Destination Atlantis (Ascendant Chronicles Book 2)

by Brandon Ellis

  Shaughnessy shrugged as they slipped into the Admiral’s Quarters.

  In front of them was a Lecturn, something Jaxx had never seen before. It was round with computer chips, lenses, and lights sitting under a thick glass.

  Jaxx rubbed his hands together and looked over his shoulder and at the door. Slade was on his way. He’d left Captain Fox to hunt Rivkah and was headed towards them. “Hurry. Turn it on.”

  Shaughnessy put his hand under the table and the display lit up, a holographic image of a keyboard and folder icons projected above the table.

  Jaxx frowned. “Now what?” He looked over his shoulder again, pinching the ridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes tight.

  Shaughnessy touched an icon, talking to himself, though audible enough for Jaxx to hear. “We just pull up the terminal.” He typed something to the right of the command prompt. “Type in, Adaptive Boost.” A new icon appeared inside the hologram, one with a rainbow of lights turning into a spiral. He moved his finger over the icon, tapping on it, his finger partially going through. “This will detect energetic anomalies. It’s like a space Doppler system, detecting Alfven waves, which are magnetic waves from coronal mass ejections from the sun. In a sense, it locates any possible space turbulence, or plasma turbulence, that this ship may pass through and tells the captain of the ship where to steer clear.” He snuck a look at Jaxx. “That’s what you’re looking for, isn’t it? You’re looking for energetic anomalies that suggest a portal…”

  Jaxx was impressed. He’d always known Shaugnessy was smart, but he’d seriously underestimated just how smart his friend was. He hadn’t said a word about believing the glyphs indicated there was a portal, but somehow Shaugnessy had worked it out.

  Jaxx smiled. “Do you think the captain or anyone else see any vortexes from this Doppler program?”

  “If they saw energy that swirled in one place, then you betcha they have. My guess is they don’t know what the hell it means because they aren’t scientists, so they’d just steer clear of it...” He pressed on another holographic icon. “Here, I’ll show you the Alven waves.”

  Jaxx glanced at the door. “No, no. No need. Just need to know exactly where those vortexes are.” He tapped his finger on his leg, willing Shaugnessy to pick up the pace.

  The hologram displayed Mars, stars, and waves of energy pulsing off the ship’s course. Shaughnessy jabbed a finger at one of the energetic waves, ignoring Jaxx’s objection. “Those are Alfven waves. Imagine plucking a guitar string. You send waves up and down that string. That’s what you’re seeing right there, except a finger ain’t plucking that string. The sun is.” He swirled his finger on an energy pattern next to Mars. “And you see that?”

  Jaxx’s eyebrows rose. That had to be a vortex – one of the star portals. It spun clockwise. It was faint, but there. “The vortex.”

  Shaughnessy smiled. “Yep, your star portal.”

  Jaxx eyed the door yet again. “How do I map this and keep it on hand?”

  “And do what with it?”

  “Actually, if I want to see the map in a starfighter, how do I put this in a helmet’s system or in the starfighter’s holographic display console?” There had to be a reason the Secret Space Program had taught him to fly starfighters. Perhaps this was it. Perhaps it was finally coming together. Perhaps he was the bridge between Callisto and Earth? Perhaps he was the one who would bring a lasting peace?

  Shaughnessy shot Jaxx a look, his lips pressing together. “Don’t do it, Jaxx. I like you better alive than dead.”

  Jaxx put his hands on his hips. “If I need to escape or if all hell breaks loose and the ship is falling apart, you and I can get out of here in a transport craft and slip through one of those star portals. I can fly these things, you know. Like a damned boss.”

  Shaugnessy looked off, thinking. “Alright.” He let out a loud, sighing breath. “This program is in every craft, though no jock pilot ever uses it. Just command the holographic display for Adaptive Boost. The program will come up.” He leaned on the edge of the Lecturn, accidentally pressing a button.

  The display beeped on. An admiral came on the holographic screen.

  Jaxx lurched back, waiting for the admiral to ask them who they were, what they were doing, and why Slade wasn’t in the room. Instead, the admiral was already in discussion, as if they had accidentally joined in on a three-way call.

