Apogee, p.1
Apogee, page 1
part #2 of Ballistic Series Series
Table of 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
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
EPILOGUE
Apogee
by Travis S. Taylor
A THRILLER RIGHT OUT OF TODAY'S HEADLINES
MARCUS DORMAN HAS A PLAN FOR THE FUTURE OF HUMANITY—AND IT IS NOT ONE THAT REQUIRES THE CONSENT OF THE PEOPLE.
The war for reality has just reached its peak.
Two years after the Battle for the ISS, the world is still reeling. Nuclear blackouts fractured global power grids—and Marcus Dorman stepped in to rebuild them. Now, his network stretches across continents, threading together energy infrastructure, neural implants, and a constellation of secret quantum satellites.
But this isn’t about money or control anymore. It’s about simulation. It’s about the very substance of our reality!
From deserts to orbit, the Hot Eagle One Task Force races to stop Dorman’s next move: a quantum rendering system seeded with mRNA-linked human minds and powered by sleeper nodes across the planet. Somewhere inside a sensory deprivation tank, Dorman floats—rewriting reality one connection at a time.
As astronauts battle in space, mercenaries clash in the Mongolian steppe, and a mysterious third faction watches from the shadows, the truth becomes terrifyingly clear:
This isn’t just the next war.
It’s the last upgrade . . . for reality!
BAEN BOOKS by TRAVIS S. TAYLOR
BALLISTIC
Ballistic • Apogee
THE TAU CETI AGENDA SERIES
One Day on Mars • The Tau Ceti Agenda
One Good Soldier • Trail of Evil
Kill Before Dying • Bringers of Hell
WARP SPEED SERIES
Warp Speed • The Quantum Connection
WITH JODY LYNN NYE
Moon Beam • Moon Tracks
WITH JOHN RINGO
Into the Looking Glass • Vorpal Blade • Manxome Foe
Claws That Catch • Von Neumann’s War
WITH MICHAEL Z. WILLIAMSON, TIMOTHY ZAHN,
KACEY EZELL, AND JOSH HAYES
Battle Luna
ORION’S ARM WITH LES JOHNSON
Saving Proxima • Crisis at Proxima
WITH LES JOHNSON
Back to the Moon • On to the Asteroid
BAEN BOOKS NONFICTION BY TRAVIS S. TAYLOR
A New American Space Plan
The Science Behind The Secret
Alien Invasion: How to Defend Earth (with Bob Boan)
Apogee
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2026 by Travis S. Taylor
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN: 978-1-6680-7318-6
eISBN: 978-1-964856-53-7
Cover art by Kurt Miller
First printing, March 2026
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Library of Congress Control Number: 2026931432
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Electronic version by Baen Books
www.baen.com
This book is dedicated to Notch.
Thanks for all the hours of family fun.
PROLOGUE
Location Redacted
Date: Unknown
The room was ancient. Vaulted stone, dark marble walls, and hints of gold and silver lined the seams of the giant monolithic blocks. The blocks were covered in glyphs more ancient than any presently known to man—not Egyptian, not Aramaic, not Sumerian, something much much older. No known technologies could be seen in the Chamber anywhere except a central crystalline cube within a cube within a cube—spinning gently on one corner, impossibly, inside a gravity-nullified suspension field. Light pulsed from within it like a rainbow heartbeat pulsing across all the colors of the visible spectrum and even above and below it deep into the infrared and ultraviolet. The UV light pulses were quickly absorbed by the air in the room, creating a luminescent glow about the cube of blues and violets splashing strange shadows across the monolithic quartz table beneath it. There were occasional flashes of purple light with hues of pink and white like lightning as subatomic particles were flung free at the event horizon of the cube within a cube within a cube and moved faster than the speed of light in air and the in the granite, throwing off Cherenkov radiation.
Around the cube within a cube within a cube on the large granite table in the center of the chamber sat fifteen chairs. Each was occupied.
There were no names. Not anymore. Each figure wore a robe of woven nanofiber and black wool, tailored in ways that hinted at age, rank, bloodline. Each robe held a crest over the left breast with its own unique symbol from the ancient language. On the left shoulder was simply a Roman numeral in gold thread that had a faint glow to it as if it were lightly phosphorescent. They were not politicians, not CEOs, not just royal blood from various ancient global monarchies—though they manipulated, controlled, and ruled all three.
They were Filii Vigilum—Children of the Watchers.
