Celestial Ascension (Splintered Galaxy Book 1)

by Eddie R. Hicks

  Well, the operation wasn’t a total lost—the recon team officially had no ship. Psionics like the woman they had assigned to them were incapable of doing a site-to-site teleport on an unfamiliar planet. Lettielia and Nodevar were still obligated to kill Kroshka. Furthermore, Jerut received confirmation not long ago that more of his associates were on the surface.

  This was enough to put his mind at ease to focus on the next phase. He loaded the proof of Akeia’s demise onto the holo display—security cam footage played from the human base where Akeia was being held. It depicted Akeia being shot in the head by a human soldier. Another video played, depicting Akeia being interrogated and tortured by his human captors. A psionic assigned to bridge duty onboard the command ship stood next to Jerut as he replayed the footage over and over.

  “Have you memorized everything you have seen?” Jerut asked. The psionic nodded. “Good, contact the empress telepathically. Use your gifts to send this imagery to her. She must know what the humans have done to her child.”

  ………

  A bolt of blue light briefly lit up the dark sky. The occupants of the scout ship teleported down to a forested area next to the Saint Lawrence River. Their escape from the destroyer was successful—both Onatiasha and Zhinbryo were outfitted with combat armor. They took the time to gear up moments before they entered Earth’s orbit.

  Onatiasha sported heavy armor, which covered her whole body from neck to feet. It was dark blue in color and had a slot on the side, where she holstered a short plasma sword with a small tractor beam mounted on its side. On her left arm was a rectangular device with flashing lights, a personal shield emitter.

  Zhinbryo wore exo suit combat armor. Mounted to the back of his suit was a plasma sword. His was massive in contrast to Onatiasha’s. The tops of his fists were fitted with small blasters, which were capable of shooting short bursts of plasma at enemies within close range.

  Jazz held his cell phone in his hand, waiting to get a signal. He had been a good distance out of range for the last few hours. Finally a connection was made, and his fingers quickly composed a text message.

  Jake, 10:51p.m.: We need to talk asap.

  Chapter 8

  A warm shower was a wonderful way to start the first day of much-needed vacation time. Alisha and her family would be leaving the next day, and she closed her eyes as the relaxing droplets of water sprayed all over her slender body. Her soaking-wet black hair reached down to her lower back. Despite her age of thirty-six, she was a head turner, and it wasn’t just because she was half French and half Japanese. Oh, no—her cute and perky looks did most of that work.

  Two strong wet hands found their way over her breasts, then the lips of a man kissing the back of her neck and left shoulder. She moaned in pleasure for a moment as the left hand slowly slid down her wet body past her flat belly and then between her legs. She returned the favor, reaching back to touch between his legs. Her husband, Jason, always found a moment for passion to be unpredictable.

  He was, as the saying goes, “the one.” And it only took her two divorces to get this far. Jason was Korean, though Canadian-born and so didn’t speak a word of Korean and didn’t care. His hair was short and black, matching his goatee. He worked out on a regular basis, and his incredible abs were solid proof of that.

  Alisha moaned more as his fingers went to work pleasing her. She was dripping wet down there, and it wasn’t because of the water from the shower. Her moans became more and more intense as she got closer to climaxing, and his lips pressed against the back of her neck again. Her hips swerved from the excitement.

  “Don’t stop!” she yelled.

  She was almost there when suddenly she heard, “Mom, where’s my PlayStation?”

  Buzzkill. The couple stopped, and Alisha yelled back to her daughter, Hannah, who was in the next room. “It’s packed already, hon. We’re taking it with us.”

  Alisha faced Jason, hoping he was down with trying again. His hands were busy applying soap to his body—probably for the best, since that was the real purpose of a shower.

  Alisha entered the bedroom, where a queen-size bed sat in the middle. Summer morning light beamed through the window. A large dresser was on the opposite end of the room, and on top of that was a TV with CBC news airing. Alisha walked to the closet to get changed, observing the latest news headline. Ever since those aliens landed, the news was all she watched. It was the only thing everyone was watching. “NASA detects strange object vaporized in orbit” the headline read. Anxiety flooded her thoughts. Aliens show up, and now there’s strange UFO activity in orbit?