  Jaxx turned his ear toward the screen. He could hear two other people talking in the background. He listened intently. It was Slade and the President of the United States. They were talking with this admiral.

  Jaxx gently jabbed Shaughnessy with his elbow. “What are we looking at?”

  Before Shaugnessy could reply, the holovid relayed pictures of a ship breaking apart just above Callisto.

  The holivid blipped out.

  Shaughnessy shut the Lecturn off, his face pale. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Did you see what I saw?” Jaxx grabbed Shaughnessy by the shoulder.

  “I saw a fleet ship going down in flames. I saw guns, strafing, blasters, nukes.”

  Jaxx shook uncontrollably; the notes inside him jangling at an alarming rate. It wasn’t just that the star ship had been blown out of the sky. It was that panel, sliding off the side of the ship; the nuclear warhead easing its way out of the dock. “We have to warn them. We have to warn those on Callisto that we’re coming for them.”

  Shaughnessy’s lips moved, but no words came out. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry, Jaxx. We can’t. I can’t allow that. They were hostile. They fucked up that big ship. We don’t know –”

  Jaxx blinked away the tears. He was a man at war with himself. His brain said one thing, but his heart said another. He’d seen the guns of Callisto take down a human vessel and was horrified, but he was just as alarmed by what that ship had been planning to do to Callisto. “They were provoked.”

  Shaughnessy tried to move away from Jaxx and head for the door, but he was rooted to the spot.

  “We have to warn them that the Secret Space Program is coming. You have to listen to me. We have to –” Anger over took Jaxx and his emotions boiled, juicing through his veins. A guttural yell came up from his belly. He lifted Shaughnessy off the ground and flung him toward a wall, slamming him against it. Shaughnessy’s head whipped back, his eyes closed as he slid down the wall and to the floor, his head slumping to one side.

  Jaxx fell to his knees, out of breath. He reached for Shaughnessy but was too far away to touch him, to help him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean –”

  The door opened. Slade strode across the room and slammed his foot down on Shaugnessy’s neck. “Give me one good reason not to kill this good-for-nothing worm.”

  “He’s the only one who knows the whole code,” said Jaxx. It was a lie, but he couldn’t bear the thought of his friend dying. “I need him if I’m going to decode the rest of your stupid glyphs.”

  10

  Charlotte, North Carolina

  Drew took a drag, holding the ganja smoke in as long as he could. He’d only made it as far as the door before turning back and heading for his couch. No one in their right mind believes their dead mother when she tells them they are supposed to trek out into the High Sierras or wherever it was she said he was supposed to go, in order to get a message from his Uncle Jaxx, so he could steer mankind to its next “platform.” Even his hallucinations had started using weird vocab. It was hella good fun, as long as he didn’t take it seriously. He exhaled and stared at the ugly-ass popcorn ceiling. He should write a book. People loved this kind of conspiracy shit. He put his nice, plump doobie to his ever-ready lips and took a long, hard inward-facing breath.

  A message popped on his laptop screen and Drew practically coughed out a lung. It was from Starwanderer3 – Michael Anderle, the ex-NASA weapons specialist – the converse wearing geek and hacker friend from the Dark Net. The problem was, Anderle was supposed to be in prison.

  The message was coded, reading:

  Mo...Ch
a...Tse...D-ha...D-ha...Tse...A-chin...A-kha...A-kha...Ah-tad...Tse. Next line. Ah-jad...A-kha...A-kha...Jad-ho-loni...A-kha...Shi-da...D-ah. Next line. 1...1...6. Space. Ne-as-jah. Space. Nas-pas. End dialogue. Do not reply.

  Drew’s mouth dropped. His joint landed in his lap. He slowly picked up the joint and placed it on the coffee table without taking his eyes off the screen, reading the code Anderle had sent. It was a Navajo code, though changed in Hijax Hacker Format, HHF. Anything starting with an “A” could have a completely different meaning or mean exactly what it purported to mean. It depended on the last letter in the message. The last word was “reply,” the last letter “y,” which meant “A” was not changed. It read, “Chattanooga. Next line. Lookout. Next line. 116 Owl Way. End dialogue. Do not reply.”

