The Andromeda Project (The Cluster Chronicles Book 1)

by Jason Michael Primrose

  Brandt yelled out, “I’ll take you. I’ll take you, I promise.”

  “How can I trust you?” Allister pulled him closer.

  “You don’t got a choice,” he answered.

  FLORENCE BELLADONNA

  C20 Airspace, April 2026

  Florence can’t be trusted, Leesa thought. With freedom from the dampeners her mind was an open book. Major detachment from Nicolas made undetectable probes more possible, she was receptive to feeling, not apprehensive nor mentally defensive.

  Florence watched her pilot the vessel as if she’d been flying her whole life. They soared at 950 mph. “Have you flown one of these things before?” she asked, breaking six hours of silence. Running her soft hands over the leather sheath of her sword, she searched for a way to clarify the phone call. Somehow the truth wasn’t a choice. All those years spent fighting to be good after leaving her corrupt family and their fortune. Outside of the ruthless killing, she was no better than her father. Honest when it suited her and dodging, weaving, and manipulating the rest of the time. She should’ve stayed a politician.

  “Only in simulations.” Leesa concentrated on the air stretching before them. “You didn’t seem bothered by Dr. Giro’s speech. I’ve never heard it so clear.”

  Florence smiled and methodically withdrew the sword from the case. “I’ve known since my powers strengthened his butchered English was an exaggeration,” she said telepathically.

  “It’s suspicious you didn’t say anything about it.” Leesa adjusted the map view to terrain.

  “Choose your battles.” It was the last thing Florence had from her family, presumably nixed from the will for her abrupt departure at eighteen. The doubled-edged weapon had a few smudges, no stains though. She polished them out.

  “I suppose you’re entitled to an explanation.” Something about a shiny sword in the face of danger. Florence returned it to the holster. “In case you haven’t noticed something’s wrong at the Andromeda Project, I mean. Might be hard to see since you’ve been around it but…” She left her thought open-ended.

  Leesa turned sharply. “Stop lying. Who are you getting the gems for?”

  Private Coates groaned and repositioned himself for more comfortable sleep.

  “The US government,” she answered. The truth wasn’t so difficult.

  “Atmosphere classification: turbulent. Increasing shield power to 70 percent,” the computer said as they neared their destination coordinates.

  They’d become suspicious of the motivation behind the involvement of countries they considered less than friendly, like China, Russia, and North Korea. The US director realized if Brazil was a neutral or a swinging party, the four of them could box the United States out once a discovery was made. Despite clear direction on the study and use of the gems, neither the benefits nor the profits were allocated clearly. The US put in the most money, but they were accused of wasting everyone’s time and resources with poor leadership and self-interest. General Delemar’s selective hearing created a damaging ripple effect after the Cumberland incident. In more recent meetings, visible dissent among the directors led to talks of something else with a better “setup.” It wasn’t like Florence to go into any situation completely blind. She’d tried to dig up dirt on the Andromeda Project before taking her position but everyone’s memories were erased or they’d been sworn to secrecy. Even lost a few contacts inquiring about it ─ some found dead, others cut ties because of the deaths her questions caused.

  The colleague whom she owed the favor was vague about the operations. Their favorite phrase, “You’ll find out soon enough.” They didn’t have to be forthright either.

  “It’s not like I’m not perfect for the job. I’m a psychic for Christ’s sake, but this person knew I didn’t want to be like this anymore.” Florence stared out the window. Lightning flashed across the tops of clouds, foretelling their perilous entry.

  “And yet,” Leesa said, full of judgment.

  The lieutenant might understand one day, if her existence and her power leaked into the public sphere. Florence owed this mysterious person big time. “No one knows you exist. You have no idea what it’s like out there.” An emotional shift took the moment to a dark place.

  “How far until we have to exit the stratosphere?” Leesa asked the computer.

  The computer searched for a place to land within a fifty-mile radius from the coordinates. “Approximately 300 miles,” it responded. They were roughly thirty minutes from descent.

  “We can’t take on the whole base,” Florence said. Their eyes met.

