Project Atlantis (Ascendant Chronicles Book 1)

by Brandon Ellis

A strong whiff of ammonia entered the room, bringing Rivkah upright. She fanned her nose, trying to get the smell to go away. “Please stop doing that.”

  Donny clicked through the intercom. “It’s for your own good, Miss Ravenwood. It’s to wake you up. We don’t want you nodding off. Now, lift the box.”

  Rivkah slid off the table and stood, walking over to the box.

  “Stop,” interrupted Donny. “Sit back down on the table and lift the box.”

  “How do I...” she waved a dismissive hand. She was weary, almost completely out of it, her speech slurred. The drugs were beyond irritating. “You keep giving me hallucinogens.”

  Donny cleared his throat. “Listen to me, Rivkah. You’re experiencing a detox from the therapy we used to get your body fully optimized. We haven’t given you any drugs.”

  Liars.

  She flared her nostrils and eyed the metal box, intensely focusing, then pictured it lifting off the ground. It complied and hovered for several seconds, then made a tin-like sound as it landed back on the ground. She pointed to it. “You see? You have me thinking I’m lifting it with my mind. What drugs do you have me on? Can I just go home? I won’t be of any nuisance to you anymore...whatever it is I did.”

  A doctor walked into the room, then held smelling salts under her nose. She jerked back, wiping her nose, then pushed the doctor away. “Stop that.”

  He handed her a glass of water. “Drink this down.”

  The water was cool and refreshing. She drank the rest of it, handing the glass back to the doctor. Everything was clearer, her body more alive.

  “Do it again, Rivkah.”

  The voice was different. She turned, seeing someone else on the other side of the window, one that had chiseled muscles and graying hair at the temples. “Hello, Colonel.”

  “Looks like you’re feeling better, Rivkah. Can you focus one more time?”

  She rubbed her eyes, wanting to flip him off. “I guess.”

  Slade pointed to the box. “Focus on the box and lift it.”

  Rivkah’s gaze fell to the floor. “Slade, why am I here?”

  “To help us, Rivkah. We need a pilot, one as good as yourself. However, now we’re finding that you’re a main piece in a strange puzzle.”

  She shifted on the table. “What puzzle?”

  “Hold on.”

  She saw Slade lean over and talk with Donny. It looked like a detailed conversation.

  “Let me start with this. We looked at your DNA. You share something that we’ve only seen in one other person. We don’t know how it got there or why, yet we know the abilities it grants you.”

  Rivkah blew hair out of her face, waiting for Slade to continue. “Spill it.”

  “Something in your DNA triggers your pineal gland. In fact, it opens your pineal gland, allowing you to do...incredible things.”

  She flipped him off. “You’re full of shit.”

  Donny took over the microphone. “Slade tells us that while you served in the SSP, you didn’t have any of these special abilities. Correct?”

  Rivkah nodded. “Get to the point.”

  “Your pineal gland is more open, more evolved, than it was when you were in the SSP –”

  “What does this have to do with trying to lift a box with my mind?”

  “Let me continue, Miss.”

  “Captain,” she said. “My name is Captain Ravenwood.”

  “Indeed. Captain. We’re learning as we go, but we’ve determined that a pineal gland as open as yours can affect the laws of gravity in different ways.” He motioned toward the metal box. “Lift it.”

  Rivkah rolled her eyes. “Alright.” She focused on the metal box and something in her heart stirred, her mind more sharp. She pictured the metal box lift a few feet in the air and as she pictured it, the box rose two feet off the ground.

  She gasped, hand over her heart, her fingers splayed. This can’t be fucking happening. “How did...” She stood, pulling the electrodes off her skin, dropping them on the floor, her eyes vacant, her mind lost. “No more of these drugs.” She pinched the needles in her arm and slid them out of her skin, casting them aside. “Get me out of here. Now!”

  The doctors came running, ready to restrain her. She turned, lunging at the first doctor, pinning her hands on the back of his neck, pulling him down against her rising knee, connecting on his nose. A crunch of broken bones echoed in the room and blood splattered over her knee. The doctor crumpled to the floor.

