The Last Everything

by Frank Kennedy

  “Get Michael to the boat. We’re the only ones who can save him.”

  He cast the flashlight upon her. She was dazed but not sobbing. Jamie couldn’t stand around waiting for her confusion to clear up.

  “Maybe …” she muttered. “The explosives wouldn’t have gone off unless Daddy triggered them. That was the plan. A diversion for escape, if we ever needed it.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I need your help. We’re going to the boat. Move.”

  Sammie nodded, a strange smile overcoming her. She obeyed Jamie, and they carried Michael down the pier. Standing over the boat, Jamie reached a haphazard decision about transferring Michael. Although his own strength was all but sapped, Jamie thought he’d do better on the receiving end. He and Sammie sat Michael down on the edge of the pier, the teen’s feet dangling over the side and touching the outboard. Jamie jumped into the boat while Sammie held Michael steady.

  “OK, Sammie. Careful.”

  Jamie sat the flashlight on the cushioned passenger seat in the stern. He reached over the edge, hoping the boat wouldn’t sway or bang against the pier. Sammie pushed Michael forward. The boy fell helplessly into the boat, straight for Jamie’s embrace. Sammie jumped in, grabbed the flashlight and helped Jamie lay their friend on the long, cushioned seat.

  “How is he still alive?” She whispered. “He’s been moved so much.”

  He pointed a finger in her face. “He’s gonna make it.”

  “OK, Jamie. Yeah. He’s gonna make it. What do we do now?”

  “The bow line. Untie it. I’ll get this thing running.”

  Jamie crossed his fingers, grabbed the flashlight and hoped for a little luck. Sometimes boat owners were careless and left the key in the ignition. When Jamie saw otherwise, he hoped to rely on the value of experience. He ducked under the steering wheel, turned over on his back and shined the flashlight onto a jumble of electrical wires.

  Jamie focused on the lessons learned during and since the night he and Michael stole their first car. He searched for the right combination of wires. When he heard the soothing rumble of the bilge pumps, he smiled. Sammie stood behind the driver’s seat and handed Jamie the pistol.

  “Watch over Michael,” she said. “I’ll drive.”

  He took the weapon and nodded. Jamie saw the desolation on her face and knew she wouldn’t turn on him again – at least not right away. She was still in shock.

  “Run it full out,” he said. “Coop doesn’t have much time.”

  She grabbed the wheel like a pro and pushed the throttle forward. She told Jamie to have a seat beside Michael. He all but fell to the deck, his energy given out. As soon as he did, she throttled all the way up.

  The boat sprinted across Lake Vernon, passing through slivers of fog. Jamie had no sense of speed or direction anymore, only sheer and utter exhaustion. He leaned against the passenger seat, his head inches from Michael’s, his best friend’s blood smeared over both of them.

  “I’m sorry, Coop. I’m so sorry.”

  Jamie wanted to cry, but he didn’t have the ability. He watched Sammie from behind, her features now cast in a pale blue glow.

  Jamie dropped his head. His eyes fell upon his blood-splattered wristwatch, which illuminated green. Just before he closed his eyes, no longer able to stay awake, Jamie saw the time: 5:56 a.m.

  He succumbed to the truth and fell asleep anyway.

  He had four hours to live.

  Exogenesis

  15 years ago

  B enjamin Chevallier didn’t want to abandon his family name. They were taking his friends, his memories, his dreams, even his stream amp. Why couldn’t he retain something of his own in the new world? He used to think his parents cared.

  “I’m almost in Tier 3,” he told his father. “I’m in the top two percent of my class.” Tom Chevallier sighed and told his eight-year-old son to look beyond classical education.

  “The Tiers teach us about the past. They show us what was built centuries ago, before the fall. No amount of schooling will save the Chancellors from themselves. We need adventurers who are willing to cast tradition aside. The Chevallier descendency will be remembered for its courage in charting this daring new path.”