Their ancestry stretched back to the First Descent—the moment the Watchers crossed from the upper realms into our world. From their forbidden unions had come the Nephilim, the witches of old taught to speak the language of the ones who controlled the Universe . . . the Elohim. Their bloodlines cursed and blessed from the moment of their births. Jinn, giants, prophets, myths, legends, ancient kings and queens. And from those, them—the purest distillation of post-Enochian inheritance.
They were never named in public. Not even in Bilderberg, Davos, the Vatican Codices, or the hidden forums of Fort Meade. Dorman, Schwab, Gates, Bezos, Musk—they were tools of these shadows. Useful. Controlled. But not initiated, not informed, not of the Watchers’ blood.
They were pawns. They were useful idiots. They were even sometimes playthings.
At the head of the chamber, a figure stood before the spot at the table with an engraved XV. He was the only one in the room wearing no robe—only a perfectly tailored black suit, and a ring shaped like a tesseract. He was from the direct bloodline known for longer than recorded history as The Opposer of the All High, Contraltus, Keeper of Metatron’s Cube. His voice was calm, calculated, but it carried the weight of ancient authority.
“The situation is escalating,” he said. “Shadow Pulse was not the only node. The grid is nearly fully mapped. The sleeper network is active. If it goes active . . .”
Chair XII—an emaciated woman with hair like silver wire but with clear cosmetic surgical enhancements from head to toe—spoke softly. “Does he know?”
“He suspects there is more to this reality,” the hooded figure in Chair IX added. “But Dorman believes he’s in control.”
Quiet, subtle laughter rippled like background static around the room. It was a laugh an adult parent might express when their teen exclaims how dumb they are, or an owner when a dog barks at the vet trying to help it. It wasn’t a laugh of joy or humor. The Fili Vigilum were not evil incarnate. No, they were defiance. They were resistance. They would be vengeance . . . when the time came.
Chair XV lifted a hand. The room immediately responded with silence.
“The AI he’s building—this Project Architect—is dangerous. It can see beyond temporal locks, I think. Its projections might open dimensional layers to him allowing an enlightenment, perhaps knowledge of the language.”
“Contraltus, anyone using N,N-dimethyltryptamine has seen the language and the keepers of the gates,” the man in chair VI replied. “What does it matter if he sees? Nobody will believe him.”
“DMT use is mostly illegal in the world, or it has at least been twisted as stories of drug addicts,” Contraltus said. “Dorman is credible.”
“We could use it, Contraltus,” the thirtysomething woman in chair III suggested.
“A good point, Three.” The similarly aged man in Chair VII leaned forward. “Then, do we allow it?”
“A vote.” The eldest man in the room, Chair XIV, slapped the quartz table. The dense crystal dampened the sound on impact, but the ener gy generated a pulse of light that shot through and across the table in all directions. “Ayes for allow.”
“Hold the vote!” the woman in Chair IIX said. “I must ask, VII: Why do we allow it?”
“Because it is not yet self-aware and neither is he,” XV replied calmly. “And because it will become necessary when we decide to render the new substrate.”
“Then, might I inquire as to what end? Perhaps . . .” Chair II—tattooed from neck to knuckle in Enochian glyphs—smiled, nodded back at IIX, and then turned to XV for assurance. “When we overwrite Babel?”
“Yes,” XV said softly. “Vote.”
“Aye,” murmured the circle in unison. There were no dissenting votes. There almost never were.
Chair XV tapped the glowing crystalline cube within a cube within a cube. It flared once. A planetary grid appeared in midair—hundreds of glowing dots spreading across continents.
“Let the simulation play forward. The QNet satellites are already ours, or at least they will be once they are turned on and go completely online in a matter of days.”
“Does the Pentagon know this?” XI asked. Everyone turned to X.
“My intelligence sources suggests that even the makers of the QNet are unaware of its true control.” X explained.
“Does the WEF know?” asked Chair IV.
“The World Economic Forum, the Skull and Bones, all of the hidden fraternities think they control the narrative. They do not know their own history. Only the most fringe of them believe the Cube is real. None understand it was passed to us after the Fall. After Enoch 108.”
“Woe to those who have betrayed wisdom . . . they shall never rise again . . .” Chair XIII chuckled softly. “We guard the truth. We edit the lie.”
“For they shall see those who were born in darkness given light and clothed in garments of glory.” Chair V added: “And we let the mortals think they’re kings.”
Chair XV stepped down from his pedestal. “This plan of Schwab and Dorman is useful. Let them climb. When they reach the apex . . . they will find we already built the tower.”
XV stood with his palms up and slowly cited . . .
“And the Seraphim hovered, their wings a thousandfold fold, all raised voices to intone the thrice-hallowed cry:
“‘Hail! Hail! Hail! All High!’
