The Andromeda Project (The Cluster Chronicles Book 1)

by Jason Michael Primrose

  Allister’s computerized brain set to work again, replacing childlike curiosity with combative defense. Quiet footsteps joined the background noises. He caught a razor sharp arrow with a closed fist before it pierced his cheek, poisonous blue liquid dripped from the tip, sizzling against the hot ground. He snapped it in half.

  “I’m not here to fight.” Allister placed his hands in the air. “I’m lost.” Spinning in two semicircles, he scanned the forest to spot the attacker then dodged a second attempt. “This isn’t going to work.”

  A female-looking creature jumped from the bushes with three clawed toes aimed at Allister’s face. He dipped backwards and she flew past him sliding across the forest floor. Razor sharp edges cut a piece of a purple plant clean off as she unsheathed a five-foot long sword with one hand. An indecipherable sentence came out of her miniature mouth. His disbelief about the sword’s size allowed a gas flame-colored blast to hit him in the chest. He split two large trees in half.

  “How’d ya get here?” Her accent sounded similar to old countryside English. She jabbed the sword at his face and cocked her ear to catch the response, but Allister didn’t answer. A warning swipe missed his neck by centimeters.

  “Watch that thing!” Allister shouted. A need for faster processing sent his brain into high gear, it moved so fast that the strange world slowed down. She was covered in grey armor, open in the middle down to where her navel should’ve been. It fit snug, hugging her hips and bosom. Any hope of being on Earth shattered when he realized what planet she came from. The skin tone was unmistakable.

  “Ya unwelcome here,” the native yelled, impatiently waiving the sword up in short motions. “The creatures rulin’ this land don’t allow outsiders on the planet, I advise ya leave the way ya came.”

  “I came through a portal from Earth. I don’t how to get back.”

  “Earth…I heard of the place but only from the…” She thought better of it and didn’t finish. The sword slid back into its holster. “I’m Amora.”

  Amora’s mood shifted like seasons from summer to winter, harsh and unnatural. A menacing roar escaped above the trees and she dragged him beneath some of the taller vegetation instinctively. In such close proximity her contoured features and broad, flat nose stood out. Pinks, greys and purples played nicely together on her skin, it reminded him of a beautiful sunrise. “Hafta keep watch for the patrols,” she whispered.

  The threat passed. Allister tried to figure out how she knew where to go, considering obvious blindness. Amora epitomized tall, dark, and lovely. A high tight ponytail of long purple hair swung behind her as she left their hiding spot, motioning for him to follow.

  “What are you doing on this planet? You’re Uragonian.” Allister asked, moving through the thicket.

  “Not sure how I came ta be here, alls I know is I’m not welcome,” Amora sighed, reliving the painful day her family was ripped apart. “How’d ya know anyway?”

  “Because you look exactly like Neight Caster.”

  Amora’s giant blade sliced across his chest. “How dare ya speak tha great King’s name,” she choked, purple liquid filled her eyes. “Ya know nothing of him, he’s been dead fer years.”

  Allister held one hand over the shallow gash, it stung. “Who would make something like that up?” he asked, once it healed. The weapon’s tip returned to the dirt. With one hand he guided her forefinger to the gems. “He helped me get these.”

  Amora touched the gems of Evale, sensing their power, seeing all of the pain they would bring. She snatched her hand away but the dreams she’d had were coming together. If Allister told the truth, things were going to get bad before they got worse. She’d been trapped on Dragozium, the closest neighbor to her former home of Uragon, fending for herself since childhood. Her survival was contingent on staying out of the way and under the radar. The Phyre King, Ders, pretended as if she didn’t exist, whereas the other species threatened death if she was found.

  Amora held one hand up to stop Allister’s steps and took the other over an empty space ahead of them. A dragon shimmered into view, previously masked by a cloaking spell. She congratulated it on its obedience. The dragon, not full grown, was small compared to others of its type but still weighed eight tons. It shook its head to remove the strange sensation of being invisible and leaned down.

