The Andromeda Project (The Cluster Chronicles Book 1)

by Jason Michael Primrose

“The Andromeda Project is after us,” Dolores said quietly. She reconsidered her thoughts about what her husband was involved with, although she didn’t understand it, her unwillingness to be supportive was what led to her ignorance about the hostage situation. Footsteps most likely meant more danger. Dolores was right.

  “You must be Dolores.” Danger wore a black uniform with the Andromeda Project across his chest. He held one of the customer’s rifles up to his eye. Using the barrel, the soldier motioned for Dolores to raise her hands.

  “Think about what you’re doing.” Dolores’s voice cracked while she reasoned with him.

  “Shut up,” the soldier said.

  “My son’s name is Allister,” she said with her hands in the air, “he’s only eight years old. He’ll grow up without a mother.”

  “I said shut up!” the man yelled, threatening her with the cocking noise. “You’re lucky they want you alive.”

  Headlights behind them from a 1966 Camaro. None other than Cassie with six bullets and no conscience, remembering what her father showed her out on the range. The soldier turned to confront the interruption. She unloaded the weapon.

  “Sweet lord forgive her,” Dolores closed her eyes and ears to avoid the soldier’s agony. The sirens were close but who knew if they were for the police, the hospital, the fire department or the Andromeda Project.

  “If they’re after you, you better give’em a good chase,” Cassie said, looking more like a woman than a girl.

  “Take care of that one,” Dolores joked, pointing at George. They were too far apart to hug despite knowing they’d never see each other again. Potential threats sped up their goodbye.

  “Love ya D!” Cassie said, climbing back into her vehicle. Dolores ran full speed toward her means of escape with a careful eye on Nicolas’s squirming body. She reached the hand-me-down truck, unsure whether to drive away from the plant or toward it.

  ALLISTER ADAMS

  Cumberland Falls, Kentucky, April 20, 2014

  The Hummers’ high beams sliced through the pouring rain behind Allister. Amidst the destruction unfolding he shivered, soaking wet outside the car. A child feels helpless enough, merely being a child. The cars stopped and he barely heard their doors slam while he contemplated the next move; boots touched the gravel. A third explosion fought the blazing spaceship for attention in the sky. Allister took off running toward the plant, he wasn’t helpless.

  “Hey!” one of the soldiers yelled.

  Their squad leader placed a hand on his chest so he didn’t go after the boy. “We aren’t going anywhere near there. Just be ready for whatever comes out,” the squad leader said, pointing to the illuminated craft above them.

  Allister reached the door to the plant and grabbed the handle firmly. He positioned both hands underneath the lever pulling downwards; wetness caused the metal to slip from his grasp each time. He backed away knowing he was too short to push down from the top. A loud boom sent the heavy door swinging outward. Allister covered his face against the flames.

  Patrick hung from the damaged railing above a firestorm with his sleeves feebly protecting his hands. “I told you, to stay in, the car,” Patrick yelled between coughs. His lungs, partially filled with smoke, opened as fresh air slowed the choking.

  Allister made his way down the rickety landing and reached his hands toward his father. Patrick attempted to hoist himself up, if for no other reason than to touch it.

  Steam rose from beneath the brave boy’s grip on the heated railing. He was too close for pain to matter. An involuntary scream escaped his throat and Allister let go for a moment to examine the burns.

  Neight heard it. It was a strange concern, like that of a Godfather to his Godson. Allister and Neight stared at each other intently. The Uragonian ship was close, too close to deviate from his plan, and without Neight’s full concentration the ship’s landing wouldn’t go well for Cumberland Falls and its population. He already knew what had to be done.

  The obelisk drained the alien’s energy like a vampire sucking blood but Neight struggled against the force to pry his hand away. For a moment everything moved in slow motion, his concentration divided between supplying the power and generating a wind to diminish the flames. When things sped up again, their gaze broke and Neight’s arm was jerked back into place to accommodate his task; he sighed knowing he’d been defeated. The ripple effect began from there.

  Patrick pulled up and wrapped his arm around the railing of the falling platform; the pain of his burned palms more bearable with Allister’s face in front of him.