  Her bath towel dropped to the floor as she got dressed—blue sundress. The sun should still be up when their flight landed in Los Angeles. A cell phone on the nightstand flashed its new-message indicator. Who can that be? she thought, reaching over to pick it up.

  Alisha, July 26, 8:57p.m.:You’re in the news yet again, this time they have pictures of you. When are you going to stop this?

  Jake, July 28, 10:51p.m.: We need to talk asap.

  She sighed. The nerve of him. He vanished for years, was in trouble now, and was asking for her help yet again? She felt like telling him no or, better yet, straight up not replying. He needs to learn to grow up and do something meaningful with his life.

  Alisha, 8:04a.m.: What is it now?

  “What’s up?” Jason had entered the room while Alisha was fixated on her cell phone.

  She looked away from the phone, turning her attention to him. His bath towel was still around his waist. “Just an old friend I haven’t talked to in a while.”

  By “old friend,” she meant “ex-husband.” Jake had been her second husband, the one she often denied ever existed. Being married three times wasn’t something she was proud of and a reason she was glad she never changed her last name with any of her marriages. She was and always had been Alisha Levesque.

  The first marriage couldn’t be denied—it was the one that produced her daughter. The third and current marriage was…well, quite happy. As for the second marriage, it was easy to pretend it didn’t happen—no kids or happy moments came from it. She had found such things difficult to obtain when her husband was away in Afghanistan to fight in a war she was against…and made zero effort to contact her during his tours.

  “Hurry and get ready,” Alisha said, “before Hannah pulls your towel off again!”

  The two laughed as her cell phone’s text tone went off again. She peered to check it while Jason rummaged through his drawers for something to wear.

  Jake, 8:05a.m.: I’m in Montreal, can we meet up?

  Alisha, 8:05a.m.: I have a flight to catch today

  Jake, 8:06a.m.: When? I can swing by now

  “Hey, Jason.”

  “Yeah?” he replied, now wearing a white dress shirt and black pants.

  “I forgot to get some snacks for Hannah. Could you take her to the store to grab some?” She smiled at him—the smile always got to him.

  “Yeah, no problem!”

  Nailed it.

  Alisha, 8:06a.m.: Come by in 15 min OK?

  Jake, 8:06a.m.: k

  Jason left the room, calling to Hannah to come with him. Whatever Jake has to say, it better be quick.

  ………

  A white minivan, stolen of course, entered the fairly upscale Montreal suburban area. Jazz and his newfound alien friends had had little time to legally obtain a rental. Jazz sat in the driver’s seat, Kroshka next to him—people would ask fewer questions that way. After all he was driving with extraterrestrials on board in broad daylight. The last thing they needed was to get pulled over. Toronto police still wanted to talk with Jazz about the fiasco at the Eaton Centre. Oh, and his driver’s license had expired years ago.

  They pulled into the parking pad of Alisha’s home. Jazz was surprised at the size of the place, let alone that of the other homes on the street. The place looked like a miniature palace and probably cost a stupidly high sum just to live in. McGill University must be paying her
well.

  Jazz stepped out, telling his Hashmedaian passengers to stay put and keep low. He ran to the front door, keeping his head low in case anyone recognized his face. He pushed a button to sound the doorbell chime. Alisha swung the door open. Hasn’t aged a bit since we last saw each other.

  Entering the house, he quickly took notice of how clean and…expensive everything inside was—lots of furniture, bought brand-new by the looks of it. She guided him to the living room, where they sat down. On the wall directly in front of Jazz hung a picture of Alisha and her husband in their wedding attire. Jealousy manifested in his eyes. “So he’s my replacement?”

  “Nice to see you again too, Jake,” she retorted, and he chuckled briefly. “Besides, you probably replaced me by now as well.”