  “You mother fucker. You want me to go to where?” The problem with Hijax Hacker Format in Navajo code was that the numbers were always changing and if Drew was still up to date, the 116 actually meant 994, and the Owl meant Eagle. And Way stood for Street. He was to go to 994 Eagle Street, Chattanooga, Tennessee, Lookout.

  He leaned against the couch’s armrest. “Was that Lookout Mountain?”

  It had to be. Or was Anderle telling Drew to lookout for that area? Or to simply look the fuck out, someone is coming for you? Drew semi-knew Anderle and Anderle would send a more distressful code if he was in imminent danger.

  “Do not reply” also meant urgent. That was hacker for, “Holy shit, get your ass here immediately. We have a bitch-storm on the way or in progress.”

  In any case, Anderle needed him and needed him at that location now. But why?

  “I said pack. Now.” His mom stood in front of Drew’s TV. “You wouldn’t listen to me. You’d best listen to him.”

  Drew yelped and slapped his palm against his chest. “Jesus, you got to stop doing that, Mom.”

  His mom faded away, but not before tutting and raising her eyebrows. She’d said more to him since she’d died than she had in the last 15 years of her life. He eyed his empty luggage bag near his closet. It was never put away. His life as a World News Network reporter meant he was always on the road. The problem was that Drew hadn’t heard from WNN in a while and probably never would again, seeing how many companies were shutting their doors from the downturn in the economy. He didn’t know if Hobbs Howell, his boss, was out of a job either and if so, if Drew would be on the chopping block. Right now, it didn’t matter. Reporting was the last thing on his mind. Anderle, on the hand, needed him. He had helped Drew leak the GSA story and now it was Drew’s turn to return the favor.

  He stood and picked up a pile of laundry off the floor, not knowing really if it was clean or not, and shoved it in his luggage bag. Did it matter? It was a crisis. All he needed to do was get gone.

  A car skidded to a halt and yelling pierced the air – profanities. He froze. Worried that his mom would make a reappearance and kick his butt, he hurried around another pile of clothes, waving the smoke out of his way, and opened his curtains a slit.

  Two men in hoodies were standing in front of a car, each with a crowbar in hand. A thicker, smaller man was behind the car, also in a hoodie. A woman in the car was shaking her head, screaming at them. A small child was in the back, no doubt scared shitless.

  A thug reared back with his crowbar and slammed it against the car light, shattering the plastic casing, the bulb erupting, glass pieces falling to the asphalt. “We need your car, lady.”

  Great! Drew rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to, but he had to. He ran to his closet, rummaging for a wooden bat, signed by pro baseball player, Mike Trout. It was his prized possession. Something that would be worth thousands some day – if the United States didn’t fall into oblivion. Yeah, scratch that. It was a piece of nicely-shaped wood now, nothing more.

  Bat in hand, he opened his front door, hesitating for a half a step. It had been three days since he put his trash can out for the garbage service, but it sat on the sidewalk, pizza boxes poking out of the lid. His neighbors and their neighbors’ cans had been tipped over, by the wind and pecked over by the crows. The entire street was strewn with banana peels, yogurt containers, dog food cans, and Playboy magazines.

  Drew hadn’t paid attention as he’d been hunkered down, eating black cookies with white fillings, stoned beyond belief, not realizing changes were taking place in his neighborhood as well. What he was seeing on the news was just that: news. News happened “everywhere else.” It didn’t happen in his back yard, on his street, while he was chowing down and getting high.

  A woman’s scream shattered his dreamy survey and sucked him right back to his doorstep.

  Fuck.

  They were pulling the woman out of her car.

  He didn’t want to deal with this. He was happy and content in his own smoke screen.

  Why did she unlock the damn door?

  “Hey,” said Drew. He tried for a mature, manly voice, although what emerged was distinctly pubescent and unconvincing.

  The men turned, chests thrust outward, fingers gripping their crowbars, ready for someone to dare confront them.

  “What the fuck you want?” said one of the men, eyes like a tiger about to catch its long-awaited meal.

  Drew walked on his yard, catching his black Mazda Protege parked on his driveway out of the corner of his eye, and slowly put down his bat, his other hand up in surrender in a don’t-kill-me type of way. “Don’t hurt them. Let them out and take their car, but please don’t hurt them.”

