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

“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 camera 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.

Drew jumped into a garbage bin.

One of the Slade’s guards pulled the trigger and a bullet punctured the metal bin. An obvious warning shot.

Drew jumped on the lip of the bin and did an acrobatic flip to the ground, running the moment his shoes touched the pavement.

Back in Lookout Mountain, the real Drew snorted in derision. “No one’s going to believe an acrobatic flip…”

Anderle shushed him, his eyes glued to the screen.

The guards chased fake-Drew, body-double-Drew, holographic-Drew, whatever-he-was-he-wasn’t-real-Drew, through the alley and onto a busy street, cars honking and swerving, their lights blinding him as they swept by.

Drew raced onto the street, right in front of a car. He slammed his hands on a hood. Predictably, the car had stopped just inches from him. The driver screamed profanities, then jerked back as a bullet—possibly meant