The Andromeda Project (The Cluster Chronicles Book 1)

by Jason Michael Primrose

  Dolores and Patrick followed the construction of the wall upwards with open mouths as it curled inward, moving to close the dome formation. Each outer facing image shaped like fragments of a giant puzzle, displaying a tree or the night sky or the river. They connected to each other climbing higher. Once it sealed there was no evidence of a crater, a ship, or an alien, all they saw were woods extending to the mountains.

  “I think it landed over here!” They heard someone shout.

  “Let's go,” Patrick said, tugging her in the other direction. She protested but followed him before a group of their neighbors reached the location.

  ALLISTER ADAMS

  Washington, DC, April 2026

  You're the only hope! Join the Andromeda Project Today. Allister scanned the once glossy inside flap for a deeper set of details in the vague brochure. Hadn’t seen one of them in five or more years, printing on paper was banned. HELP SAVE HUMANITY was spelled in caps on the back. Strangely generic language, not even specific to the United States. He expected to read something, somewhere, about serving his country but found only babble for a sucker without purpose. In this case, it was him.

  Allister went to place the brochure back in his drawer, next to the letters he plucked from the mail over the past week. Eyes landed on his seven year-old self cheesing next to his father, Patrick, in a photo. It was like looking at a magazine with a stranger on the cover, Allister didn’t know him and one day he was just gone. Nostalgia, sorrow, even admiration were absent during role call for his feelings about the situation but indifference always managed to show up on time. Patrick's shirt had the same intricate logo as the one plastered all over the brochure. Minor details.

  After performing well during the initial testing, there came a second consultation and a phone interview. The Andromeda Project’s recruiter, Captain Jay Brandt, invited him in for an in-person meeting. It had been a few days but a rigorous process.

  Allister popped out of bed without stopping the automatic blinds from retracting. The bright but cloudy sky invaded his room as he got dressed. He tripped over his hoverboard but grabbed the desk before he face-planted into a pile of dirty laundry on the floor. The smell of a southern breakfast filled the hallway outside his room and he bounded down the stairs wearing his best slacks, church shoes and a partially wrinkled white button down.

  All of his former classmates were enlisted in the military or off at one of the top schools in the nation. At twenty years-old, it was about time he did something worthwhile, he was excited for his mother's reaction. Their relationship had strained over the years. Allister assumed it was because of his performance at work and lack of a future plan, but he was wrong.

  “You're planning to what!” Dolores screamed in a fading Southern drawl. Her face was contorted with fear and disgust. The corners of her beautiful eyes were lined with crow's feet and tears. Her makeup hid sleepless nights and years of worry. Allister was a little hurt she didn’t recognize the effort he put into his outfit. She stood in the kitchen with a remote in her hand, eggs scrambled on the stove behind her. “You, you have no idea the lengths I've gone to, to keep you,” Dolores whispered, “away from those people.”

  The other hand moved to her hip, waiting for his response.

  “Mom, what could they do to me?” Allister struggled to tie one of his father's old ties then gave up. The black belt didn't match the brown loafers; he cursed under his breath.

  “Cut you up into pieces, study you like an experiment…” Dolores turned the heat on the stove down using the remote. Overall she'd aged well, cheekbones as strong as her will and a jawline as loyal as her heart. Dolores’ wavy hair was a field of caramel and honey colored strands with a few grey streaks in the front.

  “Are you listening to yourself?” Allister asked her. He hated when they talked about his anomalies. “Who cares if they're looking for me? Maybe it's a good thing.”

  He towered over her but shrank back when Dolores rushed up to him and grabbed his shirt, “You think it's a good thing? Wait until they find out what you can do. They'll want to duplicate you!” She was hysterical and threw her hands up, walking away.

  Allister fixed his shirt then sat down and took another shot at the tie.

  “Little Allister clones,” Dolores said. Gesturing like each hand held an action figure, she lined them up side-by-side. “I’m not being dramatic. I know how this works. Trust me.” She returned to cup his chin. Dolores softened at the sight, going over his neatly combed hair with her hand remembering how he used to prefer it messy. She tied his tie for him. “I don't want anything to happen to you.”

  “Awww, geez,” Allister said, unable to take her worried stare any longer. “I get a free education and I can help pay off the car, help with the house. You can relax a little bit. You work too hard to support us. It's gotta stop.”

  Dolores looked away. There was guilt in her face he couldn't place. Parents knew how to lie too. Allister’s curiosity rose, but with his sense of urgency. He was late.

  “If you want to help, clean your room, wash your clothes or take out the trash once in a while. You don't need to get mixed up with them.”

  Allister blamed their constant relocation for his social inadequacy and decision not to go to college, but he was tired of feeling worthless.

  “Did you clean your room yet?” his mother asked him.

  “I'll do it when I get back, I promise.” He kissed her on the cheek and left.

  The sun was midway through the morning sky, and it was already over ninety degrees. He took a deep breath, wishing for fresh air but got the smell of a city that was overworked and underpaid. Humidity stuck to his skin like a jacket he couldn’t take off.

