Atlantis Quadrilogy - Box Set

by Brandon Ellis

  Slade tilted his head to the side. “What in God’s name are you talking about, Jaxx?”

  Jaxx pointed to the downed Lecturn, sweat dripping from his forehead, his arm almost too heavy to lift. He was weak, drained. “I saw Star Warden cut in half, people spilling out. You are still going to Callisto?”

  “Let me deal with this,” said Fox.

  Slade put his arm out, clasping the door frame, blocking Fox from entering. “Not right now.”

  Jaxx continued, “What are your plans for Callisto?”

  “I’m going to be straight with you,” replied Slade. “We aren’t going to ask nicely for anyone’s land when we get to Callisto. We’re taking it. We’re going to make those fuckers pay for what they did to Star Warden. No one kills my friends.” Slade looked over his shoulder at Fox then back at Jaxx. “Now, the question I have to ask myself...” He strode forward, gun in hand. It was a pistol, black, semi-automatic. “Are you with us or against us?”

  Jaxx put his hands up, panting, nearly out of breath. What he had just done – throwing Shaughnessy across the room, lifting him with some unknown force and tossing him like a weightless, receding hairline, pudgy pillow – must have sapped him for all he had. He just wanted to crawl over in the corner, find some blankets, and get some sleep.

  Slade snickered, popping a piece of gum in his mouth. “Last chance. With us or against us?”

  Fox stepped through the doorway and halted in a wide stance, fists on his hips, elbows wide. He smiled, his eyes fixed on Jaxx. “Say you’re against us. Just say it.”

  Jaxx put his hands on his knees, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to say.” He took in a deep breath, deeper than normal. Energy ran though him. He took another deep breath, this one even deeper. He drew energy from that unknown source, that odd power. In his archaeological studies and in his linguistic career, the word’s prana, chi, and ki had crossed his path on several occasions. They all dealt with the subtle and powerful life-giving forces of the Universe. He wondered if that’s what he suddenly had control over, or better yet, had control over him. Perhaps that energy was working now, filling him up, giving him strength.

  Slade walked up to Jaxx and came within an inch of him. He leaned down, bringing his lips even closer to Jaxx’s ear. “What don’t you know, Jaxx?”

  Jaxx closed his eyes, Slade’s cold, minty breath brushed across his cheek. He wanted to shove Slade away. Jaxx wasn’t violent but he knew that this strange power he had was lethal – a power that was starting to bring him back to life. A power that loathed authority.

  “I said, ‘what don’t you know, Jaxx?’” Slade pressed the end of the pistol’s cold barrel on the back of Jaxx’s head.

  Fox growled. “Just fucking do it, Slade. End it, now!”

  The pistol’s pressure lightened as Slade turned. “Keep your God damn mouth shut, Fox.”

  “Not anymore, Slade. Do it,” replied Fox, stepping forward.

  Jaxx took another breath, the power rushing through him like a river pouring through a broken dam. He couldn’t believe how calm he was. At any other time in his life, especially with a cold gun to the back of his head, he’d be shaking like he was in Antarctica.

  “Why are you stepping forward, Fox?” asked Slade.

  Jaxx squeezed his fists and opened his eyes, his breaths coming faster.

  “Doing what I wanted to do the day you grabbed him from Peru.” Fox took a few more strides and reached for Slade’s pistol, grasping it, his hands covering Slade’s, the pistol shoving Jaxx’s head forward.

  P-taaff.

  A gunshot went off, lodging into the floor next to Jaxx. He turned, crouching, ready to leap into action.

  He didn’t need to.

  Fox threw Slade to the ground, their hands and arms locked, wrestling for the pistol’s sole possession. Slade bared his teeth, growling. Somehow they got back into a standing position, their hands tied up, gripping each other’s forearms and wrists, but only for a moment. Slade swiped Fox’s legs out from under him and Fox went up into the air, landing on his side, surprisingly still holding onto Slade’s hands, pulling Slade back down to the floor with him.

  Fox kicked, landing a hard foot against Slade’s stomach.

  P-taaff.

  Fox curled into a ball, hands against his stomach. “Agh!” He moaned. “You...son of a...”

