Ascendant Saga Collection: Sci-Fi Fantasy Techno Thriller

by Brandon Ellis

  Slade dipped his head in agreement. “Deal.”

  The hologram blipped off.

  Craig grinned. His two young daughters on the starship would be taken care of for the rest of their lives. “We’ll be living like kings.”

  Slade popped his gum. “Don’t need to remind me.”

  “Does it bother you that we’re handing every human on the ship to the Kelhoon race, for their enjoyment, for their entertainment, for their business?”

  “Not in the slightest. Between you and I, they deserve nothing better.” Slade punched in Fleet Admiral Lon Vernadore’s comm link. He grinned. “Next up, convincing the Secret Space Program into a war. To kill the Kelhoon. We’ll lead the SSP to their death. That means you’re up, Mr. President.”

  Craig snapped to attention. It was time to do what he did best. Lie his ass off, and this time to an admiral known as the 'Wolf'. He’d need to be on his best game.

  6

  J-Quadrant, Solar System - Flood of Dawn, Callisto

  “How are we going to possibly find Bogle?” said Fox, resting the back of his head on the co-pilot’s chair.

  “By searching for her,” said Rivkah, concentrating on the ship’s nav screen.

  They were flying Fox’s Oospore Class 9 dropship over the Flood of Dawn, low and hugging the ice-cold terrain. They approached East Rise; an Atlantean city two klicks easterly.

  Flood of Dawn’s cannons pounded the East Rise border, kicking up dust clouds full of debris and broken rocks. The bombardment filled the horizon in front of them and hid the horror beyond. The ground-pounding slowed the Kelhoon’s advance and kept the aliens at bay—a temporary solution to a bad problem. Eventually, the ever becoming sworn enemy of the Atlanteans, the Kelhoon, would circumnavigate the clouds or even tunnel under ground to reach Flood of Dawn, Callisto’s capital, home of Queen Liberty Speidel.

  Rivkah steered the Oospore over a patch of dead trees, snow sprinkled on their branches. They were approaching East Rise fast, but Bogle couldn’t have reached or passed the border into East Rise, unless she had a ship of her own and hadn’t been targeted by one of the cannons. And as far as they knew, she was on foot.

  Rivkah banked left, heading over a white and black dotted ridge and ascended up a small hilly range, then slowed. Small saplings grew in the seemingly barren soil, frosted white and devoid of nutrients, but they grew against all odds.

  She brought the dropship to a hover and descended. It shook when it landed, the hydraulics whining as if they hadn’t been greased in years.

  “What’re you doing?” asked Fox, adjusting his Atlantean armor.

  Rivkah opened the cockpit. The ramp hissed as the pistons eased against the suction. “This hill is full of caves. She may be resting in one of them.”

  Fox slipped an energy charge in his PPR-8, Plasma Pulse Rifle. “And so could some other odd-looking creatures.”

  Rivkah pulled her pistol out of her holster and pushed the barrel against Fox’s temple. “Put it down. Not a chance in hell I’m going to let you accidentally pull the trigger on Bogle. If we pull the trigger, I’m the one to do it. Leave your weapon here.”

  Fox pushed Rivkah’s gun away and leaned his head to the side, his jaw set. He sniffed and gave her a look, one that said, 'I don’t give a crap'. He turned toward the ramp, the rifle still in his hand.

  Rivkah bent on one knee and steadied her gun. She pulled the trigger.

  Fox’s rifle cracked in half, the barrel tumbled to the floor while he still held the hand grip. He looked at the broken piece and tossed it to the side. “Suit yourself, woman.” He exited the craft, mumbling curses at each step.

  Rivkah holstered her blaster, shut down the engines, and hastened down the ramp. The cold air puckering her skin.

  The outside terrain was bare, more high-desert with small white shrubs everywhere. Only a hint of green. Condensation billowed out of Rivkah’s mouth when she breathed.

  Fox rounded a boulder and climbed a steep, rocky ascent. “Where we going, Rivkah?”

  “Search, Fox. Keep your eyes peeled for any—” Just as she was about to say it, she saw it. “Footprints, nine-o’clock.”

  Fox halted and inspected the ground. “Those are boot prints.”

