“We need to strike now. Mr. Ashur, work on disrupting the system,” Nicolas said, exiting the safety of his desk. “I cancelled the next two deliveries anyway.”
“We will get ourselves killed out there trying to follow these rules,” Leesa said quietly. It was uncharacteristic of her to listen intently before speaking, typically dominating conversations having to do with combat and strategy. She’d been mulling over her feelings about the incident. The deaths. The loss of the technology. The idea of barreling in there to get it back. None of them could go out into the field until they were weaned off of the dampening procedures. Living day-to-day with limited or no access to their powers, then going into a world with no restriction, wasn’t productive for the mission.
Nicolas zoomed in on the flashing location. Sand everywhere. “Then get Private Adams combat-ready, since he hasn’t been restricted. I can’t risk losing Dr. Belladonna.”
“Spare me. I’ve been in more dangerous situations than any of you could imagine. Aren’t you still on punishment?” Florence said to Leesa sarcastically.
“The answer is no, Doctor,” Nicolas said. The map returned to normal.
“I’m pretty sure this decision isn’t up to you.” Florence’s coat flew up in a fury as she exited through the hall.
“Private Sparks would be a valuable asset with a little training,” Russell said. His Cynque watch lit up, he read the message immediately and adjusted his tie. One of their planes went down off the coast of North Carolina. It was bringing civilian operatives home from their satellite base in London. Russell excused himself to the control room to do a damage assessment.
The glass window behind Nicolas’s desk shattered. His office chair landed in the middle of the hallway a floor down. Leesa looked at the consequences of his outburst. She was starting to question her father’s leadership. His fear hindered the progress of the Andromeda Project. Between the things Leesa saw, things she heard, and the realization he had some unnatural control over her made her uneasy. She wondered if she was trapped there. Florence was the only current superhuman on staff that left the facility unescorted. The chair hovered back into the room guided by Leesa’s hand, shards reformed into a solid and fused together.
Nicolas touched it to confirm it was intact. “Impressive.”
“What’s wrong?” Leesa asked, pointing at a patch of horrid looking skin on his forearm.
“It’s been a long couple of days,” he said, covering it up. “You may go.”
“Of course.” She saluted him. “Let us know what the directors decide.” They never embraced after conversations like those, it seemed inappropriate. Leesa headed to her living quarters, past a concealed shadow between two pillars.
Nicolas fell apart like poorly assembled furniture when she left.
Thick grey mist plunged down from the open vent like steam pushed out of a train’s engine. It moved along the floor with a mind of its own. Feet formed as the mysterious cloud stacked on itself, outlining a plump human body. The figure solidified into Rabia Giro. “Hear I miss quite a big display of power by Sparks,” he squealed, rubbing his hands together.
“What is wrong with me?” Nicolas asked, spitting out a wad of blood. He rested on one knee and used the desk to hold himself up. “I feel so weak.”
“Stress on cell biochemistry from new gene,” Rabia said.
Nicolas squinted, trying to catch the words as they fell out of the doctor’s mouth. “Can I stop doing the gene therapy and recover?” he asked after deciphering the statement.
Rabia wrapped a bandage around the general’s arm to cover up the deteriorating skin. “You will never be same,” he shook his head and pulled the needle attached to a vial out of his white jacket pocket.
Nicolas slammed a sweaty hand down on the desk. Rabia commanded him to sit still then pressed the needle into his neck until blue liquid entered his body. The general breathed in like a junkie, feeling his health return to normal. “What’s so special about Private Adams?” Nicolas asked.
“Aaaaahhhh, Adams is special.” Rabia danced around him in a taunting manner. Nicolas tried to grab him but the foreigner dematerialized and rematerialized by the formerly broken window. The doctor placed another vial within reach. “Juuuust in case.”
