Ascendant Saga Collection: Sci-Fi Fantasy Techno Thriller

by Brandon Ellis

  “Your pictures won’t go far. They won’t air. The story’s too complicated and far-fetched.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Fine. It’s your funeral.”

  Drew hung up and tried to rub the stress off his face. He turned, smiling at his mom.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I’m your son, Mom. Drew Avera.”

  She observed him for a moment. “You’re pale.”

  “Yes, I’m very stressed, Mom. I just got a bad phone ca—”

  “My son used to play guns with his friends in the forest behind our house. He was such a spirited young man. I remember one time when he broke our window and blamed it on the girl down the street. I wasn’t there, so I didn’t see him break the window, but when he blamed the poor, poor girl, you know what I said?”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I told my son that the girl had moved away more than a week ago.”

  “And I still went with the story. Didn’t I?”

  “She didn’t do it. My son did.”

  “Why do you always talk about your son’s childhood?”

  “It’s something all parents share.”

  Drew rubbed her shoulder. “What do you all share?”

  She patted his hand. “No matter how old my boy gets, he’s always my baby. That’s how we moms see our kids. Your mom probably sees you the same way as I see my boy.”

  “Do you remember anything else about your boy?”

  “He carried a camera around everywhere he went, and took pictures.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’m twenty-two.”

  “I bet my son is around your age. Do you know him?”

  “I do.”

  “I bet he’s out there with his camera.”

  “He is.”

  She smiled. “Tell him to visit once in a while. Tell him to bring his camera. Tell him his ma wants to know what he’s been up to. It’s been so long. I bet he’s still spinning tall tales and impossible yarns.”

  “I will.”

  A bell rang and she glanced behind her. “The door is opening.”

  “You don’t have to go inside whenever the door opens.”

  She fussed. “Oh, yes I do. How will I get inside when the door closes?”

  “You can simply open and close the door yourself. You see, someone’s just leaving.”

  She wiggled her finger at the door. “No! It’s closing. Get the door!”

  Drew exhaled sharply. “Okay, Mom.”

  “It’s closed.”

  He walked a few feet to the door and opened it. He gestured for her to walk through the entrance. “You see? You have access to Tanner Springs Assisted Living Center at any time. If you can’t get inside for some reason, then you can press the handy little doorbell and someone will come and let you in.”

  “Aren’t you a gentleman? You have to teach my husband sometime. Where is Sir, anyway?” She shuffled through the doorway.

  Sir, his father, had been out of the picture since Drew had been two years old. He was either dead or living a second life with a new family. Sir was an odd name and for years, Drew hunted for a “Sir Avera,” but could never find him. “I’ll tell him, Mom.”

  “Can you show me to my room?”

  “Of course.”

  “That’s a boy.”

  Drew showed his mother to her room. Today he’d be emailing the news world. World News Network wasn’t going to get their way, neither was GSA.

  He placed his hand in his pocket as he walked out of the assisted living center and pulled out his confirmation plane ticket, eyeing it for the fifth time since he’d printed it out earlier in the day.

  Departing Charlotte Douglas International Airport. Arriving Dallas Fort Worth International Airport. Date, June 4th.

  In a couple days he’d be checking out Terra Energy Corporation, which as luck would have it, was connected to the Global Safety Administration’s building.

  He’d be killing two birds with one stone. If he wasn’t killed first.

  20

  June 2nd

  Underfoot Black, Grenada

  Rivkah closed her eyes and held her breath. A man in a white doctor’s coat, wearing a mask and holding a spray canister, frothed her face. Her damaged skin, scarred from burns, tickled at first, then the burn set in. She thought her epidermis would surely be stripped from her muscles, leaving her worse off than she’d been before. She fell to the floor, screaming.

  The doctor grabbed her arms. He wasn’t going to let her rub the treatment away.

  “It burns,” she yelled.

  “It’s reversing the damage. In a few seconds, the sensation will change.” If that was his effort to console her, he was doing a piss-poor job. The burning sensation deepened. It moved from “fire” to “acid.”