  Rivkah nodded, tracing the familiar insignia in the center of the print. “Atlantean’s boots don’t have ‘SSP’ inscribed on their soles.” Rivkah looked around, hoping for more prints with Secret Space Program emblems. “She was here. That we know.”

  Fox grabbed a shrub and pulled himself over a small ridge, then lifted his leg over the lip and sat on his knees. “Right here.”

  “You see her?”

  “No. I see a cave.” He pulled out a flashlight. “I’m heading that way. You can search southwest.”

  “Two are better than one.”

  He scoffed. “Not against me. She’s a girl, remember?”

  “I’m a girl.” Rivkah pulled herself up over the ridge. “Remember me kicking your ass?”

  Fox grunted. “You got lucky several times. I wanted to kill you and was told to keep you alive on too many occasions to count. That hampered my fighting style.”

  Rivkah stopped. Why was he helping her? There was something underneath it all. Something wasn’t sitting right in her heart, in her solar plexus. It ebbed and flowed like a stomachache. She couldn’t explain it, but the ache had a melancholy feeling, not acute pain.

  “One minute you want us killed, the next you’re trying to save the Atlanteans here on Callisto from total annihilation, even to the point of helping Jaxx to do some odd disappearing act right in front of our eyes.” She unholstered her gun and pointed it at Fox. “What’s the real reason? Why are you helping us?”

  “Don’t question me. You won’t get answers. I’m SSP trained, special ops. We never break.”

  A cold wind buffeted them. Rivkah shut her eyes. Her inner vision reached out to Fox, two energy spindles twisting together, thrusting into his brain. She flinched when a hot blast of energy shot back at her.

  She opened her eyes.

  Fox was seething, breathing heavily, fingers curled into a fist. “You’re not the only one who can bend energy like that.” He twisted around, walking toward the cave.

  She followed him, kicking a white rock to the side as she trekked forward. “I know why.”

  Fox’s face reddened. “You know nothing.”

  “Slade.”

  Fox stopped, looking down. “He deserves to die.”

  “I know that better than you.”

  “He’s a traitor.”

  “You and your traitor shit. When are you—”

  He spun and glared at Rivkah. “Am I the only loyalist in the entire Secret Space Program?”

  “Slade isn’t a part of the Secret Space Program.”

  “Yes, but he was. You were too. And even Jaxx.” He took several steps in Rivkah’s direction and leaned in, almost nose to nose, his fury almost palpable. “Stars and stripes comes before family and friends, and other alien races. That’s something no one seems to remember or understand.”

  She pushed her index finger into Fox’s chest. “I practically gave my life to the stars and stripes and this Secret Space Program bullshit. And…what’s more…I was instrumental in keeping that program undercover—inventing cover stories: military stealth missions, flaming meteors, blimps, helicopters, Chinese lanterns, you name it…we came up with every ‘explanation’ in the book for ‘unexplained lights in the sky,’ so the public would leave us alone and we could continue to launch our craft into space, unhindered. We’ve rolled out mission after mission, killing countless green and blue, one-eyed freaks. You, on the other hand—”

  “I, on the other hand, didn’t turn on the SSP and sell out our entire country, and didn’t try to commit genocide on our own human race.”

  Rivkah tilted her head. “What are you talking about?”

  “You were just in my head. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  Years ago, Riv
kah attempted to align with Jaxx and the Taiyonians, a Japanese-like race, on a planet called Taiyo. The SSP, in collusion with the Kelhoon, attempted to take that planet’s resources and enslave the Taiyonian race. Jaxx wouldn’t have it, and shortly after Jaxx defected and fought for the other team, Rivkah saw the evil in the SSP’s ways and defected as well.

  “All I saw was Slade. Nothing else.”

  Fox picked up a clump of earth and threw it to the side. “Slade is aligned with the Kelhoon. He’s set a trap and is steering Starship Atlantis and the entire SSP fleet towards utter annihilation. The people on that ship will be slaves at best, mincemeat at worse.”

  Rivkah shook her head, taking a step back. “No. He wouldn’t do that. I know Slade. He’s an asshole, alright, but he wouldn’t do such a thing.”

  “I saw it. I saw the transmission.”