  Benjamin couldn’t tell whether his father was sincere or borrowing from the propagandist rhetoric he wrote for instream broadcasts. Tom Chevallier was the leading counter-voice to the rising influence of The United Green. “No price is too high,” he ended each broadcast. “No sacrifice too small. A future without Chancellors is impossible.”

  Benjamin lacked the courage to tell his father that yes, the price was too high. He shouldn’t have to lose his future to save generations yet to be born. Twenty hours was not enough warning to unpack his life and seal it behind a holo-storage barricade.

  “Fifteen years is not a lifetime,” his father said. “The new world will fascinate you. Benjamin, even their most forward-thinking geniuses know a pittance of what you have accumulated in eight years. Examining humanity in a nativist, even tribal state, will shed light on our own humble beginnings. These lessons will provide you with wisdom our people will need to hear. True, you will not take a predictable path through the Guard or the Bureau, but you will come out ahead. Trust in yourself, Benjamin.”

  Tom was asking for too much, but the boy had no options. At first, he asked about staying with grandparents in Paris, or with his cousins on the Ark Carrier Septimius, orbiting Catalan. His parents said “no” before he made his case. “Security,” they insisted. “If suspicions are raised, you might place the mission in jeopardy. Many members of The United Green hide in plain sight,” they explained. “Trust is in short supply.”

  Benjamin asked about his new surname, but it remained as classified as their destination. They would tell him en route, after their shuttle left the city. In the meantime, they told him to make a short list of things his heart most wanted to do before leaving. Anything was acceptable, so long as it did not involve saying goodbye to his friends. “They will not forget you.”

  He asked to spend the night alone on the beach. Benjamin gathered a camping roll of essentials and walked four city blocks before he reached the shore. New Stockholm’s glimmering oceanside towers disrupted a clear view of the night sky, so Benjamin tapped his stream amp to find a remedy. The node implanted above his right temple burst into a holographic cube awaiting his instructions. Chasing his fingers through the cube, he found a spatial dimmer. The boy grabbed hold and tossed the magnetic curtain around him, creating a field to redirect light. The universe revealed itself in pristine glory, as it might have to primitives thousands of years ago.

  He laid out his bedding and rested his head. The wind was light, and the waves lapped the shore with delicate toes. Benjamin leaned his head toward the north and with a measured pace, recited the name of every star, every constellation, every galaxy he knew, which was most. He stopped whenever he reached a colony world’s star system, many of which were visible. When he called out each planet’s name, he tapped the amp and brought up a long-range image of the world.

  “Catalan. Xavier’s Garden. Zwahili Kingdom. Moroccan Prime. G’hladi. Hokkaido. New Riyadh. Brasilia Major. Mariabella. Brahma.”

  He wondered. Would the stars be the same in another universe? Were those same planets teeming with life or waiting for humans to reach out to them someday? Does anyone on the other Earth ask these questions? Do they care about the glory of feeling space beneath their feet? Or staring out an Ark Carrier two hundred light-years from home, proud of how far their ancestors brought them? Nativist, his father called them. Tribal. The words chilled Benjamin more than the night air.

  He wanted to learn kwin-sho. He wanted to fight for the Unification Guard, maintaining ethnic stability on the colonies. Even if the Chancellory was meant to fade away, at least he could have been among the last to experience the thrills most children craved.

  The more Benjamin thought of these dreams destroyed, the angrier he grew. He decided to defy his parents and co
ntact his friends. He’d be careful what he said. They’d never suspect a thing. “Father is wrong. They WILL forget me.” He tapped his amp and then the circastreams.

  When his commands fell on a muted response and the cubes did not open, Benjamin pounded sand. They had nullified direct cubes to anyone other than his parents. He couldn’t even contact Grandma in Paris.

  Benjamin closed his eyes and cried.

  He sobbed not just because of the life he was about to lose but because he would journey to the new world willingly. He sobbed because he knew by the time the sun rose, he would gather himself together and make his father proud, as any good Chancellor boy might. He sobbed because he dared not in front of adults.

