The Mammoth Book of Futuristic Romance (Mammoth Books)

by Trisha Telep

  The plane landed in Newark. It had been a very bumpy landing, but not much rougher than one into Newark she’d experienced on a 1990 observing trip. The difference now was that the airport wasn’t officially operating anymore. The jagged ruins of the New York City skyline were visible in the distance. None of the bridges linking New Jersey to New York still stood.

  “Almost there,” Rakesh said after they climbed down the ladder that got them to the ground.

  “Almost,” she told Rakesh. They paused long enough to smile at each other. She was going to miss him when she was gone. They held hands. It was becoming a habit. “Let’s head to the ferry dock.”

  The boat was approaching the Battery Dock when Frannie’s mission log kicked on. “Your GPS indicates you have reached physical objective. Stand by.”

  She blinked and sat up straight. She’d been leaning against Rakesh, warm and relaxed, enjoying the ride. All of a sudden she was back in her real world.

  “Francine,” her scholar’s voice spoke inside her head. “If your controller has done his job correctly you have traveled from Paris to New York in the company of one of General Dehn’s commando force. As you are already aware but do not acknowledge, your controller is a member of the Starshine Group. What you do not know is that I am also a Starshiner.”

  Frannie gasped.

  Rakesh asked, “What’s wrong?”

  Her scholar went on speaking. “I arranged your assignment, not because I want you to observe a murder, but because I want you to prevent one. The Starshiners want to save General Dehn from the assassin sent by the Elect to kill him. You have a sense of justice that you try to hide. Use that sense of justice. Stop a murder. Help the people. You have spent the last several days traveling through a blighted world that your own ancestors did a great deal to create. You have witnessed first-hand the damage the Elect fostered to achieve the world you and I and your controller live in. You have been taught all your life that the residents of the enclaves were neutral, that they hid themselves away and did no harm to anyone, other than to fend off attacks from the outside. Lies.”

  Did her scholar think he was surprising her with that revelation? They’d had the right to defend themselves from attacks. Did the Starshiners – her own scholar – really believe the Elect had been murderers as well?

  She was surprised at his political sympathies – which could get her in a lot of trouble. “You’re one of the Elite, too,” she said.

  “What?” Rakesh asked.

  He turned her to face him. She looked through him, her attention on what she was being told by her mission log.

  “The history you know states that General Dehn died while he was giving a speech. This fact is a tiny footnote in what we call the Ruin Times. We claim to have very little information about the time you are in. Because, after all, the Elite were closed up in the enclaves while the world burned around them. Have you noticed how few missions have been sent back to this era? Because the Elite would love to place the whole era under interdiction, but that would rouse suspicions.”

  She’d assumed scholars just weren’t that interested.

  “I have evidence that Dehn will be killed to keep him from organizing a movement that could become dangerous to the Elects’ policy of letting the world go to hell until it is time to come out of the enclaves and take complete power themselves. I want you to save Dehn. His movement might not be able to save the world, but I think anyone who tries to help in the Ruin Times deserves a chance to try. You have to make a choice now, Francine. Let Dehn die or save him. That is all,” the mission log ended.

  “Oh, fuck.”

  “Francine?”

  She found herself looking into Rakesh’s worried face.

  Anyone who tries to help in the Ruin Times deserves a chance.

  She put her hand on his cheek. It was warm, faintly rough with new stubble. Alive. Real. He was so alive and real and – good.

  Damn it! She hated using that word. She was cynical, jaded, just a little corrupt. She was an observer, not a doer.

  She hated having witnessed how this one mailman’s acts of kindness had added to what passed for civilization back here. She hated that she remembered these acts with fondness, and pride. She tried telling herself that he wasn’t doing any good, really.

  But he wasn’t the only mailman out there, was he? They hadn’t started out as peaceful couriers, had they? What was Dehn planning for them? Would they follow?

  Could he change the world? Save it?

  “Do you want to save the world?” she asked Rakesh. “Do you really think you could?”

