Ascendant Saga Collection: Sci-Fi Fantasy Techno Thriller

by Brandon Ellis

  His craft shook as shards of cluster slugs slapped against his Air Wing.

  “Rivkah, at least send me the coordinates and upload the vortex onto my holographic display.”

  Silence.

  He clenched his fist. Had he screwed her up that badly? How big of an ass had he been to her? He pushed down on his control stick and slid his ship under a Star Cruiser. He steered toward a vortex he had no location for.

  The Air Wings and Oospor closed in. He notched his speed to Sub Light 3.4, zipping by a fast-moving Star Destroyer. There were only a few more fleet ships in front of him then it was just him, empty space, and then Mars; the planet’s glow filled the local cosmos like a street lamp on a clear, crisp night.

  He had to stay within the confines of the fleet, though. He couldn’t risk it. He pulled up.

  The radar popped up on the holographic display. One of the Air Wings in the back of the pack blipped off the screen, then another vanished. He squished his brows together.

  He switched to exterior vid cams and everything in a wide tunnel radius behind him came up on the display. He zoomed in with the camera and caught an Air Wing piloted by Rivkah. In the back of the pack, she fired missiles at another starfighter at the formation’s rear. The starfighter exploded into a fiery reddish-blue, then fizzed out.

  The Air Wings broke formation, except for the Oospor, still closing in.

  Rivkah was helping.

  An infrared vid popped up on the holoscreen. A swirl fluctuated in and out of the vid. It pulsed like a heartbeat, vanishing and reappearing with a ghost-like appearance. A haze of two energy circles of equal radius were in the middle of the spiral. A portion of the second circle overlapped the first, creating what looked like an opening; a portal.

  “The Vesica Pisces,” said Jaxx. He knew sacred geometry better than any archaeologist alive. “The bridge portal.” The Atlanteans on Callisto had most likely created it for a straight-shot flight to Callisto. All they had to do was match the portal frequency with the doorway frequency—another portal outside the Jupiter moon—voilà, anyone could travel without using Alcubierre Metric, which drained a large portion of a ship’s generators.

  “There… happy now?” It was Rivkah, her voice revved with anger. She wanted to go her way, but probably knew that the only way to safety—if that word existed in her vocabulary—was to follow the asshole she blamed everything on; Jaxx.

  Jaxx came out from under a miles-long, miles-wide ship, and veered, the Oospor dead on his rear. He glanced at his radar. “Rivkah, can you send the coordinates of the star portal and then get this Oospor off my ass?”

  The coordinates popped up. Just as he remembered. The portal nearly touched Mars’s magnetosphere. He patched the coordinates into his control panel and veered in the opposite direction, just as another cluster shot came his way.

  His radar beeped. The Air Wings had come back into formation and he was their main target. He turned his Air Wing dial to Sub Light 3.5 and blasted past the last ship in the fleet. It was just Jaxx, empty space in front of him, and the star portal.

  The Oospor moved at a quick, slight angle on his radar. It had been hit. Good job, Rivkah. Jaxx sat straighter, then slightly slumped the moment the Oospor regained speed and trajectory. The Oospor pilot steered the ship back into its projected path and made his way toward Jaxx.

  The supposed coordinates were up ahead. The Oospor slipped away as Rivkah pounded it even more with her cannons. The Air Wings were now his major threat. They approached fast.

  “Rivkah, tap in 51008 in your comm line. Then transmit it continuously. It’s the only way in and out of the star portal.”

  No response. He checked his radar. She continued to chase the Oospor. A dozen more Air Wings were now in pursuit.

  His pulse rose. Everyone closed in on him. He throttled up, aiming at Mars, targeting the star portal coordinates.

  “Again, listen to me. You have to do this to survive. Patch 51008 into your comm line and create a continued transmission. I’m doing so now and I’ll be on radio silence, so you won’t be able to speak with me until I end the frequency transmission. I hope you hear me. Please, Rivkah. I’m pleading with you. Do this.”

  “Bite me, Jaxx. I got it. I’m en-route. Clear.”