  Slade went to his knees, eyes wide, frantically placing his hand on top of Fox’s to help stop the bleeding from his gut. He glanced up at Jaxx and pointed the gun. “Don’t just stand there. Get a medic –”

  Before Jaxx could do anything, Slade lunged at him and grasped Jaxx’s shirt, twisting it and pushing Jaxx back against a wall. Slade raised the gun quickly but Jaxx caught Slade’s arm, holding it at bay, his eyes telling Slade he just messed with the wrong guy in the wrong moment.

  Jaxx’s pent up energy zipped up from his central nervous system and blasted outward, picking Slade up and hurling him across the room, smacking Slade against a thick, galactic-strength glass window, knocking him unconscious.

  The sound of clattering boots running down the hall pounded in Jaxx’s ears. He spun toward the open doorway. Troops were rushing his location.

  Jaxx motioned for them to come in, hoping his tactic would work. “Colonel Roberson shot Captain Fox. Hurry. I don’t know if Fox is alive.”

  The first man stopped at the doorway, not knowing how to react, then saw Fox and dashed to the captain’s side. He touched his neck, feeling for a pulse. “It’s weak and thready, but he’s hanging in there.” More men came in, surrounding the victim.

  Jaxx slipped out of the room, passing several guards. “I’m getting a doctor. Move away, please.” He weaved through a couple more people, barking, “Let me through. Gotta get a doctor. Move it.”

  Jaxx picked up his pace, moving swiftly through the lobby, keeping his head down as not to be seen.

  15

  M-Quadrant, Solar System ~ Starship Atlantis

  Shots rang out as Rivkah pulled herself through the opening at the top of the elevator, barely escaping ion charges geared to stun her – or perhaps kill. She didn’t know. She didn’t care. Fuck them all.

  She kicked the hatch closed. It was broken and it flipped back up as blue ion charges cut through the hatch, splitting the air, singeing Rivkah’s shoulder. She fell against the wall and touched her shoulder, feeling thick red liquid iron soaking her finger – her blood. Burnt skin wafted to her nostrils and she held in vomit as the memories of her past surfaced, her gnarled skin flashing in her mind, the fire rising all around her, her downed starfighter burning to a crisp.

  Another failure.

  She shook her head, coming back to the present. “Get a grip, Rivkah.”

  She clenched her fists. The guards had been ordered to kill. If the guards rifle was locked to stun, then electricity would have frizzled down her arm, temporarily numbing her and disabling her for a moment.

  None of that occurred. Nothing but pain.

  Again, fuck them all.

  Another ion pulse blasted up the elevator shaft and then another. Across from her was a technician ladder. Her dad had once told her she was the unluckiest girl in the world. Well, her daddy wasn’t here anymore and if he was, she would have loved seeing his face when she showed him this ladder. Neither did she have to pull herself up cables nor acrobatically climb up magnetic guide rails. The ladder was her ticket to a faster getaway.

  She hurried around the hatch, avoiding a guard doing his best to lift himself into the shaft, his fingers around the lip, struggling to pull himself up.

  Dumb-ass move, numbnutz. She landed a hard heel to the hatch, striking the guy’s fingers. A yelp bounced around the shaft as the man crashed to the elevator floor.

  Rivkah grabbed a hold of the ladder rungs. They were cold, dusty, and a zap of static electricity zinged her as she swiftly moved up the ladder. A clang told her that another guard was attempting to climb through the hatch. She didn’t look down. She didn’t have
time. Any hesitation would cause a brief pause. A brief pause meant death.

  Reaching the next floor’s elevator doors, she rested one leg on the limit switch and the other on the ladder, doing a split-eagle and performing a balance act that would make a tightrope artist gasp in awe. She stuck her fingers in between the cracks and pried the door open an inch, straining to open it up more and more.

  Metal against metal echoed in the shaft. She didn’t need to look down to know what that meant – a rifle had been placed on top of the elevator, meaning the guard was almost through the hatch, ready to take a few pot shots at her, ending her life and receiving no prize for his efforts. Maybe a pat on the back, but that’s what they were trained for – to obey and accept.

  No longer would Rivkah obey. And accepting…anything? She cracked a smile. No more. The only orders she took from now on were her own. Following the old, past script left her nearly dead and burnt to a crisp, and then coming to Slade – as an experiment. No more. She was more than happy to try another disappearing act away from them all – especially from Kaden Jaxx.

