His story was out there, his source material was safe. Slade was on the ropes. Drew hadn’t prepped but he didn’t need to. He had the facts on his side. He idled his way around Portland’s friendly streets until it was time for the show.
Normally, calling in at least forty-five minutes before WNN’s Nightly News was usual protocol. Things needed to be said, orders had to be listened to, and going over prep again and again was a must.
Ten minutes before air time, he dialed WNN’s Nightly News producer, Michelle Lowry.
“It’s about time you called. Where have you been? Colonel Slade Roberson has been on standby for almost a half an hour. He’s prepared. You’re not.”
Drew looked out over the Laurelhurst Park. A cluster of brush and trees stood between him and the sidewalk, hiding him from view. “I’m ready when he is.”
“Fine. Interview starts in three minutes.”
“Put me through.”
The moment she did Drew heard the opening credits. It was a big deal, this interview. There was more to the story and he needed to get Slade to stumble or at least fumble a pass. Trouble was, he couldn’t see the man’s face. He knew exactly what he’d be looking for. He’d seen it in that Rock Magazine interview. But without a visual, he’d be relying solely on the tone and tempo of the man’s voice. Beads of sweat formed on his lip and he rubbed his pant leg nervously.
The credits came to an end. “From WNN’s Nightly News headquartered in Chicago, this is Connor Eves.”
Drew could remember the beginning credits as if he was watching the opening from his couch. Connor was now probably smiling into the camera, his good looks and large eye brows dominating the screen.
Connor spoke with conviction. Everything he said was smooth and convincing. “Today, we have a remarkable story. From what we’ve all heard, science fiction is no longer something of the future. It is here, now. It’s science fact. In stunning developments that came to light late yesterday and early this morning, our very own WNN reporter, Drew Avera, has come by documents, satellite images, and an email correspondence with a Global Safety Administration insider to give you a detailed look at what’s going on behind government scenes, particularly with the Global Safety Administration. And, he is here today, along with Colonel Slade Roberson, who has been mentioned in all but a few of those documents, for a special edition of Tonight Talk.”
Tonight Talk was a segment where two guests haggled it out, without much interviewing being done. It was entertaining, but tended to become a fist fight, instead of a well-curated interview, where the guests could do their best to persuade the viewer to their side.
“Welcome Colonel Slade Roberson,” Connor said.
“Thank you,” replied Slade. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”
“And, nice to hear you voice again, Drew.”
Drew bobbed his head up and down. Here we go. It’s time to use my mature voice. “Thank you, Connor. It’s a pleasure to be here.”
“Colonel Roberson. GSA documents, GSA satellite images, and like I said, email correspondence from an inside source has been all over the news the last thirty-six hours.”
Drew wished he could see Slade to watch the worry build on the Colonel’s face, but when Slade spoke, the guy was confident. “I can’t say much about the email correspondence, other than it was an uncle and his nephew – ”
Drew butted in. “‘Uncle and nephew means nothing in this situation. All we need to know is whether Kaden Jaxx does in fact work for you?”
“Yes, he is an archaeologist hired to research highly classified satellite images taken by the TECS IV satellite. What he was not hired to do was to speak with anyone about military and government classified information outside of the Global Safety Administration. There were several laws broken, but let me first start out by saying that there is a reason for classified material. We don’t want other governments co-opting the United States special interests. Our goal is to keep the citizens of the United States safe and secure. This leak, which has now consumed the entire globe, is no longer in our hands. It is now in the hands of governments that do not have the interest of the American people at heart. They have their own, self-serving interests. The email correspondence between Kaden Jaxx and Drew Avera was – I’m sorry to say it Connor – treasonous. This leak is going to set us back as a nation.”
“How is it going to set us back, Colonel?” inquired Connor.
“When researching highly detailed material – like the reported structures on Callisto – it is best to take it slow. We need to be methodical. We can no longer do that. This has created a race between us and the other major powers in the world. A frantic race creates mistakes.”