  Somewhere along the way, Benjamin cried himself to sleep. When he woke, the sun was sneaking above the Atlantic horizon. His father sat beside him. Tom Chevallier didn’t need to say the words. But he must have seen the dried tears caked on the boy’s cheeks, for he grabbed Benjamin by the hand and held firm. Benjamin saw a glimmer of water in the corners of his father’s eyes, and then a smile.

  “Trust me,” Tom said. “I will always be there for you.”

  One hour later, a doctor wrapped Benjamin in a surgical stasis cube and guided an extraction laser inside the boy’s brain. There, it carefully annihilated the tool designed to integrate with Benjamin’s nervous system for life. His Chancellor identity, his repository of instant knowledge, the collection of vids he gathered on his journeys across Earth and her inner colonies. His favorite Tier instructors and closest friends. The historical logs of the kwin-sho masters. The music of Jean-Michael Sibelius, and the anthems of each division of the Guard.

  When the procedure ended, Benjamin felt naked. He was a helpless child with no choice but to follow his parents on this mad exile based on goals too big for him to understand.

  He ate a simple breakfast and changed into a new set of clothes. Tom insisted this dress would help them fit in during the transition phase. The scouts had little time to collect intelligence, but it was enough. Tom named them blue jeans, t-shirt, belt, and baseball cap. Each member of the Observer team left with a suitcase and a few non-perishables to help them survive. They were allowed nothing that might open themselves to scrutiny or provide clues should the Green ever pursue them.

  Benjamin was numb. He boarded a shuttle which left their private landing and rendezvoused with another craft an hour outside the city. Six others joined them – all but the pilot destined for the new world. As they stood idle in an open pasture and waited for the final shuttle, Benjamin listened quietly as people he did not know introduced themselves. His parents greeted them like old friends or political allies.

  As the final shuttle neared, Tom and Marlena stood at his side.

  “You are Benjamin Sheridan,” his mother said. “I chose the surname. It belonged to a descendency that died out two centuries ago. Say it.”

  He muttered the words. Marlena was not satisfied. “Again.”

  “Benjamin Sheridan. I am Benjamin Sheridan.”

  Better, she said as the crab-shaped shuttle neared its landing. “We have a surprise for you. You always wanted to have a little brother. Yes?”

  The thought never occurred to the boy.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will.” She bent down beside her son. “The child who steps off that ship may be the face of our future. But he is a child. Very small, very alone. You will be good for each other. Yes?”

  Benjamin faced his father, whose shoulders were rigid, chin high, carrying an air of excitement.

  “What is so special about him?”

  Tom did not break his stare as the ship landed. “This boy is the first of his kind. He is two years old, Benjamin, but what lies inside him is a million years old. An intellect far beyond our understanding. A chance worth taking if we are to survive.”

  Five more Observers departed the shuttle, each carrying a suitcase. A sixth – still draped in Chancellor business attire – held the boy’s hand. Benjamin couldn’t grasp the magnitude of it all: This many Observers for a golden-haired child who seemed barely outside the crib.

  “His memory has been adjusted,” Tom said. “Play along, Benjamin. The child is eager to meet you.”

  The escort brought the boy to the Sheridans. She kneeled at his side.

  “Jamie, this is your family. Now that you have recovered, you can go home with them. Remember how we talked about your brother?” Jamie nodded, and the escort faced Benjamin. “Say hello to Jamie. You haven’t seen each other since he was a newborn. Yes?”

  Benjamin caught his parents’ insistent eyes and knelt.

  “Hello, little brother. I’m very happy to see you again.”

  Jamie paused before sneaking in a smile.

  “Miss Frances says you like to play games. Can we play games?”

  “Sure, Jamie. We’ll play something the first chance we can. OK?”

  Benjamin wanted to cry. They were doing the same thing to this little boy: Stripping away his identity, creating a lie suitable for a life in exile. Except Jamie did not have a clue about any of it.

  His parents introduced themselves and hugged Jamie, acting as if they had not touched their son since his birth. The escort, an imperious woman with beautifully coiffed, sweeping red hair and wearing a jewel-incrusted floral sari, showed no emotion as the Sheridans prepared to walk away with this child. Yet Benjamin saw it in her features – the boy carried her eyes.

