Quantum Cheeseburger: Star Ascension, #1

By Jeremy Michelson

One cheeseburger, with a side of armageddon.

 

Driving his vintage Jeep down a lonely highway in the New Mexico desert, Chris, an ordinary guy with a horrible boss, makes a terrible mistake. He stops at a roadside burger shack for lunch. Disaster ensues. He barely escapes with his life. And, unknown to him, something else.

 

Now Earth military, mercenaries, and three races of aliens are hunting him.

 

All of them gunning for a power that will determine the fate of Earth. Along with the fate of six alien races locked in a simmering conflict that threatens to break out into all-out war.

 

A power that could unlock incredible technological secrets of a long dead alien race. A power Chris must learn how to control. A power he must learn how to use if Earth is to survive.

 

First, Chris must figure out who his real friends are.

 

Right now, everyone looks like the enemy.

 

The wild and funny first novel in the Star Ascension series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeremy Michelson
• Release date: Feb 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224154340

Book preview

ONE

All I wanted was a cheeseburger.

But there I was, naked, shivering, strapped to a refrigerated metal autopsy table, in a stifling hot warehouse in Area 53. A dude with three eyes who smelled like rancid seaweed hovered over me with a whirring bone saw.

Are you ready? he asked.

His lips were greenish purple and flapped in ways that made me uncomfortable.

Hell no, I’m not ready! I shouted at him.

I wasn’t talking to you.

I took time out from my screaming and trembling to notice one of his three eyes was looking elsewhere. The bulbous third eye sat in the middle of his broad forehead. It had a large piss yellow iris and looked off to my left.

I glanced and saw General Mattany. Six-two, jaw like a hunk of granite. His small, dark eyes glittered in the light of the autopsy lamps. The United States Space Corp blues he wore were spotless as ever. A crisp crease ran down the front of each pant leg. His delicate hands were clasped behind his back. He was probably still mad about the broken finger on his left hand.

Get on with it, Mattany said.

Behind General Mattany were a motley collection of observers. Dr. Kincaid, short and portly with his soiled lab coat, one hand on his fuzzy cheek. Beautiful Julie, gnawing on her thumbnail. Azor, the Stickman, spindly tall, with too many arms ending in too many fingers. His fibers rubbed against each other with a sound like a violin being molested by a toddler. Azor was probably still upset about his ship.

It is too late to apologize? I asked, Because I’m really sorry.

The three-eyed dude lowered the screaming blade toward my hairy chest.

All I had wanted was a cheeseburger. With green chilies and bacon.

TWO

Okay, maybe I’d better back this up a bit.

It was a dark and stormy night.

Just kidding.

All this happened because I was hungry. I'd started out early from Sandia Labs in Albuquerque on a lovely, sun-kissed New Mexico afternoon. My destination was the old Holloman Air Force base near Alamogordo. Heading south on 54 in my vintage Jeep, I passed through Tularosa around two.

I had the old Jeep’s top down. The wind blew my hair into more of a tousled mess than usual. A secure memory stick rested in my pocket. Orders from Dr. Kincaid to not screw up still rang in my ears.

My stomach growled. It knew what was ahead. I’d skipped lunch on purpose because I knew I’d be down this way.

Just south of Tularosa was this run down shack of a place by the road. It looked like a strong wind could knock down the haphazard construction of weathered boards and galvanized siding. It had been there longer than I’d been driving that road, though.

As it came into view my stomach growled loud enough to be heard over the wind rushing past my head. The shack sat on one side of a big, dirt parking lot on a crossroads five miles south of town. Beyond the huge parking lot was nothing but scrub grass and the low, bumpy blue line of the Sacramento mountains off in the distance.

I slowed the jeep, feeling disappointed. I figured at two in the afternoon the place wouldn’t be so crowded. Instead, the giant dirt and gravel parking lot was filled with pickup trucks and big rigs.

But then Guydoro’s was always busy.

I remember one time I had been so excited to drive up and see the parking lot empty. My excitement turned to crushing disappointment when I realized Guydoro's was closed. A sign on the door said the owners were on vacation. I nearly wept.

I’m sure I wasn’t the only one.

Somehow I found an empty parking space, out near the scrub brush. I hiked over to the building and got in line. The smells of burger on the grill and roasting green chilies made my mouth gush.

Dr. Kincaid had told me, clearly, loudly and forcefully that I was to be at Holloman no later than four o’clock. Blah, blah, blah. You got that Chris, you knucklehead?

You bet, boss.

I glanced at my watch. Even with the long line, I’d still have time to spare.

