In the dead of night, Rabia had the original machine containing the Zosma energy signature airlifted to the C20 location in the Antarctic, plus the capsule with the scattered atoms of Neight. Disappointment aside, his benefactors believed with freedom from distraction, Rabia was the visionary to take the human race to the next level.
It would be twelve hours before they reached their destination. The new directors wanted all recruits found and brought back under their control. Even though there were leads, more investigation was being done then action would be taken.
The pilot called back to let them know they were about to hit some turbulence. Russell nodded and fell back to sleep. Rabia strapped himself against the side of the plane, holding his companion in place with his free hand.
FLORENCE BELLADONNA
Earth’s Stratosphere, May 2026
Florence didn’t feel any particular way about saving Nicolas’s life. He didn’t deserve to die or at least he didn’t deserve to have it happen in such a way. But on the other side, saving him might’ve been a punishment in itself.
In her absence she received a disturbing video message to her former Washington, DC estate. Lord Giovanni Belladonna, the former business mogul known throughout Western Europe and America, had passed away at eighty years old. The reports listed natural causes but authorities suspected foul play. Medical records of prescriptions, treatments and massive suffering piled into her inbox.
Ten billion dollars in assets and cash, including a private plane and fifteen properties sprinkled around the world, were the contents of the trust. Having witnessed her father kill, steal, and destroy businesses, families and worse if it was possible, her sadness for his death never manifested.
“He gave me everything I ever wanted but told me every day I was too weak to do what it took to be a part of his family,” she’d revealed to a confidant once. “So I left.”
Florence was never satisfied with herself or anyone else and she’d unknowingly brought all those characteristics into adulthood.
She had a sneaking suspicion he’d stalked her career path and helped her over the years. Things like using favors to secure difficult meetings, random airline and hotel upgrades to make her seem more official during her travels. Perhaps even procuring high profile job offers and consulting gigs to slide under her fingertips. Giovanni had more money than he knew what to do with and in their line of work, money talked. It sickened her, to think she walked around boasting the premise of a self-made woman. Even if none of her success could be attributed to her father’s unsolicited assistance, a fully paid for Ivy League education is what people might call a “head start.”
But she could’ve just as easily squandered her privilege and it was clear she’d done something to make him proud. Not only did he keep her in the will, she was his sole trustee. In terms of the business, she thought of turning it into something positive and legitimate, maybe for superhuman training. The jet came with a pilot so her natural first stop was the home she grew up in, in Italy.
She’d severed all ties with “acquaintances” in office or the political circuit, leaving her in career limbo. After making the difficult decision to accept the estate and associated problems, she combed through the previous years’ history on the company’s transactions. To her knowledge, she’d been the only one in her family to manifest superior abilities. Many of the documents she reviewed, the email chains, the phone transcripts, the types of deals closed, were filled with so many inconsistencies. Dramatic increases in price offerings and frequent “no” deals, which turned into “yes” deals. Either her father was an excellent salesman or he was adept in the telepathic skill of mind control.
A phone call to the main line interrupted her thoughts; the pilot’s assistant brought it back on a tray and set it before her. “It’s Mr. Alibris, he says it’s urgent.”
Florence rolled her eyes but picked up the phone, throwing her hair to one side to place it against her ear. “I told you I wasn’t taking calls,” she said.
“Hello Doctor. We see you’ve acquired new toys.”
“How did you get this number?” she asked, terrified. The voice was indecipherable.
“You didn’t think we forgot about you.”
“Think twice before threatening me, I’ve got a lot more behind me this time.” She would have a lot more; there was massive sorting to do.
“Who gets everything if you die?”
“Rabia?” Florence asked. “You son of a bitch, if I find you.”
“We can’t have you swooping in and saving everyone again. I’m sure you understand.” The phone clicked.
Her powers activated at the same time the left side of the plane detonated. The pilot’s assistant was blown from the cabin. Florence remained strapped into her seat with her hair billowing wildly about her face. The plane spiraled toward the ocean 15,000 feet below, engulfed in flames. Another selfish decision was made when she disregarded the pilot and snatched the parachute from beneath her seat. One day she’d break the habit of living by the “every man for himself rule” when large sums of money weren’t involved or favors weren’t needed. She jumped. The string didn’t pull, leaving her in free fall for too long. She raced the plane to a victory she didn’t want, the icy water’s surface.
Florence managed to open the parachute but too close to the water, and plunged beneath the surface before coming up for air. The chute wrapped around the wings of the sinking plane, pulling her down. After three minutes, the ability to wrestle loose was lost with her consciousness.
ALLISTER ADAMS
London, UK, May 2026
Following the downfall of both organizations, all previous files were wiped from existence. London was Allister’s favorite place to live and he decided it best to head there.
But a lot had changed; no rain or depressing gloom plaguing the city. A bright warm sun made it a pleasant place to live, mimicking the climate of something between San Francisco and Los Angeles. As a result, the inner city expanded miles outward taking over the surrounding suburbs and tripling its population. The transit systems accommodated the growth and the English countryside was a thing of the past. The World’s End pub, once a bit on the outskirts, sat in the middle of the sprawling metropolis. They’d added three stories to it and replaced the exposed brick and wooden fixtures with more modern metal framing and glass.