  Allister bypassed two security patrols with his head down. The station’s kiosk computer deducted funds from the Cynque watch and opened two glass doors to let him through. Catching the train as “doors closing” echoed from a woman’s computer voice, had less to do with timing and more to do with luck.

  Allister traveled on the tram through the new Washington, DC, crammed like a white dandelion in a grass field between a horde of new age military workers. A strange sensation filled his body when he locked eyes with a middle-aged woman dressed in civilian clothing. They were surrounded by G.I. Joe action figures, same color palette but more sophisticated attire. At least Allister wasn’t the only misfit in the bunch. He decided to cool off by moving his shirt up and down by the buttons.

  Washington, DC had transformed considerably since his youth. He looked out the window at the monochromatic color scheme of the city. The U.S. kept up the questionable habit of invading countries without democracies and North Korea thought it best to show how serious they were about having foreign military on their land. “Think twice” accurately represented the verbal translation of the warning bombing in 2020, and the American people said goodbye to the White House in an explosion that killed the Vice President, plus 400 or so tourists. Many prominent government agencies, along with all members of the House, Senate, Supreme Court and president-elect, were moved out of DC permanently. The critically damaged Capitol building and any other places where government affairs once transpired became museums.

  Allister shuffled off the tram with the crowd of people heading into work and followed them above ground. They scanned their Cynque watches a second time as they entered the street, patrols commanding them to slow down and move one at a time.

  “You there, stop pushing,” one of them yelled to Allister. Allister put his hands up defensively. Looking aggressive was the curse of being tall and muscular. Curiously, he searched for his fellow oddball but couldn’t find her.

  DC’s core turned into a military recruitment and training hub, also hosting a booming business in weapons development via large manufacturing plants and testing sites. Anyone smart enough took their money, businesses, and families, and fled to other parts of the country. Anyone who stayed was snuffed out or absorbed into the life. Suburbs like Alexandria, Arlington, Burke and
Bethesda naturally transitioned into miles of identical housing where only the families of those associated with the military or secret government operations lived.

  An intimidating circular fortress before him blocked the morning sun. Glass windows covered its front, giving it an air of transparency but the back and sides were lined with metal panels. It stood out against older buildings in the area like royalty. There were no identifying markers save for “400 Pennsylvania Avenue” in block metal letters. He entered the enormous revolving doors and scanned through the machine in the lobby, his watch read 8:57 a.m.

  “Welcome, Allister Adams,” it said.

  The security guards frisked him aggressively before sending him through a body inspection. Allister adjusted the device on his wrist to wipe nervous sweat from beneath. It read 8:59 a.m. Without a confirmed arrival time, his interview would be cancelled.

  The machine dinged with joy. “Allister Adams appointment arrival confirmed,” the computer said. “Please proceed to the elevators and take them to level 14, your appointment is in suite 14-564.”

  The woman from the tram was stopped before entering the building. Between closing metal doors, Allister watched the commotion of her being detained.

  DOLORES ADAMS

  Washington, DC, April 2026

  Allister went through unnatural physical and mental changes a few years after his father’s untimely death. Her concern was well placed; the changes were way too early for puberty. Dolores consulted top doctors in the area; they'd never seen anything like it.

  Phone calls from unknown numbers flooded in after those few visits, and Dolores’ worst fears were realized when she saw strange people lurking outside of the entrance to their Southampton flat. They fled the country.

  Before Allister entered high school, they'd moved from London to Moscow to Seoul to Hong Kong to Rio. She’d spent enough in prepaid phones to purchase a luxury vehicle, and had to cut off all ties with family and friends. It was more for their protection than hers, and the relief of not looking out the window for trespassers outweighed the sadness of isolation.

  Dolores finally settled on Washington, DC despite her worries about being found. The Mandatory Identification act of 2022 put Dolores and Allister back on the radar. Cue Cynque watches. They carried all personal information plus a tracking chip. It brought entertainment, social sharing and media to life via holographic projections for younger generations. Its more practical use of banking, scheduling and communication, catered to older ones. But Dolores knew Cynque’s true purpose. An omniscient government.

  Dolores wandered around the kitchen, pushing in two chairs at the dining room table and rearranging centerpieces. The eggs had been done for some time, but the feeling in her stomach reminded her of the day Patrick received his offer letter from the Andromeda Project in the mail. They weren’t in a position to say no to all those zeros. Dolores opened the cupboard and carefully moved all of the wine glasses. Behind them was the remainder of their savings in neatly folded bills. She wasn't ready to explain to Allister what it all meant. She'd have to accept some facts as well.

  There were many reasons for their detachment from each other. As a family they worked like an atom…perhaps Patrick was meant to be the neutron. Everyone knows what happens when an atom splits. Dolores’ devastation led her to an emotional shut down. Material possessions, accompanied by exotic travel, were meant to fill the void. Dolores never spoke about the man she considered her soul mate. By the time she started feeling again, Allister wasn’t interested. Denied the opportunity to deal with the loss of his father and too late for him to go back. At first the effects weren't noticeable but changes in her son crept in like arsenic poisoning.