  “I am saving the world,” he answered. “One delivery at a time.”

  “You’re saving your soul,” she spat back at him. “You’re trying to make up for your mercenary past.”

  “That too,” he agreed. “What are you doing to save your soul?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Her own words took Frannie completely by surprise. She’d been so set up, and she knew it. It hurt. Instead of making her angry, it hurt. Pain stabbed all the way through her, from her head to her heart and all the way down to her toes. And why didn’t she doubt for a moment what her scholar told her? She’d always had a nagging belief that her ancestors were callous about the chaos outside the enclaves. Their writings had claimed there was nothing they could do to save the world but what they did. She’d believed their sins were of omission not commission. Now she’d had her nose rubbed in that lie.

  What was she going to do?

  Why was she even asking herself that? She should go home and turn the Starshine traitors in. She should cover her ass. She should—

  Rakesh brushed his lips across hers, a gentle angel’s kiss. Her head swirled with confusion and she began to cry. She never cried! He held her close and she cried on Rakesh’s shoulder while the ferry’s hull ground up against the side of the dock. She was vaguely aware of the other passengers moving around them to get off the boat.

  “It’s time to go,” Rakesh said.

  She reluctantly moved away from him. She nodded. “It is.”

  This is a con, she told herself as she accompanied Rakesh into the wreck of Lower Manhattan.

  “When’s your meeting?” she asked after her mind ran around in circles too long for her to take it anymore.

  “I’m not sure I’m going. I can guess what the general wants. I don’t want to be talked into it.”

  Right. He’d really only come to New York to make deliveries. He wanted to believe he was doing as much as he could.

  “You’ll be there,” she told him. “You won’t be able to stay away.”

  “Yeah. Probably.”

  “I’m coming with you,” she said. That wasn’t a surprise. Her scholar had authorized her to be at the meeting no matter what he really wanted her to do. What surprised her was when she added, “It’s a far, far better thing I do . . .”

  “What?”

  Frannie drew Rakesh into a deep doorway and held his shoulders. She took a deep breath and spoke very fast. “The truth is, I am not from one of the Elect enclaves – not from this time period. I was sent from the future to save the world. It wasn’t my idea, but there it is. Actually, your general and you mailmen are supposed to save the world. My job is to save your general. I can’t do it by myself. Are you in?”

  Of course he looked at her like she was crazy. Then he looked thoughtful. He reached up and took her wrist to turn it and look at her implant. “I thought this looked odd,” he said. “And I’ve never heard one of the Elect calling herself Elite. And how did you get into my place without getting through my security? And what Elect would have sex with one of the riff-raff?”

  “Very enjoyable sex,” she said.

  “Good. We’ll do it again.” He kissed her palm. “What are we going to do to save the general?”

  “God, you’re easy,” she told him.

  “I’m also good at taking orders I believe in.Tell me what we’re doing?”

  �
��We’re running,” she said. “I’ll think of something along the way.”

  The meeting place was in the lobby of the Chrysler Building. It was the only skyscraper still standing in the city. Not in very good shape, but it was still standing.

  There was a group of mailmen already in the lobby when they got there. Frannie recognized Salome. Several more came in while Rakesh and Frannie caught their breath.

  “What’s up, bro?” Salome asked, coming up to them, along with several others who were happy to see Rakesh.

  “Hey, Colonel,” somebody said. “I lost a bet over your showing. Glad I did.”

  “The general will be glad to see you.”

  Frannie wasn’t surprised when Salome clapped Rakesh on the shoulder, but she didn’t like Salome touching him. Any more than she had in the Chunnel, she admitted.

  Frannie left Rakesh to explain to his comrades. “The Elect are going to kill the general. Here and now.”

  This was all the information the mailmen needed. They believed Rakesh instantly, and waited for him to give them orders.

  “Riff-raff, eh?” Frannie asked him.

  He gave her a crooked smile. “Your turn,” he told her.

