of his days. It was more his job to look confident than to be confident and he’d practiced for years at hiding his lack of certainty.
Allister stood up to shake his hand, “I really appreciate this opportunity. I have so many questions.”
Glass walls doubled as video screens that flickered with images of world maps mixed with video footage of the world's most recent catastrophes. Brandt walked past Allister, pausing nervously at his superior size. “You shouldn't be speaking,” he managed to deliver convincingly.
Allister retracted his hand awkwardly and sat down. Brandt touched the glass revealing Allister's profile. He was about the same age Brandt’s son would've been if he were alive. Brandt pushed away painful memories of the life he left behind after that night in his hometown of Cumberland Falls, Kentucky.
“I've been around a long time kid, and I've...we've never seen anything like this,” Brandt said.
A video played of an accident in Moscow circa 2019. The truck hit a thirteen year-old Allister straight on, the front end smashed in but he flew back. Dolores dropped the bags of groceries and rushed to his side. An ambulance arrived as Allister stood up, the spy camera zoomed in to the exposed bone of his broken arm fixing itself. It ended like a silent film, abruptly.
Allister swallowed.
“I'm sure you're askin’ yourself, why me? Why now?” Brandt said with the sympathy a doctor gives when delivering a fatal prognosis.
Allister remembered the incident. Fighting through the crowd to get away from paramedics. They moved to Seoul within the week.
“You piqued the interest of our directors. For obvious reasons.” Brandt smiled, and swiped through the detailed analysis of his physical structure, performance, and brain activity. He gestured for the young man to stand up. “Why don't you use those tools for success in your active life?”
The captain gave him the once-over and walked back to the desk, typed some notes into the file and looked up to receive his answer.
Allister kept mindful of his posture, back straight as a ballerina. “Truth is, Captain, I was taught not to excel at anything. Academics or sports.”
“Terrible way to live.” Brandt reviewed the results a second time. “We're at a very critical point...and you might...” his voice trailed off when he reached the physical test, “be able to tip the balance.”
“How long have you been watching us?” Allister asked quietly.
Brandt's autumn brown eyes rose to meet Allister who sat at the edge of his seat. He placed the glass tablet on his desk. “Since way before you got that,” he pointed to the Cynque device, “if I'm being honest.”
Allister didn't know what to say next. He wondered about the anonymous phone calls and what else they'd seen in their surveillance.
“You can't fly under the radar anymore, son. Offer's on the table. Or you can go beg for your barista job back, but we know that won't fix your finance trouble.”
Brandt executed his straight-to-the-point, no-nonsense dialogue exceptionally well that day. People called him harsh, unforgiving, and blunt, but it was all part of the act. The world was the stage.
“I'm ready.” Allister smiled.
It reminded Brandt what “good” looked like. Restoring a little faith in his otherwise cynical mind. “Sorry for my,” Brandt cleared his throat and shifted character roles, “rudeness earlier, seein' you opened old wounds. This one to be exact and a few others you can't see.” He rolled up a sleeve to show a severe scar enveloping his forearm. There was more pain in his heart than there ever was in his arm.
“Gnarly,” Allister said, avoiding a wince.
Brandt sifted through a series of documents on the tablet. “Only catch is, you gotta report to the project now for briefin' and paperwork.”
“Will I be able to go home at all?”
“Not for a while.” Brandt leaned back in his chair.
Allister rubbed his left arm, telling his mother over the phone seemed wrong. The captain saw signs of hesitation and presented him with sign-on paperwork via the glass tablet, which detailed a signing bonus. Surprise flashed over the boy's face, it was enough to pay off their house in full.
“Whoa,” Allister stammered, “I-I have no experience. How can you pay me this much?”
“I can do whatever it takes. We got a lot to learn from each other,” Brandt replied.
Allister signed the page in excitement. He trusted the captain, something felt familiar, like a distant uncle.
“I knew you'd do the right thing.” Brandt motioned for Allister’s left arm to update the occupation information on the Cynque. “My assistant will show you where to go.”
Allister nearly reached the door when the sound of an electrical device shooting wires reached his ears. A split second too slow to react and they attached to the base of his neck. High voltage surged and Allister sank to the ground.
Brandt smiled for the first time in days, as if receiving a standing ovation for his performance. “You see, Mr. Adams, it's not about what you have but what you do with it.”
ALLISTER ADAMS
Washington, DC, April 2026
Allister's brain tried to make sense of the blurred grey ceiling above. It was like blacking out with a bunch of friends and not knowing what happened after you left the bar, then waking up in the drunk tank the morning after, presumably arrested for disorderly conduct. The metal cot amplified the pain throughout his neck and back, an obvious side effect of the attack. It subsided as he got up and walked over to a concrete wall, which bled into a thick bolt-locked door.
