The Andromeda Project (The Cluster Chronicles Book 1)

by Jason Michael Primrose

  Overhead lights beamed down, further brightening Brandt’s starch-white office. Thanks to the chip they stole from the Andromeda Project shipment, their capabilities broadened drastically in the last few days. A glass wall of paneled images monitored their own progress on the gems, the Andromeda Project, as well as remote C20 bases around the world. The images changed to a different view every few minutes. C20 also picked up all communications and satellite surveillance from various governments. They never interfered unless directed to do so but listened, analyzing everything going on in the world. Brandt pressed a button, unmuting the chaos unfolding at the drill site. The operators yelled obscenities mixed with commands to bring the massive drill back up after they ran into tough rock. A group of them gathered to decide who would go down and inspect the complication. They were afraid to blow it up without knowing exactly where the gems were.

  Brandt swiped it away and walked over to his desk, he hadn’t received any further instructions from “the Savior” after their somewhat successful attack. Playing double agent, he spent much of his time flying back and forth to manage both his position as Andromeda Project’s head recruiter and as C20 leader. He wondered why the Savior hadn’t assisted him while he finished off the last leg of his infiltration. His thoughts wandered to Dolores tied up in the basement.

  It was no coincidence Dolores and Brandt found each other. She and Allister lived in each supporting country of the Andromeda Project while Dolores did her research. There was a time in the middle of their rekindled relationship he believed they both let their pasts go. Shortly after his heartfelt proposal, Dolores asked for his help infiltrating the Andromeda Project. Around the same time the Savior reached out to ask how his progress was; true motives rose to the top like heat.

  They disagreed on whether Neight helped more or hurt more, but Brandt understood Dolores felt indebted to him. Despite the loss of her husband, Allister was spectacular. So spectacular the Savior wanted him for C20, it was a fair trade.

  Once Brandt provided her access to the facility everything spiraled. He’d call her at all hours and ask about Neight, why she hadn’t been in contact and when she was going to hand Allister over to C20. Dolores stopped answering. He started showing up at her house, yelling at her and saying she’d used him. All she cared about was securing Neight’s freedom. One time Allister was home and asked about the aggressive stranger.

  “Don’t contact me again,” Dolores cried over the phone. The last person she called friend or otherwise. But it proved hard to cut ties when she owed him a favor.

  A few years later he came to cash in; Brandt wanted Allister to join the Andromeda Project. She reluctantly agreed to his terms because of their common enemy and Brandt promised to help Allister get out once he completed the special mission.

  Dolores was suspicious. Brandt said to bring Nicolas to justice, but after doing some background research she discovered violent motives. Allister wasn’t meant to be a killer and she went back on her end of the bargain.

  Paying the shop owner into firing him was the easy part but the false foreclosure notices, Brandt had to give himself a pat on the back, those were difficult. Allister’s naïveté remained the most important part of his plan, the decision to join the recruits had to be a no-brainer.

  The Savior assumed Allister would find Neight, learn the truth, and derail the entire operation in a matter of days. But nothing happened. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

  Brandt didn’t know what to do next; the waiting game meant putting C20 in a vulnerable position. Isolation settled on top of the guilt he felt for trapping Dolores without a way out. “God fucking dammit,” Brandt finally yelled. “Computer, call the Savior.” The dial tone came on the speaker and filled the room, numbers punching into a keypad echoed shortly after.

  “We’re sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again.”

  DOLORES ADAMS

  Former Middle East, April 2026

  Dolores didn’t know what day it was, how long it had been since she was kidnapped. She was trapped beneath the sand, in a makeshift prison. Eroded shafts and walls of salty rock gave the room an abstract shape. Soil floors kept its integrity as a cold, dark cave below the main facility.

  In a ditch effort to connect with something meaningful to him, Brandt cranked the titanium door open and entered the naturally carved out space. Artificial light flooded the room.