  She couldn’t demand that the general not give his speech. History said he was killed giving it. Some bits of history had to go the way they were supposed to, even if the details got changed.

  She turned slowly, taking in a growing crowd of black-haired, blue-eyed people in the lobby. People were still coming in. Most of them were in duster coats, carrying mailbags. They were a homogeneous genetically engineered lot. On the periphery of this group some of the former soldiers had already turned to form a perimeter. To protect her? Keen glances were surreptitiously scanning the rest of the crowd. A pair had peeled off and were casually making their way toward the elevator alcove. Frannie supposed the general was waiting there. Damn, these guys were good.

  “The assassin will look like you,” she told them. “There’s probably more than one. Rakesh, is your puter battery still charged?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do all of you carry handhelds?”

  Puters appeared from beneath duster coats with the speed of fast-draw pistols.

  “Search for ID chips,” Frannie told the mailmen. “The Elect of the right age for this mission will be the right age to have been chipped as kids.”

  Rakesh was scanning for the IDs before she finished her explanation. Yep, the mailmen were good. Especially Rakesh.

  “Got one,” he whispered within moments.

  “Got him,” Salome added. She started to move away.

  Rakesh grabbed her by the elbow. “Wait for it.” He looked back at the puter screen. “There’s a second one moving toward the alcove.” He looked around at the watching mailmen. He made hand signals they understood and Frannie could guess at.

  Several mailmen moved to block the alcove. They started shouting at each other and a knife fight broke out. This blocked the Elect heading toward the general.

  It also drew the attention of the assassin closer to the entrance.

  Rakesh headed that way while the Elect was momentarily diverted. Rakesh’s knife was drawn. Frannie went with him. But the mailman was just a little bit faster than she was.

  The assassin’s throat was slit before she had the chance to suggest he be taken prisoner. At least there was still one more they could interroga—

  “Go!” Rakesh spun away from the falling body, just barely avoiding a spray of blood.

  The mailmen moved on the man near the alcove. And there was no one left to interrogate.

  Oh, well, it had been a thought. Frannie didn’t really mind the lost chance at gaining intel. General Dehn’s movement had all of her considerable knowledge at their disposal. Because she sure as hell couldn’t go home now. When Rakesh put his arm around her waist, she knew she didn’t want to.

  General Dehn stepped out of the alcove as soon as the bodies were hauled into a corner. He moved onto a low platform and gestured. The mailmen gathered around. Rakesh drew her forward with him into the group. He held her tightly pressed to his side, and she put her arm around him as well.

  She knew that her retrieval point and its data outlet hidden at the United Nations ruin would have to be secured fairly quickly, before the disruption in the timestream caused it to disappear. They needed the info dump before this successful Starshiner operation was detected back home. But for now she stood solidly with Rakesh and the others, and waited to hear what the general had to say.

  Nobody’s Present

  Marcella Burnard

  “Ms Selkirk?” A young man poked his head through the doorway. Though he looked in my general direction, he wouldn’t meet my gaze.

  I put the science brief I’d been pretending to read back in my case and rose.

  The damned guy’s eyes went straight to my legs. My one-time sorority sister, Jill, had insisted I wear a skirt for the interview. I’d let her talk me into it when every instinct had screamed “slacks”. It isn’t that they aren’t nice legs. They are. I work for them to be nice legs. But it was late December, barely a week before Christmas, and I wasn’t interviewing for pole-dancer.

  This was a shot at a private space program. I’d done my research, and I wanted in. I was ready for a long-term project with potential worldwide impact. But I didn’t want it said I’d gotten in on the value of my stems.

  “Ma’am, the comman—” he broke off and flushed. “Mr Carrollus will see you now.”

  “Thank you,” I said, giving no outward sign that I’d noticed his slip. But I cataloged it and felt the first tingle of warning drip down my spine.

  ‘Commander,’ he’d tried not to say. Interesting. Not in a good way.

