The Andromeda Project (The Cluster Chronicles Book 1)

by Jason Michael Primrose

  “Our appointment is over,” Leesa said, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s unorthodox but the head of the program wants to meet you now.”

  They walked in silence. Leesa wanted to ask Allister about his father but ran out of time; it was unprofessional of her to lead him into a meeting late as a result of her inquisitiveness. A thought ran through her brain.

  Leesa spent much of her time around her father and the project growing up but couldn't remember if she'd met Allister's father. Her mind wandered dangerously, back to places and memories people told her not to go. Leesa tried to pinpoint when all of those emotions were smothered seemingly out of existence, it was right around the time she enrolled in George Washington University. She'd been a scholar student, brilliant in fact, but she avoided relationships and friendships to pursue her studies. Graduated valedictorian in two and a half years, the nearly impossible for a girl who wasn’t supposed to live to adulthood. Making her father proud was always top priority; naturally it led her right to a position at the Andromeda Project, filing paperwork.

  “You seem capable…” Allister started cautiously, “why don't you go in there and wipe C20 out?”

  “It's not that simple,” Leesa sighed as they reached the elevator.

  NICOLAS DELEMAR

  Washington, DC, April 2026

  “Your performance has become increasingly disappointing,” the North Korean director said. The Andromeda Project's support system was made up of a board of nations and wealthy private investors to fund research and development. Key players included Brazil, North Korea, Russia, the UK, China, and the United States. There were six directors, one representative with a net worth of 10 billion or more from each country.

  Six television screens hummed with greyed out silhouettes. They ranged from political leaders, to royalty, to diplomats. Nicolas was in the center of the dark room providing his weekly update. He’d rather consider it a weekly prosecution. His work ethic, their progress, it was always on trial. They judged Nicolas with no better knowledge of what to do to accomplish their mission. Money equaled power; they’d given a lot of it over the years and after the latest injection of cash they'd become even more impatient.

  “We were able to bring in Allister Adams as you requested. I’m meeting with him momentarily.”

  “He's useless unless he passes assessment,” the Russian director remarked.

  “Why are you seeing the recruit before he is properly vetted?“ the Chinese director asked. “Allister could be dangerous. What if he is angry because of what happened to his father?”

  Nicolas looked down. “I'd prefer to find that out before we run him through the recruitment process.”

  “I support minimizing time wasted,” the Brazilian director said lightheartedly. “Your action is approved.” No one echoed his sentiment.

  The UK director chimed in, “We expect your team to have found a way to circumvent C20 technology and lead an infiltration mission.”

  “My lead officer isn’t permitted in the field. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Whatever it takes,” the North Korean director said. “And that doesn't mean disobey our restrictions.”

  “It is bad enough you Americans are taking the lead,” the Chinese director said. “We could've finished this mission alone twenty years ago.”

  “Irrelevant,” the US director scoffed. “General, you have one week. You're dismissed.”

  Nicolas exited the secret door hidden by a wall behind his desk. He hovered his wrist above the keypad, letting the Cynque watch lock the area. The black filing cabinet in the corner stood out against his granite chair and responsive glass desk. It was the only place with room to display the awards he received in his military service and a few photos of his family. His office resembled an enclosed bowl from the outside; completely glass, round in the middle but flat on the top and bottom. Ironic, because he often felt like a goldfish swimming around in circles without direction. Nicolas waited for something to come from somewhere above him to stimulate forward motion, like swimming toward flakes of fish food each morning and afternoon.

  Since it began, Nicolas had been responsible for executing missions under the Andromeda Project as the sole point of contact with the directors. In the last six years the project's focus shifted and they sourced specialists to complete outstanding initiatives.

  The military green uniform slimmed his aging figure. A matching general hat, as large as his ego, covered a thinning head of hair. He leaned against the glass with his arm above his head. Nicolas’s desk lit up with an email notification and read it aloud. Their last undercover agent to report on the status of C20's initiatives was killed before he revealed their precise location; it was a miracle he made it so long behind enemy lines.

  “Fuck.” There was never any good news.

  The superhuman recruits they sourced were officially their last chance to get it right. Images of those going through the screening process replaced the email. It was their seventh round, and Nicolas decided to cultivate them rather than terminate them like the ones before. Criteria set forth for the program was specific; they needed a unique ability, no family ties, and no way out.

  Dorian Xander, nineteen, leveled his parent's entire neighborhood, killing over 300 people. Bridget Sparks, twenty-eight, worked as a stripper and killed a group of clients when one of them pulled a gun on her and commanded she perform oral sex. As an added bonus she suffered from bipolar disorder but her powers were like nothing in recorded history. Nicolas swiped and came upon the recruit they'd been looking for since the accident in Cumberland Falls. Allister Adams, twenty, no criminal record and mentally stable outside of childhood trauma.

  A trio of superhuman misfits to add to his already dysfunctional team of managing partners, all of them tormented by some mental hindrance; severe depression, anxiety, or post-traumatic stress disorder. Nicolas closed the files and checked his watch; he was nervous about encountering his former colleague's progeny. Like a first date with an ex-girlfriend’s best friend. What does Allister already know about me? Nicolas thought. Leesa and Allister entered.