  Dolores’s dirty hair fell around her unwashed face as she slept. Her eyes opened at the presence of light. Brandt sat next to her on the bed, leaning close to kiss her on the back of the head.

  “How can you do this to me?” Dolores said like a betrayed wife. “After all we’ve been through?”

  “I’m followin’ orders. You denied my love. You left me alone.”

  “And then you chain me to a bed in a cave!” Her chest moved up and down after the physical tantrum. “You knew I didn’t want him to be a part of this,” Dolores choked on her own words. “You knew, and you didn’t give a shit!” She refused to look at him, blinking back tears. Anger and sadness fluctuated in her like the wind speeds in the region. “You’re no better than Nicolas.” Tears dripped onto the sheets. It was the end. Neight warned her.

  During the last few days with the absence of the Savior’s voice, he had time to think for himself. Brandt caressed the arm of the woman he’d alienated, then remembered what she was after.

  “You were using me anyway,” he said as he got up, “to free Neight.”

  “Those two things had nothing to do with each other! You ruined us with your erratic behavior,” she screamed. He had a track record of doing that. “What do you want with my son?”

  “The Savior needs his strength; says Allister’s supposed to save humanity and has to be on C20’s side to do it. Earth’s in danger.”

  The bomb strapped to Dolores’s midsection was set to blow in thirty-four hours and only the Savior had the code to disarm it.

  “Allister’s not gonna come save me,” she mumbled, remembering the conversation with Neight. “He told me stay away from you. Said ‘your love while pure, will end you.’ I didn’t listen and here I am.” She leaned against the metal rods of the headboard without exhaling.

  Dolores mattered too much to Allister; Brandt hoped it was enough to make him follow through with killing Nicolas. His anxiety continued to build as he ran over the scenarios, he didn’t want her to die. “Do we still have our hands inside their security grid?” He nodded at the answer from the control room and rubbed her shoulder. “Good, let’s find my Godson.”

  NICOLAS DELEMAR

  Washington DC, April 2026

  Nicolas never regretted the things he’d done but he rarely faced those destroyed by his actions. He’d been standing outside of Neight’s cell for ten minutes trying to think of a fitting opening sentence.

  “It is a good thing I did not need my own power to activate the machine,” Neight removed the hood of his cloak. “I had to make sure that with or without my full potential the ship and the energy was contained.”

  “So what happened?” Nicolas asked.

  Zosma’s energy output was consistent, drawn from the source. Neight created an absorption cycle; it used the outbound energy to power the ship through the universe. There was a breach of the ship’s outer shell. A collision, unaccounted for in the trajectory. The energy escaped and the tractor beam wasn’t able to contain it.

  “I realized something was amiss when it arrived, but in diverting my attention to save the only humans I considered relevant on this planet, I failed to conjure enough power to seal the ship before the energy went rogue. That was a result of this program’s operational stupidity.” Neight got up off of the elongated single bed in his cell.

  “We had to dampen your powers so you wouldn’t leave. You said the machine was enough. We went over it again and again. I don’t
understand,” Nicolas pounded the back of one hand into the palm of the other.

  “Of course, you do not understand. You are hundreds of thousands of years behind the rest of the cluster in comprehension of science, magic and technology.” Neight neared the glass with intensity but was void of aggression. “The energy continued to undo the effects of the machine and released three pulses. One you felt. But I absorbed the machine’s nuclear energy and used it as a field to redirect the other two explosions within, explosions that would have destroyed the southeast portion of this mass.”

  It explained a lot. Nicolas faced Neight for the first time. He felt an apology was in order but what good was it when he’d remain behind the glass like a criminal. Neight hardened. “I should have done nothing. Your people only learn from consequences.”

  Nicolas continued to stare into his eyes looking for the truth. “And when did you decide you weren’t holding up your end of the bargain?”

  Something more important than the Andromeda Project’s personal desires was revealed. Neight needed to shift quickly to avoid a bigger catastrophe...the alien shook his head.