CHAPTER FOUR
C20
NICOLAS DELEMAR
Cumberland Falls, Kentucky, April 19, 2014
The Andromeda Project sent Nicolas to Cumberland Falls to get a job done. He checked Dolores’s pulse then pulled out his radio. “It’s time to do what we came here for, activate phase 1,” he commanded his men inside. Nicolas paced the parking lot, lit with a green glow from the Cumberland Cafe sign on top of the restaurant. A round of bullets pierced the roof.
Half eaten plates of food and half consumed glasses of liquids sat on vacant tables inside. The not-so-undercover soldiers herded all dining guests into one place. Patrons huddled together wailing, hunched over on their knees along the edge of the doorway. “Shut up!” one of the soldiers yelled, firing into the ceiling again. Plaster and wood sprinkled over frightened teenagers, the elderly and every age in between.
George was fished from behind the register, along with Charles, and thrown into the center of the hostages. Two guns pointed at their heads.
“Nobody has to die as long as you all cooperate,” the lead soldier said.
They bolted the front door and turned off the Open sign. Once the shades were drawn shut on all of the windows, they patrolled through the kitchen and checked the bathrooms, but left the back door unlocked for Nicolas.
“Where’s the other waitress?” Someone asked in a gruff New York accent.
Cassie hid in the storage closet clutching a key labeled “do not duplicate” which hung on an old license plate so it wouldn’t get lost. Thankfully, it was locked from the inside. The closet light would’ve shown beneath the door so Cassie fumbled through the dark for something to use, careful to avoid a fallen broom handle or bundle of paper towel rolls dropping from a shelf. Whatever she made contact with next was heavy, she explored it further and cheered silently. The fire extinguisher was in there instead of in the hallway.
“Maybe she bolted,” the soldier said, giving up. He activated the radio, “the inside is secure.”
Time for phase two. Nicolas let the phone ring on speaker, giving his face a satanic glow. “You better pick up, Patrick.”
The plant was alive with activity; Patrick confirmed the formulas for the final calibrations while Neight concentrated on the mounting energy output. They were making good time. Patrick happened to look up at one of the monitors they used for FaceTime calls, which displayed “incoming request: Captain Nicolas Delemar.” Something told him to accept.
“You better wake him up if you want your wife to live,” Nicolas sneered, showing Patrick Dolores’s unconscious body at his feet.
Patrick didn’t know how. In a panic he turned off the machine and the base stopped spinning, energy dissipated around them and Neight blinked his eyes, not completely aware.
The alien’s brain caught up and a thought-activated spell sent his companion into the air. “You insignificant mortal, what has possessed you?”
Patrick floundered. “They attacked my wife,” he choked through restricted vocals.
“I needed to get your attention somehow,” Nicolas said. Neight’s eyes landed on his enemy. The captain continued, “we know you’re trying to leave the planet. You think I can’t tell a launch pad when I see one?”
“I was never meant to stay,” Neight said solemnly to them both. Patrick lowered slowly as the spell ended. “I do not belong on Earth, this power does not belong on Earth. I have done enough damage to the timeline already. The Andromeda Project can not stop this.” Neight went to end the transmission with a wave of his hand.
Nicolas interrupted, his face consuming the visible area of the camera. “Ah ah ah, hear me out. There are important lives in danger.”
“Patrick,” Dolores murmured in the b
ackground, “don’t listen…don’t listen, save Allister.”
Neight recognized himself in Patrick’s mortified face, when he’d been unreasoned, when he didn’t understand temporary sacrifice for the greater good. Dolores might have to die, if it meant saving the Earth from destruction. Being logical and being king went well together but with little room for other sentiments, like love. Neight blamed the deaths of his wife and child on his own selfish love. He didn’t expect Patrick to understand that sometimes the universe had other plans.
“What are your demands?” Neight asked.
“The Andromeda Project considers you an intergalactic terrorist, we can’t let you go running off into space and assume you’ll never come back with an army and wipe us out.” Nicolas positioned his arm behind Dolores’s neck to prop her up for Patrick to see.