And it was worth the wait. Oh my goodness was a Guydoro burger worth the wait.

Forty minutes later I sat at the chipped gray Formica counter. I could hardly hear over the din of humanity and clatter of dishes. A waitress with bags under her eyes and a thousand yard stare slid my glorious burger in front of me. It sat on a spotless white ceramic plate, nestled against a drift of crispy crinkle cut fries.

Oh, the beauty of that burger. Thick, meaty hamburger patty. A melty, tangy slice of Cheddar. Chunky, freshly roasted green chilies washed with lime, salt, and garlic. Piles of crispy, smokey bacon. And oh, that pillowy soft, slightly sweet, steamed bun.

I put my hands around it. It was so big, like a flying saucer from planet delicious. I lifted it up, stretching my jaws wide for that first bite. And, oh my god, that first bite. Exploding in my mouth blissful flavor. Beefy, smoky. Spicy and cheesy. Hot juices ran down my throat, over my fingers, my cheeks, down my arms. And I didn’t care, I just took another bite. My eyes rolled up in the back of my head from the sheer pleasure of it.

Yeah, like that.

Except I have to back up again. I missed an important part.

I didn’t realize it was important at the time. Hindsight is a nasty, cold bitch, however. She laughs in your face and says I told you so.

The waitress, lines on her face, bags under her eyes, etc, slid the spotless white plate in front of me. The glorious burger sat there. It looked like the perfect burger fast food restaurants put on their television commercials. Only it was real. Normally when someone ordered a burger from any place else, the thing they get is a sad, gray slab of protein slapped between two halves of a smushed bun.

But not here. No. Guydoro’s gave the money shot on every plate.

My stomach growled. It begged me to start stuffing that burger down my gullet. I reached for the burger.

That’s when the first guy bumped me hard from behind.

Watch it! I said, half turning.

The guy was a giant slab of humanity, dressed in a long, dark coat. That in itself was odd. It was 90 degrees outside, and probably close to that in the shack.

Sorry, he said. His hard eyes bored into me. I didn’t think he meant it.

He moved off and I turned back to my burger. The bun was askew. I didn’t think much of it. I figured I nudged it when I looked at the jerk.

A guy to my right drummed his fingers on the counter. Again, I didn’t think much about it. Impatient for his burger, I thought.

Finally, FINALLY, I put my hands around that glorious burger. I lifted it up and took that first near orgasm inducing bite. And it was that good, just as I remembered it.

Omm mmm grd, I said around my mouthful of burger.

Then my mouth started stinging. And the man to my right started talking as I took the second bite.

He leaned against me. I started to move, but I was blocked from the other side. The big slab of beef in the black coat.

Listen, I don’t have much time, the man with the drumming fingers said.

My mouth was still full of burger. The roof of my mouth and my tongue were tingling. It wasn’t the green chilies.

The man was small, thin, probably in his late fifties or early sixties, dressed in a rumpled brown suit. He grabbed my arm.

Kincaid is wrong about the lattice, he said, He must not use the formula.

My blood froze. How could this guy know about the quantum lattice Dr. Kincaid had been working on? I thought about the secure memory stick in my pocket with the doctor’s formula on it. Kincaid was so paranoid, he wouldn’t send it over the net, he made me physically carry it to the test site.

Who are you? I asked.

The tingling traveled to my cheeks and up to my scalp. It felt like a colony of ants crawling up there. Only the big guy to my left and the rumpled guy next to me stopped me from jumping up and scratching the hell out of myself.

We need to run, professor, the slab of meat in black said.

The man in the rumpled brown suit, who was apparently a professor of some sort, gave him a worried looked.

I know, the professor said. He looked back to me, his hand gripped my shoulder. I’m sorry about this, but it’s the only way they’re going to understand. Remember what I said about the formula. Good luck.

He let go. Slid out of his seat.

Something banged behind me.

The professor froze. Oh no.

I turned. In the doorway, the Stickman unfolded.

People screamed.

THREE

The real name for the Stickman's race is unpronounceable for human lips. When we first made contact with them out near the orbit of Jupiter, they were quickly nicknamed Stickpeople. Their official name is Perseus Clan since they claim to have come from a star in the Perseus cluster.

Whether that’s true or not, we have no way of knowing. They won’t let us on their ships, and they won’t share their technology with humans.

The most unnerving thing about them is the way their bodies change form. The Stickpeople at rest look like a bundle of black sticks. When they’re awake and moving, their thin, multiple limbs skitter and poke about like a nightmare line drawing come to life. The sticks slide and move against each other, making a noise like horribly out of tune violin. People who have been around them say they smell like cinnamon.

