WRONG PASSWORD.
He flipped over the keyboard. No sticky note stuck to the bottom of it with a password written on it.
He opened a drawer.
Folders upon folders.
He searched threw them.
Nothing.
He shut the drawer and went to the next. Again, nothing, and no more drawers to check. Where would Anderle keep his passwords? In a safe? He wouldn’t just consign them to memory, would he? If he did, there would be no way he could find them.
The screen saver came on – a man wearing a Guy Fawkes mask, gripping a gun – the infamous hacker group’s, Anonymous, icon – stared at him from the screen.
Was that Anderle? If it was, he didn’t deserve to wear the Anonymous mask, nor associate himself with that group. Anonymous were helpers of society and Anderle had turned out to be a scoundrel, a self-serving piece of garbage whose agenda he still had to figure out.
He moved the mouse back and forth, changing the screen to the desktop. He wasn’t going to get into the root file without a password. What a waste of adrenaline. He’d crept through the corridors, evaded generals, left Mya on her own. Shit. He’d left the kid alone. He wasn’t a fit guardian. He had to get back to her.
“Anonymous,” said his mother. “A-n-o-n-y-m-o-u-s.”
Butterflies rioted in his stomach. He went back into the root file and typed anonymous into the password.
He lifted his shoulders in anticipation. He drooped as WRONG PASSWORD blinked on the screen.
He rested back in the chair, feet up on the desk, pinching his bottom lip. He dropped his feet almost instantly. Anonymous never spelled their name with a lower-case A. It was always upper-case.
He typed in the password.
A mess of folders popped up. That meant they were high priority or at least something Anderle had recently worked on. If they meant something to Anderle, then they meant something to Drew.
He read over folder after folder until he saw it. The guy was trying to hide it, but Drew could see right through Anderle’s attempt. A folder named Seraph was sitting right there for the clicking.
Maybe this was it. Maybe this was his goldmine.
He double clicked and the file opened.
Target 1-1.
Target 1-2.
Target 1-3.
Portal.
Mission Reports.
And, Status Reports.
He clicked on Target 1-1.
A man in a United States military uniform, definitely Latino, was pictured next to a Jeep, talking to some troops. An insignia with three stripes up, three stripes down, and cross rifles in the center was on his sleeve.
He was important; the one in charge. Drew could tell.
He clicked on Target 1-2.
The same man, though this one closer up, too close, as if they – whoever they were – had been on a stakeout just outside this guy’s bunker or base.
He pulled up Target 1-3. This one was in black and white, the name Angel Segarra underneath it.
“Bingo.”
He was in the right file.
He double clicked Mission Reports.
A file full of dated documents opened and Drew leaned forward, placing his elbow on the desk, his chin in his hand, and read the latest one – labeled days before Drew entered this underground facility:
Jefferson Kennedy, President of the United States, Lookout Mountain, Tennessee
Dear President Kennedy,
Attached to this email are more pictures of the man in question, Target: Master Sargent (E-8) Angel Segarra. The daughter is more powerful around him and without her, our world is doomed, meaning our mission will fail. Several attempts to capture this man have been compromised.
We need his daughter, Mya. That is our best way to get Segarra into your custody.
Keep in mind that the US Marines under Angel Segarra are growing in numbers, coming together from around the country. They are setting up operations, getting more organized, and are becoming more aware of the anomalies forming above the pyramids around the globe. Our goal is to scramble these Marines, take his daughter, and use her to bring him to you, President Kennedy.
Be notified that Mya’s mother and son have been eliminated.
Mya and Drew Avera are on their way. Intercept when necessary.
Sincerely,
2nd Lieutenant Zhu Ling
People’s Republic of China Army
Drew frowned. He had unintentionally led Mya to this bunker. But what the heck were these anomalies forming over the pyramids?
He opened up Portal. It held two dozen videos. He clicked the first one.
