“We have Dolores as you requested.”
Brandt played into her motherly instincts, he didn’t need to chase her down. Like a mother lioness she’d return to protect her cub regardless of danger. They escorted Dolores into the room. Fury at the sight of Nicolas boiled thoughts of Florence out of her mind. She spit at him, kicked at him but was held at bay. Allister had never seen his mother so vicious.
“You should be happy I commissioned Allister for this assignment. Seems you hate General Delemar more than I do.”
“My son isn’t a killer.” But I am, Dolores thought, overwhelmed by Florence’s immobilization and possible death, a consequence of her stubbornness. Negligence killed too. She learned it many years ago.
The grid released and Allister stumbled to his knees. Leesa dropped through the ceiling. “I’ve been looking for you, Brandt.” Her bone straight hair fell into her face as she lifted her head.
The lot of them cocked their weapons but Brandt kept the agents from pulling a trigger. “Use my leave for the first time in twenty-one years and you assholes email me every day, I said I was on vacation.”
“Permanent from what I understood, so what are you doing back?” Leesa asked. No attack yet, too many people in compromising places.
“I want to see one thing today and it’ll be the iceberg that sinks this ship. Allister, you kill Nicolas or I kill Dolores.”
“I knew it!” Leesa shrieked.
“No! It’s not what it sounds like…I wasn’t…,” he protested as he advanced.
“I knew I should’ve terminated you.” She smashed her fist into his chest, breaking his sternum and flung him through the opposite metal wall.
Focus returned to Brandt. “You’re the reason,” she said thinking back to all of the failed missions. “Such a shame.”
“Easy to blame someone else rather than admit inadequacy. I picked Private Adams because I know he can beat you.”
A blue beam of energy knocked Leesa off balance. Allister emerged from the gaping hole. “I’m not the enemy,” he said angrily, his charged arm pointed at Brandt. “He’s the enemy.”
Dolores trembled. The man in front of her wasn’t the man she knew, the man who’d helped her and comforted her during the last few years. “What happened to you?” she asked, with sorrow in her voice.
Brandt pretended to soften and grabbed her around the neck. “You got seventy-two hours, son. Kill him and return to your rightful place at C20. Now!” A cloud of thick black smoke rained down from the sky and when it cleared, they were gone.
The rest of the agents opened fire. Leesa formed a telekinetic field around the center of the room then uprooted sheets of metal from the floor and propelled them like boomerangs. “If you help me end this, I won’t have you terminated.”
They fired at the airborne slabs, knocking them off path.
Allister snapped one of the agents necks. Then choke-slammed another. “You can’t have me terminated.”
Leesa lifted the floor to block an attack, the top ripped off and swung around. It was too heavy and the sound of weapons de-powering was heard, as the agents’ bodies were severed in half by the force of the object.
Left over invaders farther down the hallway hooted like wild monkeys and melted inside of their suits. Allister grabbed one but the material shriveled in his hands. He threw it to the ground, thankful the sirens in the facility stopped.
Leesa ran to her father’s side and undid the restraints on his hands. She asked him repeatedly if he was okay, touching his busted lip and the gash over his eye. The general remained in the chair, heaving. Their situation justified his weakness but what came after, the vomiting and shutdown of his body, he wouldn’t be able to explain. Nicolas reached into his pocket fishing around for his lifeline, the vial attached to the needle. He gripped it, waiting for Leesa’s concern to disappear.
Allister sat in the spot where his mother was taken. He swung around, smashing the surface and let out a massive scream. With every punch he yelled. Five hits in, a seismic wave rattled the entire first floor. He was mad, really mad. At his mother, at Leesa, at Nicolas, at Brandt…they were all lying to him for different reasons, trying to manipulate him, trying to control him, trying to protect him. He stopped. A few more with that much force would bring the place down. Anger was a wasted emotion.
“Make sure…he’s taken…care of,” Nicolas managed to say. Leesa resumed her duty as lieutenant, gathering a few remaining Andromeda Project soldiers to collect Allister.