A flat screen television in the main dining room played the most recent world news. The breaking story was the destruction of the Washington, DC military compound, due to sources authorities couldn’t pinpoint. Rampant footage of the wreckage but none of the battle that caused it. The news crews searched for information with no comments from the White House, nor any agencies, organizations or individuals. A woman in a silver beanie and large black sunglasses returned to the bar and sat down.
A man drinking next to her grumbled in a Scottish accent, “Fuckin freaks over there. Who tha hell knows what it was? Aliens. Superhumans. They’re all the same, they belong in space somewhere.”
Leesa lifted her shades. Her hair was styled into a long fishtail braid. A cropped, short-sleeved sweatshirt said, “Next Please,” revealing her chiseled abs. The neon blue letters popped against black fabric.
“Can ya turn this shit off?” he yelled to the bartender, “Ruining mah appetite thinking o’ these monsters walking around among us.”
She removed the sunglasses and pressed her bosom against the Scottish drunk as if by accident, then hoisted up her ripped grey denim. Allister sipped a hot coffee, refusing to interfere. The man did a double take. Grinning, he opened his legs, captured by her blue eyes.
The bartender studied her then turned up the volume. Two faces were displayed in the top right corner with the on-site reporter broadcasting from the vanquished Andromeda Project headquarters.
“There are a few suspects believed to be involved in the incidents that are still at large. Lieutenant Leesa Delemar and Private Allister Adams. They may be traveling together or apart, both dangero
us. Alert authorities if there are any leads on their whereabouts.”
Leesa heard the transcript and her eyes narrowed.
“Who would put our names out on international television…” Allister mumbled digging into his pockets.
Under the cover of his designer eyewear, tailored black trench and fitted cap, he slipped the bartender a significant amount of money. They moved away from the bar but the guy stood up and took a swing at her. She dodged backwards and he fell over crashing to the floor. The bartender reached below the counter. With a flat palm he was against the wall, trapped by his state of the art laser weapon.
Allister backhanded their bar neighbor unconscious. Leesa kept the other patrons in a telekinetic freeze, hands poised near their phones. A fleet of black cars pulled up outside the pub. Allister guided her toward the back exit. They watched someone who looked like a detective step out of the first vehicle. He was blown back against the car upon touching the door handle.
Leesa wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, “Get us out of here…”
Rings of white energy spun around them until they were engulfed from head to toe. Allister looked up, clenching his teeth, and they vanished. The detective ripped the door off of its hinges startling the awakening guests. He walked up to the bar and swiped the mug Allister drank out of, while fishing a device from his plastic coat to scan the item.
“DNA Match Allister Adams.” The tiny machine said while the red light went up and down the mug.
“Fuck.” His phone rang and he answered, “I tracked them to London as you requested. Of course sir, I’ll keep you updated.”
No one in the bar spoke when he hung up the phone and retrieved the man off the floor from a drunken stupor. The detective motioned for the bartender to move closer.
“Detective Ivan Steele.” Ivan flashed his Cynque Watch. “Tell me everything you saw and everything you heard,” he commanded.
Allister and Leesa appeared in a chic one bedroom suite of the Montcalm Hotel. Leesa held him tightly, and even when they’d finished recomposing themselves, let her head linger on his shoulder.
The government froze his assets to leverage wealth against his freedom. He returned to his mother’s home and ripped it apart until he found the stash of money in the cupboard. She never trusted banks after Patrick’s death. He escaped the house right before the authorities confiscated the property. Leesa was a US citizen with an alias passport, but she’d never been registered with the government as a working individual, never made any money, paid any taxes and had no bank account. Everything was Nicolas’s. They were deciding whether to part ways or stick together but Allister was worried if she’d make it on her own. During two-week travels from New York, across the ocean to Portugal, Spain and now Great Britain, they’d developed an explosive sexual relationship.
“Don’t ignore me.” Leesa wrapped his hands around her body. Sensuality consumed her since separating from her father and the facility. She craved it. They experienced parts of the world together in a way he never thought possible, in places she never thought existed. Zosma coexisting with Leesa’s mind had fallen in love with the beauty and simplicity of Earth. Piggy-backing on the already brewing relationship, the alien princess fancied Allister’s prowess. That he wielded the energy and it didn’t hurt him was an added bonus. Allister lifted her up and laid her down gently on the king size bed.
RABIA GIRO
Antarctica, May, 2026
On Antartica’s surface there were no noticeable identifiers but miles underground was a complete city of newly sourced soldiers, agents, engineers and scientists to run the biggest undercover initiative in world history. Rabia chose the location because it had special meaning to him. C20 flags flew above their heads inside of the control room. It was strange to work there after falsifying his allegiance to the Andromeda Project for so long. Neither mattered to him, his own goals claimed first priority. It so happened C20 was the more liberal organization of the two and he had unquestioned control from an operations standpoint.
