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

An image of Rivkah flashed in Slade’s mind. She was running across the barren, Callisto terrain, and worse yet, determined. An energy flashed from her heart and hit his solar plexus like a punch. A hateful punch. “She’s on her way here as we speak.”

Andrea yawned. “That’s impossible. She has no idea we’re on this moon.”

“She has no idea you’re here. That’s true. But she knows I’m here. I feel it. I see it. She wants to surprise me, but she’s too dumb, too enraged to know I can feel just about every move she makes when we’re this close to each other.”

“Dear God. I almost forgot. Just like you, she’s got Jaxx’s blood in her. You know, when she was burned on Taiyo years and years ago, Jaxx saved her by—”

Slade didn’t want a recap. He knew how Rivkah obtained Jaxx’s blood. “Yes, by giving his blood to her,” interrupted Slade.

“Do you feel Jaxx then?”

Slade closed his eyes. He shivered and goose bumps rose on his arms and back. A line of energy extended from him and across the horizon. In his mind’s eye, he followed a band of etheric energy over a snow-capped hill, down a ravine, and over white boulders.

Jaxx was face down on the ground. The ship behind him was in flames.

Slade opened his eyes and smiled. “The dumb ass wrecked a ship. He’s not dead, though.” He turned and threw the sheets off. He picked his pants off the slated floor and shoved them on. He picked up his shirt and stood beside his bed, putting it on over his thick, toned muscles. He strolled his way over to two French doors and flung them wide. Natural amber light streamed in from Jupiter’s rays. “He’s not looking for me.” Slade snorted. “He thinks he can save everyone on his own, even though he only has a Leonian and a Taiyonian helping him. It’s fun watching that madman make bad decisions.”

He stepped out onto a balcony, looking across his small kingdom: Namuh Farms. It was to the south of the conflict raging on Callisto. This place was untouched and unharmed by the war. He hoped to keep it that way.

He surveyed the city below. Artificial heat came from the walls and the Kelhoon terraforming torches. The torches were positioned ten yards from each other, encircling the entire city structure below. They brought green to the hills, long wheat grasses to the pastures, flowers to the meadows and much needed warmth to the gardens in the central city.

The massive city held towers, homes, and skyscrapers. They were unoccupied, but that wouldn’t last for long once recruiting operations began. He needed loyal workers, and lots of them. Money always talked and he figured he could convince the best of the best—wherever they were.

He put his hand on the railing. A hologram popped up beside him. He jumped back. “Chriminy almighty. You trying to kill me Craig?”

President Craig Martelle—his partner throughout the long journey of screwing-over the Secret Space Program, trying to kill off the politicians on Starship Atlantis, and starting this new venture—trading humans to fill the flesh farms on Callisto—decided to pop in for a visit.

Craig frowned. “We have a problem.”

Slade sighed. “We’ll be two of the wealthiest beings in the entire galaxy in no time. Is that your problem? Or, is your problem that we’ll have whatever we want, whenever we want, from anyone we want and soon? There should be no problems, Craig. None at all.”

“Sometimes I think you were born yesterday. Problems happen every damn day, no matter how affluent you are. Get used to it. The more money we have, the more problems will arise.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“We only have two shipments of humans so far. We were supposed to have four.”

Slade looked toward a domed warehouse. Children were being poked and prodded with electric rods by Kelhoon soldiers. They were herded into their new homes, human-sized pig pens inside the warehouse, where they’d be fed healthy, wonderful foods to fatten them up so their pure flesh could be served on silver platters to Kelhoon dignitaries and aristocrats a few months down the line. Or, if they weren’t healthy-looking enough, they’d be sold as slaves. He should have felt bad. He fished around for some twinge of guilt, but found nothing. They were human trash, he was putting them to good use. End of story.

Craig tapped his fingers on his console, sending an annoying reverb clicking down the line.

Not subtle Martelle. Not subtle at all. But Slade wanted to be done with the call anyway. He turned back to his business partner. “That’s not a problem. I had them send only two shipments. We need to learn and figure out this business before we overwhelm ourselves with too many slaves.”

Craig’s face turned from peeved to rage. “If we’re to be partners, Slade, you can’t keep this shit from me. Understand? How many times do I have to go over this? No secrets.”

“Yes, Mr. President.” Slade had no intention of honoring that request. He did what he wanted and when he wanted. Craig, being the President of the United States, was only a side show for their soon-to-be customers. It would come in handy. The Kelhoon loved the higher class, the elite, the popular. They believed the upper crust got ahead through sheer hard work and they admired those who did everything they could to rise above the rest. What they didn’t know was a trust-fund politician who’d never done an honest day’s work in his life. Didn’t matter to Slade. Craig could sell a hot, juicy steak to a vegan. That was the guy’s gift, a gift Slade wanted to utilize to the max. Craig was a one-two combo: a salesman who’d have the Kelhoon dripping green spit in a hot minute.

Slade scratched his chin. “I’ll get two more shipments here as soon as possible. You good with that?”

Craig dipped his head. “I’ll be