Ashlyn Chronicles 1: 2287 A.D. Read online

  2287 A.D.

  Copyright © 2015

  Glenn Van Dyke

  and Renee Van Dyke

  All Rights reserved.

  Cover image copyright

  © 2015 U.S. Copyrights Office

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the authors’ imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the copyright owners.

  Cover by Claudio Aboy

  Exclusively made for

  2287 A.D.

  Thanks Claudio, you brought our vision to life!”

  Cover image copyright

  © 2015 U.S. Copyrights Office

  Edited by

  CAFÉ HOUSE

  WE WOULD LIKE TO THANK:

  Zechariah Sitchin

  The Ancient Aliens Show

  Jason Martel

  Erich von Daniken,

  Richard C. Hoagland

  George Noory

  Linda Moulton Howe

  Georgio A. Tsoukalos

  Gerald Clark …

  and so many others for your dedication

  Thank you for brightening the darkness.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Don’t forget to claim your

  FREE

  Collector’s Covers at:

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  Their story continues…

  *Very important note for readers*: While 2287 is a fictional story, the ancient alien 'uplift' version of mankind’s creation seems to have offended some readers’ religious beliefs, which was never our intent. So, due to the number of hateful emails we've received, we decided to include the following warning:

  If you have religious beliefs that will be offended by an alien 'UPLIFT' story, please do NOT buy this book.

  As is typical of many mainstream sci-fi novels, 2287 is a mature read and contains material not appropriate for children.

  To put it simply, we want 2287 A.D. to be a fun, FICTIONAL, and entertaining story for the open-minded, mature reader.

  Chapter 1

  Sinus Iridium –

  Bay of Rainbows -

  Moon

  (Day of the attack)

  “Do you hear that?” said Erich Guerling, head of the archeological team. The sound drew him to the opalescent glass shards of Sinus Iridium’s ragged dome, high above. The wall of fragmented glass was vibrating, creating seismic waves that manifested themselves as a soft melodic ringing inside his environmental protection suit.

  Following his gaze, Erich’s two assistants watched the large two-hundred meter tall section of the wall’s latticework totter back and forth. Instinctively, they dropped the handles of the hoversleds carrying their equipment and backed up. As he saw a few of the precariously attached shards beginning to fall, Erich yelled to his team, “Run!”

  The three of them turned, bounding away as quickly as their suits would allow. Behind them, the top of the massive structure gave way, surreally falling to the ground in slow motion. As they felt it beginning to crash down behind them, they all took a last flying leap out of harm’s way.

  They were soon lost inside a large cloud of gray lunar dust. “Everyone all right?” called Erich, lying there panting.

  “I won’t need to shave tomorrow if that’s what you mean. That was way too close,” answered James as he rolled over onto his hands and knees.

  “If we had arrived ten seconds earlier we’d be underneath all that mess,” said James’ new wife, Kathryn. “We were lucky.”

  Rising, their cumbersome suits making the simple act of getting to their feet a matter of great effort, they saw that the edge of the ancient monolithic structure had fallen just ten meters behind them. In silence, through the heavy haze, they made out the details of the debris field. A tangled web of beams and shards of glass were strewn about, a dozen stories tall.

  “You’re right, Kat. We were lucky,” said Erich in agreement. “Damn lucky.”

  As they strained to see through the slowly clearing dust to where the scaffolding had fallen from, a dark, menacing, heavily armored vessel was just appearing. It came over the top of the decayed wall of the dome. The vessel’s spinning arrays and dishes were actively scanning, its missile bay doors open, its gun turrets raised. She was ready for combat.

  Obscured by the cloud of dust, the three of them stood in silence, not wanting to draw attention to themselves as the craft flew by overhead. Behind it were three more, much larger and boxier carrier vessels.

  After the ships passed, the team hightailed it back to the skimmer that lay waiting, ninety meters away. Daring to use the skimmer’s transmitter, Erich broadcasted, “Hoagland Cen-Comm, this is Erich Guerling from Outpost 119. There are four ships in the Bay of Rainbows. They just passed over us at the Looking Glass dig site. They’re headed in your direction. Do you copy?”

  “This is Hoagland Central Communications. That is a copy. We are tracking them on radar. Please stand by.”

  “We should go back to the Outpost—get to the Noory!” said Kathryn, her concern evident.

  “Agreed. There’s no point in waiting here,” affirmed Erich. “We need to get back to Cen-Comm.” To himself, his gut churning he thought, I just hope it’s still there when we arrive.

  Richard C. Hoagland

  Central Communications -

  United Nations Headquarters -

  Moon

  Responding to the alarm sounding throughout the expansive complex, President Tomlinson, a dark-haired young man of ninety-six, arrived with his security detail in tow.

