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

They took the vent cover off and slid it to the side.

“Do you see anything?”

“Not a thing.”

“Anyone got a flashlight? We can shine it down the vent, see if the asshole is there.”

“No, sir.”

“Get one!”

Someone march out of the room. He didn’t know how deep he could get or when the air duct leveled out and went horizontal. If he could find that spot, he’d be safe from any flashlight.

Drew slowly pushed himself down, cringing in pain as another metal shard scraped against his side. If he wanted to live, scratches and a little blood didn’t matter.

“Flashlight, sir.”

“Excellent.”

The air duct rounded, cornering, and started to level out as Drew continued to crawl backward. A light gleamed down, bending against the air duct corner, shining into Drew’s eyes. This section of the duct kept him hidden, he hoped.

The flashlight turned off.

“Wait a minute, turn that flashlight back on. I thought I saw a hand.”

The light radiated through the duct and Drew squeezed his eyes shut again.

It turned off.

“Nope. Next room.”

26

June 5thUnderfoot Black, Grenada

Slade’s office was above ground in an old, dank building next to a local bar, the Nutmeg. From the outside, Slade’s office wasn’t appealing and for good reason. It was designed to draw no attention to itself. On the inside, however, it was as good as any office in the United States; nice decor, air conditioned, and marbled floors to keep the place cool in the Grenada sun.

His office faced Warf Road, placing him across St. George’s Inner Harbor, just northeast of Fort George, the entrance to Underfoot Black.

Slade took a brief respite from his papers and watched boat taxis bobbing up and down, waiting for passengers. A couple of drivers stood by on the dock shooting the breeze, the rising sunshine sparkling on the aquamarine colored ocean like diamonds.

His phone rang. GSA Warehouse displayed on the caller ID. He frowned. Being contacted by them at this hour was peculiar, especially at 2:11 AM their time.

“Colonel Roberson here.”

“We’ve had a breach. A man we have identified as Drew Avera, World News Network reporter, has infiltrated our Plano, Texas underground facility. He evaded us and is in hiding somewhere on the monorail.”

Slade leaned his forehead on the palm of his hand, shaking his head. “Are you sure it’s Drew Avera?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He stood. “You've got to be kidding me. How in God’s name did he get down there?” Slade bit his bottom lip, nearly biting all the way through. He had underestimated Drew.

“We don’t know. We are searching for him. Our orders are shoot to kill.”

Slade grimaced. “Stop the search. Call it off.”

“Excuse me, Sir?”

Slade looked at his computer screen, a picture of Drew Avera sat at the bottom of an article Drew had written. There were many reasons why he wanted to call it off, but he had to give the most important of all.

“Because we cannot stall anymore. We need to stay on task. We don’t have the time, or resources to waste looking for a low-life-piece-of-shit trying to expose our mission. Guard all exits when you stop at the next destination.”

“But, Sir. I—”

Slade slammed his fist on his desk. “Do not question my orders.”

“Yes, Sir. Protocol orders for trespassers are shoot to kill. Is that order still on, Sir?”

Slade unwrapped a piece of gum and shoved it in his mouth. “You’re asking if I want to change those orders?” This should be an easy no. Anyone who had compromised the mission, stolen information, and had classified information that they wanted to expose should receive a death sentence. With Drew Avera, however, it wasn’t so easy. In fact, it was the hardest decision of Slade’s life.

27

June 5thPlano, Texas

Drew was scrunched in the air duct. Any itch that he couldn’t get to was like a soft tickle he couldn’t slap away. The more he thought about it, the more everything itched.

Movement inside the air duct needed to be as slow and methodical as possible. If his elbow or knee panged into the duct, it could easily give him away. So he remained as still as possible, keeping his breaths short and shallow.

For several hours, sounds of fork lifts, jacks, and other vehicles filled the warehouse and echoed throughout monorail. The monorail shuddered every so often from what he could only imagine were machines setting down heavy items in the monocars.

What time is it?

He wanted to reach for his phone, but the cramped duct wouldn’t allow.

An hour ago, the search for him, the commotion, and yelling had all but halted.

A loud voice came over the intercom and shot through the duct. “All aboard.”

The monorail whistled, its horns blared, and a loud hiss pierced the air. The monorail vibrated, followed by a heavy shudder.

The monorail moved and picked up speed.

28

June 5thUnderfoot Black, Grenada

Wires, electrodes, and needles attached to Rivkah from head to foot. She sat on a doctor’s table, computer monitors displaying graphs and charts she didn’t understand. When she had a thought, something changed on the monitors. When she moved, something else changed on the monitors.

What did I do that was so bad?

A part of Rivkah was angry at herself, for volunteering to be here. She was here on her own accord, however, being a test subject wasn’t part of the agreement, at least that’s not what she thought. She assumed she’d be back on tour with the Secret Space Program.

Another piece of her wanted to kick every doctor’s ass she had met in this strange facility—Underfoot Black. The facility was technologically advanced, that much she understood. It, however, wasn’t as advanced as the Secret Space Program. Colonel Slade Roberson was a very well-known figure during her last space operation with SSP before she turned into the hideous-looking monster she was now. He was known across the Galaxy, not just within the Secret Space Program, but with other programs—extraterrestrial programs. Why was he with a new group? When did he leave SSP?

She