FLORENCE BELLADONNA
Washington, DC, April 2026
“I’ll make this brief, seeing as how I’ve been awake for a day and a half,” Florence said and tousled tangled, unwashed hair. “The good news is Private Adams is not a spy…”
Leesa came from behind her desk, excitement fought for attention through lit up eyes, but the sentiment was shoved away by concern. Good news always meant bad news too. Her shoulders dropped. “Go on.”
Florence only expected to meet with the lieutenant but at some point Nicolas decided he needed to be present. She glanced in his direction but didn’t give any indication of a hello as he leaned against the glass wall analyzing their interaction with his arms crossed. “The kid needs a warning label. Private Adams has an ability to gain knowledge, caused by him seeking knowledge. It’s something he can master but right now, it’s involuntary.”
“ Any ability can be dampened,” Nicolas said.
“He’s as perfect as we thought,” the lieutenant’s voice pitched at the end of the sentence. Leesa daydreamed for a millisecond, then suffocated her own desire with an imaginary pillow, “for the project.”
“Anything that happened to Private Adams before he was eight is protected by a strange energy. When I attempted to break through I got kicked out of his mind.” Florence paused, letting her brain adjust to renewed telepathic prowess. Temporary neutralization was a neat trick, would make any psychic think twice about trying to tackle that barrier a second time. She grilled Nicolas with an accusing stare. “Know anything about the Zosma energy?”
“The what?” Leesa interrupted. She’d been mentally replaying her battle with Allister.
“Let’s review this another time,” Nicolas said nervously. “Thank you for the update.”
Florence despised him without restraint. “You can’t keep secrets from me, General Delemar,” she said, tapping her head.
Nicolas opened the door. “Goodnight Dr. Belladonna.”
“Those memories need to stay locked away,” Florence whispered on the way out, “or he will want vengeance for his father’s death.”
Home wasn’t even an option after such a long day. There was one last meeting to tend to. Florence exited the facility through the ramp and nodded to the new set of soldiers on duty who’d replaced the staff from a few nights ago. She always got her way, the result of a privileged upbringing.
Florence rode the tram six stops to get to the meeting location on the Potomac River. “Potomac Lookout,” the computer announced. “Please stand clear of the doors.” She pushed through the impatient entering patrons and checked the surroundings. A civilian moved ahead, Florence stayed on their heels and escaped the Cynque watch scanning process to avoid anyone tracking her location.
A long path above ground lead to the scenic overlook built along the embankment. No one believed in global warming until the Potomac river permanently flooded the Virginia stretch of GW parkway. It moved faster than a river should, like it was late for an appointment with the Chesapeake Bay.
“I know everything you’re thinking.” Florence teased, then erased their last conversation from the watch. “Happy?” Her powers roamed free outside of the facility, too free. Touching every mind within 100 miles, her body was alive with the glow of a dozen roses. Her mental ability had grown since their last encounter. Florence’s heels dug into damp grass leading to the river. She was the only dry thing in the vicinity. Florence missed the rain, although it did nothing for her wild curls but make things complicated.
“Stop it.” The person said in a voice masked by an implanted speech distorter. The mysterious shape hid in shadows, overlooking the toxic pool. Crimson energy scattered into the air.
They spoke briefly about next steps; Allister might be too fragile to help achieve her mission. A kid with extraordinary abilities was still a kid.
“Treat him like the son you always wanted but never let us ha-“
The speed of thought was faster than the speed of sound and the blade of Florence’s sword was on her former colleague’s neck before finishing.
Florence liked swords because they required skill and upper body strength to wield. “Not in our original agreement.”
Her contact chuckled. “Our original agreement has changed...do you understand this isn’t an isolated affair?”
No fear radiated from the person she once called a friend, only honesty. Can’t punish someone for honesty. “You asked me for a favor, dammit!” She sheathed the blade. Moisture attacked her hair without mercy, only five minutes from a replica of her mother’s afro.