  “Sir, safety protocols dictate that you should go to the bunker with the other dignitaries,” said Commander Adams.

  Ignoring the commander, Secretary-General of the United Nations and President of the United States, President Tomlinson requested a status update.

  “The team from Outpost 119 called in a visual confirmation a few minutes ago as the ships passed over the Looking Glass site. Radar signatures have identified them as being Enlil’s. One destroyer, three carriers. At their current speed, they will be here in five minutes. Sir, you really should head to the bunker,” insisted Adams.

  Resigned to his fate, President Tomlinson gave a heavy sigh. “It’s too late. I knew this day was coming. I think we all did. Seal the domes. Lock everything down.” To himself he thought, For all the good it will do.

  He continued, “Put me through to Admiral Steven Sherrah at the Challenger Deep Sea Base, high security mode.”

  Challenger Deep Sea Base –

  Earth

  “Admiral, I have President Tomlinson on a secure line. He is contacting us from Hoagland Central Communications at the UN Headquarters. He says they are under attack!
”

  “Put us on full alert—and put him through,” said Steven. He turned to his pilot. “Robbie, take us back to Sea Base.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. Heading back to base.”

  In the brief moment it took for them to be connected, Robbie spun the Dolphin Transport around and punched the thrusters, heading home. Steven’s eyes followed the running lights of harvester-bots as they farmed the sea-gardens, his mind anxious with anticipation at what the president was going to say.

  On the console between them, the president’s holo appeared. “Admiral Sherrah, it’s nice to speak with you again, though I wish it were under different circumstances.”

  “As do I, Mr. President. What’s your situation?”

  “It couldn’t be worse. There is much to tell you—and no time. A few weeks ago, when I gave you command of Sea Base, my staff began preparing a brief to bring you up to speed. I was going to give you the file at Columbus’ christening next month where we could discuss it privately. I’m sorry that I won’t be there to guide you. One of the facets in particular is going to be quite awkward for you, especially given your current personal circumstances. But, I have faith in you. My staff is collating the files, from my computer, as we speak and will start the upload to you shortly. The file is far from complete, but at least it will provide you with the basics of what you need to know.”

  From off-screen, Steven heard someone advising the president. “Sir, Enlil’s ships have breached the western perimeter. Shields are down in that sector. All defensive arrays have been destroyed. ETA to Cen-Comm—two minutes. Sir, do you want me to initiate Project Terminus?”

  Without hesitation, he shook his head. “No. Upload everything regarding the project to Sea Base!”

  “Uploading,” responded the off-screen voice.

  Turning to Steven, the president continued, “Project Terminus is a Hail Mary, a last resort. It would kill most life on Earth. Simulations are inconclusive as to whether Sea Base would survive. The result of escalating earthquakes, tidal changes, tsunamis—it would be a matter of luck. So again, it is a last resort. I pray that you will never need to use it. The file will explain the specifics of what Project Terminus is—and how to activate it.

  “This next part will be hard for you to accept, but you need to know that the perpetrator behind this attack is an entity known as Enlil. His world is in the Sirius star system. Near as we can tell, the planets within their system are cloaked and not visible from our vantage point here on Earth. Apparently, the planets can only be seen from within their own solar system. So admittedly, we don’t know much. We’ve always known there was something there. We’ve been monitoring gravitational perturbations since before I was born. And the little bit of solid information that we believe to be accurate is because, well…” The president coughed, an involuntary stall of the words he knew he must speak. “We know because we’ve had a working arrangement with him.”

  “By him? You mean, Enlil? From the ancient Sumerian texts?”

  “Yes. One and the same,” confirmed the president. “I’m well aware of your interest in the ancient Sumerian writings and the translations done by Zechariah Sitchin. I’ve been told that you are quite the scholar, having taken great interest in his theories.”

  “Yes, sir—but—” said Steven.

  “I know how it sounds, Admiral, but you should know that Zechariah’s theories are far more accurate than you realize. As for Enlil, yes—he exists. Even now, thousands of years later, he is alive and well. And since you are familiar with Enlil’s historical background, then you know that he’s not going to stop with us. When he’s done here, he’ll head to Earth. He wants all of us dead. I must advise you, do not take Enlil on directly. Columbus is a great ship, but she wouldn’t stand a chance against his fleet or even this smaller contingent of warships that we are tracking on radar. I want you to hide. Stay alive. Someday, god willing, you’ll get your chance.”

  The president wiped his tearing eyes. With a sigh he collected his thoughts before again meeting Steven’s gaze. “Steven, I need a favor. My wife and son are in Rome. If you could…”

  “I understand, sir. You have my word. We’ll find them and bring them here.”

  The president gave a thankful sigh.

  A series of explosions resonated, drawing the president’s attention to the scene unfolding behind him. Turning around, the president watched the nearby hydroponics dome explode. “My god!”