  “This is Pyx.” Amora caressed its snout. It extended its veined wings in greeting and grunted. “Ya won’t last a moment out here. We’ll go back to my camp and prepare for our journey ta tha volcano tomorrow.”

  No matter how terrified she was to approach the Phyre volcano, Amora knew without a doubt it was time to confront the king with her newfound knowledge.

  LEESA DELEMAR

  Dragozium

  Obnoxious buzzing filled the swamp and a layer of air hung at eye level making it difficult to see. Fading light from one of Dragozium’s stars pierced the haze and, despite its smothering thickness, she didn’t have trouble breathing. In the absence of wind, plant life in the marsh remained completely still. Leesa wandered aimlessly, mucking around in shin-deep muddy water. She called Allister’s name, occasionally diving below to search for his body but there was only vegetation thus far. Her heart sank.

  It reminded Leesa of something she’d seen in a dream. In a dream, she thought, examining with her finger one of the razor sharp fuchsia leaves sticking out of the water. Blood dripped from the incision. Its violet color gave her pause and she squeezed more out to confirm. Waist deep in a strange swampland wasn’t the place to jog her memory about the last time she bled or what color it was. Leesa dipped her hand to wash the wound, letting its smell and taste sink into the water’s depths. The purple-leafed plants moved closer together as if on purpose, closing off her pathway.

  Insects ten times the size of Earth’s dragonflies came into view through towering plants, eliminating the mystery behind the buzzing noise she’d become accustomed to. Their scaled wings flapped as they navigated with eight pairs of eyes, six legs, and two tails of equal length for balance. The vegetarian creatures behaved harmless enough, feeding and flirting with each other. Albeit faint, her senses picked up another noise.

  Slithering against the brush got louder, an outline of a scaly creature with small spikes lining its body appeared above water and continued ahead of her. It slipped beneath the surface as quickly as it came up. Leesa walked faster but the more speed applied to her movement, the lower she sank until she was chest deep and using both hands to help. How did that thing move so easily through this? She thought.

  Silence fell, the monstrous dragonflies so prevalent minutes before completely vanished. She lifted her hands out of the water and watched her blood trickle down along with residual drops of moisture. “Crap.”

  Her heart raced as fast as it could without bursting out of her chest. The head of the creature soared straight up, allowing her one good look at the four fangs before it lunged. Leesa caught the top of the mouth and the jaw of the beast with her hands. It tried to bite but telekinetic force sent its broad serpent-esque head into the air.

  The Slier dragon’s wormy body moved causing a quicksand effect and before she realized it, water grazed her chin. As big around as a tank with coal-black eyes, staring at the most exciting meal it had ever seen. The smallest taste of blood made them nearly insatiable.

  After a deep breath Leesa dunked her head to avoid the dragon’s second attempt to eat her whole. The unanticipated move caused its poisonous foot long fangs to sink into its own flesh; it reared back writhing in pain. Although immune, the deep gashes sent black blood spilling into the water. Leesa swam beneath the purple plants and resurfaced closer to the edge, backing away from the squirming teenage beast. It let out a final shriek and dove out of sight.

  Movement was interrupted by another Slier twice the size of the first. The mother dragon had long spikes the length of its spine and slid away at startling speed. A goal to reach dry land failed when its tail lashed outward, knocking Leesa in the opposite direct
ion of safety and underwater. Her side throbbed. It swiftly submerged to finish her off but narrowly missed on the way down. She popped above water dramatically, thrashing about with hair stuck to her face.

  A sideways spin dodged the mother’s tail as it completed its dive into the mud and Leesa mucked her way back toward the embankment. Her steps quickened at the thought of an eighty-foot beast plunging full-bodied into a swamp and disappearing without a trace. She crawled through the space in the plant life onto solid ground, leading to an ocean as clear as the swamp was dirty. Splashing followed a horrifying screech; it circled head first, coiling around Leesa for a third attack.

  A telekinetic barrier separated her body from the dragon’s and Leesa struggled to maintain its structure against the tight squeeze. The limbless Slier changed its objective and dragged her back toward the swamp, protective field and all.

