Domination (A C.H.A.O.S. Novel) - By Jon Lewis Page 0,13
all Colt could think about was how they looked like extras from a rejected episode of Power Rangers.
“There’s going to be pyrotechnics and smoke machines and a chorus line and . . .” Captain Starling finally took a breath. “I wanted to surprise you with this, but I can’t keep it in any longer. The National Symphony Orchestra is going to play an original score by the composer who wrote the soundtrack for Star Wars. Can you believe it?”
“That’s great,” Colt said, distracted by the tsunami of questions raging in his head. “But what about . . . you know?”
“You’re referring to Project Betrayal, is that it?” Captain Starling asked, the smile never fading from his lips.
Colt looked over his shoulder to make sure that no one was listening. After all, despite the fact that everyone had to submit to daily testing to make sure shape-shifting Thule hadn’t infiltrated the campus, it was hard to trust anyone.
“The president and I are fully aware of your responsibilities, as are Superintendent Thorne and your grandfather,” Captain Starling said in a way that made it sound like he was on equal footing with the president of the United States. “I’ll admit that we’ve had to juggle a few things to make the schedule work, but we feel you’re young enough to handle it.”
“Meaning what, I’m skipping sleep?”
“Not skipping—at least not exactly. You know, they say Thomas Jefferson only slept four hours a night. Or was that Abraham Lincoln? He was the one who hunted vampires, as I recall.” Captain Starling shrugged. “No matter. With modern medicine, sleep has practically become unnecessary.”
“I don’t even get four hours now.”
“What a sense of humor!” Captain Starling laughed.
“It would be wise to get plenty of rest tonight,” Giru Ba said. “Captain Starling has scheduled your first practice at 0400 hours.”
“As in the morning?”
Captain Starling laughed even louder as he slapped Colt on the back. “Just wait until you see your armor. It’s amazing! In fact, we asked the design team at Whitlock Global to make a replica suit for the Phantom Flyer exhibit over at the library. You’re going to love it!”
: :
CHAPTER 9 : :
0400 hours.
Colt stood in one of the tunnels beneath Tesla Stadium looking out at the airfield where Captain Starling was instructing a film crew. He couldn’t hear what they were saying because a team of groundskeepers was mowing the grass, which was somehow lush and green despite the freezing temperatures.
“Did you see all those Secret Service agents walking around campus this morning?”
Colt turned around as a pair of second-year cadets in armored flight suits walked into the staging area, each tall and heroic, just like the Agents of CHAOS in the comic books.
“Yeah, what was up with that?” the other cadet said.
The first shrugged. “Maybe the president is coming to watch us practice or something. Think he’ll take a picture with me for my Facebook page?”
It wasn’t long before more of the cadets arrived in their flight suits, including three members of Phantom Squad. Stacy Watson looked like she was still asleep; Grey Arnold, one of Colt’s roommates, couldn’t stop smiling; and Glyph Gundar, a Fimorian, simply looked lost.
A few months ago aliens had been little more than a figment of Colt’s imagination, but now they had almost become commonplace. At least eight faculty members at the academy were from other planets, and he had heard that more than a hundred of the cadets were aliens as well. Still, Glyph stood out. He was almost eight feet tall and cartoonishly thin, with gray skin, a hairless head, and enormous black eyes that dominated his narrow face.
“This is quite the spectacle, wouldn’t you say, Cadet Colt McAlister?” Glyph asked when he spotted Colt standing alone at the edge of the tunnel.
“More like a total waste of time.”
Glyph frowned. “I don’t understand. You should be honored to continue your grandfather’s legacy as the Phantom Flyer.”
“I should be training in one of the simulation chambers,” Colt said. “We all should.”
“According to a recent Gallup poll, 65 percent of all Americans over the age of thirteen believe that the Phantom Flyer is the key to our victory over the Thule,” Glyph said.
“It’s called false hope,” Colt said. “If we don’t find a way to shut down the gateway before it’s fully operational, we’re all going to die.”
“Perhaps. But false hope is better than no hope at all.”
“Anyone else from Phantom Squad get picked?” Colt asked, half expecting to see Oz walk through the door.
“Not to my