“I could have wiped out your entire race already if I wanted.” Neight said, angrier than before. He moved away from the screen, back toward the platform. “But I have not because it was never my intention. Hear me, Nicolas Delemar, if you stop me now, you will seal your own death and the ruin of your planet.”
Nicolas grabbed Dolores’s face, with a tiny pill in his hand. “The bacteria in this pill will eat her flesh from the outside in, painful way to go. You have five minutes to deactivate the machine,” he said, hovering it above her open mouth, “You know how sweaty my fingers get...not sure you have a full four minutes and forty-five seconds.”
“This has nothing to do with her, Delemar!” Patrick yelled at the monitor.
“Finish…what…you…started…” Dolores struggled.
“Do something,” Patrick whispered, fighting back hysteria. “I’ll get the machine running again.” Perhaps he understood more than Neight gave him credit for. Neight froze Patrick with a gesture.
“What’s it going to be, King Neight Caster?” Nicolas asked, inching the pill lower.
Neight closed his eyes to focus his power on the twelve men in the diner and Nicolas. “Rarely in my centuries of existence has a group of individuals so disappointed me in their capacity for greed and immoral practice.” His mind pinpointed each of the soldier’s locations and brain patterns. “You will regret this.”
Neight’s two hands slammed above him and a wave of ice blue energy expanded out above the plant. It reached the restaurant instantly, settling on its intended targets. The soldier’s brain waves slowed, body temperatures fell, and reflexes stopped. Dolores rolled away as the pill hit asphalt along with the phone. It landed face up. “What have you done to me?” Nicolas asked. They watched him suffer Neight’s attack until he tumbled out of camera view.
An alarm rang out at the plant indicating the arrival of the second Uragonian ship they’d been waiting for. It finally entered the solar system. The computer was hardwired to detect its presence and redirect all energy back to the device in the center. The transmission ended.
NEIGHT CASTER
Cumberland Falls, Kentucky, April 19, 2014
“She is safe…for now,” Neight said; they stared at each other. “Willingness to sacrifice for the good of this world shows great promise.”
“How long do we have?” Patrick asked.
“Time is up.”
“Let’s hurry then.” Patrick activated the machine and it configured the energies faster the second time. He glimpsed through the open dome at what looked like a dim star darting across the sky.
“It is here!” Neight exclaimed. Uncharacteristically emotive.
The base of the platform spun, channeling energy from its sources. Neight jumped between spinning columns and landed on his side. They watched the small light become the size of Jupiter, then the size of Mars, and then the Moon as it drew closer to Earth. Neight put his hands on the obelisk and his human suit transformed into royal garments complete with ancient Uragonian armor.
“Eighth configuration complete. Calibration complete,” the computer announced.
Energy from the obelisk, being redirected from the balls at the tips of the columns, shot out and hit a few of the machines. Patrick dodged three bolts as he ran toward the base of the metal stairs. “Good luck,” he yelled, jumping two stairs at a time to reach the middle platform and continued to the top as the energy’s violence increased.
Neight quietly concentrated on his task. A bolt of nuclear energy smashed below where Patrick ran and caused the wall to blow inwards. The metal framing of the stairs and the platform buckled. A second wave of energy severed the rest of it in half, the bottom part crashed down. Patrick slid backwards and grabbed the railing. Jagged metal pieces waited for him below.
The ancient obelisk harnessed the combined energies until the tractor beam shot into the sky, piercing the increasingly thick clouds bathed in fiery light. It slammed into the craft like a crashing wave, slowing it down from its rapid approach thousands of miles above the town.
Rogue energy from the machine continued its tantrum, blowing out the other side of the plant and destroying the other computer as the fire blazed out of control on the bottom level. Patrick held himself up with both hands and alternated between the two in order to move his long sleeves, which had fallen to his elbows, toward his hands to protect his palms from burning on heated metal. He coughed from the smoke and almost lost his grip.
This is what Dolores was talking about, how could I be such an idiot, Patrick thought to himself. His son was alone watching the plant collapse from within. Nicolas would kill his wife and Allister would end up an orphan, if he lived. The platform slipped away from the wall even more.