  “What transmission?”

  Fox crossed his arms over his chest. “Before I came back to help with Jaxx’s disappearing trick. That’s why I came back. That’s why I’m here, helping you pricks do whatever you pricks do.”

  Rivkah shrugged, giving Fox an exaggerated smile. “He’s setting the Kelhoon up. Lying to them.”

  Fox’s eyes widened. “You saw the transmission?”

  “No. But I know Slade.”

  “The hell you do. I know him better than anyone. It’s not a setup.”

  Rivkah laughed. “You don’t use your brain.”

  “You’re in on it?” Fox began to tremble and a searing ember of energy rose from his spine and out into his hands. Rivkah’s eyes widened. She’d seen energy with her eyes closed, but not with them wide open. And was he perspiring? “You too? A traitor?” He thrust his hands, connecting his palms to Rivkah’s shoulders.

  A blinding light flashed and she toppled backwards, tumbling over boulders and skidding across the top of a ridge until her feet touched nothing. She wrinkled her nose and furrowed her brow. She gasped when she realized what was happening. A cliff. She scratched at the ground. With a grunt, he saw it and reached. Fingers around a thick shrub at the edge of the cliff, she squeezed with all she had. Breaths heavy, she glanced down. A two-hundred-meter drop to the white and gray rocks below.

  Gravel crunched under heavy feet as Fox came into view. He kicked pebbles and dirt at her. “You’re in on this, too. I can’t believe it.” He stepped on her fingers. “Bye-bye Rivkah.”

  7

  E-Quadrant, Earth - Lookout Mountain, Tennessee

  The meals came, the empty plates left. With no windows and no clocks, it was only the slight variation in food that gave Drew any clue what time of day it was. Unless they were screwing with him and giving him Kung Po Beef for breakfast.

  The guards escorted him through the compound, in spite of his vocal protest, and deposited him in what could only be described as a replica of the Oval Office. Anderle sat behind the massive, Presidential desk, his feet up. “This wasn’t my idea.” He handed Drew a stapled, crisp set of papers. “Just printed these out.”

  Drew set the papers on the table. “You have Mya under twenty-four-hour guard. There’s a damn Chinese guy in there with her now, eying her like she’s a POW.” He didn’t dare mention what else he saw, the Christ-like miracle that baffled him to no end that put Mya on the floor, conked out for hours.

  Anderle hesitated, his eyes moving to the papers. He shrugged. “For her safety.”

  Drew saw the lie in Anderle’s shifty eyes, before Anderle even opened his lying mouth. Plus, it was a crap answer. “What are you hiding?”

  Anderle thumbed over his shoulder. “She’s not to leave that room. Not for one minute unless I, or General Yu, gives permission. Understand? And that’s that. Now, look at the documents, please.” He sighed, heavily. Good, that meant he was exasperated. Drew wanted the jerk to be stressed. He’d sold him down the river…

  “Enough with the questions.” Anderle was in bark-mode now. He’d tipped into his 'Commander' persona.

  Drew scratched his cheek with his middle finger. Anderle didn’t catch the gesture. Drew fought the urge to smile. He glanced down at the papers on the table. “Alright, what is this?”

  “Read it.”

  Drew read it then closed his eyes while pinching the ridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb, his face pallid. “This is a script. If I don’t comply, you’ll kill Mya? I just saved her, man. She’s only eight-years-old. She doesn’t even know her mother is dead. I told her we were looking for her father…you can’t do this to me.”

  Anderle shrugged. “I can and I did.”

  He took another glance at the script. “You want me to be your Katnis?”

  Anderle nodded slowly, his eyes narrowed. “You like to read dystopia. Hunger Games is a good book to learn from because we’re heading into a dystopian world right now, unless we can stave it off.”

  “Shouldn’t we be focusing on defeating the invasion?” Drew motioned toward the general, who stood by the door. “Jerkface over here won’t stop eyeing me like I’m going to slit his throat. Why have a Chinese general on site?” Drew dropped his voice. “They’re enemy combatants, Anderle. I know you like to play fast and loose with the rules, but this is nuts.”

