Ascendant Saga Collection: Sci-Fi Fantasy Techno Thriller by Brandon Ellis (best novels to read in english .txt) 📗

Slade hung up and Gentry gazed at the ceiling. “This can’t be happening. We’re screwed if Jaxx goes public with what he knows.” He clicked on a button on the Lectern. “Special Agent Cole? Please enter.”

Nick Cole, Special Agent and assassin, part of the old Space Marine combat corp used for the first Taiyo raids, now gladly Gentry’s personal guard.

The Admiral’s quarters door slid open and Special Agent Cole marched in, full regalia. Black titanium armor, heavy PPR-9—Plasma Pulse Rifle—magnetized to his back, helmet over his head and face like a medieval knight.

“I’m pulling you from my guard,” said Gentry.

Cole stiffened. “Excuse me, sir? I don’t think that’s wise, especially while approaching an unknown.”

“Understood. This is more important.”

“What is it, sir?”

“A mission. You’ll retrieve someone in E-quadrant. I’ll send the information, the target, and the location to your ship. You’ll bring the target back here to Star Warden.”

“Slade?”

“No, not Slade. Not yet.” The Admiral picked up the crystal carafe that sat on the edge of his desk and threw it against the wall. It shattered into a hundred, beautiful splinters, suffusing his quarters with the distinct aroma of a 300-year old malt.

Cole cocked his head to the side. “I apologize if I overstep, Admiral. Who am I extracting?”

“Kaden Jaxx.”

Cole’s facade cracked. “That weasel is back in play?”

Gentry shrugged. “Find him, extract him, and deliver him to me in one piece. And by ‘in one piece’ I mean alive.”

15

May 29thCharlotte, North Carolina

D-day, as in Deadline Day. The most important day in any journalist’s life. But this deadline was for the Bitcoin story Drew had decided to put on hold, and it was actually days late.

He was on a better story now, a more important story—the GSA and Slade Roberson piece. World News Network was going to be pissed that he wasn’t delivering what he said he’d deliver, but enraging your producer and editor was part of the gig.

Drew scrolled through his missed calls and voicemails. He hadn’t received a phone call from Ann Maddox from NASA yet. He needed that extra intel on Slade. He tossed the phone onto the piles of papers on his dining room table and went back to his open laptop that displayed Jaxx’s photos of other worldly structures tiled on his screen.

When he’d first downloaded the images, he was convinced they were faked. Trick photography or professionally edited photos. Those kids could work freaking wonders with Photoshop these days, just like Jaxx said. But he’d since run the images through error-level analysis on his computer to do some photo forensics and everything had come up clear. These images weren’t doctored. “This is unbelievable. These are real. Holy mother of all shits.”

In Jaxx’s latest email, he had asked Drew to please send these pictures to as many news outlets as he could.

Drew stared at the pictures of other worldly jet fighters and took a bong hit. He held in his breath, scrolling through the next couple of pictures until he landed on an obelisk. He blew the smoke out and was doubled over for his usual, weed-induced coughing fit.

“The GSA is all over this—” he coughed again. “And not one person in the public knows about this discovery?”

He took another hit. The weed had a sweet, buttery aftertaste and he felt the usual all-over body glow creep up from his solar plexus.

“The government is a racket.” Smoke trailed out of his mouth.

Complaining about the “powers that be” was one of Drew’s all-time favorite pastimes. He was on first-name terms with all the leading conspiracists in the country as well as sources in all the major government departments. This shit ran deep. If what Jaxx was saying was true, it ran even deeper. There wasn’t just intelligent life out there—life the starched suits didn’t want Joe Blow to know squat about—but intelligent life that had been here, there, and for all he knew, back again. Jaxx, that pyramid-loving bastard, had been right all along. The Atlanteans had technology that blew our own technology out of the sky. “Damn groovy, man.”

His phone vibrated. NASA displayed on his caller ID, though not Ann Maddox. He answered, “Hey, Keith. How’s it hanging?”

“Yeah, Drew. Got some bad news here.”

Drew stood and made his way to the refrigerator. “What’s up?”

“I’m going through Ann’s voicemails and returning everyone’s calls for her.”

He grasped the refrigerator door handle and pulled it open. Cool air flowed outward, a brief respite from the hot day. “Uh-oh. What trouble did she get into now?” he teased, knowing full well that Ann was a hard worker who kept her nose clean and, while he valued her as an inside source, she wasn’t someone you thought about partying with. The woman probably wouldn’t know how to get into trouble if it rear-ended her on the 405.

“She committed suicide yesterday.”

Drew shut the door. “Excuse me. What?” Drew had never met her in person, but she was more than just a contact. He’d known her for a few years. In a way they had become friends, the way you do with remote people these days. Keith, on the other hand, was her boss and always gave Ann the green light to give Drew what he needed, which tended to be harmless information.

“We found her this morning. Well, her sister did. She had a note with your name on it, so you’re the second person I’m calling. I’d have called you first, but…” Keith’s voice cracked. He held in tears.

“I’m so sorry, Keith. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Uh...maybe.” Keith sniffed. “The guy who I contacted first wanted to know all about you. Things like your childhood, how you did in school, what made you tick. It was weird. He didn’t care two shits about Ann or that she had died. All he said about Ann was that she contacted him a day and a half ago about information on your behalf?”

Drew’s eyebrows squished together. “What was his name?”

“Colonel Slade Roberson.