Michael’s new ally and confidant, a man with whom he’d spent many hours during the week laying strategy, generated the same wry smile he used every time Michael sharpened his verbal blade.
“Your analogies often allude to body parts. Why is that?”
“Because I’m a lousy comic and I like to play in the gutter. But that don’t change the truth. It’s a pissing match.”
“Yes. I suppose it is. Did your Earth have great empires?”
“You betcha.”
“Did they build great monuments to honor themselves?”
Michael knew Finnegan had him. “I see your point.”
“This is not a Chancellor trait, Michael. It’s a human trait.”
“Right. Self-made gods. So invincible, a dude my age with anger management issues can kill a quarter million of you so-called ‘gods,’” he said, using air quotes. “If the Chancellory put the same resources into hunting James as it did rebuilding the coast, that fucker would be dead and seven hundred people on Vasily wouldn’t be floating around in space.”
He felt Finnegan’s hand on his shoulder, pressing.
“She’s alive, Michael. Stay your rage.”
“You didn’t see her on the circastream. She’s putting all the blame on herself. Pat was her right hand.”
“And now you’ll be.”
“No. I’m the homebody to make her feel human. Pat was Sam’s firewall whenever she entered the snake pit with you lot. Me? I don’t know shit about politics. I’d sooner shoot one of you assholes between the eyes than argue policy. No offense, dude. You ain’t like the others.”
Finnegan sighed. “No offense taken. Although I must say: Had you not saved my life, my patience for you might be tested.”
“Yep,” Michael said. “That’s what I do. Test people’s patience.”
His rapport with Finnegan stunned Michael. He learned early not to trust Chancellors, and now he found himself intertwined with one of the most powerful in the North American Consortium. The man treated him like a younger brother, tempering Michael’s agony in the hours after the attack on Vasily, awaiting news of survivors. Finnegan used his contacts to arrange a private circastream between Michael and Sam when many intersystem comm arrays at Vasily were inoperable. He talked Michael out of booking passage to the station and creating a disruption when rescue and salvage operations needed to take priority. In a show of good faith, he sat down with Michael, Rikard, and other leaders of the Solomon equity movement to chart the next steps. Michael appreciated the gesture – and the distraction – as he waited for Sam’s return.
He told Sam none of this when they spoke. Even over thirty-four million kilometers, Michael heard the desolation in her voice. She wasn’t the cocky Chancellor-in-waiting he fled alongside in Alabama; the confident but softer girl he fell in love with; or the spirited firebrand who shook up her Presidium. In short, the Sam Pynn he loved had morphed into a woman who was numb, devoid of answers.
The circastream lasted twenty minutes, but they spent half that time in silence. She was lost. Come home on the first ship, he told her. No, she insisted. Not until I finish my business here.
That was seven days ago. Now, from his berth on the Level 6-G platform, Michael watched the STS Hadrian enter the port. A tidy liner at seventy kilometers long, the Hadrian came in escorted by a pair of personal Scrams hired by Finnegan to intercept the ship at high Earth orbit and shadow it to the ground. Finnegan insisted they take no chances. Rumors were already spreading about Sam, why she was on Vasily, and why her Chief of Staff was assassinated instead.
“Too early to tell if she’s compromised,” Finnegan said when he ordered the escort. “Once we have the official UG mission report, we’ll have a solid picture. In the meantime, Michael: Prudence.”
He hated the word. It aligned too closely with how all the Chancellors seemed to be responding to the threat. Prudence. Caution. Discretion. Like paralyzed politicians and frightened old men. Michael thought all their bravado and arrogance masked a race of people who were scared shitless about the fight in front of them.
“What we need to do,” he told Finnegan in a hushed tone, “is kill these bastards because they sure as hell ain’t done with us.”
“The day will come, Michael. I promise. My teams are still searching, and I’m sure the intel from Vasily will open new doors. In the meantime, channel your energy to support Samantha.”