  The man at the rear of the car kicked the bumper. “What you gonna do? Huh?” He thrust his arm toward the woman. “We need her and her kids.”

  “For what?” asked Drew, his hazy, weed-induced mind succumbing to curiosity, his heart trying to race, but his Maui Wowie intoxicated blood not allowing it.

  The man shrugged, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “For whatever the fuck we want. That’s what.”

  The woman kicked at one of her would-be abductors. “Leave my kids alone, asshole.”

  She was Puerto Rican, or at least her accent made it seem so, along with her skin tone, black hair, and powerful attitude. She was short, but strong, her will even stronger.

  The man tossed her against the car, pinning her with his forearm, lifting the crowbar over his head. She pushed back, raising her arm, ready to catch the crowbar if it came down.

  “Kick me again, lady… I dare you.”

  Drew put his hand up and took a weary step forward. “Stop! Money. How much do you need? I have some.”

  The man eased his weight off the woman and she fell to the street, then crawled to the car’s back door. She yanked the door open and pulled her kid out, clutching him to her chest. He was whimpering, barely crying, his eyes darting from his mom to the men. Her daughter slid out from behind her brother, not making a sound. Her eyes never left the men, but she found her mother’s hand with hers and clutched it tightly.

  A thug pointed his crowbar at Drew. “And do what with it? Buy something?” He looked at the other thugs and laughed. “If you have food and supplies. You can have these idiots.” He shoved a thumb at the woman and her kids. “But you’re not getting her car.”

  The woman, her infant son on her hip and her daughter firmly in hand, shuffled across the lawn and stood next to Drew. She eyed his bat.

  Drew shook his head. If she went for the bat, then all hell would break loose.

  She bent down to administer to her son. “It’s okay, honey. You’ll be fine. You’re safe. Mommy won’t let them hurt you.” She ran her fingers through his hair. She was shaking. She wiped his tears, clenching her teeth. Drew could imagine the murderous thoughts she was having.

  “Well?” said one of the men. “Shall we come in?” This one was sophisticated, his demeanor of that of a professor.

  Drew stepped to the side, motioning them to take whatever they wanted inside his home. But the weed, not the weed. He forgot about the weed.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, realizing his mistake. He should have j
ust gone in and got them some supplies and had it done with – maybe that would have worked.

  He brought his eyes to the woman. “Are you okay?”

  She gave him a look, as if he just asked the dumbest question in the world. “What am I going to do? How am I going to drive where we need to go? My husband said west. We gotta go west.” She frantically wiped her son’s hair, his face, whatever she could get her hands on.

  “I can drive you. I’m leaving soon and going west as well.”

  She paused, eyes welling up. “Thank you. It’s far. It’s a safe place.”

  A safe place already? What the hell happened while I was inside?

  The men came out a moment later with a few bags of bread, some cookies, and a bowl full of fruit and vegetables. Drew had brought a bunch of food home from the funeral. He had no idea it’d be in hot demand. He’d let the world slip away and unravel a little. He needed to buck the fudge up. Mom was right. He needed to do something.

  The Professor jangled a set of keys in his hand. “Thank you for your car.”

  Drew stiffened, then walked toward the man, his heart skipping a beat. He needed the car, even more than his dank.

  The man swung the crowbar at Drew. Drew back peddled. “Alright, alright. Take one car. But leave us the other.”

  The man grinned. “Hey, Sal. You think we should give them one of our prized possessions?”

  A man, who must be Sal, sat in the woman’s car. “Nope. Not a chance.”

  The two cars gunned down the street and out of their lives, leaving Drew and a mother and her two children, eating their dust.

  11

  M-Quadrant, Solar System

  Starship Atlantis

  Rivkah dropped from the vent and into a small cupboard. She waited for a ten whole minutes before jimmying the latch and easing the door open. The room, which wasn’t large, was dominated by a work table. In the center of the table, there was titanium armored suit.

  She felt him, before she saw him. He must have heard her when she was in the ductwork, because he hadn’t made a sound and had managed to sneak up behind her. She spun about to face the asshole before he could get a drop on her.