  ALLISTER ADAMS

  Washington, DC, April 2026

  “Your father was a brilliant man, Private Adams,” Nicolas said.

  Something about the general's voice made Allister angry. He sounded like a bad cell phone salesman, reciting things from a training manual without depth or sincerity. Allister shooed away frustration. “I don't know much about him,” he said.

  Nicolas raised an eyebrow, looking for dishonesty. He was relieved, and it explained Allister's calm demeanor. “In any case, I'm glad we found you when we did.” Nicolas studied his posture, square shoulders and unconventional haircut. They stood eye-to-eye, arm’s length apart. Leesa huddled near the door on her tablet, reading details of their latest failure.

  “Thank you for having me,” Allister said, during a brief handshake. They both became light-headed. Nicolas nearly fainted, stumbling back to grab the side of the desk and catch himself. Allister’s mind flooded with information, like unfiltered water overflowing into a carefully managed reservoir.

  Leesa rushed toward him at subsonic speed. Allister dodged her attack before he knew what he was doing, before the information could process, pivoting behind her and slamming her against the desk without shattering it. He held both of Leesa’s hands behind her back.

  “I'm not sure what's happening,” Allister said.

  “Let go of me before I…” Leesa struggled to get free, snarling like a wolf. Her pupils shrank into tiny dots and Allister's grip released. He rose off the floor, remaining airborne until she flipped around and punched him. He flew across the room.

  Outside of temporary fatigue, Nicolas didn't appear injured. Leesa's chest moved rapidly up and down, prepared to carry out another assault. The general calmed her with a hand gesture. “This anomaly wasn't listed in his file,” Nicolas said.

  “General, if I may, you don't normally see recruits until they complete the proc
ess. Dr. Giro hasn't done his genetic analysis.” Leesa straightened out her cape. He should’ve stuck to protocol.

  The door opened and the resident psychiatrist, Florence Belladonna, entered. “I came a little early to make sure…” she looked around the room for the new recruit. “Are we training in here now?” she asked as her eyes finally reached his body, relaxed on the floor.

  Like a high tech purifying system, Allister's brain went to work categorizing and prioritizing what he'd absorbed, discarding what was unnecessary. Florence leaned down to help him. “No, no don't. I'm okay,” Allister said, standing up on his own.

  “It's important we get him through the next phases of his initiation, Dr. Belladonna. We expect that, like his father, he'll be one of our most valuable assets,” Nicolas said.

  If the golden metal that made up Leesa’s buttons covered her entire body, there’d be no difference between it and the cold flesh he felt moments before. Disturbing as it was, some part of Allister wanted to bring warmth to it.

  “Are you ready?” Florence asked him.

  Allister turned to apologize. Leesa’s arms crossed when their eyes met, angry about her unsuccessful homicide. He thought better of it and left the room.

  Florence’s navy trench coat trailed behind her. He eyed the sword on her back. Once they were a safe distance away she faced him. Allister recognized her from his tram commute that morning. “You were…” he started.

  “Relax,” Florence paused, staring into his eyes. “Your mind is a mess…” she turned away. “Still surprised a good kid like you signed on, you haven't killed anyone…stolen anything. What brings you here anyway?”

  Allister was behind her checking his Cynque watch, displaying two service bars but no missed calls. Florence turned around to address his silence and her eyes widened; she snatched his wrist and pulled out a tiny metal pin. A trained pickpocket couldn’t have detached the device faster and slicker.

  “Hey!” he said.

  “This didn’t get updated after your acceptance,” Florence looked it over. “How did you manage to sneak this past your recruiter?”

  “Sneak!? What?” Allister’s face flushed red, a little upset but mostly embarrassed. “I was attacked after I signed my papers and woke up in a jail cell, thank you.” He touched the part of his neck where the wires had penetrated his skin. No one would’ve known it happened unless he told them.

  She activated her own Cynque watch. “Dial Control Room.”

  The phone rang four times before a high-pitched woman's voice answered. “The new recruit had an un-calibrated Cynque watch connected to an unmonitored cell tower within range,” Florence paused, listening to the voice on the other end speak. “I only turned it off. I need the signal jammed; it's been active for hours. Let the general know.”

  Florence taking the device felt more like death than it should have. Without it, Allister was nothing. He had no identity, no connection to anything outside the walls.

  LEESA DELEMAR

  Washington, DC, April 2026

  “Increase security around the perimeters, especially in the entrances by the loading docks and hangar bays. Alert me if he's seen wandering the premises.” Nicolas ended the call.

  “We need to—“ they said at the same time. Leesa stopped first.

  “Figure out what he did to me,” Nicolas finished. She nodded in agreement. He looked up at the ceiling for nothing in particular. “I’ve been instructed to assemble a group to go after C20 in the next week.”

  “I need at least thirty calendar days of training before I can think about putting these recruits on a battlefield,” Leesa said.

  “That was an order, Lieutenant. I don't want to hear any more excuses!” he yelled, out of patience and energy at the same time. “Make it happen.”