Michael spent all day bouncing off differing emotions, unsure how to greet the woman he hadn’t held in fourteen days. His heart danced at the prospect of wrapping her in his arms and later taking her to bed. The smell of her hair, the sweet moisture on her lips, her fingers caressing his beard. She could seduce him without trying. Call me a chump, he once told Rikard, but as long as I know she’s gonna be there at the end of the day, I’m all in.
He couldn’t explain the depth of his love, how it came over him in such a rush after they entered the Collectorate, or how he’d come to believe their fates were tied together until death. His grandmother would have said it was part of God’s plan, but Michael was torn. He grew up in the church but never took it seriously, and no one on this Earth believed in a higher power. Yet he stood next to Sam five times and faced certain death.
It’s gotta be more than luck, he told Rikard. Look at you and me. Two dudes from difference universes fighting the same revolution. What are the odds?
If there was a plan, Michael didn’t expect to have answers until after his last breath. Today wasn’t about destiny, luck, or even love. No, this was about being a man who had to keep it together for his woman and pull her through this tragedy. It was about fighting anxiety despite not having a drink in three hours – the longest he’d gone in weeks. It was about being a goddamn grownup, something Michael hadn’t much figured out.
When the Hadrian’s starboard passenger doors pixelated and disappeared, Sam was not among the first to exit. A steady stream of refugees – a blend of Chancellors and colonial tourists – filtered out onto the platform. Some encountered waiting friends or family, while others seemed disoriented, unsure of their next steps. One man bent down and kissed the ground. Medics and customs staff ignited holocubes to process the unscheduled arrivals.
A few dozen survivors moved beyond the ship before a pair of children exited with tentative steps. They hid their eyes behind dark glasses. A doctor intercepted both, applying a holo-injection into their necks. Michael heard about this protocol. Visitors who spent their entire lives in space needed shielding from direct sunlight at first and medicated as they fought Earth’s gravity.
Sam departed last. Wearing a black-and-brown bodysuit Michael never saw before, Sam leaned into the doctor and spoke briefly to him and the children. She gave the boy and girl a smile and a wave. A day earlier, she sent a message to his stack about children she was bringing back from Vasily. Twins. Likely orphaned. She didn’t explain why, only that they’d soon be living at the Pynn Compound.
He couldn’t worry about that now.
Just be the man she loves, he thought. Keep it simple.
Finnegan’s security shadowed him as he strolled toward the ship. Sam dropped her smile after the doctor led away the children and wiped her eyes. When she saw Michael bearing down, Sam froze. Michael wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was as if … surely, she expected him to meet her at Hinton. Was she steeling herself against more tears? Putting on a brave Chancellor face?
He didn’t wait to find out.
Michael coursed a hand through her hair and brought her close. He whispered in her ear.
“I’m so sorry about Pat. I’m so sorry, babe.”
Her arms wrapping around him, she said, “We’re still here. How are we still here?”
He heard his grandmother’s voice, thought about his latest narrow escape at the Entilles Club, and relied on his first instinct.
“I reckon there must be a plan for us.”
They kissed, tender and fleeting.
“What plan, sweetie?”
“Don’t think the Man Upstairs has a habit of spelling out His plans. At least, that’s they taught what me in between ‘Hallelujah!’ and ‘I feel the Lord!’” He wiped away her tears as they puddled. “You’re the most beautiful chick in this crazy-ass world. From now on, we fight together. We win or we die together. You good with that?”
“Fight? Oh, yeah. I am definitely ready to fight. We’ll never have peace until we kill him.”
They rarely said their former friend’s name in each other’s presence anymore, but Michael heard the fury under her breath, loud and clear. She was as tired of waiting for the Guard to end this madness as he.
“I know you’ve had a long trip, and there’s a shitload we have to talk about but …”
“What is it, sweetie?”
“We may have some hope in that fight of ours. I need to introduce somebody. Could be the ally we’ve been looking for, and turns out, he’s practically a neighbor.”