Nicolas stabbed himself in the forearm without anyone seeing. Inhaling a sigh of relief, he pushed himself up from the chair.
Bridget and Russell entered the room in a panic. “We need help.”
FLORENCE BELLADONNA
Washington, DC, April 2026
White filled Florence’s vision, but her eyes were completely open. She hastily attempted to sit up, but found herself restrained to Rabia’s operating table. She exhaled, letting herself drift back to a resting position as she stared at the ceiling. The surgical tools, obsessively arranged, were on the table to her right. Everything in her head looked as white as the ceiling, she didn’t even know what day it was. Where is everybody? Florence thought. But past the tools sat Leesa, alert as the robot that she was.
“How long have I been out?” Florence asked. The memories of what had happened on the base tumbled back in reverse order; being caught in the explosion, the ferocious C20 attack on them, and her eavesdropping on Dolores and Neight.
“Six hours, give or take.” Leesa removed the three belt-buckle-looking straps from around Florence’s body in silence.
She stretched her arms out, touching the bruises caused by the restraints, grateful for the freedom. “How did you all decide who played babysitter? Drew straws?” she asked, sitting up.
“I requested to monitor your recovery,” Leesa replied. “I’ve been here the whole time.”
Rarely was Florence left speechless but alas, unsolicited kindness wasn’t something she’d experienced much.
“Private Adams was sent here to kill my father.” Her tone accusatory but not entirely at the doctor, she’d been crying.
“But he didn’t do it. I wonder why,” Florence fiddled with the sheets like a little girl; ashamed she didn’t catch the mischief during her probe. A hand settled on the lieutenant’s shoulder. “I know this must be difficult considering how you felt about—”
“Inappropriate,” Leesa mumbled and gestured toward her lower body. “You should look.”
Florence moved her legs around; one was slightly heavier than the other. She removed the sheet with one hand. A pitch high enough to star in a horror film escaped her lips, instinctively Leesa grabbed her.
“Look at me…look at me. Your leg is fine; they infused technology into it to make it functional.”
Florence’s eyes darted between the young woman and a monstrous metallic attachment to her right thigh. Leesa helped her off of the bed. After a few minutes of walking back and forth across the room, hopping on it and kicking with it, her new leg seemed normal. Russell and or Rabia had gotten scientific with the technology; it responded to her thoughts, not to mention strangely proportionate to her other leg in size and weight. The lab door slid open.
“Glad to see you’re awake.” Nicolas checked Florence’s chart, “you are quite the treasure, doctor.”
“Let me know if you need anything,” Leesa said, before leaving the lab, a shallow nod to her father was the extent of their greeting.
Nicolas continued as if Leesa was never in the room, “Your untrained telepathic abilities caused major complications during your surgery.” He kneeled down to get a closer look at her new combat advantage.
“There’s nothing I can do about my power levels, I’ve evolved,” Florence sneered, one kick would take Nicolas’s head clean off, but temptation lost to reason. “Who do I have to thank?” She rolled her eyes at the thought of showing gratitude. Florence bent her leg at the knee and extended it again.
It was psiborg technology, engineered on a planet in a neighboring solar system called Psion. The metal weapon construction was fused with rare crystals called sychonium, which enhanced the potential of psychic energy projection within its host. According to research, the compatibility was only present in certain psychics. Dr. Giro installed it but the design was Russell’s.
Nicolas’s anger blew up like a science project gone wrong. Although Russell was primarily responsible, Brandt having been on the inside, made the directors suspicious of all high level operating members of the Andromeda Project, even each other to some extent. Not one person was spared from the imaginary microscope. All chats, messages, scripts, and data were scraped to find out any and everything about current operations before they put together a retaliation mission.