  Overwhelmed with relief, he imagined throwing his arms around her in an elated hug. “Excellent. Follow me.” He switched his comm line dial from Rivkah’s private comm to the star portal frequency. In theory, he and his craft would vanish in less than a minute. The Air Wing pilots, who probably thought he was flying to Mars where he would dodge and dogfight with them planet-side, would probably piss their pants when he disappeared in front of their eyes. He just hoped his theory was sound. If it wasn’t, he was facing the well-known FUBAR—fudged-up-beyond-all-recognition.

  The problem: The Air Wings didn’t have to worry about hitting a friendly anymore and Jaxx’s cockpit lit up with alarms.

  He checked the radar. Rivkah was behind the pursuing starfighters. The Oospor was off in the distance, probably in need of desperate repair from Rivkah’s ravaging. You don’t mess with Riv in a fight. Ever.

  Ten seconds to hope, ten seconds to the portal.

  A loud, continuous beep resounded in his cockpit. Missiles had been launched, no doubt screaming their way toward him in the soundless vacuum of space.

  He wasn’t changing course. Not a chance. He couldn’t and the mess of SSSRM-23 Slingers fired at him weren’t, either.

  More alarms, more missiles, and he was less than seconds from the portal. Which would hit first? His craft into the portal or the missiles into him? He closed his eyes in anticipation. A static-sound erupted in his cockpit and his Air Wing rumbled like a car in an earthquake. His eyes shot wide open and blue, yellow, and orange lightning streaks twirled around his ship. A tube opened before him. It sucked him in like light to a wormhole.

  His ship rattled, his holographic instrument panel shorted in and out as his ship catapulted at an incredible speed down a blue lit tunnel that rotated around him.

  “Please, Rivkah. I hope you followed me,” he whispered to himself.

  His craft buffeted and spun. Lights of every color shrouded his cockpit, clouds of electric gases and more lightning erupted, creating a dizzying display. The static-sound stopped and he heard a low, deep rumble like thunder. Another lightning bolt cut through the gases and then shifted, blanketing him with clouds of pale whites and reds.

  His mouth fell open. Where the hell was he? He couldn’t see anything except the colorful clouds. Startled, another crack of thunder rumbled around his Air Wing. He checked his holoscreen, pulling up his radar.

  According to his ship’s data, he was near Ganymede, a Jupiter moon. And Europa, Io, Lysithea, Elara, Autonoe, and the radar identification went on and on, until it came to Callisto—his destination. But, where was he? He brought up his own location and about jumped out of his seat. He was in Jupiter’s upper atmosphere.

  He went to adjust his throttle and steer his craft out of Jupiter’s atmosphere, through the exosphere, and into space. He halted when a voice blared over his comm line. “Lieutenant Kaden Jaxx, this is Executive Officer Katherine Bogle. We’ll retain your ship’s controls.”

  27

  M-Quadrant, Solar System - Starship Atlantis

  Spit jumped out of President Craig Martelle’s mouth as he spoke. His face was red and his eyes were wild. “You lost Jaxx? You had a kill team on him? Are you mad, Slade? What’re we going to do when we get to Callisto? He was the key.”

  Slade crossed his arms, his brows creased. He stood erect, his chin high, his chest out. He wanted to slap the president. Slap him, hog tie him, and push him out an air lock. No one told Slade that he screwed up. No one.

  “What are you doing to get him back?”

  “Captain Richard Fox is on it, Mr. President.” Stone-faced, Slade stared at Martelle—eyeball to eyeball. If it hadn’t been for Slade, none of their objectives would have been met. Slade wasn’t taking th
e President and the entire Democratic and Republican Party on some joy ride. It had taken him years to create a program big enough to pull off a space mission of this magnitude and if it hadn’t been for the random Callisto discovery in May, the President would have been be itching his crotch in a nervous twitch that his cabinet, his family, and his Republic would still be in the crosshairs of Earth’s coming changes. In short, Slade had saved their damned asses and set them on a course to conquer the stars. Admiral Gentry Race made a mistake by a tinge by opening fire on Callisto; and Fox was half way to Mars in a hot froth about killing Jaxx; but other than that, it wasn’t a total failure.