  Yeah, a nineteen-year-old Las Vegas escort, but that’s none of her business. “Not much has changed with me.”

  “The news verifies that—just couldn’t get away from that vigilante stuff, huh?” He turned to her, and she could see that her last statement had upset him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t assume things.”

  “Does he take care of you and Hannah?” Jazz asked, offering small chitchat before going in for what he really came for.

  “Of course. In fact the two of them are out right now. He’s buying snacks for her to munch on before we head to the airport.” She sat up and headed toward the kitchen. “He’s a dentist, so his schedule somewhat meets up with mine.”

  Alisha was out of view, deep in the kitchen, pouring glasses of water for them. Jazz sat back, his arms stretched out across the top of the couch. Everything from the Eaton Centre incident until now had been nonstop stress. He enjoyed this brief break before jumping back into the fire. Then came a curveball. Phylarlie deactivated her cloak—she was visible and had obviously followed him in a stealthy manner.

  His startled body jumped up while trying to hold in what he wanted to shout as she revealed herself. His calm mood instantly returned to the stressed state it had been in for the last few hours. Phylarlie had a carefree look on her face as she walked about the living room, gazing at the furniture and pictures on the walls with a small grin on her face—she liked what she saw.

  Jazz heard Alisha walking back to the living room.He turned to Phylarlie, now in a more urgent state of mind. “What are you doing?” he whispered to her.

  “I’m going to be staying behind,” Phylarlie whispered back.

  “Oh, no, no, no, no. You can’t do that,” he pleaded before looking back. Alisha hadn’t entered the living room yet, but she was mere seconds away. He quickly rehearsed several lines in his head that he could spit out to explain why a sultry ninja from outer space was standing in her living room. Nothing sounded believable, not even the truth.

  Alisha returned and sat back down. “Sorry, I haven’t had anything to drink all day.”

  Jazz’s head swung back toward Phylarlie, who was now out of sight. She had cloaked at the last second. Crisis adverted.

  “You OK?” Alisha asked.

  Jazz slowly turned his sweat-drenched face toward her. “Uh, yeah, I’m cool.”

  Alisha saw through his lie, and he knew it. He also knew she wasn’t going to say anything more, just give him that look she always did when she suspected a lie—a blank emotionless stare.

  Right on cue with the stare, she asked, “So why did you come out here, Jake?”

  “I’m going to have to stay low for a few days, so I need access to the cottage.” Suddenly flashbacks to Jazz’s life after the Canadian armed forces, after Afghanistan, flooded his mind. He had been associating with a local gang, killing a few of their members who did things on the streets he didn’t like. His intention was to carry out street justice on gangs that hurt struggling communities. Naturally, it backfired almost instantly as the gangs came after him, forcing him to flee to the cottage, which the two owned during their days as lovers, as a safe house. PTSD and a divorce stirred up a cocktail for some illogical stunts.

  Alisha let out a long disappointing sigh. “Of course, why would it be something else?”

  “Look, I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “I don’t want to fucking know what you did or didn’t do.” The level of anger in her voice was the same as when she confronted him for not reaching out to her during his final tour in Afghanistan. “So you came here for the keys?” She got up and walked toward a nearby cabinet. “Yeah, no problem!” Opening the bottom drawer, she retrieved a keychain with two keys attached. She glanced at it for a moment before speaking again. “You know, I was hoping to hear that you finally got treatment for PTSD, that you moved on and did something productive with your life, that you met a wonderful woman and you’re starting a family with her.“ She faced him, the keys in her hand. “And, hey, maybe your future children would become friends with Hannah—my family and yours close friends with one another.”

  “And here we are—you living in your comfy palace and me hustling on the streets.” There’s the fiasco with aliens as well, but that’s none of her business either. “Sorry the words coming out of my mouth ain’t what you wanna hear, but it is what it is.” The keys left her hands, flying through the air toward his face. Jazz didn’t move or flinch—he simply raised his hand up to catch them. “Thanks.” He got to his feet and swiftly made his way to the front door. Better to leave on my own accord than to be kicked out.