  The next man grabbed her arm and she spun, twisting into a round-house kick, landing her foot on the back of his head, instantly dropping him. She jumped over him, rushing through the doorway and into the hall, thinking the drugs she was on were wearing off.

  Her heart pounded. There had to be a way out of here. Turning a corner, military guards lined the opposite end, waiting for her. Behind her, Slade, Donny, and a few more guards were on her tail. In a matter of minutes, she’d be taken, handcuffed, and killed. She’d fight though, hopefully taking some to the other side of death with her.

  Getting ready in a defensive stance, a bathroom across the way caught her eye. It would be easier to fight in a more cramped space, where people would have to come in one or two at a time, instead of twenty all at once. The small space would give her an advantage.

  She ran into the bathroom, but stopped mid-stride. There she stood, touching her face, staring into a mirror. She was normal-looking, her skin toned and beautiful. In fact, she glowed. She blinked her eyes several times, waiting for the mirror to give a true reflection. The mirror wasn’t lying to her.

  She placed her hands on the sink, looking more deeply into her eyes, then looked at the bridge of her nose and down to her lips. They were supple. She hadn’t had lips since the accident. She touched them and her eyes welled, then she felt her cheeks. They were smooth, matching the rest of her skin.

  No. This was too good to be true. She was convinced the mirror was another trick, just like the rising metal box. These people were screwing with her, showing her how much of a failure she was, like her dad promised she’d be when she grew up – a failure of monumental proportions. She was all grown up and his words had become her reality. And the Secret Space Program was right for letting her go, making her retire after her accident to live a life in solitude, her bad influence away from her leadership in the SSP.

  Yet, she couldn’t take her eyes away. She gripped the sink more tightly, her muscles shaking as she squeezed. The sink cracked, then exploded. Shards flew everywhere, but she didn’t take her eyes from the mirror.

  Slade was the first to enter, then Donny. She faced them, arms wide. She bared her teeth, wild. She took in a deep breath and screamed, the mirror shattering.

  The people around her ducked for cover.

  Rivkah stepped back, relaxing her arms.

  Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him, but she was spent and her reflexes slow. The taser came up and the wires connected to her exhausted body.

  She spasmed, her eyes rolled back and she fell to the floor.

  “Clean up on aisle three,” said Slade. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

  29

  June 5th, 2018

  Unknown

  Drew woke with a start, looking left and right, trying to figure out where he was. It was dark. Someone was snoring. Everything was quiet, other than a low hum and a soft vibration, and that snoring.

  The monorail. The air duct. It was early, late – who knew? He had no windows, no sky line, no way to tell the time. Regardless, people were sleeping.

  Drew was stowed away on this monstrosity of a train, probably created by some government black ops program his conspiracy colleagues would have a hay day with.

  About now, he really, truly needed that blunt. But lighting it would be a dead give away. The military, and presumably their contractors, only availed themselves of any Babalacha broccoli when they were off the clock and away from prying eyes. They’d be able to sniff him out in a millisecond. Then he remembered th
e depressing truth: he’d given his last blunt to the guy who got him into the warehouse. Even if he’d wanted to get baked, he couldn’t.

  The monorail blared its horn. The drag of the brakes slowed it down. The snoring stopped.

  Someone came over the intercom, “Destination up ahead. Monostation 19. We are behind the clock. Let’s load the supplies quickly and get back home.”

  Drew heard talking in the room, though he couldn’t make out what anyone was saying. Cabinets were opened and shut – perhaps they were getting their coats or coveralls? – then a door slammed in a hurry.

  The forklifts and jacks came to life, the monorail shook. More equipment was being loaded.

  Right now, it didn’t matter. If Drew could escape, this might be the best time to do so.

  He slowly shimmied up the air duct. It was slow going. The A-list body-doubles in the movies always made it look so easy, but it turned out you needed a mite more upper-body strength than Drew had realized, to crawl up, rather than along, a duct. Pops and pangs from his elbows and knees placing dents in the duct freaked him out, but he had to get out of here, and now. If it wasn’t for the racket outside, he would easily have been heard.