  Leesa knew the logic behind the strategy. She broke the trusting stare. “I don’t do quiet, last time…”

  “If we want Dolores back safely, it’s the only way.” Florence placed her hands on her head. Her body erupted in crimson energy shaped like a flaming ace of spades, while scanning the area below them. The deep color indicated an increase in power availability off base. She opened her eyes. “Can’t sense Allister.” It was a long shot anyway. C20’s anti-telepathic tactics were innovative to say the least. “But we still have the element of surprise.”

  “Figure out how we keep it,” Leesa said, maneuvering the ship to the side. She double-checked they were in stealth mode.

  “Going to be hard. Any messages from the base on mapping out entry points?” she asked the soldiers. They replied with solemn noes, main HQ wasn’t communicating with them because the transmission links for the prototype hybrid ships weren’t set up. “Did we take the right aircraft?” Florence asked.

  “I took the one Dr. Giro instructed we—” Leesa covered her mouth without finishing her sentence.

  ALLISTER ADAMS

  Former Middle East, April 2026

  Artificially carved out tunnels with compacted sand ceilings and thin corridors stretched into a maze beneath the C20 facility. Allister kept Brandt at a steady pace with one hand on his shoulder. Loose particles moved along the floors under their footsteps. “Wow,” he said. “All that nice shit up there and you put my mother in the ground.”

  “She’s safe down here.” Brandt paused, reflecting on their troubled but lengthy past. Allister squeezed aggressively. Many years ago tinier versions of those hands explored Brandt’s clean-shaven face. The gratitude in Patrick and Dolores when they’d had a son, after being told it was impossible. Somehow their happiness led to his own demise. “You don’t remember me do you?”

  “No. Should I?”

  “This ain’t a coincidence, the whole mess started way before you were born. Thirty years ago. I knew your family…I was there the night…” Brandt stopped in an effort to remain professional.

  “The night what?” Allister asked. A barrage of distorted mental images forced him into an agonizing crumble.

  Opportunity knocked, the captain chose to be focused rather than compassionate. His boot struck the boy across the face. “I’m sorry Allister, but we got a lot of work to do.” Brandt finished attaching the menacing weapon to his arm with metal straps and the barrel positioned on the back of his hand. The high-pitched whine of charging energy filled their ears. “This thing’s guaranteed to do damage, don’t try nothing stupid. That way.” Brandt commanded him to walk using the loaded weapon.

  Allister squinted at his captor while rubbing his jaw. He’d never noticed the white aura around him because it wasn’t visible to the naked eye. When Brandt first enlisted in the military they found him resistant to harsh weather conditions, direct firepower and physical combat due to an involuntary field of disruption. It cancelled out potential negative effects but didn’t make him any stronger. The observation sent him on the fast track to the Andromeda Project during its early years. He was grandfathered in and never re-examined by Dr. Giro as a superhuman, since the ability had no offensive dangers.

  He wouldn’t have been harmed by the sand storm, Allister scowled.

  They stopped walking. A titanium prison door stood out among the reddish tint of its rocky frame. Numbers and characters moved b
eneath Brandt’s fingers in a game-like pattern on the pad. “Invalid access code,” the computer said. His guard lowered with the firearm.

  Allister scooped a handful of grains with curious fingers and threw it into Brandt’s eye. One punch and the captain sank against the wall, resistance to harm didn’t mean immunity. Enhanced vision picked up a different set of fingerprints on the lighted keypad; he entered the new assortment. The door clicked, unhinging, and opened ever so slightly. Dim light spread across the cave like moonlight through a dark forest.

  “Patrick? Is that you? Am I home?” Chains rubbed against each other and Dolores’s vacant eyes awaited confirmation. She settled back into the uncomfortable position.

  Sadness fueled Allister’s silence. Years of resentment and distance, of disobedience and misunderstanding, added to the pressure he felt to save her. He burst forward, letting the warm tears stain his face. “Mom, I can’t believe I let this happen to you.”