“Drew, anything to add?”
“I do.” He eyed the cars approaching the traffic light. All of them, too slow. “Let’s forget about Kaden Jaxx for the moment and get to the meat of the issue – the photographs of the underground bunker, which I sent to – ”
“Which you stole,” Slade barked.
Drew shifted on the grass. Even over the phone, and hundreds of miles away, the man was intimidating.
Slade calmed himself. “Of course we want to investigate the discovery on the Jupiter moon, Callisto. How did those structures get there? Who built them? How old are they? Those are basic questions anyone would ask themselves. This isn’t some conspiracy. This is an incredible exploration of the human past.”
Connor cut in, clearly excited. “Are you saying these structures are man-made?”
“There’s no evidence to suggest any planet in the solar system can support intelligent life. So, no on the aliens. My best guess, it’s human-made.”
Drew bit his cheek. “Alright, let’s get back to the subject at hand. We can discuss aliens in a minute.” He stretched his neck to the side until the bones clicked. “Colonel, you’ve admitted that this is a manned mission. But I have taken pictures of luggage, supplies, a train that can hold a dozen giant space ships, why so many – ”
“You’re wrong. You’re jumping to conclusions. You have no idea what you saw when you were...” he laughed, long and hard; Drew could just see him sneering into the cameras, “when you were scurrying around a flight hanger with too much weed in your system.”
Drew thumped his hand into the dirt. He knew it had been a mistake to give that guard a toke. “I know what I saw.”
Slade ignored him. “We’re going to be as open as we can on this. We have been holding back a lot of information from the public for good reason. Now, we can’t. So, we will be transparent to – ”
“You are planning a mass evacuation…I don’t know who’s going or when, but you have enough supplies prepped to take a few thousand people off-world…”
Slade laughed. “That’s nonsense.” He cleared his throat. “Look, the launch is happening, that much is true. We are investigating structures found on Callisto. There are structures there and we don’t know how they got there. The manned mission may take five years, but we are well prepared. This will be the first of its kind. When we get there, we’ll be conducting archaeological research. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“Will you be airing the launch?” the anchor inquired. “Will you be airing everything you discover?”
“We weren’t going to air anything, but now we will. The United States of America will be the first on that moon.” Drew imagined Slade looking into the camera, like a polished politician. “I want to apologize to the American people. No, to the world. I want to apologize that the administration that I head, the GSA, has been holding back vital information from the public. We did so, as I said, for good reason, though never to harm or keep you out of the loop. Our intent was to make this mission run as smoothly as possible. We didn’t want any hiccups and we didn’t want any delays.”
Drew’s mouth dropped. So phony, so premeditated. “Who is leading this mission?”
“I’ll be piloting the first ship of its kind, First Class SS-1. We won’t give its location out. We don’t want an
y terrorism or espionage. Once we leave Earth’s upper atmosphere, we will be docking with the remainder of the ship. We are calling it...Starship Atlantis.”
“You created a starship in a month?” To Drew, that was odd. It would have already been created before they had even found the structures on Callisto. How many of these highly technological ships do they have?
“We found these structures long ago and a starship has been in production for almost as long.”
Drew could tell Slade was lying. The dates TECS IV satellite took the images and sent them to GSA was in May of this year, not years ago. But before Drew could ask the myriad of questions forming in his mind, his phone died. He had enough power, but he’d lost the signal. Or, more likely, Slade’s people had arranged to have him cut off. Easy enough to do.
He slammed his hand into the back of his head. He did his best not to throw his cheap-ass burner phone on the ground and watch it splinter into a dozen pieces. He’d had a terrible interview. Slade had a great one. This was a disaster. The tides had turned. Drew was longer in the limelight. Instead, it was Slade.
There had to be more to it. The man hadn’t assembled a potential army of space ships – at least that’s what Drew was piecing together – to take a couple of archeologists into space. He needed an in. He needed data. He needed to be the investigative reporter he’d always wanted to be.