Gentle hands rested on Florence’s shoulders. “This war will be between nations or between worlds. I know it’s coming. You know it’s coming. We need the strongest with us.”
“My debt is repaid once I get the gems.” Florence stepped out of the loose grasp. “Do you know what happened to Patrick Adams?”
“He got in the way. Whatever you do, Doctor, stay in the flow of traffic. Don’t get in the way.”
She saved the Zosma energy inquiry for their next visit and returned to the tram.
NICOLAS DELEMAR
Cumberland Falls, Kentucky, April 19, 2014
Patrick’s phone went to voicemail again. The empty glass shattered when Nicolas’s hand hit the table, startling the elderly couple at the booth behind him. Cassie fumbled nervously over what to do.
“Go clean up the mess. Don’t say a word to him,” Dolores commanded, remembering the gun in his possession. It was Nicolas’s seventh beer and well past midnight.
Cassie swept glass pieces up with a broom and dustpan then delicately took larger pieces off the table.
A once-white cloth napkin was stained a murderous red with Nicolas’s blood. He pressed it against the shallow wound. “I need more napkins,” he said, glaring at the young girl.
The line for tables lengthened due to the unwelcome squatters and Dolores’s angst mounted as she reached the disheveled dining area. “Anything else I can get for ya sir?” She asked less than politely. “We have other customers that’d like to sit down, we’ll need this table.”
“Are you kicking out paying customers?” Nicolas stood up.
“You ain’t paid yet but if you’d be so kind.” Dolores dropped his tab on the half-eaten plate.
Cassie went to dump the glass out into the trash can as Dolores entered the hallway of the restaurant. Nicolas checked his phone again and brushed past Cassie on the way to the parking lot, thirteen outbound calls to Patrick with no answer. Time to catch the bait.
“George, keep an eye on him,” Cassie mumbled after being summoned by one of her tables. Charles yelled to George through the kitchen window and her comment was lost among restaurant lingo.
The smell of a full day’s trash spread across the alley behind the restaurant. Giant Hummers mixed with a bunch of Chevys and Ford pickups filled their parking lot. The Hummers didn’t belong. Dolores held the flip phone to her ear crouched behind the trash bin, it rang three times. A door slammed inside. She peered around her hiding spot but didn’t see anyone.
Allister answered. “Mom?”
“Allister, honey, where is your father?” Dolores asked.
“I’m in the car waiting for him.”
“You have to get him, it’s important,” she moved her apron with the other hand then gripped her forehead.
Sense of urgency wasn’t lost on the eight year-old. Allister dropped the toys and got out of the car. “He said not to go inside.”
“Baby, something’s not right.” Her voice wavered like an untrained public speaker. Dolores slapped her hands against her thigh. “Allister!”
Nicolas banged on the giant dumpster to announce himself. “Well, well, if it isn’t the queen of the Cumberland Cafe.” Nicolas grabbed her hand.
Dolores clutched the phone. Hysteria replaced the fading restraint in her voice. “Tell your father to get here now!”
“Mom! Are you okay?” Allister yelled, standing outside of the car.
�
�You knew who I was this whole time, didn’t you? You’re from the Andromeda Project…” Dolores said. Fear entered her heart without an invitation.
Nicolas twisted her arm until she yelped and dropped the phone. He kicked it away. “You’re going to help me get what I want or you’ll never see your husband or your little boy again.”
Allister’s barely audible screams gave her enough courage to act. Dolores’s arm shot out and caught Nicolas directly in the groin. While he recovered she did the same and got to her feet using the dumpster for support. She sprinted for the phone, yelling for help. Tiny metal pieces shot out from his Taser and landed in the center of her back sending 1200 volts through her; she jerked and collapsed onto the pavement.
ANDROMEDA PROJECT MAIN HQ
Washington, DC, April 2026
Allister waited alone outside the meeting location. The facility was the offspring of a neglected hospital basement and a modern office building. Some parts were highly technological, constructed with premium chic metals but other parts had uneven floors, discolored walls. Nicolas came moments later, adjusting his Cynque watch and confirmed the credentials against the scanner. “You’re early, Private.” He toppled mid-sentence and Allister caught him.