  Allister continued to excel in grade school, but his intelligence alienated him from the other children. By the age of fourteen he'd mastered all Roman and most Nordic, Germanic, and Slavic languages. By sixteen he'd added all Southeast Asian languages and Hawaiian to his impressive roster. By age seventeen his knowledge and understanding of mathematics, science, and history was far beyond human comprehension. He knew things about planets and civilizations that hadn't been discovered yet; his memory of the solar system and Earth's past was the most accurate in present day.

  Learning no longer excited him because he knew everything they knew and more. In parent-teacher conferences the main topic of discussion was his disruptive behavior. Aside from correcting the teacher during lectures, sometimes he went off on tangents about “the truth.“ Allister’s favorite story was the one involving the extinction of dinosaurs; second to it, he loved explaining why there were nine planets in the solar system not eight. Eventually his days filled with a high school curriculum were replaced with dodging his mother as she left for work. Avoiding the horrors of senior year to study at a level suitable for his superior brain function.

  Physically, Allister grew faster than other kids and was phenomenal at athletics. It was cool at the beginning, gaining him school-wide popularity, but like his intelligence, it reached a point where the other children taunted him.

  Dolores didn't know how to make him apply himself again, physically or mentally, without unveiling to the world side effects no one would understand. She wanted to believe his experiences as a child warped his imagination and his grasp on reality was gone, but she knew he wasn't crazy. The coffee shop was her last attempt to give him a sense of purpose. But when surrounded by nothing but military influence, what had she expected? He would find some other interest? That they wouldn't find him? She laughed out loud at herself.

  Dolores put the wine glasses away before becoming aware of her tardiness. Her hair arranged neatly in a side ponytail and she wore a fitted, black, knee-length skirt, complete with sensible flats and her light grey button up uniform top; she was ready for another double shift. Her Cynque watch lit up. She looked at the number as it rang and answered it on the last one.

  “Where are you?” the voice said.

  She recognized it immediately. “I told you something came up.”

  “I'm doin’ you a favor,” the voice said. “My time is valuable.”

  “I regret ever asking,” she said, holding her keys so tight her thin fingers lost circulation. “I'll be there shortly.”

  LEESA DELEMAR

  Washington, DC, April 2026

  “They finally found him.” Leesa Delemar woke from a daze holding a glass tablet with all the files she needed for the day. Once blue walls had been painted grey at her request. She hated bright things, colors and personalities alike. The entire space was a hexagon split down the middle to form two trapezoid-shaped rooms. She'd arranged her desk across the pointed back corner facing the entrance, she wanted it to feel as intimidating as entering the headmaster’s office of a boarding school. They referred to her as “the Lieutenant” because of her military experience but she served as the Head of Recruitment, Training, and Field Operations for the Andromeda Project. In three short years, after a two-year tour overseas, she'd returned and worked with perfectly-trained assassins, secret soldiers, and spies that furthered their overall combat force. But always fell deathly short of completing their mission.

  The recruitment program was the last attempt by the directors to give the project the upper hand in the race against their rival organizations. Once funding was approved she'd screened dozens of under-qualified “superhumans” over the course of twelve weeks. Potential recruits were given two options: shape up or be terminated. Thus far no one had passed the tests putting her back at square one.

  The image on her glass desk of the newest one hadn't changed all afternoon. Pending his acceptance of their offer, her next interview was in an hour. Leesa spent the most time on his main information page, skimming over his boyishly handsome face before analyzing the other information. She zoomed in on his file.

  “Allister Adams, only one living parent…relatives scattered around the United States…clean record,” Leesa mumbled to herself in a high-backed office chair, “exceptional stamina with no
formal training and exceptional intelligence with no formal education.”

  Most superhuman recruits they got had no other choice but to join the program; they were former criminals and dangerous to society due to lack of control over their gifts. Whether they died for their crimes or because they couldn't be put to good use became irrelevant. Leesa didn't think he'd sign on. A shame because he looked so good on paper.

  She navigated to the notes section and opened a new window to type Patrick Adams into the search bar of the database, hoping to pull up some information on what he’d accomplished at the Andromeda Project. No existing files on Allister’s father manifested. Missing information felt like Allister might know things she didn't about the type of work Patrick performed there. Seemingly related to her frustration, a flash of anger crossed Leesa’s makeup-free face.

  “I knocked four times, you obviously didn't hear me,” Florence said, standing in her entryway. “It's urgent.” Her low booties clicked across the concrete floor.

  Leesa squinted. “Next time wait until I give you permission.”

  Florence shifted her weight letting the comment slide by her. “It's regarding the test results of Bridget Sparks, the recruit I reviewed yesterday afternoon.”

  “Dr. Belladonna,” Leesa sighed, “I had her removed from the batch. She's a waste of my time.”

  Florence nodded again turning the other cheek like a disciple to her condescending tone. “I vetoed your decision.”