Nicolas berated Florence for associating with Dolores and questioned her whereabouts before the attack. He paced the room, throwing his hands up and yelling obscenities, mixed in Allister’s name with some of the other team members. He expressed the miracle it was they were even alive, and how much it cost to get the facility back to normal again. They were behind on repairs by twelve hours, leaving them defenseless and unable to act on initiatives. When Nicolas was done he stopped moving. “Well? Anything?”
Conclusion, not even the general could outrun vengeance. Florence imagined the fear smothered beneath anger and control, he’d screwed over so many people there wasn’t a clue who might come after him next. Dolores wanted her son back, Neight wanted to go home, everyone knew what Brandt wanted. All avoidable conflicts if not for Nicolas and the directors’ personal agendas, present and past.
“Your biggest problem right now is Brandt and unfortunately it’s personal,” Florence placed a hand on her hip but even Brandt’s death wish had a noble ending. “But without being disrespectful, I find it humorous he believes the Andromeda Project will fall without you leading it.”
Nicolas’s mouth tightened.
“Best we can do is strengthen internally and defeat him together,” she said. “Care to fill me in on what happened in Cumberland?”
“No. As long as your record comes back clean you’ll be heading out to the C20 base tomorrow with the rest of the team.” Nicolas turned away from her. “Except Private Adams of course.”
Allister waited in the fearsome vault for review of the accusations against him.
“I don’t think he was trying to kill you,” Florence mumbled. “There’s no motive.”
“Private Adams as an enemy is…not something I want to think about,” he said. The general shifted and made his way to the door.
She sensed guilt. “How did Patrick die?”
“I don’t know how. Negligence I guess. The directors’ greed. I followed orders. He chose sides.” Nicolas lowered his head and slammed his hand against the wall, making a dent in it.
Florence slid something between the folds of her uniform. “If we’re going after C20 then it’s our responsibility to rescue Dolores.”
“Absolutely not.”
She walked to the lab entrance with her hands full. So many topics were left out of their conversation, namely her discovery of Neight Caster, but for men like Nicolas, best to keep it simple stupid. “You’ve got a fair amount of casualties under your leadership already. Not sure it’s a good idea to add this one.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Neight's Return
NEIGHT CASTER
Cumberland Falls, Kentucky, April 20, 2014
Most of the plant’s exterior was but a memory; metal shavings, chunks of earth and ash swirled about the unstable gravitational field in an open crater. “Zosma energy signature detected,” the machine echoed. The first pulse already hit a blast radius of twenty miles, Neight calculated the second would hit 100 miles and the third, 250. The spaceship repelled the tractor beam’s guidance and moved around like an object against strong wind. A moment of defeat washed over him as he kneeled, power still being sucked into the obelisk. Leaving Earth was no longer an option.
Safety from exploitation and misuse. Safety from her own potential to destroy. It was how he researched places to escape. Zosma was more than energy, it was his daughter, the princess and only living Uragonian with 100 percent access to their already limitless source of power. Many of the books on Sector 4’s exploration were never finished because those explorers never returned. Earth was a little known planet there, but the books described its beauty, serenity, and the barbarians inhabiting it.
Neight was suspicious when they first made contact in 1985 but it seemed like the best option. He assumed, without proper knowledge of the universe and its workings, they wouldn’t understand what was landing on their soil but someone knew more.
The device he and Patrick built turned off altogether, the spinning columns slowed until screeching to a stop. Neight muttered a spell with his hands lifted to the sky. One slightly behind the other, he absorbed all of the remaining nuclear energy from the reactor behind him. Worst news was delivered by the computer in his original spacecraft. A fourth pulse would decimate the population of the East Coast. Allister’s tiny face invaded his mind. The future of humanity.
“Pulse imminent, pulse imminent,” the computer repeated to him.
Neight shot his hands above his head and formed a nuclear force field encompassing the perimeter of the plant. The Zosma energy swelled around the craft. A second pulse exploded outward, bouncing within the protective walls and incinerated any remaining internal machinery. As Neight expected, the pulse had nowhere to go and blasted him full force, sending his arms out to the side. He returned to his knees against his will. His once grey skin was replaced with the slight yellow orange glow of the combined energies within him. As superior as Neight portrayed himself to humanity; his power was exhausted and foul play was involved.