  “You’re almost there,” Allister’s encouragement was swallowed by the sound of dueling energies.

  Patrick used full lower body movements to guide the teetering construction closer to the wall. He maneuvered his way onto the steady landing but was out of breath once he got there. Allister dragged his father through the doorway by the arms but passed out from overexertion. The rain paused for their victory.

  Patrick watched first degree burns on his son’s palms disappear, it resembled accelerated knitting as new cells returned smoothness and consistency to his skin. Allister came to.

  “Next time I tell you to stay in the car, you stay in the car, kid.” Patrick stood up. The plant erupted in chaos as the infrastructure crumbled around its center, he charged toward a line of waiting soldiers with 80 pounds of disobedient child in his arms.

  “Will he be okay?” He hugged his father around the neck. Neight looked tiny compared to all he faced. The scene bounced up and down in Allister’s vision as they created distance from a soon-to-be catastrophe.

  “Something tells me Neight’s survived worse. We got to get to safety before that thing lands,” Patrick whispered.

  “Drop the boy and put your hands up. You’re under arrest for treason.” The squad leader’s gun aimed at them.

  Patrick straightened his stride and put Allister down. The gun’s barrel touched his sternum. “You gonna shoot me?” He pushed the gun down and got closer. “Didn’t think so. Now you listen here, boy. Do you see that thing right there?” They were nose-to-nose as he pointed at the ship in the sky. It was then Patrick realized the squad leader backed down because of a circular field of unknown energy gathering around the rapidly descending object. “It’s going to release an energy pulse that’ll destroy this entire area because you fucking idiots wouldn’t let Neight do his job. I suggest you get far away if you don’t wanna become star dust.”

  “We have orders to stop the alien no matter what it takes.” The squad leader pushed past. “C’mon men!”

  “He’s trying to help,” Allister squealed. They didn’t understand what would happen, and somehow Allister had learned when he and Neight’s eyes locked for a moment. More bad than good. More death than life. Flailing arms didn’t stop the rest of them from leaving the safety of military issued vehicles.

  “I’d take your own advice, Mr. Adams, and get far away before someone starts pointing fingers,” the last soldier said, before joining the followers being lead to their end.

  Patrick snatched Allister’s hand and they made their way to the car. His unanswered phone sat in the cup holder and when he went to call his wife it rang in his hand. “Hello?”

  “You’re alive. You’re alive!” Dolores screamed, happier than the day Patrick proposed. “You son of a bitch, you don’t know how many prayers I’ve said on this highway. Can’t believe it…I saw the fire, the explosions…I swore…”

  “We’re good baby, thanks to your brave ass son! Meet me at the bunker behind the house. I can’t wait to see you.”

  “Patrick, I’m sorry for not trusting you,” Dolores said.

  “No ma’am, you tell me all those sweet nothings in person,” Patrick paused and wiped a tear from his nose. “Dolores, I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she said.

  CAPTAIN JAY BRANDT

  Cumberland Falls, Kentucky, April 20, 2014

  Brandt hopped out of the car. His eyes searched for famil
iar faces among the bodies littered in the parking lot. He recognized many of them. No pulses.

  Like a thousand-piece puzzle, the situation put itself together in his head. Some pieces looked too similar to others and it didn’t all fit together comfortably. Brandt failed step one by letting his friend through the barricade but he heard uncertainty in a voice he’d turned to for absolute certainty too many times in the past. Patrick, always the voice of reason. Patrick, always right. Am I doing the right thing? Brandt thought.

  “I don’t know where the waitress is!” one of the teenage boys shrieked with hands trapped in angst above his messy hair. A soldier poked him in the side with the gun, the boy whimpered. Nicolas was already angry for reasons he couldn’t control and the boy’s crying struck a nerve.

  Another puzzle piece seemed to fit. Dolores. She always worked Cumberland Cafe’s night shift. The perfect precautionary measure to stop Patrick from going through with his promise to Neight. Brandt’s heart sped up, if Nicolas failed step two and Dolores got away, then there was a third step.