  On the holo, behind the president’s shoulders, Steven could see people flailing—floating—amid a sea of green shrubs and tangled debris. Within seconds, they were stilled, carried off the screen as if by invisible strings.

  The president quickly whipped around to face Steven, worry and concern etched on his face. “Steven, you need to go to…”

  The line went silent.

  Steven swallowed past the lump in his throat. The president’s worried face and frantically spoken words alluded to something direly important for Steven to know. Deep inside a small flame awakened. Its warmth called to him. He could sense something—someone—far away. It touched his heart and opened a void of longing and desire that he had never known before.

  ***

  Twenty-five minutes later, Erich and his team reached Outpost 119 to find it destroyed. Bringing the skimmer to a stop, they stared in shock at how little was left. Their living habitat was gone, its communication relays destroyed. Most of it was nothing more than a twisted pile of unrecognizable debris. Even their Dolphin Transport, Noory, was but a massive field of strewn wreckage.

  “Does this mean that…” Kathryn’s quavering words trailed off.

  “One step at a time. It’s too early to ask those questions. Until we know more, you two lovebirds try to find some oxygen cylinders. We’re going to need them,” said Erich, putting on a front of optimism for the newly married couple. He also knew that Kathryn was right. Based on the approach vector, the UN Headquarters would be next.

  “I’m going to see if I can scrounge up some parts from the relay’s debris to boost the strength of the skimmer’s transmitter. With a little luck, maybe I can strengthen the signal enough to reach Hoagland Cen-Comm—get them to send a transport to pick us up.”

  It wasn’t long before Erich found what he needed. Having jury-rigged a booster for the skimmer’s transmitter, he sent a distress call. Over the next hour as he tried to make contact, he occasionally caught sight of James and Kathryn moving through the chunks of debris and rubble, searching for tanks of oxygen. From what he heard over the comm, they were having no more success than he was.

  Two hours passed before James and Kathryn felt compelled to give up in their search. They returned to Erich at the skimmer. “Nothing from Cen-Comm?”

  “Not yet. You? Any luck?”

  “Nothing. We didn’t find a single tank. Everything is in a million pieces,” said James.

  “Sir, we need to talk.” Kathryn took a glance over at James for affirmation before she continued to speak. “I ran the numbers. If we stay here, we have about fifteen hours of air. But…”

  “Don’t even say it,” said Erich. “They’ll come for us.”

  “It’s been more than two hours since you contacted them from the Looking Glass dig site. They could have had a transport here in ten minutes,” added James, supporting his wife.

  “There could be lots of reasons why they haven’t come yet,” said Erich.

  “Perhaps, but that doesn’t explain why they haven’t responded to your distress call. Look around at what the ships did here. If they did that to the UN, then you know as well as I do—they aren’t coming,” said James.

  Kathryn chimed in, her words soft and comforting, “What he’s trying to say is—while there may not be anything left to return to—James and I at least have each other. We want you to try to get back to your family. The three of us can’t make it, but one person can.”

  “We want you to take our tanks,” James said. “It’ll give you forty-five to forty-eight hours of a
ir. Just enough time for the skimmer to make it back. Barely, but you’ll make it.”

  “Please.” Kathryn moved closer to James and took his arm. “It’s what we want.”

  “I—”

  “Please,” she repeated. “Do it for us. Do it for your family. Maybe you’ll get to see them.”

  Erich dipped his head, agreeing with a sorrowful smile. In his heart he knew that Cen-Comm wasn’t going to call. Yet, with each passing second, his mind anxiously hoped to hear the crackle of the transmitter.

  His movements slowed, buying time as he secured the water canisters and food rations aboard the skimmer. Unable to stall any longer, with great reluctance, he tearfully hugged Kathryn and James goodbye. Removing the oxygen bottles from their PLSS (primary life support system); he left them with only the air remaining in their suits.

  Aboard the skimmer, he clipped the buckle of his harness and watched the two of them walk off. They took a seat on the ground, leaning against a chunk of the Noory’s hull. They sat as one—shoulder-to-shoulder, arm in arm.

  Over the open comm he heard James ask Kathryn. “Do you remember the day when we first met, zip-lining in Oahu? I never told you, but what that harness was doing to your breasts, wow! Not to mention what it did to your thong bikini bottoms. I nearly swallowed my own tongue.”

  “You thought that was accidental?” asked Kat.

  “It wasn’t?” said James, surprised.

  “Displaying the goods tends to increase sales. When will men ever learn that they are the buyer, not the seller?” Kathryn shot back.

  Perhaps they’re the lucky ones, thought Erich. He then set the skimmer’s navigation controls to: Hoagland Central Communications, Autopilot, Maximum Speed.