Project: Wake

  By M. A. Scrawl

  I want to thank everyone who helped me write this book, including those who read and gave feedback on this novel. Thanks to Edison Banks, David Mugg, Isaac Adams, Dusky Greymouth, and especially Caleb Galloway who helped me finalize my ideas for this story.

  -Prologue-

  -Alien Pursuit-

  K’illad never wanted this. It was supposed to be simple, in and out.

  Instead, his friends had all been killed, and he was holding the hand of one of The Honored, who was splayed across the ground, bleeding from several wounds. Even his Gift had not saved him.

  K’illad felt tears squeeze out of his eyes as his friend wheezed his last breath, long arms relaxing and his eyes closing.

  All they wanted was a change in government, just a simple raid to show The Patrol that the Resistance still had strength. Obviously, they didn’t have any strength. A few Honored, and a couple of children who barely knew how to hold a blaster. K’illad shook his head as others of his species bustled about him, clutching bleeding wounds.

  A simple raid. A chance had sprung up for The Resistance to go into an important Patrol base, and steal expensive genetic equipment. Instead, they had been tricked, and most of them killed before making it to the relative safety of this small, stolen ship. Now they were being chased by an unseen Patrol ship.

  He grit his teeth in anger, and electricity briefly sparked across his skin. All this power, and no way to help. Being one of The Honored might as well have been a curse, for all it did for him.

  Hearing yells of surprise, K’illad slowly came up from his crouch, releasing his grip from his dead friend. He walked over to the Control panels, where Controllers of the ship typed hurriedly on the screens. He leaned over one of the Controllers shoulders at the panel where data ran across the screen.

  He was no Akumen, but he could tell that they were running on Emergency power. Apparently the E.M.P. blast before had removed everything except basic systems and life support.

  He walked up to one of the adults in the ship, who had taken the role of Captain after the original one had been killed.

  “Captain,” he said, getting the attention of the man, who was trying to fix the screen. “Why are the navigational configurations removed from the main screen?”

  “Navigation is fried. That Patrol Ship did more damage than we thought.” The Captain shook his head, suddenly sobbing. He brought his hands up to block the tears, but they kept coming. K’illad kept on watching as the Captain sat down.

  “We’re not gonna make it, we’re all gonna die…” the Captain wept, repeating the words and covering his face with his hands.

  K’illad opened his mouth, but a shudder went through the ship, and K’illad stumbled. He looked at a screen, which showed the condition of the ship. A green hologram displayed a model of the small shuttle, and the hull of the hologram was beeping, on and off.

  White lights turned on and off, signaling rapid change in pressure. Meaning, they were losing oxygen. Why?

  K’illad sprinted across the ship's floor, running to the back of the shuttle. People around him ran, screaming as they tried to find some way to escape. They couldn’t.

  Reaching the back window, he looked out, desperately. Seeing a movement of light, K’illad squinted, trying to see what it was.

  Suddenly, a white flash rushed from the light, and almost blinded K’illad as it crashed against the hull. The hologram behind him flashed red as the ship shook, and again, the ship shook, making K’illad reach out and steady himself.

  It continued shaking, and K’illad felt nauseous as he stumbled through screaming people, and tripped onto a seat that was bolted to the wall. Others also strapped themselves in, thinking it would do some good.

  K’illad knew it wouldn’t.

  He grit his teeth as the ship continued to shudder, and K’illad knew this was the end.

  The Resistance was broken, everyone in it would be dead once this ship collapsed. K’illad hoped that their message would get out there, that this resistance would not be the last. Hopefully someone would overtake The Encid and The Patrol. Hopefully this was not the end for Hope.

  As gas hissed out of the ship, little by little, the screams continued on. But K’illad smiled, and spoke.

  “It is always good to hope.”

  Though his words were not loud, silence overtook the ship. They stopped screaming, listening to his voice, although most kept on sobbing quietly. K’illad knew he was not wise, but he also knew that he could not let these people die with despair. That, would be the worst end.

  “Though our bodies may die,” K’illad continued, “Hope lives on. It WILL spark through our actions and into the next generation. This will NOT be the last resistance. Though we will die, we will do so proudly, knowing that our legacy will continue onwards, and our cause will be succeeded.”

  A final blast shattered the roof of the ship, and screams went out. They were quickly silenced by the lack of oxygen as the hull was ripped open, silencing the occupants inside. It suddenly turned to -450 degrees fahrenheit, and the bodies turned to red frost. They lived to endure this horrible pain as their lungs collapsed from the pressure change.

  Most were sucked out into space, but others, like K’illad, were doomed to stay inside the ship, strapped to the walls.

  Miles away, the Patrol Ship turned back, avoiding disaster. The Resistance Ship, with its Navigational System destroyed, had unwittingly been heading straight for a black hole. They turned back to escape the gravity well they could get caught in, which would drag them to death.

  The Resistance Ship continued on.