“I’m sorry, Allister,” Patrick cried out.
At the onset of his mission, Neight decided he’d do nothing to divert his power from the task at hand, because the consequences were too great to be reversed or reconciled. But as the great magic power gifted to him was relentlessly sucked from his body, he pondered the complexity of his existence. For centuries his so-called allies had turned their backs on him. Patrick was the only one who, when faced with his own demise, remained loyal to what they agreed to do together. Leaving his son alone and his wife in captivity to help him were acts so selfless and so foolish they couldn’t be punished by death. Patrick’s fingertips were the only thing keeping him from incineration.
In seconds, he evaluated all potential outcomes of his next action individually. Although Neight couldn’t permanently preserve the life he planned to save and any change in the original plan would destroy him and everything he worked so hard for, in the far future he saw a different resolution. Sometimes the Universe had other plans. If being logical and being king went well together, perhaps he wasn’t a very good king. What was another setback for a creature who’d survived a century of war? For the first time in his existence, Neight changed his mind.
DOLORES ADAMS
Cumberland Falls, Kentucky, April 20, 2014
Cassie heard a thud outside the storage room. She cracked the door, introducing the chaos of fleeing guests. “Everyone calm down!!” Cassie yelled, stepping into the hallway. “George! George!! Where’s George?” No one listened, she was shoved out of the way multiple times to make room for groups of hostages eager to retrieve their vehicles. Most of the restaurant had cleared within minutes, leaving only overturned tables, broken chairs, plates and the looted register. No sign of her coworkers. “George?” A girl’s imagination always assumed the worst. Sadness set in.
“I’m alright darlin,” George said from the kitchen. “Trying to get this one outta here. Get up Chuck!”
“If I’m gonna die, I wanna die where I lived,” Charles sobbed. Part tears and part drool soaked the knees of his polyester work pants.
“Nobody’s dying, get up!” George almost nudged the chef with Target loafers but Cassie intervened to try a gentler approach. Crazy how their daily tiffs about food getting cold in the window, incorrectly rung in orders, and incorrectly prepared orders suddenly meant nothing.
“Hey...Charles…it’s me.” Bones shivered underneath Cassie’s touch. “We
don’t have much time.”
“No. Not much time,” Charles mumbled, coming to his senses. The stovetop groaned beneath his enormous weight once he decided he didn’t want any human help to stand.
The soldiers’ recovery song of moans mixed with “what happened” hastened their urgency as they made it to the front door.
“Where’s Dolores?” George asked.
“I told you to watch the jerk sittin’ over there, he was after her.” Cassie took a once around the diner again. Six of the eight soldiers sprawled about the floor were still unconscious, the other two were only half aware and separated from their weapons. “She has to be here somewhere!” Cassie exclaimed, shrinking into George’s arms.
“Cassie, you’re gonna get us killed, let’s go.” A cool rush of winter-laced spring air hit them as he carried her by the waist out of the cafe. George slowed his steps. “What the hell…”
No one had left. A light spectacle unfolded above the plant and the whole group of former hostages stood outside taking pictures and videos without an ounce of caution. Charles had already peeled out of his parking space; he didn’t give a shit about light in the sky.
“Has anyone seen Dolores Adams or Captain Delemar?” an almost recovered soldier asked over the radio. “Report back immediately!” the voice repeated with greater urgency. Nicolas wasn’t conscious. Dolores struggled along the brick wall of the restaurant with the captain’s radio in her hand. She chucked it into the distance listening for its destruction against the asphalt, but alas a bigger distraction awaited.
The plant’s distance tormented her, close enough to see the energy’s brutality but too far to know its effects on her loved ones. Dolores’s hand curled around the quivering lips of a worried wife and mother. Everything unfolding, distorted by refilling tears. The sky opened in response to her sorrow, releasing a torrential rain of its own spanning from the neighborhoods all the way to the mountains.
The Andromeda Project (The Cluster Chronicles Book 1) Page 13