“Hello?” Allister said, careful not to apply any strength while knocking on the thing between him and freedom. A few minutes went by and nothing happened. Allister's sense of accomplishment was replaced by a sense of doom.
The Cynque w
atch connected to the wireless network of the building but with limited available internet access. The device read 11:00 a.m., two hours since his brief interview. Allister held his arm up, frantically pacing the small room for a better connection, even though he knew his mother would be at work for hours.
The bolt lock moved aside before the door swung open and banged against the concrete wall. Four identically dressed soldiers stood there but only one of them stepped forward. Silver two-piece uniforms had the white Andromeda Project logo across the chest. He’d never seen that get up on the tram before.
“Are you here to take me somewhere else?” Allister asked, approaching the door. “I need to call my mom, she's gonna worry.” Semi-automatic weapons at their sides came into view. His movement wasn’t an approved course action. They didn't know what to expect after reading the reports.
“I'm assigned to escort you to your first appointment,” one soldier said, keeping the weapon aimed at Allister’s midsection. The other three backed out of the doorway and dispersed into the hall. “Come with us.”
The armed soldier took the lead and Allister followed him down the narrow corridor. Shiny metallic walls lined his peripheral, nothing looked out of place but the facility didn’t feel clean. Dungeon lighting described its poor excuse for an ambience. Another freestanding concrete structure, with doors exactly like the one he'd been held in, caught Allister’s attention. “Anyone in those?” he asked as they walked. The other three followed behind him with their weapons raised toward his back.
“Don't ask questions,” the soldier mumbled.
THE ANDROMEDA PROJECT MAIN HQ
Washington, DC, April 2026
Leesa would’ve been attracted to him if she felt that sort of thing for other people. Attraction was among other emotions locked in the basement of her robotic mind along with compassion, empathy and love.
Allister, a young man clearly determined to appear worthy, was poised and calm even with weapons aimed at various body parts. It added to a desire for him Leesa longed to feel. She gently navigated the sharp edge of her desk; Allister was taller than her by four inches. Her violet cape draped over her right shoulder and glided behind her. She sized Allister up a second time before directing her attention to the officer. “A little extreme.”
“Sorry, Lieutenant, following protocol for all incoming,” the soldier saluted and lowered the weapon.
“I'll take it from here,” Leesa said, waving them away. “Come in.”
Allister walked forward, stopping in the middle. Hazel eyes peeked from below a thick head of wavy, dark brown hair down to his ears. Leesa drew in a breath and slipped behind her desk to resume their meeting from her seat. His body, sculpted like a Greco-Roman statue, was visible through the fitted undershirt and the clean-shaven, modelesque face held nothing in the way of guilt.
“You must be Private Adams. I've heard a lot about you.”
Allister gazed at her but said nothing; his smirk more shy than sarcastic. Leesa extended her hand over her desk but he didn't notice. She raised it a bit higher and reached his line of vision. “I am Lieutenant Delemar.”
Allister snapped out of his trance as if emerging from hypnosis. “Hi Lee—I mean Lieutenant,” he corrected himself nervously.
Centimeters before shaking hands, they repelled from each other like two electrons. The telekinetic explosion was an autoimmune response to danger. Leesa gripped her arm near the wrist and Allister recovered from beneath a damaged wall.
“Are you okay?” he asked, standing up. He was barely fazed.
Leesa, bewildered, didn't answer immediately, needing to process both that he stood up like he didn't fly into a wall and the unshakable image echoing in her mind.
“Lieutenant?” he asked again.
“Yes, I’m fine.” Leesa nodded, adjusting her gold-buttoned uniform top and smoothed the fabric covering her bottom before taking a seat. Allister stood a safe distance and waited for her next instructions.
Leesa offered the chair in front of her desk. Her movements had as much grace as an automatic weapon. “Welcome to the Andromeda Project. You are in the final assessment stage of-“ she took a breath to continue speaking. Leesa felt like a few wires got crossed, she was malfunctioning.
“What happens if I don't pass?” Allister interrupted.
A recruit had never interrupted her before. Leesa leaned forward with her hands clasped together. “Private Adams, do you know why you're here?”
He wasn't sure how to answer the question. “No.”