  The duct leveled out, so he was able to pick up some speed. He finally made it to the outlet. He pushed the grate up and to the side, pulling himself through the boxy opening. The good news, and what he expected, the room was empty. The bad news, he didn’t know where to go from here. He placed the grate back over the vent’s opening and walked to the door.

  He slowly turned the door knob and cautiously opened the door enough to peek through. A man, walking down the hall held a rifle in his hands. Then another man walked out of a room and hustled down the hall. They were in camouflage gear, something that could come in handy. He needed to find some.

  Drew calmly closed the door and looked around.

  He opened a cabinet, seeing a razor, toothbrush, toothpaste, and shaving cream. He closed it, going to the next cabinet.

  “Goddammit. Nothing.”

  Behind him was a closet. It was skinny, but maybe someone had some military garb in there.

  He was disappointed: civilian clothes. If he put them on, he might stick out like a sore thumb. He might as well wear what he was wearing.

  He reached inside the closet, grabbing a camouflage hat, and placed it on top of his head, pulling it down snugly, doing his best to hide his face. He would need to find more military garb, if he was going to blend in.

  He opened the door slowly again. The guy with the rifle was still pacing down the hall, his back to Drew. Maybe this guy was on guard duty. If that was the case, Drew wouldn’t be able to get rid of him. He eyed the terrain. Dashing across the hall and diving into another room wasn’t an option. He might be able to sneak into one of the rooms on his side of the corridor, if he was very stealthy.

  He walked as quietly as he could, reaching the next door over. Entering the room, there were clothes strewn everywhere. He closed the door and dug through them. He didn’t find anything he could use.

  He glanced at the room’s vent. His biceps hurt from that single eight-minute crawl. Who knew how far he was from an outside wall. Then it hit him. He was miles underground. There were no outside walls. “I have to find camo.”

  He counted to three and eased the door open a tinge. The guard was nearing the end of the hall. Drew snuck into the next room and opened the closet. A camouflage jacket – civilian, but passable – but no pants. He looked down at his own pants. He was wearing tan slacks. It might just work.

  He put on the coat, checked his hat, made sure the guard still had his back to him, then hurried in the opposite direction.

  “Sir?” yelled the guard. “Hey, Sir?”

  Drew put his hand up as he continued to walk, not turning around to show himself. “I’m late. I have to get to my assignment.”

  “Sir, I need to see your ID.”

  Just as Drew reached the door, it flung open, nearly hitting him between the eyes. He stepped back. Another man walked in, full regalia.

  “Sorry,” the man said, walking past Drew.

  “No, Johnson. Check that man.”

  Drew pulled the door open and ran out onto the balcony. There was a forklift below, carrying a large crate up a ramp and into the monocar. He dashed to the ladder, and took his first steps down. It might provide some cover.

  He saw a hand reach for him. “Stop.” Someone was used to giving orders.

  Drew had no intention of following them. Drew turned and glanced over his shoulder. He and his pursuer were eye to eye. The man’s eyes were determined, military, strong. Drew, on the other hand, knew he looked like a crazed monkey, scared out of his mind.

  Drew put his feet on either side of the ladder and slid to the floor. He ran toward a monocar ramp that extended into a warehouse. The guy was right on his heels.

  Up ahead hundreds of military men were working, the sounds of metal against metal, beeps and buzzes almost deafening, the smell of rubber against concrete almost unbearable. This was an advantage though it was only going to be a matter of seconds before everyone figured out he was being chased. Then he’d have an entire regiment of well-trained, fit, non-weed-smoking soldiers after him.

  He ran into the crowd, elbowing workers, pushing them out of his path. “Sorry, I’m late and in a hurry,” he kept repeating.

  “Late for what?”

  “My assignment.”