  Anderle stood and walked around the desk, his arms crossed. “He’s harmless.” He pulled Drew close and whispered. “He’s here to help us kill his President and overtake the Chinese army. He’s leaked their plans to us. We know where they’re going to be and when. We’re on the winning side of history.”

  Drew had a sickening flashback to Charlotte, when he’d experienced Chinese bullets singeing his ears and slamming into the people around him. He couldn’t shake the image of those United States Marines’ faces blown off, jets shot down, crashing into the city below. Felt like winning the same way drowning felt like swimming. “Where the hell are our allies?”

  Anderle frowned. “No clue. Radio silence from NATO and the UN and everyone else who are supposed to protect the free-world. Canada is the only one helping us, but even that’s minimal. But what do you expect? They’re Canadian. It’s not like they can ‘polite’ the enemy to death.” Anderle laughed at his own joke, then sighed. “People trust you, Drew. You broke the biggest story in the history of the world. You’re viewed as the ultimate patriot. That’s how the New United States sees you. You knew those idiots were leaving the planet and instead of hitching a ride with them, you chose to ride it out with the rest of us.”

  “How could I have possibly hitched a ride?”

  Anderle nodded to a guard.

  The guard walked to a desk and picked up a remote. He aimed the remote at the TV, clicking the power. The large TV blipped on, a black screen with the words, New United States News Network with the letters NUSNN were printed underneath. The guard handed Anderle the remote. Anderle’s entire affect changed. Gone was the loosey-goosey, laid-back coder. In his place was a version of Anderle that Drew had only seen a tiny glimmer of; an Anderle in charge. His body was rigid, military almost; his tone serious. “Play.” He dropped his arm by his side just as a scene appeared on the screen.

  President Jefferson Kennedy’s hologram—which Anderle had successfully deployed as a cover, so he could run things from behind the scenes—stood in front of a projection screen. “We owe Drew Avera our lives.” The President’s tone was sincere, reassuring. The hologram faded. The screen changed from white to black with blue numbers counting down.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  On screen, two men were deep in conversation.

  Drew started, his heart in his throat. “What the almighty hell?”

  Drew stood in front of his father, Colonel Slade Roberson, the man behind the entire government’s exodus to Callisto, a moon Slade declared, 'habitable by human beings'.

  The cameraman was hunkered behind a bush, his breathing labored.

  Drew knew it was fake—he’d never been there, never met his father in a forest, but he was captivated, nonetheless.

  The came
ra work was jittery, made to look clandestine and amateurish, but the lighting was perfect, their faces in focus. The sound, though, was a dead giveaway. The men’s voices were clearly audible. There was no way in hell you could get that clarity from ten meters. People would know it was a set up, a fake, a piece of propaganda, filmed on some studio lot.

  “We’re airing this over the TV networks right now,” said Anderle.

  It was ridiculous. Yet, Drew studied the news reel as if it was his life on the line.

  Slade stood next to a helicopter, dressed in a futuristic, form-fitting jumpsuit, a helmet tucked under his arm. He put the helmet down and brought Drew in for a hug.

  Drew pushed him away.

  “You’re coming with me, son,” said Slade.

  Drew backed away from Slade, his face red. “You get on that chopper and you’re no longer my father.”

  Slade looked down. “I have to, Drew.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t back out of this now. It’s gone on too long, gone too far.” Slade glanced over his shoulder. “Guards!”

  “Stop this, Slade! You took an oath. You’re supposed to be a defender of the people. The citizens of the United States trusted you. They looked to you for protection. If you leave, you strip all that protection away. You can’t do it.”

  “Guards,” yelled Slade again. He grimaced, signs of pain rippling over his hardened face. “You’re coming with us one way or the other, Drew.”

  The camera man shifted his shot from Drew to soldiers rushing toward Slade and Drew. He panned the camera back in Drew’s direction.

  Drew turned and ran, the cameraman doing the same, following Drew, doing his best to keep the camera on Drew while pushing away foliage and jumping over downed tree limbs. He skidded to a halt just as Drew ran by, entering a dense thicket, dodging trees and brush.

  Two men came barreling after him, pistols drawn.

  The cameraman followed them down a small ravine, over a tree-riddled hill, out of the clump of trees, and down a dark alley.