Florence knew at that moment Neight’s spell had some kind of kill-switch, hopefully it hadn’t initiated too soon for Allister to go down the right path. Reassurance was her best defense. “We want you to be part of the team,” she said.
Allister’s fingers dug into his hair. “Leesa didn’t even look at me.”
“Lieutenant Delemar,” she corrected, “is in shock.”
Anger welled inside again. “I didn’t know I was supposed to kill Nicolas…General Delemar. It was never discussed.” Allister shook away the wad of hair he’d pulled out on accident. Florence watched it grow back. “It sounds like he did something so bad I should want to kill him.” He pondered over the idea.
“Close your eyes.”
The landscape of his brain resembled a war torn countryside. Grass had died, forests withered, and the once vivid painting of the universe was replaced with memories and knowledge bouncing off each other in the form of orbs. Two houses from his childhood and early adulthood had been uprooted and drifted throughout his psyche on floating islands.
Amidst chaos, Allister stood next to his mother as an adult rather than a child. He approached Florence and welcomed her without words, pointing to the castle some distance from them and the blue light around it pouring out like a fountain instead of acting as a shield. Neight was no longer there. The recent trauma lingered, having permanently altered his mental state. Allister wasn’t ready to deal with what was happening to him or what had happened to him. Florence lost the connection and removed her hand from his forehead. The spell broke too soon.
Allister’s eyes filled with unrest but she hardened because she came there for information, not for empathy. “What would happen if we acquired the gems?” she asked, returning to her safe spot by the entrance.
“It’s complicated. We’d be formidable as a civilization, but if one country controlled them…I don’t know, it’d be bad. We need them. Earth I mean, not now but later. Neight needs them…to go home,” he sighed. “Someone always needs them...maybe we find them or maybe not, and we all die. But honestly, you don’t want to find them. Nothing but destruction. The energy showed me. They’re the beginning of the end.”
Incoming messages cut their conversation short and Florence returned to her office more confused than when she left. As she discovered layers to the Andromeda Project the hourglass turned over to give her time. But her contact made it clear, the sand had almost run out.
“Our communication is unsafe,” the first one said. Their chat history stared back, she forgot to erase it. “Wrap this up. Before you get yourself killed.”
“A little late for that.” Florence typed furiously. “Really? No warning on the C20 attack? Did you know about the alien in the basement? What did Nicolas do to Patrick?”
She waited impatiently and checked her pocket. The piece of paper he’d given her on their last meeting was gone.
Another message popped up: “Wrap this up.”
RUSSELL ASHUR
Washington, DC, April 2026
“And you think,” Bridget said with her mouth full, “I can shut down their power grid from the outside?” She spun around slowly in the office chair like a teenager visiting their parent at work.
Russell’s excitement showed in dramatic hand motions, partially hidden behind a sixty-inch monitor. It reminded him of the time he built his first computer. “You see things none of us can see.”
She scraped the bottom of the yogurt cup with her spoon and put her leg down to stop the chair’s motion. “I don’t think anyone’s going to go for this. I’m the crazy one, remember?”
After she shut down the weapon blocking the door during the C20 attack, Russell tested her turning off a few computers and electrical devices from afar. It still needed fine-tuning, because so far when she got frustrated everything blew up. All they needed was her confidence, and most of all calmness, to do it right. Russell’s eyes smiled at her through his new glasses.
The data scrape of the facility was complete.
“Not a one person job, I’d imagine,” Bridget mumbled as she came up behind him. Light from the screen cast an artificial glow on their faces, reflecting immense operational damage in both their eyes. So much information was missing, history, records, their bank accounts compromised. He typed faster than she thought humanly possible, fleshing out the pain points.
Russell had the computer engineering team go through each server and remove anything nonessential to operations. Any gadgets or fun add-ons had to go, too many other things floated around there disguised as Andromeda Project’s code. When he asked the directors for funding for a more comprehensive language, they denied it. Here was their result.
“You make me better.” Russell grabbed Bridget and kissed her softly on the mouth; caught in passion she gripped his face. He pulled her in closer to him and they stared into each other’s eyes.
Bridget caressed his blue Oxford then shook her head and pushed him away. “You know I’m unstable.” She hated good feelings. Worse than feeling them was acknowledging them and admitting them.
“The meds are working,” he replied, stroking her chin.
Bridget’s eyes were radiant as ever; they hid the volatile and insecure mind of a young woman with more power than she knew what to do with. He smiled at their serene beauty, then kissed her on the head.
Red flags. Conversations from Florence’s device uncovered via a key word search. Russell combed through them. “Holy shit.”
Engrossed in his discovery, neither of them heard anyone enter. Bridget had asked repeatedly what he was so astonished by, it couldn’t be worse than the other setbacks caused by the infiltration.
“Good afternoon.” Florence kicked the door closed, clapped her hands, and Bridget was out like a bulb with a broken filament.
Russell rushed to catch her and draped her arm over his neck to lift her legs. He swore up and down he wouldn’t say anything. He hadn’t read the messages or told anyone but C20 piggybacked on her encrypted conversation and released dangerous software into the system. Bridget showed no signs of waking.