“You good General?” Virtuous like his father, but that didn’t always pan out to loyalty. Nicolas needed loyalty.
“I haven’t slept in four days,” Nicolas admitted.
They entered the small conference hall. A single row of chairs faced a glass monitor hanging from the ceiling. The recruit sat furthest from the door like he’d done in grade school. “Do you know my mother?” Allister adjusted the uniform’s crotch.
“Now isn’t the time for personal questions,” Nicolas answered, while arranging the chairs for the program leaders.
Allister took the answer as a yes and diverted his attention to the door sliding open. He smiled. Leesa marched across the room ignoring his warm greeting. The game of softening Leesa’s demeanor continued. Her face was programmed to the emotionless stare, lips tightly pressed together. Florence was a half beat behind her. They greeted him formally and took their seats in the front of the room. Russell came alone followed by Dorian, and last was Bridget. No one said much in the way of hellos as they filed into empty seats.
Bridget whispered to Allister, “Morning, rookie. Ready for round 2 when you are”
“I’m surprised they let you out.” Allister shot back.
“Next time I’ll shoot to kill,” Bridget ran her finger across his shoulder. A tiny spark ignited but fizzled out.
“We can begin, Private Sparks,” Nicolas said.
A map populated behind them and the general went over the areas where the Andromeda Project suffered losses to C20 in the past six months. Russell had been diligently researching a solution to keep their information more secure, as well as find a way to get their virtual eyes behind C20 lines. His deadline for completion was coming up.
Russell clenched his jaw, then said, “I have some new developments.”
“Try developing a new map,” Bridget mumbled as Russell stood up to share more about his role and his findings. “I’m bored.”
“You’re bored, Private Sparks?” Leesa snatched her into the air using telekinesis.
“Just a bit,” Bridget said sarcastically with her legs dangling beneath her. An electric charge gathered along her fingertips and traveled up her arms. “I suggest you put me down.”
“Lieutenant,” Florence yelled, “put her down.”
Leesa threw her hand out and Bridget flew into the unoccupied chairs. She rolled back into a swift recovery and two consecutive blasts of concentrated electric output hit a telekinetic force field spanning the entire half of the room. Leesa held both hands up but fell back, stunned by the impact.
“Now this is fun,” Bridget said, her eyes glowed and the group saw a waterfall of electric currents pulsing along the walls.
“You’re not in control of this!” Allister warned. “You’re ruining it for all of us.” He went to tackle her and Bridget shot him backwards. The currents became more ferocious.
Florence sensed a rise in emotional instability. “Why would you say that to her?” She asked in his mind.
“I’m trying to get her to calm down,” Allister answered in a thought.
“How about let the psychiatrist handle it...”
“I’m in complete control!” Bridget shouted amidst their telepathic conversation. The room erupted in electric violence. Leesa reformed her field into a sphere encasing the program leaders. Allister covered Dorian’s body and took the brunt of the lightning storm darting from point to point.
“All yours,” Allister thought.
Florence waited for the general’s command, afraid to use her power because she wasn’t supposed to have power. Allister glanced back and saw no change in Bridget’s aggression or movement from the protected leaders. She cackled, attacking the telekinetic orb relentlessly.
“Lieutenant, you know what to do,” Nicolas said.
Leesa hesitated.
Fed up, Allister moved at subsonic speed; he reflected the bolts hitting him and wrestled Bridget to the ground. He held her hands down and away from each other so she couldn’t build more momentum.
“You’re giving yourself a death sentence,” Allister said through clenched teeth.
“Enough!” Leesa’s hands were fully extended to the side as the telekinetic field expanded outward redirecting the electrical energy. Bridget and Allister slammed against the wall, and she fell unconscious. The room returned to normal.
“Doesn’t seem like anyone has any control here,” Allister said getting up.