  -Prologue-

  -Recent History-

  --- ADDRESSED TO: Samuel Jonathan Sahara ---

  --- DATE :12/7/2120 ---

  --- FROM: Director Caspian Bard ---

  My Good fellow, Mr. Samuel J. Sahara -

  As you know, your work in the CIA has been most helpful, and you hold a record for dissolving six terrorist cells. Because of this, we think your talents would best be used as Overseer in Facility C, a high-tech satellite place in space to protect our good country, America. Think of it as a promotion, an office in space,and continued access to Earth's amenities. Your salary will also be increased to $170,000 a year.

  As Director of the CIA, I am given several items of a confidential nature. Simply by reading this letter, I enclose the knowledge of a classified Satellite to you. Since you were in the CIA, I need not swear you to secrecy a second time.

  As you probably know, the bomb that exploded in New York, after being examined following the explosion, was surprisingly found to be of Russian design. Immediately afterwards, Russia was contacted and asked if they were responsible, but of course they hid behind a wall of silence.

  This has had unprecedented consequences on the world stage. Trades are now made grudgingly, and most contact between the countries has ceased. Preparations for war are being made, even as we speak. Some people ask why on Earth other countries make their weapons public, but it's really quite simple.

  It’s a simple form of intimidation to keep other countries from attacking, which may be the only thing stopping a THIRD WORLD WAR.

  More bombings have been happening lately in other countries, and more tension appears between the world as more and more countries come out with more weapons. Russia and Japan are good examples, making deadly gases to be released on the battlefield, and even exoskeletons.

  We are currently working on making our own, of course.

  There are also examples of countries that have had accidents, such as the dreadful cloning incident in Germany. Seeking to imitate the rest of the world, they made their plans public on their intent to clone human beings. Unfortunately for them, and fortunately for us, they faile
d, creating horrible, twisted humans that died within a few hours.

  Disturbing business, that was.

  Anyhow, Facility C is our eye in the sky, and is America’s best protection against missile assault by other countries. No need to worry about nuclear weapons, as we have already made an agreement (signed by 185 countries) to not use nuclear assault.

  This letter is simply a forewarning, and a personal message from me. You will get another letter within a few hours or days which includes everything you’ll need to know about Facility C and being an Overseer, as well as launch arrangements.

  Hopefully you take the job, as well as its consequences and stress, and hopefully you see how much our country needs you. Why you? Your tireless work in the CIA as well as your ability to work through paperwork, shrug off stress, and obey instructions.

  Your Employer,

  Caspian Bard,

  CIA Director

  -Chapter 1-

  -Facility C-

  Samuel Jonathan Sahara looked out of his domain, out into the deep, cold vacuum of space. Stars glowed brightly illuminating outside of the port windows in the Office Bay of Facility C. He tried to think about how beautiful it looked-no light pollution there to soften the brightness of the stars, but after being there so long, that image had grown old. His view slowly changed as the satellite in space spun counter-clockwise, and he got a good view of Earth, large clouds billowing across it like paint on parchment.

  Facility C spun counter-clockwise, two hundred and fifty miles above Earth. Small gusts of pressure let out to make the spinning go faster or slower, allowing an artificial gravitational pull against the hull of the ship. Since Facility C was so Large, it only had to spin very slowly to accommodate its few hundred occupants, and the port windows automatically closed shut as the Sun came around.

  Facility C's purpose was basically as a confidential warehouse, where America's leftovers were poured, and where some secrets were buried. Its main purpose however, was to covertly examine other countries, and be a first defense against bombs. Sahara knew this of course and was weary of it.

  He was a stout man, round in stature, with slightly yellow hair on his balding head. He was rather square when looking at him, and he rarely smiled these days. His face portrayed years of hard paperwork and heavy stress.

  Sahara himself was the overseer of this vast satellite over Earth, and he signed paperwork, solved problems in the storehouse, as well as ran the lives of the all soldiers and workers aboard Facility C. Facility C was not the only one of its kind. There were two other Facility storehouses and research areas in America, but Facility C's location was the only one in space.

  Sahara sighed and backed away from the changing view as a knock came from his office door. "Come in," he said passively as the door recognized his command, and the lock unbolted with a click. Abby Pulver Kirby walked in, work-pad in hand, as well as a bag full of paperwork. As the door swung shut behind her, she placed the bag on Sahara’s grey desk, disturbing the nameplate on it. Kirby was a younger woman with short brown hair, tight lips, and a seeming tension around her that constantly showed.

  Sighing again, he moved from his position, straightened the nameplate, and sat in his chair. "Here's the resource report," Kirby said, getting the paperwork out and sorting it before him. He silently grimaced and pulled out a pen and began writing, filling out the paperwork with a sluggish air. Kirby stood with her hands clasped together, watching as Sahara did his paperwork. She looked troubled. "What is it, Abby?" Sahara asked, not looking up from his work.

  "Sir, with all due respect, but you’re not looking over the paper. You're merely signing it with one glance," said Ms. Kirby.

  "Why should I? You've already looked over it."

  "But sir, protocol says..."

  "I know what it says, Abby."

  It was Ms. Kirby's turn to sigh. She looked at Sahara as he scribbled on the papers, his face mere inches from the desk, depicting a cramped posture.

  "Sir, are you alright?"