  “Jake…” His hand stopped inches away from the doorknob as he listened to her final words. “No more favors after this, OK? Seems you only want to talk when you need something.”

  “Tell you what.” He opened the door. “When this blows over, I’ll go see a shrink. I’ll even get a doctor’s note to prove I went.” She let out a small chuckle. We’re still cool, he thought to himself. Good. “See ya later.” Into the summer morning light he went.

  Jazz slid back into the driver’s seat of the minivan, the Hashmedaian occupants grateful for his return. “Phylarlie ain’t coming with us. She snuck in with me and insists on staying here,” he said.

  “We’re well aware of that. She entered stealth as you approached the house,” said Onatiasha from the backseat.

  “Cool.” The vehicle backed up and accelerated away from Alisha’s residence. “When were you all planning on telling me that?” Jazz asked. Before they could reply, he added, “Better question—why does she want to stay?”

  “She’s an assassin. Her mission is unknown to us, other than it involved you and Princess Kroshka,” replied Onatiasha. “Why she wants to stay and who she’s here to kill are unknown, and as I said before, I don’t care. She was with us just to get closer to her target.” Onatiasha paused for a few seconds in deep thought. “Perhaps her target is inside the building you just left?”

  A hard slam on the breaks brought the minivan to a sudden and screeching stop. Everyone shot forward slightly, their seatbelts preventing them from going too far. Jazz turned to face Onatiasha. Fury filled his face, and laughter filled hers. “Are you fucking serious?” he asked.

  She kept laugh while replying, “You can relax. The Assassins’ Guild doesn’t know enough about the people of this world to issue a kill order. Her targets are not human.”

  The vehicle accelerated down the road again, and Jazz’s hand quickly interacted with the radio. Positive vibes were in short supply but much needed for the upcoming road trip to Saint-Sauveur. The stations switched every three seconds—nothing he enjoyed. Six stations later, “Hotline Bling” by Drake was playing. The radio station surfing came to an end, and the volume was turned up.

  You used to call me on my cell phone

  Late night when you need my love

  Jazz never really understood the lyrics to the song until that very moment, after realizing there was a time when Alisha used to call him on his cell phone. No wonder this song is a hit. Every man who had a woman walk away from him could relate to the lyrics. Too bad these aliens don’t have time travel. He’d give anything to travel back and make things right between him and Alisha.r />
  ………

  I must be out of my mind, Chloe thought to herself as she and Stolanei, who was in his dark hoodie, discreetly moved down the sidewalk toward Sarah’s Los Angeles hotel. She considered herself quite lucky that Stolanei and the Radiance Union showed up when they did. Knowledge of the two heretics was unknown to Radiance until the call to evacuate was given due to the presence of Hashmedai. Apparently these two were the only ones who failed to report in, despite prior direct contact made with them.

  Stolanei had been given the task of searching for them after the Radiance ship changed course to return to Earth. Lucky for Chloe, his search led to the discovery of Pierre’s—or rather Hermaei’s—death. Afterward police wanted to question her—or so Stolanei had claimed—as she was seen leaving his hotel room the same day room service discovered his body. Much of this was explained to her as the Radiance doctors removed the device from her head, a procedure that was quite painless and didn’t require her to be put out. Why Hermaei was interested in recording her dreams with that device was anyone’s guess.

  Chloe’s fingers stretched across the touch screen of her phone. She placed it to her ear, only to hear the sound of her call being redirected to voice mail. “Still nothing,” Chloe said. “Third time I’ve tried now. Sarah isn’t picking up.”

  “My apologies for not teleporting you closer,” Stolanei said. “I’m still not familiar with the layout of this region.”

  “I’m not complaining. We went from New York to space to LA.” Hope we’re not too late, she thought, brushing her fingers across her back pocket where her pistol was concealed.

  ………

  Sarah opened the door to find James’s friend Nelson standing at the entrance to her and Amanda’s hotel room.

  “Nelson, didn’t expect to see you here,” Sarah said with a charming smile.