He reached into his pocket and jingled his change. First, though, he needed a doobie. It was Portland. All he needed to do was throw a rock. He didn’t even need to hit a dealer. Heck, the guy in the suit, strolling towards the MAXX, would probably sell him a blunt for a couple of bucks.
Soon as he’d smoothed his feathers, he planned to get out there and find out what Slade was up to.
38
June 8th, 2018 ~ Oospore Class-9 Dropship, Quadrant E ~ Earth Entry
Special Agent Nick Cole watched Earth on his view screen. The planet drew closer and closer. In less than a minute, he’d be plummeting through earth’s atmosphere in his dropship, a Secret Space Program Oospore Class 9. He called his dropship, Berry; after Chuck Berry, who knew how to rock his guitar and have a damned good time. Cole was all about rocking it.
He waived his finger over a holographic button on his control panel. He patched to the Star Carrier, Star Warden. “This is SA Nick Cole, Dropship Berry. Target Grenada, Kaden Jaxx. I’m descending in forty-eight seconds. I’ll retrieve target soon and bend the throttle to our new way-point in J-quadrant. Clear.”
No reply.
He narrowed his eyes and waived his finger over the holographic button again. “Star Warden, this is SA Nick Cole, calling from Dropship Berry. Do you read?”
Nothing.
The comm line must be down.
“This is SA Nick Cole, call-sign Dropship Berry, requesting confirmation of positive Comm Line connection. Clear.”
A crackle. “SSP Oospore Berry, this is Star Warden, we read you.”
“Thank you, Star Warden. Were comms down? Clear.”
There was a long pause before the next answer. “Patching Admiral Gentry Race through. Clear.”
Cole felt his back straighten, his features fall into standard “Admiral on deck” formation. It wasn’t just a show. He liked the Admiral. He gave him plenty of lee-way, which Cole took as a sign of respect.
“Cole?” the Admiral sounded upbeat, jovial even.
“Admiral.”
“We have new orders for you. You’re to leave Jaxx. For now. He’ll be flagged as target number two. Target number one will be to extract a Drew Avera. He has no training, no military background, and no backbone. Should be a piece of piss.” The Admiral had to be in his own quarters or he’d never have spoken so loosely.
“Requesting permission to speak freely,” said Cole
“Permission granted.”
“I want that maggot Jaxx squirming on my line, sir.”
“I know, Cole. We all do. And he’ll get what’s coming to him. But I’ve just had a very illuminating conversation with Colonel Slade.”
“Slade, sir?
“Indeed.”
Cole nodded. Things were getting interesting. Slade was back in the mix.
“Seems his mission to Callisto intersects with our own interests.”
Cole waited. The Admiral didn’t elaborate.
“This Drew fellow is something of a fly in the ointment. He got close to the plans, but has the wrong end of the stick, which is how we’d like it to stay. You need to extract him, however you may.”
“Extract, sir?”
“Correct, Cole. He’s a threat to our future.”
“Admiral, I’ll wrap up assignment and deliver the target to you. Clear.”
“Good man, Cole.”
Cole could hear the whiskey decanter hit the side of the Admiral’s glass as he signed off. Would have been nice, to be having a whiskey in space. But taking care of what needed taking care of suited him better. If Drew Avera was a threat, he’d remove him. With prejudice. Prejudice, speed, efficiency, and relish.
He sat in a strong posture, exuding calm and focus. In less than twenty seconds, he’d be descending to a planet he hadn’t been on in years. It was nice to be home, even for a short stint. He clicked on his anti-gravity halo on the control panel. It turned green, indicating that the anti-grav generator was activated.
He waited for Star Warden to relay Avera’s last known fingerprints. Sure enough, the location came through. Portland, Oregon. Home to the biggest band of bleeding-heart hippies on the planet. He didn’t even need to be discreet. Half the population of Oregon would be stoned and awed, the other half would simply accept it as a cosmic event. Karma come home to roost, or some other nonsense.