Michael took her hand and led her to the awaiting company. The man with the white streak in his hair bowed his head as they approached, as if greeting royalty. Smooth, Michael thought.
“Sam, I’d like to introduce you to …”
“Finnegan Moss,” she said, her eyes wide and suspicious.
“You remember,” Finnegan said, extending a hand. “The security conference at the GPM. Four months ago.”
“I remember Pat telling me about you and …” She caught herself. After an awkward silence, “She said you were not known as being approachable, so I didn’t approach.”
“I heard wonderful things about your Chief. My deepest condolences. She was a warrior to the end.”
“And killed while she was helpless, for no cudfrucking reason.”
Michael locked eyes with Finnegan. Had he made a mistake introducing them so soon? Finnegan allayed his fears.
“There’s always a reason, Samantha. We’ll find it. When we do, we’ll use it against these killers and wipe them from the universe.”
Michael saw the surprise in her double take. She turned to him.
“How did you two meet?”
“Long story, babe.”
“A life-changing moment,” Finnegan said.
Sam tugged at Michael’s hand. “Whatever. If you can help us kill James Bouchet, come to dinner. Let’s talk about war.”
14
Pynn compound
Boston Prefecture
M ICHAEL MADE THE MISTAKE OF THINKING Sam would be exhausted after the trip. On the contrary, she returned home with a bottomless to-do list plus a fixation on attainable goals and the action steps for achieving them.
During the short flight on Moss’s personal Scram, she caught up on how Finnegan came into Michael’s orbit and the Solomons’ new alliance with his Presidium. Details about the Entilles incident were sparse, which relieved Michael. She insisted on being briefed on their intended steps, interjecting her concerns and how she planned to pressure her own Presidium’s allies. She intended to plan another security conference at the Great Plains Metroplex and expected Finnegan to share the intel from his deep-space surveillance teams.
All business, Michael thought as he watched Sam in action. She wasn’t the peacekeeper of her childhood dreams, but she struck Michael as a defeated general looking for a quick counterattack. Was she trying to channel Pat? How much fuel did she have in reserve?
They returned to her family compound without Moss, who needed to examine “vital” new intel before joining them for dinner. He surprised Michael by so readily accepting Sam’s invitation. During the past week, he always sent an uplift to deliver Michael to the Moss compound. Finnegan seemed more at ease as his sycophants and servants orbited around him.
Sam kept the conversation moving so quickly while returning home that she never said a word about the attack – or what happened before and after. If no one else noticed, Michael did.
Michael couldn’t put it off. After Sam finished making arrangements for the twins, who were expected in a few days, they retired to their master suite for a change into evening clothes. Sam tore off her bodysuit, insisting it be incinerated, and changed into a sequined, violet sari. She poured a glass of wine for herself and a healthy dose of jubriska for Michael.
He was shirtless when she handed him the liquor. He took a long drink and felt the warm comfort settle his nerves. They set their glasses aside and wrapped themselves in each other.
Moments without words followed. Eyes lost in passionate embraces. Lips wandering, hands caressing, tongues twisting.
Michael whispered. “Damn, just when I think I can’t love you any more … come to bed.”
“We will,” she said. “Later. Our guest will be here soon.”
“We got time, babe. A little exercise won’t hurt. Get my speed?”
She buried her lips in him. “You’re a gorgeous man. You know that, right?”
He showed off a massive bicep. “Hey, just doing my thing. Got to please my woman.”
“You don’t have to please me, sweetie. Just knowing you’re here, it keeps me going.”
“Then let’s do one better. Hop in the sack, have an appetizer.”
“Later. I promise.”
She pulled away and refilled her glass. “Another?”
Rock hard and disappointed, Michael nodded. He hoped another jubriska would encourage his penis to relax.
They sat on the edge of the bed and drank in silence.
“So, if we’re not gonna get laid,” he said, “maybe there’s some shit we need to talk about. I can see it in your eyes, Sam. We got to talk about what happened.”