A man speaking in a dialect Drew couldn’t understand was filming the Great Pyramid of Giza with his phone. The sand was stirring around it like a tornado. The sky above was black. Storm clouds gathered. Thunder shook the ground.
The man panned to the clouds, screaming. The clouds spiraled and parted and a massive, black diamond-shape ship came through, lightning striking against it, sending brilliant flashes across the sky.
The man dropped his phone on the sand. There was an explosion, off screen. The video ended.
Drew stared at the screen, unblinking, trying to put two and two together. Was this another faked video from Anderle? If it wasn’t, then what the hell was that thing?
He clicked on another video. A newscaster stood in front of a step pyramid, his hair blowing wildly, mic in his hand, speaking a language Drew couldn’t identify. He pointed to the sky. The same black clouds materialized, thunder clacking. The clouds split apart and a mess of strange-looking humanoids descended feet first from the sky, fire blasting out of their feet.
The camera zoomed in on one of them. It wasn’t a human. It was a machine, perhaps a robot. Cannons were mounted on its shoulders, guns attached to its forearms. It dropped quickly, landing on the pyramid’s flat top.
Its cannon turned, targeting the cameraman. A blue bolt launched from the cannon and the video ended.
Drew clicked on more videos and by the time he had finished half a dozen, he jumped up and turned off the computer. An invasion? “A damn, no shit invasion?”
Aliens?
Evil extraterrestrials?
It wasn’t just the Chinese invading the United States. Some type of ET’s were invading the entire world. Anderle, that unremitting slime bucket, hadn’t said a danged word.
10
Edge of M-Quadrant, Nearing Jupiter ~ Starship Atlantis
Slade sat at his desk in his Admiral’s Quarters, watching a holovid taken four hours ago of something that came through on his holocomputer, blaring, IMPORTANT, IMPORTANT.
Before Slade invited the entire government to ride on Starship Atlantis to a new home, he had every room, nook, and cranny on board bugged with special speakers and cameras to watch anything and everything that might alter his plans.
It was setup to alarm Slade when certain trigger words were captured on a mic, such as his name or Craig’s or emergency, and indeed a trigger word had been captured.
In fact, several had.
On the holoscreen, Slade watched Senator Ken Furr sitting at his desk in his suite. Ken waved his hand over his holographic keyboard. The holocomputer snapped on and the desk formed a screen in front of him.
Slade could see TELEGRAM… TELEGRAM… TELEGRAM... flash on Ken’s display.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Ken said, under his breath.
“Ken, can we get back to the movie?” asked his wife.
Ken glanced over his shoulder and frowned. Slade could see that a movie was on pause. “Excuse me, dear. Give me a second. This is urgent.”
Ken tapped on the words and a holovid flashed before him, showing scene after scene, communication after communication. Slade and Craig were chatting it up with Fleet Admiral Lon Vernadore of the Secret Space Program.
Ken leaned back in his chair and watched the dialogue for several minutes.
“We need you to go over the battle plan, Colonel,” said Lon, clench
ing his jaw.
“We drop in west and south of the city, away from their turrets,” responded Slade.
Lon spoke through gritted teeth. “Look, Colonel. The inhabitants of Callisto blasted Star Warden – one of the biggest and most fortified ships in our fleet – out of the sky in less than half an hour. How do we know they don’t have more turrets west and south of the city?”
Craig chimed in. “The reconnaissance ship we sent out earlier located the turrets east and north of the city. There’s nothing west or south. Confirmed.”
“You sent a reconnaissance ship without telling me?”
“It was before you arrived, Fleet Admiral,” replied Slade. “Get your head wrapped around this, Lon. We are attacking Callisto with your Secret Space Program squadrons and troops. We can keep you as head honcho or Craig here can take over.”
Lon eyed the president. “You good with your colleague’s plan, Mr. President?”
Craig dipped his head. “I am.”
Lon’s face contorted, his lips quivering in anger. “Then it’s done. We commence drills starting today. We’ll invade four days ahead of your scheduled landing on Callisto. We’ll wipe all races currently residing and fighting on Callisto clean off the face of that moon. Out.”