  She wanted to scratch her face off. The doctor held her by the wrists, his grip firm and unrelenting. She kicked at him, aiming for the place that would hurt most, rather than do the most damage. She wasn’t trained in Muay Tai martial arts for nothing. She could ninja his ass to the damned ground.

  He didn’t let go.

  “It now itches...like hell. What did you do to me?”

  “This will be over soon.”

  She kicked again and then, in a move that defied gravity, kneed the man in the groin. “Let me go.” He about lost his breath and doubled over but managed to continue to hold on to her.

  A rush of adrenaline rose. Her heart thundered up from her chest and into her throat. She didn’t know if the burning or the itching caused more pain, but she didn’t care. They were killing her. That was the plan all along. The pyramids were bogus. Just a ploy to get her to leave the house. The treatment was a joke and she was being eliminated. Did she accidentally leak confidential military information when she was in the service? If so, when?

  Blood trickled down her chin and she shrieked in agony.

  She failed this life, maybe she’d be more competent in the next.

  “Get it off me,” she cried.

  He cringed, still trying to rebound from the shot to the groin. “It’s too late, ma’am.”

  Yes, this was torture for making a mistake. For entrusting her junior pilots on missions meant for her. No, that couldn’t be it. She was training them. It was the time she misspoke, the time she let her mother know what she was chasing UFO’s. No, that couldn’t be it. How would they have known that? If they would just tell her what she did, she could correct it.

  “What did I do?” she asked, her face contorting.

  She knew what she did. She volunteered to come to this project to heal her body from the scars that kept her hidden from the world for so long. To bury herself away from the mess she made of herself. Today, another misstep, she’d willfully walked into her own death.

  “Just tell me what I did,” she muttered, her eyelids opening and closing. “I can fix it.”

  A stench rose in the room. A smell she was familiar with, burning skin. Then it started, the sizzling, as if her face was on a hot greased pan, her tissue melting away, bringing a face to the surface of her mind. A face she’d pushed far back into her consciousness long ago, the man who caused the ultimate failure in her life, the man who left her to die in the flames of her starfighter.

  Kaden Jaxx

  She howled and leaned forward, vomiting.

  “Kill me. Just end it,” she said under breath, spitting remnants of vomit on the floor. Then, her skin tightened and a chill engulfed her.

  She relaxed and went limp, not able to move, although her mind on overdrive. One minute she wanted to die, the next the pain had disappeared.

  “What’s happening to me?”

  “Stage two,” the doctor bellowed.

  A door opened and in marched medical technicians with wet towels. They patted her face down. A technician picked up a bowl and the doctor tilted Rivkah’s head back. Someone poured the bowl’s oily contents over Rivkah’s face and spread
it around her nose, under her eyes, and over her lips.

  “It’s thick aloe, enhanced with crystal flecks and colloidal silver,” the doctor said.

  They picked Rivkah up, her listless body making her heavier than normal.

  “Where...are you...taking...me?” Rivkah asked, oil dripping in her mouth and down her throat. She could barely keep her eyes open. Her body wanted to shut down. Did she need sleep or was she dying? She didn’t know.

  “The energetics room. Energy medicine; lights, sounds, and lasers,” the doctor replied, helping carry her out of the room and down a hallway.

  Rivkah closed her eyes. “Please...no more...hurts too much.”

  “The hurt is over for today,” the doctor responded. “It’s time to relax and regenerate. You’ll be flying a ship in no time.”

  They rested her on a table in a dimly lit room. She heard a door close. “Help. Where…”

  Everything faded to black.

  21

  June 4th

  Plano, Texas

  It had been twenty-four long hours since Drew had sent satellite images of the structures on Callisto to every major and minor news media outlet, along with his email communication between Jaxx and him, plus a recording of being threatened on his voicemail.

  He’d emailed radio shows, talk show hosts, and even mailed off physical copies of the photos to the old-fashioned news reporters and anchors that couldn’t stand using the computer.