They scare the crap out of most people.

According to the treaty they signed, they were also supposed to stay out of places where humans congregate.

Like Guydoro’s roadside burger shack.

Because the sight of them could cause a panic.

Like it was doing right at that moment.

The big slab of beef in black reacted first. He yanked something out of his coat. I caught a glimpse of a Navy issue plasma blaster. The matte black barrel was enormous. It looked like a cannon.

People screamed and ran away from the Stickman, pouring toward the back of the shack. The wave of humanity buffeted me, pressed my back against the counter. The Stickman, Azor (I learned its name later) kept unfolding and moved forward. Screeching like an orchestra of violated violins.

Run Professor! the big guy shouted.

He brought his weapon up and fired. Light erupted from the muzzle. Azor jittered aside. The blast blew a hole in the wall.

The screaming reached a new level. The air stank of ozone and charred wood.

I struggled to move. My ribs creaked as the bleating crowd pushed against me. I really wanted to be running with them. Anywhere would be better than being between the guy with the gun and the Stickman.

I wanted to go home. I wanted my mommy.

The Stickman launched himself at the gunman, a blur of black projections. The plasma blaster went off one more time. The air sizzled. It stank of ozone, cinnamon, and charred meat.

The crowd parted and I slid away from the counter. I gave a last, longing look at my burger and ran. People poured through the kitchen. The cook cursed at them in Spanish, waving a carving knife.

They ignored him. The fight up front scared everyone more than angry cooks with knives.

I let the crowd carry me along.

Moments later I was deposited outside. I stood for a moment. Blinking stupidly in the bright sunshine. People scattered, running for their vehicles.

That sounded like a good idea, so I did the same. I sprinted for my Jeep over at the edge of the parking lot.

Seconds later I was in. I jammed the stick into gear and peeled out of the lot. As I hit the highway a military hoverjet screamed up out of the south. A sonic boom followed it. It rattled the Jeep and thumped my chest.

I looked back. The hoverjet nosed down to a stop. Leveled. Settled down in Guydoro’s parking lot.

Part of me said I should have stayed to give a statement or something. The other part of me said screw that. There were crazy people with guns, scary aliens and now soldiers. I was a civilian. I considered it my civic duty to stay away from those kinds of situations. Let the experts handle it.

I wish I had gotten to finish my burger, though.

I leaned back in the seat. Hot wind rushed through my hair. What had that guy said about Dr. Kincaid’s formula? It was wrong?

My hand went to my pocket.

I yelped. Nearly ran the Jeep off the road.

I stood on the brakes. Left skid marks down the highway. Burned rubber stung my nostrils as I frantically searched my pocket.

The secure memory stick was gone.

FOUR

Here’s a short list of things I should have done:

1. Go back to Albuquerque and tell Dr. Kincaid what happened.

2. Call Dr. Kincaid and tell him what happened, then head for Mexico.

3. Say Screw Kincaid, then hightail it for Mexico and start a new life.

Notice none of those choices involved going back to Guydoro’s and trying to get the memory stick back.

Guess what I did.

Yup.

After I stopped being terrified... After I stopped hyperventilating... After not thinking at all about the consequences of what I was doing...I got mad and jumped back in the Jeep.

I slammed the gearshift into first, then peeled out, turned around and headed back.

Another hoverjet screamed overhead. The sonic boom almost made me crap my pants. The hoverjet landed in Guydoro’s parking lot, next to the first one. Soldiers in silver space armor poured out of the side.

That should have been enough to make me reconsider whatever dumbassed thing I was about to do.

But no, I kept hearing Dr. Kincaid in my head. Don’t bleep this up! If you bleep this up it will be the bleeping end of your bleeping career! Do you bleeping hear me, you bleeping bleep head!

Imagine it being shouted at high volume from a red-faced man who looked like he was one cheeseburger away from a heart attack. A red-faced man who could indeed end my bleeping career.

I liked my career, such as it was.

I even liked Dr. Kincaid. When he wasn’t screaming at me, he was kind of funny.

Plus, he trusted me to get his formula safely to Holloman.

I sent the Jeep skidding into the parking lot. A cloud of dust put a brief screen between me and the soldiers. I jumped out and ran toward the building.

Yes, I am that stupid.

As the dust cleared I saw a solid line of soldiers in sleek silver space armor forming a circle around the building. The thick, black plasma rifles mounted to their arms buzzed.