  “Kill him,” Nicolas commanded one of the soldiers behind him, “his friends are already dead anyway.” Those were his sisters. The two girls he’d been dining with lay near him with brain matter and blood tangled in their long hair. Gaping holes in their skulls stripped them of the beauty they’d once held in life.

  “No one else needs to die,” Brandt said, stepping over broken glass. Killing the boy wouldn’t make the Andromeda Project’s failing mission a success. He concentrated, hoping the gun Nicolas had would malfunction somehow. “Shouldn’t we be more worried about –”

  “My instructions were pretty clear,” Nicolas replied, fiddling with the jammed trigger. It clicked and he threw the broken weapon to the ground.

  “So were mine. He’s a child, Captain. Unarmed. And we still have an alien to bring down.”

  “You should’ve stopped Patrick from getting into the fucking plant,” Nicolas scowled and blew the kid’s brains out with a new pistol from his hip. There wasn’t even time to scream. “Now Neight’s going to escape.”

  A fuzzy transmission came in from the soldiers prepared to infiltrate the plant. “Sir, are you outside right now?”

  Nicolas almost lost his shit over the radio as he witnessed what unfolded above them, his attention consumed by energy expanding and contracting around the aircraft. In a matter of minutes, years of work would be erased when Neight fled the planet. But their next sentence transformed whatever was meant to be anger into satisfaction.

  “It’s not working sir, the machine they built doesn’t seem to be working to contain the landing. Everyone needs to find underground shelter. We have a code red…I repeat,” the transmission was so scratchy all they heard was find underground shelter.

  “Finally some good news.” Nicolas grabbed Brandt without warning and opened the Hummer door. “Get in.”

  Brandt reluctantly obeyed.

  Nicolas sat in the passenger seat. “Drive,” he said, pointing toward the plant. Brandt drove but not too quickly. He remembered there being a storm cellar outside the building. Nicolas’s pistol was pressed so tight on his temple that when Brandt swallowed, the gun moved back slightly.

  “Were you gonna kill Dolores?” Brandt choked.

  “Lucky for her, death wasn’t in the plan. Captivity was, until that little bitch Cassie saved her.”

  Brakes screeched, Nicolas’s forehead hit the dash. Gun hit the floor. Brandt dragged the dizzy asshole out of the stopped car by the collar and tossed him into the open cellar. A piece of wood jammed the cellar doors shut. Shelves of canned food in the background blurred as he advanced.

  “This disaster,” Nicolas yelled in his face, “Is because of goddamn Patrick.”

  “This ain’t his fault, he’s too damn smart,” Brandt shoved him against the cellar wall. “Tell me what you did.”

  A smug look crossed Nicolas’s face, “I made sure we didn’t fail.” He didn’t need to finish, step three was sabotage.

  “Did it include wipin’ out the population of the southern United States, including my goddamn family!? Or was that a miscalculation on your part?” Brandt shouted disrespectfully.

  The splinters hurt only half as much as knowing he’d never see his son and wife again and he gave up on removing the wooden block. Homicide crept into Brandt’s psyche disguised as revenge. A miniature Earthquake knocked Brandt down the cellar stairs, leaving him unprepared for Nicolas’s hard kick to the face.

  Empty highway stretched behind Dolores like the lyrics to an old country song foretelling of loneliness. She drove with uncertainty, shaking her head and squeezing tears down her cheeks. Only a few more miles to go. Allister’s toys resting on the dashboard subtly rattled until they landed on the floor of the passenger seat. Dolores’s car bounced more and her jaw dropped when the rearview revealed it wasn’t an Earthquake at all.

  A tsunami of energy from the spacecraft traveled across the ground at hypersonic speed toward the center of the town. The diner was the last thing Dolores saw explode before she focused forward again. Flames headed toward her like a crowd of teens to their favorite celebrity. Relentless, invasive, scorching all in its wake. Dolores swerved and bucked in attempts to maintain control of the vehicle and elude falling debris. The car’s suspension gave way, causing it to flip over itself twice before landing flat on its wheels again. Dolores sat bruised and halfway conscious in the driver’s seat, ready to be consumed by the fanfare of fire.