  Being defined by the telekinetic ability pulsing within her, had become a limitation. As the robotic weapon commanding the Andromeda Project’s combat division she’d lost the thing that gave her powers their extra kick, feeling. Channeling emotion productively amplified their effects. Although afraid of ending up in the dragon’s stomach, being attacked by a Slier wasn’t as strange as it should’ve been. A bigger fear, fear of not seeing Allister again, made her sad, the sadness manifested as weakness. It blocked her full potential.

  Sadness transformed into determination. It was up to her to make sure she escaped. Floating above the barren land, blue energy took over Leesa’s hands, the dragon’s entire body in her control. She pushed out and the creature landed with a spectacular splash.

  The volcano to the southwest was from her most recent vision. It had to mean something. Flying long distances was too difficult in her condition, but she decided to try a super jump. A running start launched her over the Drago Sea.

  NICOLAS DELEMAR

  Washington, DC, April 2026

  “Finally!” Rabia said, throwing both hands up in praise as Nicolas stirred from slumber. He stood over the terminally ill general, face wrinkled in disgust.

  The Andromeda Project’s infirmary was no different than any public hospital, full of sick patients receiving subpar treatment. Uncomfortable beds, paper sheets, cafeteria food, haunted Nicolas’s memories as a private in the military and to end up in the same environment thirty years later. It was like he’d never done anything worthwhile. Perhaps gratitude for the machines keeping him alive was a more positive way of thinking but Nicolas had never been a particularly positive person. He coughed while grabbing his ribs.

  “Aren’t there nicer rooms than this shit hole?” Nicolas asked. The doctor touched one of three disfiguring rashes ignoring the question. Overproduction of skin cells.

  “You designed facility, spent extra budget on your and lieutenant’s office space.” Rabia reached into one pocket and pulled out a vial of the serum, from his other pocket he revealed a syringe and placed the vial into the back of it.

  “And your lab,” Nicolas snapped back, then held his varicose veined hands up in protest, “No! No more energy. It isn’t working.”

  “Your clock is ticking. If you get any weaker…” Rabia forcefully pinned down the general’s discolored arm and leaned in with the needle. Horror consumed the dying man’s eyes as if the grim reaper stood behind the doctor, waiting for the deadly injection. Rabia let him go. “We tried something else but didn’t work quite like planned.” His tone reflected lack of empathy for Nicolas’s appearance or condition. Rabia worked on the formula using Allister’s blood, determined to successfully use gene therapy to provide access to the Zosma energy. The mixture should’ve been safe enough, but Allister’s regenerative modifier didn’t heal Nicolas as he thought it would. A genuinely valid test with the best of intentions, but the aspect missing was balance between regeneration and energy access. Neight constructed Allister’s genome with precision and intention prior to birth. Rabia would need a clean slate because Nicolas’s viability as a test subject had passed.

  “I’ll lead our primary initiatives moving forward,” Rabia placed the syringe on the metal tray by the bed. “Until your health improves.”

  “This isn’t happening.” Nicolas spewed phlegm. Paper sheets absorbed the reddish liquid. “Where’s my daughter?”

  Rabia shrugged. He forgot to put on gloves. “Do you want injection or not?” He asked, tugging the latex over his sausage fingers. “If not, you die hero, father, and brilliant man.”

  Nicolas felt blood flow constricting again.

  “You’re not answering my question, General,” Rabia said, retrieving the dosage. “If you want to die, I can spare you all of this ridiculous pain you’re in.”

  A second heart attack meant death, he gave in and held out his arm.

  FLORENCE BELLADONNA

  Middle East, April 2026

  “The less you say, the more it’ll hurt.”

  Brandt paced, the maroon uniform standing out against the all white backdrop of his office. He repeated the same questions about her relationship with the American government and the directors. Each time Florence refused to answer, he punished her with a blow to the face or an incision on her body.

  A metal brace covered her torso and locked in the back. She fiddled with the shackles during his onslaught but couldn’t slip either hand through. Brandt knelt in front of her, gripping the chains constricted tightly around her legs to cut off more circulation.