I stumbled to a stop. That was the point where my plan of action ground to a halt. What was I going to do? Burst through a line of armored soldiers, run into a building containing a hostile looking alien and demand the return of Dr. Kincaid's memory stick?

Yeah, my brain stopped me there.

I put my hands to my head. Dr. Kincaid was going to kill me. He was finally, as he liked to threaten, rip my bleeping head off and poop down my bleeping neck. Only with actual swear words.

Something hard touched the back of my head.

Don’t move.

I turned around. Did I mention that I’m stupid?

It was the big guy in the black coat. His massive brows furrowed. He jammed the warm barrel of the plasma blaster up under my nose.

Didn’t I just tell you not to move? Didn’t I tell you that? Tell me that I didn’t tell you that?

I raised my hands. More movement. Sorry, I said.

Did I tell you to raise your hands? he asked, No, I told you not to move.

I lowered my hands and apologized again.

The big guy rolled his eyes and stuck the black hand cannon back in his coat. He grabbed my arm and dragged me away from the circle of soldiers.

Hey! What are you doing? I asked.

Shut up, moron.

One of you stole Dr.–my memory stick! I said.

He stopped next to my Jeep. Shut up and get in, he said.

He didn’t wait for me to climb into the Jeep. He grabbed the back of my shirt and my belt and heaved me in like I was a sack of beans. I landed halfway in the back, my face pressed up against my pack and my hiking boots.

Before my life blew up, I’d been hoping to do a little hiking around Cloudcroft.

The Jeep creaked and tilted as the big guy got in. I had made things easier for him by leaving the key in the ignition. Yes, I know, I’m stupid, please stop reminding me.

I dragged myself to the passenger’s seat. The Jeep spun out on the gravel and I hung on to the roll bar to keep from being flung out.

Hey! What are you doing! I shouted.

Shut up, idiot, the big guy said.

The Jeep bumped onto the highway. Something exploded behind us.

I looked back to see an orange and red mushroom cloud blossoming where Guydoro's used to be.

Bits of wood and metal spun through the air in lazy arcs.

Something big passed over us.

Look out! I screamed.

The big guy jerked the wheel as a massive commercial grill smacked to the pavement in front of us. Flames roared from torn gaps on its stainless steel sides.

We barely missed it.

I caught a hint of seared beef and bacon as I passed just inches from it. My heart ached for all the burgers that would never be cooked there.

I looked back for just a few moments. Black smoke billowed from the shattered husk of Guydoro's. The armored soldiers fell back to their hover jets. Still shooting at the structure with blasts of blue-tinged light from their plasma guns. Had they killed the Stickman?

I turned back. Slumped down in my seat.

Honestly, I couldn't care less about the Stickman. It was the loss of Guydoro's that really broke my heart. Sure, there were other burger places. But they weren't Guydoro's.

I hoped the owner had survived the blast. I also hoped he had the place insured.

The big guy wrenched the wheel to the right. The Jeep left the highway and bounced down a dirt road.

Hoping for my personal survival was right up there in my top five wishes, too.

Where are you going! I shouted over the rush of air and clatter of metal. My poor Jeep was designed for off-roading–three-quarters of a century ago.

Shut up! the big guy yelled.

I held the roll bar with a death grip as we bounced down the rutted road. A plume of dust rooster tailed behind us. I considered jumping out. The scenery rushed by in a blur. Scrub grass, rocks, clumps of hedgehog cactus and stunted Cholla trees.

I decided to stay. For the moment.

We passed by fields of chili peppers, then swung a hard left at a small pecan tree orchard. Down from the orchard sat a small adobe house. Big man pounded the brakes and slid us to a stop in front of it. The cloud of dust that had been chasing us caught and enveloped us in its rusty brown dirtiness.

The big man glared at me, brushed red dust from his black coat. Why couldn’t you have a real car instead of this toy? he asked.

Before I could answer he shoved me out the side. I landed with a bone jarring thud. Which sent up another cloud of dust. I got to my feet, hands balled into fists. Maybe the guy was three times my size and had a gun that could rip me in half like tissue paper, but I’d had enough.

The guy came around the back of the Jeep and saw me. He laughed.

I ran at him.

He stepped aside, moving so quick I struck nothing but air. I stumbled. Fell to my knees in front of the adobe house.

I noticed feet in front of me. Small feet in worn hiking boots. I looked up. She had her hands on her hips. A frown marred her beautiful features.

Julie.

My fiancé.