  “This is a total failure, Slade.”

  “Noted, Mr. President. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

  He pushed through the entourage, ignoring Craig’s mounting quibbles and concerns. Slade was more than done with this Jaxx character. He should have killed the archaeologist and Rivkah when he had the chance. Slade let them linger around him for far too long and because he had a plan, a script that Jaxx and Rivkah were supposed to follow, and he wasn’t used to people going improv on him.

  He tapped on his shoulder comm. “Andrea Cross. Is everything set up?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “We have a private room waiting for you.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  Slade walked into a stairwell and descended a few decks. Pushing the door open into a lobby, he paced along, his posture strong. Entering a hall, he stopped at the first door and ran his ID across the control panel. The door beeped and slid upward.

  “Right this way, Colonel.” A woman, dark brown hair swept up in a chignon, greeted him. She wore a white lab coat, much like the one Dr. Donny used to wear. Doc Donny was his old hypnotherapy tech and physician, killed by friendly fire down in Underfoot Black.

  “Thank you, Andrea.” He strode forward, following her into another room.

  She gave him a curt nod. “Have a seat here and we’ll hook you up.”

  He took a seat next to an IV stand and Dr. Cross rubbed the crook of his arm with a numbing cream just below his bicep. She slipped a needle under his skin. The other end of the needle was attached to plastic tubing with a medication administration port, roller clamp, and drip chamber.

  She exited the room and returned shortly with a bag of blood in her hand. A large white sticker was over it with the name, Kaden Jaxx, on the front.

  “Are you sure about this, Colonel?”

  Slade gave a shallow grin. His deep piercing eyes cut through Dr. Cross as if he was looking at someone else. “Sure as shit I am.”

  Captain Richard Fox stood in front of his control panel, his titanium elastic alloy boots magnetized to the floor, his PR-8—Plasma Rifle—magnetized to the back of his titanium suit. Weapons batteries strapped to his belt, flash grenades clipped to his shoulder, he had two vibroknifes magnetically stuck to his leg armor as well.

  To say he was prepared for a fight was an understatement.

  The Oospor he’d snagged, however, wasn’t the space fighting type. It could wreak havoc on the ground, but all it had in the air and in space were a few lucky shots and speed.

  He patted his control panel. “Let’s get back in this.”

  Rivkah had shot his craft up nicely. At the moment, he was out of the chase, far from the pack of Air Wings.

  He glared at his vid screen, Mars highlighted space in front of him. The Air Wings were like blue dots and shrunk smaller and smaller the farther they flew from him. Rivkah was lost in that mess. If Jaxx was going to Mars, then all the better. He could mess up the nitwit archaeologist there.

  He went to push the throttle when a strange frequency code came through his comm line, the numbers showing up on his holographic display console.

  51008.

  He throttled up and blasted his ship toward the Air Wings. He’d catch them soon. They didn’t fly in a straight line, avoiding weapon’s fire, dog fighting—evading. So he’d fly straight as possible.

  He patched in 51008. “Who is on this line? Clear.”

  The comm line replied with static. Why would he be sent this frequency code?

  An image popped up on his vid screen. “An energy vortex?”

  He typed in 110 on his comm line; Mission Control. The comm line went back to 51008.

  He patched in 110 again. For a moment it stuck, then to 51008.

  He scrunched up his nose and lowered his brows. Confused, Fox veered toward the vector coordinates for the energy vortex. He attempted Mission Control again. For a moment, 110 stuck.

  “Am I being asked to rendezvous at coordinates—”

  The comm line bounced to 51008.

  “I must be.”

  He throttled to Sub-light 3.3.

  Ten seconds to rendezvous point.

  The pack of Air Wings flew through the coordinates—the energy vortex—then a few banked right and the rest banked left. They circled the coordinates Fox was headed toward. Yet, they were confused. What was going on? Where was the dogfight?

  Almost on top of the coordinates, he slowed his ship. An instant later, electricity hit his Oospor and surrounded it; bolts of lightning splintered in front and all around.

  The craft shuddered, then zipped forward as if pulled by an invisible force. He reversed thrusts. Nothing happened. His controls were out of control.