  “You humans are preposterous. I have lived six of your fullest, longest lives.” He walked around the cell, softly touching specific spots against the glass. “When you and the directors grow old and die as you do; when this building and the prison walls beneath it crumble after hundreds of years of deterioration and lack of maintenance; when your planet is finally discovered by other races and mined for its resources, enslaved for labor or destroyed for irrelevance, I will be living and breathing as powerful as I was when it all began.”

  A faint light surrounded Neight’s eyes and hands as his gaze locked with his enemy’s. “I am the embodiment of patience, I see the future, I know the future, and I have all of the time in this world and any other to wait for the things I desire to occur. You act without thought or reason to force things to happen within your lifetime and as you want them, even before their due time. What actions you have done that you consider permanent to stop my original plan, come to me as minor and temporary setbacks. And do you know what I realized, Nicolas Delemar?” The effects of his powers ended and the places he touched went back to normal.

  “What?” Nicolas asked, offended and startled by the monologue.

  “I cared about the preservation, the survival of humanity as it exists but not their advancement. You have done enough to damage your own planet. I could not imagine what you would do if given the tools to venture off of it. You seek only to control. And destroy what opposes you.” Neight backed away from the glass and resumed his seated position on the uncomfortable sleeping device. He returned the hood of his cloak to his head. There was nothing more to say. Nicolas fumbled with the words in his head, trying to decide if his judgment was true or if it lacked perspective.

  “I only wanted to save my daughter,” Nicolas mumbled. Fatigue set in and beeping sounded on his Cynque watch. A meeting with the directors in twenty minutes. He exited silently.

  “I know what you thought you were doing for your family, and for humanity. I can hardly blame you in your shortsightedness,” Neight called after him. “You are going down a dangerous path, General Delemar, and you will not get far.”

  FLORENCE BELLADONNA

  Washington, DC, April 2026

  Florence’s entire morning was booked with appointments to meet with the recruits after the incident, field them for suspicious activity and check on the fragility of their psyches.

  Dorian, the tall and lean Peruvian teenager, came first thing in the morning. Scars from his father’s beatings for being too loud as a child covered his body and face. The absorption of sound waves to store as energy for concussive blasts was enough of a handful and Dorian stopped exploring his powers as his voice grew stronger. With its strength, containing energy for long periods of time became too difficult. A “sound bomb” killed his family and neighbors on Christmas and forced him into a vow of silence. External sound wasn’t as detrimental as the sound of his own voice. No one understood why.

  Below his amber eyes was a metal mask covering the lower half of his face. Dorian’s smooth black hair hid his cheeks as he hunched over on the couch. They communicated telepathically. At nineteen, he hadn’t figured out what type of person to be. He berated himself for “las muchas muertes” he called them, believing if he’d listened to his father and been quiet, those people would be living. Even with access to his sound absorption abilities, he was too scared to attack the C20 soldiers.

  Fear was always the biggest barrier to success. Waiting until a time when there was no other option than to use his powers, to use his powers, would prove problematic to anyone around him. Florence committed him to twenty hours of training with a status re-evaluation in a week’s time; it included daily sessions with her.

  Fast-forward thirty minutes into her session with a toned down Bridget Sparks. Florence examined her new leg beneath a plaid cotton skirt. The extra edge on the battlefield she’d been looking for finally arrived.

  “Are you listening to me?” Bridget interrupted, lifting her booted legs up. “This is a stupid idea.” She laid on Florence’s couch, hands twirling in the air dramatically, going over every detail of the attack from her perspective.

  “I’m listening, that’s what I am here for.” Florence looked up. “Go ahead.”

  “Answer my question.”

  She read Bridget’s mind quickly. “I’m not sure where Dr. Giro was.”

  “Anyway, Dr. Giro could’ve saved us by taking over Brandt’s body.” Bridget picked at her long pointed nails and then smoothed the shaved side of her head. “I have plenty of control over my attacks, you need to let me loose sometime.” She winked and snapped her fingers. A tiny spark erupted. “Is Allister really a traitor?”