Russell’s addition was mostly an accident. They worked closely together for many years and his genius surprised the more experienced geneticist. The poor engineer was grossly underutilized. Everyone depended on Russell to keep his thoughts to himself and do as he was told, but Bridget gave him purpose and a voice. In the end Rabia coaxed the engineer to join his side or face termination, or worse, irrelevance.
The broken engineer strapped to the hospital cot remained sedated, they suspected the head injury Russell sustained, resulted in complications with his attention span, motor and speech skills. A more complicated side-effect was Rabia’s loss of mental and physical influence.
They were hesitant to inject the “perfected” genetic serum, although Rabia insisted it would heal his brain. He finally overrode their suggestions in the interest of time. Russell was on the road to recovery after the first small dose, so Rabia instructed they increase it and have him back to normal in the following twenty-four hours, or face severe punishment. Fear of pain and evasion of death controlled most living creatures.
Rabia stared at the containment center with a gloved hand over his mouth. Engineers clad in thick winter coats and leather gloves rushed around him. Leesa accessed 50 percent of her power, according to current readings. Fury plagued his face beneath the fur hood.
The unbearable temperature in their new base was less distracting than the news he’d received earlier in the day. They couldn’t access the system to change the power levels and rebooting the machine was out of the question, she’d gain full access while it was off. Neight made it clear the machine had to remain on for it to contain the energy.
“Sir, Captain Brandt’s here.”
Rabia nodded, “Bring him in.”
“Get your hands off me!” Brandt yelled, as two agents manhandled him into the room. His face sank in proportion to the increased beating of his heart; he lunged forward but the laser energy-powered weapons came up in front of him.
“Captain Brandt, I am voice. I am Savior, commanding you all this time. I have summoned you from previous post to take place here, among us.”
“But I don’t under--. You’re supposed to be the enemy.” Foggy air surrounded his mouth with each escaped word. Although he wore a thin Henley shirt and tattered denim, he didn’t react to the sub-zero temperatures.
Rabia laughed heartedly looking to Russell to join in, lately more like a zombie than a human.
“Enemies and allies are relative in the race against preservation,” Russell said, robotically; his head rocked side to side ever so slightly.
“So which will you be?” Rabia crossed his arms.
Brandt spun beneath a blast and grabbed the underside of the weapon in the minion’s hand; he used it to fire on two of the other agents. Elbowed the agent behind him and tossed him over his shoulder. Brandt shot the last one in the stomach; he flew through Rabia’s mist form and overturned a metal table next to Russell, spilling chemicals all over the counter and floor.
“I want to be the one who takes you out.” Brandt’s uncontrollably emotional tone bounced against the ice. “This pain, and turmoil, for what?” He charged the weapon.
“There is always means to end. I didn’t do it alone.” Rabia gestured to his brain-dead companion. “You blame him and General Delemar for your sad, stupid life. I thought you would enjoy revenge. Captain, you can only be lost when you have nothing to look forward to.”
“You’ve destroyed everything,” Brandt yelled, firing without aim. The doctor misted to one side.
“I have ensured opportunity for all of us.” The next blast blew up one of the columns. “This is what we have left. Don’t bring our new home to ground.” Rabia materialized on the ledge above them with his hands behind him, like a giant condor.
Russell’s mind was too clouded for him to say the things he wanted to say and do the things he wanted to do. Brandt melted to the floor, dropping the weapon and the previously uneasy agents piled on top of
him. Rabia seized one of the guns off the table and returned to his original position via mystic transport. “I am still waiting for your answer.” The noise of the gun charging reached the prisoner’s ears.
“I’d rather die,” Brandt spat on Rabia’s shoes.
“If only it were that easy,” the doctor said, and shot the captain in the chest. He fell forward but there was no blood. The soldiers dragged him out by his legs. “We only have a few years to get this right.”
“Access levels at 60 percent and climbing,” the computer warned. At that rate, Zosma would awaken either way. Rabia looked at the capsule holding Neight’s atoms then initiated the fifteen-minute manual reboot. Everyone held their breath.
ZOSMA CASTER
London, UK, May 2026
Pain in her head took over. Leesa yelled, flinging Allister away. She thrashed in seizure like movements.
Zosma energy access reached 70 percent and their voices became one. “I can’t stop my access…levels…from…rising.”
Three officials kicked the door open.
Zosma floated, feeling her might increase at an alarming rate. The hotel was being ripped apart as if suffering an F3 tornado, piece by piece broke off and joined the swirling mass of rubble. Blue light consumed her entire body, a mixture of flesh and the vision of the woman in the containment center. It was anyone’s guess who had the stage when her power levels stopped at 80 percent; Allister was in awe, remembering the magnificence from his childhood.
She gripped her energy-charged hair. “It’s too much.” Only one voice.
“Leesa hold on…whatever is happening you can withstand it,” Allister reached up and tried to take one of her hands in his.
The Andromeda Project (The Cluster Chronicles Book 1) Page 31
