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

“Nick Cole came to my rescue. We went over my flight on the holovids while I was practically dying in med quarters. I insisted on watching everything I could. And Captain Richard Fox found something peculiar. You know what he found?”

Jaxx pushed out his lower lip, knowing this wasn’t going to be good. “Nope.”

“A communique, from you to the Taiyonians, confirming your kill. Your exact words were, ‘Captain Rivkah Ravenwood, expunged.’ Expunged, for Christ sake. Who even says that?”

“You believed him?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t want to. The guy’s a prick. He’d stop at nothing to get his own way. But once I heard the audio, I knew you were an even bigger prick than him.”

“How do you know it was me?”

“I know your voice, Jaxx. I heard it. It was you.” She spun around and walked again.

For several minutes they walked in silence until they came upon a path that steered off the road and back into the woods. A sign marked, Boyd’s Bed ’n Breakfast, pointed them east. The path was short, dog legging to the left to a small lodge with several log cabins dotting the forest behind it.

Without as much of a wave, she walked down the path.

Jaxx followed, once again feeling like a beaten dog after his owner.

She stomped up the wooden steps to a deck that surrounded the lodge. She wiped her feet on the welcome mat and walked in, letting the door shut on Jaxx’s face.

He sighed and followed her. No prizes for guessing who was boss.

The reception was homey, rustic, welcoming. Lines of fliers on the wall ranged from helicopter tours to the grizzly zoo. A hunting-fishing-trapping-outdoorsy paradise.

A man behind the desk looked up from a newspaper, brightened to see a potential guest. He stood, placing his hands on the counter. “How can I help you folks?”

Rivkah leaned on the counter with a warm smile, practically batting her eyes at the guy. “I need a ride into Whitefish.”

“I can’t leave the Lodge. There’s no one else here to welcome guests. There are no taxis or...what do they call those things? No Ubers out here. I can probably convince one of the park rangers at National Glacier Park to pick you up, but that wouldn’t be until tomorrow.” He became serious. “Are you two okay? Where is your car?”

Rivkah didn’t answer. “How much for a room?”

He folded his hands. “$180 a night. We have one cabin available.”

Jaxx unzipped the laptop case and searched for the secret compartment. He felt a clump. He pulled back Velcro, revealing a pouch. A pouch full of the twenties that Rivkah showed him earlier.

Rivkah pushed his hand away from the cash. “Hell no. There’s no way I’m sleeping in the same bed or room as you. It’s hard enough not to kill you where you stand.”

The desk clerk looked left and right. No doubt he’d seen his fair share of lovers’ disputes.

Jaxx stepped forward. “Here’s $180. If you can get a park ranger to drive us to Whitefish tomorrow, I’d appreciate it.” He plopped down nine twenty-dollar bills.

The man handed him a key, happy to rid the lobby of the drama. “Cabin 7b.”

Jaxx grabbed the key and shot Rivkah a look.

She snagged the key out of his hand. “Thank you very much.” Out the door, she hurried down the steps, speaking over her shoulder. “You’re on the floor.”

“It’s not even nighttime yet. Are you just going to ignore me all day?”

She gave him a curt nod as she headed down a path marked b-Cabins. She wiped her shoes, walked in, and slammed the door behind her. And in Jaxx’s face. He drooped his shoulders and opened the door.

The place was quaint. Blue curtains, blue bed spread, and light blue walls. No phone. No TV. Two lamps and a bathroom.

No way to see or talk with the outside world.

The room, though, cheery. At least it had that much.

Rivkah sat on the bed, studiously ignoring him.

He pulled the laptop out of its case, placed it on the desk, and opened it. The operating system came alive, showing two dozen folder icons labeled with dates starting in May, the last folder labeled June 7th. He hovered his icon over the June 7th folder, then saw a folder labeled May 22nd with the words EPICA just under it. He knew all about the European Project for Ice Coring in Antarctica (EPICA), but why was Underfoot Black interested? Why would Slade care about ice-core samples?

He clicked on the folder, expecting to see the EPICA graphs of nearly a million years of ice ages and interglacial ages on Earth and their temperature swings.

That’s not what he saw.

Three subfolders popped up, marked; Pyramid 1, Pyramid 2, and Pyramid 3.

He opened Pyramid 1.

Three image icons dotted the screen. He tapped the first image. A close up of Callisto’s largest pyramid, the one he and Shaughnessy had been studying, before he’d been shunted off to hypno-memory-land. He couldn’t quite see exactly what was etched on a highlighted portion of the pyramid. He hit the arrow and moved on to the next image. Similar picture, though at a different angle and closer in perspective.

He clicked the third picture, bringing up an image he could actually see—etched lines on the base of the pyramid that went up and down like a heart monitor, though it wasn’t a heart monitor it was mimicking. Superimposed over the most famous EPICA ice-core sample graph. He’d studied it many, many times and recognized it on sight.

“E-P-I-C-A.” He pointed at the screen, talking to himself, “This hieroglyph is depicting exactly what EPICA depicts but the hieroglyphs’ data stops with the end of our last ice age.” Jaxx wanted to fist pump the sky. “It’s an exact replica of the EPICA ice-core sample. The Atlanteans are telling us they left Earth at the end of the last ice age, when Atlantis sank. When the waters rose four-hundred to five-hundred feet.”

Rivkah stirred. “What are you talking about?”

“Sorry. Just thinking