  Bridget made a great point; it was their fear holding her back. She’d be their last hope. Did they want a self-destruct button or a targeted missile? When she was calmer, her powers resembled static electricity or rogue electric currents. To ignite them, Bridget typically created friction with surfaces or her own skin. The more friction, the more electricity and she’d generated controlled electric fields in the past. Since her emotional state directly correlated to the result, when she was angry, those electrical fields looked more like lightning storms.

  It was the Andromeda Project’s original hope for Bridget to be a field leader, but it had been tabled after the first few incidents. Russell vouched she was formidable against the agents but his words carried zero weight with the program leaders. Florence gave her thirty hours of training and daily sessions plus a refill on the prescription to help with her mood swings.

  “I can go out there now,” Bridget fumed. “You people don’t fuckin get it. Isn’t that kid’s mother in danger? And we’re sitting here having tea and shooting the shit?”

  Bridget lashed out like an abused puppy. She assumed people didn’t respect her, she assumed people didn’t love her and she assumed she had no purpose but to be the crazy person she’d become after years of exploitation.

  If Florence were a true psychiatrist, devoted to changing the mental health of her patients, then Bridget was on track to be a gleaming success story. Unfortunately, such accomplishments only scratched the surface of her intentions.

  “How many times have we had this conversation? I’ve been trying to help you since you came here. You did good protecting Russell…keep it up and I’ll do everything I can to get you in the field,” Florence promised.

  “Yeah right, you can’t even get yourself into the field.”

  Burn.

  Three soldiers escorted Bridget out of the room. At least the medicine worked.

  A journey had to be taken to execute the next appointment. Florence navigated narrow hallways; there were twice as many soldiers on duty as normal, eyeing each other and her suspiciously. Brandt’s actions shattered all trust, and the base’s security turned out to be as difficult to rebuild as a failed marriage. Russell managed to
reinstate the famed Vault prison in time for their supposed “traitor.”

  Florence shook her head. A thick titanium bar kept the rectangular door in place and the crank, which resembled a Pirate ship’s ship wheel, only opened when activated by the right Cynque watch authorization. It towered over her and the four guards on duty, from floor to fifteen-foot ceiling. The whole punishment seemed a bit extreme, considering Allister hadn’t done anything. She held her device up to the scanner and the crank turned methodically until the bar slid across the threshold.

  “Doctor Florence Belladonna, recognized,” the computer said, releasing the compression holding the door closed. It took all four of them to get it open wide enough for Florence to slip through.

  The vault appeared to go on forever in every direction, as Florence felt her way into the entrance. A small light showed its corners. It was no longer a black hole. She squinted, trying to locate him among the outlines of the ragged bed frame but Allister stood in a corner with his back to the door. Unconsciously Florence’s powers activated, but he turned to her sharply and said through clenched teeth, “Stay out of my head.” Red veins crept around the corners of his pupils and his cheeks glistened from the dim light reflecting off his tears; she wondered how long he’d been crying. Florence rested her head against the back of the door. It was the first time she felt relaxed in a long time. A direct contrast to Allister’s angst.

  “I don’t know what to do,” he said. There wasn’t much Allister could do. Not only did the vault use kinetic force against the person inflicting it on the cell, it also numbed energy output. “I just want to save my mom. If I don’t…then…I’ll have no one.”

  “There are policies and procedures,” Florence said, running her hands through her hair.

  “I don’t give a shit about your policies!” Allister got up and smashed the wiry metal bed in two. Florence took an aggressive stance as he confronted her. “I swear, if she dies…” His mood changed again and he tried putting the bed back together. “Everything’s falling apart. Like it always does. I felt good about being here. Learning about my powers, joining a team of people like me. But then all of the things Brandt said. The alien in the basement. It feels like my brain is opening up and all of these thoughts and memories are spilling out. I can’t stop it.”