  The space in front of him changed from starlit black. Facing Mars, a tunnel of blue electric energy spun like domesticated lightning. His comm line held the frequency code and his holographic dials twirled rapidly.

  He pulled back on his control stick.

  Nothing.

  He dropped his arms by his side. The cockpit lit up in white and blue. He shifted on his feet and crossed his armored arms across his metallic chest. He had to wait it out. He’d been through too much combat to have any anxiety over the unknown. It was part of his life. A part he no longer feared.

  But the dropship not cooperating irked him.

  His craft stopped and red, yellow, green, and gold clouds of energy dispersed outward as his dropship came to a full halt. Something caught it; something powerful.

  A beep came through his comm. “Welcome, Captain Fox. I hope you remember who I am.”

  28

  Unknown

  Rivkah jolted awake and sat. The last thing she remembered she was in some type of hazy reddish, purplish cloud after she followed Jaxx into the star portal, or whatever that dumbass called it. Now, she was in a room, no, a dome—and made from crystal?

  She twirled around. She had been laying on a bed of some type, soft in texture, but also crystalline in nature. It glowed with an inner warmth. Not much inside at all, except the bed and the dome walls, which acted as a soft light that highlighted a cobblestone floor.

  A strange sensation pulsed from her chest and up her throat. Then a sting zapped her skull. The sensation split like roots, and a bright light flashed in her mind’s eye. She gasped as she slapped her chest with her hand. Something hard and smooth was embedded in her skin—a blue crystal-like device.

  Lips down-turning, she scowled. “More experiments?” Would they ever leave her alone? Last month had been a bitch. She’d been in a place she didn’t want to be—Underfoot Black—where they experimented on her for who knows what, and here she was again, being a guinea pig for God knows who.

  She picked at the device and tried to flick it off. When it wouldn’t budge, she pinched it between her index finger and thumb. She twisted it to pry it loose. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t pinch. And it didn’t move.

  She thought of Jaxx. He has led me into shit storm after shit storm. Will I ever learn?

  He was like that dreaded carrot and she was the donkey.

  But Jaxx wasn’t around her at the moment. She knew it. If he was, the creepy magnetic pull that seemed to continually draw them together would indicate he was close by.

  She took a deep breath, then exhaled. Hopefully Jaxx was far, far away, and she wouldn’t be possessed by the strange, odd powers she h
ated more than him. Powers that only worked when she was in close proximity to him. And it was screwed up that she missed him and loathed him at the same time. Missed his beating heart flowing through her veins, missed his archaeologist-geek alter ego telling her his boring theories and findings. She missed the pilot who could out-fly anyone in the cosmos, even her.

  The connection was gone and she was alone. Cursing his name would do nothing.

  She stood and the bed vanished. She jumped back in a start and waved her hand in and out of the space that was once the bed. “How—”

  A couple of knocks echoed inside the dome and Rivkah turned, her arms and hands in her standard Muay Thai defensive position.

  A woman who wore a Secret Space Program uniform, folded her hands in front of her, and faced Rivkah. The woman appeared out of nowhere.

  “I’m sorry to bother you. They wanted me to talk with you.” She looked down, sheepish. Her shoulders drooped forward like a fearful dog. She glanced up and corrected herself by straightening into an erect posture. “You’re one of my heroes.”

  That was last thing Rivkah wanted to hear. It was the last thing she’d ever consider being. She laughed. Flattery would go nowhere, except up their asses. She lowered her eyes. “No one puts their hands on me. No more.” She eyed the walls as if they were one-way windows, and as if scientists observed her from the other side. “I’ll die before I let you touch one hair on me, and I’ll take many of you with me.”

  The woman took a step forward. She whispered, “I don’t trust them, either.”

  “I don’t trust you, Missy.” Rivkah raised her back leg high in an overextended kick, then brought it down as hard as she could.

  The woman reacted slowly and covered her head with her hands and arms, ducking and screeching.

  Mere inches from the back of the woman’s head, Rivkah’s foot stopped and an electric shock ran through her. Something yanked Rivkah away. Her heel missed the intended target.