  Sahara put his face in his hands, dropping the pen. "I have not been well for a long time Kirby," he groaned. "I've been in this tin-can for ages. I feel as though my life-blood has been leaking through these grey surfaces every since I set foot in here." Looking up, Kirby looked at the face of Facility C’s Overseer. At this moment, he looked his age of 52, wrinkles beneath his eyes, and grey hair mottled against his scalp. His eyes looked strangely hollow and sad.

  “How long have you been here sir?” Kirby asked, curious.

  "I don’t like it here Abby," he said ignoring her question and changing the subject. "Blasted spaceship. I wish I could have passed on a long time ago." Kirby's eyes widened and Sahara chuckled. "Not my life, Abby, my station. I know you've been wanting it ever since you got here."

  "What's keeping you from leaving sir?" She asked.

  Sahara furrowed his brow in thought. He shrugged. "I honestly don't know Kirby. I blasted don't know." He put his chin on his knuckles and stared thoughtfully, "Actually Kirby, it might've been you. I have been setting you up to get this job you want so badly, training you, even though you may not feel like it." He stood up slowly. "I guess it doesn't matter now."

  Kirby opened her mouth to respond, but a small red light started going on and off on Sahara’s desk, beeping. He put his thumb over it, and an image displayed on his desk. He moved some of the papers to get a better look. "I've been called to the Control Deck, Abby. Looks like they have a situation."

  She nodded, and joined Sahara in leaving his office, the door clicking behind them.

  Kirby and Sahara walked down the grey office halls, passing grey doors, grey door knobs. Facility C was all greys and blacks, except for Sick Bay, which was White. It seemed that the color reflected everyone's mood on Facility C, or rather, the color affected everyone's mood. After a few weeks of seeing nothing but grey, it was difficult to think of any other color.

  They walked down another hall, down an intersection guarded by Special Security Soldiers, or S.S.S. Kirby held up her I.D. at the soldiers, accomplishing the same purpose that a hall pass would.

  Thankfully the soldiers nodded and let them pass, hefting their military-grade tranq guns. They were not wearing their full camo gear, but instead had on grey security gear, with the letters ‘S.S.S.’ printed in large white on the front.

  They continued to walk down the halls, passing the library, more port windows in the side with an ever-changing view, as well as the Resource Drop Deck. They climbed some stairs, and finally got into the Control Deck.

  The Control Deck was a grey wide space with seats all around, each one occupied with an engineer. There was also a wide port window directly in front of him. The view was not actually space right in front of him, but rather a screen displaying the view of several cameras on the outside of Facility C. Data flashed across the screen, showing the names of each star, as well as their distance.

  One of the workers noticed Sahara enter and waved him over. Sahara obliged and leaned over the Engineers displayed desk, showing data. The young man brought up a new display, moving his hands in an expanding motion, which showed a blur running through space.

  “Name and rank, and why was I brought here?" Sahara said quickly, eyes fixed on the screen. “And what the devil is that?”

  “Uh...Engineer Daniel Replogle, sir!” Sahara cocked his head, slightly baffled.

  “Replogle?” The engineer nodded avoiding eye contact. Sahara cleared his throat. “Continue, Replogle.”

  The Engineer looked grateful, and maybe a little embarrassed as they got on to another subject. "Sir, as you know, we track every asteroid that comes near Earth's Atmosphere, marking it, studying it, see if there's anything on it." He pointed towards the green blur. "30 minutes ago, this projectile appeared on the screens. It's going too fast for the Alert tracking system to see clearly what it is, but it’s steadily heading towards Earth."

  Sahara took a deep breath. This was new. He'd been here for several years, always
keeping an eye out for possible anomalies that could harm Earth. Of course, he’d never actually had anything like this occur before.

  "How far away is it Mr. Replogle?" Sahara asked slowly.

  The Engineer glanced at his screen and pointed to a line of data. "It's about 500 thousand kilometers away, and it, whatever it is, it is moving quickly towards us."

  Sahara thought for a moment. This could be anything. Likely it was just a stray asteroid that would break up in the atmosphere of Earth. There really was no possibility of it being a bomb, as they would immediately know if one had been launched from Earth. Also, this came from space. Maybe he could use this in some way? They could always use new asteroid material to study.

  He turned towards Kirby, walking just out of earshot from the engineers.

  "What do you think of it, Abby?" he asked, gesturing towards the screen.

  "I have noticed each worker and especially the S.S.S. longing for something to do. Some kind of action," She answered, voice low. "I think it would be good for the crew to assume this is dangerous, even if it isn't, and it might be refreshing to get some excitement around here."

  Sahara nodded and smiled, turning to the Engineer. "You are allowed to put the projectile, whatever it is, on Alert." He placed his hand on the Engineers desk, and a red button popped up. Pressing it, the large port screen displayed the projectile, and the data on it changed to accommodate it. Sahara smiled. "And so it begins."

  -Chapter 2-

  -Sahara-

  Sahara had ordered the engineers to calculate how long it would take to get to Earth, and they had quickly predicted it would make contact with Earth within thirteen hours, meaning it would arrive at seven the next day. The buzz of the asteroid spread throughout Facility C, making almost every conversation that Sahara listened to about whether it was a bomb or not, if it would burn up in the atmosphere of Earth, and so on.