FIVE

I sat at a wobbly wooden table inside the adobe house, the goon had dragged me to. The air inside was hot, stifling and smelled of coffee. Julie moved over to a stone topped cabinet. The interior of the place was quite rustic.

For the moment I put aside why my fiancé was making coffee in it. Interfering with her coffee ritual was not recommended.

Really, really not recommended.

Julie took the metal coffee pot from the small gas burner and poured the contents into a dark green thermos.

She was kind of a coffee nut, drinking it morning, noon and night, no matter hot it got outside. I remember she once belonged to a coffee of the month club. She got mad when they discontinued it.

Things got broken that day.

She also didn’t sleep much.

My beautiful fiancé was about five foot eight. Slim, but rounded in all the right places. She had long, black hair and eyes so dark they might as well have been black. She was model perfect.

Way, way, way out of my league.

I didn’t know how I’d gotten so lucky. At the time.

This fine, crazy day she was dressed in bottom hugging, charcoal gray hiking pants and an equally body hugging black tank top. Her hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense pony tail.

Julie, honey, what’s going on? I asked.

She screwed the lid on the thermos, then poured the last of the pot into a chipped blue mug. It had white letters on it that said: Of course I’m having a nice day. Fuck you for asking.

She glared at me and sipped from the grouchy cup. She didn’t add any creamer to her coffee. I like it black as a politician’s heart, she liked to say.

I’m guessing you screwed up again, she said, That’s what’s going on.

That didn’t seem fair. Well, maybe a little. It seemed like I was at least somewhat an innocent victim here. But it looked like the blame train was getting ready to pull into my station. Again.

The front door creaked open and the big guy walked in, brushing more dust from his black coat. He made the little, one room hut look even smaller. His head nearly touched the whitewashed beams that held up the ceiling.

I hid his stupid car, he said, We can’t stay here, though. The Navy’ll be going apeshit from here to Alamogordo in the next few hours.

Julie continued to stare me down. I tried not to cringe, but I couldn’t help it. That look of hers made me feel like I was four years old and I had just had an accident in my pants.

"Could someone please tell me what it going on?" I asked.

Where’s the professor? Julie asked. She still glared at me, but the question was directed at the slab of meat in the dusty black coat.

Dead.

Julie closed her eyes. What happened?

Stickman got the drop on us at the restaurant up the road, he said.

What restaurant? Are you talking about Guydoro’s? Why the hell did you stop there? she asked.

Here eyes bored into me like red hot knives. I found a sudden fascination for the wood patterns on the battered old table I sat at. She never even offered me any coffee.

Dumb dumb here decided to stop for a snack, the big guy said.

I gave him a glare of my own. "It wasn’t a snack. It was a Guydoro’s burger, for god’s sake. Don’t you know what that means?"

Yeah, he said, It means you’re an idiot.

He cracked his knuckles in a way that could only be called menacing.

Enough, Julie said, You two should have waited. We had the rendezvous worked out. Give him the stuff, copy the stick, let dumbass here go his merry way.

Dumbass?

The professor said it was a good time to–

Professor’s a dumbass, too. And dead now, isn’t he?

I stood up.

I don’t know what’s going on here, and I really don’t care, I said. I turned to the big guy. Tried to puff myself up. I need that memory stick you stole from me.

The big guy snorted. Good luck with that, he said, The professor had it.

Shit, how could you have let the professor get killed? Julie asked.

The big guy gave her a narrow-eyed look. Maybe you didn't hear the part about the Stickman? And if that wasn't enough, about a minute I got out of that shack, a hover jet full of Marines in full armor dropped out of the sky on us.

Julie put her hand to her head. She was still for a long moment. Then returned to glaring at me.

Why did you have to stop? she asked me, "Were you wanting to start an interstellar war?"

I was hungry, I said, And I wasn’t doing anything wrong. How about you tell me why you’re out here in this hut with the Terminator here? I thought you were back in Albuquerque.

She shook her head. You don’t know anything about anything, she said. She motioned to the big guy. Tie him up and let’s get going. Maybe we can salvage something out of this operation.

The big guy moved fast, his meaty hands reaching for me. I was quicker.

I tumbled out of the chair. Rolled across the creaky wooden floor. I jumped up. Hurled my body at the open door.

Not fast enough.

The big guy’s hand whipped out. Iron fingers wrapped around my throat. He lifted me in the air.

Maybe we should kill him, he said.

Julie paused. Like she had to think about it.

My head felt like it was going to pop off my body. I couldn't breathe and my heart tried to hammer its way out of my chest.

Julie. Honey. Sweetikins, I said in a strangled gargle.