The holographic monitor blipped off and Ken’s shoulder’s drooped. He straightened in his chair and rubbed his eyes.
Slade imagined what Ken’s thoughts might be: This could not be happening; This wasn’t true; It had to be a joke. Slade had never let anyone other than Craig and Lon know about any civilization living on Callisto, let alone a war currently commencing on that moon.
Ken would be vehemently against jumping into an inner-solar system conflict. The guy was a man of principal. A man who despised war and every political act that sparked deadly conflict.
Tears welled up in Ken’s eyes.
Slade understood Ken’s sadness. Ken didn’t sign up for this mission only to head into war and wipe entire civilizations off the face of Callisto. Slade and Craig had Ken thinking he signed up under a pretense that they were traveling to a currently-uninhabited moon, to setup shop so the rest of humanity could ultimately join them and they could all, collectively, avoid the inevitable climate disaster heading Earth’s way. That was the bill of goods President Martelle had sold to all of the politicians on this ride to one of Jupiter’s moon.
Slade couldn’t help but giggle. It had been a pack of lies from start to finish and Ken’s gut was probably rolling with acid, threatening to eat its way up his gullet.
“What was that, Ken?” Ken’s wife draped her arm over the back of the love seat. Her lips turned down and she straightened her shawl over her shoulders. “Hon, why are you crying?”
Ken wiped his cheek, dismissing her with the dip of his head. Slade had never seen Ken dismiss her. But what went on in a household rarely showed in public, especially with politicians.
Ken clicked the comm line. “Bring up Governor Boz Brown, please.”
“Boz here. What’s up, Ken?”
“Assemble all politicians in the auditorium. We have an emergency meeting straight away. Do not invite the President or Colonel Slade Roberson.”
Slade shook his head, switching off the video and going to the next vid alert. “Naughty man. You’re doing things under my nose, Senator.”
He brought up the next vid, pulling up a scene that occurred only two hours ago.
Slade watched as Ken swiped his badge on Starship Atlantis’s auxiliary engine room’s control panel. The door slid open. The sound of metal against metal screeched across the gigantic room, wheels turning on wheels, and impulse reactors inside long tubes spat lightning against the tube’s glass, splattering electric blue light against the walls.
A woman, with grease smeared across her forehead, goggles too big for her face, and a white, dirty uniform came forward with a wrench in her hand. “Can I help you, Sir?”
“I’m Senator Ken – ”
“I know who you are. Can I help you?”
“Here.” He handed her a folded piece of paper.
She read it over and glanced up at the senator, then took another glance at the letter. She shook her head in disdain. “Hell no. Not happening.”
“I can force you to turn everything off. But, all I’m asking is for you to slow the ship down.”
“That will take us away from our set ETA.” She wiped her cheek, pressing her tongue into the side of her bottom lip, giving him the stink eye. “This ain’t happening, no matter who you are. The orders come from the top. You ain’t the top, man.” She handed him back the letter.
“I’m the top man now.” He whistled and a gang of troops, rifles up, marched into the bay. “You do what we ask or we apprehend you and everyone else in this room.”
Slade shook his head, jerking back. How the hell did Ken get troops so quickly, and easily? He let out a loud grunt and squeezed his forearm tightly, continuing to view the scene before him.
A guy walked up to Ken. The man had greasy, disheveled hair, and wore goggles also too big for his head. He took his goggles off. “I’m the chief here. No one turns these engines off but by the skin off my back.”
“Arrest him,” ordered Ken.
The guy moved backwards, hands up. “Get your measly paws off of me you...you fuck-faces.”
The guards pushed him against the wall and tripped him to the floor, slapping cuffs on his hands.
The woman ran at the guards, throwing fist over fist, slamming a few shots against their backs.
A grunt turned and wrestled her to the floor, then tossed his cuffs to another guard. They cuffed her and hurried her out the room, her screams of injustice echoed through the hall.