  He swung the door open, keeping it between us as if I might start shooting at any moment. I hesitated at the threshold, trying to sense what I might be walking into.

  Office. Immaculate. Big. Bright. Typical, distressing, unidentifiable color of commercial carpet.

  The smell of fresh coffee lingered in the room, but I caught no hint of any other odor beneath it. Not even of furniture polish or carpet glue.

  In one corner, a fake Christmas tree glittered with tiny, multicolored lights and ornaments. Fancy baskets filled with poinsettias and other plants dotted the room. They were lush, green, well-cared for. Built-in white display cases were arranged with gleaming books and art pieces.

  Below the cases, a brown leather love seat and a matching armchair were fronted by a glass coffee table set with a polished silver coffee service. Steam curled from the spout of the pot.

  Almost as an afterthought, a rich cherrywood desk sat tucked behind an exuberant ficus near the window.

  To my relief, the holiday elevator music that had been piped into the reception area didn’t intrude into the office.

  At the wet bar stood a man pouring an iced seltzer with a twist of lime that sent a burst of spicy citrus across my olfactory receptors. Commander Carrollus, I presumed. Tall, dark, and out of uniform, unless Armani was building his own, well-dressed, pinstriped army.

  My mouth watered. The lime? Or the man?

  “Sir,” the young man hid behind the door, “Ms Selkirk.”

  Carrollus turned.

  I had to combat the effect of gravity on my jaw. Tall. I’d said that. But, really. I’m five foot ten in my cute little “rocket scientist to my toes” socks. In my sensible but passably sexy pumps, I pushed six feet. I still had to tilt my chin up to look him in the eye. Broad shoulders, strong arms, narrow waist, all of the classic descriptors of male beauty present and accounted for. But that face. Cheekbones and nose carved by a master sculptor, check. Lips that instantly reminded me I hadn’t entertained an unclothed man in over a year, check.

  But none of those good looks mattered to me. Much.

  It was the grave weight of responsibility in those midnight blue eyes, the sense of power. He had command presence. And that scared the crap out of me.

  So I smiled,
strode into the office, and extended a hand. I couldn’t escape the thought that no matter how much I hated the holidays, I’d be happy to find him under my tree. I could so get into unwrapping him.

  His gaze swept me, lingered on the damned legs, but rose again nearly quickly enough that I might not have noticed had I not been studying him. I thought I detected a flicker of appreciation in his gaze and in the quirk of his faint smile. He shook my hand and squeezed gently.

  Warmth zinged across each nerve fiber in my body, putting every single biological system on high alert. As if I hadn’t already processed the fact that he was far too attractive for my peace of mind.

  His eyes widened, and he glanced at our clasped hands.

  I took marginal comfort in knowing I wasn’t the only one affected.

  “Unexpected,” he murmured.

  “No kidding,” I said.

  His gaze flicked to my face and he frowned. “Explain.”

  I awarded him the same bland look I turned on my high-school students when they gave me the “what assignment?” line. “I teach physics. Not chemistry.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement before he wiped all expression from his face.

  “Ms Selkirk,” he said in a smooth, rich voice with just a hint of dialect.

  The sound shot another burst of “Hey, stupid, he’s sexy” hormones into my already overly-aware body.

  “Won’t you have a seat?” He nodded at the sofa. “May I offer you something to drink?”

  Needing both the distraction and the fortification, I asked, “Is there real cream to go with that coffee?”

  He stepped in beside me, and tucked my hand – the one he’d never released – into the crook of his elbow to escort me across the room. “I believe so,” he said with the air of someone who knew precisely that no one would dare bring coffee into his office without real cream in the frosty creamer.

  He released me.

  Mr Carrollus sat in the armchair and poured coffee for both of us.

  I sank to the edge of the sofa, and settled my briefcase against the coffee table. A surreptitious glance around the room assured me that the receptionist had vanished. I was alone in a room with a man who made me feel small and dainty as he filled my china cup with steaming coffee.