Ascendant Saga Collection: Sci-Fi Fantasy Techno Thriller Brandon Ellis (ebook reader for comics txt) 📖

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 the 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