  No one had responded yet. Odd. In his line of work, and being a reporter himself, he’d thought the curious minds he sent his information to would at least get him one or two replies. Or, you know, all of them.

  They probably responded and the responses were either intercepted and erased, or his email blocked, and no one received his emails. That meant someone was on to him, which meant he had to work hard and fast.

  Why did TEC have to have their offices in Texas? It was worse than the Carolinas. It was so humid, even his clothes perspired. He closed the door to his rental car, reached into his pocket and took out the joint he had crafted to look like a cigarette. He lit it up and took a few puffs, taking in a nice buzz. He couldn’t, however, get too buzzed. Just needed a little to take the edge off. He wasn’t used to tracking down leads as a fugitive. He checked his phone. Still no calls. Not from his media contacts or them.

  “Should have just leaked the pics to my underground buddies. That would have gotten me more traction. Used the Dark Web, gone undercover, been a true whistle-blower, rather than trying to play by the rules. That’s always been my problem. Note to self, stop playing by the rules.”

  He took one more drag, just for luck, then spat on the ground, gently dabbing the end of the joint on the spit, successfully putting it out. He touched the joint’s end, making sure it wasn’t still hot, then placed it in his pocket. A little now, a little later, a little buzz, and the Drew cats were all happy bunnies. He opened the car door and grabbed his cologne, spraying over him. He popped a piece of mint gum in his mouth and walked up to a large, three-story tan building with the words TEC Center emblazoned near the top of the building. Cars filled the parking lot and the stench of hot asphalt filled his nostrils. Why would anyone live in the city, man? It reeked.

  Next to the main entrance was a sign, listing businesses and their locations within the building. GSA had one office, while Terra Energy Corp had the entire third floor, plus a warehouse behind the building.

  He made his way to GSA’s office, passing IRS auditing and a small firm of lawyers. An attractive woman walked down the hall, looking at Drew as if he was unkempt and creepy.

  He turned, watching her walk away, nearly bumping into a wall.

  Stop gawking, you idiot. He rolled his eyes, thinking how being so young and horny all the time had its disadvantages. I just need a damn girlfriend.

  He smelled his armpit. Oh my God, I smell like three-day-old garlic and onions.

  He stood outside the GSA office. Colonel Slade Roberson, GSA Head was embossed on a placard on the door. Just below, a woman’s name he didn’t recognize. The door, locked. The lights turned off. They had either left for the afternoon or were on a break.

  Peeking through the large window that framed the office wall, he saw that the place was nice and tidy. A main desk, perhaps for the receptionist, sat on one side of the wall and a separate office with a door was on the other side.

  There was a problem, though. Not one piece of paper was on the main desk. No pens, sticky notes, or anything that would tell Drew someone had been recently working there. The dust on the computer screen, plus the cobwebs in the corner verified his suspicion.

  He tried the door again, jiggling the knob a few times and pushing into the door. It didn’t budge. He turned around and exited the building. The warehouse was large for a reason. He wanted to see why.

  Walking around the building, the warehouse matched the size of the TEC Center, telling Drew it was just as significant, or more so, than the building he was just in. He knew he was right when a guard post near the entrance came into view. It was occupied by two guards. Uniformed guards. Frowning guards. Guard guards. All they needed was a German Shepherd and the tableau would be complete. They were guarding some serious shit.

  At the post, Drew held out a press badge, wondering if that would get him anywhere. “Drew Avera, WNN reporter. Can I speak with someone inside the warehouse please?” Maybe that would garner him admittance.

  The guard shook his head. “What is this in regards to?”

  Drew sighed, needing to give a good show. “Why is everyone giving me the run around today? I arrived here on Colonel Slade Roberson’s orders. I was supposed to interview him in his office and then he was going to give me a tour of the warehouse. Yet he’s not here. I’ve tried to contact the colonel several times, but no answer. Where is he?”

  The guard grabbed his clipboard. “You say your name is Drew Avera?”

  Drew nodded.

  The guard gave a concerned face, not wanting to disappoint Drew. “Well, your name isn’t here, but let me see what I can do.”