  She was giving her son away and acted as if Jamie were no more than a commodity. The last thing she said before returning to her shuttle:

  “We will see you in fifteen years. Complete your mission with fidelity.”

  And then she was gone, not so much as a wave to the boy.

  He wanted to resent the child, but no matter how much anger he tried to stir, Benjamin could not get past a simple realization:

  He and Jamie were trapped. If he did not show any love for Jamie, who would?

  Two hours later, he held his little brother’s hand as they crossed the Interdimensional Fold.

  PART TWO

  INTO THE LIGHT

  Son,

  As you near the end of your life, you have many questions. However, you are too young to understand all the answers. You cannot comprehend the full nature of your role in the future. We can offer unto you the small comfort that everything about to pass is essential to the growth and vitality of the human race. It is this knowledge that convinced us, with much remorse, to send you on such a frightful path.

  From the moment of your conception, you were loved. We knew you would be different, a new design, but we celebrated your unique and limitless potential. The brief time we spent with you filled our hearts with a joy unspeakable among our caste. However, we came to understand why you were brought into our lives, even if for a short while.

  We hope the Mentor program has played these recorded thoughts and many more as you sleep, and they provide you with warmth and peace of mind. You are our greatest gift to humanity, and we miss you deeply.

  With Fondest Regards,

  Mother

  Father

  26

  J AMIE DREAMED. He saw his mother tuck him into bed and kiss him on the forehead. She told him tomorrow was a new challenge, and a strong boy should be prepared for whatever life brought his way.

  He watched her neatly arrange the bobbles on his nightstand and position the alarm clock so Jamie could reach it comfortably when it went off in the morning. He asked Mom whether she knew any goodnight prayers, because all the other children said their parents shared a prayer before sleep. But Mom said no, the Sheridan family wasn’t like others. We think for ourselves, she said. Jamie smiled and closed his eyes. She turned off the lamp.

  Jamie saw her glide through the shadows and for a second, her silhouette occupied the doorway. She shut the door, leaving him surrounded in darkness.

  Something was wrong.

  He sensed cracks in the darkness, a wall between him a
nd a dangerous unknown. Mom wasn’t who she said she was. She never loved him; she didn’t know how.

  The truth chewed at his flesh and raced through his brain like a rat in a sewer. The pain extended through his chest, where tightness formed just above his heart, radiating outward into a burning, thrashing sensation. Jamie resisted the urge to cry.

  He opened his eyes to the gray-blue of dawn and felt a breeze. An outboard engine roared behind him, and he held a pistol in his right hand. He saw splattered blood. Michael lay on the cushioned seat beside him, his chest still rising and falling slowly.

  Jamie remembered each detail of the past four hours.

  “All a lie,” he whispered.

  He eyelids felt heavy, as if awakening from hours of deep sleep. The breeze hit him full-on, as Sammie was still piloting at open throttle over the glass-slick lake. They passed through clumps of fog, and the mist hung thick in the morning air. He turned to Michael, and reality overtook him. Even if they got his best friend to a hospital in time, the injuries must have been so massive, the blood loss so profound, his body moved around too much for him to have any real chance.

  Jamie wondered whether he was sentencing his friend to a life of endless pain in hospitals or in a wheelchair. The bullet holes were so close to the spine. He didn’t expect Michael’s forgiveness, only an understanding that his No. 1 had to do everything in his power to keep Michael alive.

  Sammie didn’t realize Jamie was standing, but she kept her word: The boat indeed headed for Austin Springs. Jamie saw the town’s twinkling lights and the vague outlines of stores along the lakefront. They were still more than a mile away. A mile from …

  Something didn’t make sense. The lumbering stiffness vanished; he felt refreshed. The extreme exhaustion that grounded him before reaching the dock disappeared. Hours should have passed to feel this invigorated.

  “I don’t get it,” Jamie said, looking at his wristwatch.