  Dolores touched his matured facial features, while staring away like a blind beggar. “Oh my goodness, it’s really you. I never thought I’d see you again. It’s over, it’s finally ov—”

  “It’s me!” Allister’s firm hold ruined the hallucination.

  “You’re just like your father. Love playing the hero,” she said. “It’s going to get you killed one day too.” Too delirious to fathom the comment’s severity, she slumped back. Her eyes darted left and right.

  There hadn’t been an appropriate time or place to have the discussion in twelve years, but half a mile underground inside of a cave prison, she brought him up. Patrick’s death hadn’t been discussed since a month after the incident when she locked herself in the bathroom for a few days and they almost starved. To Allister, it was like she’d never mentioned it at all. All of those memories were hidden inside of a fortress. He stumbled away to digest the words and her condition.

  It was hard to be mad with the woman who gave birth to him, but vulnerability lent itself under the circumstances. “Anything else you want to tell me about him? You’ve never compared us before. You barely mentioned him before!” The outburst belonged to a boy not a man.

  “Oh sweet baby, this ain’t your fault. It’s a long time coming,” Dolores’s voice drifted higher like the end of a melody. She rocked back and forth then gripped the chains in a panic. “This is where I’m going to die.”

  “Shut up mom! Just shut up!” Allister ripped the covers off. “I won’t let you.” A bomb served as a belt, the keypad on it had no residual marks, no trace of a deactivation code.

  And her sanity returned from vacation. “Allister, wait, I,” Dolores swallowed, “Captain Brandt don’t know what he’s doing.”

  “I don’t care,” he said sternly with his lips tight, and then he said louder, “I don’t care!” The Zosma energy created a film over his eyes while veins in his flexed arms coursed with a blue tint.

  “There, there, son,” she said softly. “Take my hand, so I can share all the things you need.”

  Allister sighed, letting it dissipate and went to her side. When they touched, his mind filled with beautiful images of his father. Patrick as a teenager, when they first fell in love. The moment Allister was born when their faces smiled down at him. Glimpses of their family life; board games, road trips and their home-cooked meals. Dolores tugged her hand hoping to end positively, but Allister held on. The joy disappeared and devastation filled them both.

  He had to let go or risk crushing her frail bones from outrage. Reliving the catastrophic moment with Allister as they’d done on the street outside of their Cumberland Falls home, sent her into hysteria.

  Allister wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. I would’ve done everything so different.” A soft kiss to the forehead sent her from sobs to sniffles.

  “You weren’t supposed to know,” Dolores said. “Don’t be angry. We were all so young. I’ve tried to let go…and only recently…here. Peace set in.”

  She ruined his childhood by spending their money and time chasing the organization she believed responsible for Patrick’s death. Part of her wanted to free Neight but she knew if Brandt’s deal was better on paper, she might’ve let Allister go through with killing Nicolas or done it herself.

  “Nicolas is as good as dead.” Allister got up. “What he did was unforgivable. Why didn’t you tell me before I joined the Andromeda Project?!”

  The general’s blood on Allister’s hands was the first in the chain of events the alien warned about.

  “In another timeline, when you knew about the tragedy, you ran away from home and spent your whole childhood training. I was killed by them because you weren’t with me. You killed Nicolas at seventeen years-old. But he wasn’t enough. It goes on…surprisingly.” The story was something out of an unwritten book and somehow, because he wasn’t virtuous or at the very least practical, the human race suffered. Neight told her everything he saw until the premonition got fuzzy, activating the amnesia spell was a no-brainer. She continued: “Neight taught us many, many important lessons. We are all significant and insignificant at the same time. Our actions are woven into a much greater plan, plans beyond humanity and Earth. Every decision you make matters. You have a responsibility…and it’s not to me.”

  He caressed her cheek, it made more sense to him than it should have.

  “Your father would be proud of you,” Dolores said, “I’m proud of you.”

  They both smiled, out of tears for the moment.

  Brandt kicked the door in and Allister whirled around to stand before it hit the rock wall. “You’ve got a pretty savvy boy Dolores, well done.”