Bridget opened her eyes as six soldiers shackled her hands. She found a mix of comfort, remorse and pleasure from the fear in Russell’s eyes. “You’re lucky you have me here,” she spat as they removed her from the meeting. “Do you see what I did? C20 doesn’t stand a chance.”
Allister walked over to help Dorian who was crouched in the corner in a puddle of his own urine. Leesa faced away from them with both hands on her hips. “Private Sparks is your responsibility,” Leesa said not so quietly to her colleague.
“And I’ve told you she suffers from psychological trauma linked to aggressive behavior directed at her. And so does Private Xander, can you not add to it? It generates animosity and hatred, which is not productive, especially since you’ll be together in dangerous situations,” Florence scolded.
“I won’t be working with her anywhere,” Leesa flipped her cape back over her shoulder. Insecurity snuck out of her like a teenager on a school night. It was hard to admit she overreacted when on the surface being put together was of utmost importance. Sometimes Leesa needed to flex her muscles. “That little former prostitute needs discipline,” she replied, pushing away a stray bang from her disheveled ponytail. “She’s cut.”
“You know, I wonder if you went through the proper testing if you’d still be considered the ‘leader’,” Florence accused using air quotes. “You’re not dismissing anyone because of your negligence.”
“Dismissed?” Leesa scoffed. “More like terminated.”
“You provoked her,” Florence retorted. “If Private Sparks trusted us and used that same power on someone else? You really want to let it go to waste because of your ego?”
“I agree with Dr. Belladonna,” Russell finally said.
Leesa glared at him. “I didn’t ask for your counsel.”
“All of you, stop it!” Nicolas fell back into the chair involuntarily. It took him the entire argument to muster up the strength to interject. No one noticed his shortened breaths. “Private Sparks…won’t be terminated. Meet me in my office in ten minutes, there are updates…from the recent sabotage.”
NICOLAS DELEMAR
Washington, DC, April 2026
Nicolas tapped the desk with his forefinger, looking at the three program leaders in front of him. A glass monitor partially obstructed the general’s tired face from view. The group’s f
aces were a hodgepodge of reactions to newly obtained video footage from the brutal massacre in Poughkeepsie.
“It turns out C20 didn’t just intercept our shipment,” Nicolas said after the footage concluded. He was unaffected by the homicides. “They stole some of it too.”
“All those civilians…” Florence said behind a covered mouth.
Russell shrugged, taking over the conversation. He wasn’t concerned about lives lost either. “We don’t know the final body count but our security team has tracked the stolen goods to Southern Iraq.”
The engineer had confirmed repeatedly in past months there was no C20 activity in Southern Iraq. During the early 2020s the Earth’s temperature climbed in certain locations by 2 to 3 degrees per year, the Middle East and North Africa had already reached 120 degrees by 2016. By 2024 it was unbearable to live there, having reached 140 degrees Fahrenheit at its hottest and around 130 at its coolest. A massive dust storm, caused by equalization of air temperature, swept the area in the summer of 2025 and covered it in sand before it was properly evacuated. The dead cities were littered with corpses and remnants of infrastructure. Operating out of that region was virtually impossible.
“I think I would know if something were happening over in Iraq,” Florence said to Russell. “It’s against international law.”
“Oh no,” Russell pushed his glasses to his nose. He felt like a complete idiot.
Bridget saw the electromagnetic field on Russell’s world map curving around a large object and didn’t know what it meant. C20 had set up shop in the least likely place and for some time. Their cloaking technology was a key defense tactic in their brewing war but it created an opaque effect, the Andromeda Project couldn’t see inside C20 but C20 couldn’t see the outside world either. Not from within the base. It forced them to set up satellite operations all over the world to gather intel. However, the stolen computer chip enhanced the cloaking and created a two-way mirror type situation. The ruins of Iraq taunted them like one’s own reflection.
“Maybe if Private Sparks can see the field…she can manipulate it…”
The Andromeda Project (The Cluster Chronicles Book 1) Page 12