“If I can continue without interruptions, you will know everything you need to know.” Rage roamed freely inside her hollow psyche but none of it came to the surface. Leesa paused, remembering the reason she terminated the last recruit. A lesser mistake. Allister mumbled an apology as Leesa found her train of thought. “You are in the final assessment stage of our recruiting process. Our expert psychiatrist will do a psychoanalysis to determine your mental stability, mental health, and any risk factors you may present in a field combat situation. If you can't pass, there is no reason to move on to the next step, which is a DNA analysis by one of the world's top geneticists. He will determine the source of your abilities and figure out how we can make sure they stay under control while you are at the facilities.”
Allister held his mouth open without speaking. What did they mean control? He thought to himself, his mouth closed again as if the thought was spoken out loud.
“Lastly, you must complete a successful training session with me. Typically, under the condition this goes smoothly, i.e., 'you pass,' you meet my superior who is head of the entire project.”
“Pass? The captain said they wanted me?” Allister didn’t mean to speak out loud.
Leesa fed on his anxiety like a demon. “We do. But I still have to be sure you're the right choice. The waiver you signed earlier alerts you that if you're not admitted, you'll be terminated and we’ll notify your family of your death. The signing bonus is a life insurance policy, which your family gets whether you're admitted or not. It’s unlikely you'll see them for some time, if ever.”
She'd performed her monologue a few dozen times based on the speed and accuracy of her speech. Allister’s eyes darted left and right while the glass screen in the middle of Leesa’s office lowered to eye level. The chair rotated to face it and she stood behind him. What the hell did I get myself into? This is nuts. Allister thought. “I don't think I'm in the right place. I'd like to speak to my mother.”
Leesa stopped pacing in her grey uniform boots and placed her hands on the back of his chair. “Private Adams, you're no longer under supervision of a parent or legal guardian?”
Allister shook his head without turning around.
“And legally you're fully responsible for your own decisions?”
He nodded, his signed waiver form appeared on the screen.
“That is your signature?”
“Yes…”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
Leesa leaned down; her hair as straight as her point and dark as her intentions. It fell over her shoulder and into Allister’s line of sight. “Good. I'm glad we're clear. There will be no communication with your mother, especially if you want her to stay safe.” She moved her hand to the right, and the screen populated images of three glowing shapes.
“We called it the Andromeda Project because it started with communication from a civilization in the Andromeda galaxy.” Leesa went on to describe how their top-secret mission involved locating three alien artifacts. “They're known as the Gems of Evale by the people who created them,” she said. “We only know for certain that two transporter gems and a disruption gem are here on Earth. They're equally powerful and dangerous in the wrong hands.”
They were trying to solve a problem that couldn’t be discussed and expected the proposed “problem” to fully destroy Earth in the next twenty years. The project's onset was back in 2000 and they hadn't found anything. Funding returned in 2016
and solid leads on the artifacts surfaced between 2024 and 2026. Leesa blamed hesitation from the directors when knowledge of the artifacts reached C20, a rogue agency. While at first the threat was low, they lobbied for money from private investors and gained technology and manpower. It only took six months for the threat from C20 to go from minor to serious competition. Only time would tell which organization played the tortoise and which played the hare in their race to acquire the gems and “save the planet.”
The Andromeda Project had support from the most powerful nations in the world; there was no mercy for opposition. Allister took in knowledge he was given as Leesa strode with her hands tucked safely behind her back. He stared at the screen after she finished, reading until he reached the last page of the document. Leesa’s cape floated behind her in the stagnant room. According to the file, the location of one of the artifacts was close to being uncovered by C20.
“We don't know where they are,” Leesa said solemnly. The Andromeda Project’s satellites weren't picking up anything in the way of concentrated activity. C20 jammed inbound and outbound signals but undercover agents managed to get updates back to her in the form of encrypted messages alongside existing C20 transmissions. “Every infiltration has ended in death, human soldiers aren't equipped with the skills or abilities needed to survive in such situations. That’s why we need people like you. Do you have any questions?”
Allister wondered if she was more upset about the loss of lives or the repeated failure. He shook his head again. The gems and the abilities they granted were only grazed over at a base level, perhaps due to limited human comprehension. Words escaped him as he went over the information and how it was completely incorrect. He might as well be sitting in a classroom again. His only question, but it couldn't be asked, was Who gave you this bullshit?
The Gems of Evale were legendary cosmic artifacts, considered sacred by the Alliance, known as the Infinity Cluster. The Cluster included numerous solar systems and civilizations spanning the Andromeda and Milky Way galaxies. In order to activate, each gem was required to have a host. Once bonded to a gem, the only way to break the bond was to kill the wielder. Three on Earth were hidden for the purpose of existing far away from any other civilization’s reach, and the other six were scattered about the universe.
The Andromeda Project (The Cluster Chronicles Book 1) Page 3