  Allister jumped to disarm him but Brandt pulled his four fingers back, activating the trigger on the device. Hot energy scorched his face, revealing part of his skull. Dolores gripped the chains until her fingers turned white from blood loss. “Brandt, stop it!” she screamed.

  “This weapon is the first of its kind, good ole’ plasma energy,” Brandt said then tapped the barrel of the gun. “Make sure he does what I say or you both suffer the consequences.”

  Dolores reached for her son, “You can beat this…” A groan gave her hope but he hadn’t moved.

  “You say one more word, woman,” Brandt threatened, “And I’ll blow you to a million pieces.”

  She shrank into herself.

  “Sir, we’ve found two of the gems,” an agent said over the radio.

  FLORENCE BELLADONNA

  C20 Airspace, April 2026

  Rabia’s misdirection could only have come from intentional malice or genuine confusion. Neither Florence nor Leesa wanted to admit which of the two was more likely. Time would tell but in the meantime, considering their insubordination, minimal contact was an accurate play.

  “Exiting Stratosphere, brace for turbulence,” the computer announced.

  “Increase shields to 90 percent,” Leesa said, as they lowered into the storm.

  “Good news is they can’t use air attacks because of the weather,” Private Coates said.

  “The weather is their air attack,” Florence scoffed.

  “Approaching coordinates destination. Shields at 60 percent and dropping.” Their ship’s violent rocking went on until Leesa stabilized them against the wind. Sand chipped away at the metal exterior, eventually invading sensitive machinery. “Left engine has sustained damage, failure imminent,” the computer droned. Fire erupted from friction and heat.

  They corkscrewed toward unwelcoming city ruins without engine support. A rich blue color surrounded the aircraft’s extremities as Leesa concentrated on slowing their descent.

  “Approaching terrain, brace for impact,” the computer wailed.

  It was too late. The hull of the ship hit the edge of a free-standing building and Leesa lost all focus. Her body flew sideways ripping the ceiling open, she disappeared into a sand blizzard. Another approaching object impeded their flight pattern.

  “None of you know how to fly this thing?” Yelling over the beeping, Floren
ce stumbled to the controls but couldn’t stop its plunge into the C20 watchtower. Nothing to protect them, save for safety belts keeping them in place as glass and fire metal blew inward.

  The collision ruined most of the watchtower’s ceiling and the ship’s cockpit rested between what was remaining and the floor. Broken desks, dismembered chairs, and cracked computers were scattered alongside mutilated bodies of unconscious workers. Lights flickered like in a horror film.

  After Leesa’s untimely exit, Florence’s psionic energy manifested stopping them from plowing through the tower. Exit from the bottom was impossible and she moaned while climbing through a broken windshield. She navigated her glowing leg over jagged pieces and onto the wings. Florence gasped at a girl sprawled face down in front of an unfriendly chair with metal strappings and detached helmet. It was hooked up to a row of giant machinery lining the back wall.

  Howling winds had become whispers but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly when. Florence jumped aside, then back flipped on her hands, a piece of jagged rock launched from the ground where she would’ve been. “What in the—”Her heart raced from the threat.

  The teenage superhuman sat up. “Where…am I? Who…are you?” she asked.

  “Don’t make any sudden movements. What’s your name?” Red light from Florence’s hand tossed a glow on the room, the other held the handle to her sword.

  “My name is Celine, I’m from Morocco.” The desert called to her, she’d been missing a long time. Celine tossed her hair and got up. “I don’t understand. I was home and…”

  “I can help you regain your memories,” the psychiatrist offered selfishly.

  Celine drew back. “No thanks.” She ran toward the edge of the watchtower, illuminated by a newly visible half moon. Midway the girl tumbled, digging fingertips into her head.

  “It wasn’t a question.” Sequential images detailing Celine’s capture were cut short by a barrage of sand blasts; Florence flipped sideways and landed next to an overturned desk.

  “As a thank you for my freedom, I’ve spared your life.” The sand dragged along the floor and reformed as a wave, the young girl rode away on top of it.