  “I’m supposed to get a story out soon and it’s about the Colonel, GSA, and TEC. You know, the government contract between GSA and TEC?”

  The guard tapped the other guard’s arm. “Hank, give me the two-way radio.”

  Hank did and he held the radio to his mouth. “Dispatch, this is Javon. Can you get me Charles? A reporter is here.”

  Drew waited, tapping his foot.

  Charles came over the radio. “This is Charles. What’s this about, Javon?”

  “A reporter,” he pulled the radio from his mouth, asking, “What’s your name again?”

  “Drew Avera.”

  Javon went back to the radio. “A reporter, Drew Avera from WNN News or something, says he’s on schedule for an interview and a tour of our warehouse.”

  “Drew Avera? You mean, that young kid who made the documentary on Smedley Butler and how he stopped the coup against FDR from happening?” There was an underlying excitement in Charles’s voice.

  Javon gave Drew a questioning glance.

  Drew crossed his arms, grinning. “That’s me.”

  “That’s him.”

  “Alright. Colonel Slade Roberson isn’t here today, so the best we can do is tour him outside the warehouse,” Charles replied. “I’d love to, but I’m a little indisposed at the moment.”

  “Got it.” Javon handed Hank the radio. “Hold the fort, Hank.” He gestured toward Drew. “Follow me.”

  An outside tour? He’d have to convince this Javon fellow to give him an inside tour, but how?

  Javon took a step out of the guard post, taking in a sniff. He leaned in close, whispering in Drew’s ear. “You got the crippy?”

  Drew’s expression went blank. “Huh?”

  Javon swiped his hand in the air. “Come this way.”

  They went around the corner of the warehouse. “I smell drat all over you.”

  “Drat?”

  “The
chronic, weed, four-twenty, whatever the hell you out of towners call it.”

  Not good. This guy must be able to smell weed a mile away.

  Drew shook his head, “I don’t smoke that stuff. I mean, I used to in the past, but—”

  Javon gave a curt laugh, stepping a few feet to the side and next to a large rock. “Step right next to me.” He pointed on the other side of the rock.

  Drew did, and Javon continued, “We’re in the security camera’s blind spot.” His eyebrows rose. “Now, I’m not a genius by any means, but when someone comes up to me smelling as if they just poured a gallon of cheap cologne mixed with marijuana all over them, I know they smoke weed and have smoked recently.”

  Drew covered his pocket with his hand. “Shall I get going?”

  “No, my man. I just want a hit.”

  A hit? Are you kidding me? That’s it? Drew looked around, not believing his ears. “If I give you a hit, can you get me inside the warehouse?”

  Javon thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Security cameras are—” He stopped himself, remembering something. “I’ll turn the entrance camera off for a minute. We’ll enter and I’ll have Hank turn it back on. They’ll think it’s just a glitch or something.”

  “What about the camera’s inside the warehouse?”

  “Hank can turn those off as we enter from section to section. You’ll only have a minute or two to peruse in each area, but that’s all I can give you.”

  “How are you going to convince Hank to do all of that?”

  “Give me a few hits and I’ll give Hank the rest. If you want in that badly, I can give you like a ten-minute looky-loo if you do this for us. A win-win. You feel me?”

  Drew would have to extend that ten minutes, but right now, that little time was better than nothing. He nodded, giving Javon the joint and a lighter.

  Javon took three long puffs, then looked at Drew with relaxed eyes. “I’ll be back. Stay here.”

  Drew hoped he wasn’t being set up. For a second, he wanted to make his way back to his car and drive off, calling it a day. Any blemish on his record would be something Hobbs could use to discredit him. Mix your fiction with a smattering of facts and you could make a plausible case for someone being a—what had Hobbs called him?—a porno-loving junkie? If he was going to present this Callisto story and his findings to the world, he needed his record to be squeaky clean. He stared off at the sky, the fumes of the hot day waving like transparent silk, telling him that being in the heat of a risk was part of a journalist’s life. Or, he was nuts and the temperature was getting to him.