  “What do you know about the gems?” he asked for the first time.

  “Nothing more than you,” Florence replied. Her chin touched her clavicle after the retaliatory slap. The following silence made the captain angrier and in a high-pitched scream he proclaimed her a liar, promising death if she didn’t cooperate. Thankfully Florence was a veteran to enemy torture.

  Brandt leaned her chair onto two hind legs, confessing in a calm tone his discovery of C20 scientists, agents, and workers slaughtered. Inside the digging site where the gems were discovered, homicide victims were positioned next to a rock formation resembling a door that didn’t lead anywhere. Carbon readings showed all rock was the same age, thousands upon thousands of years old and miles thick. There was never really an open space.

  “They were back there, I know it, somethin’ killed those people.” Brandt dropped her chair back on all fours and changed the subject. “The energy signature is too far out of reach to trace, your friends aren’t even in the solar system.”

  “I don’t know anything.” Florence’s eyes were as uncertain as her tone, recalling a vague memory of them disappearing.

  Brandt believed for the time she didn’t know much on the subject and resumed his kneeling position, allowing Florence to look at him as a person. She studied his defeated face, his lint-filled beard and soulless eyes. Feeling the connection, the captain jerked away. Animated hand motions accompanied inflections in Brandt’s voice while discussing aloud how Allister came to bond with the transporter gems. So many pieces to the puzzle and they only knew one person, if you could call him a person, capable of manipulating it all.

  “The alien set us all up. He could be ‘the Savior’ and all this time I would’ve been workin’ to save him and not humanity,” Brandt said.

  “It makes sense,” Florence said quietly. “One organization didn’t cut it so Neight formed another.” They sat in silence, each mind on its own track. One thinking how Neight gathered the support and the other scheming for a way out of captivity.

  “We’re in the same boat,” he kneeled again. “I’ll make a deal with you.” Brandt offered to set her free if she stayed with C20 and brought Allister with her. “There’s a stench of weakness, submission, greed and immorality in an Andromeda Project team member. It don’t exist in my ranks. You’ve always been different from the other losers over there.”

  Florence rolled her eyes and muttered, “Spare me.” But it was an offer to be considered. Someone within the Andromeda Project besides Leesa was bound to discover her true motives sooner or later. The Cynq
ue watch beeped with an incoming call. Concern took control of Florence’s facial expression, shoving annoyance out of the way. Brandt answered and held it up to her mouth.

  “Dr. Belladonna,” the voice started, “are you okay?”

  Her captor nodded yes.

  “Yes,” she answered obediently.

  “Why haven’t you updated me? What happened?”

  “I’m trapped at C2—”

  Brandt ended the call. “Nice try.” C20 got what they wanted, the caller’s voice. Specialists traced the signal and matched the vocals to her contact, the US director for the Andromeda Project. “I guess sometimes I do like surprises.”

  A little digging and the captain learned the complicated nature of their romantic history. It was the reason Florence kept her relationships strictly professional. A single slip of judgement in the year 2020 after the inaugural ball, which continued for two years following. Betraying the him would make the loss of her reputation, once believed the greatest consequence possible, seem like she’d lost a popularity contest. Purely superficial.

  No one could find out and if Florence wanted him to stay alive, she was going to have to make some sacrifices. Her first job as a C20 operative was to render the base undetectable through telepathic manipulation. Russell was close to uncovering their location by disqualifying the technology.

  “The first offer was much better, but you didn’t take it.” Brandt wanted to enhance her psychic invisibility using the amplification machine.

  ANDROMEDA PROJECT MAIN HQ

  Washington, DC, April 2026

  It was a private effort at first but gradually all staff members at the Andromeda Project became aware of the situation. There had been no communication in over twenty-four hours. Dorian wore his uniform, but Bridget wore a peach sundress with black combat boots and a large onyx ring on her finger. She sat the farthest from the action, waiting to hear the words “you’re up” come out of one of their mouths. Dorian didn’t want to hear anything and let both hands grip either side of his head like a basketball. A deep sigh followed.