“Here’s the bottom line.” Florence peered at the computer screen and the incriminating evidence. “I need to be on the retaliation mission, which means a bleach clean record.” She admitted how easy it’d be to erase his mind, but giving him the opportunity to really work for what he wanted proved more satisfying. “I’m sure you don’t want this getting out.” She circled her hand around the unconscious body in Russell’s arms. “Get rid of the messages. I can keep a secret. Hopefully you can too.” Florence clapped again and Bridget woke up as the door closed.
The Andromeda Project Main HQ
Washington, DC, April 2026
An all too familiar situation; invisible, angry faces, disappointed grunts, and Nicolas in a perpetual state of fatigue. The screens seemed brighter but light sensitivity had become an additional side effect. Nicolas’s elbows were glued to the top of the podium, and looking down helped him deliver the news sans nervous quiver. “We’re scheduled to leave in twenty-four hours.”
“Good,” the US director said. “And based on these new developments, we’ve chosen Florence Belladonna and Leesa Delemar to lead this mission.”
“I still believe Dr. Giro is better choice than Dr. Belladonna,” the North Korean Director said.
They argued over it for a few minutes but the US director was outvoted. Allister’s emotional instability meant no Florence in the field.
Putting others down always brought more confidence back into his voice. Nicolas looked up for the first time during the session. “Mr. Ashur has developed a harebrained idea Private Sparks can be of some use with untrained electromagnetic abilities.”
“Let’s focus on things we’re certain of,” the Russian director said.
“What about the hostage?” Nicolas asked.
“We don’t support hostage situations, but Lieutenant Delemar should be able to rescue her discreetly. Make sure the private knows our intentions
. He’s intended to be an ally. Even more so now that C20 wants him,” the US director said.
Nicolas felt the value on his own life drop a few notches. Lately, the directors hadn’t agreed on much and their commands seemed fragmented. Perhaps it wasn’t his fault the program was slipping. The screens went offline. Nicolas thought nothing of it and left the room.
His daughter stood in full uniform waiting for his exit, early for their meeting.
“What was the last thing you remember happening?” Nicolas asked, offering her a seat.
“I was going over my notes about Private Adams, to reacquaint myself with his strengths and weaknesses, fighting styles, you know. And then I woke up in my bed surrounded by C20 agents.” Adopting a casual attitude might make the lie more believable. She crossed her legs then leaned back into the chair.
Nicolas pulled a labeled vial out of his drawer and rolled it across the table at her; it was empty. “They used elephant tranquilizer on you,” he said distantly. “I’m surprised it worked.”
The glass screen came down in his office and he pressed the desk to bring up the menu. It went to surveillance footage. “I gave you a chance to come clean, Leesa.”
The tape replayed the moments before Leesa was drugged; clearly in a deep sleep with the invisible agent’s movement noted by shifting items. Nicolas sighed, “This was taken before the security tapes went offline. Had you been alert like you normally are, this wouldn’t have happened. So do you care to explain this and why you lied to me about it?” He wasn’t an annoyed boss, he was a pissed off father.
“I haven’t been able to concentrate and I meditated to clear my mind of—”
“Clear your mind of what?” Nicolas interrupted.
Too early to talk about visions, or maybe too late. “Everything,” she said.
“What nonsense is going on between you and Private Adams?” He wanted to stand up, it’d give him a commanding edge, but sturdiness in his legs failed starting at his feet.
“You’re asking me if something’s going on between myself and someone who was sent to kill you?” Leesa pretended to sound angry but secretly repeated the question as if asking herself. She hadn’t wrestled with the conflict in her head.
“I know you’re lying,” Nicolas pointed an accusing finger. “What were you able to accomplish, aside from nearly getting us killed? Did you find the clarity you were looking for?”
A heeled stomp sent her body straight up. “You can mock me if you want but I’m not the one keeping secrets around here. I can’t tell if everything I’ve done my whole life is in my best interest or in yours.”
Nicolas pressed a button on his desk. “Haven’t we spoken about you talking to me in such tones, young lady?”
Standing privileges somehow revoked. One palm to the floor the other on the chair she’d been sitting on, stopped her from hitting the ground. From her angle, shadows crossed his face making him into a nemesis instead of a parent, he was Lex Luthor and she was Superman.
“The secrets I keep are to protect you and the Andromeda Project. Do I make myself clear?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, straining to overcome his control.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, General.”
Nicolas pressed the button again. “Stay away from Private Adams.”
Leesa crumbled to the concrete, bewildered. It was as if her life escaped from her, her soul, her essence went missing. She dragged herself up and stumbled toward the door, resting against it.
Nicolas waited for her breathing to return to normal. “Our mission is all I care about. That and you.”
“You’re going to let Private Adams’ mother die in captivity, even though he didn’t follow through.” She felt better, the color in her cheeks returned.
Nicolas reached into his drawer. “You’re dismissed.”
“He won’t let it happen,” she said.