  Jaxx!

  Her anger rose and she ripped Deck 4’s elevator doors wide open. She pulled herself up and rolled away from the opening,

  Rivkah glanced down the hall towards the launch bay and bolted towards it. She looked behind her as she ran. A guard’s head was coming just above the bottom of the elevator door frame she just exited from. She needed to get going and fast.

  The doors to the launch bay opened, sucking upward, disappearing into the ceiling. The clatter of boots were coming closer, the chatter of mechanics and techs clinging away at the myriad of starfighters, dropships, odd-looking dune buggies, and Jetson-like flying cars in front of her.

  Reaching the bay, she knew she would be safe – relatively, unless the moron with a rifle trailing her decided to let loose with a barrage of weapon fire, putting everyone in the bay in danger, even himself. Any errant shot could hit a nuclear dynamo or an ion drive in a dropship’s power plant and set this entire starship on its way to hell and high water in a matter of seconds.

  But even morons weren’t that dumb.

  “She is under arrest. Grab her,” a guard hollered.

  A pilot, on the bay tarmac, and walking his way to a starfighter heeded the call and dropped his helmet and charged her. He got within two feet before he realized he just ran into a shit storm.

  Without altering her course, she slapped him with an open palm and caught him with a knee to the side of the head as his body angled downward from the first blow. He was knocked out, eyes shut, and on the floor in under 1.3 seconds.

  You’re losing your touch, Rivkah.

  She swiped up his helmet and headed to a starfighter with an open cockpit. A hand grabbed the back of her shirt, tugging her onto her back, knocking the wind out of her, nearly paralyzing her. The helmet slid away from her as the man jumped on her, pinning her to the ground.

  “Rivkah!” The voice was like lightening, shattering the still.

  Rivkah flung an elbow, missing her intended target – the guy holding her down. His eyes narrowed and he shoved her, then brought the butt of his rifle up, ready to strike.

  “Rivkah!”

  There was that voice again but she couldn’t turn. She had other problems. She put her hands up to block the rifle thrust just as the footsteps became louder. A whoosh of air breezed by her face, a body jumping over her and pummeling the man about to strike her. The rifle flew from the man’s fingers and slid by Rivkah.

  She didn’t know who saved her and she didn’t have a second to care.

  She stood and ran, picking up the helmet. The helmet’s ID read 102, Dizzy. She put it on as she ran at full throttle toward to the starfighter. She looked over her shoulder and nearly stopped, seeing the man who saved her. He was landing blow after blow to the guard.

  Kaden Jaxx, her piece of shit hero wannabe. The son-of-a-bitch who had a magnetic pull to her heart so strong she wanted to pull an IPR-8’s trigger and unload a magazine in his face.

  I have issues.

  Her mind raced, her shoulder ached, the wet drip of blood slid down her back. Should she help Jaxx? Leave him be? Was he really a sellout or had he just saved her? The oncoming mess of guards made her decision easy and made the decision easy for Jaxx, too. He dropped the guard, letting him fall to the floor, and raced after Rivkah.

  Now he’s coming after me?

  She picked up her pace, quickly approaching an SF-13 Air Wing. Up the ladder, she plopped into the cockpit and started the starfighter’s engine, the vibration of the craft making her smile. “I’m back you mother-fuckers.”

  She clicked the comm line. She gave her best male voice. “Pilot 102, call sign Dizzy, ready for take off.”

  Static filled her helmet.

  “This is Dizzy. Open launch tubes. I’m ready to fly out of here.”

  “Dizzy, that’s a negative. We have a situation on the tarmac. Hold your position.”

  Fuck! She’d have to go to her old tricks. If she could, she’d just blast her way out, but she could tell the starship’s armor was too dense for her ion cannons. If she punched a few missiles through the launch tubes, then Jaxx would bite the big one.

  She wondered if Jaxx was doing alright, then pushed the thought out of her mind as quickly as it came.

  She drove her starfighter forward, heading for Launch Tube One. “Asking for an Admiral’s Bell.”