  Past the crowd, he ran up a flight of stairs. Two hundred yards to his right, he spotted several elevators. Behind him, the man in chase was pushing through the crowd, pointing at Drew, trying to get his people to understand the situation.

  At the top of the stairs, Drew ran across a grate bridge that led to the line of elevators. Down on the monorail, the assembled workers had been alerted to the situation and were heading in his direction. Hunting human prey was more fun that stacking boxes, for sure.

  Drew reached the elevators and pressed the up arrow. “Hurry, hurry.”

  The elevator dinged, doors opening. Drew stepped inside, pressing “1.” He had only two options, and since “B” obviously meant “basement” – where he supposed he was now – “1” would most likely take him to the top.

  He looked up, a guy was rushing across the bridge, nearing his position. Drew backed away in quick, jerky steps. The door wasn’t closing. In mere seconds, he’d be caught.

  A ding, and the door started to close. The man leaped, trying to stick his arm in between the doors. He missed and the elevator barely made a sound, but Drew was convinced he was on the move.

  He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in and took off the camouflaged coat like it was an alien trying to suffocate him. He threw it on the floor, along with the hat.

  He leaned against the back of the elevator, his legs tingling. “Oh my God.” He wondered who was going to be at the top waiting to meet him when the elevator opened.

  He checked his pants’ pocket, feeling his wallet. His eyes shot wide, “Where’s my phone?”

  He stood, patting himself down. “What the hell?” His heart sank. Everything he documented, everything he did to escape, was for nothing. He sat down hard and heard a crunch. He pushed himself back up. He knew exactly what that meant. His phone was in his back pocket, and he’d just broken it.

  Pulling it out, he was relieved. A cracked screen, but a functioning phone. His phone was everything. It was his passport to freedom and a long, healthy life. Or at least a life with a 78% lower chance of assassination. The remaining 22% was for future features; he was sure he’d undercover more top stories and find himself a target again. Who was he kidding. He’d never been in as much danger as he was now and he never wanted to be again.

  The elevator dinged and the panel holding the buttons jutted out, then flipped over, exposing buttons numbering one through nineteen. The “1” and “B” button were gone. The doors opened and he stared into a lobby. He was in a nice building, people coming and going wearing nice b
usiness attire.

  He took his first steps out. He had no clue how he’d escaped or where he was. He’d been traveling all night, in a secret, underground monocar. For all he knew, he was in Ottowa or Montreal or Texas. The placards on the wall had English words. He was still in North America, but he still didn’t know if he was in the United States or Canada. In either case, he had to get moving.

  30

  June 5th, 2018

  Underfoot Black, Grenada

  Slade stared at his computer, reading up on Tanner Springs Assisted Living Center, the place where Drew’s mother had been living for many years. It was in Charlotte, North Carolina and looked large, fancy.

  He didn’t want to ever use this against Drew, but he was out of time and couldn’t have someone screwing up his plans to go to Callisto, undercover, in the dead of the night. Knowing where Drew’s mother lived would be the best bargaining chip Slade had against Drew. Even if she was a fruit loop. Hey, maybe her being so vulnerable was a plus. Drew had been visiting her every week, for how many years? The kid was attached. If Slade needed to, he could put the smallest amount of pressure on mommy dearest and Drew would cave. He turned his head to the window, allowing himself a millisecond of regret for what he’d become, then dismissed it. “Needs must,” he said. “Duty first.”

  He scrolled down the website just as his phone rang.

  He clicked on the speaker. “Yes.”

  “It’s Donny. You might want to get down here and take a look at this. Mr. Jaxx is showing...uh...well...things.”

  “What things?”

  “I could explain, but better if you see it for yourself.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Slade looked at his calendar. Less than a month until they launched to Callisto. Anymore hang ups would need to be dealt swiftly. Jaxx better not be another hang up.

  31

  June 5th, 2018

  Unknown

  Drew walked out of the building with his hands in his pocket. He made sure his stride was confident, comfortable, not some scurrying walk-run that would draw attention to him. It was morning. He checked his phone for the time. 8:14 AM.