“I said. You’re dismissed.” Nicolas’s delivery held contempt with no reason behind it. Leesa left the room. He remembered the last time he disobeyed the directors’ orders, the night Patrick died. Dolores tried to ruin him and it wouldn’t be rewarded with freedom, she’d get what she deserved. The general stabbed himself in the arm with his little needle; a feeling of rejuvenation washed over his muscles, giving gasoline to a parched engine.
PATRICK ADAMS
Cumberland Falls, Kentucky, April 20, 2014
Patrick pulled up to their driveway slowly. With the town overrun by military personnel, there was a good chance the house had been seized. Although half of the roof on their home was missing, he leaned forward to look into the leftover windows for any activity. All was clear from where they sat, prompting a final check in the rearview mirror. Dolores wasn’t driving toward them as he hoped and he shouldn’t have beat her there even if he took the highway. He avoided his son’s gaze.
“Where’s Mom?” Allister asked.
They both had tears in their eyes, but Patrick bravely answered, “she’s on her way, son.”
“Dad, I don’t understand.” Allister’s lips shuddered letting the sequence of events sink in. The burns on his hands were gone as if nothing had happened to him at all.
“Hell, I don’t got the answer either, kid.” Patrick leaned over to hug him. It was all too much to take in, in such a short time. “Your mother should be here any minute,” he said after a few more moments of the embrace, but it was more of a question than a statement. Nothing was certain since the explosion knocked out every cell tower. His phone displayed “no service” in the upper left-hand corner.
“Do you think she left in time?” Allister asked sensing his uncertainty.
“She left in time.”
The sound of a train approaching came from behind them, the noise went from faint to a volume unbearable for human ears. The craft’s high temperature from entering the atmosphere endured. Less than a mile from the ground, traveling toward them at sonic speed; it continued to lose altitude.
Patrick had his hands on his ears. Allister had done the same, but was leaning across the console to hide beneath his father. They both ducked down and the ship’s wing sliced across the middle of the car as it traveled. Allister’s pain was only surpassed by his shock when he glimpsed his shoulder blade; the flesh, blood, and tendons all exposed.
It continued past and crashed in the woods next to their house. The impact sent debris, rock, and some manner of the energy outward. Patrick covered Allister’s body with his. Glass blew inward. The car flew back, landed on its roof, slid, and spun a few feet. Their bodies were both upside down in the vehicle. Patrick incoherent as his son hyperventilated beneath him.
“Allister, get…out…of the…car,” Patrick mumbled, aware of the wound opened by the exploded windshield.
“I can’t, I can’t, my arm!”
Patrick repeated himself, not wanting Allister to realize metal debris stabbed him in the back. He unbuckled the seatbelt and Allister landed on the roof. Blood dripped from Patrick’s side and fell next to the boy’s face. He tried to shift but it was too late. Allister’s eyes made their way to his father’s injury.
“Out of…the car!” Patrick yelled with his last ounce of strength. He bit his bottom lip and shook away a barrage of tears. He wanted to be strong.
“I don’t want to.” He hugged his father around the neck with one arm. The severed one healed over. “It’s not growing back,” Allister said quietly.
Patrick kissed his son’s head, “I love…you…kid, take…care of your…mo…” he ran out of breath before finishing each sentence. “Do whatever you can…to fix…you are…destined…for—” he stopped speaking.
Allister cried as he crawled out of the car with one elbow, using his legs to push him away from the wreckage. Fire burned around them. He didn’t have time to go for help and ran back to the car to drag his father out with one arm. Patrick groaned, bleeding profusely as his body slowly crossed the cloth ceiling of the vehicle, metal debris poked out of his back. Allister
tugged him onto the pavement then hobbled through the woods toward the next house over for help.
He gripped his left shoulder blade for some time before reaching the top of a crater. The capsule of energy had no shape due to its intense glow. He slid carefully down the side to get a closer look and was drawn to it like something he already knew about. His hand outstretched against his will, inching toward it like sleeping beauty, until he made contact.
Like a massive computer upgrade, Allister’s mind filled with an immeasurable amount of knowledge, memories, and information he could hardly fathom or make any logical sense of. The travel at the speed of light, maps of other solar systems, the distances of the nearest living planets and their names, races, and civilization structures. Allister’s arm glowed as well and the light spread around to the rest of his body until the energy filled him inside and out. He flew away from the ship and hit the side of the crater wall; the glowing faded, as he lay unconscious.
Allister woke up from his brief nap using his left hand to stand. He turned over the new limb, blue light pulsed through the veins but disappeared in seconds like minnows in a stream. Voices yelling in angry tones came from nearby. They frightened him out of the crater and instead of going back through the woods, which put him by the driveway, he came up from the fields in his backyard.
Dolores crouched next to Patrick’s body with her hands over her face. She had run the other mile from her stalled vehicle to get home.
“Mom!” Allister yelled.
“Allister! Oh my…where were you?” She’d never been so happy and sad at the same time; she ran to him letting a bright smile outlined with tears invade her face. “Oh my gosh, baby, I thought I’d lost you.” She hugged Allister the way a relieved mother would, kneeling down to fix his clothes unnecessarily and brushing off the dust.
The Andromeda Project (The Cluster Chronicles Book 1) Page 18