  Rarely used, an admiral always had a green light to leave a ship whenever necessary. In case of special emergencies, used on rarer occasions, a pilot could ask for the Admiral’s Bell and get a green light to enter a launch tube and leave the carrier or starship or cruiser. On even rarer occasions, it was actually approved.

  “For what reason, 102?”

  Rivkah pushed out her lower lip, inching her craft closer to the launch tube. “Hotel Sierra. I don’t want a nuclear mess right now. I’m carrying highly flammable experimental propulsion. I’m under orders from Colonel Slade Roberson and President Craig Martelle.” Hotel Sierra essentially meant, “Holy shit. I’m being targeted. Get me out of this mess.”

  “Just a moment.”

  She was just a few feet from the tube and mission control was probably asking for Slade’s or Craig’s permission to execute an Admiral’s Bell. When they’d get no answer, mission control would have to make an executive decision. She knew Slade and Craig wouldn’t be easy to get in touch with, so maybe she had a shot at this.

  “Uh...affirmative, 102. Tube opening.”

  Two strokes of luck in one day? She wanted to flip her father the bird, but she wasn’t out of this mess just yet.

  She entered the tube and the tube door closed behind her, amber runway lights highlighted her cockpit. The exit doors opened, displaying the stars of the universe before her, a beauty she would never get used to. She floated a centimeter into her restraints, the gravity becoming nil and she weightless. She clicked over to her Air Wing’s holographic display and pressed the launch button. Her ion boosters pushed her toward the exit, the tube’s lining zipping past her at hundreds of miles per hour.

  Mission Control hissed in her ear. “Closing tubes. You’re conducting an unauthorized launch. You’re not Dizzy. Identify yourself.”

  She bared her teeth as the tube’s exit doors started to close. She zipped her finger over the holographic throttle, pushing it to the max, making a safe launch dangerous and potentially deadly. Her craft shuttered as her wing slid across the tube, scraping off chunks of paint and shards of metal. The door was closing fast. She wasn’t going to make it.

  Fuck it.

  She clicked on her Space to Space Short Range Missiles – SSSRM-23 Slingers – and targeted the exit door, and let one loose. The Air Wing shuddered and pain streaked across her shoulder. A blue streak of fire shot out the back of the missile, propelling it at tens of thousands of miles per hour, igniting a quick ball of bluish-white flame the moment it touched the door, ripping it off its hinges and sending it s
piraling out into space. The flame died in the vacuum of the cosmos a moment later as Rivkah exited the tube, banking hard right, knowing the starship would fire the moment she was seen.

  And she was right.

  The Air Wing’s targeting alerts blared and her HUD indicated incoming fire. The starship’s IC’s – Ion Cannons – spun in place, the turrets moved in position, pointing directly at Rivkah’s craft.

  Her helmet display showed approaching bolts. She zig-zagged, spiraling away, the bolts missing on her port, traveling toward the red planet in the distance, Mars – its incredible glow lighting up space like a flare in the night sky.

  Her Air Wing suddenly stopped alerting and beeping, no longer telling her that danger and death were imminent. She brought up her HUD, wondering if there was a malfunction.

  It wasn’t malfunctioning. The starship stopped firing.

  Why?

  Her answer came an instant later as a star carrier jumped from God-knows-where to right in her flight trajectory. She pulled back on her control stick, barely avoiding a collision. A destroyer popped up out of nowhere, then a cruiser, two frigates, and a patrol ship. And one by one, more of the fleet jumped in.

  These were Secret Space Program class ships. But why? Were they sent to rescue her?

  She shook her head at the latter. No one helped Rivkah.

  Except Jaxx.

  “Fuck Jaxx.”

  She veered left, then pushed her stick forward, going into a quick dive, adjusting her throttle to sub-light .30, roughly 5,100 miles per hour. Once out of collision-factor, she’d adjust to sub-light 2.5 – 17,000 miles per hour – and hightail the hell out of this quadrant. If starfighters had the Alcubierre Metric like the larger ships, a solution to Einstein’s field equations, that would allow her craft to create an artificial wormhole that lasted only seconds before closing back up. This would allow her to traverse enormous distances by contracting space in front of her Air Wing and expanding space behind it, resulting in faster-than-light travel, placing her far from here.