“Do we? Now?”
“Yep. See, you think you’re smart, but you ain’t fooling me. What happened up there changed you. I knew it soon as I kissed you at Hinton. You’re making all these lists, and scheduling these meetings, and you’re gonna have everybody running around in circles. Long as you’re doing that, you keep the rest of it bottled up.”
She nodded with certainty. “Sure am. That’s what any good Chancellor does – stay on task, shove the emotions away, and never show a lick of fear.” She looked around the magnificent suite. “And I’m one of the richest Chancellors in the NAC. So why not? Speaking of rich, I need to double our security and outsource a few mercs for missions I’ve got in mind. Will probably take me all morning to see it through without Pat but …”
He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “One: Shut the fuck up. Two: We’re gonna worry about that shit tomorrow. Three: I love you, and I’m going to be right here every step. But if we’re going to be on the same page, we need to clear the air. You get …?”
“Yes, Michael, I get your speed. What do you want me to say? That Pat was shot in the chest five times while she was holding my hand? That the assassin aimed at me first then made an intentional move in Pat’s direction? That killing her was all part of his message? That somehow, he knew enough about my life to know what killing Pat would do? That everything on Vasily was timed down to the second, as if they were following me? Even listening to me? That there are people in the Chancellory who think I’m one of his agents?”
She broke away and paced. Michael gave her a moment.
“Actually, I’ve already asked most of those questions since Finnegan’s first intel came in. Seems pretty obvious it was a setup. But anyone with half a brain knows how you feel about that piece of shit. Sam, here’s what I haven’t heard because you danced around it on the circastream: His message. The reason the Guard asked for you. What did those kids say?”
She sipped wine. “Things that make no sense, that won’t happen.”
“Like?”
“He said he’s going to ‘realign the Collectorate.’ What can that even mean? He also said I’ll stand at his side, and I’ll do it willingly.”
Somehow, those details never made the intel briefing.
“Hold the phone. He says you’ll join him … like a volunteer?”
“I know. It’s insane. But everything in his message an
d after … Michael, he forced those children to recite words intended for no one but me. I’m sure he killed their parents. The entire Collectorate is wondering about his next move but can’t track him. So, what does he do? He lures me out to Vasily to hear his nonsense and watch him assassinate Pat and hundreds of other people. It was like he’d been planning it for months.
“He had operatives embedded in the station in key positions where they could inflict the most damage and escape before we knew what hit us. Security identified the assassins. They were mechanical engineers who used to live on an Ark Carrier above New Caledonia. Chancellors. No known connection to the hybrid program or the immortals. On top of everything else we don’t know about his group, apparently, he’s very good at recruiting. Why would Chancellors ever be a part of something like this?”
“Beats the hell out of me, Sam. Pretty much every Chancellor I’ve ever known – except maybe you and Pat – wants to stand at the top of the heap. And I get it – yeah, it’s a helluva brain-buster … but babe, that ain’t what’s tearing you up. Not really.”
The light in her eyes faded as tears pooled. Her voice shook.
“He killed seven hundred twenty-two people just to get to me. If I’d said no to the Guard, those people would be alive today.”
“You don’t know that. He might have done it just for spite.”
When he hugged her, Sam trembled. She was ready to implode. He felt her grief, guilt, and rage.
“We thought this would all go away,” she murmured. “We thought the Guard would track them down and … why does he even care about me anymore? There’s nothing I can do for him.”
“You remember when I partially blamed us for SkyTower? I was so damn freaked out back then. But I get it now. He and his brother and that Ukrainian chick made a choice. Right? It was on them all the way. We can’t let those assholes tear us down.”
“You’re right. I know you are. But it’s not like SkyTower. We didn’t see it fall. Sweetie, I was inside Vasily. Those bodies floating in space, Pat being torn apart in front of me … her blood drifting in the zero-g like …”
The Impossible Future: Complete set Page 71