They pulled the chief to his feet.
Several of his workers were there, eyes wide, wondering what the hell just happened.
Ken pointed to the workers. “Tell them to slow this ship. If they don’t, we’ll do it ourselves.”
Blood trickled down the chief’s forehead. He jutted his chin out, trembling with anger. He spat on the floor, his eyes cold. He wanted to rip every one of these intruder’s throats out. “To what speed?”
“Half of what we’re doing now.”
“Uncuff me.”
Ken’s lips tightened. “Not until you give that order.”
“The hell I will. This is a mutiny.”
“Take him to his cell,” said Ken.
The guards pushed the chief through the doorway and down the hall. Slade watched as they left with still a dozen troops standing next to Ken.
“Workers, listen up!” Ken shouted. “From orders higher than the president, we are taking this flying boat to half the speed we’re at now. Do you understand? If you don’t, you’ll have to answer to my friends here.” He patted a guard’s shoulder, then walked out of the room.
Slade turned off the computer. “Not good, Ken. Not good at all.”
Slade rushed the punching bag and took a mighty swing, punishing it with a ferocious blow. He had taken the entire government, heading them straight for a new world. No, it wasn’t a world. It was a moon and the senators and governors onboard were planning a mutiny against Craig and himself.
He went into a roundhouse kick, breaking the bag off its chain. It fell to the floor, dust popping up like a cloud. Slade planted his feet, driving his knee into the middle of the bag. This bag was Jaxx, Rivkah, and Ken all rolled in one and he reared back for an elbow to the top of the bag. He wanted to rip the punching bag apart.
“Stop!” yelled Andrea Cross, a doctor he’d found to replace Doctor Donny, the wise-old man who accidentally took friendly fire during the riot in their underground base, back on Earth. The guy had been a genius, but Andrea Cross was even smarter and more enthused with Slade’s ideas and especially this experiment he was currently conducting...on himself.
Slade stepped back, taking a deep breath. “Why?”
She marched over to a display monitor, studied it, wrote something down on her holographic
data pad, then went to the next monitor, repeating the same steps. She shook her head. “No different.”
Slade dropped his chin, anger rising in his chest. “So, Jaxx’s blood is no good. It doesn’t work on me?”
Andrea shrugged.
They had taken Jaxx’s blood – which had given other subjects super-fucking-powers – and injected it into Slade, yet Slade felt very much the same. No difference with movement, power, or speed.
“I don’t give up that easily, Slade. We are missing something. Maybe we shouldn’t have mixed Rivkah’s blood in.”
“Then find what we’re missing, doctor. Mixing the vials should have made me even more powerful. I’ve spent the last two days working my ass off without the results we are looking for.”
“Results don’t always come right away, Colonel. You may expect the impossible with the snap of your fingers, but I’m patient for it.” Andrea tapped her fingernail against her teeth, thinking out loud. “What does Jaxx do before he exhibits his power?”
Slade shrugged. “Bring up the cameras in my admiral quarters and reverse the loop. The record will show he kicked Shaughnessy’s and Fox’s ass. Mine, too. You’ll see how he threw me and Shaughnessy across the room. That – ”
The door to the examination lab slid open.
Slade swung around, shocked and irritated at the sudden intrusion. A flash of adrenaline rose without his control, his body convulsed, his head whipped back as a sharp energy leapt from his chest and toward the door.
Craig stood there, his arms by his side, nonchalant until he was picked up off the ground and thrown backward. He flung his arms out when he hit a wall, yelping like a whipped dog, then slid down, landing squarely on his ass, his eyes like saucers.
“Holy shit,” said Slade, tripping and falling, landing on his side. The energy that left him had a recoil to it.
Andrea rushed to Slade’s side, placing both hands on his slippery, perspiring skin, his body scorching hot. She pulled her hands back. “It’s your emotions. Your emotions are the switch that will power…well, your new powers. That’s what we’ll start working with.”
Atlantis Quadrilogy - Box Set Page 51