“But when a single voice faltered—melting with doubt or breath out of tune—a flash of crystalline lightning tore through the assembly. The impure were ash before the footstool of glory.”
The words fell solemnly on the room triggering the unison response from all . . .
“Even Metatron, the Voice of the Throne, dared to question. In wrath, the All High dispelled him into the furnace of seven flames—
“His wings ablaze, his quill scorched.
“He was scourged by lashes of righteousness until his tears etched streams in the celestial enamel.
“All to remind the Host: none shall stand above the All High.”
The chant was followed by a single in-unison clap of hands.
“So,” Chair XII’s voice was barely audible. “And what of Dorman’s quantum AI?”
“We teach it the way of our ancestors,” said XV. “We breed it with the knowledge of the Watchers and the language of the Elohim. We take our AI and absorb it when the time is right. Then . . . we use it to our ends. Babel will be again.”
“When they reach the apex . . . they will find we already built the tower.” II smiled to many agreeing nods to the words written about the edge of the table.
The crystalline orb dimmed as he tapped it once more. Far above them, hidden Above-Top-Secret American quantum satellites shifted trajectory in perfect harmony. The world would soon change. The Pillars of Heaven would soon shake.
And the Filii Vigilum would decide what came next. XV held his hands above his head once more with his palms facing outwardly. The room once again nodded together and spoke in unison almost a battle cry . . .
“Those who scheme in shadows, whispering of equality, I will cast into the chasm of Draconia—where dissonant echoes claw the air, and their voices burn unanswered for all eternity.”
CHAPTER 1
Six Weeks Ago
Broad Scope Power Headquarters, Austin, Texas
Marcus Dorman strode into the high-tech control center of Broad Scope Power, the nerve center for global energy reconstruction. Two years had passed since tactical nuclear strikes had flattened the world’s energy grid, and the world was still patching itself back together. And per Marcus’s plans within plans within plans and schemes upon schemes, he was the one holding the needle and thread. More to the point he was the one the world was paying double-digit trillions to over the next decade to repair it, to upgrade it, and to redesign it toward his purpose.
Around him, engineers and analysts worked at holographic consoles, monitoring real-time grid data from across the globe. High-resolution displays showed the fractured power networks in regions that had suffered direct or secondary EMP damage from the attacks—Texas, Eastern Europe, parts of East Asia. All of the world had been impacted by the collapse of the major grid networks. Any that hadn’t been directly hit were lucky and had agreed to funding upgrades to protect them in the future.
At the head of the room, Daniel Herrington, CEO of Broad Scope Power, looked far less nervous than he had two years ago. Back then, he had been a regional player in the energy sector. Now? Now he worked for Marcus Dorman. As per usual with Dorman, he didn’t bother with pleasantries.
“Status.” Marcus demanded.
“Hello to you, too, Marcus.” Herrington tapped the table, and a massive 3D projection of the global power grid flickered into place. “The Texas grid is operating at eighty-seven percent restoration, ahead of schedule.”
“Hmm.” Marcus gave him little in the way of expression.
“And,” Herrington continued, “we’ve reconnected one-point-three million homes in the past eight months. Full redundancy should be in place within the next fiscal quarter.”
“Not good enough,” Dorman said flatly. “I want full capacity in six weeks.”
Herrington barely flinched. He had learned that arguing was pointless.
“Our European sectors are at seventy-two percent operational, but Germany is still behind—”
“Because they keep fighting us on automation,” Dorman cut in. He turned to his very ever-present personal assistant, Meena. “Send another offer to Bundesnetzagentur. Make it clear that if they don’t authorize full AI-assisted grid management, we walk.”
Meena nodded and sent the message instantly.
“Uh, okay.” Herrington adjusted the display, zooming into Asia. “China and Russia rebuilt their own grids independently, but they’re integrating our power storage tech into their state-run systems.”
“Ha!” Dorman smirked. “They don’t trust us, but they can’t function without us.”
Dorman leaned in, studying the data. Power flow, load distribution, storage integration. The new grid wasn’t just being repaired, it was being more than just upgraded. But only Dorman and a handful knew that. Even fewer knew why.
“What about the prototypes?” Dorman asked.
“Let me see . . .” Herrington hesitated. “The next-gen units are rolling out on schedule. The first batch of smart-fusion relay hubs is in final testing. But the AI integration—”
“AI?” Dorman turned to him, eyes sharp. “What about it?”
“Slower, I’m afraid.” Herrington exhaled. “We’re not seeing expected efficiency gains. The neural optimization models don’t fully predict load variances in real time.”