  Leesa stiffened. A recon mission six months earlier had gotten out of hand and many of her best-trained agents were killed. The directors confined her to the base until the case was reviewed. She spiraled into an obsessive regime of hand-to-hand combat training and vigorous workouts to increase her body strength, in case her powers failed her again. Her mouth opened.

  “You're not an option to lead this team,” Nicolas interrupted.

  Leesa inhaled and adopted an emotionless expression. “I understand that neither of us is in control of the timeline. I will make other arrangements.” She couldn't shake her fear that Allister's attack was intentional, his availability as a recruit and clean record unsettled her. A knight disguised as a pawn in their game of chess with C20. Normally she would've terminated him under suspicion but futility stopped her from suggesting it. Leesa purposefully hit Allister hard enough to put her hand through his chest. It didn’t even knock the wind out of him. “Do you think he works for them?” she finally asked.

  “He dodged your first attack, survived your second one,” Nicolas picked at the leather of his calf-high combat boots, “and he wasn't even paying attention.”

  “I'm aware.” Leesa didn't want it to get around she was bested by a new, untrained recruit; it would ruin her reputation as the caped queen.

  “Find out who Allister’s recruiting officer was and bring them to me.”

  Leesa saluted him; she didn't mention what happened during the initial interview. Nicolas sat down and returned to his work, a silent dismissal. But she hovered a moment letting her frustration build into a complete sentence.

  “Can't you ever call me Leesa?” Her lip quivered as she struggled to maintain her robotic demeanor, the basement where she also kept “vulnerability” was unlocked.

  “You're my daughter and the best thing to ever happen to me.” Nicolas kept his eyes focused on the details of their next shipment to the facility. “But you know how this works.”

  Leesa returned to her office and opened the sliding door leading to her living quarters. Pictures of the mother she'd never met rested on a dusty nightstand next to childhood photos of her in a wheelchair. The debilitating disease almost killed her, but it didn't. No one cared about the triumph she'd overcome. They only cared about what she did for them now. If there was a time to cry, it’d passed already. Her mind shifted like gears to the dilemma at hand.

  Leesa knew they weren’t ready to go up against C20, especially on their own turf, but at that point success or failure didn't matter. The Andromeda Project was the only thing she'd known in her adult life and she didn't know what to do without it. After being fired by her father for snooping through confidential files and taking the high salaried position overseas, Leesa learned that she didn't belong around civilians. She couldn't live as a wife, as a mother. She didn't know how to be a friend. She didn't know how to be a daughter.

  Leesa stood in the room’s center fighting to keep it all in, a full time job in itself. More thoughts led to anger, sadness, then to uncontrolled power manifestations. Dressers, old college books, the mattress, all hovered at shoulder level. She exhaled as they returned to their proper places. They would need to turn the power dampeners up in her office if she didn't get a handle on her telekinesis soon. She left her feelings behind the locked door.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Initiation

  FLORENCE BELLADONNA

  Washington, DC, April 2026

  “Tell me about what happened to your father,” Florence said, preparing to record the statement.

  “I'm not sure,” he said puzzled. “My mom said I was traumatized from the accident, she took me to four different doctors because I didn't talk for a year. Do you know what happened?”

  Florence wrote Repression on her note pad. Her jet-black hair, with the right amount of curl and length, moved with her head. “No. No record of anything in our database. Can you try to remember?“ She prodded. “Think back to the day…”

  Allister shrugged as if he'd lost interest in a toy he didn’t ask for on Christmas Day. “Couldn’t tell you the day. Can’t even tell you the year, really.”

  Florence puckered her lips; they were coated in a red one only sees in a West Coa
st sunset. “Let's move on..” She watched his body language change; bracing himself as she walked over.

  “Does this mean I failed?” Allister sat back.

  “Not yet,” she said calmly.

  Florence adjusted the armchair so it faced him on the couch.

  “Does everyone have to do this?” Allister asked.

  “Shhh,” she crossed her legs and tilted her neck down, the outside of her body glowed a light purple. Allister fell asleep as telepathic energy pulsated around his body as well.

  Florence combed the surface of Allister's mind for thirty minutes before she probed deeper, which caused her psychic form to manifest inside of his subconscious. She stood in an infinite field of electric-blue grass. Closest to her a set of stairs, anchored to the ground, lead up to a decent-sized house. The manifestation was not unusual; it was commonplace for the brain to hold secrets and information inside familiar structures, objects, or people they identified with. She headed there.

  The house resembled the one he shared with his mother at the time. An astral form of Dolores stood next to its front door, hands at her side, staring at the oncoming woman. Florence met no resistance from the astral form who wispily gestured for her to continue through the open door. She perused the house, taking in everything about his life and memories, then searched for secrets in walls, rooms, and even furniture. She found nothing but young adult angst from constantly moving, poor performance in school and life, and dealing with his abilities. She was curious about what contributed to such a comfortable lifestyle, but the house only held life events from the past twelve years.

  Outside of the obvious incident regarding the Cynque watch in the real world, there were no suspicious associations. Allister had no friends and the shop owner was the only other person he'd interacted with consistently, besides his mother. No former customers stood out. She exited the first house as a second house appeared in the distance.