“Forgive me, Empresia,” Neight whispered to the stars. It wasn’t failure, failure was permanent, it was for creatures without time. Neight always had more time, five hundred living years and countless more to go. There was no second warning. Another violent release moved back and forth through Neight, scattering him into tiny atomic particles. The spell broke upon his disintegration, shattering the properties holding together the nuclear field. The spacecraft containing Zosma shifted directions, plummeting toward the unsuspecting town below.
NICOLAS DELEMAR
Cumberland Falls, Kentucky, April 20, 2014
Quite a sight to see and an even harder sight to explain, a quarter-mile wide crater in the small town of Cumberland Falls. Nicolas’s boots trekked over the charred wood and twisted metal, formerly the lower level of the plant. The Andromeda Project was on their way to extract the data configurations about the energies and any salvageable information from what was left of the fried mainframe computer. Unfortunately, a crater wasn’t the biggest mess for the U.S. Government to clean up. Cumberland Falls was nothing but rubble for miles; some houses farther away were spared but the property damages were in the hundreds of millions.
Nicolas ran his finger across the dirt bringing it to eye level; the rain never reached the ground. He smelled it, then wiped his hand on the black uniform. Nicolas stared around him, where he stood was the exact landing point for the craft that followed Neight so many years later, based on when it left Uragon, its speed and trajectory. With a multitude of outlying factors between where the journey originated and the Earth, Neight had explained to them with confidence, his timeline included all contributing factors and he was rarely ever wrong.
An unaccounted for wind moved dust in cyclone-like circles. Nicolas grew apprehensive, pointing his gun at dark shadows. His phone rang.
The voice rattled on for a minute and a half while Nicolas continued, ready to shoot, into any potential hiding places. He rolled his eyes, bored of the conversation. “I don’t know what else to tell you. The situation couldn’t be helped,” Nicolas said.
“Find the spacecraft and the alien or don’t bother returning to base,” the US director said.
>
Nicolas stumbled over tattered remnants of Neight’s cape beneath the settled debris. “I’m pretty sure the alien’s dead.”
The other end of the phone was silent.
“What do you want me to do with Patrick Adams?” He asked, hoping for a shot at revenge. Patrick cost Nicolas his status with the directors. Without Neight, finding the gems was impossible and the alien’s treatment for Leesa only afforded her another five years of decent health. “Fuck,” Nicolas said aloud by accident.
But Patrick’s machine saved them from a national emergency. The US political director couldn’t imagine what would’ve happened if he didn’t help the alien. “We’ll handle it,” the US director said. “And you’ll run everything by us moving forward.”
The call ended. A message came in from one of the surviving soldiers in the field. It’s headed west, en route to intercept at landing. The coordinates appeared on his phone and mapped the route. Forty-five minute drive across town; he decided to make a pit stop.
CAPTAIN JAY BRANDT
Former Middle East, April, 2026
The region C20 operated out of, formerly known as Iraq, was more like a graveyard than anything else. A wind speed of thirty miles per hour moved sand around in dangerous quantities, hindering visibility, and didn’t even cool the air. Beneath the mounds were buried homes, bodies, artifacts. Captain Brandt supposed spirits haunted every inch of what was left and paid his respects daily. It reminded him of Cumberland Falls, a place once full of promise, which met an unfortunate end.
C20’s partially underground base spread about a half mile. Part of the compound acted as a mining facility. Using some properties from Patrick’s machine, C20 engineers developed a tracking system to measure any energy output they didn’t recognize of the eight they knew about. Instantly, abnormal signatures registered from within the Earth’s crust. The readings changed location often but still within five miles of their excavation. Brandt believed they were on the edge of finding the transporter gems.
The Andromeda Project (The Cluster Chronicles Book 1) Page 16