He’d approach quietly, landing by the waterfront, find his way to Avera, and then end his time on the planet.
Ten seconds until entry. He’d go for a brief grab, twist, and release. Hopefully not too many people would try to interfere. Right now, he didn’t care. He cared more about the new alliance Gentry was forming with Slade. That was one shit show he did not want to miss.
39
June 8th, 2018 ~ Underfoot Black, Grenada
Though he was cruising through space at sub-light speed 2.5, roughly 17,000 miles per hour, somewhere far, far away, Jaxx could hear Donny’s tinny voice, urging him to remain under, to search for the power source, to unlock the secret codes and give them the key. He had no clue what the man was on about.
“Remember what I always say,” Rivkah whispered over his comm. “Butts in buckets, bullets in battle, then back to base.”
Jaxx grinned. If anything could make him go to war, it was surely her.
“Air Wings, listen up,” Fox’s voice oozed over Jaxx’s cockpit comm line.
All squadrons had been deployed and were eleven miles from Star Cruiser Liberty. A blue and green planet, looking much like Earth, came into view.
According to the intel the screen at the bottom of his helmet was feeding him, it was Taiyo.
“Viper Squadron, enter Taiyo twelve degrees north, thirty two-degrees east. Boom Squadron, thirteen degrees north, thirty-three degrees east. Hell squadron, eleven degrees north, thirty one degrees east. We’ll be hammering all angles of their main base. They do not know we are showing up. They do not know if we mean harm. If you receive communication from them, do not answer.”
Over his right wing, Jaxx saw hundreds of fighters barreling toward Taiyo. Jaxx was at the outer rim of the starfighters, Fox and Rivkah directly in front of him. He swallowed hard, doing his best not to piss his pants.
His personal comm channel blared back to life. “Rivkah, Jaxx, this is Captain Fox. We’re sweeping in at coordinates two degrees north, two degrees east, just above the equatorial region. We are on a reconnaissance mission of sorts. We’re tasked to punch in and punch out of a main city. We’ll do some damage, but keep it light. We want to put the frighteners on them, not flatten them. When they move out, we move in. They are extracting resources at that locat
ion. Resources that we could use. Understood?”
“Affirmative, sir,” Jaxx had a bad, bad feeling.
“That’s not the assignment we were given,” came Rivkah. “What happened to being the last strafe run at the base we’re targeting?”
“Things changed. Get prepared, because we’ll be entering Taiyo’s atmosphere in forty-one seconds. If things get bad down there, don’t punch out. No telling what they’ll do to you once you step on their soil. Better to die than be a slave.”
Right on cue, Jaxx’s cockpit beeped with hundreds of enemy craft flying through Taiyo’s exosphere and heading their way. Round one was underway.
Oh, God. Here we go.
“Enemy craft, twelve o’clock,” yelled a pilot.
“We see them, ready to engage. Fire whenever the fuck you want to,” said Fox.
The Air Wings let loose and IC fire dotted the view with ion pulses in front of Jaxx, along with Space to Space Short Range Missiles – SSSRM-23 Slingers – with blue flames streaming out the missiles’ backs, propelling them at upwards of twenty thousand miles per hour.
Jaxx, on the other hand, kept his finger off the trigger. He figured he’d only fire if fired upon.
The enemy bandits pulled evasion maneuvers with expert coordination and skill, evading them.
“Holy shit, did you see that?” screamed a pilot.
The enemy fighters zipped on by, spinning on their sides, passing through narrow gaps between each Air Wing. The enemy still hadn’t fired a single shot.
“Viper Squad, pull around and engage. The rest, continue to coordinates,” ordered Fox.
Jaxx’s personal comm line crackled on again. It was Fox. “Veer off. We’re entering the atmosphere and at the specified coordinates. Turn on anti-grav and get ready. Shit’s about to get real.”
Atlantis Quadrilogy - Box Set Page 19