  ANDROMEDA PROJECT MAIN HQ

  Washington, DC, April 2026

  Muffled voices should’ve been from Allister’s neighboring prisoner, but Dorian couldn’t carry on a conversation. Squinting adjusted his vision to an outline of energy against the concrete wall connected to the next room. Allister sat up and edged closer, drawn by energy the same color as what he shot out of his arm earlier in the day. Without thinking, his left hand made contact and Allister traveled through the wall like a spoon through pudding.

  Wide-open space expanded around him. The underground museum was the size of one of the Smithsonian exhibits he’d seen as a kid. The area felt unfinished, as if someone decided to beautify the space then gave up before deciding on floor options. Plexiglas cases illuminated the otherwise dark room. The cases contained numerous artifacts: unfamiliar battle weapons, pieces of a spaceship, and battle armor complete with an enormous horned helmet.

  Click. “Who’s there?” a woman’s voice inquired.

  Allister raised his hands in innocence. “Don’t shoot! Only looking for a way back to my room. No harm.” A flashlight went over his entire body and his eyes closed to the glare.

  Dolores’s face came into visible light. “Allister…” She dropped the handgun and ran to kiss him on the cheek repeatedly while holding his face. Their greeting was far from heartwarming. “Oh my,” Dolores said. In the dim light, he looked too much like Patrick.

  “Do you work for these people too?” Allister asked.

  “Tell him,” a third voice said, coming from the brightest box in the center. Allister couldn’t tell on the creature what was skin and what was clothing. Greys blended into purples but muscle definition even better than Allister’s remained consistent. It tugged at something in his memory.

  “It’s hard to explain,” Dolores said.

  “You can start with how you got inside this maximum security building,” Allister replied to her. “And why our house is in foreclosure?”

  “I told you there were people after us,” Dolores scolded. It had nothing to do with their financial situation. “The Andromeda Project wanted us homeless and helpless. They wanted you. And here you are. Allister, why didn’t you listen to me?!”

  “None of it matters,” the creature interrupted.

  Dolores didn’t speak on it further. “This is Neight Caster, an old friend…of your father’s.”

  “You are being misguided but now I can place you on the correct path,” Neight said, unfolding his legs for a much needed stret
ch. He’d been stiff lately.

  “Uragonian...” Allister muttered, recognizing the alien’s physiology.

  “Correct.”

  Florence hovered at the edge of the room. She’d heard so many stories about Neight. Helping found the entire operation, supplying the government with invaluable knowledge and even saving human lives. But most importantly, he’d survived whatever false tragedy was listed in his file. Shadows moved behind her. A red psychic glaze covered her eyes as she scanned the area. False alarm. Allister’s vocal confusion returned Florence to the conversation.

  Dolores choked back tears before speaking, “Imagine your father and me, unable to have children, then gifted with the most beautiful thing we could dream of.” She touched his cheek. “If we help Neight get home, we can live our lives the way your father wanted us to.”

  “We’re never going to live happily ever after,” Allister said, dashing her dreams. “I want to use my gifts to help people.”

  “And you will, you will help the entire Cluster, in fact. Not only me and not only humanity.” Neight said, “he is right, Dolores, happily ever after has passed.”

  Dolores cried, mulling over the mistakes she’d made. Allister frowned and hugged his mother supportively. “I can’t even tell who the enemy is anymore. Feels like everyone…and how do you fit into all this?”

  “The Andromeda Project has the Zosma energy, it belongs to me and is…was the source of power for my people. That, I must get back myself. But you are to help me acquire the transporter gems.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Florence yelled, walking toward them.

  Allister vanished as Dolores pulled the gun from behind her apron.

  The former combat agent was faster and flipped her over. “You can keep talking, alien,” Florence said, “cute operation you have running here.”

  “Earth Psychic, you could not fathom the level of intelligence it takes to do the things I have done or comprehend the things I have seen.” Neight came close to the glass with his hand in a fist.